#Are You Sure You Know What Tomorrow Bring III | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nhaaauyen · 3 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART II: MY HEART DREAMS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part III // part IV // part V // part V

wc: 7.1k author's note: ahhh tysm to everyone reading!!! your comments literally make my day and the taglist DAMN!! seriously I'm so grateful <3 also i apologize for this chapter being so long, i tried to stfu but it still ended up being 7k

One thing you should've realized sooner was that nothing escapes Sevika's notice in Zaun.

You were barely a week into your new routine, legs burning as you struggled through your morning run. The only sound you could hear was of blood pounding in your ear—and the addition of a rumbling engine approaching from behind.

You whip your head back, unsure if your ears were deceiving you but there it was, a truck filled with Sevika's scavenging team catching up, with Sevika herself leaning out the passenger window.

"Pick up the pace, pantry girl!" she shouted, her voice laden with amusement. "At this rate, you'll be old and gray before you join my team!"

Her crew howled with laughter as they sped by, leaving you red-faced and fuming in a cloud of dust.

Now, weeks later, you collapse onto the grass beside Caitlyn, both of you panting heavily after finishing your lap around the neighborhood. The memory of Sevika's taunts still burns, spurring you to push yourself harder during training.

Just as you're about to ask if you should do another lap, something ice-cold presses against your neck. You yelp, jerking upright in surprise.

A dark-haired woman hovers over you, a familiar smirk playing on her lips and a frosty water bottle in her hand. "Still jumping at shadows, I see," she teases. "I'm not sure I can use someone so easily startled on my team."

You glare up at her. "That's rich, coming from you," you retort. "Your late-night victory parties make it impossible to get a good night's sleep around here."

"Feeling left out? The invitations open, you know. Just bring your own drink."

"How about an invitation to join your team instead?" You counter.

Sevika laughs, the sound was simultaneously frustrating and oddly captivating. "Maybe focus on not tripping over your own feet first, pantry girl."

After you finish your training for the day, you take a quick shower and make your way to the pantry for your shift. But as you approach, you notice something odd - your name isn't on the schedule. Again.

"That's the third time this week," you mutter.

Caitlyn notices your confusion. "Maybe they're cutting back on hours?" she suggests, but her tone is uncertain.

With your unexpected free time, you find yourself spending more time with your makeshift family. Family dinners were something you always had, but for the first time you didn’t have to worry about where or what your next meal would be.

Powder chatters animatedly about her latest inventions, while Caitlyn asks questions that make the kid’s eyes go wild with excitement. Vi listens with a mix of amusement and pride, occasionally ruffling her sister's hair.

Vander sits at the head of the table and he interjects with the occasional piece of wisdom that makes Vi interrupt to remind him that they were too old for lectures or dad jokes, drawing laughter from the group.

As plates are cleared and the conversation winds down, Powder asks to star gaze again, which Vander wants to say no to when everyone has work tomorrow. But then he looks outside and he’s reminded that things weren’t the same, you could afford the leisure to enjoy the skies now.

So you all move to the roof, continuing your evening under the stars. Powder points out constellations, making up stories for each one. Vi playfully argues with her interpretations, while Caitlyn offers more scientific explanations. You lean back, taking in the moment, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As the night deepens, drowsiness sets in. One by one, you bid each other goodnight and retreat to your beds.

Morning arrives sooner than you'd like and you meet Caitlyn early, both of you squinting against the bright sunlight as you make your way to the training grounds. The morning sun warms your face as you and Caitlyn wait on the grass for Grayson to arrive with your sparring partner. You're chatting idly, speculating about who it might be when you hear approaching footsteps.

Your eyes widen as you see Grayson walking towards you, but it's the figure beside her that makes your breath catch. Sevika strides across the field, her presence somehow always able to steal your attention. She's wearing dark wash jeans that hug her legs and a sleeveless, tight black tee that shows off her toned arms with her usual red shawl draping over her left side.

Grayson offers an apologetic smile as they reach you. "Sorry we're late. There was a situation to handle."

Sevika merely grunts, barely acknowledging you and Caitlyn. Your heart races—if she was here to watch you were so screwed, there was no way Sevika would let you have a match without her snarky comments.

"Marcus was supposed to be here today," Grayson explains, "but it seems he's... incapacitated."

You and Caitlyn exchange knowing looks. It's not the first time Marcus has been too drunk to show up, and frankly, you're relieved. Even when sober, he's a total ass.

"So... who are we sparring with?" you ask, though you have a sinking feeling you already know the answer.

Grayson gestures to Sevika. "Someone owes me a favor."

Sevika rubs her head, clearly annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" she grumbles.

Grayson chuckles. "She's just grumpy because she's hungover," she explains to you, then turns to Sevika with a raised eyebrow. "Which you wouldn't be if you didn't drink like it's water."

Sevika scowls, softly as she crosses her arms. "It's my day off," she retorts. "You never come to my parties."

"I drink on my own time," Grayson replies primly, adjusting her stance.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes," Sevika snorts, rolling her eyes.

You and Caitlyn look at each other in shock, from the fact that the two captains are bickering like siblings and they’re going to be sparring with Sevika.

"Sevika?" Caitlyn sputters. "You want us to spar Sevika?"

"It's better practice for you two - Sevika has years of fighting experience. You can learn some new techniques today," She reassures. "So, who's first?"

"I'll get it over with," Caitlyn acquiesced, her voice steady despite the nerves you can see in her eyes.

As Caitlyn approaches the sparring area, Sevika reaches for her shawl. In one swift motion, she removes it, and your eyes widen in shock. Where you expected to see flesh and bone, there's instead a gleaming bionic arm.

Intricate gears and pistons are visible beneath panels of transparent material, offering glimpses of the arm's inner workings. As Sevika flexes her fingers, you can see these components whirring and sliding with precision, each movement accompanied by a soft, almost musical hum.

Sevika doesn't react to the stares, her face stony as if this reveal is inconsequential. You feel a pang of guilt for gawking, but you can't help wondering - was this a war injury, or a result of the walkers?

Caitlyn recovers from her shock like you do, now both of you feeling more intimidated by the strength and skills of the woman before you. You watch as Sevika easily deflects Caitlyn's first attack, countering with a move so fast you barely see it. Caitlyn hits the ground hard, she barely has any time to react when Sevika strikes again.

"Come on, cupcake," Sevika taunts, using Vi's nickname for Caitlyn.

The use of the nickname catches both you and Caitlyn off guard and she narrowly dodges a punch. You had no idea how much Sevika had been paying attention to your group.

"Is that all you've got?" The captain says smugly.

As the sparring continues, you find yourself studying Sevika's every move. The way she anticipates Caitlyn's attacks, the efficiency of her counterstrikes, the subtle shifts in her stance.

But it's more than just her fighting skills that captivate you. It's the fierce concentration in her eyes, the slight smirk that plays on her lips when she lands a particularly good hit. It's the way her muscles flex as she moves, the sheen of sweat that forms on her skin under the hot sun.

You're so lost in your observations that you almost miss when Grayson calls an end to the match. Caitlyn is panting, bruised but not beaten, while Sevika looks barely winded.

"Your turn, rookie," Sevika calls out, her eyes locking with yours.

Sevika takes a menacing stance, her bionic arm whirring softly as she flexes her fingers. You try to quell your nerves, reminding yourself of all your training.

The match begins, and Sevika doesn't hold back. She lunges forward with a quick jab that you barely dodge. Her follow-up kick catches you in the side, and you stumble back.

"With those sparring skills, you'll be dead by now," Sevika taunts, circling you like a predator.

You regain your footing, countering with a series of quick strikes that force Sevika to step back. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think any walkers would be punching me back anytime soon," you retort.

Sevika smirks, effortlessly blocking your attacks. "There are still survivors out there, some who might not be as merciful as me." she says, suddenly dropping low and sweeping your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard but roll quickly, narrowly avoiding Sevika's follow-up strike. "I’m only alive because you needed the meds.”

“But you’re alive regardless?” She counters.

“Urgh, you're the worst, you know that? You just like watching me suffer-"

Your words are cut off as Sevika charges forward. You manage to sidestep, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to throw her off balance. For a moment, you have the upper hand, landing a solid hit to her midsection.

Sevika grunts, a flash of surprise in her eyes. "Well, it's not a bad view," she quips, her voice slightly breathless.

You're holding your own better than you expected, your training with Grayson evident in your improved technique. You even manage to land a few solid hits, each one making you more hopeful that you could finally prove yourself to the captain.

But Sevika is still Sevika. Just when you think you might have a chance, she changes tactics. As she unleashes a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, you are able to block the first few, but the last one catches you off guard, sending you stumbling back.

Before you can recover, Sevika is on you. With a move so smooth it seems almost effortless, she sweeps your legs again and follows you down. You’re on the ground immediately, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly Sevika is on top of you, pinning you down.

Her face is inches from yours, her breath hot on your cheek. "There's always next time, pantry girl," she says, her voice laced with arrogance.

Fury and frustration surge through you—at the nickname, at losing, but most of all at yourself for the way your heart races at her proximity. You struggle against her hold, but it's futile—you lost and couldn’t prove you were ready.

The days blur into a haze of relentless training after the match, your body pushed to its limits. Yet despite your efforts, something feels off. Each time you miss a target or fumble a move, Sevika's face flashes in your mind. Your focus wavers, distracted by unnameable thoughts that surface whenever you recall her challenging gaze or the smugness in her voice.

The sharp crack of gunfire echoes across the makeshift shooting range. You squeeze the trigger, watching as your shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin. Expaseration bubbles up inside you for missing yet again.

Next to you, Caitlyn's sniper barks and the center of her target explodes. Again. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her precision.

"Excellent shot, Caitlyn," Grayson praises, her eyes gleaming with approval. "I think I’m looking at my newest sniper."

Caitlyn beams at the compliment.

Grayson turns to you, her expression apprehensive. "Something on your mind? You seem distracted today."

"No, I'm fine," you mutter, trying to focus on the target in front of you.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Well, if you keep shooting like you did today, you can expect another month before Sevika would even consider accepting you on her team."

At the mention of Sevika's name, you can't help but frown. Grayson catches it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she probes, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

You hesitate, then the words tumble out. "I just... I don't get her. I don't know how to convince her I deserve that spot on the team when she's so infuriating and stubborn."

To your surprise, Grayson laughs, a warm, rich sound. "She hasn't changed since we were deployed together, then."

Your ears perk up at this. "You were deployed with Sevika? Can you tell me about it?"

Grayson shrugs. "What is there to tell? We were in the military together for 10 years and she's a brilliant soldier."

"That's all to her?" you press, not satisfied with such a simple answer.

Grayson gives you a long, appraising look. "What is it that you really want to know about her?"

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. What do you want to know? But more importantly, why do you want to know? You realize you don't have an answer, and the realization unsettles you.

Seeing your confusion, Grayson's expression softens. "Sevika is not the best fighter," she says quietly.

"What?"

Grayson chuckles at your expression. "Don't get me wrong, she's an advanced and skilled fighter. But she's not unbeatable." She pauses, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "What makes her different... She is loyal and fierce. That woman fights till her very last breath. If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her."

Your mind whirs at this information. Who is Sevika beyond the soldier everyone knows her as? You find yourself hungry for more details, more glimpses into the woman behind the tough exterior.

Then you catch yourself, anger flaring up. Why do you care? Why does it matter who Sevika really is? She's just the leader of the scavenging team, nothing more.

You shake your head, trying to clear these thoughts. "Thanks, Grayson," you mutter, turning back to the target.

As you raise your gun again, you can feel Grayson's knowing gaze on you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the target. But in your mind's eye, all you can see is Sevika—her cocky grin, her ruthless determination, the mystery that surrounds her.

You squeeze the trigger, and this time, your shot flies true, hitting just off-center. Progress, but not perfection. Much like your understanding of Sevika, you realize. You're getting closer, but there's still so much more to uncover.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

A slight breeze rustles the leaves as you wait by the usual tree, checking your watch. Caitlyn's late, which isn't like her. You’ve been waiting for 20 minutes already and this was the Caitlyn, the one who’s never even been late to a shift at the pantry.

You’re about to turn back to the house when suddenly you hear shouting from the road a few blocks away. Without thinking, you immediately sprint towards the commotion.

When you arrived, the scene before you was the last thing you would expect—Caitlyn and Vi were in each other's faces, their voices rising with each exchange. A burly guy from Sevika's crew is half-heartedly trying to separate them.

"You fucking liar!" Caitlyn screams, her face flushed with anger. "Why would you join without telling me?"

You momentarily pause from trying to pull the fighting couple apart, in all the years you knew Caitlyn she had hardly cursed; Vi must’ve fucked up, bad.

Vi's stance is defensive, her hands raised. "It's safer for you this way!"

"Safer?" Caitlyn's laugh is bitter. "I didn't ask for a white knight, I asked for a partner that's honest!"

The guy from Sevika's crew steps between them. "Come on, ladies, this ain't the place-"

Caitlyn whirls on him. "How could you let her in Sevika’s group like this?"

He backs up, hands raised. “Listen, I had no part in this. Vi was the one who asked, and Sevika accepted her."

Caitlyn's face contorts with anger, and she lunges forward. You jump in, grabbing her arms. "Cait, stop!"

But as you hold her back, his words sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" You turn to Vi, shock evident on your face. "She accepted you to join her scavenging and not me?"

Vi looks away, guilt written across her features. Your blood boils. You release Caitlyn and round on the guy. "Where the HELL is she?"

He crosses his arms, defiant. "I don't have to answer to you."

You step closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Oh, trust me. You want to tell me."

He hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but it's your funeral. She's in her garage."

Without another word, you turn on your heel and march away, leaving Caitlyn and Vi to their argument. You had your own annoying, lying woman to deal with.

The garage comes into view, its large door open. As you approach, you catch sight of Sevika bent over a motorcycle. Her back muscles flex as she works, visible beneath a black sports bra. Her jeans hang low on her hips, revealing the band of her boxers. For a moment, you were unable to comprehend the sight of Sevika in clothes that weren't military green.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before addressing her. "Vi and Caitlyn are out there fighting. I thought you should know."

She turns, surprise briefly flickering across her features before her trademark nonchalance slides back into place. "And that concerns me... how exactly?" she questions, wiping her hand with a rag. "Last I checked, I wasn't running a relationship counseling service."

"Because of all the bullshit you gave about me not being ready? Why won't you let me on the team?" you demand, your voice cracking with desperation. "You let Vi join. What makes her so special?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then tell me!" you shout, stepping closer. "I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit, Sevika. I deserve to know!"

Something in Sevika snaps—Her composure shatters, replaced by a raw, barely contained fury. "Fine? You want to know why?" She grabs your arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. "Let's go."

She drags you out of the garage, marching through the community with large strides. You struggle to keep up, confused and a little scared by this sudden change in her demeanor.

As you reach the outskirts of the settlement, Sevika slows down. You follow her gaze and feel your blood run cold. Wooden crosses stretch out before you, maybe 20 to 25 of them, each marking a grave.

"This is why," Sevika grits.

You stand there, frozen, as Sevika turns to face you. Her eyes are blazing, but there's something else there too - something melancholic you've never seen before.

"Do you know how many empty graves we have?" she asks, gesturing to the crosses. "It's a fortune if you're able to bring a body home, or if you can spend someone's last moments together."

She walks among the graves, her fingers trailing over the rough wood of a cross. "This is the type of thing we have to deal with. Every time we go out there, we risk not coming back. And if we don't come back, this is what's left of us. A wooden cross and a memory."

"I've had to bury too many people. I've had to tell too many families that their loved ones aren't coming home. And sometimes, I couldn't even give them that closure."

She turns back to you, her eyes now hard, and gone was the brief moment of vulnerability you saw before. "This is why I won't let you on the team. Because I can't... I won't add another cross to this field."

The weight of her words hits you like a physical blow. But instead of understanding, you feel a surge of anger.

"So what?" you snap, surprising both yourself and Sevika. "You keep me locked away like I'm Rapunzel in a tower? Look around, Sevika!" You gesture wildly at the desolate landscape beyond the settlement. "There is nothing left to lose. The world is gone!"

For a moment, she's silent, and you think you might have finally gotten through to her. But then her expression hardens, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You can say that," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "until you have the world in your hand and it's ripped away from you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You see a flash of something in Sevika's eyes - a deep, soul-crushing resignation that makes your anger falter.

"There is always something to lose," she continues. "And every time you think you have nothing left to lose, life finds a way to prove you wrong."

She steps closer to you. "You think you're ready to face what's out there? You think you have nothing to lose? Trust me, pantry girl, you have no idea what loss really is."

"What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?" you challenge, your voice rising. "This isn't living, Sevika. It's just... existing."

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" you interrupted, shoving her back. "We're all going to die—But I'd rather die out there, trying to do something I wanted, rather than rot away in here!"

You’re angry and you know you just provoked her but you can’t help but shove her back again, frustrated at her but, even more so at yourself. You were terrified, of fucking course you were—but who wasn’t in the world you were living in?

With a growl, she lunges forward, shoving you hard. You stumble back, shock and anger coursing through you. Without thinking, you retaliate, pushing Sevika with all your might.

The two of you grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury. Grass and dirt kick up around you as you roll on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Sevika's bionic arm hisses as she tries to pin you down, but you're quicker, fueled by frustration and pent-up emotion.

With a burst of strength, you manage to flip Sevika onto her back. You straddle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, which fall limp immediately. Both of you are panting heavily, faces flushed and hair disheveled.

"I won," you gasp out, your chest heaving. "You promised. If I could beat you, you'd let me join."

Sevika looks up at you, her expression unreadable. "When will you learn patience?"

The proximity is intoxicating, and for a moment, you're distracted by the feeling of Sevika beneath you, the rise and fall of her chest, the intensity in her eyes.

"You can't expect me to live like this," you insist, your voice softer now but no less passionate. "What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?"

Something flickers in Sevika's eyes—pain, fear, or something else entirely. Without warning, she bucks her hips, throwing you off balance. In one smooth motion, she shoves you away and stands up.

You scramble to your feet, ready to continue the fight, but Sevika's next move stops you cold.

"Sevika!" you call out, your voice cracking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

But she doesn't stop, doesn't even look back.

You're left standing there, alone among silent tombstones and empty graves, watching her retreating figure disappear into the gathering dusk.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The weight of defeat settles heavily on your shoulders as you stumble into your room. You collapse onto your bed, fully clothed, as the scene replays in your mind. Sevika's face haunts you - not her usual cocky smirk or searching gaze, but that fleeting expression of raw pain you glimpsed just before she walked away.

There's something deeper, a hollowness in your chest you can't quite name. It's more than just the sting of losing an argument or watching her retreat.

There was something else in her eyes that truly unsettled you—that flash of fear when she looked at you, as if dreading you might become another one of those wooden crosses she would have to mark.

Just as you're about to drift off, a sudden burst of loud music jolts you awake. Shouts and laughter follow, unmistakably coming from a few blocks down—right where Sevika's house is located.

You groan, pressing your pillow over your head. Of course, another one of her infamous parties. But as you lie there, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, a part of you can't help but wonder what Sevika looks like when she's relaxed, surrounded by her team.

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep, frustration wins out. You sit up, running a hand through your hair in annoyance. You throw on a hoodie and stomp towards the door, grabbing the nearest pair of slippers without looking.

The cool night air does little to calm your irritation as you march down the street. You pound on the door, ready to give her a piece of your mind.

To your surprise, it's Sevika herself who answers. Her usual scowl morphs into a grimace as she recognizes you, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her throws you off balance—her gray wife beater clings to her frame, and her cargo pants are smeared with what you hope is just mud. Despite the mess, she looks... good. Annoyingly so.

"Do you know what time it is?" you demand, trying to focus on your anger.

Sevika takes a long drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke out slowly. Her eyes drift downward. "I like your slippers," she remarks.

You glance down, mortification washing over you as you realize you're wearing Powder's pink bunny slippers. "Shit," you mutter, but quickly shake it off. "Why do you have to be so loud? This might come as a surprise but some people are trying to sleep!"

"Worried you won't get enough sleep to organize properly tomorrow?" Sevika taunts, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure you don't mix up the soup and fruit cocktail cans."

Her dismissive attitude ignites your temper. "Fine, whatever. You're acting like a complete ass," you spit out.

Sevika's eyebrow raises slightly. "Is that all? Because if so, I've got a party to get back to."

You're about to retort when you catch a glimpse of the interior of her house. It's a mess—empty bottles strewn about, gear haphazardly tossed in corners.

"What?" Sevika's voice snaps you back to reality.

"I... nothing," you stammer, taking a step back. "Just turn the music down, okay?"

Sevika studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears into the house. A few seconds later, the volume of the music noticeably decreases. Sevika.. Was being obedient?

She reappears at the door, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Anything else?"

You open your mouth, then close it again. What else is there to say? That her apparent disregard for what you want infuriates you? That her words about from earlier today won’t leave your mind? That despite everything, you find yourself drawn to her in a way you can't explain?

Instead, you just shake your head. "No. That's... that's all. Thanks."

As you turn to leave, Sevika's voice stops you. "Wait."

