#I must have spent a thousand hours on this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 7 months ago

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I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell.

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes.

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known.

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily.

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case.

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak.

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in.

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words.

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet.

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess.

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have?

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same.

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate.

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you.

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing.

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily.

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore.

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible.

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door.

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest.

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life.

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan.

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

#idk if i posted this before?? maybe i did idk #ghost x reader #ghost/reader

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ferrstappen · 17 days ago

Text

all because i liked a boy l MV1

a/n: so... hey, its been SO LONG! this is a series i've been thinking about since like September last year?? and it's been sitting on my drafts forever and finally got the inspo and some help to finish it <3 i really hope you like the concept <3 i have the idea for a fourth song but i'll wait to see if you guys like it <3

pairing: Max Verstappen x female!singer!reader

word count: 5.3

summary: three songs summarize your relationship with Max.

first song: into you - ariana grande

There wasn’t a single person who didn’t wish to be a fly on the wall everytime Max Verstappen met his fellow Tag Heur sponsor, a true pop star, and the stuff of all his problems.

Max had never been too fond of all the publicity that came with his job, he mentioned it every time there was a chance to: “I’m only here to race”. His statement remained truthful, but he couldn’t deny he now looked forward some events, dressing up and showing up.

He met her the same week she was announced as a brand ambassador in the middle of her world tour. It had been during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, thousands of cameras on them while posing. Max was never rude, but he noticed she looked almost nervous to meet him and anxious every time someone from her or the Red Bull PR team asked for some kind of contest, it all made sense when she apologized to him at the end.

“I know you’re not fond of these things so I hope you don’t hold it against me,” Those were the first words she said to him when there were no microphones on their clothes. Maybe someone was recording their interaction, but it wasn’t important.

“What? I know you don’t have anything to do with it, I’m sorry if I came across as if I was bothered or something, I promise you I wasn’t. Plus, you must be exhausted as well,” Max said earning a smile from her and it was beautiful, kind.

It made his own smile reach the crinkle by his blue eyes, lasting a bit longer than necessary for someone he just met, the taste of his champagne a little sweeter.

(Y/N) spent the night stalking him and his girlfriend, she was stunning and they even had a small family of sorts. She had to remind herself he was just being nice, maybe too nice, but the adoration came from her part after hearing his laugh and realizing the smile reached his eyes, and the way his tongue pressed against his lips when his smile got too big, or how he held his breath every time he said something funny, waiting for her laugh.

And she was so weak for it, for him. Even if she wasn’t supposed to, but the events kept coming, the silk dresses and bold lipstick every time they saw each other, posing together, feeling Max’s big, warm hand on her back, hiding from the world to see.

There was something quietly cinematic about hotel lobbies after midnight; the way the light softened, the silence pressed in, footsteps sounded hesitant, taxis coming and going every few minutes. Max wasn’t supposed to be there, not anymore at least. He’d said goodnight hours ago, disappeared into the elevator with a tired smile and the promise of an early flight.

But there he was.

Still in his suit, tie long forgotten, blond hair a little messier now, he sat at the far end of the bar with a half-finished gin and tonic and that unreadable look on his face, the one he always wore when his mind was loud but his words weren’t exactly ready.

(Y/N) hesitated in the entry to the lavish hotel bar, silk dress and Crocs, makeup a little smudged at the corners. She hadn’t expected anyone else to still be up, let alone him, but something about the way he looked at her: just once, then away, like it stung, made her cross the room anyway.

(Y/N) sat down two stools away, close enough to hear him breathe, far enough that they weren’t really next to each other, allowing to feel the space left between.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked softly.

Max didn’t look at her at first. Just shook his head. “No. Happens after race weekends sometimes. My brain doesn’t shut off, it’s annoying”

She nodded like she understood. Because she did, but still needed to add something. “Maybe if you didn’t spend your free time sim racing…”

He glanced over at her, briefly before chuckling. “Your performance was great tonight, I meant to tell you earlier.”

Her laugh was soft, tired. “You looked miserable the entire event.”

He smiled at that. A real one. The kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I was,” Max admitted. “But that part? I liked that part.”

Silence wrapped around them again, not heavy, just full; full of things they’d never said out loud. Full of questions neither of them had the right to ask.

She traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “She seems really lovely.”

Max’s jaw twitched, dreading the subject. “She is.”

(Y/N) didn’t look at him. She just nodded.

“You two look like you’ve got it all figured out.”

There was a pause.

Max exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

She turned her head slightly, finally meeting his eyes. “I hate how easy it is to talk to you.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hate it, too.”

That was it. That was everything.

No closeness. No touching. Just two people sitting in the space between what they wanted and what they’d already promised to other people. His fingers tapped against his glass. Her foot brushed the leg of the stool, never his.

They never touched.

“I should go,” she said eventually.

Max nodded, blue eyes unreadable again. “Yeah.”

But neither of them moved right away. It was always like that, every moment together stretching a little too long, never enough to say it out loud, just enough to feel it.

“Goodnight, Max.”

As he listened to those words he looked at her, really looked. Eyes searching, almost soft, like if he were someone else, or if this were some other life, he might have reached for her hand.

But this wasn’t that story.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low. “Get some sleep.”

And she walked away, yearning and aching, while he sat there and tried not to watch her go, downing the gin and tonic.

It had been weeks since Monaco, since the late-night conversations, the unspoken things that lingered between them like ghosts. Weeks since they’d exchanged half-joking texts about everything, from memes about their awkward PR moments fans were always catching to random race weekend observations. She had a unique way of making him laugh, of sending him a meme at the perfect time, of pulling him out of the swirling thoughts in his head, the never-ending doubts.

They hadn’t met again. She’d been on tour, he’d been in the midst of a brutal racing schedule. Texting became their way of staying connected; casual, light, a little flirty at times, but never anything real. Max never tried to cross the line, he had a girlfriend after all. It wasn’t fair to her, to her daughter, maybe even the cats. And yet, a part of him couldn't shake the pull he felt toward (Y/N), the spark that crackled just beneath the surface of every message.

Tonight, though, something was different. He had his phone in his hand, staring at the screen, unable to stop scrolling through social media. Her new song had just dropped and everyone was talking about it.

Into You was everywhere. Fans were loving it, critics were praising her for its rawness, the production, the passion. But Max couldn’t ignore the comments, somewhere, buried among the endless comments of hearts, praise, flames and verified accounts, there was a new question being whispered in his direction.

Is this song about Max Verstappen?

At first, it was just one or two fans joking around in the comments, but the more he scrolled (something he wasn’t proud of), the more the question popped up. People started comparing lyrics, dissecting moments they’d shared, and the strange way they’d clicked, not the pairing people would expect.

Max’s thumb hovered over the screen and his heart kicked up a little. He couldn’t shake the idea from his mind.

Was it possible? Was the song about him?

It didn’t help that he hadn’t heard from (Y/N) in a few days. Maybe she was busy just like him, tour life and all that, but now the questions on his mind felt heavier. He clicked into their text thread, reading through the last few messages. She’d sent him a meme a couple of days ago, a funny one about him winning the race in Japan. He’d replied with a laughing emoji, as usual. It felt like the normal thing between them, but now everything felt loaded.

