#✩ ͙˚ ꒰ writing by serenity: sneak peaks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hey-kae · 2 years ago

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A kiss, a Cake, a Flight, and a Heart Attack

Or four mornings where Charles wakes you up.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Request: read here

Warnings: Language, sexual implications, slight nudity, google translate italian (once), mentions of burns and fire, charles needing to stay away from the kitchen.

a/n: one thing about me is i will have charles mess up in the kitchen… But i actually had fun writing this and i hope you’ll like it! It’s a long one cause i added a bit to the request so buckle up (thank u @stcrgazings for helping me with this one) & Big, big apology to the person who sent the request cause it was sent in october🙃

A kiss and i’m all yours for the day:

He’d been awake for hours now, moving from room to room, doing random things, fidgeting around the apartment, struggling to find something to occupy himself with.

He had this habit that occasionally classified as a bad one. By six in the morning, he’d be up and running no matter what, even on his days off like it was the case today.

Sometimes, he would go to bed at night with the decision made that he was gonna sleep in the next day, only for his biological clock to ring it’s alarm right as the sun begins to rise, his body too used to waking up early.

The situation was no different this time. He woke up at a quarter to six, refused to get out of bed for over half an hour, hoping and praying he’d go back to sleep until he lost hope and stumbled out of the bedroom with stomping feet, and now he was awake all alone, sat on the balcony with a cup of fresh juice on the table by his side, gazing at an elderly neighbor in the apartment accros from him as the man sat watching TV, drinking coffee and chatting with someone that was out of Charles’ field of vision.

The sunlight was still a soft glow, slowly illuminating the streets, casting Monaco under its golden, calm spell, and in the midst of this scene was Charles, looking so serene, but oh so bored with his legs propped up on another chair as he waited for the clock to tick a bit more, anticipating the moment when you’d finally stretch your arms above your head and groan in bed, signaling that you were awake, not happily but awake all the same.

He waited over an hour like that. He scrolled on his phone, listened to music, read a few pages of a book he had bought a few days ago, made himself breakfast and ate it… It seemed like he did so much, like a lot of time had passed but when his finger met the screen of his phone in a gentle tap and his eyes read the numbers on the screen, he let out a loud groan at how early it still was. It wasn’t even seven yet and so he sat patiently until that patience wore thin after a few moments.

Hoping it was now a decent hour to wake you up, he tapped his phone screen again to check the time, only to be disappointed once more by the numbers reading just a few minutes past 7.

“Putain.” Fuck. He mumbled to himself and threw his head back.

It was a day off, and what he loved about his days at home was that he got to spend them with you, but he couldn’t help that he was an early riser and you just about despised the morning, and so he waited.

Around eight, his patience had run out and his boredom levels had skyrocketed.

Usually, you woke up around 9:30 and so, he sat there for five more minutes, his mind getting decently creative with the gaslighting methods it was pulling on itself to reach the conviction that it was close enough to nine thirty.

It wasn’t, it really wasn’t but Charles got up nonetheless, leaving his cup and book right where they were as he headed straight to the bedroom as not to give himself any time to rationalize this.

His hand reached for the cold knob, he opened the door and peaked his head inside to sneak a look at his soundly asleep girlfriend.

You looks so peaceful and relaxed, asleep on your stomach, the fluffy covers blurring the outline of your body, leaving him to admire what was visible: you hiding your face in his pillow, hugging it close to you simultaneously.

An advantage of him waking up before you every day was that he got to witness this, the fact that you found comfort in his scent lingering on his side of the bed and on his pillowcase. Sometimes the sight gave him a weird sense of melancholy, especially on days where he was in a rush, with nowhere near enough time to appreciate this. Sometimes, i tugged at his heart since it left him picturing you asleep, all alone while he was across the world from where he was supposed to be, right by your side.

Today, it made him smile widely as his heartbeat picked up its pace.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him again then started taking cautious steps to the bed where he got back in under the sheets with you and slowly pried the pillow out of your grip, replacing it with himself.

He pulled you into his chest, grinning widely when he felt your arms subconsciously wrap around his waist and your head snuggle into the crook of his neck like it was instinct, his shirtless state making this so much better for him.

Mindlessly, his hand reached for your hair, his fingers brushing through it carefully while he leaned his face forward and placed a quick kiss onto the top of your head, making you snuggle further into his chest.

With a lingering smile, he spoke in a low voice, “Bonjour, chérie.”

Instantly, that made you groan, because even in your barely conscience state, you knew that little sentence was Charles’ morning shenanigans kicking off.

“Uh-uh.” You grumbled, hiding your face completely against his shoulder, hoping he would take the hint, and when he went silent and still for a few minutes, you really thought he did. You fell back into deep slumber while holding him, falsely assuming he was gonna leave you to be.

However, this was Charles, insistant as ever. His silence was in fact just him plotting.

“Baby, come on. Lève-toi.” Get up. His voice was soft and hushed as his hand slipped down your body, under the sheets and right under your oversized shirt -his shirt that you were sleeping in, his fingertips delicately meeting the soft skin to lightly trace patterns up and down your back, eliciting goosebumps on your skin, the feather feel of his touch making you arch into him instinctively.

Your complaint was half-hearted, spoke into his neck in the form of a groan of his name, the vibrations of it sending a shiver down his spine.

“Oui?” He whispered, feigning clueless about the fact that this was a complaint.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled back, making his lips twist up in a smile that slowly progressed into a slight chuckle that you too felt against your chest while Charles allowed his head to rest against the headboard.

“Tu veux pas te réveiller?” You don’t wanna wake up? He asked, already knowing the answer to that.

“Too early for baguettes.” You whined again, rolling off his body, back onto the mattress, covering your head with the pillow to tune your annoying boyfriend out.

Meanwhile, Charles was trying to figure out who even mentioned baguettes, because he sure didn’t.

“Baguettes?” He frowned.

“Ugh…” you sighed, “English, Charles. Too early for french.”

Just as your muffled voice met his ears, his laughter took ahold of him, shaking his body and the bed along with it.

The plan to keep your eyes shut under all circumstances, the only guarantee to another meeting with sleep, was failing. You gave up and peeked at him, tossing the pillow onto his head, “I hate you, Leclerc.”

Charles, with a quick reaction, grabbed the pillow and held it to his chest while your hands rubbed at your face, moving up to angrily toss back your hair that had covered your face.

You propped your body up on your elbows and rubbed your eyes again, pouting as you did so, leaving Charles, who still had a soft smile lighting up his features as he watched you with soft eyes, to take in the adorable sight of your messy hair and pouty lips.

“That’s okay, amour. You’ll go back to loving me in an hour.” He smiled, in his head the scenes of the many forced early mornings replaying.

“No, ‘cause i’m going back to sleep.” You remarked, frustration bubbling in your chest at his insistence.

Forcefully, you yanked onto the sheets, forming them into a cocoon covering you up to your head.

“But, baby… I’m home with you all day today.” Charles sounded disappointed now, but you were too sleepy and not awake enough yet to argue with him on the subject.

However, in your head, you were wondering why the fuck did a day off need to start as early as school does? It was truly beyond you, the answer to that question.

“Alright, then…” you heard him rustle off the bed, sighing as he did, “I did tell Andrea i don’t wanna train today so i can stay here with you,” he explained as he started opening and closing closets and drawers, “if you’re too sleepy to spend time with me - which is totally fine by the way, i’ll just give him a call and tell him to meet me at the gym or something.”

You blinked your eyes open at the statement, the disappointment tainting his tone and the fact that he so desperately wanted a full day with just you just now sinking in. You wanted to spend time alone with him as well. It would be so utterly disappointing if you woke up later to realize you had wasted this opportunity.

By the sounds of it, Charles was already dressed since you heard zippers being pulled up and clothes being tossed around.

Blinking your eyes repeatedly, you sighed and prepared to interrupt his plan, but before you could, you heard him unlock his phone, probably preparing to call Andrea.

Hurriedly, you pulled the duvet off your head and mumbled, “Charles, wait…”

However, there he was, stood in the middle of the room, grinning like an idiot, still shirtless and in his sleep shorts.

His trick had worked perfectly and now you were awake and he had absolutely no plans whatsoever to meet up with Andrea and as you glared at him with a piercing gaze, he broke out in a laugh and practically jumped on top of you, the covers still covering you cushioning his weight as his arms wrapped around you.

“Good morning.” He smiled widely while looking down at you.

“That was low, Leclerc.” You pushed at his shoulder, frowning deeply.

With one eyebrow raised, he replied, “I can still call Andrea.”

“You know what? Maybe you should. You are a pain in the ass at this point, Charles.”

His arms snuck around your waist to firmly hold your body to his as he flipped the two of you over so you were comfortably laying on his chest.

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings.” He playfully said, watching as your head found it resting place on his shoulder, “I though you would like that i’m all your for the day.”

The annoyance on your side was beginning to waver, a small smile now replacing the frown on your face as you spoke against his skin, “You’re all mine every day.”

“Of course i’m always yours, baby.“ His heart was beating faster as he spoke and admired your slowly relaxing features, “I just mean i’m home with you today.” Charles kissed your forehead.

“Um, i do love that, bébé.” You reassured, your hand trailing up to his cheek, you fingers running along his jawline, feeling the stubble that had grown, “It’s just your morning chronicles that i hate.”

“Just think of it as more time together, all alone in our apartment.” He replied, leaning into your touch, “Now, give me my good morning kiss.”

That, you would never refuse so, your lips met his in a sweet kiss throughout which, you felt his hands on the smile of your back, hugging you to him as your lips moved briefly against his before you relaxed back on his chest, accepting your fate that your day was gonna start now.

“What time is it?” You asked out of curiosity, yawning at the end of the sentence and lifting yourself a bit, getting ready to get out of bed.

Instead of an answer, Charles just gave you a tight-lipped, wide smile and pulled you back down, telling you he loves you right against your ear.

“What’s important is that we’re gonna spend so much time together, n’est ce pas?” …right? The cheesy smile he was displaying showed you one thing. It was still early as fuck.

✩★✩

A cake and a weird smell:

The previous night had been amazing. The party was loud and chaotic but absolutely perfect. The music was picked right to your taste, the drinks were all your favorites and all the people you loved were all gathered under one roof, all having fun with seemingly no other cares in the world.

And Charles… he was - and is - the best boyfriend on so many different scales. His insistence on making every day special went above any beyond on special occasions, especially on your birthday. He had organized everything to utmost perfection, planning every detail of your birthday party himself, down to the type of confetti used and the font on the “Happy Birthday” banner hanging elegantly on the entrance of the club he had chosen for the occasion.

In fact, he had planned everything down to his own appearance for the night, picking out your favorite clothes of his, styling his hair how you liked it - just the right proportion of messy and put together, using your favorite perfume of his and putting on the ring you loved so much.

Last night’s surprises were perfect and the way he took care of your every need once the two of you were finally alone, in the dimly lit environment of your bedroom, was even more than that.

Even falling asleep in his arms was perfect, but now, at past ten in the morning, he was awake and out of bed and you were back to hugging his pillow to make up for his absence.

Charles had woken up later than usual today due to how late he stayed up last night, but as soon as he was awake, he put on some sweatpants and headed right for the kitchen, pulling an apron over his bare chest before starting to dig through the cabinets, pulling out all the ingredients and utensils he needed until he was left with a pile of stuff on the counter. His eyes were still scanning the things he prepared as he grabbed his phone and rung up his mom for help.

“Maman, j’ai besoin que tu me donne la recette la plus facile que tu sais pour faire un gâteau.” Mom, i need you to give me the easiest cake recipe you know. He rushed over the phone and when his mom started telling him what to do, he put her on speaker and started following the directions silently, only interrupting the flow with small remarks such as “Attend, y a des coquilles d’œufs dans le bol.” Wait, there’s eggshells in the bowl.

Charles, for once, was more than meticulous with absolutely everything. He had triple checked the amount and the label of each ingredient he added before mixing with extra caution to make sure he wouldn’t be making a mess. By the end of the preparations, he was so sure this cake would turn out just like his mother’s, delicious and homey, made with so much love and that alone left him beaming as, in his mind, he imagined your reaction to him waking you up to something he made you himself.

Once he poured the batter into the cake mold and put it in the oven, he said goodbye to his mother and went to check on you.

Like always, he was grinning like an idiot as soon as his eyes met the sight of the one he loves so dearly. He stilled in his spot and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest while he silently watched you sleep, your bare back and your messy hair being the only two clear parts of you that were showing. Still, that was enough to leave him with thoughts of his love for you and for the simple thought that you were his girl, that he was the one you loved.

Charles, in opposite to all other mornings, was being extra cautious not to wake you up just yet. That would ruin his plan, what would subsequently put him in a bad mood since he’s been planning this for weeks, the only thought in his head while doing so being the smile you’d give him when he woke you up with another surprise, this time one that’s just yours and his to see and remember. Days ago, he snuck out while you were busy and bought you the gift he would be giving you today.

Sighing contently, he closed the bedroom door again and headed for the living room where he sat down for a total of about 10 minutes since he was unable to stop checking on the cake, anxiously waiting to decorate it with the candles he had secretly bought and hid in the highest cupboard, the only one you couldn’t reach. However, he eventually got carried away when he had to take a call related to the mechanics of this season’s car. The issue was that the car was doing everything but functioning according to calculations and so the call went on for longer than he was expecting and he was getting worked up over the conversation, what bugged him even more because he was supposed to be in a good mood today.

“Mi dispiace, devo andare. Forse ne parleremo di nuovo domani?” I’m sorry, i have to go. We’ll talk about this again tomorrow maybe? He ended the conversation and rushed to the oven, already cursing since the smell invading the kitchen wasn’t quite right.

With oven mitts ready, he opened the door and a whiff of smoke burst out.

It was bad.

His eyes narrowed to protect themselves from the heat and smoke as he grabbed the cake pan and brought it out onto the nearby counter.

Immediately, his shoulders dropped and his heart sank at the sight.

The cake looked burnt to a crisp, dark as coal. It looked so bad, he had to bite his lip and look away so he wouldn’t break out in a stream of cuss words.

What was he supposed to do now? He wanted this special moment with you so badly, it was making him feel helpless that he wouldn’t get to surprise you like he had been planning.

He angrily turned off the oven and closed its door back up.

His mind was racing and he was indescribably angry now as he paced back and forth, wishing he had some sort of a back up plan, but he didn’t because he really thought this was foolproof, and it would’ve been if it wasn’t for that damn call.

Charles felt hopeless now. This was supposed to be your own little private celebration of your birthday after a very public party yesterday, something to remember years down the line when you’re all grown, most probably married, after you’ve had kids that would steal most of your privacy, leaving you to reminisce on moments of recklessness and affection that you shared unbothered during your dating days, these current days. This morning was supposed to be special.

“Bordel de merde.” Fucking shit. He cursed, tossing away the mitts still in his fist before storming out of the kitchen onto the balcony, trying to escape the awful burning smell filling the apartment.

The road below was busy and loud. Thankful for the distraction, Charles watched while still trying to figure something out, his eyes following a pedestrian running along the sidewalk until a store down the street caught his attention, making an idea spark in his head.

Within a minute, he was dressed and out of the apartment, practically hurling down the sidewalk until he burst through the door of the shop, a patisserie.

“S’il vous plaît, dites moi que vous avez un gâteau que je peux acheter immédiatement.” Please, tell me you have a cake i can buy immediately. He blurted with no greeting, taking the two workers who instantly recognized him by surprise. They stood there dumbfounded and staring at him like he was a ghost until one of them snapped out of it and went up to help him.

Luckily, there was a few plain white cake that they make for last-minute orders, so they wrote on it what Charles had asked them to and just like that, he was hurrying back home with relief, the smile having returned to his face.

He wanted for this to seem more laid back so he changed back into his sweatpants, deciding that there was no need for a shirt, then he opened just about every window in the house to let out the awful smell and he cleaned up the kitchen before taking a look around to made sure everything was spotless. Once he was satisfied, he got the cake out of the box, reached for the hidden candles and meticulously placed on in it, grabbed the small bag that had your final gift from it’s hiding place and he made his way to the bed.

He rested the objects in his hands on the nightstand and he climbed in next to you, burying his face in your neck, sealing a quick kiss against the soft skin there.

“Bébé…” he started softly, his hand moving your hair away and massaging your shoulders as he moved around to kiss your cheek, his soft trail of cautious kissed trailing towards your exposed back.

Even in your sleep, a shiver ran down your spine when his lip met the spot between your shoulders and without even knowing it, your head tilted to the side to give him more room to kiss your neck.

Charles knew you like he knew the back of his own hand. You absolutely melted the second he would start kissing your jawline and you neck. It was by far your favorite place to be kissed and he always acknowledged that, always payed extra attention to the supple skin under all circumstances. No matter the situation, he loved your reactions to his soft kisses.

Like always, he awaited the response and watched your body respond to him with a small lazy smile on his face. His hands moved down your sides, down to your waist until he was able to pull you to him while you groaned at him, taking the covers with you before accepting your fate and snuggling up against him.

You leg hiked up until it was resting on his waist, locking him in beside you for the moment as you reveled in the feeling on his fingers tracing down your spine and his breath fanning on your forehead.

He know you wouldn’t complain about the time he was waking you up at today, but he also knew it wouldn’t be any easier to wake you up. Your hatred for waking up was a staple of your personality and so, over the time, he came to the conclusion that the slower and the softer he woke you up, the better your mood would be, so he planned to let you take your time today.

Your thumb moving on his waist where your arm was resting was enough of a sign to him that it would be minutes before you would flutter your eyes open and blink up at him lovingly like always.

His arm remained around your body while he folded the other under his head, giving himself just enough leverage to be able to quietly gaze at you.

He had an amazing ability to catch the hints you throw and to pick up your cues with perfect accuracy, enough accuracy to know his cue when it came, so for now, he just littered kisses anywhere he could reach, the top of your head and cheeks mostly, making you smile as you slowly took awareness of the room, the surrounding sounds and the texture of Charles’ sweatpants against your bare legs.

Judging by the smile slipping your sleep, today might actually be one of the rare good mornings that you actually enjoy and Charles was ecstatic. All he wanted was for you to be happy and comfortable. That was the case for every second of his being, for every day of his life since he first laid eyes on you, so one can only imagine the amount of joy he wished for you on the morning after your birthday. He felt something foreign to him every time he spent a special occasion by your side, something bigger than him and beyond his understanding, like he would literally offer you his world and all of the stars just as soon as he finds a way to wrap them up into a present decorated just as beautifully as you were.

There was a breeze traveling through the apartment, tickling your skin in its passing, giving you goosebumps that got you pulling the covers up to fully cover your body, frowning and pouting as you did so, successfully pulling Charles’ heart into a spontaneous dance that oftentimes took him by utter surprise. Loving you was so special, so rejuvenating that Charles knew he would never get used to it; it would always feel new and fulfilling.