You pause, looking back at her expectantly. You notice that there is a hesitancy to her this time, like you were fragile and if she got too close you might shatter.

"Wear proper attire tomorrow, okay?" she says, her tone businesslike. "And check in at the armory with Vi."

You blink, confused. "Vi? What does she-"

Sevika cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain it to you, rookie?"

"Yeah, cause I don't get it," you retort.

"You're on the team."

For a moment, you just stare at her, unable to process what you've heard. Sevika refuses to meet your gaze, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

As realization dawns, a wide grin breaks out across your face. Sevika immediately cuts in, "Don't think I'm going soft on you and giving you anything you want. This is an easy spot, but-"

You can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads even wider. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere despite your obvious excitement.

Sevika just nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, okay. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

You nod enthusiastically. "Right. Yes. Thank you again. Good night!"

You turn and walk away, trying desperately to keep your cool. But as soon as you think Sevika has fully closed her door, you can't contain yourself anymore. You do a little excited jump right there in the street, pumping your fist in the air. Then, grinning like a fool, you take off running towards home.

What you don't see is Sevika, still standing in her doorway. She watches your celebratory dance with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to fondness. Shaking her head, she finally closes the door, a small, bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the farm as your team arrives. The dilapidated barn looms ahead, its red paint peeling and faded. Overgrown fields stretch out to your right, while a rickety fence encloses what must have once been a thriving chicken coop.

Sevika's voice rings out across the coop. "Alright, gather the chickens."

You blink, certain you've misheard. "Wait, what?"

You weren’t expecting your first mission to be on a farm, much less to gather the animals. But your confusion is quickly overwhelmed by the sight of your teammates scattering, chasing after a flock of very startled, very loud chickens.

"How do you expect us to get food?" Sevika asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You turn to her, eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you helping?"

The air seems to still as everyone freezes, shocked by your boldness. Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I'm your captain," she states, as if that explains everything.

A reckless grin spreads across your face. "What? Afraid you can't catch a single chicken in front of your people?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, to everyone's surprise, she vaults over the fence and into the coop.

"You have a mouth on you," she growls, eyeing a particularly plump hen. "That's going to get you in trouble one day."

You hop in after her, heart racing at how she easily accepted your challenge. "Only if I'm caught," you quip back.

The two of you circle the hen, which clucks nervously. You lunge forward, but the bird darts away.

"You're scaring it!" Sevika snaps.

"Me?!" you retort. "You're practically harassing the thing!"

As you both scan the coop for a chicken that wasn’t running like it had its head chopped off, a voice pipes up from outside the fence. "They’re bickering like an old couple!"

In perfect unison, you and Sevika whip around, shouting, "Don't you dare say that!"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze, looking at each other in shock, and then it’s replaced quickly with a scowl as the determination to capture the chicken sets back in.

Okay, so barreling at full force towards the animal was not the way to go considering everyone was already filling their cages. You mentally devise a plan to corner the chicken, gesturing for Sevika to move to the right while you go left. But as you both rush forward, the hen squawks indignantly and darts between you in a perfect straight line.

Unable to stop your momentum, you and Sevika collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You find yourself pinned beneath her, acutely aware of her weight, her warmth, the scent of her body wash and gunpowder that clings to her skin.

Sevika pushes herself up slightly, her face inches from yours. "This is dumb," she mutters. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Mhmm," you manage, your brain short-circuiting from the proximity.

She grunts, rolling off you and standing up. "There's one last chicken," she says, brushing dirt from her clothes. "We better get it."

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, scanning the coop for that last elusive hen. The last hen clucks nervously, darting between the wooden beams of the coop. You and Sevika exchange a quick nod, wordlessly agreeing on a strategy.

Sevika crouches low, her movements slow and deliberate as she inches towards the left side of the coop. You mirror her actions on the right, creating a human barrier. The hen's beady eyes dart between you, sensing the trap.

"Easy now," Sevika murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

The hen makes a break for it, but you're ready. You lunge forward, herding it back towards Sevika. She reaches out, her fingers just brushing the chicken's feathers—

A deep rumble suddenly echoes across the farm, stopping you both in your tracks. You both freeze, exchanging a brief, confused glance. In that instant, the barn door explodes outward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly through the air, unleashing a horde of walkers that stumble and lurch towards you.

"Fuck! Run!" someone screams, and chaos erupts.

Your teammates scramble to grab their chicken cages, but you're transfixed by the sight of Sevika, who's inexplicably clutching the chicken she just caught to her chest with her left arm. Without thinking, you grab her right hand and bolt, pulling her along.

As you run, weaving between broken fences and overgrown crops, the absurdity of the situation hits you. Here you are, fleeing from a walkers horde, hand-in-hand with your usually stoic captain who was so dead set on capturing a single chicken she risked a few minutes just to get it. Suddenly, Sevika bursts out laughing, a rich, genuine sound you've never heard before.

"This is so fucking stupid," she gasps between chuckles.

Her laughter is infectious, and soon you're both giggling like maniacs as you sprint towards the getaway car. The wind whips through your hair, you look over at her and see her tiny ponytail bouncing, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

As you approach the car, you see one of your teammates dancing in the driver's seat, bobbing their head to music that was loud enough you could hear it from a distance.

Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that moron doing?"

"Start the car!" you yell in unison with Sevika.

"Start the fucking car!" echoes from all directions as your team converges on the vehicle.

In a mad scramble, you and Sevika end up diving into the trunk together, barely missing from crashing into each other. The car peels out, tires kicking up dust as you make your escape. You twist around to look back, seeing the walkers crest the hill behind you, their grotesque forms looking like ants as you get further away from the farm.

As the adrenaline starts to fade, you become acutely aware that you're still clutching Sevika's hand. You both look down at your intertwined fingers and quickly release a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You glance at Sevika and are struck by the sight of her wide grin, revealing the charming tooth gap from the first time you met her. She looks lighter somehow, the usual weight of responsibility temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

"Maybe you should put the chicken in the cage," you suggest, nodding towards the bird still tucked under her arm.

"Right," Sevika says, quickly stuffing the bewildered chicken into a nearby cage.

Free of your feathered companion, you lean out of the trunk slightly, letting the wind rush through your hair. The music from the car's speakers drifts back to you, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the woods and the high from the adrenaline rush.

When you open your eyes and turn back, you catch Sevika staring at you. She's not looking at the receding farmland or checking for pursuing walkers. Her eyes are fixed solely on you, an unreadable expression on her face. In this moment, bathed in sunlight and the afterglow of survival, she looks different. Softer. There was no reminiscent of the super soldier you knew her as.

As your eyes meet, Sevika doesn't look away. Instead, her grin softens into something more intimate, more real. You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling you can't quite name but don't want to let go of.

The car hits a bump, jolting you both and breaking the moment. Sevika clears her throat and turns to secure the chicken cage, you weren’t sure if had imagined the smile or not.

As you return to Zaun, the adrenaline from your narrow escape fades into a collective sense of relief and camaraderie. The team works together to unload the chickens, and despite the close call, everyone seems to be in high spirits.

"Hey, how about another bonfire party?" someone suggests, and a chorus of agreement follows.

To your surprise, Sevika turns to you. "You should come," she says gruffly. "You’re part of the team now."

"Yeah, sure," you reply, fighting to keep the eagerness out of your voice.

As the team disperses to prepare, you notice Vi sprinting towards a certain someone waiting for her at the entrance. "Caitlyn!" Vi shouts, throwing herself into Caitlyn's arms and kissing her passionately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, those two made up fast," you mutter to yourself.

Later that evening, you find yourself seated on the cool ground in front of a roaring bonfire. The flames dance hypnotically, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your teammates. The air is filled with laughter, the clink of bottles, and the rich aroma of smoke and grilled food.

You're nursing a beer, listening intently as the others regale you with stories from previous hunts. Sevika sits not far from you, perched regally on a lawn chair. She's quieter than the others, but you notice her lips quirk up occasionally at particularly funny or outrageous parts of the stories.

As the night wears on, a cool breeze picks up. You shiver involuntarily, the chill seeping through your thin shirt. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sevika glance your way. Without a word, she shrugs off her shawl and leans forward, draping it over your shoulders.

The gesture catches you off guard. You want to thank her, but something in her posture tells you she'd rather not draw attention to the act of kindness. No one else seems to have noticed, and you wonder if this is just how Sevika takes care of her team—quietly, without fuss or expectation of gratitude.

You pull the shawl tighter around you, inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that clings to it.

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then someone pipes up, "Hey, remember that time at the hospital in Piltover when we-"

"Uh," another teammate interrupts, glancing nervously at Sevika. "Sevika’s here."

All eyes turn to your captain. Sevika just grunts, taking a long swig from her bottle. You can't tell if it's approval or indifference, but the storyteller takes it as permission to continue.

The crackling fire seems to dim as the storyteller begins, his voice low and reverent. "It was before Zaun was established. Sevika, Silco, Grayson, and some of us old veterans had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks. But it was time we got out, find new people and a place to stay."

You lean in, curious, sneaking glances at Sevika, whose face remains impassive.

"The hospital was completely surrounded," the storyteller continues. "But we had weapons and vehicles. Silco had this completely badass idea to add extra defenses to the ambulance in the garage."

A chorus of whoops erupts from the group, and you see a flicker of pride in Sevika's eyes.

"The plan was to pile as many people as possible into the ambulance. But in the garage," The storyteller's voice drops. "There must've been an opening or something. Somehow, those bastards found their way in."

You find yourself holding your breath while Sevika's face is impassive, but you notice her grip tightening on her bottle.

"It happened so fast. One second Silco was up, the next he was down, a walker lunging for his throat. And Sevika," He shakes his head in awe. "She didn't hesitate. She threw herself between them."

All eyes turn to Sevika. You glance at Sevika, trying to imagine her and the emotions in that moment.

"Go on," she says. "Finish it."

The storyteller hesitates, unsure. "We had to go back in. We cleared the area, but the walker's teeth sank into her arm instead of Silco's neck." the storyteller says softly. "Even then, she didn't stop fighting. She bashed its skull in with her free hand, then turned and took out two more, saving a few more of us. But the bite meant she was infected…"

There's a collective intake of breath around the fire. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

His voice trails off, and Sevika finishes for him. "So Silco ended up amputating my arm," she states.

"When I die, I'll die on my own accord. Not because some mindless corpse decided it was my time."

The silence that follows is profound. You see a mix of awe, respect, and a hint of fear on the faces around you as Sevika's words hang in the air.

Then, as if a spell is broken, cheers erupt. "Fuck yeah, boss!" someone shouts, and others join in.

Sevika just grins as she stubs out her cigarette and stands. “I’m calling it a night, try not to have too much fun."

You remain rooted to the spot even though you know you should go give the shawl that's still draped around your shoulders back.

As you’re watching Sevika’s retreating form, you're struck once again by how little you truly understand her. Just when you think you've got her figured out, she does something that shatters your assumptions. Her rare, genuine smile from moments ago was like a crack in her armor, offering a glimpse of something you're not sure you were meant to see.

You recall Grayson's comment; If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her. But Sevika isn’t just dragging anyone down—she's fighting, clawing her way up. She’ll endure whatever comes, as long as she’s the one who gets to forge her own path.

Sevika faced death itself, and she emerged victorious.

taglist:

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@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year ago

Text

Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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crappymixtape · 6 months ago

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tangled • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | ( 3.2k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

S E T M E F R E E, O H I P R A Y 🎶 cowboy take me away, fireswimmer

You were up with the birds, awake as fingers of sunlight slipped through your window and fanned out over the quilt you’d stitched together during the winter months. Spring was coming to an end and the days were growing warmer, enough to probably not need your quilt any longer, and when you stepped out of bed onto the cobblestone floor you felt a buzz of inspiration zip through you.

Maybe it was the way the sun crept through your window or maybe it was the sound of the waterfall rushing just outside the tower, but you wanted so badly to run your fingers through the grass. Hear the way the breeze blew through the trees. Dip your toes in the water and look at the details of a petal up close and–

“Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

Mother’s voice drifted up from the bottom of the tower and you felt your heart hammer in your chest. You’d never asked her to leave the tower before, hadn’t asked her for much honestly, but with your birthday coming up maybe she would make an exception.

Every year, on the eve of your birthday, lights would illuminate the sky. Dancing and swirling among the stars and drifting beneath the moon. Beautiful and sparkling and it happened every single year. Why? You were dying to find out. They weren’t far from the tower, surely she would entertain your request. After all, it was your birthday.

“Rapunzel! I’m not getting any younger down here!”

“Coming, Mother!” you called back and tossed your long, shiny locks up over the hook spun into the roof of the tower. They cascaded down the wall and landed in a spun pile at her feet.

Pulling and pulling and pulling, Mother ascended up to the window inch by inch until she stepped up onto the ledge and into your circular room, “Good morning, dear.”

“Morning, Mother.”

“It’s time to brush your hair dear. I saw on the way up, you’ve got twigs tangled up in the ends. Hardly a way to treat such beautiful locks, my goodness. What do you do all day? Tsk. Just another reason for me to keep you here, you can’t even manage to properly care for yourself.”

A pang of shame hit you square in the chest and you wrapped your arms around your torso, making yourself smaller. Unseen. Unheard.

“Sit,” Mother said pulling up a stool and you did as you were told, sitting on the small surface as she took the chair behind you, brush in hand. “Now sing me our song. You know how much I love it,” she demanded, not asked, and you did as you always did…

Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates' design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.

“That’s my girl,” Mother appraised, running the brush through the ends of your hair and pulling too hard at the end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Mother…” you started, hesitant, reluctant. Should you ask? She seemed in as good a mood as ever.

“What is it?” she snapped, short. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but something in you pushed. Please, please ask. If you don’t ask we won’t ever know. And you had to know.

“I was thinking–”

“Never a good thing,” Mother teased meanly and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth. Nerves swelling in your chest.

“I was just thinking...tomorrow is my birthday and well–well, there’s something I was hoping we might be able to do.”

Mother hummed in her throat, a sharp thing that held irritation, like you were a pest she couldn’t rid herself of. “And? Rapunzel come now, speak up!”

“And–and I was wondering if you might take me to see the lights at the castle. They’re there every year on my birthday! They can’t be stars…I’ve charted them all and I just…I want to see what they are–”

“The lights?” Mother started to laugh. “The lights? Rapunzel you must be joking.”

“No, I’m not…I’m not joking, Mother I really do want–”

“Truly, how could you think I would just take you–”

“Mother, it’s what I really want! I just want to see the lights!” you shouted, but as soon as the words left your lips you clamped your hands over your mouth. Afraid of what you’d just done.

Mother narrowed her eyes at you, lips firmed into a twisted line, angry and her patience evaporated as she took a step toward you and you shrank again.

“You will never raise your voice at me like that again, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Her voice notched up in volume as she stepped closer to you.

“And I don’t ever want to hear about those lights again, is that clear!”

She was closer still, breath heated and harsh against your cheek.

“Yes, Mother.”

Towering over you, Mother took you by the wrist and roughly pulled you up to her face so that you were inches away, the heat of her words spilling and burning and wicked, “And you will absolutely NEVER, EVER be leaving this tower! Is that clear??”

When you spoke for the final time your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, chest burning with embarrassment and shame and regret. “Yes, Mother.”

Letting go of your wrist, Mother sighed and sank back into her chair, eyes closed and fingers pinching her the bridge of her nose.

“Ugh, now I’m the bad guy.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes hastily with the backs of your hands, trying and scrambling to regain your composure. Afraid to push her even the tiniest bit further. You wished you’d never asked, wished you kept your thoughts to yourself. The lights, your birthday, all of it. Wished you could take it all back.

Clearing your throat you sat back on your stool, curled into yourself as you peered up at Mother sitting her in chair. Impatient. Bothered. Exasperated.

“Mother…” you started tentatively, “I know what I want for my birthday now.”

“And what’s that?” she sighed.

“New paint? The kind made from the shells you once brought me.”

She fixed you with a look, the way you might regard a dog begging for scraps, “Well, now that is a long journey, Rapunzel.”

“Please? I promise not to ask about the lights again,” pressing your hands together you tried to look sorry, thankful, grateful, please.

Mother sighed again, but you held onto hope. “Oh, alright,” she conceded, standing from her chair to gather her things. Surely you couldn't do much damage over a few days. “I’ll be back in three days time. Are you sure you’ll be able to manage without me?” she asked.

You gave her a small smile, “Yes, mother. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I love you,” your mother said, a tight smile pulling at her lips.

“Yes, mother. I love you too,” you murmured.

“I’ll see you a bit, my flower!”

And with that you watched as she descended the tower, your hair in her hands sliding down, down, down to the grass below and off into the open, free, world you wanted so badly to explore, only to stand at your window while Mother disappeared into the vines draped at the edge of the meadow and into…well, unlike you, where ever she wished to go.

I SAID I WANNA TOUCH THE EARTH, I WANNA BREAK IT IN MY HANDS, I WANNA GROW SOMETHING WILD AND UNRULY.

Unbeknownst to you, the path to your freedom lay in the hands of a man just on the other side of the very vines Mother had just stepped through. Well…technically he was a man, but really more boy in the way he held himself. And carried conversation. And continually found himself in trouble because of his inflated ego, but a man nonetheless, holding your freedom.

Flynn Rider, a rogue, a thief, a ruffian. Just over six feet tall with sweeps of dark brown hair, skin like it held all of summer and the sun beneath it, eyes like burnt sugar and dotted in freckles and apparently much faster than he looked.

“RIDER!”

“Sorry, boys, gotta go!”

Flynn crashed through the line of shrubs he’d just hurled himself into and fell out the other side, scrambling to find his footing. He was probably going to regret the decision he’d just made, but that would be a problem for future Flynn Rider.

Patting the satchel at his side he peeked into make sure the contents were still intact and at the sound of thundering hooves picked his pace back up, sprinting through the woods.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight, rays of sun shining through canopy and dappling the forest floor with warm sunlight. It would have been even more beautiful if Flynn wasn’t being chased by the King’s guard, but he supposed it was the only option when you’d stolen the crown of the missing princess.

Chest heaving with the effort, he pushed his legs to go faster. Sprinting over fallen logs and thick brambles, wincing but not stopping as they pulled and slashed at the thin fabric of his tunic. He had to find cover before he ran out of breath or else he’d face the gallows.

Again.

It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. He wasn’t murderous or wanted for treason or anything. In fact, he wanted to be done with this life on the run and so he hoped this might be his ticket out. Hawk the lost princess’ tiara and hop a boat to somewhere far, far away.

His lungs started to burn as he sucked in air, sidestepping a particularly nasty blackberry bush and earning a scratch across his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed, wincing at the pinch of pain. He could hear the guards closing in behind him, the captain giving orders to his men to split up and Flynn knew his time grew short.

An arrow grazed past his ear as his slammed into a tree, the tip sinking into the bark just inches from his hands.

Too close.

“A promotion to which ever of you idiots catches, Rider!” the captain shouted and it pushed Flynn into another sprint.

Step over step over step, out of the thick stand of trees and into a wide field of wheat. The shhh shhh shhh of the grass against his trousers hissing as he stumbled once on a dirt clod and again on a molehill until the third time he wasn’t so lucky.

The toe of his boot caught on a rock dug into the dirt, sending him flying forward and over the edge of an embankment. Tumbling head over heels down, down, down and hitting the bottom with a heavy THUD!

“Sir! We’ve lost him!”

“What d’you mean you’ve lost him??”

“I–I’m not sure, sir. We–we’ve lost visual.”

“Bloody useless–if you lot can’t find him, then I’ll do it myself!!”

Groaning, Flynn pushed himself up from where he’d landed and blinked away the knock to the head he’d just earned for running through a damn field. Voices carried down the embankment and he could hear the King’s guard scuttling about back up the hill – they didn’t know where he was.

Scrambling back up onto his feet, Flynn quickly checked to make sure the tiara was still in place before frantically looking for an out. He had a moment’s cover while they tried to find him back up at the top, but surely they’d see the bent wheat stalks at some point. The bottom of the gully was more of the same, thick brush and brambles and trees and…vines? All drooping down just above the ground at the same angle and blowing just ever so in the breeze.

Brows knitted together he pushed a hand to them and stumbled forward a bit when his hand fell through them, not solid. So he pushed further still, watching as his arm disappeared further and further until he was completely concealed.

“Sir! We found something!”

Sucking in a gasp, Flynn pressed himself against the rock of the tunnel he’d just discovered and held his breath. The King’s guard tramped down the hill and trotted right past his hiding spot, their shadows dancing across the vines as they concealed him out of sight.

“He’s here somewhere, keep looking!”

The sound of hooves slowly disappeared and when quiet flooded back in, Flynn could hear the sound of a…river? A waterfall? Birds and a soft breeze across his skin…taking a few steps toward the bright light at the other end of the tunnel Flynn shielded his eyes in the crook of his arm and walked out into the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

A waterfall cascaded down a cliff at the far edge of the little valley he’d wandered into, crashing into the rocks below and fanning out into a river that wound its way through the ground and past his feet. All manner of birds chirped and sang as they flew through the cloudless sky, landing peacefully in the trees. And there, just in the very center, a tower made of brick and cobblestones with a thatched roof, a chimney and windows all around but…no way up?