Max felt a sudden need to reach out, to ask her, but at the same time, he hesitated. What if he was just overthinking it? What if it was nothing? She was a pop star, a professional, she was just being friendly. He was that guy, the guy who made it awkward, not very expressive, with a girlfriend…

But then again... He had to know.

He tapped out a message, then deleted it, then tapped it again.

hey

I know you're busy, but are you okay? Haven't heard from you in a while.

A beat passed before he added another text, the words lingering like a weight on his fingers.

btw, i've been seeing a lot of stuff about your song.. people are asking if its about me.

Max thought his heart was going to explode, feeling the beating on his ears.

Is it?

He immediately regretted it, his fingers hovering over the screen as he debated whether to just delete it all and pretend he didn’t do it. But before he could second guess himself, the text was gone.

(Y/N) had just finished a soundcheck when she saw the notification.

A new text from Max.

Her heart had dropped when she saw his name on the screen. She had been trying to ignore the way people were talking about her song, trying to stay focused on the tour, but now? The thing with Max had been gnawing at her for weeks. They had their moments, maybe too many moments, and now the world was starting to ask if it was all more than just playful text exchanges and rare promo outings.

She took a deep breath and opened his message, quickly scanning the words. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the last question.

Is it?

She should’ve been surprised by the question, but she wasn’t, she’d been expecting it to come up at some point. People weren’t stupid, they saw the chemistry between them, the tension in the air that neither of them had really addressed. Not out loud at least.

But she hadn’t planned on answering this way. She’d wanted to pretend it was nothing. She wanted to deflect, to tell him it was just a song, a moment, nothing more. But that seemed... dishonest.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should just say it was nothing. Keep it professional. But she couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to herself.

I don’t know what people are picking up on, but I’ll be honest

i wrote it about someone who... made me feel things I didn’t expect??? Things I wasn’t sure I could handle

but it’s not just about one person, you know?

It’s about that feeling of wanting someone who feels just out of reach, even when they’re right in front of you. Yearning, you know??

She stared at the text, the words too real, too raw. She didn’t hit send immediately.

What if he thought she was talking in circles? What if this was just a terrible idea?

She hit send anyway.

Max read her reply, and for a moment, his heart stopped. He could feel the weight of her words even through the screen of his phone. There was no denying it now, she’d just put it all out there: the feeling, the pull, the tension. It was all there in the lines between the words. And in that moment, Max knew he wasn’t the only one who’d been holding on to something unsaid, that he tried to convince was only in his head.

His thumb hovered over his phone as he thought about his reply. Should he be honest? Should he ask if what they both felt was the same thing? Or should he leave it alone?

He texted her back quickly, without thinking. I’ve been feeling it too. More than I should, probably.

He sent it before he could stop himself.

The text was out there now, and there was no taking it back. He waited, heart in his throat, as the dots on her side of the conversation appeared and disappeared.

But this time, when her reply finally came, it wasn’t a meme. It wasn’t a joke.

It was the truth.

i know

and i think that's why we both keep avoiding it.

Max stared at the screen, his heart racing, the world outside disappearing as he thought about the next step. What would happen if they really admitted everything they’d been dancing around? Would they be able to keep pretending? Would the media and fans turn their attention into something they couldn’t control?

He didn’t know.

But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

second song: touch it - ariana grande

The weeks that followed were torturous.

Max couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N), about their conversation, the way her words had lingered long after their texts had stopped. He couldn’t ignore whatever it was happening between them, the ache that grew every time he saw her name pop up on his phone, every time she sent him a meme or just a quick check-in. Their playful banter had always been a way to keep things light, but now it felt like they were walking a razor-thin line between friendship and something far more dangerous.

He’d tried to push it all away, focusing on the races, the endless press obligations, the girlfriend who had been by his side for years. He couldn’t just throw everything away, couldn’t tear apart the life he had, the one that made sense, the one that was steady, reliable. His girlfriend didn’t deserve to be hurt, he knew that.

But the more he tried to ignore it, the more impossible it became to escape.

And then, "Touch It" came out.

(Y/N)’s voice poured through his speakers one late night in a hotel room, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. The song wasn’t subtle. It was a breathless anthem of need, of longing, of reaching for something that was just out of grasp. She had written it, and he knew—he knew—it was about them. About him. About that feeling they couldn’t escape. The way she felt when they were together, the way they both held on to the tension between them like it was a lifeline.

It was a confession in a song, raw and unfiltered, and it echoed everything that had been simmering under the surface for weeks.

Max couldn’t stop listening to it. Couldn’t stop hitting replay as he drove through the city streets, as he sat in his hotel room preparing for the next race. Every time the chorus hit, he could feel the burn in his chest.

Cause every time I see you, I don’t wanna behave. I’m tired of being patient so let’s pick up the pace.

The words raked across his skin, and for the first time in a long time, the temptation felt overwhelming, his skin felt too warm, his hands aching.

He wanted it. Wanted her. Wanted to be close to her. He was drawn to her like he was drawn to the track, fast, reckless, and completely out of control.

But he had a girlfriend waiting at home.

And they both deserved better.

Max had tried. He really had, but every time (Y/N) popped up in his messages, it was harder to fight it. Texts were more frequent now, words lingered longer, carried more weight. The emojis felt heavier, the tone of the messages softer, more intimate.

They were dancing around it, playing with fire, and neither of them had the courage to admit what they both wanted.

It had been a long week of racing, and Max was exhausted when he arrived back at the hotel, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He stepped into his room, the familiar quiet pressing in around him. His girlfriend was waiting in the room next door. She was asleep when he checked in, and for the first time, the thought of being with her didn’t bring him comfort. Instead, he felt restless, empty in a way he couldn’t explain.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and of course it was a text from her.

I know you’re tired but I miss you…

You ever feel like something’s just too hard to let go of, even if it’s the right thing?

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and suddenly the room felt too small. Too quiet. The space between was non-existent, and every message, every word they shared, felt like walking straight into a precipice, the bottom just waiting for what was inevitably going to happen.

His fingers hovered over the screen for a long moment. She was waiting for him to respond. But he knew if he answered this text, it would change everything.

Max ran a hand through his hair, staring at the text. The sound of the rain tapping against the window was the only thing filling the silence. He could hear his girlfriend moving in the other room, soft noises of her trying to sleep, but the distance between them felt miles wide.

Finally, he typed.

I can’t stop thinking about you

I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.

He hit send, heart pounding in his chest.

(Y/N) didn’t reply immediately. The anticipation gnawed at him. Was she thinking the same thing? Was this going to go too far? Did she want the same thing he did?

Minutes passed, and just when he thought he’d made a mistake, his phone buzzed again.

Then don’t.

Come to me, come see me.

I’m not the one who’s going to stop you

The words burned like fire, sharp and undeniable. He couldn’t breathe.

He stared at the message, every part of him screaming to throw caution to the wind. To give in, just this once. To take what he wanted without thinking of the consequences. Without thinking of his girlfriend, of the other life he had built, the life he was supposed to protect.

Max stood up, pacing across the room, his mind whirling. The song, her words, her invitation. It all came rushing back, like a flood he couldn’t stop and temptation was too much, unbearable.