He couldn’t resist it. He leaned over, kissed your lips lightly and pulled away smiling, the thoughts in his head still intoxicating him, but he was surprisingly met with an objection in the form of your arms wrapping around his neck, bringing him back in for another kiss with your eyes still shut.

His hand rested on the side of your neck as he kissed you, this thumb moving so delicately along the skin while you scooted closer and closer to him, never giving up a chance to be in his arms. For a minute, thoughts of cakes and gifts got lost between your lips and his and the way they moved in synchrony against each other, as if all along, they were meant to find each other in the deepest and darkest depths of life, like you and Charles were always meant to find each other, and so he kissed you.

He kissed you with everything in him, with every ounce of love he’s ever felt in his life, all while under the charming casted spell of your hand on the side of his neck, comforting every bad thought that had ever troubled him.

He didn’t have it in him to pull away, so he kissed you until you broke away and looked up at him with sleepy, but shining and glimmering eyes, ones so full of love, it made him blush ever so shyly as a wide smile creeped up on his face, lighting up his features and prompting him to wrap you in a tight hug while you giggled against his chest, a smile on your face – a rare sighting at such a time.

That’s when he snapped out of it, right as you whispered a hoarse but soft “Bonjour” to him.

His body was still shielding the sight of the cake and gift away from you and for that he was thankful. He didn’t want the surprise getting spoilt.

He straightened up just as you lifted yourself off him, still using the fluffy duvet to cover yourself up as you stretched your arms in front of you, you eyes tight-shut as you yawned one last time and turned sideways to face him.

Charles was quick and opportunistic. Within those few seconds, he had grabbed the cake and held it up in front of you. He was just lighting the last candle as you turned to face him, your brows instantly raising as a big smile appeared on your face.

“You did not.” You sighed, the feeling in your chest indescribable.

“Tu mérites le monde. Ça, c’est rien.” You deserve the world. This, it’s nothing. He grinned, bringing the cake closer to you, but you couldn’t even shift your gaze away from him at that moment.

Your eyes locked with his happy ones, the color of them seeming way lighter as he looked at you for a second too long, making you chuckle and look down as your cheeks heated up. He couldn’t help it though. The way you looked at him always captivated him, the thought that someone could love him that much, as much as your looks were telling him that you do, giving him an urge to drop everything and run away with you.

“Come on, bébé. Make a wish.”

You looked back up at him and shut your lids, the one wish you could think of after such an amazing birthday being plainly obvious. You repeated it three times in your heart, hoping and praying that it would come true before you blew the candles and opened your eyes to the sight of Charles swiping his finger across the lettering – “Joyeux Anniversaire, mon cœur” Happy birthday, my heart – gathering whipping cream before leaning closer and putting it on your nose, making you laugh while he took in just how happy you seemed, just how happy he was and just how adorable you looked.

He wanted to keep this memory. Years down the road, this sight of you would be one of the things he’d want to show your kids.

“Peux-je prendre une photo?” Can i take a picture? He made sure to ask, his eyes sparkling as he smiled.

Laughing, you replied, “Mon cœur, je suis nue.” My heart, i am naked.

You looked down at the covers pulled up to right under your neck.

“I’ll make sure there’s nothing showing. Plus, it’s only for me to see.”

You thought for a mere second then you nodded and gestured for him to hand you the cake. You posed for him, pulling a silly face at first that efficiently showed you your favorite sight in the world, Charles’ dimples as he smiled from behind his phone.

He inspected the photos a few minutes later while you hugged him with a fluttering heart just before he gave you the gift he had prepared then made sure to feed you enough cake for three birthdays.

However, as soon as you were out of the bedroom, a burning smell invaded your senses, making you question Charles about it, prompting him to tell you the story of his burnt cake with embarrassment tinging his tone.

“Aw, baby.” You hooked your arms around his neck and pulled him in, planting a kiss onto his blushed cheek, “I still appreciate that, Charles. You are adorable and you’ve done more than enough for me these two days, bébé.” You reassured, inching you lips closer to his until they met in a passionate, feverish kiss.

It was safe to say that was one of the few mornings you actually loved, if it counts as a morning.

✩★✩

A flight and a bit of a fight:

Just because the location and the bedroom were different didn’t mean the morning dynamics between you and Charles changed, except this time, he had no choice but to wake you up in a hurry, fully knowing he’d have to face a grumpy girlfriend for the first hour of the day.

For the first time in a while, you had taken the decision to accompany Charles to a Grand Prix, packing up and taking off with him mid-week, both of you beaming at the thought of extra time together.

Make no mistake, it had all went amazing but then Monday morning came around and you had to catch the flight back home, at 6:30 in the morning, meaning you’d have to be at the airport even earlier than than.

It was a personalized hell for both you and Charles, you for obvious reasons and him because he’d be on the receiving end of the complaints. There was no way this was gonna end with anything but a fight, but it was the only flight to Nice airport with an opening and you had no other option than to board it.

Charles, tired from the weekend and in need of sleep as well, wasn’t too happy about the timing either, but he pulled himself through it. He got up while it was still dark outside and got everything ready, even preparing the suitcases and carry ons to go, leaving you asleep for as much time as he could, but the clock was ticking closer to the time you’d have to get going and he had to wake you up at that point.

He headed to the kitchenette in the suite beforehand, preparing your coffee for you in your travel cup, hoping that would help his case a bit and when he had no other choice but to go disturb your sleep, he grabbed the cup and very quietly entered the bedroom, drew the blinds and neared the bed, putting the travel mug on the nightstand and crouching down by your side.

“Baby…” He started, hating this already, “You have to wake up.”

No response.

He sighed. “Listen, mon coeur, we can’t do this today.” He brushed back your hair and kissed your cheek, “The flight won’t wait for us.”

No response as well.

“Oh, c’mon. You knew i had to wake you up early today.” He shook you by the shoulder, just enough that you stirred.

He thought that was a good sign, a really good one but then you grabbed the duvet and covered your head with it and he groaned in such annoyance.

He didn’t have the energy for this, not today. He was just as exhausted. He also needed a lot more sleep and his burning eyes were a constant reminder of that.

“Baby,” he practically shouted, “get up. Get up.” Charles repeated, then said your name so many times and he still got nothing.

He called for you again, leaning down above your sleeping figure now, “You have ten minutes to wake up. We can’t be late.” He tried to keep his voice gentle but he was struggling. He was in such a bad mood, it was astounding. He also wasn’t a fan of the time of the flight but what was he supposed to do?

Charles just kept trying and retrying to get you up until his patience had started wearing thin.

He grabbed the blanket and pulled it away from you, grabbed your hand and started tugging on it gently, cooing your name like that’s gonna help.

“Baby, please.” He was practically whining now, shoulders slouched as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Fuck off.” Charles heard you mumble into the pillow. Usually that would be a sign of progress but today he took it personally for some reason.

“Great. Perfect even. I’ll just leave you here.” He let go off your hand and covered you back up before crossing the room and leaving it, heading into the main chamber of the suite.

“Je vais me perdre la tête dans cinq minutes.” I’m gonna lose it in five minutes. He was mumbling to himself as he paced back and forth, aware he couldn’t just leave you here. He wouldn’t do that, he loved you too much to be that cruel with you, so he found himself huffing and stumbling back into the room, preparing himself for another round of frustration, the time passing making his anxiety rise as it did.

Much to his surprise though, he walked in and was greeted with the sight of you sat in bed with a blank expression on your face, but hey! Your eyes were opened at least!

“Bonjour, bébé.” He said, his tone still tinged with the annoyance he had been feeling. He still attempted a smile nonetheless, but he was slightly scared of your expression.

“Fuck off, Leclerc.” You replied, gesturing for him to get out.

“Oh, ne fais pas ça!” Oh, don’t do this! He groaned and came closer, “Tu savais qu’on doit se lever tôt aujourd’hui, pour qu’on prenne le vol.” You knew that we’d have to wake up early today, to catch the flight. Charles attempted to remind you, now kneeling one knee on the mattress.

“Get out, i don’t wanna fight. And stop it with the baguettes again.” You curtly replied, not giving a single flying damn about logical reasoning for the time being.

“Baby, don’t be like this.” Charles pleaded.

“Charles, please. You act like you’re still getting to know me. Get out so i can get ready. Us talking means us fighting right now.” You stormed off the bed, “I’m up now, you can fuck off for a few minutes.”

The sentence ended with you disappearing into the adjoined bathroom, aggressively locking it behind you, leaving Charles to roll his eyes all alone by the bed while you repeatedly splashed cold water on your face. Yeah, Charles might be right, but it was too early for you to comprehend it all the same.

All the final preparations for the flight home were done in utter and tense silence, from getting dressed to organizing the carry ons and how you were gonna fit everything into them, dividing all the remaining possessions you had between your backpack and Charles. The communication in that concern was done through death glares and tossing things at each other from across the room.

“On a tout. Allons y.” We have everything. Let’s go. Charles said half an hour later, signaling you should get going now.

Coffee then flashed in your mind, the thought of going without it being torture. You can still make one in your travel mug before leaving, you figured so you left Charles tapping his foot on the floor by the door and disappeared back into the suite to get your caffeine dosage ready. Only then, you realized you had no idea where your travel mug was and you had no recollection of putting it away. Charles must’ve done that.

You sighed in frustration and called his name. Seconds later, he was by your side.

“My travel cup…” you mumbled, your voice still hoarse.

Smiling slightly, Charles stopped your search through the hotel cupboards, “Viens.” Follow me. He grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the entrance where the table by the door had your cup, your phone and your headphones.

“I made you your coffee, ‘cause i knew you were gonna be in a bad mood.”

With a snap of a finger, you started feeling guilty about how rude to him you were being when he was being this thoughtful. After all, he was just making sure you wouldn’t miss the only flight home available.

“C’mon.” He handed you your things and took care of the backpacks and suitcases himself before he opened the door and gestured for you to walk out in front of him.

You gulped as you took in his soft expression, the smile on his face being your enemy for once because it made you feel astronomically bad.

“Merci.” You murmured, cheeks heating up as you walked past him, giving the quickest and shiest of kisses on the cheek, making him grin and shake his head.

On the plane later, when he pulled your legs onto his lap, his thumb caressing your ankle as he assured you that you can go back to sleep, you slipped out the apology you felt like you owed him.

“I’m sorry…about earlier.” You said, looking down at your lap.

“T’inquiète pas.” Don’t worry. Charles reassured with a loving smile that slowly evolved into a chuckle, “I know you by now, i don’t take your morning insults seriously anymore. Ma princesse déteste les matins, je l’ai compris. T’en fais pas.” My princess hates mornings, i got it. Don’t worry. He said as a joke, one that was true to both your knowledges. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead as you blushed further.

“Je t’aime.” I love you. You mumbled to him in reassurance and reaffirmation before you gave him a brief kiss on the lips.

“I know, don’t worry. I love you too.” He pulled you to him, his arms around you as he hugged you back to sleep.

✰★✰

A heart attack and you’ll be the death of me:

Charles was so sure he had it covered.

As he tiptoed around the room in the faint dawn light, he was so sure he could go about his morning without disturbing you.

He woke up early as usual, at 5:30 sharp.

Strike one was his alarm waking you up, what earned him a quick death glare from you while you were mostly asleep, just peaking out from under the covers to give him that murderous morning look of yours while he fumbled around to get to his phone and silence it.

He smiled at you then; more like grimaced actually, then he slid out of bed and went straight into the bathroom, where he took a quick cold shower because “he’s a psychopath like that” as you described him. He just found it energizing on mornings where he had no motivation but a ton of things and trainings to accomplish throughout the day.

Dripping in water, he patted back into the room barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist, whistling a tune stuck in his head, then stopping himself from doing that once his eyes met the sight of your sleeping figure, only for the messy symphony to resume mindlessly in a minute.

Part of your bedroom floor was hardwood while the remaining parts were porcelain, incredibly shiny porcelain that was a true hazard when wet, or when the person walking on it had bare feet and was leaving a trail of water behind him, but Charles never learned that. Charles himself was in fact the hazard at that point.

He continued the trajectory towards the wardrobe and drawers that had his clothes, in other words, the slippery part of the room, barefoot and leaving a trail of water to mark his trajectory, and the minute his foot met the shiny flooring, he was struggling to steady himself. In his own vocabulary, he had no grip. Softs in the pouring rain type of catastrophe.

Strike two was him using the duvet covering you for leverage.

His foot inevitably slipped and glided along the shiny flooring and down went Charles, grabbing onto the duvet covering you as if it was a solid that would sustain his weight while he collapsed, yanking it off the bed as he did.

He landed on the floor with a thud and widened eyes and the sheets fell on top of him.

Sleep wasn’t your main concern then, not when you bolted awake to find your boyfriend, in all his might, on the floor whining in pain.

Your heart skipped a beat as worry took over you, effectively waking you up within seconds.

“Fuck, are you okay? What happened?” You jumped up to him, crouching down by his side, your hand grabbing his as you attempted to help him up. Instead, he was dragging you down with him until he utilized his own strength to help you lift him off the floor. You tried hard no ignore the way he was still fumbling to keep himself covered as you helped him up, you tried really hard because if you didn’t you’d end up laughing and feeling bad later.

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly as you sat him on the bed, visually inspecting his body for any bruises or injuries while your heart beat out of control.

“I’m okay.” He answered, rubbing over his back and wincing then adjusting his towel as if he just realized that he severely lacked of clothing.

“You’re sure?” You asked again and he nodded.

“How many times have a told you not to walk barefoot over here after showers, Charles?! You fucking scared me, you idiot.” The anger set in as the worry faded.

Time and time again, he almost slipped because of this, only this time he made actual contact with the floor instead of grabbing onto a dresser or something nearby. Time and time again, you’ve told him to watch out but here he was, frolicking around the bedroom with this wet feet with no cares in the world, not even for his safety.

“Okay, maman.” He got up and kissed you with a bit of an eye-roll, “You go back to sleep and i’ll get going in a bit.” He grinned.

“I will go back to sleep. Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

Smiling at the care peaking through your anger, he reassured you again.

“I’m sure, don’t worry.”

You took a once-over at him, scanning every part of him to make sure all was actually well, your breathing just starting to go back to normal as you did so, but worry still riddling your thoughts.

It wasn’t easy to wake up to the person you love collapsed on the floor. He scared you – for him- beyond words.

“Baby, i’m okay. I swear.” He chuckled and pulled you for a quick hug, interrupting your examination.

“Okay…” you yawned and made you way back to the bed, “If you feel anything wrong during the day, tell me so I can go with you to the doctor.” You mumbled to him just as you pulled the duvet back onto the bed, covering yourself up completely with it.

“I don’t think I will need that, but okay, mon coeur..”

You hummed back at him and he went back to getting dressed, wearing socks – Ferrari socks, and slippers this time.

His usual gym attire is what he went with, pulling on some shorts and a Puma shirt and trainers. He grabbed everything he needed out of the room so he wouldn’t have to disturb you again – phone, headphones, car keys, gym bag… - and he headed out into the kitchen to prepare himself a quick breakfast.

Charles stood in front of the fully stocked fridge, his hand on his waist as he scanned his options, a slight pain in his lower back distracting him.

The scene of the fall started playing in his mind and he couldn’t help laughing as he imagined how he must’ve looked like, loosing control over his steps and tumbling down the way he did.

Shaking his head with a smile on his face, he grabbed eggs out of the fridge, olive oil from the counter, salt and pepper from the drawer and a pan from the lower cabinet before he started the stove to make himself some scrambled eggs.

He couldn’t recall the first time he made eggs alone. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure where he learned how to make them since he had no recollection of anyone giving him a rundown on how it’s done, so how did he know how to scramble eggs?

What if he didn’t know and he just never messed up badly enough before? That is what he convinced himself of.

He never thought of the amount of oil he should use while making this. He never noticed how much time he let the oil heat up, nor how much it took for the eggs to cook. He never measured how much salt and pepper he seasoned them with.

Charles frowned as he watched the oil pour into the pan. How did that come naturally to him? Why did it come naturally if he was never taught how to do this?

The fall must’ve had some effect on him, he thought. There was no other explanation for these thoughts in his opinion.

With a quick shake of his head to come back to reality, he pushed those thoughts aside and figured he’d better focus on the task on hand.

He followed the stream of oil pouring out of the bottle in his hand and looked down to find the pan half full of oil.

Now, he wasn’t precise about the amount but he know for sure that this was way too much.

“Merde.” Shit. He sighed, his hands already working the stopper off the bottle of oil so he can pour the excess back in. He wasn’t thinking of the fact that this was probably gonna end up in a slippery mess. It did.

The stopper slipped out if his grip and flew across the kitchen. Half the unwanted oil ended up on the counter, dripping down onto the cabinets and onto the floor as he stood and watched, dumbfounded and annoyed.

“Tu me blague ou quoi?” Are you kidding me? He groaned in frustration, stomping over to the table in the corner to grab tissues to attempt cleaning this mess.

Charles distributed paper towels over the oil and left them to soak up the liquid while he went back to preparing breakfast, figuring he’ll just clean afterwards when he washes whatever dishes he ends up using. They’re not gonna run away, now are they?

He clicked the stove to life and watched the blue flames hide beneath the seriously well oiled pan.

Soon enough, the oil was making sizzling sounds and he started contemplating whether he should add the eggs now, not understanding why this felt so complicated today. Nonetheless, he grabbed the eggs and starting shifting his attention between them and the bubbling oil.

He scratched his head in contemplation as his eyes remained fixed on the stove, his arm supporting his slouching posture against the counter right by him, right where his mess resided. It seemed like he was waiting for some cue to tell him when he should do what, and so he went back to contemplating if he even knew how to do this.

It seemed like he took to much time to consider this and before he knew it, right before his widening, panicking eyes, a catastrophe ensued.

He didn’t know what to do and for a second all the years of reaction time training were all down the drain.

Charles stood still with wide frightened eyes that served as an artist’s palette on which the blue-green and the alarming orange started mixing. Alarms bells were ringing in his mind but he still stood motionless.

Charles watched as a huge flame erupted from the oil in the pan, casting a vibrant orange glow all over the kitchen, its warmth so close to his face making him quickly step back. He was repeatedly cursing under his breath as he tried figuring out what he was supposed to do. Every curse word in every language he knew took a turn and got used again and again and again until he started fumbling around the kitchen for a solution, just hoping and praying he wasn’t gonna burn the apartment down on a lovely Tuesday morning.

Luckily, Charles was just far enough to be unharmed but as the fire erupted, crackles escaped it and landed all over the kitchen, marking random objects with its signature.

In his panicked state, Charles didn’t have any recollection of oil-soaked paper towels that would be a huge fire hazard, especially when an open flame was raging mere inches away from them. He was too busy trying to get to the small emergency fire extinguisher he knew he had somewhere in the kitchen.