He knew he couldn’t stay idle, even if he was out of sight for now, surely the King’s guard would find him. Taking one quick loop around the tower, there was still no door in sight, so snatching the pair of daggers from the belt at his waist he stabbed one between the bricks high above his head and pulled to test his weight. When it held he found his footing and drove the second dagger in and arm over arm began to climb up to the largest window.

His biceps were burning, his shoulders on fire. There were a few times Flynn even thought he would surely fall to his death, but slowly he made it up, up, up and when he finally fell through the window gasping for breath, he prayed to whatever gods there may be that he might find a bed at the top of the bloody tower. Stealing a crown, outsmarting two idiot thugs and then running from the King’s guard was no easy feat and he could feel exhaustion in his very bones.

Heaving himself up off the cobblestone floor he loosed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed his hair from his eyes.

“Gods, finally. Alone at last.”

And then with a very loud CLANG! everything went black.

IN THE COMFORT OF YOUR ARMS, ON A PILLOW OF BLUE BONNETS, IN A BLANKET MADE OF STARS, OH, IT SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

There was a man.

In your tower.

In your room.

AT YOUR FEET.

How he’d made it all the way to the top of the tower without the aide of your hair was beyond you, but as you peeked out at him from behind your mannequin you couldn’t help the tiny pang of guilt in your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to hit him with your frying pan, but it was too late for that now.

You’d never seen one before, only knew what Mother told you: dark, beady eyes and sharp fangs, gnarled hands to snatch you with and kidnap you away into the night.

Stepping out from your hiding place you took a tiny step forward, the smallest step, and poked him with the handle of your pan.

“HEY!” you shouted, but he didn’t move. “Oh, gods…” Did you kill him?

Another few steps and your bare toes nearly brushed his arm. Slowly extending the pan again you turned his head with the handle and nudged his lip, but in place of scary fangs were teeth. Just like yours. Bending down carefully you lifted a hand to his face and hesitated, waiting for something to happen, but his steady breaths continued to fall and his eyes remained shut.

A cut chased across his cheek, the tiniest streak of blood along with it, and your brow furrowed with worry. Did it hurt?

You ghosted your hand over his, just as normal as ever though a bit rough and maybe a little dirty, but wide and warm. Not gnarled. Not scary. You wondered at what it would feel like to hold it, yours so small and his so big.

Slowly, gently, your fingers trailed through the sweep of brown hair covering his face and brushed it aside to reveal mole dotted skin, warm and golden like summer and he’s beautiful. The most wonderful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on and you want to see more and–

“Unghh…”

CLANG!

You instantly regretted hitting him again, but what were you supposed to do? He opened his eyes and began to stir and what if he’d jumped up to grab you?

A groan escapes your lips and you rough your hands over your face, you still have a man in your tower. What to do, what to do. As you took stock of your modest surroundings there wasn't much to work with. Your mannequin, a small stove, things for baking and sewing and painting, your bed, your closet–

Your closet!

Blowing a puff of air between your lips, you bent down and grabbed hold of his feet and pulled a little. When he didn't stir you pulled again. A little more, a little further, a little further and further and straining, struggling almost dropping him, you shoved him into the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut, propping the handles closed with a chair.

“Oh! Oh! I did it!” you squealed, sweat clinging to your brow, giving a little jump of excitement. “I did it!! I’ve got a person in my closet. I’ve got a person in my closet…I’ve got a person in my closet! Mother thinks I’m too weak to handle myself, huh? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

And as you took a victory lap around the room your eyes caught something on the floor. A bag you hadn’t seen before and as it fell open, the contents inside flickered in the light as it came through the cracks in the roof.

Picking up the satchel you pulled back the flap and found something even more beautiful than the man you’d just shoved into your closet.

Gold. Purples and pinks and turquoises and glittering in the sunlight and as you carefully picked it up, you were surprised at how heavy it was. Eyes narrowing, you hold it closer to look at the intricate way the gold pieces twist around the jewels and gems, securing them in place and creating little flowers along the sides.

A smile flickers at the corners of your lips. It looks just like the pictures from your fairytale books. The kind of thing only a princess would wear. Laughing softly you step in front of your mirror and hesitantly hold it up over your head. Just for a moment. Just to see what it would look like…

Slowly, softly you lowered it and let it settle upon your head and a flash of light strikes you. A memory, bright and sharp and vivid. A spinning sun hanging overhead. The most lovely laughter, like music, like a song. A warm embrace. A lullaby.

BANG!

Sounds from the closet and you nearly fling the crown to the ground. How foolish of you to let you guard down. How could you forget? You could hear Mother scolding you, telling you how stupid you were, how you could have been kidnapped or killed.

Heart hammering against your ribs your eyes settle back on the closet as it bangs again.

Your guest was awake.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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drsbutmakeitspicy · 4 months ago

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Maybe on the "Am I a human chair?" AU

PART I - PART II - PART III

Carlos Sr. Found out about their relationship in a funny way

(I'm sorry for grammar mistakes, and also I didn't write the dialog between Carlos and Cenamor in spanish cause as much as I can understand everything I'm horrible at writing and speaking Spanish (it always turn into a weird portunhol by accident 🤭🫣) so imagine that whole last scene is in spanish please.)

Also, quick reminder, this is more of a brain vomit than a real structured fic

Carlos calls Oscar on video, asking how he is doing after the DNF

"Amorcito, how are you feeling? What did the doctors say?"

"I'm high as fuck, got cracked ribs and a concussion" Oscar is blinking slowly and Carlos finds it adorable.

"I just finished media, the team meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow, I'll see you soon Amor."

"Kim said I can't shower alone so hurry up."

"Tell Kim I 100% agree with him."

Oscar can see him moving around grabbing some stuff from his driver's room to bring back to his hotel room.

"He's not here right now" Carlos stops.

"He left you alone?"

" 'm not alone" Oscar is giggling and messing with his own hair with his free hand.

"You're so high baby, it's funny. Who is with you then?" He watches Oscar's phone be grabbed, as it turns Carlos feels his blood run cold.

"He needs to sleep now." Carlos Sainz Cenamor, his father, who Carlos completely forgot he gave a spare key of his hotel room a day before.

"Uh, yea. I'll finish getting my stuff and uh yea bye."

His dad will be pissed at him for hanging up like that.

Oh god.

Things are not as bad as he imagined, Oscar as his Dad are talking about racing, the McLaren driver is lying down on the bed with a towel put on his eyes, wearing Carlos Ferrari Jacket.

His dad is sitting on the sofa, he looks at him, amused to see the lack of color on his son's face.

"He refuses to sleep, says he wants to see you first. Is it a McLaren requirement to be stubborn?"

"Papa Yo-" He whispers in an apologetic tone

"Eres mi hijo, no creas que eso cambia mi amor por ti." - Cenamor says as he gets up and pat his son's back. - "He is here now Oscar, you can finally sleep, no?"

They hear Oscar make an agreeing sound, his right arm out of the bed, hand grabbing the air, calling Carlos over.

Cenamor tells him he will wait outside, something about having calls to make. Carlos sits down by Oscar's side as the door clicks.

"How are you feeling Cariño?"

"I want a kiss. My lips aren’t bruised, the doctor didn't say anything about kissing."

“I'll give you one and you will rest okay? When you wake up again to take your meds I'll help you shower."

Carlos says against Oscar's lips before closing the gap between them. It's slow but sweet, Oscar's hand goes to his hair and as Carlos breaks their kiss the other pulls him back in, whispering "One more."

After three kisses Oscar is out like a light.

—-

Talking with his father goes well, he is not disappointed in him, he doesn't understand how they got involved, with the amount of times they fought in and out of track but doesn't ask.

"I knew one day you would end up with a McLaren driver, I just guessed the wrong one."

"Papa!"

“Reyes and I adopted Lando since your McLaren days because of that y'know? We both were sure one day you would come over with him and tell us."

"I never had romantic feelings for Lando! And it may not look like it but he is straight, Papa."

"Hmm, I'll have to call your mom back, we thought you broke up with Lando last year, we thought he didn't spend new years with us because of that."

“When? Wait, when did you give mom a call??"

"I left you and Oscar alone so I could call her. She asked if now you will stop with those PR relationships contracts. You know she hates those. She said she read early today some good things about your boy."

His face is all warm and red, he feels like a teenager, embarrassed about having a crush, but also he feels glad to have such a wonderful family by his side.

His dad's phone rings, Reyes’ picture shows up.

"Here, talk to her, she wants to see when we all could have dinner together so she could meet Oscar”

#carcar #ficsicantfinish #5581 #oscarlos #carloscar #AMIAHUMANCHAIR

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realm-of-rosie · 1 year ago

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💭 how can i disagree? !!!

i. genshin impact [ diluc, alhaitham, kaveh, and when they try to deny you something (spoiler: they fail horribly) ]

ii. fluffy fluff fluff only + short scenarios

iii. blog rules | masterlist

iv. love them sm

[ diluc ]

"it is far too warm for cuddles, sweetheart,"

"but i'm lonely,"

"and i'm right here, next to you," diluc argues back quietly with his voice heavy with sleep, eyes closed as he brings your interlocked fingers to his lips and kissing your fingertips.

"it's not the same, 'luc,"

"it isn't?" his lips curl up in a small smile, peeking at you through barely hooded eyes and his warm hand moves to cup your cheek before stroking it gently.

"of course it isn't," you insist, pouting, "you aren't close enough to me,"

a laugh escapes his lips, "not close enough to you, hmm?"

"plus, what if it suddenly gets super cold later? what if we both freeze to death?"

the chances of that happening was close to zero, of course, summer in mondstadt was characterized by a cool, refreshing morning breeze under the beating sun and warm air fit for parties and festivals that last well into the night, but he didn't have the heart to tell you that - diluc was pretty sure you knew that anyway - so he indulges you instead.

"only if you promise not to whine about the heat in the morning," he mumbles, opening his arms so you could curl up against his chest, kissing the top of your head, "no complaining about how i feel like a furnace, how you're sweating so much from it..."

"shh..." you lean up to press your lips against his jawline affectionately, "that is a problem for tomorrow, so we willl deal with it tomorrow,"

diluc's chest rumbles with the chuckle he lets out, "of course, my love, if you say so,"

[ alhaitham ]

"...haitham?"

"yes dearest?" he glances up slightly from the pile of papers he was looking through to flash a small smile at you - rendered unable to move and confined to the couch, "what do you need?"

"a kiss,"

alhaitham's hand stills for a split second and there's a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, and logically, you panic a little - as attractive as that smirk may be, it still signaled trouble. your eyebrows furrow together as he turns his seat to face you, completely abandoning the paperwork, crossing his arms.

"what was that?"

"a kiss," you repeat, bringing out the puppy eyes.

he chuckles, wagging his index finger in a 'come hither' motion, "if you want a kiss, you'll have to come get it yourself,"

"don't be an ass," you whine, throwing a pillow at him, "i'm not in the right state to be walking!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, dodging the pillows you threw at him, "i'll give you a - hey, put the pillow down,"

you lay the pillow on your lap with a huff, still pouting even when he settled down beside you on the couch, pecking your pouting lips.

"don't be upset darling, i'm sorry for teasing you," alhaitham says softly, as if trying to keep whatever he said a secret from curious ears, brushing his finger against your cheek, "i'll give you another kiss if you forgive me,"

[ kaveh ]

"kaveh..." i call out in a soft, curious, singsong voice, peeking into every room in the house until i spot him, hunched over his desk in his work room.

"kaveh?" i lean against the door frame, swaying back and forth on my heels, "kaveh,"

for a while, the only sounds in the house are the scratching of his pencil on paper and my persistent calls of his name until he groans and turns in his seat to face me before standing up to stretch his back.

"i have a small question -"

"angel, i am still not buying you a bunny, not when neither of us know how to take care of it," kaveh sighs, turning back to his work and i let out a squeak of protest.

"that's not what i wanted to say! but we will talk about that later, i'll have you know i am doing my own research on how to take care of bunnies - but that's besides the point," i huff, crossing my arms over my chest, "you didn't let me finish what i wanted to say,"

"well, what did my angel want to say?" he glances over his shoulder to check on me.

"can i stay here while you work? just this once,"

"darling -" kaveh sighs, turning in his seat again.

"i'll behave and be quiet while you work, promise!"

"i don't know," he leans back against his chair as he watches me, rubbing his chin in faux contemplation, "you're just so distracting angel, i don't know if i can finish my work,"

i pout, lower lip jutted out in exaggeration and kaveh chuckles.

"just this once, huh?"

i nod eagerly, "just this once,"

"i will hold you to that," he chuckles, patting his lap.

i stare at him in confusion with my head tilted to the side, eyes flickering to the couch in the corner of the office (where i originally planned on camping out temporarily) before going back to him.

"come sit," kaveh pats his lap again.

"but then you won't be able to work properly, i'll be blocking your view and reach of the model you're building,"

"it's alright," he says reassuringly, "i can just read over the files again instead, i need a break from being hunched over so much," kaveh's eyes stare at me knowingly, "besides, didn't you come here to spend time with me?"

"if you're sure," i shrug in a pretend nonchalant voice, slowly walking to him and settling comfortably on his lap, "i guess i can't say no,"

"exactly," he muses, rubbing my back while i tuck my face into the crook of his neck while his free hand picks up a piece of paper with words i couldn't begin to understand scrawled all over it - talking abou ceramic walls and wood patterns.

we (he) work(s) in comfortable silence until i hear him murmur, "clingy," against my hair before pressing a kiss to my temple.

"it's called having quality time and physical touch as a love language kaveh, don't act like you don' do the same to me when i'm working too," i pinch his side lightly, placing an apologetic kiss against his jawline when he whines at my pinch.

"well, something tells me this - cuddling in my office - is going to become a regular thing,"

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #diluc x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader

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oliviablancmom · 4 months ago

Text

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part III)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC! character

A/N: These two decided to talk to me tonight. As I said before, it is challenging to write them, but fun. I loved writing this chapter because they begin to have realizations about each other's presence while the enemy side is screaming lol. Anyway, for obvious reasons, some game events will have to be changed for the sake of the plot. I hope you enjoy it!!"

2021

Florence was attentively reading the papers her grandfather had given her, marking them as he had taught her, completely focused on the task, so she didn’t hear her father entering her room. The man watched her closely and then approached, gently touching her shoulder to avoid startling her.

“What’s all this?” he asked curiously, trying to get a glimpse of the documents. Florence looked at him, finally noticing the older man’s presence, who smiled and placed a kiss on her head. Florence smiled at the gesture.

“Hi, Dad. These are just some club reports that Grandpa wanted me to review before starting college...” Florence replied with a smile, trying to ease the concern she saw in her father’s eyes. She knew that he was still uneasy about her involvement in the business, but there was nothing he could say to change her mind.

"Don't you think this is too much? By the way, I don't think we've ever talked about this directly, but are you sure this is what you want? Your grandfather can't force you to follow this path." The man said in a firmer tone, and Florence suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. The relationship between them wasn't great, and she often felt like a pawn caught between the two, a means for one to get back at the other, even if it wasn't intentional—that's how she felt.

"Of course, this is what I want. And it's not like I'm taking on anything tomorrow. I have a long way to go before I'm considered capable, and not just someone receiving an inheritance," Florence said firmly. "I'm just learning; it's no big deal." Her father let out a nasal chuckle, looking at her with pride.

"I know, but your grandfather can be quite harsh when he wants to. I...I just don't want you to push yourself too hard." He crossed his arms with concern, and Florence felt a tightness in her chest. She understood her father's worries; she never quite understood what had happened between the two of them, but they both carried wounds that were completely visible to her. Florence smiled once more, hoping to soothe her father's heart, got up from the bed, and walked over to hug him.

"You guys are being so dramatic about this. It's no big deal, and I'm fine, I promise." Florence assured him, and the man breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're right, and you can count on me. But don't tell your grandfather I said that," he added, laughing, and Florence joined in. The older man gave her one last kiss on the head and soon left the room, leaving her alone.

She understood her father's insecurities. Many of his were her own, but she also didn't want to disappoint her grandfather, who had already invested so much time and effort in her. She just wanted to make the older man proud for having seen something in her.

**********************************************

Gavi bitterly regretted accepting the invitation to that party. Not that he didn't like it, but he just wasn't in the mood to enjoy himself that day. So, he limited himself to sitting on the couch outside the house, fiddling with his phone.

"Wow, Gavira, you're so welcoming and friendly," said Cris, his friend, laughing as he approached the couch where the player was lying. Gavi looked up at him, shrugging, himself didn't understand his lack of enthusiasm for being there.

"You should be celebrating your call-up to the national team," Cris continued, trying to cheer him up.

"I am, internally... Who are all these people by the way?" Gavi asked, referring to the others present in the house. "I thought I was your only friend."

"Ha! Well, friends and friends who bring other friends. At this point, I have no idea who they are either," Cris said, looking around making Gavi laugh. "I'm going back inside. Please go enjoy the party, there are plenty of girls around wanting your attention.

Gavi just nodded, rolling his eyes at the last comment.

After his friend disappeared again inside the house, Gavi took a few more minutes to mentally prepare himself to muster the courage to interact with other people. He got up, heading inside the house, greeting some familiar faces, and others he had no idea who were. But despite his efforts, he was bored.

The girl incessantly talking in front of him only heightened his desire to leave, and he was seriously considering running away, especially as every two seconds he saw a phone camera pointed at him. He sighed internally, frustrated. He didn’t want to look like an idiot; his friend would kill him if he mistreated any guest.

His attention on the girl in front of him completely vanish when he noticed someone in the distance.

"This has to be a joke..." he murmured to himself, his eyes focused on the woman quickly running to the stairs. It couldn’t be; his mind was probably playing tricks on him. He blinked a few times, but the person didn’t disappear. He looked at the girl in front of him, who was watching him with confusion, trying to figure out what had caught his attention.

"Excuse me, I need to check something..." Gavi apologized and headed up the stairs.

The upstairs was silent compared to the downstairs. He walked cautiously down the hallway as if a monster could appear at any moment to attack him. And well, technically, it was a monster he was following. The door at the end of the hallway was open, and he could hear the voice coming from inside. He was sure it wasn’t a hallucination; he would recognize that damn voice anywhere—it was imprinted in his mind.

He approached slowly and leaned against the doorframe, seeing the girl on the phone, her voice tearful as she paced back and forth, completely unaware of his presence.

"But I finished everything and left it all ready..." she cried. The sight caught him off guard. Gavi swallowed, embarrassed and regretting following her. He commanded his legs to turn around, but they ignored him, preventing him from moving.

'Great,' he thought.

The girl ended the call, after many tearful agreements, hung up the phone, and threw it on the bed.

"Tough day?" Gavi said before he could even think, mentally chiding himself for drawing the girl’s attention. She turned around startled as she look at him, and Gavi wished she hadn’t, as her red, tear-streaked face caused him some discomfort, an effect he couldn’t understand and decided to ignore. Whatever the reason for her crying, she deserved it. God, if his mom or sister heard him, he’d be in trouble.

"What... Are you following me?" she asked, confusion crossing her face. As if realizing whose presence she was in, she quickly crossed her arms in front of her body and raised her chin in pride. Gavi chuckled; but at the moment no matter how much she tried to appear indifferent, he was seeing right through her.

"In your dreams, querida. You’d be the last person in the world I’d stalk. You’re not that interesting," Gavi retorted, using the same words she had used against him. God, why did every word she said stick in his mind?

"Then leave me alone," she said, irritated. Gavi laughed. What was this? Didn’t she have any words of offense for him? It was somehow disappointing.

She grunted and walked over to the bed, picking up her phone. Her firm steps headed toward the door to leave the room, but he, impulsively, blocked her way. Fury gleamed in the girl's eyes, and she hit the player’s chest, shoving him. The action caught Gavi off guard, and he immediately grabbed her arms, feeling that little shock again from the contact with her skin.

"You can curse and insult me, but you can’t handle it when it’s the other way around?" Gavi grumbled, his face inches from hers. He could see every detail of her face with precision—the bright, swollen eyes, the discreet freckles hidden under a layer of makeup he was sure she didn’t need.

"Oh, did I really hurt you, didn’t I?" And there it was, the challenge in her eyes, the arrogance, and something he couldn’t quite explain, but it shine intensely in the girl's gaze. Unconsciously, Gavi decided he would push her to her limits to see that reaction again. The tension between them was so intense it could be cut with a knife. "Let me go. I could end your career," she snarled, and Gavi couldn’t help but laugh.

"What, are you going to ask your fan friends to ramp up the insults? Nothing I can’t handle. And don’t play innocent; you started this," she narrowed her eyes.

"You have no idea..." she whispered, a victorious little smile appearing at the corner of her lips. Gavi furrowed his brows, confused. But before he could say anything, they were interrupted.

"Florence," someone called from the hallway. Gavi turned, seeing another girl watching the situation in shock. He turned back to the girl in front of him, still holding her arms.