Without another thought, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and headed out the door.

She was waiting when he arrived. There was a calmness in her eyes when she opened the door, but Max was able to see through it, the way her lips parted when she saw him, the slight tremble in her breath, it was too much to ignore. She knew. They both knew what was about to happen.

“You came,” she whispered, stepping back to let him in.

Max didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The words were lost to him as his body moved forward, drawn to her like a magnet, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

Because he couldn’t, he had crossed the line.

When their lips met, it was everything he had been denying. The kiss was slow, hungry, desperate. It was everything they had been holding back for weeks. Every unspoken word, every glance, every text, they were all there, alive in this single moment.

But as their hands roamed, and the world outside seemed to disappear, the weight of it all began to sink in. He was betraying everything. Everything.

It wasn’t just the physical act, it was the knowledge that he’d crossed a line, that the thing he’d feared, even if it was inevitable, was now real.

But in that moment, with (Y/N) on his arms, his blue eyes finding hers, he didn’t care.

The next morning, Max woke up to an empty room.

She was gone, all trace of her gone, leaving the Monte-Carlo hotel room empty.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bed, but everything felt wrong. The space next to him was cold.

His phone buzzed again, and for a brief moment, he hoped it was her. But it wasn’t. It was his girlfriend, asking if he was okay, asking why he hadn’t answered her texts.

Max swallowed hard, guilt and shame rising in his chest. The weight of what he’d done, the mess he’d created, crushed him in an instant.

And in the silence that followed, he realized: He couldn’t run from this anymore.

He was caught. And it was only a matter of time before the truth came crashing down.

The break-up wasn’t loud.

Max had expected yelling, accusations, maybe tears, but when he told her, when he finally looked her in the eyes and said he couldn’t keep pretending, she just sat there. Quiet. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she already knew.

“Is it her?” she asked, not even needing to say the name.

Max looked down at his hands, jaw tight. “It’s... not just about her.”

But it was.

It always had been.

He didn’t say he cheated. He didn’t say what happened the night before, hours ago. But maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe she saw it in his face, in the guilt buried behind his eyes, in the way his voice cracked when he said, “I haven’t been fair to you.”

She didn’t cry. She just stood up, nodded once, and walked away. Max didn’t try to stop her.

After that, everything changed.

He stayed away from (Y/N).

No texts. No emojis. No late-night memes. Not even a “hey” when she posted behind-the-scenes shots from her tour.

He watched, though.

Watched her perform, watched her smile through interviews, watched the fans scream her lyrics back to her like they knew her pain, like they knew him. Every lyric felt like a reflection, like a memory wrapped in melody so beautifully created by her.

The rumors exploded overnight.

Max Verstappen and (Y/N): Something More Than Friends?

New Song “Touch It” Sparks More Speculation About F1 Star

Inside Their Secret Friendship—And What His Ex-Girlfriend Might Know

Social media ate it up. Paparazzi started showing up at both their events. Journalists tried to sneak questions into press conferences. He could hear it, feel it, the way people looked at him now.

Every time a camera flashed, every time someone said her name around him, his chest tightened.

Because what could he say?

Yes, I wanted her. Yes, I kissed her. Yes, I broke someone’s heart. Yes, I broke my own too.

But he kept quiet. Let the world build its version of the story.

And the worst part? She did too.

(Y/N) never spoke about him. Not in interviews, not in casual conversation, not online. She posted photos of her tour crew, messy dressing rooms, crowded arenas, sandy white beaches, but all trace of him was gone, the subtle ones only he knew existed, as if erasing him from the narrative could somehow erase the way he had touched her life and body and then left it in pieces, because she never thought leaving that morning meant leaving forever, that he would just disappear.

But Max missed her, constantly, and it wasn’t like the word let him forget either.

He missed the way she teased him in texts, the way her voice softened when she said his name. He missed how easy it had felt to just exist with her, no performance, no pressure. Just them, in the quiet in-between spaces.

He told himself staying away was the right thing. The honorable thing. That maybe it was better this way, if she hated him a little, if she moved on without him. Maybe she should hate him. He’d touched something sacred between them and let it fall apart.

But then he’d hear her songs about him on the radio, and it was like the ache rewrote itself all over again.

They saw each other once.

Weeks later.

By accident.

At a TAG Heuer event in Paris, neutral ground, surrounded by cameras and managers and fake laughter. She was dressed in a black suit, her hair slicked back, red lipstick like a warning sign. She looked stunning. Powerful. Untouchable.

Max didn’t know she would be there.

And she definitely hadn’t expected him.

Their eyes met across the room. Just for a second.

And everything came rushing back.

The tension. The pull. The memory of hands on skin and words they couldn’t take back.

But they didn’t speak.

Someone stepped between them, an assistant, a handler, and just like that, the moment passed.

She turned first. Walked away like he was nothing.

He didn’t follow.

Later that night, she posted a photo from the event. A carousel: behind-the-scenes snaps, her laughing with her stylist, a close-up of her heels, her red lips, her watch.

He wasn’t in any of them, not even his shadow.

Max saw it at 2 a.m., lying awake in his hotel bed, the room too quiet, too cold. Thinking that maybe they could be spending this time together, holding her in his arms.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

Then he put his phone down.

And didn’t text her.

Not this time.

third song: because i liked a boy - sabrina carpenter

It started with a post.

Black and white. A photo of her in the studio, headphones half-off, mascara smudged, eyeliner sharp. She wasn’t posing for the camera—just staring at the wall like she was somewhere else entirely.

The caption was short:

“they wrote the narrative. i just sang the truth.”

And then the song dropped.

Because I Liked a Boy wasn’t subtle. It was messy. Angry. Beautiful. A punch to the chest. She didn’t name names, but she didn’t need to.

“Now I’m a homewrecker, I’m a slut I got death threats fillin’ up semi-trucks Tell me who I am, guess I don’t have a choice All because I liked a boy…”

The internet exploded.

Max watched it all unfold from behind his screen. Headlines flared. Twitter caught fire. Her name was trending for days, right next to his. Theories. TikToks. Threads with screenshots, breakdowns of their eye contact, fans zooming in on the way his smile lingered in her direction.

His ex girlfriend didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. The silence said enough. The world filled in the blanks for her.

And (Y/N)?

She said only what mattered. Through the lyrics.

Max played the song again. And again. And again. He could barely breathe through it.

It was all there, how they’d stolen moments, how she’d been painted as the villain for something they both started. And he’d let her take the fall. He let the world chew her up while he stayed silent, tucked behind PR teams and blank expressions.

But he missed her. God, he missed her.

He hadn’t texted her. Not since that night were his body was faster than his brain.

But he started watching her again, quietly.

He liked one post. Then another. A photo of her in a studio. A video of her laughing backstage with her team. Then a blurry mirror selfie with no caption.

The fans noticed. Of course they did.

max verstappen liking y/n’s post after 84 years??

he’s lurking and she KNOWS.

just date already omg

But she didn’t follow him or whatever it was he was doing; didn’t like his photos, did her best to avoid all the edits and side-by-side comparisons of her lyrics and his interviews. She was silent. Untouchable.

And maybe she was done with him. Maybe he’d hurt her too much. Maybe her silence now was the same silence he gave her when she needed him most.