His hand was still trailing along the counter as he searched with fear through the lower cabinets and drawers for the red bottle. He kept searching as the fire spread on and as the tissues started burning as well and before he knew it, his hand on the edge of the countertop was feeling exceptionally warm.

He looked up quickly, but he wasn’t quick enough. The flames were spreading all over the marbly surface, dangerous close to him, right by his arms.

Quickly, he pulled back his hand but it was a second too late. He had burnt his hand and forearm and without him knowing it, a scream of pain left him mouth.

In the bedroom, you were still soundly asleep, not aware of the catastrophe your boyfriend was causing just in the room near where you were, unaware that he was at risk and that the whole apartment was at risk.

Under a thick layer of blankets, you were asleep like a baby, until you heard an alarmed scream and the clatter of metal, but the sound that made your heart drop wasn’t that. It was the distinct sound of a fire, a crackling that was faint but alarming enough that it was all you heard as you stumbled out of bed and out of the room, tripping over your feet, the few seconds it would take you to reach the origin of the sounds feeling like a damn eternity.

“Charles!” You called, a smell of smoke meeting your nose just as your eyes caught glimpse of how golden the light in the kitchen was, an orange light of a fire.

Your eyes widened and you mindlessly ran up to the door, slightly scared of what you might see once the space was in your line of sight.

You were just hoping and praying Charles was okay. Everything else could be managed.

“Charles”, you called for him again before you took a deep breath and ran into the kitchen. It felt like you blood was draining when you eyes caught sight of your boyfriend hunched down in front of the lower cabinets, the fire maybe a meter away from his hair as he nervously dug through the shelves, waving his left arm furiously through the air.

“Charles, what happened?” You ran up to him, pulling him farther from the flames.

His eyes, panicked as you’ve ever seen them, were still searching throughout the kitchen for a glimpse of red.

“Where’s the fire thing?” He practically shouted, asking about the extinguisher as he went on with his search.

With no further words spoken and both your hearts beating a million times per minute, you immediately went back to resolving things. Luckily, you knew the fire extinguisher was in the cabinet by the kitchen balcony door so you grabbed it and got to work, ending the fire just as the the oil-streaked cupboard door was starting to catch sparks.

Charles was panting and feeling lightheaded, the pain from the burn starting to make itself known, so as soon as he saw you had it covered, he allowed himself to fall onto the floor, dropping his back against the wall as he attempted to catch his breath.

Once you were sure the flame was put out for good, you dropped everything and allowed yourself to take a deep breath before the worry replaced the adrenaline high. You rushed to Charles’ side, hoping he hadn’t hurt himself.

He looked up at you as you crouched down in front of his, worried sick, the look in his face being one of pure fear.

“You’re okay?” You asked, exhilarated.

“I’m sorry, i’m so sorry. I don’t know how-“ he gasped for air, “-it happened.”

“Mon coeur, arrête. Show me your hand, I think you burnt it.”

Shakily, he lifted his arm into your line of sight and you had to wince at the sight.

“Oh, baby.” You started getting up, “I doesn’t look to good, Charles. I think you should get it checked out. Does it hurts?”

“Starting to…” he sounded out of breath.

“C’mon. Je t’amène à l’hôpital. You can get it treated in the ER.” I’ll take you to the hospital.

You knew he was in pain because he didn’t object like usual. He just nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Charles was sat waiting for his turn, which they assured would be soon, and you were sat next to him, trying to distract him from whatever pain he might be feeling.

“Tu peux appeler maman? Dis lui de venir ici?” Can you call mon? Tell here to come here? He said after going silent for a few seconds, wincing as he did so.

You looked at him, wishing you could ease his pain immediately, “Oui, ne t’inquiètes pas.” Yes, don’t worry. You gave him a small smile that he tried weakly to return, “Et Andrea? Tu peux lui dire ce qui s’est passé? He’s probably waiting for me still.” And Andrea? Can you tell him what happened?

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

You got up and made the calls, struggling to find a way to tell Pascale and Andrea what happened without scaring them to death, and you managed, all while keeping an eye on your boyfriend, watching him take deep breaths. Just as you put your phone away, he got called into the ER and before he went in, he gestured for you to come along, using his good hand to do do, waiting until you joined his side and intertwined your fingers with his to follow the nurse.

Around noon, after Charles had been given painkillers and had gotten his arm and hand wrapped in gauze, you sat with him in your bedroom, the door to the kitchen closed to hide the mess neither of you wanted to acknowledge just yet.

A movie was playing on the screen of your laptop sat on top of your legs while Charles rested his head on your shoulder.

Neither of you were speaking or saying anything, the chaos from earlier being enough noise for a good while.

“Sorry I woke you up so early.” Charles whispered to you.

“Charles, shut up. Imagine me caring about sleep in this situation.” You softly kissed his forehead, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” You practically whispered, genuinely overwhelmed by the thought.

He sighed heavily and snuggled his face into your neck, “Je sais vraiment pas qu’est-ce qui s’est passé.” I really don’t know what happened.

“We all have bad days, this one was just extra bad. I’m just glad you’re safe.” You tried reassuring, moving around so you were hugging him, keeping his injured limb in mind.

Charles, feeling down and upset, stayed silent and snuggled up to you, “My superwoman…” He softly and innocently kissed your jaw, “Tu nous a sauvé, toi. Je n’avais aucune idée c’était où l’extincteur.” You saved us. I had no idea where the extinguisher was.

You smiled softly and trailed your hand through his hair, “I was so scared for you, mon coeur. You gave me a heart attack today- twice.” You chuckled, threading your fingers gently through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and giving him a small kiss there, “You’ll most definitely be the death of me, Leclerc.”

Charles giggled just a bit before mumbling a small “Désolé” sorry against your skin and falling into comfortable silence.

“Two weeks without racing though…” You thought out loud a minute later and felt him let out a whine of annoyance against your neck, the sound slowly turning into the softest of laughs ever, his chest shaking against yours.

Obviously, this situation wasn’t pleasant and this morning would for sure be a bad memory, but he was okay and that was all you could ask for after such a scare.

a/n: manifesting and praying that last situation never happens to him

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc oneshots #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshots #f1 x you #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #f1 one shot #f1 imagine

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strlingsav · 2 years ago

Note

you are a god among us peasants. your writing skills so sublime, you make tears fall from my eyes (and from between my legs); thank you for your service. 🫡

if you’re keen, may i request pain? just angst and maybe death too—if doable. of course, we cannot forget smut; because we’re still thirsty degenerates despite (or is it in spite) the masochism. but if that’s not your cup of tea, then no worries, you feed us well anyway. 🥰

anyway, just wanna say thank you very much for existing and that i look forward to reading more of your amazing fics. may both sides of your pillow be cool whenever you lay on them. 🙏

lastly, im the one who requested for the ‘read more’ bar and tbh, i was not really expecting anything from it. i was expecting it to be ignored and i was fine with it. coz let’s be honest, that was just nitpicking from freeloaders like me and scrolling a few more seconds is the least we can do to thank you for sharing your awesome brainchilds with us. i was just shooting my shot but honestly didn’t expect anything from it. so for you to implement it as soon as you got the ask is just 🤌. thank you. i appreciate you. i hope you immediately find your lost things as soon as you start looking for them. ❤️😘😘😘

LOL, stop it now I'm crying 😭 I can definitely come up with something real angst-y and slutty just for you!!!

You're so kind, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you, and the validation 🫶🏻🥹❤️

Of course!! It's my pleasure 🤍 Thank you (and a million more thank yous) for the kind words, I hope you enjoy!!

Endings

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— A sweet goodbye turns sour.

Two

Explicit/gory content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

The sun had just barely peaked, a glowing orange hue sneaking out from behind your linen curtains. It must've been early, early enough to catch Simon before he headed out.

You stretched out, rolling onto your side, still beneath the warmth of your heavy duvet. A soft pillow cradled your head, goose down, plush and inviting. You didn't want to wake up- you wanted to give in to the overwhelming contentment. Your hands reached out, your eyes shut as you relished in the comfort of your bed.

Your hand tucked under your cheek as you opened one eye, focusing on the man next to you, his chest rising and falling slowly, peacefully. His skin lit up in the sun-tinged room, glowing softly, an image of pure serenity, nearly God-like.

You sighed softly, your eyes scanning his face. You didn't want to wake him. He needed every minute of sleep. You carefully pulled the covers back, goosebumps erupting at the flood of cold air hitting your skin.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back with a strong tug. Simon enveloped you in his arms, cradling your body against his chest. You giggled softly when his lips nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss against your skin.

"You sneakin' out on me?" He mumbled, muffled by your hair.

"Trying to," You smiled. "But you caught me."

He hummed, "Just need a few more minutes."

"I can do that," You said, your legs interlocking with his.

His hands followed the natural curve of your waist, meeting your hips, down your thighs. He pressed a palm against your leg, before running his fingers back through the carved path.

"You're barely awake and already feeling me up," You teased, your head turning to look at him.

His eyes were still shut, though his brows furrowed.

"Always in the mood to feel you up, sweetheart." His hand grabbed at one of your breasts, making you laugh- boisterous and genuine.

"You're insatiable." You shook your head.

"Can't blame me."

He pressed his hips into your backside, his erection pressing into you.

"Good dream?"

He shifted upward, his hand on your waist as he looked over you. Half-covered with the comforter, eyes still blinking slowly as you adjusted to the morning light, a mischievous smile across your face. He loved these mornings, slow and playful, where he could appreciate you in your purest form.

He would miss it- miss you. The first woman to force her way into his life and stay there. He'd grown fond of you. More than fond, if he was honest, but honesty scared the fuck out of him. As did vulnerability. He often worried he'd grow too close to you, open up a bit too much and you'd run the other way.

He rarely spoke of his childhood or innermost thoughts, but you made it bearable. He didn't have to hide it from you, didn't have to pretend he was put-together when he was really tearing at the seams. You'd kissed every wound, loved him regardless.

He loved you. He'd only said it once, maybe twice, too shamefully afraid, but you knew. He'd never known anything like the feeling that made him think of you, all the damn time. Made him want to make you happy, do the nervous boyfriend routine when he met your parents. Become a pathetic sop when he was wrapped in your arms.

He devoured every bit of yourself that you showed to him. Every secret, every terrible thing you'd ever done. He wasn't alone, not when you were there.

His hand reached down your pelvis, inching slowly to press the pad of his finger against your clit.

"Must've been good," You held back a smile, your eyes shutting as you basked in the pleasure of his fingers rubbing circles over the delicate organ.

He shook his head against the hard line of your jaw. "'S'all for you," He said quietly, his lips honing in on yours with a delicate kiss.

You moaned softly, your hand reaching for the side of his face. His tongue slid into your mouth gingerly, gliding against yours.

Your mouths moved in sync, a perfected routine. He quieted your moans with his mouth, shushing you with the use of his tongue.

He moved away, leaving you to chase after his lips, open your eyes to see him.

"You're too good to me," You smiled, your lips parting when he applied a bit more pressure with his fingers.

"I know," He replied. "Y'deserve every bit."

He hummed with approval as he looked over your blissful expression, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses across your neck and chest. His teeth nipped at your flesh, tongue sliding out to soothe the inflicted area.

"Just needed to feel you again," He mumbled. "Gonna be gone for a while."

You tried not to frown, tried not to show your utter disappointment upon remembering these would be your last moments together for months.

Your back arched inadvertently when he sunk two fingers inside you, quickly coated with your liquid arousal. A guttural moan left your lips, his thumb still circling your clit.

Your hand reached to stop his movements, your brows cresting, a pleading expression in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

His lips separated, your words creating a searing heat in his groin. The desperation in your voice tugged at a primal instinct inside him, to make you feel good, and it surely would've brought him to his knees had he been standing.

He readjusted himself, his eyes on yours as he massaged his cock with his hand. He moved slowly, angling your thigh to allow him better access. You curved your back, opening your thighs a bit wider as he searched for your entrance.

You felt the slick head of his cock press against you, easing in gently, your hymen stretching to accommodate his size. Your eyes squeezed shut, lip quivering as you bit down.

He was finally buried inside you, giving a low groan in your ear when he felt just how wet you were.

Your back against his chest, his hand slid around your waist, fingers splayed out over the expanse of your curves.

His hips rocked into you, his hand holding you tightly against him, your head fell into his chest. His other hand found yours beneath the pillow, squeezing tightly, reassuringly.

Your eyes opened, finding his amidst the crescendo of pleasure, watching his nostrils flare as he sucked in deep breaths, utterly dumbfounded by the way your pussy felt like it was made just for him.

You leaned in closer, nuzzling your face against his, soft whimpers leaving your lips when his cock hit your G-spot.

"Baby," You whispered, your hand reaching back to glide into his hair. "God, Simon."

"That's it, love," He cooed, through broken breaths and strained vocal cords. "S'alright."

Your heart stammered in your chest, before pounding harshly against your ribs, threatening to climb out your throat. His grip on your body was unrelenting, a solid reminder that it was him who made you feel that way, that had your hips grinding back against him, silently begging for more.

"'M gonna miss you," You breathed, "So much."

His hand slid down your waist, circling your neglected clit, matching the pace of his wonderfully slow thrusts.

"Miss you too," He sighed. "Always miss you, love."

You were restless against him, finding no solace in the idea that you were close to orgasm, and so was he. It would be over, and you'd have to start your day; leave the shelter of your bed, the place where you could hide from everything and everyone, together.

Your fingers replaced his on your clit, and he took advantage of the freedom, cupping your breasts with his large hand. His fingers ghosted over your perked nipples, listening to your soft moans, savouring the fruit of his labour.

"Simon-" You whispered, broken and breathless, hardly there but loud enough for him to hear.

He could feel your pussy fluttering around him, making him shut his eyes as he resisted the urge to cum. "I'm close."

He continued at his successful pace, trying not to watch the way you unraveled, how your back arched even further into him, your spine curving, how your skin flushed with the rush of endorphins. Your voice breaking out in a long, desperate moan, the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

He was even closer now- your undoing had lead him right to his climax. His hips paused against your backside, a gust of his warm breath washed over your back as he exhaled harshly. He kept himself firmly planted inside you, still enjoying the addictive walls of your pussy.

He was apprehensive when he pulled away, shifting now to slide you even closer. He wrapped you in his arms again, his lips pressing against the salty skin of your temple.

"Gotta get goin'," He grumbled.

You nodded. "I know."

He'd been packed for a few days now, ready and waiting for the day he had to catch a flight out. You joined him at the front entrance of the apartment building, in your sweats, watching with red eyes and a forced smile as he shoved his bag into the seat of his SUV.

He moved back to you, enveloping you in a warm hug, his hands wrapping around your waist to hold you.

"I'll miss you," You whispered in his ear.

"Be back 'fore you know it, love," He said back, his lips kissing the sliver of skin showing on your shoulder.

"Better be- and in one piece," You tried to laugh, tried to make it easy.

"Behave yourself while I'm away," He warned, his hand sneaking down to take a handful of your backside.

You did laugh that time, genuine and unapologetic while passersby stared.

"Always," You pulled away. "I love you."

His eyes locked with yours, a soft smile forming over his lips- one of admiration and total devotion.

"Love you too."

Your insides warmed, cheeks glowing with pure adoration.

—

Simon's hearing had gone in his left ear- high-pitched ringing in the other. His eyes focused on the smoke, the still-spinning blades of the helo.

That was when he realized he could only see from one eye- blunt force trauma causing a blown pupil and detachment of his retina.

He tried to twist onto his front, at least have a chance at dragging himself to safety.

A searing pain ripped through his thigh as he lifted himself, and he peered down to find his femur poking through the skin, his torn fatigues covered with blood.

He inhaled, shaky and shallow, hardly enough to sustain his racing heart. Low groans of agony rumbled in his chest, his muscles twitching as he held the surrounding flesh of his broken bone. His head ached, throbbing and stinging, not yet realizing he'd cracked his skull, the flesh of his scalp held together by his helmet. Blood pooled on the ground beneath him.

His deafened ear leaked red, severe swelling of the brain pushing against the intact remainder of his skull.

He tried to sit up again, though couldn't find the strength. He was exhausted- dizzy with blood loss and no longer able to move his limbs quite right.

You, he thought, you'd be alone. You'd wonder where he was, what happened. Would they let you see his body? Or would they tell you he was M.I.A? He couldn't decide which would be worse; leaving you with unanswered questions or knowing he was never coming back. Would they tell you how hard he fought to stay alive for you, even if his entire body was begging to let go?

He was shivering, now. His body had started to focus all energy on his fatal injuries, desperately hanging on to any viable organs. It wouldn't work- it couldn't. Not even a goldstar field medic could piece him back together, not enough to call him human again. He wasn't sure if he'd want you to see him that way, either.

Fitting, he thought. Nothing good ever lasted for Simon Riley.

At least he'd told you he loved you. You'd know it was real, that he wasn't afraid anymore. You'd know he gave everything he had, including his trust, his feelings. The thought gave him a moment of comfort- or maybe it was the endorphins putting an end to his suffering. Either way, his chest warmed when he pictured that playful smile, your eyes. He yearned to have you there, holding his hand instead of digging his fingers into the wet earth. He'd made his grave inside you already, resigned to dying with you than without. You'd tell him it was alright, tell him to let go while he couldn't feel an ounce of pain. You were selfless like that.

All he could picture, as the last of his breath left his lungs, as his heart gave up on sustaining a worthless fight, was you. That morning in bed, before deployment, where you'd given another piece of yourself to him, selflessly. As always.

Thank God he'd told you he loved you.

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you #ask strlingsav

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unknownsprings · 2 months ago

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Suntang Fic (Still On Going)

I used to write previous Suntang fics, but most of them I ended up deleting them 'cause I didn't have the guts to post them on ao3. Plus, I was insecure with the way I write because I thought it wasn't good enough and cringey. But, I say "freak it, I'mma do it anyways" since I have Suntang Scenarios in my head that keep driving me insane and I thought I might as well write it out.

But, here's a poem that I made for my fic that's going to be a part of it. I guess I would call it a trailer fic or a sneak peak of it (don't really know the right word for it), but anyways. I think this is the most of I've written and the one that doesn't make me want to hate and delete it. I'm not sure how much more I'll be writing, hopefully I can finish this soon.

Oh, and before I could forget, this is based on the Monkey King Reborn (2021) movie because I can't seem to find any 21Suntang fics anywhere. So I might as well write it myself, I'm not sure if I'll get anyone in character based on the movie, but I'll see how it goes 🙃.