"Florence," he whispered, realizing as if he had just put together a puzzle. He had the voice, the image, and now the name. As if she understood what he was thinking, she rolled her eyes and, with a sudden motion, pulled her arm away and shoved him out of her way. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and confidently walked towards the girl who had called her.

"Are you out of your mind?" He heard the friend whisper, looking over her shoulder at the player observing the sly interaction between the two.

"It’s nothing," the girl said in a nonchalant tone as she pulled her friend down the hallway, disappearing from his view. Gavi stood stunned, still trying to process the encounter and suddenly he couldn't wait for the next el classico.

**********************************************

March 20, 2022

Florence took a deep breath, soaking in the energy of the field, the stadium filling up with fans—God, she missed this so much. Since she started college and studying with her grandfather, her trips to the stadium had been drastically reduced. Now, almost all her time was devoted to her grandfather's office and the administrative sector of Ciudad Real Madrid.

She had almost forgotten the feeling of being inside a stadium. Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but it felt like years had passed since her last visit. Now, as she could no longer watch the games from the stands with the fans, being on the field with some staff was the closest she could get to the excitement she loved. Even though she had to act professionally now and couldn't shout or curse at the players, especially the rivals, so she would have to do it mentally.

And she had used that trick a lot, since the end of the last year, especially during the games of the club that shall not be named. She cursed and sent all possible negative energy, hoping to satisfy her need to do it personally, particularly regarding a certain player. She even hoped he could hear that she was still rooting against him. Even during the national team games at the end of the year, she had to resort to mental curses, as the moment she cursed the blaugrana player, she received several angry looks from the fans of the national team who had adopted him.

So as soon as she saw him entering the tunnel leading to the field, all her excitement about being back faded, replaced by irritability. And as if he knew exactly that, the moment his eyes fell on her, a mocking smile spread across his face, his eyebrows coming together in surprise and recognition.

"You know, I was sure we’d win today’s game, but now that I see you’re finally here, I’m absolutely certain," he said in a lower tone, so only she could hear.

Florence took a deep breath, trying to contain the ironic response that came to her mind, and fixed her eyes on the tablet in her hand, her fingers gripping the edge tightly.

"Nothing for me?" He insisted, and she finally looked at him, feeling her face heat up and an uncomfortable feeling near her temples, he was definitely a pain in the ass. The player’s eyes scanned her face as if he had noticed her reaction, and the smirk grew.

Florence wanted to shout and curse him, but she had to settle for an eye roll that seemed to amuse the player, who ran onto the field for warm-up. He was lucky she had to behave, or she would have used up all the curses she had been saving.

The match was a disaster for Real Madrid. Florence had to leave her position next to the club reporter on the sidelines as her fan side started to take over during the game, and now she was watching the rest in the tunnel entrance that led from the locker rooms to the field.

And she couldn’t believe it, simply couldn’t. Anger burned inside her, not just from witnessing the defeat and the embarrassing game her team was playing, but because the midfielder’s words burned in her brain. The implication that she was a good luck charm for him gave her a cold shiver and a rage that heated her face. Her mind even searched for the results of the matches she had attended and which were good for him.

The dissatisfaction in the stands grew with each passing minute of the match. Furious, some people were even leaving before the game ended—it was a disaster.

Florence huffed again as she heard the fans near the tunnel cursing each staff member who passed by, as if the blame for the defeat was on them rather than the players on the field. She understood the frustration because she shared many of the same feelings.

However, the comments began to get heavier. Looking up, she saw a group of men cursing her grandfather. She frowned, not understanding why, and they noticed her attention, laughing and commenting among themselves.

The young woman gritted her teeth. She knew the reason well enough without needing to look; she had developed a sixth sense for sensing the player before seeing him. She wondered what sin she had committed in another life to deserve such karma.

"You can’t stay here," she said without looking at him. "This could result in penalties for your club, and well, I’ll make sure that happens," she said with false confidence. Gavi laughed, a deep and genuine laugh that made Florence turn to him, their eyes meeting. She furrowed her eyebrows, her eyes scanning the player’s face, and Florence felt something strange besides irritation at him mocking her.

"I was just getting my shorts from the locker room, and I’m heading back to the bench. There’s no prohibition on that. But fine, i know that you can’t win on the field, so your team need to interfere with the referees and all other means..." he replied, looking around. Florence narrowed her eyes at him.

"That’s a serious accusation..." Florence tried to stay indifferent, turning her attention back to the field. And great, another goal. The stadium roared with boos, not at the blaugrana team but at their own. Florence watched everything, perplexed and a bit nauseous.

"See? I told you that you’d bring us luck today..." Gavi commented right next to her. Florence turned, pushing him away. He laughed. Before she could say anything, she was surprised by a cup being thrown in her direction. Florence looked up at the stands, the group of men from before had an angry look for her.

"You’re fraternizing with the enemy. That’s why we’re losing." Florence decided to ignore it, but the curses only increased.

"You’re losing because you’re awful." Florence widened her eyes at the player who was laughing at the group, and it was done. It was as if he had poked a swarm of bees. Boos, curses, drinks being thrown at them, security started approaching, noticing the escalating anger. She really was determined to ignore the situation, not even fighting with the hand pulling her into the tunnel. But when her grandfather was mentioned, it was the breaking point for her.

"Your grandfather is ruining our club," the fan yelled.

"Florentino made this club what it is,"

Florence shouted back, her blood boiling as she exchanged insults with the Madrid fan who cursed her with every possible name. Security approach to try to calm things down, especially when the fan threatened to jump from the stands. Florence heard the referee’s whistle from afar, and by the time she realized it, chaos had erupted in every corner of the stadium. When a cup hit her head, she felt arms around her waist pulling her away.

She was so immersed in her anger that she felt as if the world around her was spinning out of control. The drink thrown on her clung to her clothes, and the sensation of being completely soaked only added to her frustration. When the sound of the boos became deafening, she finally snapped out of her angry trance.

'shit...' The player’s low murmur brought her back to reality. She wriggled free from his grip and pushed him away with a force that surprised her. A member of Barcelona’s staff approached, pulling the player away. Florence then looked at the TV screen, seeing the final minutes of that disastrous match. Her phone vibrated incessantly, but she had no energy to care. The realization of her actions and their consequences began to weigh on her, and the sense of shame and regret was almost overwhelming.

"What were you thinking?" Her grandfather’s harsh voice sent shivers down her spine. It wasn’t fear—Florence had never feared her grandfather in any way—but the tone he used was that of a businessman, not her grandfather, and honestly, she didn’t feel prepared to face that version of him. "Has everyone lost their minds today?" he shouted, and Florence finally looked at him. "What were you thinking?" he repeated. "You should be setting an example. How can I trust you if when you should be working you’re talking to opposing players and fighting with our own fans?"

"I was defending myself..." Florence questioned.

"You were immature, it’s disappointing..." The older man said, and silence cut through the air. Florence could feel tears in her eyes, and she knew they were there by the quickness with which the older man averted his gaze from her face. "Your father was right. Go home, Florence, you’re done for today."

The younger woman looked at him confused. She didn’t know that the two men talked; they did their best to ignore each other whenever possible. Florence opened her mouth to question him, but the man gave no space, just walking past her with a look of disappointment. Florence watched him head to the locker rooms, but before he left, he stopped and took a good look at Gavi. If he was intimidated by the older man, he didn’t show it; his face remained impassive as he stared back at the man, while the staff member from his team was dying beside him.

Florence’s heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. The look of pity from the communications head was enough to break her. She turned and walked away from the situation before anyone saw her break down.

Florence had a mix of feelings—still angry about her confrontation with the fans but anxious about the disappointed look she received from her grandfather. She understood his side, and she was genuinely dedicated and took her duties seriously, so her own reaction had been a surprise to her as well.

But then realization hit her. The reason she lost her composure in the first place was because of him... She was fine until he showed up and provoked her with his taunts. Just his presence was enough to irritate her, and if he hadn’t provoked her minutes before, she wouldn’t have exploded at the fans... And with perfect timing, Florence felt a tight grip on her arm.

"What the fuck... What’s with you constantly holding me?" Florence asked angrily, turning to face him. The action took him by surprise, but he quickly masked it with a smirking.

"In the end, it was really your club..." He said, referring to their conversation when they met at the event last year.

"As the part of ruining your career, so leave me alone," Florence felt her voice breaking, and this made tears come back to her eyes. She mentally cursed herself for breaking down right in front of the player. "This is your fault," Florence accused, shoving him.

"Mine? You asked for it, remember? Every time you insulted me..." Florence rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smile on her lips.

"You’re so affected by this; is it that easy to get into your head?" Florence asked with humor. "If it is, then what they say about you isn’t true..." The player furrowed his brows, and Florence caught a glimpse of confusion on his face.

"Pablo!" The Barcelona staff member called the player, looking furious. "What’s so hard about staying where you’re supposed to be?" The man asked seriously. "Come on, before you get a warning." The player didn’t even question it and just followed the older man, but not before glancing once more at Florence, his expression twisted in confusion.

**********************************************

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I revised it several times, but there's always something that slips through. Ah, I needed to introduce Flo's life as an heiress because it was necessary lol. I'm excited for the next chapter. Idk if you guys understand, but when there are asterisks dividing the chapter, it automatically signifies a passage of time, days, and a change in point of view.

#pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #Pablo gavira #gavi #pedri imagine #fc barcelona imagines #pablo martín páez gavira

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months ago

Note

Hi love, I was wondering if I could have HC or comfort fic with the sleep token boys ❤️ I’m going through a breakup and would love to read something sweet

Know that you are so loved! Sending you the biggest hug🫂

Vessel

He’s a king of little talking but big gestures. Words are overrated as it is. You can speak them but don’t mean them. Plus, he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can see that you’re not feeling the best. That something is bothering you so to little things he turns. “Hey”, a little knock on the bedroom door makes you turn towards the sound. And there stands Vessel. Flowers beneath his arm, balancing a tray with grilled cheese and canned tomato soup.

He carefully places everything on the nightstand before turning to you. “I didn’t burn the house down making that”, Vess nods patting his own shoulder, “So you got to try it, let me know if I improved”. You know that his grilled cheese has always been amazing but it’s his way of making sure you eat. So you try to not fight it even if it’s hard.

He’s so fucking patient too. You could be stirring that soup around for a hot minute and he would not rush you. Encourage a spoonful or two along the way but let you take your own time.

He also talks so much in moments like this. It’s his way of drowning out the noises in your head. “You know I saw this sign today that said five bucks to cuddle a baby cow”, he shakes his head, “I had to talk myself out of it but we could always go back there together”.

And then because he loves physical touch - that’s how he shows love. He would wrap you up in a blanket and then cuddle you the whole night. Softly humming random bits from the albums or new tunes he’s been working on. Letting you slowly run your fingers up and down his lower stomach. Kissing your forehead every time you sigh.

iii

He is all fun and games until his baby is not feeling well. Then all shit is packed up. Unless of course, he can see that he could slowly crack away the clouds with his stupid jokes.

“Tell me”, there’s no what’s wrong questions with him. As he reaches for you. “Just… I don’t know how to even describe it”, you huff, slowly pulling at the roots of your hair. “Then don’t”, iii is quick to pull your hands closer to his lips kissing them each. “How does a bath with those bath bombs we got yesterday sound like?”, he carefully brushes strands of hair away from your face, watching you nod.

And that’s how you end up pressing against his chest, sitting in between his legs, slowly running your fingers up and down his thighs. He’s playing with your hair, twisting strands around his fingers. “Your fingers are turning into prunes”, he chuckles lifting your palms, “Should we get out?”. But you shake your head and so he doesn’t make a move. Only wrap an arm across your chest, knowing that the pressure and weight of it will slowly let the anxiety ease.

“I feel like eating chilly oil noodles”, you mutter after a while. “Eggs and lots of cheese?”, he asks with a hum. You turn to him slightly with a nod. Iii simply smiles at you, leaning in to kiss you, “Say no more baby, I got you”.

I think the roles are rarely reversed. It’s mostly you weathering his storms but man when shit hits your fan and he needs to watch you crumble, that messes him up. Because watching the main source of light in his life slowly fading. That’s terrifying. So ridden in pure panic he tries to do his best to make it better.

So he’s waking up early, carefully slipping out of bed to hit the shops. Buying fresh fruits and pastries. Grabbing you your favorite drink from the coffee shop you told him about. Fuck it man even stands in a book section reading the backs of silly romances and whatnot, because hey if that might bring a smile to your face - he’s doing it.

He tries to appear as calm as possible not wanting this to turn into you worrying about him instead. But he watches your every move like there is no tomorrow. “Are we putting on another film or do you want to read?”, he asks after a while of you both just rotting beneath the blankets downstairs. You don’t answer him but snuggle deeper into his chest.

He lets you run your fingers through his tattoos. If you want he would run you through all the back stories of them even if you know them by heart by now. “Is your fave still this one?”, ii point to his lower stomach and hips, and you give him a lazy nod, “Nothing beats that”, you mutter. “Should put it on full display then”, he quickly yanks his hoodie over his head giving you a glorious view of his bare chest making you chuckle slightly and his heart ease along the way.

I think he would also love to just remind you of the things you love and the things that make you feel better. You like morning/evening walks? Even if you don’t feel like going he would find a way to drag you out of the house. “I promise to buy you ice cream as a reward”, he flicks your nose, “and I promise you, you will feel so much better”. So he drives to a nice park. Holds your hand the entire time you walk. Watching you slowly start to enjoy the activity. You stop by to watch a sunset or a sunrise depending on the time you walk. And it’s one of those yeah I am alive moments. Ivy has an arm warped around you. Watching you watch the nature surrounding you both.

He would offer to take you to little places you love. You love clothes shopping? He would take you. You like browsing random stores? Say no more. He would come with you and smell all the candles. “Get that too, that in the living room”, he mutters adding yet another candle into the cart.

“I remember you said that you wanted to try pottery painting so I got us a kit”, he mutters, walking in with boxes of stuff. You can’t believe that he would remember something so random. And it’s just take-out boxes, and a bottle of nice wine as you both paint and doodle on the plates Iv picked out. It’s quality time over anything and with every stolen glance he can see the way you slowly start to flicker with happiness again.

#sleep token x reader #sleep token x you #sleep token imagine #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token vessel x reader #sleep token vessel imagine #sleep token ii imagine #sleep token ii x reader #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token iii x reader #sleep token iv imagine #sleep token iv x reader

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 1 year ago

Text

We will protect you. Part III

Self-Aware! Armed Detective Agency x GN! Reader

Description: First Day of the Charity Fair. Armed Detective Agency is on their duty.

Warning: OOC. Stalking. English is my second language.

Part II

Part IV

________

You read the list of recipes again. Your shift will start in ten minutes, so, you decide to refresh your memory.

Mii-chan was sitting on your shoulders, looking at the recipes with you. You scratch him behind the ears.

"Sorry, Soseki, I knew, that is not the most interesting thing to read. Tomorrow I will bring a book."

Natsume only purred and rubbed his head against yours.

You heard noises coming from the next room. Merlyn were arguing with Mr. Burke.

"With all due respect, Mr. Burke, but letting a cat be here is a poor businesses decision"

You rolled your eyes. Merlyn could talk to a wall and get better results, then trying to convince Mr. Burkle to change his mind and tell you to bring Mii-chan outside.

Because Mr. Burkle liked animals and knew, that Mii-chan will attract more customers. Yes, most of the café income will be donated, but, next month café employees will have a chance to get a big prize. All businesses, that participated in a fair will get bonuses, but, the biggest bonus will be given to a business, that earned more money than others.

So, Mii-chan's place in this café for the next eight days is safe. As long as you don't bring him to the kitchen and not to the part of counter where you put orders.

Sounds of argument disappeared, and Marlyn left the manager's office. They glared at you and Mii-chan.

"Just make sure that flea bad won't cause trouble."

Soseki hissed and you rolled your eyes.

"Hello to you too."

Merlyn Bourke grumble something and left to the other room, where they will spend the rest of the shift, doing manager's job.

Mii-chan hiss again and look at you. Then at Mr. Burkle's office door. Then, at Merlyn's 'office' door.

You whispered.

"As long as I know, they aren't related, despite their family names sounding similar. As for Merlyn... Imagine, that Kunikida tried to replace Fukuzawa and start doing twice the work as usual. And talking with others ADA members as harsh as he can, even being borderline rude to them to make them work better. That's the description of Merlyn."

Mii-chan mewed. You finished with re-reading recipes and moved to the main part of the café. Right now, the café was on a short break, so previous shift can leave peacefully, and current shift can prepare for work peacefully.

Mii-chan jumped on the counter and sit in loaf position. His collar with a little bow looked cute.

You chuckled, remembering one of the times Natsume Soseki helped you.

_________

You feel absolutely exhausted. You need to finish two more essays until next week. But you feel so burned out, you feel, that you can't write correct words. In your mind, your thoughts were beautiful and clear. In reality...

You looked at the paper sheet before you.

"Evil is not good"

Genius thought, right?

You hear the knock on your door. In a second, Natsume Soseki walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He walked closer to you and gave you the cup.

"Here, [Y/N], take a little break."

You looked at Natsume with gratitude and took the cup. Tea was tasty and hot. Meanwhile, Natsume was rereading everything you wrote.

"Writer's block?"

You hum.

"Mhm. Can't write anything right. Soseki, do you have any tips?"

Natsume looked at you with the corner of his eyes.

"You are overthinking too much. When you are that stressed, you can make mistakes."

Suddenly, he perked up. He took his phone from his pocket and open the recorder app.

"You need a different way of working. Please, lay down on your bed."

You looked at Natsume with a puzzled look, but he only encourages you to lay down. You shrug and lay on your bed on your stomach.

Natsume put his phone near your head.

"Okay, start talking about what you want to write. I will guide you and show, what to write in an essay."

Before you can ask why you need to lay on your bed for that, Natsume Soseki transformed into a cat.

Calico cat jumped on your back and start kneading your back.

Natsume Soseki, the man, who created The Tripartite Framework, who was a teacher of Fukuzawa Yukichi, Mori Ougai and, perhaps, Santouka Taneda, were giving you a cat massage.

You giggle. It felt so nice.

Mii-chan meowed, asking for you to start talking.

"Okay... So, First, I need to list my opinion on the matter."

Mii-chan purred.

"Then... I will list my reasoning behind my opinion."

More purring.

"First argument, short review, the second... Ow!"

Mii-chan hissed and carefully bit your ear.

"Okay, explain first argument in a detail..."

Mii-chan licked the place he bit and purred again.

After more kneading, purring and some biting, you had a clear plan for both essays.

___________

In reality, you pet Mii-chan's head.

"Thank you, Soseki..."

Mii-chan meowed.

You glance at the clock. It was almost time for your shift.

You hoped, that others won't be hurt.

__________

Armed Detective Agency were on a lookout. Today, they will be the ones, who will stay in a café protecting you. Others will patrol the rest of the Charity Fair just in case.

They saw, that café start working again. Their mission begins.

__________

Fukuzawa Yukichi and Ranpo Edogawa were already in the café.

They occupy one of the tables. Ranpo was enjoying soda and cake, while Fukuzawa was drinking green tea.

You approach them.

"Hello, Ranpo, Hello, Yukichi!"

Ranpo grinned and waved at you. Fukuzawa smiled warmly at you and greeted you with a nod.

"Hey, my favorite assistant! Do not worry about today, the Greatest Detective in the world won't let anything happen to you." proclaimed Ranpo.

Fukuzawa sighs and looks at you.

"[Y/N], please, do not worry. Ranpo and I will stay here and protect you, meanwhile the rest of the ADA will patrol near the café and scare Stalker off."

"Understand. But... I am worried about the others..."

Ranpo laughed and boop your nose.

"Do not worry, [Y/N], they will be okay. Besides, I knew, that Stalker can't do anything against them."

"I hope, you are right. Call me, if you need anything. I will be behind the counter."

_______

Fukuzawa finished his tea.

On the outside, he looked like a calm person.

On the inside, he was furious.

His desire to protect you were akin to a dragon fire.

You are so precious. So perfect.

Fukuzawa hide his smile, recalling, what happened one summer morning.

_______

Fukuzawa was drinking tea and reading the newspaper. When, suddenly, he got a notification. Someone texted him. Fukuzawa looked at his phone's display and saw a message from you.

Must resist the urge to pet: Yukichi! Help, I’m being kidnapped!

Fukuzawa feel a chill running down his spine. What? You were supposed to be with Gen'ichirou! Did someone attack you two and defeated Fukuchi? Fukuzawa start tapping message as fast as he can.

Fukuzawa : Where are you?

Three dots appeared. The wait was torturous.

Must resist the urge to pet: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help.

It was bad. He needs to do something.

Fukuzawa decide to call Fukuchi. Maybe, you were kidnapped, while he was distracted?

Fukuzawa dial the number. A few moments later, he heard the voice.

"Hello, Fukuzawa. Do you need anything?"

Fukuchi sounds calm. Not worried or angry. He doesn't know, you were in danger. Fukuzawa spoke.

"Where’s [Y/N]? They texted me that they were being kidnapped."

Fukuchi was silent. Then he answered.

"[Y/N]? Fukuzawa, what do you mean? They're right next to me in the car...