But Max couldn’t stop.

He typed out messages at night.

I miss you.

I was a coward.

I should’ve defended you.

I still think about you. All the time.

He deleted them all.

Until one night, after a difficult race in Brazil, in the middle of a triple header, exhausted, emotionally wrecked, sitting in a hotel room with rain sliding down the windows, he typed something different.

Simpler. Honest.

I listened to the song.

A minute passed.

Then five.

Then ten.

No reply.

He let the phone sit beside him, the silence deafening, preparing himself for nothing, trying to convince himself it was for the best.

But then, finally, it buzzed.

Of course you did, everyone did.

His heart clenched. The coolness in her message cut deeper than a scream would have. But he kept going.

I know I should’ve said something

I should’ve protected you

There was a pause.

He stared at the screen like it was going to fix everything, like honesty could undo what silence had cemented.

Finally, she replied.

You didn’t have to protect me, I never wanted that from you and you know it

I just didn’t want to be alone in it

That was it. The wound, wide open.

Max closed his eyes. He wanted to call her, to get on a plane, to show up at her door. But it wasn’t his timing anymore. It was hers.

So, he sent one last message.

I don’t want to be someone you used to write about

And this time… she didn’t reply.

But a week later, she posted a photo of her hand, a lyric scrawled across her palm in messy sharpie:

we don’t talk, but i still feel it.

And Max knew.

Maybe this wasn’t over. Not yet.

But they needed time, he needed to give her the time to heal, and come to terms with what happened.

It had been a year.

Twelve whole months since “Touch It.” Nine since “because i liked a boy.” Three since Max’s last like on her post.

No texts. No calls. Nothing that would hint to the world that they’d ever known each other beyond a photo op. But they had. They did.

And the thing about time? It doesn't always heal, but it softens.

It was late November in Amsterdam when it happened. Off-season for Max, cold air, breath in clouds, hands shoved deep in jacket pockets. The kind of day that begged for quiet.

(Y/N) was there for something private, a writing session tucked away in a borrowed flat, no press, no fans, no distractions. Just her and a piano and the kind of weather that made you remember things you’d spent months trying to forget.

She didn’t plan to run into him.

And Max definitely didn’t expect to see her when he walked into that café, hood up, head down, just trying to disappear for a few hours. But there she was, sitting in the back with her coffee half-finished and her fingers tucked into her sleeves, eyes locked on the window like she was waiting for something that would never come.

For a second, he froze.

He could walk out. Pretend he didn’t see her, save them both the awkwardness. But then she looked up, and those eyes, the ones that had haunted him in lyrics and dreams, locked on his blue ones.

Neither of them smiled. Not yet.

But she tilted her head. Gave him the smallest nod, maybe it was permission.

So he walked over.

They didn’t hug. Didn’t even shake hands. Just… sat across from each other in a corner booth, sharing a silence that didn’t ache the way it used to. Not angry. Not painful.

Just real.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said after a minute, voice soft.

“I could say the same,” Max replied, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

A pause.

Then she smiled, just barely. “Guess we were always good at showing up in the wrong place at the right time.”

He laughed. Quiet. Honest.

They talked.

About nothing, at first. Racing. Music. Amsterdam traffic. Coffee that tasted like burnt toast. It was easy, eventually, familiar. The kind of conversation that only happens when you’ve known someone without ever really knowing what to do about it.

And then, when the cups were empty and the daylight started to fade, he looked at her.

Really looked.

“I listened to the album,” he said. “All of it.”

She didn’t flinch. Just held his gaze, brave as ever. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I think I needed to hear it.”

Silence. Then, gently: “I’m sorry I let the world chew you up.”

She took a breath. Slow. Careful.

“I was angry,” she said. “Not because of what happened. But because you left me standing in it alone.”

Max blinked: “You told me you didn’t need protecting.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “But I wanted to feel like I mattered. That what happened between us mattered.”

It hung in the air between them. Heavy. But not unbearable.

He nodded: “You did,” he said. “You still do.”

And this time, she smiled for real.

They left together, slipping out the back door like two people who weren’t famous. Just (Y/N) and Max. Just a girl and a boy walking side by side through cold streets, their hands brushing once, twice, then finally lacing together, without a word.

There were no cameras. No press releases. No grand declarations.

Just a quiet choice to try again.

Not the way they used to.

Not in stolen glances and broken promises.

But something slower. Softer.

Real.

And maybe this time?

They'd get it right.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x female oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #max verstappen angst

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month ago

Text

Bunny: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - Robby has never been with a woman like you.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn’t sleep when you’re not around.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby’s neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Robby doesn’t realise you’ve been keeping secrets, not until three months into the relationship when they all come hurtling out in the midst of one of his shifts.

It starts when an elderly resident named Bonnie King arrives from one of those upscale nursing homes. She’s been brought in with fractured skull, disoriented, crying out for Bunny. They can’t work out if the confusion she’s exhibiting is from the injury or the dementia so Robby steps in to help with the assessment.

“Whose Bunny?” He asks Bonnie, trying to gauge her lucidity after they settle her down.

“My daughter.” She responds as Whitaker cleans up the head laceration from her slip and fall in the bathroom. “She’s pro surfer out in Hawaii. She taking a shot at the world championships soon. Maybe I can set the two of you up?”

“I’ve already got a girlfriend Ms King.” Robby tells her as he flashes a penlight into her eyes to check her pupil reaction. “But thanks for the thought.”

“Oh she won’t be as pretty as my Bunny.” She guarantees as she reaches for her purse and pulls out an accordion of photographs, shoving them under his nose.

He surveys them with feigned interest, the baby pictures, the teenage years. It isn’t until he reaches the early twenties that he realises that her Bunny, holding a surfboard with a whole host of sponsorship labels attached to it, is his Allegra.

“Why do you call her Bunny?” He asks, struggling to put the pieces together because you have never mentioned Hawaii or surfing, not the entire time he’s known you.

“She was always an energetic little thing.” Bonnie said fondly as he hands her back the wallet containing your precious memories. “She used to bounce off the balls as a child…”

“…just like a bunny.” He finishes because you have ADHD and he guesses that was how it manifested as a kid.

“That’s right.” She beams and that smile, it’s definitely yours.

Robby does a little research after that, watching surf videos, reading interviews. The shit you used to do on the water it’s phenomenal, which raises questions about why you aren’t still doing it. It isn’t until he compares your mom’s medical file with a couple of articles from around the time of your retirement that he gets his answer.

Family circumstances, you’d told the interviewer. It tallies up with your mom’s initial diagnosis. She’d been clipped by a car after wandering into the street, admitted with a fractured hip and confusion.

You must have given up your career to move back to Pittsburgh and take care of her, using your winnings from the competitions to make sure she was in a top of the line care facility. He’s seen how you live, it’s not the lifestyle of someone who has hundreds of thousands of dollars in the bank.

He can’t imagine what it must have been like to give up that dream, to move to a place where the closest beach is almost three hours away when your entire life has been spent out on the water. He thinks that must be why you don’t talk about, the pain of letting that all go…

It would have destroyed a lesser person.

It’s an hour later you arrive at the hospital. You’d been out hiking at Montour Woods Conservation Area when you got the call. He realises all that outdoor shit you do, it’s a way of trying to find that peace you lost when you left Hawaii.