"You're All I See" When I opened my eyes, I used to see your silhouette underneath the moonlight. How it moves, twirls, and sways in grace in time with your figure. It soothes something in me that I could never seem to find the words for it. For your presence brings me serenity and settles down the storm that rages within me, And tunes out the sonance of the world that has left my mind in a spin. As your presence and silhouette alone, makes everything quieter And leaves me craving for your attendance only to silence everything around me. But it is all but a dream that I could no longer grasp in reality. For when I open my eyes upon my slumber, and the moon is full and bright. I see your figure once again underneath the moonlight, But I could no longer see your silhouette once again And I’m left mourning in your presence. - Unknown Springs, 23/08/2024

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sweaterkittensahoy · 3 months ago

Note

YESSSS JACKDOUG THAT LOOKS PROMISING! Dougie is such a romantic that Jack won’t see it coming.

And the thing is, it's not JUST desperately romantic notes (Like the one Jack finds in his flight suit in Algeria that just says "I want to kiss your sunburned cheeks and comb the sand from your hair as you lean against me and tell me where we'll live after the war.") but also sometimes the notes are wrapped around flowers or sweets and still crushingly sweet in their own ways. ("Forget me nots for all the boys we miss." / "You're looking peaked, hopefully the cinnamon in this candy pinks you up.")

He absolutely gifts Jack an autographed photo. ("For my love with all affection I could possibly say in words -- James")

Jack really does NOT know how to respond to a lot of this. He's a practical guy. Romance like this is something he's heard other people talk about but never thought he'd like. Turns out, he loves it. But how to respond?

His attempts to write back to James the same way just don't work ("You're brilliant in everything you do." -- "Oh, god, I sound like a graduation card.") He tries figuring out gifts to give back, but he doesn't really know flowers or if James even likes them for himself. He does manage to start sneaking sour cherry candies (James's favorites) into his flight suit and desk and catches James finding some and smiling softly in happiness.

When James becomes group bombardier, he comes into Jack's office every couple of days and sets up at the coffee table, lays out his photographs and maps and notepad. Doesn't say much to Jack, doesn't interrupt his workflow, and Jack realizes this is how he shows James how much he cares about him. Makes sure to keep an extra coffee cup so James doesn't have to go back to his office for his own. Orders them both lunch when he calls it in. Tracks down a fat, low ottoman so James can sit on the floor in front of the couch like he prefers.

And he sees James smile each time he does something like that, and he still gives Jack beautiful love notes ("The sunlight through the window by your desk lights you up like a painting I saw in a textbook. It was a monk studying from a book, serious and serene in equal measure. You look just like him, but brighter because I can reach out and touch.") and little gifts (A tie clip Lemmons made from some of the fort salvage; hand-carved buttons he found in the village), but now Jack has his own way to give his affection back, and it's soft and sweet and a wonderful respite as they work together to fight the war.

#jack kidd #james douglass #jackdouglass #mota #masters of the air #look i will eventually write 20k of douglass going romantic apeshit on someone #just can't pick who yet

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serenefreakgeekao3 · 8 months ago

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Ever in our favour

CHAPTER EIGHT - FINALE

[Table Of Contents]

Summary: The final fight... Who survives this deadly ordeal? Warnings: canon-typical violence, descriptions of mutated creatures, descriptions of blood and injuries, minor character deaths, brief mention of familial abuse Author's Note: Well, this is it! The last update of this series, I can officially mark this one as completed! It's been a long time coming, and I took a long hiatus halfway through, but I'm so incredibly proud of myself for finishing this story, and how well it turned out! Let me know what you think, comments are my life's blood!

You were so excited! It must’ve been silly, or would’ve been if anyone else had known about it. But you didn’t mind being a little silly, a little love-struck, since you wouldn’t be feeling much of anything but fear here soon. So you welcomed it, and rubbed the little scrap of paper between your finger and thumb once again, feeling the easy glide of the shiny material. You weren’t sure how he managed to sneak a scrap, or even how he managed to write the words on there, but you weren’t complaining.

“Stairwell D has roof access…

Midnight?”

You had also noticed a small smudge at the end of the words like Peeta had written something before trying to erase it. Something small, almost like a drawing. When you stared at it before, in your room, you had imagined and hoped it was a tiny heart. You can understand wanting to wipe that away, just in case. In case someone found the paper, or perhaps he thought you didn’t return his feelings? Well, in your fantasy, he had feelings for you. In reality, it was a bit harder to tell.

You felt like you had eyes on you constantly. In the training areas, obviously, but also in the hallways and living areas, even your bedroom. It felt… invasive. Though you supposed, your death will be recorded as live entertainment soon. You would wonder where the line was, but you didn’t think there was one. Or, perhaps, it was on the roof access? You’d hoped, at least, that there’d be no cameras. That you could finally talk to each other, alone, unafraid of your words.

You were currently making your way there. Supposedly, you were sleeping back on floor 9, in your extravagant and unnecessarily wide bed. Instead, you had slipped out, quiet as a mouse as you stuck to the walls, searching for the correct stairwell. This probably would’ve gone better if you’d scouted it out, but the moment you had read the note you’d began to make your way out. You hadn’t felt safe taking it out any sooner, until after you’d retired to your room. It might still be an hour early, but you wouldn’t mind the wait.

You’d already checked the stairwell on the eastern side of the building, but it hadn’t been the right letter. You hoped you’d find it soon, as you really didn’t want to be caught out here. Luckily, as you turned the next corner, the large D sat above a door, the stairwell symbol next to the handle. You rushed quickly, hand skirting over the cold medal as you pushed your way in.

The stairwell was quiet. You’d thought the hallway was too, but there had been this slight buzzing sound before. Now it’s like everything in the world was still. You hesitated on your floor a moment longer, closing your eyes and basking in the stillness of it. This was what you missed from District Nine. The peace and quiet, the serenity of the waves of grain and- the loneliness of it all. You opened your eyes and could feel a smile playing on your lips. You were ready to see him.

You began to rush up the steps, around and around, counting the floors. Ten, Eleven, Twelve. You leaned over the railing and peaked upward, one more stairwell to go. You could see the moonlight shining through the windows above. You held back a giggle by biting your lip, readying yourself to run up those last few steps. The door opened behind you.

You gasped and spun around, picking your hands up in a defensive stance. Just as you turned around, you noticed her turning back around as well, as if she was looking behind her to make sure she wasn’t being watched as she pushed through the door. You lock eyes with one of the most popular tributes in this season. Katniss Everdeen.

You both startle, and hesitate. The door closes behind her and you’re once again shunted into that noiseless space, the sound of both of your breaths mixing in the air. You made to take a step back but almost tripped on the stair upward, grabbing the railing to keep yourself standing. You huff an awkward laugh, glancing up, then back to her. “Did he invite you too?”

She looks confused at first, her eyebrows pinching together and down. You hesitate for a moment, glancing up once more before back to her, then behind her. She shakes her head slowly, lowering her arms. “No,” She whispers, “No, what do you mean? Who invited…?” She trails off, unsure of her own words. You try a small smile, but it feels forced.

“Peeta. He invited me to the roof,” You point up toward the stairwell, toward where you were itching to go. He still might not be there, but the idea that he was or would be? “I thought for a second that he invited you too.”

“Peeta,” She begins, tilting her head, then looking up. “I saw him going this way, I just thought…” She trails off again as if all of the dots are finally connecting in her head. She meets your gaze, her piercing stare directly into you. “What is your deal anyway?”

“What?” You ask on instinct, flinching very slightly. You shake your head and attempt to force a smile once more. “What do you mean?”

“You keep hanging around Peeta,” She lifts a finger, pointing it loosely in your direction. “In- In the training rooms. After Caesar’s shows. Anytime I look for Peeta, you’re there too.” She takes a step forward toward you, “What do you want with Peeta?”

“What do I want-” You repeat her slowly as if trying to comprehend the question. Did she suspect you of playing him? Why did she even care, Peeta had said Katniss never pays him any mind? “I don’t want anything with him. I-” You stutter slowly, shrugging, “I mean, besides his time. If he was willing to spare any.”

“You’re trying to gain his trust, why? Are you going to betray him in the arena? Or use him until it’s time to cut him off?” She takes another step forward, dropping her arm and glaring at you. “Or did you plan to string him along to the final two, just to off him then?”

“No,” You try to argue, shaking your head quickly. “No, of course not.”

“There’s nothing else this could be,” Katniss argues, shaking her head as well, albeit slower. “You know what this is just as well as I do. We’re not just going in there to die. We’re going in there to kill each other.” She said those words harshly, each word enunciated with intent. You could feel them shake your core. “We’re not just sacrificing ourselves, we’re-” She huffs a laugh, though you doubt it was one of humour. “We’re being forced into submission by a Capitol that doesn’t care about family, or hope, or love.”

You flinched on the last word. You tried not to, but you flinched, and you knew Katniss had seen it. She widened her eyes, falling back a step. Your head shakes quickly, taking a step forward. “No, please, Katniss. You have to believe me. I know all of that. I know what we’re being thrown into, how hostile this entire thing is. But I-” Your voice cracks, and you can feel tears springing to your eyes. “I don’t care how this game plays out, I could never hurt Peeta. So, you don’t need to worry about me.” You shrugged your shoulders, the disparity weighing on them. “If you’re worried about Peeta, just know I’ll give my life to make sure he wins.”

She breathes heavier, and emotions- fear, disbelief, anger- flicker through her eyes in rapid succession. You’re surprised she’s so easy to read, how was she surviving here in the Capitol? She raises her finger again, taking a hard step forward to poke you in the chest. “Leave Peeta alone. Run from him in the arena. Stay. Away. From him.” She backs up until her back hits the door.

“I won’t hurt him,” You whisper, tears coming to your eyes. Nothing she could say would deter you, of course. You were still going up those stairs, still going to see him, still going to meet up with him in the arena and protect him with everything you had.

“Don’t you see?” Katniss whispers, snarling at you, her own tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. “This. Doing this, giving him this hope. That is what will hurt him. Seeing you die. Don’t you get it?” She’s shaking her head as she pushes open the door, wandering back to her own floor and leaving you with the buzzing and the silence and the tears, slowly dripping down your face.

The talking ends as Marvel hoists his spear above his head, horizontally. He was rearing back, ready to throw, as Katniss let loose her arrow. It hits his elbow, causing him to drop his spear and rear back in pain. All three of you began running, Peeta just ahead of you to your left and Katniss off to the right side. Glimmer was rushing toward Katniss, Marvel nearby but distracted. You and Peeta sprinted toward Cato and Clove, both of whom had a manic but pleased smirk on their face. Peeta was rushing to drop a backpack strap, trying to hoist it around himself, and just managed to raise it in front of his head as Clove threw the first of her daggers. Cato swings his sword in a circle, then arcs it down right as he expects Peeta to be in range.

Clove grabs another dagger, her eyes on Peeta. He was dodging around Cato’s sword swings, trying to somehow be more agile than he normally was. You’d already seen a slice bleeding on his arm, the backpack sliced open and dropping its contents. An arrow whizzes by, and you draw in a deep breath, watching Clove raise another hand. You raise your own- this knife was useless, too flimsy, too close range- and throw it with all of your might. The knife spins in the air and the aim is off and wobbly. It won’t hit her, but it doesn’t need to. She doesn’t throw the knife she had aimed, jumping back away from your throw uselessly.

She looks up to you, growling into the air. She begins to charge, tackling you to the ground. You both struggle, but she has knives hooked in her hands, short and hardly painful cuts appearing on your skin everywhere you look. You heave, then heave again and you flash back to pushing Thresh’s body off of you before he died fully, and Clove was suddenly thrown from atop you, onto her side and crying out. You stumbled, throwing yourself on top of her and grabbing one of her hands with both of your own, shaking and yanking downward. She drops one knife as she stabs you in the back with another, and you cry out but reach forward, finally grasping hold of a capable weapon just before being slung off of the teen girl.

You roll, then look directly up to Cato, dodging your head to the side just as a sword buries into the ground above your shoulder. Cato’s body is tackled away, the blurry form of Peeta wrestling him to the ground as Clove stands behind where they just were, readying to tackle you. You throw your boots out, kicking her in the stomach during her dive and redirecting her to the side. You scramble quickly after that, trying to get your own feet under you. You tuck the dagger into a pocket and take hold of the sword’s hilt, yanking it out and feeling the heft. It was heavy, and you had to wield it with two hands just to swing it properly. Clove, standing, cackles at you.

“You really think you could wield that? You?” She rushes and you swing wildly. Despite Clove’s taunting, a sword is still a sword. Your swing is wobbly, but the sword is faced in the right direction, and it cleaves into Clove’s arm without issue. You wince from pain as your back pulls, the fresh wound made apparent, watching Clove stumble back in shock. She presses a hand to her arm, pulling it back to widen her eyes at the sight of her blood. She looks up at you, startled, then throws a dagger. It hits your shoulder- she must’ve thrown in a panic- and you gasp in pain, dropping the sword to the ground.

You reach a hand up to your shoulder, grasping the knife as you watch Clove turn tail and begin running. Glimmer was on the ground, motionless, with Katniss kneeling in the dirt and aiming an arrow at Marvel. He was favouring his injured arm, but he still swung his spear around in arcs, trying to hit Katniss. She rolled back once, then twice, and you see Clove still running, and getting away, and Peeta is calling out in pain and there’s no time.

“Katniss!” You yell for her, and she turns to look at you just as Marvel stumbles and falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out from his thigh. You point, yelling, “Clove!” You both turn at the same time as the dark-haired, pinched-faced teen girl grabs ahold of- of Rue! She spins her around and holds a knife to her throat and-

Katniss looses her arrow, straight through the middle of Clove’s chest. She falls backwards, and Rue immediately takes off running once she feels the girl’s grip fall from her. Rue is crying, it seems, tears streaming down her face. Katniss is held down by Marvel, struggling, and Peeta- ‘Where’s Peeta?’

You’re tackled to the ground, a familiar sword gleaming brightly right against your throat. “I know I said I’d save you for last,” Cato grabs your head with his other hand, lifting and smacking it down quickly. Your vision turns blurry as you try to orient yourself. “But I always relished the idea of your death. I told them you were mine, you know?”

You haven’t stopped struggling once, but you were no match in strength. You threw your head, regardless of the threat above you, rapidly side to side. You couldn’t see him, you couldn’t see Peeta. Cato sat up straight, taking the sword vertically, placing the very tip against your throat. You swallow and feel the blade cut just lightly with how close it is to you. You finally look up once more, raising your hands to try to push Cato’s hands back but it’s useless, and you’re stuck once again and how do these people keep pinning you down?

As Peeta- because of course it is, who else would it be?- tackles Cato off of your chest, you flash back to every single time he’s done that already. In the very beginning, when you woke up. At the river, after you saved his life. His attempt with Thresh.

You shoot up and scramble to your feet, watching as Peeta ruthlessly picks up the discarded sword, lifts it above his head, and brings it down. You watch as it slices clean across his throat- Cato, killed by his own weapon. Rue tackles into you, and it forces you a step back, but barely. You hold her to yourself, looking around quickly. Peeta, standing and dropping a bloodied sword. Rue, panting with fear and exhaustion against you.

Katniss, heaving with breath and with blood pouring from her nose, raises her bow and notches her final arrow, immediately turning to set it on you. Marvel was lying to her side, likely dead as well now. You feel a flashback from earlier in the day quickly cross your mind, though the rest of your thoughts pool to, ‘This is it, finally. I guess that’s okay. At least I know Peeta is safe…’

You’ve never seen him move so fast in your life. He dives in front of you, stumbling in his effort to stop his forward momentum. He turns to face her directly, falling backwards into you. You catch him, of course you catch him, and hold onto his back as he reaches back to hold onto you as well, one of his hands pressing against Rue’s fluff of hair. His voice is rough with exertion as he yells out, “No!”

“You-” She lowers her bow slightly, the arrow still pulled taut. “They betrayed us!”

“No, they didn’t!” He yells back, shaking his head furiously.

“You heard what Cato said!”

“He’s lying!”

“Well, we can’t ask them, can we? They’d just lie.” She raises her bow again, placing the string against her mouth.

“They don’t remember!” He calls out, his voice wrecked. You tighten your hold on Peeta, ready to shove him to the side at a moment’s notice.

“They-” Katniss lowers her bow again, looking at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief. “So what? You’re running on blind faith? On hope?”

“What else is there?” Peeta screams, taking a step forward and breaking the hold between the two of you. “If we don’t have hope, then what do we have? Nothing!”

The barking gets louder suddenly, out of nowhere, and all three of you turn to see the mutated mutts. Where once they clawed at an invisible barrier- that barrier seems to have disappeared. They were running, fast and agile and straight for all of you. The four of you turn immediately, beginning an all-out sprint, similar to earlier. You knew you could outrun them, you just had to use all of your stamina to do so. Rue begins to fall behind, limping pitifully, and you watch as Peeta takes in a deep breath and runs back, reaching down and scooping up one arm of Rue, hoisting her up. You manage to steel yourself in place until they can catch up, scooping up her other arm and resuming your sprint with them in tow.

You didn’t realise where you were running at first, just following along. But the cornucopia shines brightly in the sun, glimmering and almost blinding you as you run directly for it. You all practically slam against it, and you and Peeta work at throwing Rue as far up as you can, holding her feet as she scrambles to the top. Peeta, once no longer able to reach her, turns quickly to look behind you with panic. He laces his hands and yells, “Jump!” You have no time to react, just using his hands as a step, he hoists you up as well. You scramble, slip, and as much as Rue tries to help she really has no strength behind it.

The moment you’re secure in the fact that you won’t fall, you immediately spin around and reach a hand down. Peeta takes a running leap and takes hold of you, and you try to pull him as his feet catch on the slippery gold- streaked with blood. You grunt, watching the dogs race up and begin lunging, clawing, trying with all of their mutated power to reach him. He cries out as a few claws catch his shins, then throws his other hand out. Katniss is next to you, you don’t know when she got there but she did, and she took hold of his other hand with both of hers. With your combined power, you managed to pull him up.

You breathe.

You finally breathe, and the mutts are scrambling at the bottom of the cornucopia but there’s nothing they can do, they can’t get up here. Rue is panting and crying and burying her face into Peeta’s jacket. He pets her hair as he stares directly at you, and you let your eyes roam to the last person. Katniss, now standing, stares down at the mutts. She still has one arrow left, the one that had just been aimed at you. You all left the weapons behind, just a dagger in your pocket- one buried in your shoulder, still- that would be no help against these dog-like mutations. Katniss seems to come to the same conclusion, her eyes roaming the writhing mass of bodies beneath you.

You push yourself up enough to lean on your elbows, watching Rue finally stop crying and take deep breaths, peaking her head out to look between everyone. Even Peeta finally tears his gaze from you, raising it to the standing Katniss. She looks to the sky, her face void of emotion, then raises three fingers to her lips. She kisses them, then raises the salute into the air. You didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, but it seemed symbolic.

The next thing you know, she’s notching her final arrow once more- your own hand shoots to the dagger in your pocket. It may not be of any aid against those mutations, but you’d fight her to the death. You would kill her if it came to it. However, she doesn’t aim it toward you. She lifts the bow, aiming the bolt directly for the sun. She looses the arrow and you all watch as it soars through the air, upward. More, and more, until it’s just a blur, until it's a speck and you can’t see it anymore. And then the world pulses.