Then there was silence. Then Fukuchi spoke again.

"We will return home in five minutes. Please, wait for us."

Fukuchi hand up. Fukuzawa breath in and out. You were with Fukuchi? Then why did you text him about kidnapping?

Perhaps, he should wait for Fukuchi's return.

Five minutes later, Fukuzawa saw Fukuchi's car stopping outside the house. Fukuzawa decided to greet you outside.

The moment he stepped from the house, you jolted from the car and hide behind Fukuzawa.

"Yukichi, save me from this man" you point at the second person, who stepped outside the car.

Fukuchi slowly approach you two. Fukuzawa blinked and chuckled quietly.

Fukuchi didn't have his mustache anymore.

Meanwhile, Fukuchi was looking at you. He spoke to Fukuzawa.

"I decided to freshen up my looks a little. Got new haircut and barber offer me a shave. I agreed."

You grab Fukuzawa's sleeve, trying to hide your face behind it.

Fukuchi glare at you.

"THE NEW HAIRCUT AND SHAVE AREN’T THAT BAD!"

You trembled behind Fukuzawa'a back.

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

Fukuzawa start laughing. He placed his hand on top of your head and ruffle your hair.

"Okay, calm down, you two."

You close your eyes, accepting the pats.

At the end, you finally accept, that strange man really was Fukuchi.

But Fukuchi decide not to shave his mustache again, when they grew back.

___________

Kirako Haruno was one of your first clients today. She waved, when she came closer to the counter.

"Hi, [Y/N]! Hi, Mii-chan!" Kirako carefully scratch Mii-chan's chin.

Kirako knew who Mii-chan truly was. You were told, that back in their world, Natsume was taking care of Kirako, while she was in 'stasis' and had a strange form of self-awareness. And, after Kirako finally became truly self-aware, she and Natsume talked. They didn't have any bad blood between them and managed to became good friends. Natsume wasn't against posing as Mii-chan for Kirako, and Kirako assist Natsume while he was writing.

You smiled and Mii-chan meowed.

"Hi, Kirako. How can I help you?"

Kirako stopped petting Mii-chan and looked at the menu.

"Can you recommend something? Everything look fantastic, I can't decide what to get"

You thought for a moment.

"Well, everything here is tasty. But, I must say, that all milk in the café are sweet, so, keep in mind, if you want to order a dessert."

Kirako carefully read the menu again.

"I will have an apple tart and black tea, please. Will eat it here."

"Will be right up."

You stepped in the kitchen and start preparing tea. Meanwhile, Kirako sat on one of the tables in the café, not far away from Fukuzawa's table.

Soon you put a tray with a black tea, chocolate biscuits and apple tart before Kirako.

"Enjoy"

Before Kirako can ask about biscuits, you answered.

"Biscuits are from me... Thank you, Kirako..."

Kirako smiles.

On your way to the counter, you remembered one of the little moments you shared with Kirako.

_______

"They are so cute and fluffy" cooed Kirako, watching the cat video you were showing her. You nodded in agreement.

You two were having a lazy hour full of snacks and cat videos. Kirako practically forced you into it, after she noticed that you were stressing about university again.

Kirako rubbed her chin. Her eyes sparkled.

"Hey, [Y/N] let's go for a walk. The weather is nice. Let's take a breath of a fresh air."

You wanted to refuse, but, you must admit, that you still feel tired. You still need some time away from the university and study.

"Let me grab my jacket, and we will be on our way."

_______

You smile at the memory. But, you couldn't enjoy the trip down memory lane for too long. You have new customers at the counter.

_______

Kirako take a good look around the café. It wasn't the biggest café, and it doesn't have many places to hide.

Kirako wasn't the detective, but she has a good memory and was quite observant.

She remembered Fukuzawa's instructions for her.

"After Natsume's-sensei and Karl's attack on the Stalker, they won't be really active tonight. It will be a good chance to take a first look at the café. Plus, we might find, if someone from [Y/N]'s fellow students are observing them. You and Naomi will be first to go to the café. Report, if you see something suspicious."

Kirako looked around again.

And she noticed them in the window.

The same person in black that Ango saw in walls' memories and Natsume-sensei attacked.

Kirako sent a quick message.

"They are here. Third window from the entrance. Want to do something."

The answer was delivered almost immediately.

"Naomi is on her way. Be careful."

The moment Naomi walked inside the café, Kirako finished her tea, and tart and left the café.

________

[Y/N], my dear [Y/N]...

Oh, my sweet treasure...

Why are you talking to this woman?

Why are you still dirtying yourself?

Didn't you get the message...

You are mine...

AHHHHHHH! IT BURN!

_____

Kirako looked with disgust at the scratched Stalker, who still slightly reeks of rotten durians and was laying on the ground and howling with pain.

Kirako was holding an empty water bottle. Just a few moments ago, it was full of salted water. Kirako prepared this bottle before she came to

Stalker were so absorbed in their thoughts, they didn't notice Kirako walking behind them and pouring salt water at them.

At their fresh scratches.

Kirako rolled her eyes.

"There is more where it came from. Stay away from [Y/N].

Kirako turned around and left the sobbing person behind.

_______

Naomi Tanizaki greeted you with a hug.

"[Y/N], you looked so good in this uniform! During our next shopping trip, we should find similar clothes for you."

You chuckled.

"Okay, no problems. What can I get for you?"

Naomi took a quick glance at the menu.

"Big Capuchino to go. That's all"

You take her order and start making her coffee. You remembered your first coffee time together.

______

"So... What do you want to discuss, Naomi?" you tilt your head, looking at Naomi. It has been two weeks since BSD Gang appeared in your apartment, and you still feel a little bit shy around them. She turned around, holding a book in her hands.

"Flowers."

You blinked.

"Flowers?"

Naomi nodded.

"Yes! I want to learn about this world's flowers."

You chew your lip.

"What do you want to know?"

Naomi looked from side to side.

"Everything... Anything. I just want to spend time with you."

You stay silent. You remember, how you promised Naomi, back when you received the first note from her in the app, to have some tea together.

"Let's brew some coffee and tea. And... Let's talk about anything we want."

Naomi looked happier than before.

You two went to the kitchen.

_________

You finish preparations and drew some flowers on Naomi's plastic cup. You also included a bad of candies from your own stock.

When you gave it to her, she smiled.

Naomi left the café. You turned towards Mii-chan.

"Was it me, or she had spikes on her shoes?"

Mii-chan murped.

______

Naomi stayed at the café entrance, waiting for Katai to take over. Back in a café she noticed, that Stalker was on their knees, but still observing [Y/N].

Naomi tapped her feet impatiently. Where is Katai, she wants to finally get her hands on the pathetic Stalker.

Katai, without his futon, finally appeared. He looked confident.

"Surveillance are under my control. Do whatever you want with them, Naomi."

Naomi nodded and moved to the Stalker's spot.

Behind her, Katai walked in the café.

______

[Y/N].. ow ow ow

Why are you ow ow ow

Hugging... Ow

Will punish... ow

SMACK

______

Naomi looked at the beaten up Stalker. She spent three minutes kicking them with her special spiked shoes.

Naomi put her feet on Stalker's head.

"Another warning for you. Go away and never return. Leave [Y/N] alone."

After another small kick, Naomi picks up Stalker's phone and left.

______

You greet Katai with a little smile. He waved at you and looked around. There were multiple people here.

"The place is becoming more and more crowded, am I right?" asked Katai, looking at you with pity. "Isn't it too much work for one employee?"

You shrug.

"Even if it is, there is nothing I can do. I am not even an official employee, I am a free labor student... I am fine, to be honest. Charity Fair is important."

Katai rub his neck.

"Well, yes, it is... Can I have simple black coffee? Here."

Katai turn around and sat at the farthest table. He took his laptop from his bag and start typing something.

You start making his order. With the corner of your eye, you noticed, that Kirako and Naomi returned and now were sitting at the same table as Katai.

Another memory, this time with Katai, appeared before your eyes.

______

You were laying on Katai's mattress, while Katai was checking your laptop. He wanted to make sure, that you don't have any viruses or trojan in your laptop.

Thankfully, nothing bad was discovered. You yawn. A little idea came to your mind.

"Hey, Katai, want to watch a movie together?"

"What movie?" asked Katai, glancing at you.

"Matrix"

For the next two and a half hours, you and Katai were snuggled under one blanket, watching the movie.

_________

You brought Katai's order to him. You also add some red bean buns you brought from home.

Katai took a bun.

"Thank you, [Y/N]."

"No problems. Girls, do you...?"

Naomi interrupted you.

"No, don't worry, we will just sit here."

You nodded and return to the other customers.

__________

Katai was monitoring the surveillance cameras. He turned them on and off, all for ADA not being caught while teaching Stalker a lesson.

Naomi gave Katai Stalker's phone. In a matter of seconds, it was hacked and Katai start working on his part of the punishment.

Before that, he sent a text to an ADA chat with Stalker's current whereabouts.

_________

I... I will return...

These girls... Will pay... Ow...

For taking [Y/N]... Away...

For beating me...

I... will get you, [Y/N]... You need to be..

Kept away from this people... I knew where the back door is... I soon will be there...

Where... did the snow came from...

*SMACK* *TWHAK*

________

Junchirou Tanizaki was looking at the Stalker, whose nose he just broke. Stalker was covering his nose with both hands. Blood dripped on the ground.

Junchirou grabbed Stalker's jacket and shook them.

"You will never come near [Y/N]. You will leave this city. You will leave this country. And you won't even breath in their detention. Or else... You will be dead."

Junchirou kicked Stalker in the stomach, picked them up, threw in the nearest garbage container and left the dark alley.

Now he needs to go to the café and guard you over here.

According to Ranpo, the Stalker will be persistent.

Well, he is also persistent. And he cherished you.

He remembered this one time, you two cooked together.

_____

"Okay, just add some spice, and ramen will be ready" instructed Junchirou, cutting fried meat for dinner.

You nodded and start slowly adding the last ingredient.

The aroma of cooked food was fantastic.

You turned off the stove and put the pot of ramen on the table. Junchirou cast a quick glance at you and smiles.

"I am so glad that we are finally here, near you." confessed Junchirou.

You let out a quiet laugh and gave Junchirou a side hug.

"And I am glad that I have so many new, wonderful friends."

_________

Again in the dumpster!

My hit list is getting bigger and this people say! [Y/N] are mine and only mine!

I will destroy all enemies of our love!

Will start with this blonde boy! He was on one of the pictures I destroyed.

Come here you...

________

Kenji Miyazawa was looking at the dumpster, he threw on the nearest roof.

He thought about talking with Stalker, but they tried to attack him, screaming threats and promises of what they will do with [Y/N].

And Kenji can't let them make their threats a reality.

Because you are important. Because you are his friend.

Kenji hurries to the café. You need all of them to protect you.

Kenji remembered, how you two went to a farm market.

______

"[Y/N], I tell you, this meat will be perfect for a pie" grinned Kenji, pointing at the small stand near you.

"Kenji, I do believe you, but I don't want to use your power too much." You explained. You already have your hands full. And Kenji was holding a few bags with fresh cheese, cotton cheese, at least a few dozen kilos of vegetables and fruits. Kenji smiles and assures you. "Don't worry, [Y/N], I can carry much more than that. Let's buy some meat"

Kenji looked at you with pleading eyes. You can't say no to these eyes. That evening, all of you enjoyed some meat pie.

_________

Stalker literally rolled from the dumpster. They curled on the ground, trying to make sense of what just happened.

With no success.

After a few minutes of laying on the roof, Stalker finally stand up. They finally spoke.

"I only need to avoid the kid... [Y/N] still will be mine..."

They took a photo of you, that they stole three days ago.

Then they heard a crackling sound.

"You truly are despicable. The waste of good bandages isn't that shameless in romantic questions."

Someone's hand grabbed their shoulder.

"Well, I will teach you manners. Lesson number 1. Don't go near [Y/N]"

*ZAP*

_________

Doppo Kunikida rolled his eyes, looking at the twitching Stalker, who he zapped a few moments ago.

"I hope, you learned your lesson. But, if not, all of us will be glad to repeat the lesson."

Doppo turned around and marched to the roof exit.

You are such a good person. A little bit chaotic, but perfect in your way.

Doppo smile, remembering one of many moments you shared together.

______

You and Doppo were putting books in the library on their respectful places.

"Pay attention, we need to pay attention to full book titles. Alphabetical order may be the most common one, but, nevertheless, it is the easiest to use in the libraries." explain Doppo, checking the order of the books he put in.

You chuckled and re-check the books you were organizing.

"Okay, if you say so..."

Doppo looked satisfied with your answer. Everything was nice.

Until Kunikida saw the section with Dazai Osamu's works.

Books were not only standing in non-alphabetic order, but some of them were upside down, or laying on the side. You even made a little house with five books.

"[Y/N]! What happened with these books?"

You laugh.

"Well... I thought it would be nice, to arrange at least one section in a way it mirrors someone of you. So, Chaotic Dazai get... Chaotic section."

Kunikida huffs and start reorganizing Dazai's section.

"It's not something you or him should be proud of. This waste of a good bandages are like a rock that was thrown in the bag of flour."

You chuckled quietly and continue help Doppo, this time, for real.

_________

Atsushi and Kyouka were keeping an eye on Stalker. They were still laying on the roof, after beating and zapping from Kunikida.

They twitch and slowly get up.

On weak legs, they walked towards the roof exit.

When they finally left the roof, Atsushi and Kyouka slowly followed them.

___________

I... I... Won't... Give up...

They... Were the one... Who decide to attack me...

[Y/N] didn't ask them to do it...

They... Love me... Will love me...

WH-WHAT IS THIS THING?!

_______

Stalker hopped, that girl with the knife, that creepy thing with katana and half-tiger, half-human were their hallucination.

Pain was real.

_______

"They are unconscious" Kyouka stated, slightly kicking Stalker. They were alive. But even more damaged.

Snow demon was holding Stalker's small bag that they were hiding in their inner pocket.

Bag, full of pictures of you, that were taken secretly from the distance.

Atsushi, who transformed back into human, grabbed the bag.

"While I want to destroy them, I think we should save them as an evidence. Just in case."

Kyouka nodded. Atsushi cast a last glance at Stalker, after disappearing in the dark alley. Kyouka kicked Stalker one more time and follow Atsushi.

You became an important part of their lives.

There is no way they will let anyone hurt you. Or let someone, who made you cry, pay.

________

You three finished swimming in the pool and now were relaxing in the picnic area.

The ice cream was perfect for that hot summer day. You, Atsushi and Kyouka enjoy cold treat, while sitting under the tree on your backyard.

Demon Show was sitting not far from you. It finished brushing Kyouka's hair and now was brushing yours.

The day was perfect.

________

Stalker heard a metallic noise. They opened their eyes.

Yosano, who was holding her cleaver, smiled. Her smile was crazy.

"Poor thing, you need a doctor, right? Don't worry, I will help you. After my treatment, you will never ever mess with [Y/N].

________

Exhausted, Stalker was laying on the ground.

All their wounds were gone, but, they would prefer to have their wounds back instead of receiving the treatment from Yosano.

Doctor huffs and, after stepping on Stalker, left the alley.

She smiled again. This time, the smile was real.

_______

You two were visiting a botanical garden. They have an area with real butterflies.

Butterflies were beautiful and colorful.

Yosano manage to take many photos that day. On one of them, you were staring at the butterfly, that decide to land on your nose.

You looked so adorable, trying not to sneeze and scare the butterfly.

______

Stalker managed to stand up only half and hour later. They were disoriented, terrified and dizzy.

And they were stubborn as hell.

Even after everything they went through, they were adamant on making you theirs.

And tried to make one last attempt to get to the café to observe you.

But they couldn't make it past the alley.

Because they crashed into someone's chest.

Stalker looked up and looked right into Dazai's brown eyes.

For one moment, Stalker thought, that he was looking death in the eyes.

Dazai Osamu whispered.

"So... You were the one, who made My Dear Guiding Light cry..."

_______

It's been few hours, since they appeared in your world. All of them want to talk to you. To make sure, that you are real.

To make things easier, they decide to approach you one by one.

It was Dazai's turn.

Dazai was sitting before you. You were holding his hands.

"Dazai... I am sorry. I am sorry for unknowingly pocking my nose into your past. And into your thoughts. I will accept your disgust and hate, but, I assure you, if I knew, that you were self-aware, I would stop reading and watching."

Dazai felt tears in his eyes. He embraced you. For the first time in his life he hugged someone.

"I could never hate you... Someone so human and kind... Thank you, [Y/N]... For being near me during all this time."

You hugged him in return.

"You are welcome, Dazai."

Dazai whispered.

"Please... You can call me Osamu."

________

Dazai left the beaten up Stalker in the alley.

He started walking at the café.

Your shift will end soon.

___________

Your shift was almost over. And almost whole ADA gathered in a café.

Junchirou and Atsushi were helping you by the counter, Mii-chan entertained clients by simply being there and letting pet himself, Doppo, Kenji, Osamu and Yukichi were making sure, that customers wasn't trying to cause trouble, Akiko, Naomi, Kirako and Kyouka were helping you with carrying trays. Katai was helping Ranpo with uncovering last bits of information, so Ranpo could investigate.

_______

Ranpo was slightly worried.

He knew, that he will uncover everything, he is The Greatest Detective in the World.

But he was worried, if he uncovers something, that will make you upset.

He didn't want to make you upset.

He prefers, when you were happy.

_________

You and Ranpo were visiting a small candy shop.

Both of you were happy, like two kids at a birthday party.

With hands full of snacks, you returned home and had a True-Crime podcast marathon.

With Ranpo commenting every single actions detectives and police do.

_________

The moment your shift finished, Katai obtained the last file from Stalker's phone.

ADA and you gather around Ranpo.

Ranpo drank the rest of his soda (fifth one).

"Well, time for me to uncover, who is our Stalker's accomplice. Super Deduction"

It took Ranpo one minute to form a list of accomplices.

You looked at the list, slightly worried.

"It's... A lot of people..."

Ranpo nodded solemnly.

"Yes. But, I am sure, that they won't like what will happen tomorrow. We will patrol the rest of the Fair. And here... Well, They will see, how protective Port Mafia can be."

All of you nodded.

ADA help you with cleaning up. You left café with all of them. Together.

The day ended.

First day of the Charity Fair was a success.

You wonder what would happen tomorrow.

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #Armed Detective Agency x reader

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danibee33 · 8 months ago

Text

Part III of undercover!Ghost 🩶

ghost x reader (callsign: Hela)

word count : 4.7k

>>> [PT 1] [PT2]

You aren’t avoiding Ghost. Not really..

Ok, maybe you are.

The week since the undercover mission had been busier than usual, so it’s not like you don’t have an excuse for your absence- you did have other duties and responsibilities to attend to collaterally to the one-four-one. But were you using said collaterals to possibly steer clear of a certain person..? Well, that’s not important.

“Been awhile, lil’ LT..”

You return Soap’s grin, looking up at him as you both take tentative steps- him reaching out first, and you deflecting,

“D’ya miss me that much, sergeant?” You say, eyes skimming his form, looking for any weakness in it, waiting for the right opening.

It wasn’t a planned meet up, you just needed something to do- you’ve been so restless lately, like no matter what you do, it’s never quite enough to stem the relentless flow of thoughts. Which is how you found yourself on the sparring mats opposite the equally restless man at such an ungodly hour.

“Always miss ye, hen..” Soap grunts just before lunging for you, attempting to swipe your leg but inadvertently opening himself up for you to get your arms and legs wrapped around torso- using your body weight to bring him to his knees,

“Steamin’ Jesus, lil LT- worse than a fuckin’-”

Whatever insults he might’ve tried to spew are cut off when you suddenly readjust, but he recovers quicker than you expect- lifting up and bringing you along with him,

“If ye wanted to cuddle, ye could’a just said so..” Soap says, that flirty little lilt at the edge of his words, the same one you’ve heard him use at the bar a hundred times now. And the lopsided smirk on his lips is all too familiar as he tightens his grip around your waist–

God, he’s such a fuckboy…

With a breathless groan, you switch your hold again, crossing your arm over his face in order to put distance between you while still keeping him mostly trapped,

“Shut it, MacTavish. I’m still winning, aren’t I?”

You go back and forth like this until you’re both struggling to breathe and your muscles begin to quiver with fatigue- throwing jokes and jabs easily. It had always been effortless to talk with Soap, banter with him came naturally, but you think it’s only because you two are alike in that way. Never at a loss for words to fill a silence.

And by the time you’re both thoroughly exhausted, all sweat and panting breaths as you stick uncomfortably to the mat, does he roll to his feet, brushing his hair back in the same motion,

“Always a pleasure, ma’am.” He grins, dwarfing your hand in his own as he tugs you up, “And we’re, uh, we’re goin’ out tomorrow night- or well, tonight, I s’pose.” he fumbles over his words in that adorable way he does sometimes, like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, “If ye’d like to come.. I can have LT text ye the details.”

At the mention of Simon, you feel the very tips of your ears begin to burn. The sergeant’s prompt too quickly bringing back all the thoughts and memories you had been trying to purge yourself of by coming here,

“Um.. Sure. No promises, though. It’s been busy, ya know..” You say, fighting to keep your tone flippant and casual- but John MacTavish is more keen than you might have given him credit for.