“My mom?” You ask, your voice raw with emotion when you appear in front of him and Dana.

“Let me take you to her, fill you in on what’s going on.” He says kindly before he guides you to her room. That reunion, it’ll be etched into his psyche forever because your mom, she’s started sundowning, she doesn’t even know who you are.

He’s waiting for you on the stoop of the townhouse apartment you rent when you get home from settling your mom back at her accommodation. There’s a fatigue in you that he recognises from his own final years with his father, the strain of being absolutely nothing to the person you love most in the world.

“If you’re going to end things with me, can you just rip off the band aid?” You ask him, in a voice completely devoid of emotion. “I’ve had just about as much as I can take tonight.”

“I don’t want to end things.” He tells you as he raises to his feet, his hands coming to rest upon your hips, anchoring you. “I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

You tilt your head away from him because up until now you’ve always been his sunshine girl, the one he relies on. It isn’t until now he sees how much weight you carry, how you’ve been hiding it underneath that shiny, fun girl persona.

“The only time I feel like I can breathe is when I’m with you.” You find yourself telling him. “The stuff with my mom, with Hawaii, it doesn’t matter because you see me, you really fucking see me…”

You break then, you shatter underneath his hands and Robby, he does the only thing he can do, he wraps you up in his arms and he holds on for dear life.

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch #noah wyle #robby #robby x reader

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alnair-jpg · 11 days ago

Note

In your Olympics au, Will spent a year in Italy where he presumably met Nico. Have you thought about how they crossed paths?

Okay, so first, I'm sorry this took me so long to get to. I've been preparing it for weeks.

Second -

YES. <3

Drew: Thank you both so much for agreeing to chat with me.

Nico: You followed me around for days until I agreed, I could barely piss in peace.

Will: Nico! *Nico shrugs*

Drew: It is true I had to resort to different methods this time as my usual methods are rendered moot.

Will: What?

Nico: She flirts with the athletes, relentlessly. You should have seen how flustered she made Jason. Piper was pissed.

Drew: And yet I still have not gotten to the bottom of their story… Anyways, we’re here to talk about you. You caused quite a stir at the final, Nico. Can you tell us what you were thinking?

Nico: That I had just won gold? And… that there were only two people I wanted to share that with.

Drew: And those two people were?

Nico: My sister… *Nico glances over to Will* and this guy.

Drew: Ah yes, that was quite the gesture, leaping over to the medic area. Will, what were you thinking in that moment?

Will: Just that I was so proud of him. He worked so hard to get here.

Drew: Yes, several years I’m sure. Though is it true Nico that you took a break from the sport after the last Olympics?

Nico: I did, yeah. I needed some space from it. Bianca and I had shared skateboarding for so long it was… difficult. To do it without her. But eventually I missed it and I took some time to find my love for it again. That’s how I met this dork actually.

Drew: Oh yes! I would love to hear more about how you two met! There’s a lot of speculation out there.

Will: It’s kind of cute actually

Nico: I wouldn’t call fumbling over a sprained ankle in broken Italian, cute, sunshine.

Will: Oh yeah? Then why’d I keep running into you days after?

Nico: Okay… it was a little endearing. In a stupid way.

Will, grinning: Anyways, what Nico meant was that we met while I was visiting Venice in my year abroad. I was working as a temp nurse in a few places before I planned to travel around a bit and I happened to be walking by the skate park when he took a nasty fall.

Nico: It was barely anything…

Will: -and without really thinking it through I rushed over to help, because that was what I was there to do, right? Trouble was Venice was my first city and my Italian sucked so I’m pretty sure I asked him if he was in bread instead of in pain. Luckily he took pity on me and switched to English. You must have thought I was so dumb.

Nico: The words meddling American idiot came to mind.

Will: Well when I realized it was barely a sprain I was pretty embarrassed and resolved never to walk past that skate park again. So imagine my surprise when the next day I nearly get run over by a dude on a skateboard.

Nico: You walked into my way…

Will: Sure. Which is why, as an apology, you offered to take me to get gelato which later turned into drinks. And then dinner.

Drew: Real smooth, di Angelo

Nico: Hey, it worked…

Drew: So did you spend most of your time in Venice then?

Will, smirking: No, actually.

Drew: Oh really?

Will: I moved on to Rome a few days after we met and it was another few months before I saw Nico again - sitting outside a gelato place in Florence… nearly 300km from Venice.

Nico: Like I told you, they have the best gelato in Tuscany

Will: And that justifies the three hours of travel?

Nico: Well, I had some other business there too.

Will: Uh huh, sure. Anyways, for some reason I kept running into Nico every few days after that. Eventually, when my temp gig ended and I planned to travel around a bit I told him he should just come with me. Sure enough when I got on the train the next day I found Nico already waiting in the seat next to mine. We travelled around the country together for the next three months. And honestly, traveling with a local made it a thousand times better than what I had planned.

Drew: How sweet! It must have been devastating when it came time to return to the states.

Will: It was… hard. I half expected to see him waiting in the airport when I landed, but he wasn’t.

Nico: I wanted to… but I had to get back to training. Traveling with Will helped me remember why Bianca and I had been so excited about the games in the first place, the new adventures, the new experiences. I realized that just because she couldn’t share them with me, didn’t mean I shouldn’t have them. So I promised Will that if he could get himself to the games, I would see him again, on the podium.

Drew: Truly an Olympic romance for the ages. Does this mean this is the first time you’ve seen each other since Will’s trip?

Nico, nodding: yeah.

Will: With Nico’s training and my work schedule, we couldn’t make another visit work, as much we wanted to.

Nico: It was extra motivation.

Will: I hope he’ll take a bit of a break now, though.

Nico: I think I’m going to have to or both you and Dionysus will have my ass.

Drew: And what do you hope to do with this well earned break?

Will, smiling as he turns to Nico: What was that you said Nico? New adventures and new experiences?

Nico: Yep.

Will: I’m thinking a couple dozen of those.

Nico: As long as I can share them with you.

#olympics au #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #drew tanaka #ask alnair

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mydadleft471 · 9 months ago

Text

For The Love Of A Daughter

Summary: After getting caught looking for food to feed your daughter, Lord Messmer takes pity on you and extends mercy.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Slight warning for descriptions of violence and death.

This was requested by anonymous! I'll link the request here. This was SO MUCH FUN. I've never really wrote anything involving young children before, so I'm going off of the scant interactions I've had with some younger family members. I've also never wrote for a GN! reader. It was easier than I thought lmao. Thank you for the request anon!

I'm really considering making this a series tbh! If you'd like to see more, please let me know! I could've spent the whole day writing but I need to go eat lmao. (I've been writing for 2 hours help)

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time and it makes me so unbelievably happy that I'm able to write things that make other people happy. Hope everyone enjoys!

Your lungs were on fire.

You hadn’t stopped running from the moment you entered the Land of Shadow. A few Tarnished once accompanied you, but they had been slain and you had no choice to move on for your sake and hers.