Not exactly the world, mind, but the sky definitely. From wherever that arrow was, you assume, it’s like a pulse-wave shoots outward. Once, but then again. As it pulses a third time, there are more waves, and once more before it stops looking like waves altogether. The sun blinks and flickers, and the middle of the sky seems to be caving in. The sky was falling, down around the four of you, large metal pieces and chunks that could kill you if it landed atop you. But they fall and fall and suddenly a different sort of light is pouring in through the holes. You weren’t sure how you believed the faulty imitation to be the real sun before when you see it now.

A shadow falls across your group as everyone begins to stand, and you feel a large hand slot into yours as Peeta takes hold of you with a firm grip. You look at him, unsure what is happening. This was the end, for sure. If this was the Capitol, you were all dead. But who else would it be? Some mystical saviour here to stop the Hunger Games once and for all? You remember joking about that with Peeta before, but the possibility was close to zero.

You hear the beats of what could only be helicopter blades, right as you hear harsh metal screeching fill the air. The mutts were being scared off, running and yipping back into the forest. But their absence reveals the source of the screeching; large metal pipes rising into the arena, evenly placed through the entire grounds as far as the eye could see. You watch as they begin to release a green-coloured gas into the air.

You turn quickly toward Peeta, the hand holding Peeta’s hand lifts and rests atop Rue’s head, your other hand reaching out for his cheek. This was it, whatever happens. You duck forward and kiss Peeta as if it’s your last. He pulls you in by the waist with his spare hand, and the last thing you feel before the blackness takes over is Peeta’s lips on yours.

You wipe the tears away as you take the final steps up the stairs, looking out of the small window on the door. You could see him. Peeta was sitting on the edge of the roof, looking over the side with a small smile on his face. Was Katniss right? Were you just hurting Peeta by loving him?

You pull the door open and step outside, the crunch of your feet on the gravel underfoot drawing Peeta’s attention to you. He sits up straight, smiling brightly over. “It’s early. I guess we both had the same idea?”

“I couldn’t wait,” You admit quietly, smiling shyly. You continue your approach, moving to sit across from him on the wall. “Although, I did run into somebody in the halls.” The shock and worry on Peeta’s face were reassuring as he sat forward quickly, easily taking your hands into his own. You weren’t expecting such quick affection, after trying to keep yourselves distant in the training halls.

“What happened? Did you get in trouble?”

“Oh, no,” You tried to reassure, forcing a smile and idly rubbing his hands with your thumbs. “Nothing like that. I saw Katniss.” His face fell from worry to confusion, tilting his head slightly to the side like a puppy. He really was adorable. The lights from the Capitol lit up his hair in an array of colours, and his eyes were just that right shade of blue that reminded you of home. You didn’t stand a chance when it came to him.

“Katniss? What was she doing?”

“Following you, I think,” You whisper, biting your lip hesitantly. You look away, out toward the cityscape around you. You hadn’t taken in the sight since you arrived on the roof, too taken with the image of Peeta. The city was colourful and grand, and you could see yourself thinking it was beautiful if it didn’t run on the lives of children. “She threatened me though.” You felt his hands tighten around yours, tugging gently. You assumed he was trying to get you to look at him, but you kept your head turned.

“What?”

“She told me to stay away from you.” You could feel the tears welling in your eyes, and you sniff as you turn back to face him finally. From the look on his face, he could see the wetness reflected in your eyes. “At first she thought I was out to get you. And then, she said that just being with you like this, or meeting up in the arena, was just going to end up bad for you. That it’ll hurt you more than just me avoiding you.”

“That’s not true,” Peeta is quick to reassure, scooting closer and raising a hand to place on your cheek. “I know we haven’t had the proper time to talk yet, without everyone listening and watching. That’s why I asked you here, anyway. But I don’t think I could go into that arena without you. I don’t know if I could’ve made it this far without your humour and encouragement.”

“You don’t mean that Peeta,” You sigh out, letting the self-doubt take control. “We hardly know each other, and like you said, we’ve barely been able to actually speak our minds.”

“Well here’s my mind then,” Peeta whispers, leaning closer. “I didn’t know someone like you existed. Someone so sweet and hilarious, that you’d practice setting traps and accidentally spring one and still apologize. We laughed and you apologized still- even though we’re supposed to be doing this for real here soon. Even though he had been screaming and threatening you the entire time.” You chuckled lightly at the memory of Marvel being hoisted into the air, his face red with anger and blood. “You saw me picking the wrong herbs and berries, and instead of letting me off and rightly assuming I’d die in the arena to poison, you came over and taught me instead. I was enamoured with you from that point on.”

“I was sooner than that,” You admit quietly, a small smile playing on your lips. “You weren’t dressed as coal miners before the chariots went off. We locked eyes-”

“I remember that,” Peeta whispers quickly, his smile widening as he scoots even closer. Your knees were touching and his hand that had been resting on your cheek was now set on your hip. “I’d say I noticed you then, but all I really noticed was a long stalk of grain.” You bark out a surprised laugh, nodding.

“Our costumes are never very good.”

“I liked the wheat crown though.” He leans forward, and you see the sky in his eyes once more. “I liked yours better though. The one you wore when they called your name.” Your mind immediately flashes back to that day, wearing that itchy outfit and bashfully pulling the dead crown of stalks off of your head. Everyone keeps mentioning it like it’s so important.

“I learned to weave them from old friends back in Nine.”

“All I learned back in Twelve was how to bake bread and how to take a beating.” You look up quickly, eyes filled with worry and affection. You open your mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “No, don’t. It’s fine. It only happened when I did something that we couldn’t afford, like give out bread to the hungry and dying.” You blow out the air from your mouth, pursing your lips.

“Things really are pretty tough in District Twelve, aren’t they?” Peeta only nods blandly, staring into your eyes. You continue, lowering your voice further. “But I guess it doesn’t matter then, does it?”

“Not for me anymore,” Peeta agrees, his head just barely nodding that you don’t think he even noticed. He sighs, a pained expression crossing his face. “Y/N… I don’t think we’re going to survive the games.”

“I don’t think so either,” You begin, but leave out the part that you’d sacrifice yourself for him in a heartbeat if it meant he survived. You had a feeling he felt the same.

“I don’t want them to change me.” You pull on Peeta’s hands as he whispers this, watching tears begin to fill his eyes. “I don’t want them to make me into something I’m not.”

“They won’t,” You try to reassure, adamant about it.

“You don’t know that-”

“I know that we can watch each other. Make sure neither of us changes.” You watch Peeta bite his lip, and you raise one of your hands to wipe the tears that begin to spill from his eyes. “We can die together, with love and hope in our hearts.” Peeta nods slightly, then coughs out a laugh. You tilt your head, wondering why.

“What if we survive, though? What if we’re the final two?” You blink a few times, watching the trepidation in his eyes.

“I think we both know-”

“You aren’t dying.”

“Neither are you.” You sigh, smiling softly. “As I was saying, I think we both know that neither of us are willing to kill each other. So I guess, whatever the game makers have in store.” You shrug, taking both of his hands in a firm grasp. “If we refuse to kill, they’ll send something out to kill us anyway.” Peeta looks shocked momentarily, as if this thought had never occurred to him. He thinks it over, then steels his expression with a smirk.

“We don’t need to go in there and just lay over and die, though.” You watch his resolution, his absolute faith in you. It fills you with inspiration. “We go in there and we try our damndest. If we watch each other’s back- actually, legitimately watch over each other and not just turn on each other later like the Careers or any other alliance- then I think we have a chance.” Your smile grows, and you can’t help yourself.

“Who knows? If we play up the romance enough, maybe they’ll let us both win.”

You were being pushed and prodded, forced toward the halls and through the doors that’ll eventually lead to you in the arena. You weren’t ready- of course, you didn’t think anyone was, but you haven’t seen Peeta since the training area. You hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, to say you’ll meet up, to say-

You shook your head, dispelling the thought that he’d die immediately from your head. You’ll meet up. You’ll be on those platforms, and look around for him, and you’ll run together. You have to trust it, believe in it. You have to hope.

“Y/N!” You turn quickly, still being pushed toward a door opposite the sound of the voice. You were in a rather large room with a multitude of doors, about a quarter of the tributes being transferred to their positions. Peeta was being pushed toward his own door at the end of the hall, and he pulled his shoulder free from the soldier. They grab him again, but he yanks harder and begins to run toward you. You suck in a breath, not having to pull anyone’s hands off of you as you’d been listening before now, and take off running to meet him.

You crash together in the middle, Peeta wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. You could see his soldiers coming for him over his shoulder and were sure he was seeing the same of your own.

“What did Cato say?” Peeta’s voice was low and fast, and he raised one hand to place it on your cheek. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him in close for a hug so you can whisper into his ear.

“He wants Katniss. He hoped my alliance with you would extend to her, said to bring her to the cornucopia and he wouldn’t hurt me. I told him I’d do nothing without-” The soldiers were pulling, tugging on you both, but you held fast. “Without you too. He doesn’t believe that I care about you, just laughed.”

You both are pulled back enough that you can look into each other’s eyes, Peeta’s own calculating. You don’t hear him say anything in response to it, but you were sure you’d hear of it in the arena. You knew he wasn’t mad, but you could also tell he didn’t trust Cato. You didn’t either. There was an understanding between you, on this at least.

“I’ll see you in there-” He begins, before being cut off by the soldier’s shouts.

“Let’s go! Move it!”

“Meet me-!” You begin before you’re yanked roughly. You cry out as your shoulder flares in an abrupt but quick pain, and you watch Peeta’s eyes flash in anger. He gets away from his soldier just enough to push yours away from you, yelling out in anger. Two sets of hands find themselves on Peeta now, pulling his arms back and restraining him. You rush forward.

You didn’t know what you were doing until it happened. You placed both hands on his cheeks and leaned in, pressing your lips to his. They were soft and lovely and he moved his head as far forward as he could to kiss you back. Your first kiss- ever, not just with Peeta- and it was mind-blowing, amazing in a way you couldn’t describe. You tried to inch closer, push into the kiss more, before you were forcibly yanked back away from him.

“Peeta!” You call out, watching him kick and struggle as he’s dragged away by three soldiers, out through his door. The moment it closed behind him, you’d stopped struggling. The soldiers dragged you toward your own door, then through it to your own demise.

You gasp awake, the sterile smell of alcohol and disinfectants assaulting your senses. You’re surrounded by white- white bedsheets, white curtains surrounding your bed, white walls, white curved ceiling. Beeps and jingles fill the room at various points- one harsh beeping right next to your ear- but you can hear no voices or sounds of danger. Obviously, this looked like some kind of med bay. But why would you be in a med bay? Was this some new sick twist to the games?

One of your curtains is pulled open harshly, and a tall lady with her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun gasps loudly in surprise. Her eyes widen as she looks you in the eyes before quickly swiping the curtain back closed with a loud metal ‘zing!’ You open your mouth to call out to her, to ask where you are, but you can’t get your voice to work.

You begin to panic, pushing harder and it hurts, until finally you hear a raspy breath and the slight sound of your voice through your panic. Memories flash backwards through time until you can clearly see Thresh atop you, holding you down by the neck. Your neck must’ve gotten worse after you fell unconscious. You try your best to sit up, pain shooting through your shoulder and up your back. As the bedsheet falls, you see your chest wrapped up in those very spots- no blood showing, but as tight as can be. You feel something crinkle on your neck and reach up, gently feeling some soft cloth laid across your neck. You could tell there was ointment there, the cloth just there to keep it covered.

You gently lean back against your pillows, looking down at the tubes running into your arm and electrodes placed in various places of your body. You glance at the machine next to you, the loud beeping one, and try to study the different graphs, lines, and bars. You couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Zing, the curtain slides again, and you look up quickly. There’s another man there, one you don’t recognize with blond hair that falls to his shoulders, and an older complexion with grey, unsettling eyes. He wore rugged clothes, with a beanie pulled over his hair, that gave him an air of unprofessionalism- he couldn’t be the doctor here. He stares at you hard for a moment before stepping in, closing the curtain behind him and finally taking an unsolicited seat on your bed beside your legs.

You open your mouth to speak again but think better of it and close it once more. You hear the man chuckle, crossing his arms. You begin to look around frantically, looking for anything that might indicate what you’re wanting to say. You pat the bed, reach to the bedside and slide open all of the drawers, and just as you’re beginning to check under the pillows, the man reaches a hand out and tries to calm you down.

“Okay, okay. Okay!” He takes both hands and forcefully sets them down in your lap. He gives you a hard look, patting your hands before leaning back again. He’s quiet for another moment, and it is getting to the point that you’re about to start looking for a pen and paper once more when he finally speaks up again. “I assume you want to ask after Peeta.”

Your eyes widen, nodding quickly and without thinking, wincing from the pain in your neck. You lean forward, eager to hear. “He’s fine. He’s asleep- well, unconscious right now.” You tilt your head and can feel your face expressing your worry. “That green gas that was emitted at the end of the games was a knock-out gas, the Capitol was trying to keep us from saving you. Honestly, it just helped our escape, we were able to scoop all of you up without a fight.

“Peeta was the first to wake up from the gas, while we were getting everyone situated in their beds at the medbay. He was struggling like no other, trying to find his way to you. Shouting your name over and over, calling us all Capitol pigs- he wouldn’t listen, no matter what they said.” He hesitates, looking you over before adding on, “We’re not the Capitol by the way.” You furrow your brow, wanting to ask what this was- what they were- but he continues on anyway. “They had to pull me from the war council to come in and calm him down.” Your face furrows even more, falling backwards against your pillow with another wince. ‘Why would this man calm Peeta down…?’

“He saw me-” His eyes had been roaming, as well as his hands, while he spoke, but he gives you a side-eye now. “Oh, right. Haymitch, by the way. The only District Twelve victor.” He holds his hand out to shake, but you take too long as he withdraws it back anyway. “Peeta saw me and calmed down enough for me to tell him that you’re all safe. You all are, by the way. We made it in time to save all four of you. Katniss was our main target, but we’d been watching the games. She wouldn’t leave without Peeta, and Peeta wouldn’t leave without you.” He shrugs, and you take a deep breath. ‘Of course, this is about Katniss. Who else would this be about.’ “Rue is also safe. Everyone was glad of that, of course. We had a chance to save one of the youngest kids to go into the arena, and we took it.” He blows out a breath, and you begin to wonder if this strength was a facade, as you see a small crack in it when he speaks of Rue.

“Anyway, he kept struggling, even against me. ‘Kept saying he needed to see you, to see you were safe and unharmed and make sure-” He stops, sighing heavily. “They injected him with something to knock him out while they dressed his wounds, but he’s fine.” He studies your tense posture, coming to some kind of conclusion in his head. “I’ll let you see him. Here-” He reaches forward, ready to begin pulling the tube from your arm as the curtain swings open once more.

“Haymitch-” The voice is startled, but falls quickly to stern, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Someone had to reassure this one. You saw how Peeta got.” You make a noise, mostly like a whine, but both sets of eyes turn toward you. The new person was wearing a long white coat like a doctor- you assumed that’s what they were. You nod quickly, turning back to Haymitch with wide eyes. He turns to the doctor with a smirk. “They want to see him.”

“Well, they can’t get out of bed. They’re injured, they need-”

“What they need,” Haymitch growls out, pulling the tube from your arm as you wince, and you watch his face as he begins to pull the electrodes from the different places on your body, “Is to see the man they spent close to a week protecting and healing and defending.” Haymitch glares over his shoulder, but his face falls to a kindness you hadn’t thought you’d see from him when he looks back at you. “You’ve already wrapped them up, and the rest are superficial injuries. Let them go see their friends.”

The moment all the wires were taken off, you swung your feet to the side and began to stand. You feel slightly wobbly, so you go slow, not wanting to give the doctor any other reason to argue. You can already hear whispered complaints from the doctor to Haymitch, but you ignore them both in favour of pushing the curtains aside. The room was small, filled with similar cubicles of white. You limp over to the closest, gently pulling the curtain back to peak inside. You recognize her instantly from the bushy hair lying across the pillows- a sleeping and peaceful-looking Rue lays in this bed. She was so small that the bed dwarfed her in comparison, but seeing her alive and well was enough to make your knees weak. You walk inside just enough to press a kiss to her forehead before backing out once more.

You glance over, seeing Haymitch’s stare on you as you move across the room slowly. You glance between the left and right cubicles, turning to glance at Haymitch once more. He says something to the doctor without looking at them but nods his head to the left subtly. You take this and run with it, approaching the curtains on the left. Gently, you pull back to peek.

You couldn’t explain the feeling of relief that hit you when you saw Peeta’s face lying gently on the bed. His hair just slightly fanned out around him like a blond halo, his eyes peacefully pressed closed without pressure. He looked soft, approachable- he looked like you needed to defend him, in all honesty, but you were just hoping that Haymitch’s presence meant you wouldn’t have the need to. You walk in, pulling the curtain closed behind you as quietly as you can. Similar to Haymitch earlier, you walk forward and take a seat by his legs.

You’re hesitant at first, but slowly you build up the courage to reach forward and slot one hand in Peeta’s closest one. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the pressure of his hand grow tighter on yours, like unconsciously he wanted to hold your hand back. You realize you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself not to. You survived, you both did, after being so sure that neither of you would. It’s a miracle, honestly, and you didn’t want to risk taking your eyes off of him for even a moment.

You’re unsure how much time has passed before Peeta’s face begins to scrunch up. You tilt your head, leaning closer and reaching slowly out to place your hand on his cheek. Before you make it, his head begins to toss and turn back and forth, and little grumbles fall from his mouth. He slowly gets more and more violent with his tossing, and you finally realize he’s having a nightmare. You reach forward, placing your hand on his cheek to stabilise him and open your mouth to speak kind words when nothing would come out. Frustrated, you take your other hand from his and place it on his other cheek, holding him still.

His eyes burst open and his hands reach up, scrambling to pull you off of him before finally meeting your eyes and slowly relaxing. “Y/N?” He asks gently, eyes wide with fear and hope. You nod, smiling, and lean forward to place a gentle peck against his lips. As you pull away he chases, and you giggle softly before wincing from the pain of it. His eyes flicker down to the wrapping on your neck, then back up to your face. He’s holding both of your wrists with his hands, holding them against his cheeks. He leans into one of your hands, gently rubbing his cheek against it. “Don’t try to talk, I don’t want you to hurt on my account.”

You just shake your head fondly in response, rubbing your thumb across his cheek. His smile grows, and he begins to match your look of disbelief. “We made it, Y/N.” You nod, leaning forward, and he laughs out in relief. “Holy shit, Y/N, we made it. We’re both alive. We’re out!” He finally releases his hold on you to grab your face, dragging you closer. Your foreheads press together, matching smiles of relief and contentment between the two of you. “We made it out together.”