He walks by your side out of the gym, obviously searching for the right way to bring it up, until finally it’s almost like you can feel his own curiosity win over his better judgment,

“Ma’am.. Did somethin’ happen? On the last mission?” The next few seconds are filled with him trying, and somewhat failing but it’s amusing nonetheless, to explain why he’s asking- mostly due to your unusual absences since returning that night. The way you’ve been avoiding the entire team in favor of doing paperwork in your office-

Which you never did because you said you hated being back there on your own.

No, you always preferred to take care of those things in the common spaces, where the chances of having company were always high.

“Was it seein’ LT’s mug? I ken that’s always a bit of a shock for first timers, but-”

“What?” You interject, eyebrows raised in surprise, “No.. no, it has nothing to do with that..”

Well, that’s also not entirely true, is it? But you don’t think it’s for the reasons Soap’s imagining.. It’s more about the fact that everytime you even catch a glimpse of the giant man, you’re reminded of how handsome he was on his knees in front of you, how big his hands felt over your thighs, how his tongue-

“Well, just think ‘bout joinin’ us, won’t ye?”

The sheer amount of hope in Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, replacing the memory of amber eyes with bright cerulean ones, and that signature fucking smirk,

“Fine! Just chill out with the puppy dog eyes, MacTavish.. Begging like a damn dog.” You concede, waving him away and turning toward your hall without waiting for his reaction. But he doesn’t let you get far before you hear his chuckle, husky and chocked full of guile, bounce off the concrete walls,

“Woof, woof, lil LT..”

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

He doesn’t like being unfamiliar with his surroundings, because he spends too much fucking time being unfamiliar in nearly every surrounding he’s sent to. He doesn’t like leaving things up to chance, doesn’t like how much more stress accumulates around his shoulders and neck- it annoys him, the ache.

But Johnny and Gaz had just been so damn adamant about trying out a new pub. One on the opposite end of town, and he can admit it’s nicer than their usual hole in the wall, but still.

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

Well, that was until he caught sight of you. And then he found himself slightly more drawn to the low lighting that danced over your skin, the way it glowed in your eyes as your survey the bar-

“Hel’s ‘ere?” He asks, downing the last nip of bourbon in his cup.

Johnny’s head whips up then, spotting you in an instant- and there’s something about his response that causes Simon’s gaze to narrow at the shorter man. It’s too… giddy, too reverent for his liking.

“Aye! Invited her the other night.”

That ache in his neck returns but somehow significantly worse.

The other night? You had been with Johnny the other night? When this entire fucking week he hadn’t been able to get three fucking seconds alone with you-

Ok, no, he hadn’t worked up to trying to just call or text, that felt too impersonal. He was shit at all that anyway, he needs to see your body language, needs to analyze all the little expressions that give away so much more than words do. But you had somehow found a way to beat him at his own game. You turned into a ghost, only ever catching your silhouette from the corner of his eye, hearing your voice but never being quick enough to be within a few meters of you.

And possibly the worst was when he would enter a room you had been recently in, the smell of you permeating the air, causing his heart to stutter just so with every deep breath.

Fucking hell..

But here you are. And at Johnny’s request, no less.

Ghost despises new places.

Yet, he does think he could learn to like the overly enthusiastic beat of the music when he sees your hips sway to the rhythm as you wait for your drink. You’re in tight jeans and a black leather jacket that fits your figure like a goddamn glove- and he swears he can feel the silk of your skin by just memory alone, the curves of your body already etched into his mind.

“Gonna get a refill.” He grunts, already walking away from the table with the empty glass in hand.

The sound of a cup being sat on the bartop snaps you back to the present, followed by a heady rush of chills when you hear the baritone of Simon’s voice far closer to your ear than you expect,

“So, she lives.”

You let out a small breath, turning to find the burly breadth of his chest taking up nearly your entire field of view- clad in black from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise you one bit, but it’s not his usual hoodie and jacket. No, this time he’s in a black henley that fits more like a second skin, the fabric deliciously stretched over his pecs and shoulders, the top button left open to give you just a peek at the silver chain glinting underneath and… is that a tattoo?

“She does..” You say, meeting his eyes.

And you really should know better, with too many of your nights haunted by the deep amber of his irises- but the instant it happens, it’s like you’re back in that damned office all over again. The music grows faint, and the people around you turn into little more than blurs at the edge of your vision. He’s all you can feel, the heat of him, the intensity behind his gaze, the way his head tilts softly to the side, studying you as if he might be recommitting your features to memory- not that he needs to.

Because you’ve haunted him just as much. You’ve been the bane of his existence this last week, and somehow the only thing he can see when he shuts his eyes. The sole focus of his loathing and his desire-

“Ma’am, your whiskey sour-” The bartender announces from behind you, effectively breaking the spell you’ve been so wrapped up in right before you hear another small clink, “and a bourbon, neat.”

Without hesitation, Simon leans closer, big arm reaching around you to pull his glass from the bartop and the black surgical mask covering his mouth and nose down in the same motion. He keeps that same heavy gaze on you, your own eyes growing wider at the sight of his face, his crooked nose and scarred lip. You watch him take a short sip, but just as quick as it happened, his mask is back in place, and he’s stepping back,

“C’mon. Table’s over ‘ere.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt whiplash quite like seeing Ghost turn his back on you, easily carving a path through the patrons that fill the space-

But you are damn sure the infuriating Brit isn’t going to get the last word in this.

Ghost can feel your stare, feel how it’s directed right at the back of his skull. A perfect kill shot if he were a betting man. But he can also hear the quiet click of your boots following after him, the tightness in his jeans growing more noticeable with every step-

Fuck.

“Lil’ LT! Glad ye’ could make it out!” Johnny shouts over the crowd, blue eyes cast in mischief and that open sort of admiration that Ghost is sure the man couldn’t hide even if he tried.

You round the table, looking up at the Scot with a devastating smile on your lips before nudging his shoulder with your own,

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure your ego wasn’t too damaged after kicking your ass this morning, sergeant.”

“Ach! -”

Ghost can hear Johnny sputtering on and on in that terrible mashup of English and Scottish slang that’s always grated on the lieutenant’s ears- but whatever he’s saying doesn’t quite register. Instead, he can only really hear the way your laugh brightens the dim room, see the way your head tips back as you take another sip of your drink.

And it’s only then he realizes that he just wishes you would look at him like that. Wishes that he could draw the melodious sound from you, that he could be the reason you smile so brightly-

“Well, well, well-” the group looks over to see Gaz and Price meandering through the throng of bodies, the younger man with outstretched arms, “Hela! Thought you’d up and left our sorry arses!”

All Simon can do is grit his teeth as Gaz embraces you in a quick side hug, Price close behind with a warm grin even on his bearded face,

“And miss out on all the fun? You know me better than that, Garrick.” You say, raising your glass to the Captain in greeting.

So, no, Ghost doesn’t like new places.

But he can’t deny that as the next hour passes he’s smiled more than a few times at his team’s antics. And he certainly can’t say that he hasn’t missed the way you bring them all a little closer, your bubbly brand of forwardness allowing them to each get out of their heads, even if just for a little while.

“What’s this about you handin’ MacTavish's arse to him?” Price’s voice booms over the music, which has only seemed to get louder the later it gets-

Ghost watches you down the rest of your whiskey sour without so much as a flinch, your cheeks flushed such a pretty pink from the alcohol,

“I mean, is that really a surprise?” You shoot back, the man in question all but slamming his glass down on the table in rebuttal-

“Ooh- yer arse is oot the windae! I want a rematch!” Johnny’s words slur together just enough to give away how good he’s really feeling, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “Watcha say, lil LT? And this time we’ll have a proper judge, right Cap? No cheatin’-”

It really isn’t fair how you lean into him as you chuckle, that ache in Simon’s neck creeping up again at the sight.

Christ alive, why can’t he just get it together? Why does he care? You’ve never been one to shy away from physical touch… but fuck all if it doesn’t eat at him.

“Oi, who wants another round?” Gaz, thankfully interjects, drawing everyone’s attention with a collective and resounding sound off.

The others waltz away through the crowd in the direction of the bar, everyone but you- standing across from Ghost at the table, toying with the toothpick in your glass,

"Late night spar, huh?" You don't miss the added gruffness in his tone, or the fact that he refuses to look at you now, staring somewhere over your head.

And if you were a better woman, you wouldn't feel the need to play into his offputting display of jealousy- but you're you after all.. and he's Ghost. So, you give a little hum before plucking the tiny skewer from your cup,

"Couldn't sleep.." You shrug, looking up at him under you lashes, his eyes already on the maraschino cherry that drips down your fingers, "Figured I'd do something a little more productive since I was up anyway-"

Simon tracks your hand, falling right into your terrible little game as you bring the fruit to your lips- it's tooth achingly sweet when you finally bite into it, mixed with the burn of whiskey. And it's when the juice runs down your chin that you meet his gaze, swiping up the liquid on your thumb, he watches with a severity that sends a dangerous chill up your spine- not even daring to blink as you suck the digit clean.

You know he's keenly aware of exactly what you're doing, but that doesn't stop the lust and satisfaction from rushing through you at his deep growl- those coppery eyes darker than you've ever seen.

All too innocently, you flash him a smile, "I think I'll have one more.. you want anything, sir?"

Ghost thinks he can feel the crystal glass in his hand begin to splinter under his grip, unable to tear his eyes away from the red stain on your lips- it's enough to drive him mad.

He gives you a curt shake of his head, knowing that if he had another drink, he might lose whatever vague sense of self-control he's clinging onto so precariously.

And instead of watching you walk away, he turns toward the pool tables, needing something to do with his hands- because if he clenched them any fucking tighter he think he might draw blood with the way his blunt nails dig into his calloused palm.

Without waiting for the others, he racks the balls before picking up a cue stick and breaking the formation- moving around the table just as Johnny sidles up to him,

"Did’nae take ye for a billiards guy, LT.." He says, quickly working to chalk up his own cue.

Gaz and Price follow soon after, eager to join in on teams- and it works, for a short time anyway to distract him. If he can just stay focused on making each shot, then he won't have time to think about you. But, that's a rather silly notion, isn't it? Because sure enough, just as he leans in to take a shot, he spots you bump elbows with his Scottish counterpart.

"Here to give me some good luck, lil LT?" Johnny looks down at you with a lopsided grin, both hands wrapped around the cue stick as he leans on it.

You take a slow sip of your drink, just enough time to glance at Simon- sleeves now pulled up to expose the thickly corded muscles of his forearms and the faded black ball cap on his head turned backwards. He's calculated in his shot, efficiently knocking a striped ball into the nearest pocket-

"I don't think you want any of my luck, sergeant.." You drawl, eyes flitting up to see his deep blue ones already on you, "Can't say I have the best track record when it comes to that."

Soap's chuckle is warm and laced with silk in your ears, watching him copy his superior's movements, finessing his own cue to score a bankshot. Gaz is next, followed by Price, and you follow them ardently, moving around the table as they go until it's back to Ghost-

"Aye, LT-" Johnny calls, "Why don't you show Hela how to do a jump.."

You've managed to get close enough to the towering man now that he has to look down at you before glaring back at his sergeant,

"'m sure she can figure it out on 'er own, Johnny."

"I've actually never really played." You say before your better judgment can stop your mouth from moving- maybe you have had a little much to drink.

And the way Simon's jaw clenches, having taken off his mask as the other patrons slowly dispersed, makes your core tighten- biting the fleshy inside of your cheek between your teeth. You shouldn't push it. You’ve done enough of that already, haven’t you?

Yet, in one swift motion, Simon's hand is on your hip, the other taking the half-empty cup from your grasp before positioning your body in front of his. It isn't exactly gentle, there's a roughness to his movements that put you on edge, a stiffness in his voice that only stokes the the fire in your belly,

"Hold it 'ere.." You take the stick in your hand, the wood still hot from his touch, "and 'ere."

When you grab it this time, he covers your hand, easily repositioning it further down- "Like that."

Very suddenly, you're regretting putting yourself in this situation, so swept up in the feeling of Simon all but dwarfing you, his proximity far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol you've consumed tonight, that you don't notice the sly smirk on Gaz's face- nor the knowing looks shared between your teammates.

In your defense, Simon makes it hard to concentrate on much of anything with the way he slowly leans into you, urging you to bend forward- his hold light but still strong enough to make the slightest adjustments to your stance,

"Lift your elbow now." He mutters, his breath tickling over your exposed shoulder, your jacket left slung over the nearest chair. But it's his hand that catches you off guard, because unlike every other movement he's made with purpose and intention, a man simply doing a job; when he moves now, it's slow, his fingers grazing up your side before softly caressing the skin of your arm,

"Good."

You shift on your feet, your body feeling like it might combust at any moment, the one word spoken in his brassy accent threatening to unravel you on the spot.

The next few moments seem to pass in a blur, you feel him lean in just a bit closer, his left arm bracing over you on the edge of the table as his right hand lands right behind yours on the stick. Whatever he does after is more like a magic trick than logic, rushing the tip downward on the ball with enough force to nearly jerk you forward, but with enough finesse that the little sphere hops off the table- knocking what you assume was the intended target into its pocket.

It takes longer than you're proud of to recover, scrambling to put a bright smile on your face, moving when he does and hoping to whatever deities might exist that it's dark enough to hide the red hue of your cheeks,

"Look at that, a natural, ma'am!" Gaz shouts, clapping a wide palm over your back- and you try to force out a laugh, try to keep your eyes away from the dark form that's moved back towards the table now.

Away from you.

And you wish it didn't make your stomach twist, seeing him pull his mask back on and fixing his ballcap again so that the bill sits low over his eyes-

"Headin' out, Simon?" Price speaks up, an unlit cigar propped lazily between his lips now.

Simon gives his signature nod, which barely a perceptible gesture, but you're all used to it enough by now. The captain, already out past his bedtime, is happy to begin rounding up his own belongings as well, urging the sergeants to get it together and get to the truck,

"I call shotgun!" Soap calls over his shoulder, already barreling towards the exit, Garrick hot on his heels,

"Fuckin' hell.." Price grumbles, looking back at you, "Need a lift, love?"

"No, I'm good. See you tomorrow, Cap." You say, a tired smile reassuring him enough that you would get home-

And just like that, the once bustling pub is more like a ghost town when you step out into the crisp night air, watching the tail lights flicker away. You had gotten a taxi here, but you feel too wired to call for one now- your body felt like it was vibrating, still so lost in the fading memory of what happened inside. But maybe you were just imagining it.. maybe you had let those lines between reality and fantasy blur a little too close for comfort.

Simon climbed into the driver's seat, his hands hitting the steering wheel before ripping the hat and mask off and throwing them onto the dash-

"Fuck."

What was he thinking? He should have never given into it, never touched you the way he did, held you, gotten close enough to feel you against him again. Should have never fed the monster.

God-fucking-damn MacTavish and his annoying fucking antics, never knowing when to quit. Ever since the undercover mission, the man had been a hound with a scent. Testing and prodding and sticking his damned nose in places it didn't belong-

Simon loathes new places.

But there you are. Standing under the milky glow of the street lamp, your hands tangled in your hair and your cheeks puffed in frustration. And so fucking beautiful he can't stand it.

He should leave. He needs to go back to base, needs to take a shower so cold it hurts, needs to bury himself in work just like you did. He needs, he needs, he needs.

Yet, he doesn't do any of those things.

No, like the awful, depraved man he is, he steps out of the truck and makes a beeline right for you- which, looking back on it, might not have been the best course of action because the instant you see his hulking frame he watches how you go on the defensive. Your posture stiffening and your hand reaching for one of your many concealed weapons if he knows you like he thinks he does.

That's ok though, he imagines you could stab him right here in the parking lot and he wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, you could slit his throat and he would smile as he bled out at your feet.

Thankfully, you do neither of those things.

And as soon as you're within reach, he's got those big hands framing your face, crushing his lips to yours.

Shock is all you can register at first. Your mind and body flooded by adrenaline, ready for a fight when you initially saw the shadowed figure coming for you. But in those same few seconds, you recognized him, recognized every purpose driven stride, the steady sway of his shoulders-

Though him kissing you hadn't necessarily been on the list of things you had expected.

You're pulled to your tiptoes, and for a moment you think it might be a dream, the way he audibly groans when your lips begin to move against his. But he doesn't relent, and you don't want him to. So you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as your muscles can catch up to your thoughts.

You feel his tongue gently glide over your bottom lip, a gentle urging for you to reciprocate- which you're more than happy to oblige. The kiss turning somehow more heated, sloppy even, something you had never experienced yet something that you never want to end.

But all too soon, he does pull away, his fingers threading through your hair, "I'm sorry-"

Again, hearing Simon Riley apologise was just not on the bingo card for tonight.

He presses his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his, remnants of whiskey and bourbon filling your nostrils,

"Sorry?" You look up at him, eyebrows tightly knitted, "For what?"

"The mission.. I shouldn't have- I didn't-" --he stumbles over his words, scarred lips finally pulling into a grimace, "Hel, is it true?"

The way his gaze bores into you feels intimate, like he's trying to peel you apart, "Gonna have to be a little less vague there.. I'm smart, but I can't read minds."

Your breathy chuckle helps to ease the tension, if such a thing were possible with how close he still holds you,

"That you've never been with anyone, like that.."

Oh. GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU, MACTAVISH.

When you take a step back, he reluctantly lets you go, his expression faltering for a moment- and you hate it. Hate that you had possibly hurt him- but you just needed space to put it all together, to try to explain.

"Yes.." his face falls even more, and it's like you can feel the shame that radiates from him, your hands reaching for him on their own, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, "But I wanted it.. I wanted.. you. I want you- jesus, fuck- I'm so bad at this."

"You didn't say anythin'.."

You shake your head, a laugh huffing through you as you look to the inky sky above, "Would it have changed anything?"

"I wouldn't have-"

"You wouldn't have done what you did? Why?"

That seems to stump him, his mouth opening and then closing, opening again, "You deserved more."

"Simon, just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I'm completely naive.." You initiate the kiss this time, mimicking the way he had held your face, pulling him closer, "I'm under no illusion that it's suppose to be this magical moment-"

He eagerly returns your kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist as you continue, "And, let's be honest, having 'The Ghost' on his knees was waaayy better than sex."

You feel his smile right before he bends down and hoists over his shoulder,

"Simon!"

But, your shrieks and giggles fall on deaf ears, hands smacking at his back in a lame attempt to wiggle free, "Mm.. no, no, keep screamin' my name, sweet girl. I like the way it sounds."

a/n: this one got away from me… but your honor, they’re down so bad for each other 😭 thank you for reading!!

[PT 4] (coming soon)

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #it’s getting hot in here yall #haha oops #it’s a four parter i guess #sorry?#call of duty #cod fandom #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reader #fem reader #no y/n

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faketrex · 4 months ago

Text

We have reached the end of these cakegate bodyswap shenanigans. I hope you enjoy this final part! The whole thing will be up on my AO3 page... eventually.

Thank you kindly for reading and liking and reblogging and making me smile in the tags!

...

SHARING A SLICE... part 6

RWRB, rated T, 1000 words (this part).

(click here for part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

...

After brunch, they visit Tower Bridge.

“Over there is the Tower of London.”

“That’s where they locked women up when they didn't pop out babies fast enough for the king, right?”

“Exactly right. Did you know they kept an elephant there, too?”

“What?”

“They fed it bread and wine. I'm sure you’ll be shocked to learn that it died.”

“Y’know, I almost feel like I should cut you some slack. All that inbreeding obviously messed up your brains.”

Henry smiles. It probably looks great to the paparazzi.

After Tower Bridge, it's the Tate Modern, followed by St Paul's Cathedral, Hyde Park, dinner, and then Kensington Palace again for the night.

Yeah, it's a stunt, and yeah, Alex doesn't really get to look at the art or visit the sites, and yeah, he has zero say about the itinerary, but it's not terrible. Henry's not awful company.

By the end of the day, Alex is exhausted. Henry seems just as tired. On the one hand, they’ve convinced the public they're best friends and maybe reached a personal truce. On the other hand, it's twenty-four hours post-caketastrophe and they're still in the wrong fucking bodies.

“We can't stall any longer.” He's watching Henry pace back and forth in front of the windows with the ugly-ass curtains. “I have to go back tomorrow. Well, I mean, you do. You as me.”

Henry doesn't respond.

“How long do you think it’ll take one of us to get arrested for spying? My money's on less than forty-eight hours.”

“I need ice cream,” Henry announces.

“Music to my ears. Lead the way.”

They settle on opposite sides of the kitchen island and eat their ice cream in a half-peaceful, half-melancholic silence.

“Despite the uncanny aspect of it all, I have to admit this hasn't been horrible,” Henry says eventually. “They don't often let me play tourist... and I never get to fabricate pseudo-historical nonsense for a mouthy American.”

Alex nearly fumbles his cone. “Wait, you made stuff up? When?”

Henry shrugs.

“Come on. It was the elephant, wasn't it? I knew there was no way–”

“I assure you, the elephant was real.” Henry taps on his phone and spins it so Alex can see. “He even has his own Wikipedia entry.”