The little girl carefully strapped to your shoulders was maybe about 4 years old. You’d found her in the rubble of an old village in Caelid accompanied by two corpses, most likely her mother and father. Her sweet green eyes pierced yours and you knew you couldn’t leave her there. You were never much of a fighter anyways. Your hands were gentle and steady and your nerves did not hold strong in the throes of battle.

She only had one thing with her: a golden locket with a piece of folded paper inside with the name Jasmine written on it. You were unsure if that was her name or her mother’s, but you called her that. You found it fitting for her.

Currently, you were running from a pack of armed men all wielding the same unnatural fire. You had carefully snuck up to a dark looking castle in search of any food you could find, when suddenly, guards had honed in on your position and you ran for it, not knowing if they would be kind to you and your child.

Booking it straight for a charred town, you tried to maneuver your way around its buildings to confuse the men chasing you. After randomly choosing directions to turn and heading down a few alleyways, you found your way to a staircase. You squeezed yourself down into it, hoping that you were out of sight to go unnoticed.

You heard the thundering of footsteps approach your position and you held your breath. Jasmine began to squirm from where she was attached to your shoulders, so you quietly repositioned her in your arms. Her little hands meekly clutched your arm; it had been two days since she had last had something semi-filling.

You froze as you heard the sound of clanking metal approaching you. A man ducked down and his eyes found yours, your heart nearly stopping. He shouted to alert the other guards and they soon surrounded you. You couldn’t see them, but you heard so many footsteps. You were found.

“Come out, or we’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you slid yourself from your hiding place, clutching Jasmine to your chest defensively.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go. She’s hungry. I was looking for food, that’s all.” Your voice wavers at the sight of so many weapons.

“Lord Messmer will decide your fate. You will come with us.”

With your head hung low, you follow their orders. They search you for any possessions you might have, which is basically nothing but a half-empty waterskin and a dull dagger, and confiscate them. They eye Jasmine, looking for anything she might be hiding, but they don’t dare touch her. Mercifully, they allow you to hold her as they march you back to the blackened castle you ran from.

You make your way up what must be a thousand stairs and your legs ache from the amount of walking you’ve done. Slowing down causes a guard to firmly grab your shoulder and keep you going at a brisk pace. Jasmine hides her face in your shoulder and you try to calm her by rubbing circles into her back. You would promise her that it would be okay, but you can imagine her parents promising that same thing, and now they were dead and she was being carried into an unknown place.

If it came down to it, you’d beg for her to remain safe and allow them to kill you.

Finally, the guards stopped you in front of a large metal door. It was intricately decorated and instilled true fear into you. This must be where Lord Messmer resided

“You will show respect at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or we will put you to the sword.”

You merely nod in response, not willing to test how quickly they would kill you.

The doors open with a protesting creak and the metal slides against the stone floor with an unnatural sound. It grates your ears and you cover Jasmine’s to save her from the awful noise. Two guards flank your shoulders and tap your shoulder, signaling for you to move forwards.

The room is lit with a few candles shimmering in the stagnant air. It smells like sulfur and blood. The guards stop you and push down on your shoulders, and you kneel. Jasmine stays in your arms, small hands wrapped tightly around your neck.

“My Lord, we’ve found an intruder. They were scouring around the castle and fled when seen. They say that they were looking for food for their child.” The guard barks out.

You keep your head down, terrified to look up.

“A child, here?” A new, lower voice cascades across the room sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“A child does not belong in the Land of Shadow. Thou hast endangered them.” He doesn’t sound pleased. “Prithee, tell me thy reasoning for bringing one so fragile here.”

“I found her in Caelid, My Lord. Since then, we’ve been traveling with a group of Tarnished and our path led us here.” Your voice shakes as you speak.

“‘Tis not thy child in thine arms?”

You shake your head. “No, My Lord. She was in a ruined village, surrounded by rubble and rot. I couldn’t leave her there.” Your heart stings at the painful memory.

“Intriguing. What reason didst thou have to come to my castle?”

“As your guard said, My Lord. She is hungry. Food is not easy to come by here.”

“Dost thou remember when last she ate?”

“Two days ago was her last full meal. Since then, we’ve been living off of rowa fruits.”

Silence is your response, until you hear heavy footsteps approaching you. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug Jasmine tight. She trembles in your arms.

“The child has a name, I presume?” His voice is only a few feet away from you now.

“Jasmine, My Lord.”

He sighs. “How was thee treated by my men?”

“They didn’t take her away from me, My Lord. They never hurt us.”

He lets out what you assume is a sigh of relief. Something thumps against the ground making you jump. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the hilt of his weapon. You remember other Tarnished referring to Lord Messmer as the Impaler, and you shuddered in fear.

“Thy only crime is trespassing, but do not thinkest me heartless. Thou art forgiven, and I shall extend mercy unto thee.” His tone changes as he addresses one of his men. “They shalt be taken to comfortable quarters and attended by female staff only. Shall any man lay a hand upon the child, they shalt be killed immediately, without mercy.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard leaves the room quickly, probably thanking his lucky stars for permission to exit the room.

“Rise. Thou needn’t stare at the floors any longer.” His voice softens as he speaks to you.

With shaking legs, you do as he asks and you spare a glance in his direction. He towers over you, serpents coiling around his slender frame, and you notice he has one eye that glimmers a brilliant gold. His great spear is held firmly in his right hand.

“Thank you. Truly.” You do your best to bow in your current state. Without adrenaline, you’re extremely shaky. You almost collapse, but a serpent gently coils around your waist and holds you up.

“I shall have food sent to thine quarters immediately.” You can almost hear worry in his voice.

You nod and mindlessly pat the serpent holding you up gently. It nuzzles into your palm.

As if on cue, a female servant with deep brown hair enters the room and you see a smile work her way onto her face at the sight of Jasmine.

“Is this who you would have me attend to, My Lord?”

“Yes. They are exhausted and have been without proper food for days. Ensure they are looked after.”

The woman places a hand on your shoulder and the serpent withdraws itself from your waist. You feel extremely unsteady, but the woman is stronger than she looks.

“Come on now, love. Let’s get you some food.” She hooks your arm over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your back.

Slowly, she guides you out of the stagnant room and towards your quarters. She keeps you upright and doesn’t allow you to sway.

“Lord Messmer has taken pity on you, truly. Usually, trespassers are not dealt with so lightly.” She explains to you.

You don’t desire to dwell on what your fate could’ve been, so you quickly change the subject. “Do you have a name?” You ask her and she smiles once more.

“Sianet. A pleasure to serve you.”

You reach your room and Sianet gently helps you inside, settling you on a large, extremely comfortable bed. She goes to shut your door, then grabs a large pitcher of water. She helps you drink, the cold water a welcome luxury.

“Would you like some, little one?” She holds out the glass to Jasmine who keeps her head tucked into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You should drink some water. It’s cold.” You keep your voice steady and she slowly raises her head. Her eyes quickly scan around the room and she looks at Sianet.

“Hello, sweet thing. Do you have a name?”

You prepare yourself to answer for her, as Jasmine really only speaks to you, but you’re shocked when she replies on her own, her voice a meek whisper.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Sianet smiles wider, her white teeth almost blinding. “That’s a lovely name, Jasmine. Would you have some water for me?”

Jasmine nods and grabs at the glass. Sianet helps her drink, tipping the cup back slowly. Once she finishes drinking, the glass is put beside the pitcher on the table next to your bed.