This was it. The hope you’d held wasn’t all for nothing. You were finally here, in each other’s hands, alive and breathing and- well, injured, but alive. You were saved from the Capitol by someone, or something. You wouldn’t be forced back into the arena, you wouldn’t be paraded in front of the Capitol and Districts as ‘Victors,’ you wouldn’t have to face the inevitability of your death at the hands of the one you loved.

Of course, the world wasn’t perfect. You were sure the Capitol would never stop hunting you down. You were sure you’d never see your family again if they even survived after your escape. You’d never be able to go back home, show Peeta the rich blue of the skies that mirrors his eyes, or visit his District. And- your mind hesitates and repeats the arena, over and over, like a flipbook. You still made a promise to yourself that you’d kill Katniss. Would you still have to, now that you’re out of the arena? If they had only wanted Katniss, but Katniss wanted Peeta- obviously she didn’t want you to come along. Would these people relent and get rid of you if she said so?

Peeta rubbed your cheeks, and your eyes reopened- you couldn’t remember when they had fallen shut. His smile is gentle as he whispers, “You back with me?” You nod gently, not wanting to displace his hands. He sighs in relief, reaching forward to gently peck your lips. “There’s nothing and no one that’ll keep us apart, now.” He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, and you let yourself fall into it. You climb fully on the bed, unwilling to part from him and wanting the comfort that only he could provide.

He was right, of course. But hearing his voice, so soft and gentle and sure, made that tingling and anxious feeling in your chest finally settle. His voice is as soft as you’d ever heard it as he whispers, “We’re finally safe now.”

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark #gender neutral reader #tribute reader #the hunger games #fanfiction #also posted on archive of our own #ever in our favour #in the arena #fighting scene #finale #violence #descriptions of blood #descriptions of injuries

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kookiesandcreams · 2 years ago

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Can you pls make jungkook scenario where he a overprotective dad because his daughter is so beautiful and angelic many boys and girls have crush on her like other members sons and children fight for her, she gets many confession and proposals for her school, he so possessive about her (fluff ♥️ daughter has black hair and blue eyes, age 11-14 ,idol father jk pls pls )🥺🥺

Pairing: mom oc × dad jungkook

Genre: heart melting fluff

Wc: 750 word

A/n: so I tried my best to write and I hope you like it hun <3 ong the scenario you suggested is so lovely! @jewel-19102005

Masterlist

"Don't you think those are too short?" He did his famous side neck.

"No, jungkook," you shook your head.

"Ready for school, Aria?"

She nods and carries her backpack and strides towards the car. You and Jungkook follow her. The weather looked clear and pleasant, perfect day for you to hang out with your friends or wives of other idols.

"Baby, the girls and I might visit Hyun-ae unnie today since the weather looks perfect. She hasn't had a day off in while because of the twins. So, I want you to tell Yoongi Oppa to be home early, okay?"

"Uhm, about that—"

"I don't want any excuses." You cut him off in between.

Sneaking a peak at rear view mirror you smile at yourself when you see her petite figure dozing off in the backseat. Aria has been growing up beautifully. You know teen life is hard and full of changes. You were also aware how a lot of boys from her class had a silly crush on her. But you trusted her with making correct decisions. Jungkook could be hard to deal because of his possessiveness and his over protective tendencies. But you think, as a girl dad it's legit.

The trip to school was short and sweet. Jungkook parks the car in the parking lot and ushers Aria out of the car. Well, you knew it wasn't gonna be a simple trip to school though. As soon as Aria was out you saw Su-bin walking towards her. What you also saw was Jungkooks jaw clenching.

"Hey kiddo, why do you always follow her around?"

Su-bin just shrugs at him and begins walking behind Aria.

Jungkook does his classic jaw clench and walks to the car, slightly frustrated and worried. Once you both settle in the car, you hold his hand and squeeze it as to give him some reassurance.

"Hey, Kook, I know you are worried about her and what would happen to her buy trust me, Aria is a nice, responsible girl. Just because we became parents at a young age doesn't mean Aria would act recklessly as well.."

"I know, babe, but—"

"No, I mean it Kook. And if you ask me I wouldn't exchange what I have now for anything in this world."

"Yes, I know that. I just you know-" he is silent again. Not the uncomfortable one but a peaceful and thoughtful silence.

"Babe, do you remember how hard things were for us? Your health was fragile and finance was tight. Even the members were skeptical about our decision of keeping Aria."

"And now? Everything is perfect Jungkook! I love what we have. I love this little family we created."

"Your life was at stake, Y/n. I couldn't think straight. It was messed up." You noticed slight rise of tone in his voice. Vulnerable Jungkook was rare, but you know his family means everything for him.

"But we figure out the stuffs together, bun." You play with his hair and slide your hand on his back, comforting him. Your breathes are the only sound you hear right now. Everything is calm. You pull out your phone and dig through the gallery.

"Look here." You grab his attention.

All alert and out of his trance, he bends forward to get a good view. It's a picture of Aria if when she was four. Jungkook chuckles as you see moisture gathering in his eyes. His otherwise doe eyes, now glossy, make you feel emotional and take you back to the time when things were hard for the both of you.

"She has my hair and your eyes. And I swear to God, I've never seen anyone as beautiful as our princess." There's a serene smile adorning his face.

You stare at that beautiful picture of Aria, her silky black hair and deep blue eyes. Some of her teeth were missing, and overall, it just made the picture look cuter.

"Let's get coffee and then you can drop me off to, Yoongi's place. Also, later I want you to drop Aria and Jaden off to Oppa's house. We may go out to eat. Sounds good?"

"Are you kidding me? Jaden definitely has a crush on her. No I'm leaving Jaden at school."

You raise your eyes, "are you serious, babe? We just talked about it now. And I'm sure Namjoon oppa wouldn't be happy to know you left his son at school."

He just shrugs and shakes his head, "yeah, whatever. I'll see."

"Switch that protective dad mode off." The both of you laugh and proceed to the café.

#bts x reader #cute jungkook #bangtan #bts reader insert #idol dad #dad jungkook #bts jungkook #father jungkook #jungkook fic #fypシ #jungkook fluff #cute fanfic #run bts #hot jungkook #bts one shot #bts fanfic #tumblr milestone

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rexsterss · 2 years ago

Text

Squad #25 Cloneshipping Big Bang Sneak Peak

I’m teamed up with the amazing @serene-bot, who will make art to the fic I’m writing for this BB!

Thanks so much for getting this event to happen! @cloneshippingbigbang

Sweetvoiced Violence

Author: AO3, @rexsterss

Artist: AO3, @serene-bot

Rating: M

Word count: 30,000+ words

Pairings: Echo/Fives/Tup

Tags: Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Alternate Universe — Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe — Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe — Vampire, Everyone Lives/No One Dies, No Order 66, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Polyamory, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Midnight Mass Inspired Vampire

Summary:

It was supposed to be a simple mission in catching Crimson Dawn. The three of them were supposed to get in that camp, mess up the comm systems, hail the general, and get out. The best case scenario was they’d catch Dryden Vos. The worst case was they’d get hurt trying.

They knew of the disappearances. They knew something was picking off the people of Kijimi in droves. Fives, Echo, and Tup had to make sure they don’t suffer the same fate. They will die trying to.

Snippet:

“Boys.”

Echo exchanged a look with the other two before they turned to their general. The rest of the troopers had already loaded up in their gunships, their engines whirling in anticipation, but they were ordered to wait for the general to get in hers before they left together.

“Sir?”

“Did you read the report I sent you?” Ahsoka asked, her brows furrowed with worry, and by then, Rex was already walking towards them again. “The latest one, not the one Jesse gave you.”

Fives froze. “Uh—“

“I know,” She gave him a brief smile, before the seriousness of the issue weighed on her face again. “Did you read it?”

Oh, Echo read it alright. And he didn’t like it at all.

“Yes, sir,” Apprehension chewed in his chest as he looked between both Ahsoka and Rex. “It’s about suspicious activities that had them sending over new scouts to the tower every other week or so because the previous ones kept disappearing. There wasn’t anything specific as to why that was happening, since it’s mostly because we don’t know what it was that made them vanish into thin air in the first place.”

“It’s strange, sir,” Tup mused. The three of them had been combing through the report during breakfast, flipped it inside out trying to make sense. “They were just… gone. We don’t know if they even struggled, since there was no evidence that said so. As if they just disintegrated on the spot. City dwellers say whoever was taking them, they were probably attacked at night.”

“From what we gathered, they didn’t even search for the missing people,” added Fives. “It’s either because they didn’t care, or they were too scared shitless to go investigate. They would at least have some idea who or what was attacking them if they did.”

“Exactly,” Ahsoka agreed. “We don’t know what happened to them, but it’s dangerous enough for the locals to consider this place as a death trap. I need you three to be careful, and keep an eye out for,” Her mouth twisted unhappily. “Whatever that thing is.”

“If you see it, you hide,” Rex said; even he had concern lurking in his eyes. “We’re not taking any chances with this thing. When we make out of this, the least we could do is warn the city of what it exactly is so that they can prepare themselves.”

Fives raised an eyebrow. “You mean if we get out of this alive.”

#cloneshipping #cloneshipping event #cloneshipping big bang #cloneshipping big bang 2022-23 #CSBB22 #echofivestup #echo/fives/tup #echofives #fivestup #echotup #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #clone trooper tup #the clone wars #star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #marswrites #sweetvoiced violence

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allen-arthur · 1 year ago

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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE RE-WRITE THE FLORIST AND THE RACER FIC PLEASE I LOVE OT SO MUCH

(👀 Well….SURPRISE ANON! I’ve been re-writing the story….here is a sneak peak just for you.)

- - -

The Florist and The Racer (Sample writing from Chapter 1)

- - -

Amidst the grandeur of a high-class art museum, an exclusive charity event was in full swing. Well-dressed attendees mingled, their conversations drifting through the air as they admired the intricate artwork adorning the gallery walls.

As Alejandro navigated the sea of people, his brother, Matthieu, accompanied him. Matthieu's serene demeanor often contrasted with the glamorous events they attended, and he was easily irked by the crowded and pretentious gatherings.

Matthieu leaned closer to his brother, his voice carrying a sense of calm amidst the chaos surrounding them. "This weekend's race is going to be in a small town, away from all of this clamor and extravagance. I've heard they have some charming little shops that will provide a welcome respite from the paparazzi. It would do you some good to join me and get away from all this - noise.”

Alejandro let out a soft sigh, feeling the weight of his fame pressing upon him. While he relished the thrill of racing, the constant attention and the suffocating grip of his celebrity status often left him yearning for simpler experiences.

His fingers gently traced the edges of his sunglasses, finding solace in the familiar touch. The glasses shielded his vision from the vivid world of colors he had yet to discover.

As Matthieu's words echoed in Alejandro's ears, he couldn't help but appreciate his brother's unwavering support and understanding. Alejandro's heart longed for a connection that transcended fame and fortune.

Turning to face Matthieu with a frown on his face - Alejandro stood there in silence for a brief moment before muttering. “Soulmates—the epitome of true love and unbreakable bonds. But sometimes, I wonder if all the fuss is worth it. Is it truly as magical as y’all elude it to be?”

Matthieu tilted his head, his gaze filled with a hint of understanding.” It's a complex notion, isn't it eh? Finding your soulmate brings color to your life, quite literally. But it's not without its challenges.”

Alejandro's gaze shifted, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty in his eyes.

“Tell me, Matthieu. Is it worth it? Does finding your soulmate truly change everything?”

Matthieu's expression softened, his voice carrying a touch of wisdom.

“It's different for everyone, Alejandro. Some find solace and completeness in the arms of their soulmate. Others may struggle with fates choice, facing obstacles and uncertainties.”

Alejandro's gaze drifted to the crowd once more, contemplating Matthieu's words. “And what about you, Matthieu? What has your journey with your soulmate taught you?”

Matthieu's grin widened, a fondness evident in his eyes.

“Ah, my soulmate. They bring balance and understanding to my life. They bring a quite calm to my chaotic lifestyle - something I never thought I needed in life. However it wasn’t easy at first. My soulmate hated every fiber of my being - it was thanks to one of their friends we actually worked out our differences and ended up together.”

Alejandro's gaze lingered on Matthieu, a mix of longing and curiosity playing on his features.

“Perhaps I should open myself to the possibilities of finding a soulmate. But until then, I'll continue to chase the thrill of the racetrack, seeking a different kind of exhilaration.”

Their conversation continued as they meandered through the party, Alejandro's eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something he couldn't quite articulate - lost in a sea of monotony, longing for a spark of excitement that would draw him out of the public eye and into the beginning of something new.

- - -

#aph hetalia #2p hetalia #2p america #2p canada #2pus1puk #mint chocolate chip #The Florist and The Racer #and yes I don’t have a beta reader LOL #taking applications for a reader haha #can’t wait to revamp and post the first chapter #artwork to come along with it #red velvet pancakes #soulmate au hetalia #world of color soulmates #alejandro jones #Matthieu Williams

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bobaswritingblog · 2 years ago

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Sneak Peak from a story I am Working On (Spoiler Alert)

These excerpts are from a Doctor Strange x Female!Reader Imagine I am working on for a request I got. So this might be a little spoiler.

I also wanted to warn you that this excerpt includes sensitive themes regarding mental health. Please read with your own caution if you chose to.

For context, the story is about Y/N struggling with something that happened at her place of work, which triggered her anxiety and insecurities. But Stephen, her boyfriend (of course lol), notices this and is willing to do anything to make her day better.

In this story, I am experimenting with a literary technique called pathetic fallacy and emotive language, which is when emotions are connected to the weather or nature as a way of describing it. It is one of my most favorite techniques to use in creative writing.

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It was one of those days.

Your cheeks were wet and sticky. And your chest felt so heavy like there were rocks in your lungs, filling you with a heaviness that had you constantly breathless. And the memories within your head replaying all over again nourished them. It was like a merciless cycle of life, and just like everything else in nature, you had no way of stopping them.

It didn't help that Stephen wasn't here either. The sanctum was quiet, the silence was loud and ringing, and it only made your racing heart even louder. Even if you weren't the best at hiding your emotions from him, you still wished for the feeling that only his presence can give. It could be him in the library, the kitchen, or any other room within this building that carries a long distance between the both of you. But he was still there, reading, talking, eating...

And to think that when he does come home soon, he would be off to Kamar-Taj in the blink of an eye just felt like salt to your wound.

After an hour of holding your body in a sitting position, you heard a soft pat against the window, followed by another, and another, till thousands of them fell down at the same time against the misty glass and pavement outside.

The mere sound of it made your heart quicken. It was almost like you had subconsciously made a supernatural connection with the sky. It began to mirror your inner thoughts, and the exact emotions you felt within you. Grey, dim, brutal, and a chaos that was calm at the same time. Your head was filled with unwanted thoughts, like the grey clouds covering the sky, and your heart was beating in the same rhythm as the rain colliding to the floor, fast and merciless.

However, when a bright flash lighted outside, followed by its inevitable boom, your whole body shook. It was almost like you were the one struck. Your heart drummed even harder against your chest, and tears began to pinch your eyes.

Taking a deep, lung-filling breath, you laid back down on the bed, the soft comforter holding you like a fluffy cloud. You wished it would engulf you whole, swallow you into its warmth and away from this world. But it can't happen, no matter how much magic filled these walls.

You closed your eyes and imagined it instead, the soft fabric inching up your skin, its cotton surface slowly taking over your body. But then, it all shrinks back when his voice came through.

•••

When all his wounds were enclosed with carefully placed pieces of gauche and bandaids, you found yourself in a situation you didn't imagine to happen. The fireplace right in front of his four-poster was alive; a bright orange fire dancing and crackling in a serene rhythm, casting its flickering warm light on you and the sorcerer himself.

His hair was semi-wet, and he had replaced his midnight blue tunic with a grey T-shirt and sweatpants. As you sat beside him, covered in nothing but shorts and his light-blue Columbia hoodie, you hugged your knees to your chest and simply admired him. He was no longer Doctor Strange, the stoic Sorcerer Supreme and world amous superhero with an aura as proud as a lion. He was simply Stephen Strange, the man you loved.

He had his Microsoft laptop open on his lap, eyes scanning over the selections on Netflix. He never liked Netflix. There was no memory that involve the both of you watching a movie that wasn't in a theatre. You did prefer that over having technology slowly replace something that feels more cinematic, though. But right now, with dagger like shards falling from the sky outside, leaving the both of you to the confines of the sanctum, you felt nothing but excitement tickling you internally.

For once, the rain still pattering on outside is slowly starting to sound peaceful. You felt like you can go out and let it pour down all over you, drench you with its breathtaking coldness, and laugh and scream into the grey blanket of clouds covering the sun from shining. So what if it illuminated with lightning and grumbled back?

"How does *movie name* sound? Or maybe *another movie name*?"

"Anything sounds good, to be honest." you shrugged. "*movie name* does sound better than the other though."

"I agree." he pressed his smiling lips together, before tapping on it.

"Can't believe I am actually about to watch a romantic movie with you, Mr. always-too-grumpy-to-be-romantic." you joked before shifting yourself nearer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and laying your head on his shoulder. "Tony called you that one time, by the way."

"It's doctor." he winked. "and if you tell Tony about this, I won't watch Netflix with you ever again."

"Oh c'mon," you rolled your eyes playfully "Both you men like to pretend you don't have a romantic side. I've seen how Tony is with Pepper." you chuckled, feeling that heaviness in your chest slowly deflating with it.

"Well, when it comes to the one, we are willing to do anything for them." he replied. The sorcerer once again had your face growing hot with blood, and the way he looked at you as he said those words just made it all the more worse. You had a feeling that if he keeps this up, your face might actually melt.

When the movie began, you felt giddy; it was that same feeling felt when its the first date, both are nervous yet eager to be together. It was a shaking, shivering pleasure in your chest. Butterflies in your stomach as everyone says as you inch your body closer and closer to him till your side was pressing to his, and he - without removing his gaze from the screen, but with a soft smile - wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

For once, the grumbles of the sky and dense tapping against the window, toned down into white noise, blending into the silence.

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etzenvs3000w23 · 2 years ago

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Interpreting Nature Through Art

As I see it – nature is art, and art is in our nature as human beings.

People interpret nature in a variety of ways – one of which is art. An integral part of humanity is its ability to interpret things through art. To me, someone who interprets nature through art takes their time to witness the beauty, chaos, serenity, and spirituality of nature. This could even include a child making a finger painting of a tree! In that moment, they are recreating the beauty of nature through their own medium and their own perspective.