“Elephant of Henry III,” Alex reads, bending closer. “What the fuck.”

The smug expression on Henry's face – Alex's face – and the way he licks his ice cream makes Alex's stomach flip over strangely. His neck feels hot. There's melted ice cream dripping onto his hand.

Without breaking eye contact, Alex slides his free hand over the countertop and rests it on top of Henry's.

“Hey, don't spook, okay?”

His words have the opposite effect. Henry's eyes widen and his shoulders tense like he's getting ready to bolt, but Alex just tightens his grip.

“Maybe... close your eyes?”

“Alex–”

“Suit yourself,” Alex murmurs. As he leans in, Henry takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes. There's a nervous crease between his brows. "Okay. Here goes nothing.”

He mashes what's left of his ice cream against Henry’s face.

“What the hell, Alex?”

So much for that idea.

“Shit. I was thinking maybe the ice cream... after the cake... and I was touching your skin, so...” It doesn't make as much sense out loud as it did in Alex's head.

“You don't–” Henry sputters.

“Listen, I honestly wasn't trying to get back at you for the tour guide shit, I hoped it would fix–”

“No, no, I was wrong, I thought you–”

“What?”

“Alex, don't...” Henry laughs under his breath and reaches out to flatten a sticky palm against Alex's cheek. “Don't spook, alright?”

Before Alex can complain about the mess, Henry brings their lips together in a soft, vanilla-flavored kiss. Alex's stomach flips over again. He closes his eyes. Like this, it's easy to forget he’s kissing himself – and it’s still Henry, isn’t it? It's Henry, kissing him. Henry, kissing Alex.

The kiss is cautious, like Henry's expecting rejection; Alex leans into it anyway. Henry's hand smears ice cream onto his face and the edge of the counter presses into his ribcage, painful, but he wants it. It's shocking how powerful the want is when he hadn't even noticed it before.

Alex slides one hand up Henry's cheek, into his soft hair, and feels – he opens his eyes.

“Well, fuck.” Have Henry's eyes always been so blue? They hadn't seemed that blue in the mirror. They're kind of beautiful.

“Hello,” Henry says. “I'm back? You're back. Are you?”

“I guess. When did you come up with that plan?”

“I – plan?”

“You figured it out? Curse-breaking kisses or something? Wasn't that–” Alex stops. Henry hasn't pulled back from his awkward lean across the counter. From bizarre-but-true personal experience of less than sixty seconds ago, Alex knows for a fact that it's an uncomfortable position.

“If you'd like, I could pretend that it was part of a plan,” Henry offers quietly. “I've got plenty of experience pretending.”

If it's not the truth, though, Alex doesn’t want it. “Nah, no need. Don't get me wrong, it's weird if you don't want any credit for getting us back to normal again, but whatever.”

Henry's incredulous laugh makes Alex feel like kissing him again. “Covered in ice cream is normal for you?”

“Hey, chill. We're having a fucking moment.”

“A fucking moment, truly,” Henry echoes, mocking, but his smile is wide and happy.

“I'm not used to being covered in cake, trading bodies, being covered in ice cream, or kissing princes.”

“No?”

“But I've been branching out lately. Expanding my horizons, y’know.”

“I see. And now you know what to do if any one of those things happens again, I suppose?” Henry squeezes Alex's hand where they're still twined together.

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, squeezing back and leaning in. They've got more to figure out here, but right now it's his turn. Henry kissed him, so now he needs to try it for himself. Simple. “Let me show you. It's a piece of cake.”

...

#faketrex writes #fic: sharing a slice #fandom: intro to international relations #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fic #firstprince

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1d1195 · 2 years ago

Text

Neighbors III

Sorry for the delay, thank you for waiting. Read Part I and Part II

Harry wondered if he kept the defeat off his face as she brushed him off. “Oh, sure, kitten. Sorry, t’bother you—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I have to go help Rory with his shoes, see you later, Harry,” she rushed and turned for the kitchen. All Harry wanted was to spend time soaking in everything she was: pure sunlight and kindness.

But when Harry doesn’t watch Rory that following Thursday, he wondered where it all went wrong.

Somehow Rory’s questions set her off. Everything was fine. No not fine, practically perfect—if only they were together. If there had even been an inkling of an idea that they could date. That there could be more than friendship and neighbors. So, she did what she knew best: she protected Rory.

And herself.

There was only a single road between their home and Harry’s house. But it felt like an entire universe stretched from doorstep to doorstep. After being so intertwined since the moment he moved in, to not see Harry nearly killed her. Everything made her want to see him. She wanted to tell him about her day and ask him about his. When she went to the grocery store, she wanted to see if he needed anything, but she couldn’t bring herself to carry on the shreds of hope that they would be something.

Rory was wondering about their relationship which meant she let it get too far.

It took Harry five whole days to realize he was being ignored. He didn’t notice at first because the two neighbors were busy the first few days. Rory still waved from the driveway, and she offered a smile as he did. But Harry was too far away to realize it wasn’t reaching her eyes.

Even that first Thursday he didn’t think much of it. Her text made sense and was inconspicuous. Harry didn’t feel suspicious about anything.

You don’t need to watch Rory today. My mom’s having a sleepover for him. Read his phone. Harry smiled because that sounded like fun for the little one.

That’s nice, beautiful. Sounds good. See you tomorrow xx Have a good shift

When Harry finished working on that Friday evening and saw that her car wasn’t in the driveway he frowned at the prospect of no pizza. But more importantly, no company. Still, he didn’t think of anything about it because it was weird that she didn’t mention not being around for pizza, but she didn’t have to tell Harry about it.

So it wasn’t until Saturday that Harry realized he was being ignored. Saturday when the two of them didn’t leave their house. Everything okay? He sent her a message.

We’re fine. Having a lazy day.

Enjoy :) xx

It made him uneasy before he realized why. The twist in his stomach twinged but he figured it was just because he was hungry or something. It took until he was about to fall asleep for him to notice his anxiety over not being around them for the whole week.

Certainly, he would address it tomorrow.

She wasn’t sure what the full plan was. Surely she couldn’t keep busy for the rest of her life. Barring moving, she needed to figure out a way to ignore Harry without being obvious. For the first five days, it went okay. There was very little time to see Harry and the little traditions they had built up over the last two years were suddenly gone. It broke her heart.

There was a knock on her door. She bit her lip knowing exactly who it was. “Is that Harry?” Rory asked excitedly.

She wasn’t looking at Rory when he asked. She closed her eyes, hand on the doorknob and swallowed all the worry and fear in her body down. “Put your shoes on baby, let’s go to the bookstore,” she said.

Rory liked the bookstore so he didn’t question it. It was random, but he didn’t mind. Hurriedly he ran to his room to get his shoes.

“Hi,” she said gently.

“Hey, beautiful,” he smiled so sweetly it melted her veins. Every organ turned to soup at the two words directed to her. “Brought some pops over,” he said holding a box of popsicles in his hand.

She smiled gratefully, and now Harry was up close. He could see how it didn’t touch the beautiful eyes he adored staring in since he met her. “Thank you,” she said simply. “We’re just about to head out though, can I throw them in the freezer?” She wondered. Harry placed the box in her hands and could feel the frown forming on his lips.

Harry wondered if he kept the defeat off his face as she brushed him off. “Oh, sure, kitten. Sorry, t’bother you—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I have to go help Rory with his shoes, see you later, Harry,” she rushed and turned for the kitchen. Harry showed himself out and he blinked in surprise at the abruptness of the situation. Surely, he was imagining her off-putting demeanor. She was an angel. All Harry wanted was to spend time soaking in everything she was: pure sunlight and kindness.

But when Harry doesn’t watch Rory that following Thursday, he wondered where it all went wrong.

The hardest thing she ever did was tell her baby daddy that she was pregnant. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She hadn’t even graduated from college at the time and was anxiously applying for real jobs and studying for finals when she realized it had been too long since she remembered buying a box of tampons. She thought about how scared she was (and how in hindsight she had every right to be scared).

But she had been with Rory’s dad for two years and while the timing was piss-poor she was certain they would work and figure it out just as they always promised. Again, in hindsight, knowing how cute Rory was, it was a blessing he was around...even if he backed out of his promise.

With her positive test in her coat pocket and a hand on her stomach briefly, she knocked on his apartment door. He answered with a giant smile, a toe-curling kiss, and a hello so sweet the anxiety dissipated almost instantly. They would be fine—they couldn’t be anything but fine.

They had dinner that he cooked, a simple pasta dish and they laughed and smiled. When they moved to his living room and put on a show they had both seen several times she fidgeted with the ends of her shirt sleeves so much he asked her if everything was alright.

In that moment it was now or never.

“Um...” she said. “I...missed my period,” she said and pulled the test from her coat pocket. He blinked before looking at the test and then at her.

“What?” He asked incredulously. “Are you pregnant?”

She nodded and the nerves started to creep up from her stomach and into her fingertips as they numbly held the test in her hand. She could sense something was wrong. It wasn’t the reaction she had hoped for and she didn’t know what to make of it. “Yes,” she whispered.

There was a beat of silence of him staring at the stick with the plus sign on it. He snorted and shook his head. “I don’t want a baby,” he told her and looked at her eyes finally.

She wondered if her face paled in that moment because truly, she never felt so sick in her entire life and Rory gave her a bad case of nausea in her second trimester and this was easily ten times worse. “Well...uh...I don’t really have a choice,” she said. “And... I want this baby.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. They sat there in silence again for several moments. “Then you don’t want us,” he said simply and stood from the couch and headed to his bedroom.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed. This was not what she wanted. This would be much worse on her own. Much, much worse. She spiraled into all the what-could-go-wrongs. How badly she could mess up a child that didn’t have a father figure. The cost, the job she would need, the loneliness that crept into her body.

All of it hit her as she sat on that couch. After she realized he wouldn’t be coming back out, she stood up, took the last of her dignity and the positive test, and left the apartment. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging. She was determined in that moment to do anything and everything for the little being growing inside of her at that second.

But she cried the entire way to her sister’s house to break all the news she had gotten in such a short span of time.

The second hardest thing she ever had to do was ignore Harry for weeks on end.

Harry was settling into the fact that he would never see her or Rory in the capacity he was used to ever again. He was saddened by the fact and wished with everything in him it would just go back to normal.

Fortunately, he lucked out on one small minor missed detail on a Monday afternoon where there was no daycare (once a month she took a week day off just to have Rory to herself). As he was about to get in his car as quickly as possible—so he wouldn’t find himself walking across the street to inquire what the problem was—Rory came pedaling over on his bike, furiously. He looked both ways but only barely. “Hey Rory!” Harry smiled brightly. “Don’t forget to look both ways, lad,” he reminded him.

He ignored it already making his way up Harry’s drive. He thrusted an envelope (it was junk mail) into Harry’s hands. “Mumma had me get the mail and I know how to read your name so I brought this to you,” he said quickly. “Can you come to my game? Mumma has to work so she can’t come,” he said. “So, you won’t see her. My friend is going to drive me,” he told Harry.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew Rory wasn’t supposed to ask him. This was obviously a secret. Harry shouldn’t have allowed Rory to keep a secret from his mum. But he couldn’t deny this little one what he wanted. Harry also hated the way Rory said Harry wouldn’t see her. He knew something was wrong just like Harry did. It made Harry feel so sad inside. He couldn’t imagine skipping his invite.

Plus, Harry really missed being in Rory’s life. “I’d like that, Rory. When is it? At the park?” He asked. Surely there would be no harm in Harry going to the game if she wasn’t going to be there. She wouldn’t be any the wiser. Maybe Harry was running in the park and Rory just happened to be playing.

Rory nodded. “On Thursday night,” he told Harry. “I...I miss playing with you,” he admitted looking at him briefly before he turned his bike around to head down the driveway.

Harry smiled sadly. “Same here, lad.”

“Bye, Harry,” he said softly and waved at him so softly and fleetingly, it broke Harry’s heart all over again.

“Bye, Rory.”

Harry stood in the middle of the field watching Rory run in a jersey that is much too big for him up and down the field. There wasn’t anything Harry could compare to a game of little five-year-old boys playing football. There wasn’t much fancy footwork, not a lot of spreading out and it was overall a big clinic for the kids. But Harry was happy to watch and cheer on Rory each time his foot touched the ball.

The only issue Harry had with coming was the women watching their children spend most of the time watching and fawning over Harry. He ignored the whispers that were clearly focused on Rory, his mother, and the ‘very cute guy that was here for Rory.’

Harry was clapping for Rory when he kicked the ball hard and it accidentally bumped into one of his teammates—making it look like Rory had passed it...even if it was an accident.

“Nice pass!” Harry called. Rory smiled delightedly and one of his friends whispered something to him and Rory shrugged back. Harry wished he could ask Rory about it but he planned on waving from a distance and leaving before making too much of a scene at the end of Rory’s scrimmage.

At the same time, she was rushing out of her car in the parking lot having taken her break early on to catch a glimpse of Rory playing his little heart out. It took a lot to do it all, but she would do anything for that sweet boy.

“Rory said he is his neighbor. I wonder if she’s sleeping with him.”

No.

“I’d sleep with him.”

“You’re terrible.”

She ignored the voices that didn’t realize she was coming onto the field at that moment.

“Harry.”

Harry could have picked her voice out of a crowd of ten thousand voices. The sound of his name on her lips was like a song. He turned to her, an apron still around her waist, her hair pulled back and she still looked stunning as ever.

“Hey beautiful, long time no see. Rory invited me here,” he said quickly. He was caught. No way around it. He had to own it.

She stared at him, and Harry swore he saw a flash of anger. Maybe it was bitterness. Harry had never seen her features sour like that before. Perhaps it was a betrayal knowing Rory was around him without her knowing and that Harry listened to him.

“Mumma!” He cheered at seeing her. Her frustration disappeared instantly.

“Hey cutie pie,” she smiled sweetly and ruffled his hair. “You winning?” She asked.

He nodded. By Harry’s estimates it was tied at least 8 to 8 goals, half of which were scored in the wrong net, but they were having lots of fun. “Mumma, can I have another sweatshirt, it’s cold!” He said.

Without thinking she took the sweatshirt off her body and wrapped it around him, zipping the front and rolling the sleeves so he would be warm. “M’gonna have to go back to work, baby, but I love you and I’m so proud of you,” she said genuinely kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll see you at grandma’s tonight, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay, bye Mumma,” he smiled excitedly. “Bye Harry,” he said quietly glancing at him out of the corner of his eye before heading back to his team.

“Bye, lad.”

They both stood there silently listening to the little ones cheer and kick and yell happily while running back and forth across the little field. Still, their shared silence was louder than all of it. In his peripheral, he saw her shivering, her arms wrapped around her torso tightly squeezing her arms close for warmth.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“M’only staying another minute or so,” she said staring ahead. “I’m fine.”

Of course, she was. But Harry couldn’t accept it in good conscience. Even if she was only staying another minute. His coat was off in an instant and he wrapped it around her shoulders rubbing one of her arms for some added friction.

“This is unnecessary,” she murmured.

“Kitten,” he said softly. “Is...is something wrong? Are you actually avoiding me?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I have to leave Harry, just let me enjoy my son’s game,” she muttered quietly not wanting to add fuel to the gossip train.

Harry felt an uneasiness in his stomach that hurt so much. He was silent. When she went to leave she started to shrug off Harry’s jacket. “Keep it,” he mumbled. “I’ll grab it another time.”

“Thank you,” she said kindly. “Thank you for coming to see him.”

“Of course, beautiful,” he said quietly. Still avoiding eye contact and focusing on the little ones running their hearts out.

She was gone again.

Harry was waiting at the window to see her pull into the drive. She watched her pull the sleeping boy out of the backseat and she carried him into the house. Harry waited ten minutes before he headed across the street and knocked.

After a moment she pulled the door out of the way. Harry gazed at her with his eyebrows raised inquisitively. She had to start. Surely the change in their lives, so abruptly and suddenly, was also at the forefront of her mind. “I was going to bring your jacket back in the morning—”

“You can keep it,” he said shaking his head. It wasn’t the reason he came over. She had to have known that. “Kitten, what’s going on?” He asked. His heart was breaking. “I...I miss you both,” he started. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

She couldn’t look at him. If she looked at him all the resolve would crumble. She couldn’t stay away from him. He was so good. The best thing that has happened to her since Rory. “Harry,” she began.

She had already broken Rory’s heart about not seeing Harry, and her own. All that was left was to tell Harry. “Did I do something?” Harry asked and put his hand on the back of his head, scratching at his hair absentmindedly. “I’ll fix it...I’m...m’really lost without you both, love,” he murmured. “Miss you both a lot,” he said. “You didn’t give any warning and...” he shook his head. “All of a sudden...jus’...nothing.”

She stared at her feet. She had hard conversations before. Harry deserved eye contact and he most certainly didn’t deserve this. But she couldn’t look at him. Harry was too lovely, too beautiful, and she would feel so much anguish if she saw the pain on his face that was evident in his voice. The idea he did anything subpar or less than perfect or anything "wrong" made her heart truly break. Especially knowing she was the cause of it.

“You didn’t do anything,” she shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” Harry frowned. “Kitten—”

“Harry,” she sighed and put her fingers on her temples. She felt a headache forming. This was going to hurt so much. “I can’t...I let Rory get too attached.”

He frowned. “So what? I don’t plan on going anywhere,” he said simply. Surely this could be remedied.

She couldn’t very well say she was getting too attached so she dug a deeper hole. “Harry...Harry it’s too much,” she said quietly. “You with Rory...you’re so good with him and I’m...I’m too much.”

Harry didn’t understand what that meant. “Love you’re not—”

“No,” she shook her head interrupting him. “Harry, I can’t...I can’t be...I can’t have Rory getting attached to someone I’m not...” she trailed off and for a moment she felt so utterly embarrassed it made her want to fall through the threshold of the doorway. It was cold outside and she should have invited Harry in—he didn’t even have a coat after all.

But he was flooded with anger and sadness that it kept him warm enough. “You’re not what?” His voice sounded agitated. She had never heard him agitated before—especially not at her.

Swallowing what appeared to be a rock in her throat, she kept her eyes at her feet. “I don’t regret one second of being Rory’s mom but I didn’t have a choice. You do. It was too much for his dad and I don’t want you to feel obligated to be something you’re not or something you don’t want to be,” she started. “I’m sorry,” she said and before Harry could process anything she said, the door was closing in his face.

Harry was cold.

And alone on her porch.

It was several moments before he walked back across the street and sat in his living room. He gazed out the window looking at the quiet little house with the people he adored so much with no way of seeing in or worming his way back in.

Harry doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch hoping that he imagined their conversation. But when he woke up with a kink in his neck, he knew it wasn’t a nightmare.

Well, it was. But it was also reality.

Over the coming weeks of separation, Rory periodically waved from the driveway when he spotted Harry leaving his home.

When on his run, Harry tossed a ball from the middle of the street back into the yard. She mumbled a quiet thank you in response and Harry went to his house without engaging any further.

Rory delivered incorrectly sorted mail back to his porch saying hi and bye as quickly as possible.

Harry mowed her lawn while they weren’t home.

He didn’t babysit anymore.

Rory didn’t have pizza and s’mores with Harry.

When Rory went to bed, the dreaded loneliness that she only felt the one time she sat on a couch in apartment of a man who didn’t want her crept through her body and made its way to her bones and through her soul.

Harry was there to make her feel anything but alone...but she couldn’t bring herself to let him in completely.

She wondered if Harry looked at her house ever wondering what was happening inside the way she did with him. She wondered if Harry would ever forgive her if she could ever figure out what to do.

Harry stared across the street at the same time and wondered if he could ever get over her even if he wasn't with her from the start.

@reveriehs

#harry #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #neighbor!harry #harry styles sad #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #neighbors

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mynameismckenziemae · 1 year ago

Text

She’s a Fire-Chapter III

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

So hot there’s smoke

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

Warnings: fluff, masturbation, oral (m receiving), dirty talk

You give Bradley your number after you make a tentative plan to hang out on Friday since you’re not sure what your schedule will be yet. You send him down to Penny’s with a kiss and a butt squeeze when he turns.

You and fall into bed shortly after.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A loud back-up beeper jolts you awake. You look at your phone; 6:47 AM. What on earth?

You look out the window and see your movers have backed into Penny’s driveway, and started throwing items out. You cringe at how roughly they’re handling your stuff. You pull a sweatshirt on and head down the stairs just as you see them drop your bed frame, cracking it.

You sigh heavily before asking, “Weren’t you guys supposed to come tomorrow? Preferably after 8:00 AM?”

“Sorry about your bed frame, that’ll be comped. There was a change of plans, we gotta be back to Denver before tomorrow.” One of the movers replies.

“Okay, I guess? Let me just move some stuff around upstairs first.”

“Go ahead, the stuff will be here when you get down back.” He replies.

“Excuse me? I have to bring it all up myself? That’s not what I paid for.” Now you’re getting irritated.

“Yeah, the boss man said we gotta be back tonight, so you’ll have to figure it out. Call tomorrow morning and they’ll comp ya for that too.”