“Your dinner should be ready soon. While we wait, shall I draw a bath for the little one?”

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she nods furiously. Sianet laughs and makes her way to the corner of the room, beckoning for her to follow. Jasmine looks at you with wide eyes.

“Can I follow her?”

“Go on. You stink.” She giggles and launches herself off your lap, toddling off after Sianet.

You flop unceremoniously onto the bed and shut your eyes. You had been wandering for so long that you almost forgot what a proper bed felt like. You remind yourself that you’re safe, even if only for a little while. You can relax and rest. You’ve earned it.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You hear Jasmine and Sianet talking in the next room, so you make your way to the door yourself. Opening it, you are surprised to see Lord Messmer himself. His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like a greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Messmer?”

“I came to ensure thy room was to thine liking.”

You smile at him. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so beautiful. I have no complaints, My Lord.”

His eye twinkles and he peers around you to look inside the room. You silently berate yourself for your horrible manners.

“My apologies, My Lord. Would you like to come in?”

“I shalt not invade thy privacy. Where hast thy child gone?”

“She’s currently taking a much needed bath. She’s okay.” To confirm your words, Jasmine lets out a delighted squeak. The corners of his lip turn up in a small smile.

“Sianet: is she to thine liking as well?”

“She’s very attentive and sweet. You don’t need to worry.”

He clears his throat. “Thy room is guarded well. If thou have need for anything, thou must only ask.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“‘Tis no matter. ‘Twould make me a monster to not attend to thee, especially the child.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but… why are you helping us? Sianet told me that trespassers are usually not dealt with in such a manner.”

His expression falters a little. You worry you overstepped.

“Thou did not hurt my men. Thou did not invade my castle with ill intent.” He pauses, looking away from you. “And it hath been countless moons since a child has inhabited the Land of Shadow.”

“I see.”

Silence encompasses you both, and you take in the details of his face. He has strong cheekbones and a proud, regal nose. His golden eye shimmers in the dim candlelight around you.

“I shalt not bother thee any longer. Give my regards to thy child, and if thou hast need for anything, I permit thee ask.”

“Thank you, Lord Messmer. I’m lucky to have met you.”

His eye widens and a peaceful smile finds itself on his face. He looks handsome like that, you think to yourself.

He bows slightly and leaves you, his serpents coiling themselves around him as he gets further from your door. You shut it and sigh, returning to your bed. The mattress envelops you in a comfortable embrace, and you swear you could fall asleep now and not wake up for a few days. Exhaustion clings to your nerves and bones, and your eyelids grow heavy. You shut them and find yourself immediately succumbing to slumber.

“Wake up! Food’s here!” You’re rudely awoken by Jasmine bouncing excitedly on the bed. You groan and sit up, your body creaking in protest at the sudden movement.

“Alright! I’m up.” She giggles and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand.

Yawning, you do. Rubbing your eyes, you notice that Sianet is carefully arranging a table of food. The smell makes your mouth water. Jasmine runs to help her, her skin now cleaned and clothed in a new dress. Her little feet pad across the marble floors and you don’t remember ever seeing her so excited.

“Sleep well?” Sianet asks, turning her head to meet your gaze.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before. Until someone interrupted.” Jasmine giggles and runs behind a chair, hiding from your teasing.

“I am glad.” She dusts her hands off on her apron and stands back. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Sianet.”

You make your way over to the table and sit down in one of the chairs. Just like your bed, it is extremely comfortable. Before you is a large spread of meats, fruits, and a few desserts. You had been given a bottle of wine to indulge in if you so desired. You can’t remember a time when you had so much choice in what to eat.

Jasmine is lifted into her chair by Sianet, which has been outfitted with a booster seat, and her eyes go wide at the amount of food. You see her gaze immediately lock onto a small tray of chocolate.

“You can’t have just chocolate for dinner, Jasmine.”

She scowls. “You’re right. There’s not enough.” You laugh and shake your head.

“If you need me, say something to the guards. I must go and ensure you have clothes. A bath has been drawn for you already.”

“Thank you, Sianet. We appreciate it.”

“Thank you for giving me a bath.” Jasmine has already stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” She bows her head and takes her leave.

You and Jasmine have your fill of whatever you want. You indulge in some chocolate and a glass of wine and eat until you’re completely full. You imagine this is how Messmer lives each and every day.

You could get used to this.

You make an effort to clean up your plates and stack them so they can be easily taken away and Jasmine makes her way over to the bed. Once you’re finished, you sit beside her.

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course.” You pull the soft blankets up and over her, folding them delicately so she can keep her arms out. She smiles and wiggles, getting comfy.

“Mother used to tuck me in every night.” She never spoke of her parents, so this was surprising to you. “She had long hair and a pretty smile. But that’s all I can remember.”

Your heart pinches painfully. “I’m sorry, little one.” You grab her hand and squeeze it.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t really remember your mother.”

“That’s okay. I have you.” She smiles at you and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You finally know that she’s safe and fed and warm, unlike so many other nights. She is protected by a demigod in his home. Nobody can touch her. She can finally be a child.

“You will always have me,” you promise.

She shuts her eyes and you gently stroke her hair. The brown shimmers in the candlelight. You wonder if her mother had brown hair. When you found her parents, you were so worried about Jasmine that you never looked at them hard enough to remember. Maybe that was for the best.

You rise slowly from the bed to not disturb her sleep, and gently tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was extravagant. Marble floors and tiles and a large candelabra hung from the ceiling, painting the room in a serene glow. The bath sat full, the water still steaming with some petals gently floating on the water. The room smelled like vanilla.

Undressing yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Bruises litter your body like constellations and scars are forever etched on your flesh. You’ve grown skinny, far too skinny, from not eating. You prioritized Jasmine’s food over yours. You did not want her to grow up malnourished.

Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you step into the water and sit down, your body relaxing into the water immediately. The warmth permeates your skin and soothes your bones. The tub is big enough for you to full submerge yourself if you so choose, and you do. The only noise you hear is the gentle swooshing of water. It’s almost like being in a void. You remain under the water until your lungs quickly remind you that you need to resurface for air, and you do. Your hair now wet, you shampoo and condition it, leaving it soft and silky smooth. You choose a purple soap sitting on the edge of the tub and thoroughly lather yourself in it, basking in the lavender scent.

You remain in the water until it begins to chill, and you step out. Drying yourself off, you notice a silk robe hanging on the rack by the door. It is much too large for you, but you don’t really care. You take it and wrap yourself in it. Once more, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognize who stands there. They have soft hair and smooth, clean skin wrapped in fine silks. You remind yourself that it is, in fact, you who stands there.

Making your way out of the washroom, you smile as you see Jasmine still sleeping soundly in the bed. The fireplace nearby roars and you begin to extinguish a few candles. Gently settling into the bed beside Jasmine, you lay a kiss to her forehead before shutting your eyes and returning to St. Trina’s domain once more.

Little did you know that Messmer himself had ignited the fireplace and brought you one of his robes. He doubted that he’d tell you. But he’d be a liar if he said seeing you in his robe didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #he's a softie i swear #poor boy is having thoughts

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gmikaelson · 3 months ago

Text

Masterpiece | K.M

Masterlist

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A/N: Soooo, everyone is going to pretend I posted this yesterday...right?