Interpreting nature through art does not only mean through visual art; it also means music, poetry, dance, pottery, film, storytelling, and many more! These art forms allow people to connect with nature in their own way, and in a way that is meaningful to them. For example, I play guitar and sometimes I sit with my guitar on a warm sunny day, or on a snowy white winter day, and write music in that moment where I feel at peace and connected with the nature around me. I haven’t done something like that recently, and I think that is because the fast-paced environment of the world I live in makes it difficult to be in the moment and connect my passion for guitar playing with my passion for nature appreciation. I’m sure this is the case for many others! This is one reason why I appreciate seeing other people’s art about nature. It shows me how they connected with nature in that moment and took the time to witness and appreciate nature as it is. This is how I would interpret the “gift of beauty”.

It is always interesting to see how others interpret nature through art because it lends a sneak peak into their mind and tells you a bit about their character as a person as well as the details they pick up on (ie. if two people paint the same tree, they may emphasize different features of that tree). This exercise has helped me come to realize just how integral art is to nature interpretation. This is something I have never considered before! Providing a space for people to practice using their “gift of beauty” in nature feels like very meaningful work! And writing this makes me want to do that for myself as well. I believe that allowing people witness nature and its beauty (even the beauty of seemingly gruesome things in nature!) will help people develop more compassion and care for the environment around them; and I think that is an extremely valuable quality to have!

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k-godling · 3 months ago

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tags and reblogs

✩ ͙˚ ꒰ what to search of my personal to get specific posts and reblogs on my page (will be tagged underneath)

all of my posts - #✩ ͙˚ ꒰ post by serenity

all of my writing - #✩ ͙˚ ꒰ writing by serenity

all sneak peaks/wip from my writing - #✩ ͙˚ ꒰ writing by serenity: sneak peaks

all posts to so with ‘A Ballad of Light of Shadow’ - #✩ ͙˚ ꒰ writing by serenity: a ballad of light and shadow

reblogs of thoughts I connected to - #reblogs: just thoughts

reblogs of writing tip I like/need - #reblogs: writing tips/prompts

reblogs of anything involving gifs - #reblogs: gifs

reblogs of fanfictions I liked and recommend - #reblogs: fanfic

reblogs of incorrect quotes from a variety of fandoms - #reblogs: incorrect quotes

reblogs of rants from a variety of fandoms - #reblogs: rants

reblogs of anything to do with ‘acotar’ - #reblogs: acotar

reblogs of anything to do with ‘game of thrones’ - #reblogs: game of thrones

reblogs of anything to do with ‘house of the dragon’ - #reblogs: house of the dragon

reblogs of anything to do with ‘percy jackson’ - #reblogs: percy jackson

reblogs of anything to do with ‘epic: the musical’ - #reblogs: epic the musical

reblogs of anything to do with ‘outerbanks’ - #reblogs: outerbanks

reblogs of anything to do with ‘kpop’ - #reblogs: kpop

reblogs of anything to do with ‘genshin impact’ - #reblogs: genshin impact

reblogs of anything to do with ‘honkai star rail’ - #reblogs: honkai star rail

reblogs of anything to do with ‘avatar the last airbender’ - #reblogs: avatar the last airbender

reblogs of anything miscellaneous from me - #reblogs: miscellaneous

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years ago

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Meet Cute (GN!Reader/Mothman)

Pairing: GenderNeutral!Reader/Male!Mothman

Genre: Cryptids

Warnings: Car accidents, descriptions of bruisings and pain

Word Count: 2564 words

Summary: After an incident, You find yourself in the care of a rather strange savior.

Request: Hey, long time fan, but I could never think of anything to request! I was wondering if cryptids were considered monsters here? Would you be willing to write a meet-cute with Mothman? Maybe something along the lines of them saving the reader from a disaster and sparks fly, and boy, if that's not a pun: like a moth to a flame. Mothman can be man or gender neutral, and I'd like the reader to be gender neutral! But everything is to your discretion! Have fun~! And thank you~!

He doesn’t usually do this.

As he cradles your neck, feeling the microfibers of human hair at the base of your skull and your thrumming heartbeat, it feels as if you could shatter apart in his talons. Your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, the pain of the collison definitely affecting you, even in your near-unconscious state. He sets you down on the scraps of thrown away jackets and ratty down-comforters, paying extra attention to your head and side, where splotches of purple and yellow already bloom up your ribcage. You easily fall into the warmth of the pile, snuggling into the fabric.

He sighs, anxiety decreasing as your body relaxes. Having already checked you, he thinks you should last a night before needing to go to a human hospital, just to double-check. He perches by you, tuning the ancient radio to a subtle night-time station, and waits.

Your chest flutters rhythmically, peacefully. Your features seem to shine in the firelight, catching the shadows and giving the appearance of a Baroque painting. So serene for someone just hit by a car.

He sighs.

He just hopes you won’t freak out.

-------

You wake up in a jerk, immediately filled with regret as your right side screams in pain. You clench your teeth, hand immediately checking your ribs as the memories of last night come flooding back.

You had been walking back home after a night out with your friends. You weren’t drunk, barely even tipsy, but had decided to walk the short path to your tiny house anyway. It was quick, just a 5 minute jaunt by the side of the highway and away from the bar. Just enough time for some asshole to swerve off the side of the road, send you flying, and take off without a care for the deer they assumed they just killed.

It takes a little while longer for you to process that you are definitely not in a hospital right now; Not even in your own house, or any house for that matter. A dying fire crackles nearby, the rising sun beams peaking through makeshift curtains attached to a structure of branches. You sit in a small pallet of fabric, right next to a collection of newspapers and old cctvs.

It’s ramshackle, sure, but well-loved. It doesn’t look like a permanent residence, but is lived-in nonetheless.

“Are you feeling alright?”

A calm tenor breaks the silence, causing you to shoot your eyes away from your surroundings and to focus on the person across from you.

Well, person probably isn’t the right word.

His eyes, even in the morning light, flash with red. They’re huge, set deeply into his face with very indistinguishable features. His neck is nestled into a large amount of fluff, reminiscent of winter scarf, that extends back into his large wings, which are tucked behind him. The antennas that flicker on top of his head are distinctly insect-like, but his long, muscular body and hands are more mammalian. Not human, but more similar to an animal. His hands are long and near-spindly, each finger ended with a long claw.

All these features should come together into an uncanny-valley, terror-inducing nightmare. But there’s something about his voice, the way he sits, so cautious yet concerned, that says the contrary.

“U-Uh...I think so.” You shift your body, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through your ribs and you wince. “I’ve felt better, though.” You tentatively lean down and touch your side, trying to check for a fracture without hurting yourself even more.

The creature stands up, wings still closed and kept to his back, and walks over to you.

“Would you mind if I checked your injuries? I have some experience with collisions such as yours.”

After a second, you nod. He steps closer to you, still moving at a micro-speed, and his hands slowly begin to wander up your side. You suck in a breath, but are more afraid of the potential pain than him. His slow, southern drawl reminds you of old movies and your grandpa, radiating comfort with almost every word. Plus, whatever he was, he had shown you more compassion than the human asshole who had hit you last night, so you felt a little more relaxed having him this close.

Nevertheless, he treats you gingerly, fingers just grazing your bruised side. You wince as his index finger finds a particularly dark bruise, and the creature quickly pulls back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it just-fuck that hurt.”

The creature nods but doesn’t move to touch you again.

“Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?”

You shake your head. You had been taking calming breaths to assuage the anxiety of waking up in what might be a monster’s den.

The monster hums, a light chittering sound, like several wind chimes all at once. He reaches over to a small, nearly-rotted, medicine bag in the corner and pulls out an ancient-looking jar of pain cream. He gingerly slides it towards you. “You may try this, it might relieve the pain for a while. Although you should probably see a human doctor to see if you’ve sustained any serious damage to your ribcage.”

You uncork the cream and tentatively dab a bit on your fingers, looking up with a shaky smile to your savior.

“Uh, t-thank you. For everything-”

Growl

Your hand jerks to your stomach, face going flush as you accidentally brush against your swollen side. The creature perks up.

“I believe I have some human food. Would you like some?”

Sucking in a quick breath, trying to hide the tiny pain and your embarrassment, you nod.

The creature stands up, fumbling with the remains of a kitchen cabinet. From his hunched posture, you’d guess this tiny shelter isn’t big enough for his full height. With his long fingers, he reaches and flicks on the radio. The sounds of a local station’s jingle filters through the air as he grabs a can of beans from a shelf.

You slowly begin to rub in the medication to your side, occasionally looking up at your savior as he flutters around his den. Despite his extended limbs and large body, every movement is very similar to that of a human’s; He moves around the make-shift kitchen like a doting partner, a thought which brings a small blush to your face.

The illusion is shattered when he tears the top of the can clean off, cutting through the metal like a hot knife through butter. As he turns to rekindle the fire and start your breakfast, you quickly look back to your wound, trying to hide your curiosity.

The creature lazily stirs your breakfast as a song begins playing on the radio. The strumming bass is perfect for the morning haze, the low drawl of the singer rhythmic and relaxing. You notice the creature bobbing his head, humming along to the tune. His voice sounds slightly distorted, squeaking like the crackle of tv static. You find you quite like it.

The silence returns, filled only by the radio and the crackling fire. The creature's disposition is amicable, but you're still not sure how to initiate small talk.

“Um, thank you, again. For everything. You really saved my ass.”

The creature gestures with their hand as if to say “No problem.”

“I saw that man hit you with that car and take off. As you were hidden from the road, I thought it best I intervene.” The creature pulls off the now-cooked beans and grabs a spoon, handing the can to you. You take it eagerly, another rumble growling from your stomach. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, foregoing all table manners to scarf down the breakfast.

“If I am being honest, I don’t typically interact with humans in such a….direct manner.”

“Ah, I guess that,” You eyes do another survey of his gangly, inhuman appearance, “makes sense.”

The creature nods, grabbing an apple before sitting across the fire from you. You can tell he is tense, probably waiting with baited breath for you to come to your senses and scream. There is a small part of you that wants too, desperately, but you silence it with a large mouthful of beans. The apple is tossed back and forth between the creatures hands, his eyes locked on the fire. The curiosity of how he eats things sneaks its way into your thought process. “Do you have a name?”

The creature perks, pausing it’s movements and looking at you with its large, red eyes.

“.....I’ve heard humans call me Mothman. I think it is quite accurate.”

You nod, swallowing down another bite of beans. “Do you...like that name?”

The creature doesn’t respond, eyes still piercing into your heart. His face has a small micro-expression, but you’re not sure you can read it. “Because my brother always said first impressions are the perfect time to reinvent yourself, so I could call you something else if you wanted?”

The creature's eyes flicker, in a movement you think is slight shock, before his eyes roll back to the fire. The small light of the fire flatters the dark black of his fur (You think it’s fur?) and only accentuate his large eyes, flashing and reflecting like rubies. In his relaxed position, he sort of looks….handsome.

“You may call me Mothman. Thank you for asking.”

You nod, letting the strumming banjo of a new song on the radio fill the void. The bouncy beat has you unconsciously bobbing your head as you scoop a spoonful.

“I love this song.” You mutter, lamenting how you're almost out of food to stuff your mouth with.

Mothman hums in agreement. “Me as well, this station is my favorite.”

Given your empty bean can, you take the leap into a conversation.

“Do you have a favorite kind of music genre?”

Mothman fiddles with the stem of his apple, brow (if it can even be called that) furrowing.

“I guess I never thought of what my favorite would be. I mostly listen to whatever the radio plays, enjoyable or not. Though,” Mothman points his thumb to the radio, “I love the sound this instrument makes, though I am unsure what it is called. It’s almost like….”

Mothman’s voice begins to make a squeaking trill, one extremely similar to that of plucked strings, although much sharper and shorter.

“Oh, you mean the banjo? Uh, the one that goes like-” You try your best to imitate the chords of the banjo, unconsciously moving your fingers to imitate playing. It’s not nearly as musical as Mothmans’, but his eyes widen and he nods excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, that sound is very pleasant. I’d say any music with that in it is my favorite.”

“Ah, country, that’s a really popular one around here. Have you ever heard ‘Goodbye Earl’ by The Chicks?”

Mothman shakes his head. Your face drops in surprise.

“Oh, it’s so good, it’s about-” As you lean over to give a long spiel about the song, another bolt of pain shoots up your side, forcing you to bite your cheek so as to not cry out. You keel over your legs, clutching your rib cage.

Right, car accident.

In a second, Mothman is next to you, tentatively laying a hand on your shoulder. His fingertips just barely brush your skin, yet you can still feel a slight fuzziness, the same that covers his whole body.

“You might want to see a human doctor, soon.” You suck in through your teeth, slowly adjusting yourself back upwards. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.

“I can take you as far as the end of the highway, if you’d like to call a friend or a cab.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Mothman’s other hand slowly moves to your other hip, only applying a modicum of pressure.

“May I help you stand up?” He almost-whispers, a hot breath of air blowing across the side of your neck as he speaks. A shiver runs down your spine as his large fingers play gently against your skin, covering a good portion of your pelvis. You’re thankful you can explain away any blush with the pain. You nod once more.

The two of you stand up gingerly, Mothman almost extending to his full height and brushing the blanket-ceiling with his antennae. You take a couple of small steps, the pain in your side taking the occasional moment to sting you.

Your eyes squint as you exit the encampment, sun already fully risen and in your face.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable or in pain, let me know.”

You turn your head towards Mothman, but before you can ask any questions he sweeps you up in a bridal carry and extends his wings in one motion. From the corner of your eyes you can see dark red patterns that swirl on them, invisible until caught by the sunlight. Your hands instinctively lace around his neck, fingers tucking into the soft fluff of his neck. Mothman gives you a quick nod and what you think is an assuring smile

Without a word, you two take off.

----------

You two fly low to the ground, Mothman expertly maneuvering through the trees and underbrush as he glides along the highway. You’re sure if you were to drive by, he’d look like a flickering shadow in the woods, nothing more.

He sets you down by the edge of town, just out of sight of the semi-busy main street. You basically collapse to your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline and mind wracked with “Holy fuck, I just flew with the goddamn Mothman.”

“This is where I must depart. Do you think you can find suitable transportation to the hospital from here?”

You nod, still trying to wrestle your vocabulary from ‘What the fuck, Holy shit, Oh my god.’

Mothman gives you another smile and comforting nod, patting you on the shoulder.

“Very good. Good luck on your travels. Oh, and try not to be hit by any cars, alright?”

With a playful glare from you, Mothman begins to unfurl his wings and ready himself to fly back into the woods, buut before he can-

“Wait! Uh….” Mothman halts, wings still wide open. Your mouth and mind stagger, not even sure what you wanted to say. “I have some old country cassettes back at my place. If I found my mom’s old WalkMan I could….show them to you? Some time, maybe? Give you a chance to be your own radio DJ?”

Mothman’s face remains relatively neutral, but the way his antennae unfurl and his wings slightly perk upwards betrays his interest. It’s extremely adorable, like a little kid who hears the word ‘ice cream.’

“Yes, I think I would love that.”

“A-Awesome.” You breath out, not realizing how long you had held it in. “Same place, maybe next Saturday? Though hopefully I won’t be thrown in there by a car this time.”

Mothman lets out a series of squeaks, which you assume is his laugh. He gives you a thumbs up. “Cool, it’s a date.”

With the last word, you walk away, still hobbling with your probably-fractured rib, a large smile on your face.

As Mothman flies away, the cold wind of a West Virginia morning blowing across his body, he can’t deny the certain warmth that radiates from his chest.

I have a date.

#my writing #mothman #monster x reader #monster romance #gender neutral reader #reader insert #mothman x reader #fluff #cryptids

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tinacentury · 2 years ago

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Fic Authors Self Rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💖 Thanks for the tag @areptiledysfunction1107! Here, in no particular order.

1. Coffee date prompt from My Own Little Stage: I’m actually really proud of this entire little collection, but this is one of the ones that stands out. A little background on Mamoru and Motoki and some post-breakup angst resolution.

2. Contrition: At first I couldn’t decide if this was one of my favorites or do I feel like it has to be since it’s everyone else’s? But no, I’m still pretty proud of this one. R canon divergence where Mamoru remembers but Usagi does not. Peak angst writing for me.

3. Domino: The one that created the 5 Years universe. SilMil AU where Queen Serenity catches Endymion sneaking around and gives him both a talking-to and a pretty important white mask. I like its vibes.

4. Chapters 1-2 of 5 years: Complicated. SilMil AU based on Domino that I tried to trudge through deep into the pandemic. Still very happy with chapters 1 and 2, but the jury’s still out on the rest.

5. Geese. This is a Bridgerton Kate and Anthony mini fic, so, probably not what I should be answering this ask with, but I like it and it’s still something I’ve written, so I’m putting it here :).

I tag @queenrisa14, @idesofnovember, @floraone, @uglygreenjacket, and since I’ve gone ahead and included another fandom on my list, the lovely @kasienda :).

#tumblr games #tumblr asks #writing games #sailor moon fanfiction #Fanfiction

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daydreamindollie · 3 years ago

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the prince with the ugly heart ⏤15 mini teaser

a/n: hello dolls! it's been a long long time huh? i'm really sorry! a lot of things happened and before i knew it, i was on an extended hiatus for this series. i promise that chapter 15 is currently in the works and so are the final chapters that will follow it, i don't know how many chapters are yet to come as it's still undecided but we will see. for now, im releasing a small sneak peak of what's to come - again, i'm so so sorry for the long wait i put you through but i'll be making a small comeback before my summer exams! (i suppose i got a little emotional and disappointed with myself but passionate again when i started re-reading all the comments of support and love from you dolls that i finally found it in me to pull up my chapter 15 plans and started writing)

nevertheless, enjoy the read, i'll see you lovelies soon x

A tender caress; a familiar scent; a sweet warmth and a weighted comfort. It isn’t the golden embellishments, meticulously polished surfaces or the opulent furnishings that made you feel lavish; all the riches in the world could never measure up to the precious feeling it brought you to wake up in the arms of your love.

Bathing peacefully beneath the warm touch of golden sunbeams, the king slumbers on before you. He is reduced to a vulnerable, soft cub, coddled by your embrace and layers of cotton sheets. There isn’t a singular line of burden to trace along his brows nor is there evident anxiety tensing up his muscular and naked shoulders. It’s an image you will treasure for the rest of your years. Rather than the oppressing responsibilities weighing on his back and taxing his health, you wish that he forever slumbers in serenity.

And yet… selfish greed swells from a bottomless pit of ravenous emotions housed deep in your heart. Unsatisfied and aggravated, clawing out for a modicum relief.

‘Wake up,’ the cavernous depths of your mind beg greedily, ‘look at me,’ you crave being ensnared by his beautiful brown eyes. Eyes that hold the comfort of the world to you, eyes that have the ability to strike a thrilling excitement but also affectionate ease deep in your heart. You almost claw at his bare and chiselled chest from the crippling desperation of your want- your need to drown in his amorous gaze.