What the fuck. “Uh no, that’s not—“

“What’s going on out here?” Bradley asks as he comes out of Penny’s sliding door, yawning while he pulls his tank on. Holy biceps.

You walk over to him as he eyes your bare legs. “They were supposed to be here tomorrow and bring everything upstairs. But they apparently need to be back in Denver by tonight so I’m on my own. They also broke my bedframe” you sigh.

“I’ll help ya. I’ve got nothing to do today and it’s that much stuff. My buddy owns a furniture store across town, he’ll hook ya up with a bedframe and I can bring it over with the Bronco, get it set up for ya if you’d want?”

“Seriously? You’d do all that?”

“‘Course. I’d be happy to, plus it’s supposed to rain later, I don’t want your stuff to get wet.”

“That would be great, thank you so much.”

“No problem, where do we start?”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

20 minutes later you’ve got the furniture out of the way so you can get the mattress and boxes in. The moving truck is already gone. They’re getting a one-star review on Yelp. Assholes.

Pete and Penny see the pile of stuff in the driveway and come out to help too. The hardest part is squeezing the mattress through the doorframe, but it’s easy sailing after that, and within an hour it’s all out of the driveway.

They ask if you need help unpacking but you politely decline as you’re not sure where everything is going yet.

“I’m going to the bar to do payroll, did you want a ride?” Penny asks Bradley.

“Yeah, thanks.” He turns to you. “I’ll run home and shower and then I’ll be back to pick you up?”

“That’d be great.” You smile, ignoring the knowing looks you’re getting from Pete and Penny.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You put a few necessary things away and get your stuff ready for tomorrow before showering yourself, throwing on a pair of jean shorts and an oversized white tee.

A clean vintage Bronco pulls in and you meet Bradley in the driveway, he looks good enough to eat in another tight pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt as he holds the passenger door open for you.

“I ran through Starbucks, got you a vanilla latte and a breakfast sandwich, the bag is on the floor in the back,” he says as he climbs in the driver's side.

Unexpected tears spring to your eyes, but you quickly blink them away. You clear the lump from your throat. “That’s so thoughtful, thank you. Sunny give you my order?”

“No problem, I like coffee too.” He holds up his cup, “And yeah she did, there’s too many options for me to try and guess.”

“Well, I’m impressed. My dad is the only other man who’s ever bought me coffee.”

“Really? It’s such a simple thing.”

“It is. But I’m not used to guys taking initiative or putting in the effort. Another reason I decided to take a break from dating.”

“Yeah, I can see that. It helps that I was raised by a single mom.”

“Sounds like she was quite the woman, to raise a man as amazing as you.”

He blushes at your words and squeezes your knee. “Thanks, Row”.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Bradley pulls into a furniture store and leaves you at the door before parking.

He leads you inside and helps you look. You eventually pick out a wrought iron one but aren’t sure on what color/finish.

“Do you think this finish will scratch?” You ask, gesturing to the black one.

“Scratch? From what?”

“Handcuffs, of course” you deadpan.

He flushes but laughs. “Nah, should be fine. These are good quality.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to have to punish you for scratching it” you tell him before turning away to find an associate as he gapes after you.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Your luck is changing, they have the frame you want in store so you’re able to bring it home today, unassembled of course.

The clouds are starting to spit as he pulls into the driveway, and it starts coming down harder when you’re halfway up the stairs, helping him carry the box. You both laugh as you get it inside and set it down. Your top-halves took the brunt of it, soaking both your shirts.

He looks at your chest and swallows heavily before meeting your eyes again. You look down and your tee and bralette are now see-through, nipples at attention from the cold rain. You turn and strip the wet material off, teasing him with a view of your bare back while you walk to the bathroom for some towels.

You hang the wet items over the shower rod and cover yourself with a towel, before grabbing one for him too.

“Do you want to hang up your shirt?”

“Sure, thanks,” he says with gravel in his voice. You look down while he’s pulling his shirt off and can see the thick line of his erection pressing against his jeans.

He hands you the shirt and he dries off with the towel quickly before handing it over too. You hang it all up in the bathroom and walk back out, topless.

He inhales sharply and watches as you pull out a box of clothes, digging through for a shirt and bra.

He comes up behind you and reaches around you to cup your breasts. His rough, calloused fingers rub across your nipples and you sigh, head dropping back against his chest.

“You like to tease me, don’t you?” He murmurs by your ear.

“Mmm, yeah. I do. I like it when you blush and get all flustered. Especially since I think this is new for you, you’re used to being the one in control, aren’t you?” You say as you turn in his arms, bare chests now together.

“Yeah, you’re definitely throwing me for a loop. I don’t know what to expect from you, and I like it.” He replies before leaning down to kiss you.

You return it, licking the seam of his lips as your hands go to his nipples. “Anyone ever play with these?” You murmur against his lips.

“Not really, not like you-fuckkk” he pulls back from your lips to groan as you pinch lightly.

“That’s a shame,” you kiss the scar on his jaw, then neck, and down below his collarbone. “cause you’re so responsive. Do you like it?”

He sighs and nods as you suck his nipple into your mouth. “Yeah”.

“Good.” You reply as you kiss your way to the other side. You suck that one into your mouth next and gently bite while pinching the other. His cock twitches against your stomach.

You kiss your way lower, settling on your knees. You pull him out and trace the head on your lips as you look up at him under your lashes before you draw him into your mouth. You moan around him and he shudders, hands clenching at his sides, “Fuck, Rowan. That, ah…feels fucking amazing.”

“Mmm,” you agree around him and take his hands to guide them in your hair.

He grips your hair and gently thrusts before pulling back and repeating the motion. He’s watching you under half-lidded eyes and his chest is heaving. Each thrust draws a delicious gasp out of him, driving you crazy. Your hand goes in the front of your shorts, to rub tight circles on your clit. “Oh God, are you touching yourself?

You moan around him again and nod, eyes falling closed from the pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

Your free hand reaches between his legs, rolling his balls in your fingers, and his hips thrust deeper on their own accord.

You feel that familiar tightening and pull him deeper into your mouth, too far gone to notice your gag reflex as your nose brushes the neatly trimmed hair below his navel. Your orgasm hits you, moaning and whining around his cock, drool dripping down your chin.

“Jesus, you’re so pretty when you cum. Fuckfuckfuck I’m close. Where do you want me to-?”

Your hands fly to his ass and pull him deeper into your mouth, swallowing around him.

His hands tighten the grip on your hair as he cums with a broken moan and you swallow his salty spend.

He helps you to your feet and kisses you deeply, his chest rumbles as he tastes himself in your mouth. “Rowan, you are…” he trails off with a chuckle, “just, uh…wow”.

You smile and tuck him back in his pants. “I can get it myself, but do you want to help me put the frame together? It’s probably easier with 2 people. I can order some food?”

“Yeah, sounds great. I wouldn’t make you put it together yourself.”

“Thanks! Now where do you suggest I order from?” You say stepping around him to find your phone, landing a sharp swat to his right butt cheek. You smirk to yourself as he sucks in a breath.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You slip a shirt on, forgoing a bra, and order the food while Bradley starts on the frame. You help him after, and are almost done with it when the food arrives.

You take a break to eat on your bedroom floor and laugh as he tells you stories about growing up with Sunny.

“… and that’s how I broke my arm the second time. The worst part was that I was the one who got in trouble, even though she pushed me. She cried though, and admitted to it…after my mom got through with me, of course. She used to be like the little sister I never wanted, but I’m so glad to have her now.”

“I think you were just a naughty little boy” you wink, “but yes, she really is the best. I feel so bad we drifted apart when she was dating her ex. I didn’t realize at the time how awful he was treating her, I wish I would’ve known. I could’ve helped her” you say, poking at your food. You’ll always feel bad for missing the signs was she was being mistreated.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. She was good at hiding it, and by the time we-Jake, Nat, and I, realized how bad it was, we ended up deployed for 4 months with little to no phone privileges. Thankfully she kicked him to the curb, and Pete was home when she found him cheating. It’s sure been something to watch her come back alive being with Bobby-boy though.”

“Agreed. They’re perfect together. How long ‘til he pops the question you think?”

“Less than a year, guaranteed.” He replies, his lip quirking.

“That long? I was thinking 6 months.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s crazy about her.”

“That he is. I wonder what that’s like, being so head over heels for someone, knowing them as well as you know yourself, unable to imagine life without them? I hope I have that someday. I didn’t really believe it was possible until my dad met my stepmom. I was so angry and jealous at the time that I didn’t see how beautiful it was to watch them fall in love. I don’t know how she ever forgave me for how awful I was.” You sigh, still embarrassed years later at your behavior.

“You were just a kid, who had her dad to herself for years. It’s understandable. I probably would’ve been the same way if my mom would’ve dated.”

You hum in agreement and finish eating. He finishes the frame and you can hear things moving as you as you wash the dishes you used.

You walk back into the bedroom to find him pulling on the last pillowcase. He’d finished the frame, pulled the mattress onto it, and made your bed.

Those unexpected tears are back and you try to blink them back as you walk over to hug him from behind, but a few escape your eyes.

He can hear them in your voice as you thank him for everything he helped you with today and he turns to lift your chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you laugh wetly. “I just-I’m used to doing everything on my own, no one’s taken care of me in years. We just met and you spent your entire day off helping me, without being asked. Sorry, I’m not usually a crier, I don’t-“

“It’s okay. I was just afraid I overstepped.” He kisses you so tenderly that more tears start. “I’d love it if you’d let me take care of you, any way you’ll let me.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A/N: Ew, so fluffy at the end there 😂 kidding, kidding.

Taglist:

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #top gun maverick #she’s a fire

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ihearttish · 1 year ago

Text

Sundress szn ☀️

Pairing: Shuri Udaku x Black!Fem!Reader

Word count: 2k

Contains: (18+ smut) , (some fluff if you look through a telescope?), (public sex) & (some cursing.)

Tags: @abenomeiiii @playhousedistee @vampzxi @heejayy @amplifiedmoan @inmyheadimobsessed @sapphicvqmpires @oceean @bstaytrippin @myaraines @everythingiseverythingl @shurilover

(comment to be added 💟)

Synopsis: While out shopping for your bae-cation with your girlfriend, she simply just can’t seem to be able keep her hands to herself.

A/N something short and sweet while i get my thoughts together for my lil bitty series, hehe :) as always, ignore any errors because… ya girl didn’t proofread NUFFIN!! Anywhosies, iii hope ya enjoy babies! 💕 P.S there are two parts of this so stay tuned 😗!

“Baby, y’know I’m tryna beat the traffic and you really in there taking your sweet little time?” Shuri groaned in annoyance. “Don’t rush me,” you chuckled. “I’m trying to look presentable.” You shout out from the bathroom where you’d been applying final touches to your appearance.”

“What? Mama, you look good as always. Bring that ass on already.” The annoyed tone in her voice didn’t match the smile you knew she had on her face like always. Even with the door shut. She couldn’t quite help herself when it came to you. It’s what you most admired about her. That same, radiant smile that would be permanently living rent free on her sweet little face you yearned to look at each and every day.

You stepped out of the bathroom after what Shuri would swear had been ages later, now ready to go. Shuri had been waiting right outside of the door and the look on her face when she laid her beautiful brown eyes on you was almost priceless. She stared at you, in awe it seemed, like she’s never seen anything like what had been standing in front of her before, this earned her a smirk from you. “What baby?” You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her small body, pulling her into a snug hug and looking up at her.

“I don’t know if we’re ever gonna make it out at this point.” Shuri licked over her lips with nothing but lust in her eyes that you found yourself getting lost in by the moment.

“And why is that?” You endeavored hiding your smirk.

“Not sure if i can handle being out in public with you looking as good as you do, my love.” By now, a quite visibly big smile emerged across your face at her words. “Yeah? I look good?” You brushed your lips across hers. “Mhm.” She mumbled in the kiss.

“Okay baby, we g-got to g-go.” You somehow managed to get out in between kisses from your girlfriend. “Let’s just stay in and I’ll take you out tomorrow. I promise.” Shuri continued leaving trails of kisses on your lips and down to your neck, her hands wandering your body and began making their way down to the curves of your perfectly sculpted ass, which she grabbed onto as you tried to back away from her.

“Nooo, you said we’d go to the mall.” You whined out.

“Fine.” Shuri left one more kiss at your temple. “However, i cannot promise you anything about my actions in them stores, y/n.” She smiled. “I mean look at you, that damn dress is just begging me to lift it up and-“ You brought your index finger to her mouth, shushing her.

“As much as i liked where that was going, somethings telling me to stop you right there because I’m afraid if i let you finish that sentence, we’re not leaving this house any time soon.” You removed your finger from her face. “I’m okay with that.” She grinned. Of course she did. “I’m aware.” You backed out of her touch and headed down your stairs and your girlfriend followed suit behind you.

…

The whole car ride, Shuri followed her duties as a driver with her passenger princess right beside her, mainly why you liked for her to drive instead of you. Her right hand rested in your lap, the placement you absolutely loved. This time, she gave you a few more glances than she usually would during a car ride. You found it cute that you’d catch her staring at you, admiring your presence and your beauty which she normally did but right now, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. Those dangerous eyes. “You look so good, y/n. Making me wanna put this car in park right the fuck now.” Shuri looked at you and then back at the road.

“Aww, thank you, sweet face.” You leaned in to kiss her cheek before pinching the flesh you just placed a kiss on. “Let us get to our destination first, we have shopping to do.” You squeezed her hand that laid in your lap. “Then, maybe we can arrange something on the way back home.”

“Yeah?” Shuri’s lustful eyes were now on you again.

“Yeah.” You answered.

“Alright then.” Shuri’s eyes went back on the road before her.

…

You and Shuri have now entered five different stores, you were there to shop for clothing for the vacation she’d booked for your 4 year anniversary. So far, you’ve only found two outfits for you both in two out of the five stores you’ve been in. Yet, in all five, Shuri couldn’t help but to be touchy-feely on you in each store. She made sure to hold your hand, grip your waist, rub on your soft ass when nobody would be looking, (not that she’d care if anyone were looking anyways) and rubbing small circles on your back at the checkout lines. It was an endless series of events which you loved.

Her touch made you desire more and more of it but in other intimate ways. You needed more outfits though and you weren’t leaving this mall until you walked out with enough for the both of you and the sake of this trip. Which means, you both would have to hold off a little bit longer. You knew you could, but you knew it’d be way too much for Shuri.

Why not amp her up a bit? You thought to yourself. Having a bit of fun messing with her was now apart of your mission on the search for these pieces of clothing.

…

you’ve now found four outfits for each of you now and you only needed at least two more for the both of you. Shuri said you’d need a couple fancy dresses for a few of her plans she had, so you entered another store that you both hoped to be the last.

Shuri was behaving a bit too well so you decided to toy with her to see how well she’d behave now.

“My panther, come here please.” You called out to her, she had been looking at the suits the store had on display on her own. Of course, this made her eyes shoot up at you. You knew exactly what you were doing. It drove Shuri crazy when you’d call her that. She likes it most in the bed room. Shuri knew now, you were definitely trying to get her railed up.

She came quickly over to where you stood with an innocent smile on your face, pretending to be interested in the clothing that hung up before you. “You like this, baby?”

“Love it. What are you trying to do, y/n?” Shuri whispered.

“What you talking about? Should i get this dress and these shoes?” You bent down, right in front of her to pick up the pair of heels that were on the bottom shelf rack that you could’ve picked up without bending down so obviously dramatic. Your ass pressed against up her front. Before you stood up, Shuri left a long drag on your ass. As short as your dress was, you were sure she seen that you weren’t wearing any underwear. When you stood up and faced her, she’d already been glaring at you. Gnawing on her bottom lip. “What size is that dress, my love?” Shuri smirked. “Um, a medium. Why?” You questioned. The grin leaving your face. You thought your actions already were for sure enough to get a better reaction out of her.

“Hm, it looks a bit big. Might want to try that one on.” If Shuri bit down on her lip any harder, it’d bleed for sure.

“O-okay. Come with me?” You ask. “Always.” She replies.

…

You and Shuri made it into a fitting room and she took a seat in the chair inside the room. “Go on, try it on.” You turned to face the mirror and started taking down the straps that rested on your shoulders of your dress first, you moved slowly as you spotted your girlfriend in the reflection of the mirror watching your every move from the corner of your eye. Soon, your white dress dropped down to your ankles.

You turned to face Shuri since she’d been holding the dress you were meant to try on. You extended your hand out to reach for the dress and she jerked her hand back away from yours. “No panties, y/n?” Shuri eyed you. “Naw, i got on panties they just invisible. Give the dress to me, Shuri.” You reached for the dress once again and Shuri snatched it away from your reach, just like she did before. Shuri sat manspread with the dress held high above her head, knowing you couldn’t reach it.

“You know, as for someone that’s ass naked and standing right in front of me right now, it’s quite ridiculous that you’re being a smart ass to me.” Shuri stood up, now hovering over you since she was slightly taller than you were. “Not like you’re gonna do something about it.” You knew she would. You wanted nothing more right now. Not in public though, you’d think she wouldn’t be up for doing such sinful activities. Not here, not now, anyways.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“…nnghh” you breathed out as Shuri grabbed your onto your throat, caressing your skin ever so gently over your windpipe. “My love, you and i both know that’s not true, right?” Shuri’s free hand wrapped around your waist. “You think i haven’t noticed you trying to toy with me, y/n? I— I notice everything.” Shuri tried her best to be as maintain her whispers as long as possible, being that this store was busy with customers running in and out and there being nothing but a thick fabric used as a door.

Anyone passing by or in the next room over to the left or right of your room could possibly hear anything said. “And you’ve still done nothing about it, princess.” You spat, bravely. Before you knew it Shuri’s hands were now all over your body as she kissed you passionately. Your body grew hot as her fingers trailed in between your legs. Her tattooed hand rested right below your bellybutton, making you breathe out in desperation. You looked at her with lust in your eyes, begging her with them to just give in and make you feel good already, to ease the throbbing sensation on your already leaking cunt.

“My panther, p-please can you f-fuck me.” You tried your best whispering to your girlfriend. “Right here?” She smirked. “Right fucking here.” This time, you didn’t give a fuck about whispering or not, you were just ready to be pleasured by the girl you loved most. And with that, Shuri’s digits circled around your clit in a slow motion, causing you to moan out at the instant pleasure you felt on your aching bud. “Unnh. Baby. Fuck, that’s it.” You moaned into her neck as you hugged her tightly while propping up one leg up on the side of the wall for easier access. “Shh, keep quiet, my pretty baby.” Shuri reminded as you couldn’t help but to continue spilling curse words out of your mouth left and right as Shuri’s skillful digits moved gracefully around your clit.

“Look at how wet you are. All this for me baby?” Shuri’s fingers trailed down to your entrance where she circled her index finger around your awaiting hole. “Y-yes” you mumbled in the crook of her neck as quietly as you possibly could. “Yes what?” Shuri teased you, sliding in her index finger slowly but leaving it there. “Yes, my panther! Fuck!” This time, your cries weren’t as muffled as before and you were sure someone had to hear the sound that just escaped your lips. “Fuck me Shuri, p-please!” You begged. Which, Shuri loved. She rammed her fingers in your hole, squelching sounds already leaving your dripping cunt. Shuri’s fingers fucked into you harder and harder as your moans became almost impossible to control, your legs started to tremble as you felt your orgasm building up, about ready to burst.

Your chest heaved up and down as Shuri repeatedly hit your g-spot, making you squirm in her arms. “F-fuck, Shuri, Shuri, Shuri-“ you repeated. “I know mama, let it out for me.” Your gripped onto Shuri as hard as you could, your legs shaking, you, a whimpering, and an utterly sticky mess. “I- i’m-“ you moaned out. Shuri’s fingers slowed down a bit but never stopped hitting your g-spot. After a few more pumps inside of you, you completely unraveled in her arms.

You came, nothing but a creamy mess was left leaking down your thighs and all around your lover’s fingers.

“Fuck, y/n.”

Your breathing was all over the place and your curls were frizzy and remained in your face as you tried to hurry up and come down from your high, you collapsed in Shuri’s arms. “You alright?”

“Y-yes.” You breathed out. “Good, because I’m not done with you. You know that right?” Shuri asked before bringing her cream coated fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean. You couldn’t see her, but the sound of her licking away, you knew good and well what she had been doing and it made you want her even more right about now. “Leave?” Was all you could say at the moment. “Yes love, we can leave. come on, let’s get your dress back on.” Shuri gave you kiss on the forehead.

Shuri helped you slip back on your dress and your sandals and moved your curls from out of your face, grabbed your hand and opened the curtain. On the way out, to the left of you was an old lady, you and Shuri both noticed her staring as soon as you stepped foot out of the room. She’d had an disgusted look on her face. You and Shuri both turned to each other and all you could do was laugh as you walked out of the fitting rooms before putting the pretty sparkly dress you’d been looking at back where you found it and exiting the store hand and hand with your girlfriend and that innocent smile plastered on your face from earlier as if she didn’t just make you cum on her fingers just a minute ago and also because you knew she would devour you in the car sooner than later.

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