As if hearing your silent plea, it isn’t long before you’re greeted by the sweet, chocolate pools you adore so much. The instant they connect with your loving stare and register the velvet threading of your dexterous fingers through his unkempt mop of hair, they scrunch up into an adorable smile.

“Good morning,” you whisper with all the love you could muster and kiss his slightly chapped lips. Still sluggish with sleep, his doe eyes disappear once more with an endearing scrunch before he dives to bury his face into your collarbone, eliciting a giggle from your plush lips.

“Mmmm~” he moans roughly into your exposed skin, “I love that sound…” he cushions the sentiment into the delicate space between your collarbones before placing a tender kiss on your sweet skin as if to seal the loving words into your softness.

“What sound?” does he mean your voice?

“You’re cute giggles,” the statement makes him giggle with you once more, both of your hearts sprouting wings of flight and making your chest weightless, “I love waking up to you,” he whispers, somewhat, defiantly.

“Jungkook…” you warn gently but with a hint of humour; you share the feeling but the rule was to not sleep in the same room until you were finally married, all in a pointless effort to prevent rumours amongst the serving royal staff.

“They can’t keep me away,” he continues to pepper kisses up and down the sensitive column of your neck, sometimes daring to dive lower and lower until his lips brush the forbidden line tracing the plush cushiness of your chest, modestly clothed by the trimmings of your flowy nightgown, “never…not from you,” staring down at him with your skin ablaze at the erotic snarl in his words, your eyes widen at the heated gaze he’s already trapping you under, his strong hands on your waist pulling you into his figure and locking you there as he continues to eat you up. If it wasn’t with his eyes, it would be with his abundance of kisses, like a hard candy melting into your tongue, Jungkook wants to melt and consume you with his lips, “I Am The King!” his hold on you begins to shake and his strong figure crumbles, “And yet! They demand I stay away when I can finally have you all to myself and away from all those devious lessons and evil paperwork,”

“There there~…” you coo softly, assuring him the way you would your little brother, “you know it’s only a precaution,” he grumbles childishly at your statement, burying his face into your neck once more, as if shielding himself from the reality he doesn’t want to face, “and besides…” he looks up and you both grin cheekily, “no one’s said anything about you sneaking into my bed to sleep so far,”

“The staff already adore you,” Jungkook muses, “I knew you’d make a brilliant queen,”

“I’m not a queen yet,”

“But you will undoubtedly be a phenomenal one, and you'll be all mine,” Jungkook moves up and tucks your face into his firm chest, one arm circling your shoulder to press you close as his other hand gently holds the back of your head, it’s an intimate cradle that has you sighing in content, “not two months into your general studies and you’ve learned all the basics already, that's such fast progress,” your heart sings at the praise and you have to bite your lip to humble your beaming smile. It doesn’t work half as effectively as when you resort to pressing your face into Jungkook’s chest, “you’re so smart, you're so amazing...you're so perfect,”

There’s nothing for you to say; you know Jungkook knows how grateful you are for him and words aren’t enough to express it. Instead, you lean up and initiate a kiss, opaque with love and fathomless with gratitude. To think you were so blessed after having experienced paralysing tragedies so early on in your life.

You are grateful to Jungkook for many things but the most you are grateful for is his unconditional love.

a/n : just thought you could use the fluff bc becoming queen isn't going to be all smooth sailing, i'm afraid

quick note; i'll be deleting this as soon as i've finished writing chapter 15 and will be able to post it

#jungkook x reader #pwtuh teaser

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widowsofchaos · 4 years ago

Text

Poor Little Rich Boy

summary: you find out your boyfriend isn’t all that innocent as he seems.

warnings: yandere behavior, violence, and gore. dub-non con. Ya know the filthy vibes.

Pairing: dark college!Tony Stark x black!reader

a/n: this is my first time writing Tony so be gentle with me <3

do not respost my works!

“I, Howard Anthony Walter Stark, being of sound, mind, and body do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament. I bestow my legacy in the hands of my only heir, my son, Anthony Edward Stark. All my assets, finances, and chair as CEO of Stark Industries are now in his hands.”

Buzz.

A dull silent vibration shook in the confinement of Tony’s jean pocket, pulling him out of his sullen trance. Instinctively ignoring the notification, as he listened onto the blurred words of the lawyer reading his late father’s will.

Biting his lip to contain his swirling emotions -- aggravation to just collect his inherited earnings, and head home to you.

Buzz.

With a hazy eye-roll, Tony casually sneaked his palm into his pocket, retrieving the phone. As the family lawyer droned on reading, aged eyes glued onto the paper; Tony peaked at the screen, with the quick analysis of face ID -- his pupils dilated like saucers.

His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, his chest heaving -- he gotta get home immediately. An iron grip onto the phone, he roughly dug it back into his pocket, his foot tapping against the carpeted flooring. Antsy.

God, please make time go faster.

Buzz.

His fingers itched to snatch the cellular device, internally screaming for another peak at the salacious cheeky messages.

Messages from you -- photos of yourself seated on his bedroom floor, in only a high-waisted thong, and his custom tailored blazer.

The creamy beige against your buttery smooth bronze skin was divine, Tony swears anything you wear is pulled off with elegance. Your brown areolas are slipping out just a tad bit from the flaps, a hint of what’s awaiting for him.

His cock hardened against the denim fabric, Tony salivates whenever you wear his clothing, his scent imprinting onto your flesh - of you in compromising positions, your neatly manicured fingers inside your panties, rubbing your swollen nub. Biting your plump bottom lip.

Buzz.

Another picture with a text, you were sipping from a glass, his best Scotch, with the typed words, “I miss you. I know my favorite boy is blue, come back home so I can take care of you.” Signed with a kissy face emoji, and a red heart.

You were leaning on your elbows, your bouncy ass in the air, legs bent upward with your ankles playfully interlocked in the air.

The glass of ale leaning downward against your teasing lips, and sultry eyes through the reflective mirror -- Tony’s cock twitched, oh he’s gonna eat you up when he gets home.

- It was midnight, the full moon shining bright in the inky indigo sky -- beaming upon the Stark manor. The white fluorescent solar satellite glistening upon the grand bedroom where two lovers lay satiated in bed.

Rubbing random circles by the pads of your fingertips on Tony’s sweaty broad chest, taming the beast into a purring feline.

“I love you.” Tony’s mild slurred speech infiltrated the serene silence, your nose scrunched up in glee. “I love you too.” you murmured in his neck, a lazy grin stretched on your face.

For hours, Tony, and yourself haven’t left the bedroom, stringing release after release -- letting Tony pinch, pull your hair, bruise, slap, and choke your soft flesh-- that’s what he loves about you, trusting him wholeheartedly with your body, and soul.

A lot of tears of euphoria, and fear of abandonment. Reassuring Tony that you would never leave him, breathy hymns of I love yous in his ear.

It’s been a couple of difficult few weeks, Howard Stark has passed at the age of 74. A fatal car crash taking his life, leaving behind his only son. It was only freshly five months ago that Tony lost his mother, Maria. Uterine cancer - multiple tumors.

Maria Stark, the matriarch of the family, was the light of Tony’s life. Maria was a saint, even at death’s door, she had a positive perspective. You can still recall her calling her tumors fruit bowls of pain - her tumors were the size of miniature melons; grew from the size of strawberries.

And when she died -- the already fractured relationship of father and son deteriorated to ash. Howard started becoming colder, more stricter on his son -- his disappointment fueling by the second.

Clayed into a modernized Narcissus -- guising his trauma with bloviating chatter to impress the little people. Boasting his youthful genius with no shame.

Tony may have been born from the finest cloth, a silver-spoon wedged in his mouth -- but he oozes the work ethic of a blue-collar joe.

Under the molden gait of a promising demigod is a fragile boy -- yearning for affection. A neglected child desperate for attention.

Sending nudes to your boyfriend while he’s attending his dead father’s will hearing -- many would deem that as distasteful -- tacky, even. But, you knew Tony’s coping mechanisms.

Frat parties, drinking excessively to the brink of oblivion, and copious amounts of sex.

Tony was raised in a household, where any emotional turmoil expressed to his father was shot down, except with his mother -- he needs a womanly touch.

He never saw his conquests as ladies, only whores to get his rocks off, but once he laid eyes on you -- sweet, and bubbly -- that little rich boy was a goner.

Succumbing to a dazed half-slumber, Tony’s cell phone rings at the bedside table -- you groaned at the intrusion. Flashing on the screen was Happy’s goofy grin, one of Tony’s closest friends. You mumbled a ‘of fucking course’, Tony cheekily chuckled at your frustration.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. This won’t take long.” With the wisp of a lingering kiss on your hairline, Tony begrudgingly detached himself from you--proudly strutting his naked bare firm ass, picking up his boxers from the floor shamelessly displaying his hung cock, and balls.

“Nice ass.” you teased. Tony snorted, “Nice? Toots, it’s the finest ass. And you love it.” He winked at you over his shoulder, you giggled. Tony’s footfalls faded down the hall, his conversation blurring into the distance. You laid back down, sighing as you stared up at the ceiling, quickly getting bored.

Without Tony to entertain you, you had nothing to do. Maybe I could get a head start on my thesis? Your eyes languidly rolled to the corner of your lids, staring at your opened crumbled book-bag mocking you at the corner of the room, Fuck that. You grumbled.

Mindlessly deciding to get dressed, and search for substance. Hours of unadulterated love-making can take out a lot of energy.

Nimble quiet feet tip-toe down the stairs, covered in only Tony’s wrinkled white button-down, brown statuesque legs gracefully head to the kitchen -- but you halt in your tracks. A dim light seeps from the crack out of an office -- Howard’s former office.

Curiosity overwhelms you, biting down your tongue, you check your surroundings, making sure Tony is nowhere in sight. Earlier in the day, the office was locked -- why is it now open?

Open-palm press against the door, a tiny creak of the mahogany makes you cringe internally. Stealthy you walk into the office, nothing seems to be out of place. Maybe Tony was in here? Fidgety fingers skim against the polished wooden desk, at the corner of your eye, a mess of papers sit idly by.

You pick the papers up, fastly flicking through it. Statements declaring Tony as the new CEO of Stark Industries, royalties, and -- mechanic blueprints?

Your chest began heaving, breaths still choppy fuming out of your nose, your left eye twitched from the stressing bile rising. Here in your hands are the blueprints of a familiar vehicle -- Howard Stark’s car. Descriptive details on the full functionality of the car, why are these here?

Warm palms clutch your shoulders, soothingly rubbing, you flinch by the surprise, “You weren’t meant to see those.” A hot breath fan against your ear, you whimper, his voice sounded husky, menacingly.

Not daring to look him in the eye, frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots in the flooring, Tony’s grasp on your arms tighten. “The old man was going to take me off the will. I know he was.”

A chaste kiss on your temple, “As if I didn’t take his shit over the years just for nothing. Blaming me for my mother’s death.” He grumbled against your skin, your blood running cold. There was no remorse in his voice, a hint of satisfaction.

This isn’t the Tony you knew.

A beast of his father’s making.

“Tony - I - I won’t tell anyone, I promise--” Tony shushed your stuttering, his rough hands snaking its travel to your waist, slithering his forearms around your torso, ensnaring you.

“I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t. You’re my good girl.” He spoke in your hair, small lingering kisses on your scalp. Tony was rocking your body back and forth, cradling you -- he can sense your fear.

With trepidation, you held his arms, a little shaky. “Tony, let’s just go back to bed.” Your voice was cracking, this isn’t the man you fell in love with, and you wanted to just run away as far as you can.

“You’re scared of me?” Although it was an intended question, its tone came off as a fact. Indeed you were terrified of him.

“No.” You spat too quickly for your liking. Tony gripped your chin, and twisted your head to face him, “I would never hurt you. I love you. Everything I do is for you.” Your breath hitched, his face was morphed into a sad feral puppy.

“I know. I know you do.” You feigned a weak smile, “I just didn’t think --” you stopped yourself before you vomited any other words. “Do what? Kill?” Tony cocked a brow, with a shit-eating grin. “I did it before. For you.” Tears were forming at the brim of his eyes, your doe-eyes widened, you began squirming in his arms. “Tony, what did you do?!” you shrieked, limbs failing.

Tony’s iron-grip didn’t let up, refusing to let you go, “He wasn’t right for you!” Tony bellowed on the top of his lungs, impulsive rage seeping through, fumbling feet colliding.

Both of your bodies falling to the carpeted floor as Tony tried to restrain your wrists, fumbling feet slipping. A miscalculated misstep sent you, and Tony colliding downward.

Tony’s weight pinning you down. Confusion making your head go dizzy, “What do you mean?” You whispered. Tony smashed his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks, “You know what I mean.” His brows furrowed, gently his forehead on yours, his eyes staring into your soul.

Realization hits you like a freight train, flashes of your ex, the cops alerting you of his disappearance, Tony’s lingering shadow always appearing to provide comfort -- “Brock?” a lone tear trickle down your eye, down your temple, and hitting the carpet below. Tony nodded frantically.

Tony’s lips peppered against your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your eye-lids, your nose, your chin; mumbling affection against your tear-stained face.

It’s been three years since Brock vanished, rumors flew around campus from students believing he killed himself in some remote location, you lost him in the first years of university.

You were grief-stricken, but Tony, being the ever-present close friend lend a shoulder -- then soon, it blossomed into much more.

“Now, it's just us. We can start a new dollface.” Tony sniffled, hot tears drip upon your flesh, “We can start our own family” he rasps, “I can be a dad. A better father.” Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

A family? You both were just shy of twenty-one, and already Tony is mapping out your entire futures. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile.

Tony murmured nonono to your bodily request of escape, chasing clumsy blubbering kisses against your chavile. Your body began to be wrecked with sobs, your chest heaving.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s better this way.” Tony’s brows were furrowed sorrowfully, his tremor low with ache. “You killed Brock, how could you?! I loved him!” Tony gripped your jaw, painfully his fingers kneading,

“Loved him?! He wasn’t right for you! You need me! I need you! No one is going to love you like I do. I loved you the first day I met you.” Harsh fingers rip off the fabric, exposing your breasts to the elements.

“You’re mine! No one can have you! I will kill anyone who tries to take you away!” Tony’s mouth plunged, fangs nibbling on your nipples, his entire mouth suckling your left breasts.

Tony’s left hand pinching your right nipple, twisting and slapping it roughly. You yelped, shutting your eyes closed. Your skin crawled, Tony’s brown eyes peered at you, dissatisfied that you refuse to look at him.

A sloppy pop echoed, “Look at me!” he slapped you, the crack of it pounding in your ears, the heat of the sting scorched throughout your cheek. Your eyes popped open, watery from the hit, Tony has never once laid a hand on you -- until now.

Nose to nose, “We’re gonna be a family--” one of his hands traveled down to tug down his boxers, his hard swollen cock is man-handled in his palm, you struggled to get away, but Tony clutched your wrists in one hand, and pinned it on the carpet.

Tony spit on your cunt, rubbing it within your velvety folds by the base of his veiny cock, earning a hiss out of you. “You’re going to look so hot swollen with our baby.” Your thighs twitched, Tony roughly forced your thigh to wrap around his torso, positioning himself.

“Please - Tony, please don’t”, you cried, Tony shushed you. Lining himself to your hole, with no hesitation, plunged his cock inside your pussy. You screamed, your back arching, “Feels lovely, right? Feels so fucking delicious - you were made for me.” Tony snarled, biting your chin, his tongue trailing your jawline, pistoning his cock inside you.

Dripping slick smears against your thighs, clenching onto his cock, a broken groan slips from Tony’s lips, “Fuck - yes, do that again.” You were blubbering tears down your cheeks, the inevitable pleasure Tony strings out of you is undeniable.

“You’re so tight, and warm.” He growled in your ear, “I can’t wait to have a baby with you. You all swollen, waddling around with bare-feet. You’ll be a great mother - just like mine.” He whispered, biting on your lobe.

You murmured muffled whines in the crock of his neck, bruising is slowly forming on your hips, fucking you like it’s the last time. Shivers run down Tony’s spine, time slows down.

Sweaty skin slapping against skin spurred him on, taking all of you. Your nails scratch at his palm, still bounding you down.

“I love you.” He whimpered, you bite your lip, refusing to sink into the instinct of saying it back. Tony perked his head up from your neck, growling, “Say it back!” he thrusted his pelvis against you, a cattle wail hit you, “Say -” thrust “it-” another thrust “-back!” his smile falters slow, a bruising touch.

He can see you slowly yielding, small pants of electric euphoria, “No!” you bite back.

Wet lips slant against yours. Your entire body jolting from his unforgiving pace, your back burning slightly from the rug beneath you.

Releasing your wrists, his rough hand find it’s way to your back, hiking you up, squeezing your ass in his fingers, bucking your hips; fucking you onto him, your nails dig into his sculpted back -- scratching for him to stop, but it felt too good.

You’ve become dizzy. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, hoping the pain makes him halt his actions, but it makes him harden inside of you.

There’s no space between you, melting into one, the friction, the heat; the tethers of reality blur into nothing.

“Please - say you love me.” Tony pleaded, his weary eyes sinking into yours. A robbery -- a heart-wrenching robbery of your soul, in an instant, you didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, but the mire of a lost boy.

He slowed down his thrusts, leisure movements, his brown orbs are glossy, “Say it, please.” Tony gently kisses you, not feverish, but you can taste the sweet commitment. Like he doesn’t own you, but he worships you.

“I love you.” you mumbled against his swollen lips, his eyes dilated, rubbing his nose against yours, “I love you” maneuvering your hips, squelching can be heard - sticky as honey, as the pace picked up.

Your fingers grip his soft fluffy hair, his balls slapping against your ass, “I love you, Tony.” You sucked on his bottom lip. He whimpered. His cock was coated in your juices, you can feel the swelling of his balls, and his uneven jerking movements -- he was close.

“Cum for me, baby.” Tony’s eyes were shut, he mewled, “Cum inside me, give me a baby, Tony.” The dam breaks. The window bursts open from a gust of wind, the full moon gleamed upon your sweaty sheen bodies, a howl erupts from Tony -- as the wolf within has been unhinged -- primal, feral fueled lust.

Toothy grin, all fangs lunged for your pulse point, devouring you. Squirted juices spray from you, splashing against his toned stomach, not once stopping, riding through the orgasm. Tony’s tongue peaked out, droplets of your cum sprinkling his mouth.

Your vision turns white, an inhuman scream leaves you, Tony collapses onto you.

He’s trembling, frightened, you massage his dome, “My sweet boy.” Tony sobs into your chest, ensnaring himself around your torso. You hugged him, cradling like a baby, as he cried water-falls.

“It’s okay.” You kiss his head, a lingering one, “It’s going to be alright.”

You’re all he has.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #tony stark x reader smut #tony stark x reader angst #yandere tony stark #yandere tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark tony stark x reader #dark marvel

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