My attempt at a fluffy one shot. But angsty in the beginning. Happy belated Valentine’s Day!

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Klaus has had the textbook definition of a terrible day. He came home irritated and short-tempered, exploding on anyone who spoke to him—even you

As he stormed through the courtyard, you came down the stairs, “Klauuss~” you say in a cheery tone, “your back! I was thinking we could—“ you were immediately cut off by his sharp tone and cutting words, flinching slightly

"Not now, Y/N!" His voice booms through the courtyard, making a nearby vase rattle. Dark veins begin to appear beneath his eyes as his control slips "I'm not in the mood for your cheerfulness. I've spent the entire day dealing with incompetent fools who can't follow simple instructions, and the last thing I need is-"

He stops abruptly, catching the slight flinch in your movement. Something in his expression shifts, a flash of regret crossing his features before it's quickly masked by his usual stoic facade. He runs a hand through his disheveled dirty blonde hair, taking a deliberate step back

"I apologize, love. But I need to be alone right now. Before I do something I'll regret." His accent thickens with emotion as he speaks, each word carefully measured

Without waiting for a response, he turns and storms up the stairs toward his art studio, the sound of his boots echoing against the floors.

You sigh, deciding to let him be for once.

The moon hangs high in the night sky as Klaus finally emerges from his studio, paint staining his hands and clothes. He finds you curled up on the sofa in the library, a book forgotten in your lap as you doze. The sight of you immediately softens his hardened expression

Moving silently across the room, Klaus kneels before you, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. The movement causes your eyes to flutter open

"I've been a right bastard today, haven't I, love?" His voice is soft, tinged with remorse "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

"Mhm, you shouldn't" you mumble, turning around and facing the sofa instead

Klaus lets out a small, frustrated sigh at your dismissive response. He moves to sit on the edge of the sofa, his hand hovering over your shoulder

"Come now, my dear, don't be like that," his British accent lilts with a mixture of guilt and gentle persuasion "I know I was horrible earlier, and you have every right to be cross with me. But I'd rather not have you angry with me all night."

He leans closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers "I painted you today, you know. Spent hours trying to capture the exact shade of your eyes. Though I must say, even after a thousand years of practice, I still can't do them justice."

When Y/N remains stubbornly turned away, Klaus's voice takes on a more pleading tone "Y/N, love, look at me. Please?"

The 'please' comes out slightly strained - Klaus Mikaelson isn't used to begging for anything, but for you, he's willing to swallow his pride

You sigh, turning your head slightly, "what?"

Klaus's eyes soften as they meet yours, though your still clearly upset with him. He reaches out to trace his fingers along your jawline, but stops himself, knowing he hasn't earned back that right yet

"I'm sorry," he says, the words coming out with genuine remorse "I let my temper get the best of me, and you didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of it. You were merely trying to brighten my day, as you always do, and I responded like a complete arse."

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrays his usually confident demeanor

"I know I can be... difficult, love. But you're the last person I ever want to hurt. You're the light in all this darkness, Y/N, and I acted like a fool today."

His voice drops lower, more vulnerable "Tell me what I can do to make it right. I'll do anything"

You turn back to face him, pouting, "I was really excited for you to come home today, Klaus."

Klaus's face falls at your words, genuine guilt washing over his features. He reaches out, this time allowing his fingers to gently brush against your cheek

"I know, my love," his voice is soft, filled with regret "And I ruined it completely, didn't I? You deserve better than to be greeted with my foul mood and sharp tongue."

He shifts closer, his eyes searching yours, "Tell me what you had planned, dear. What was my beautiful girl so excited about?"

His thumb traces your pouting lower lip as you contemplate telling him, a gesture both apologetic and affectionate

"Perhaps it's not too late to salvage what's left of the day? I promise to be on my absolute best behavior," he adds with a slight smirk, though his eyes remain earnest "Though I know that's not saying much"

You smile slightly at his attempt to fix things. you open your mouth to say something but first, your eyes go to the clock in the corner before trailing back to him. Slowly, you shake your head, "nevermind it's too late now." you sit up, "It's okay. Really"

Klaus's expression darkens slightly, not with anger but with self-directed frustration. He knows you well enough to hear the disappointment beneath your words

"No, it's not okay," he says firmly, reaching out to catch your hand before you can fully pull away "And don't do that, love - don't dismiss your feelings to spare mine. I can see it in those beautiful eyes of yours that whatever you had planned meant something to you."

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles

"Tell me what I ruined, Y/N. Please? Even if it's too late now, I want to know what I missed because of my bloody temper." His blue eyes hold yours intently, filled with both regret and determination

"Fine,” you say in defeat, "since it's Valentine's Day, there was this cute little event where they give you flower pots that you get to paint, and then you get to choose a flower to plant in the pot. I just thought it was the cutest idea ever. Davina showed me the ones she and Kol made, and I was kinda hoping we could too, but...it's fine. Really. no big deal." I lean in and kiss his cheek, "I'm just glad you're feeling better now"

Klaus's face falls completely, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. The realization that he not only ruined your plans but forgot Valentine's Day entirely hits him like a physical blow

"Bloody hell," he mutters, closing his eyes briefly "Valentine's Day. Of course it is."

When he opens his eyes again, they're filled with determination. He stands suddenly, pulling you up with him

"Get your coat, love."

"Klaus, I told you it's fine—"

"It's not fine," he interrupts firmly "I refuse to let Valentine's Day end with my beautiful girl settling for 'fine.' I've been alive for over a thousand years, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's always a way." His signature smirk appears "Even if we have to... persuade someone to reopen the event just for us."

"Klaus..." you say softly as he cups your face in his hands

"You wanted to paint flower pots with me, my dear, and paint flower pots we shall. Even if I have to compel half of New Orleans to make it happen."

His expression softens "Besides, I rather like the idea of creating something with you. Even if it's just a simple flower pot."

You smile, "Klaus, no, you know how much I don't like you compelling people for me." You kiss the inside of his palm, "while it's too late for the event, it's not too late for us to go out and enjoy the night. Let's just go out and do something, yeah?"

Klaus's eyes light up at your suggestion, a fond smile playing on his lips as you kiss his palm. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist

"Ever the moral compass, aren't you, love?" he murmurs affectionately "Very well, no compelling tonight. Though I must say, your kindness continues to both baffle and enchant me."

"Yeah? So that's a yes?"

He brushes his lips against your forehead "Allow me fifteen minutes to make myself presentable, and then I'll take you somewhere special. Perhaps we can't paint flower pots, but I refuse to let this day end without properly celebrating it with you."

He steps back, but not before bringing your hand to his lips once more "Wear something warm, dear. And perhaps that necklace I gave you last week? The one that matches your eyes so perfectly?"

Nodding, you lean in to kiss his cheek. Klaus turns his head, meeting your lips, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply. He releases you, letting go as you turn away, flustered.

He watches you leave with a soft expression that's reserved only for you, before quickly pulling out his phone. His fingers move rapidly across the screen as he sends out several messages. If he can't give you the Valentine's Day you originally wanted, he'll make damn sure to give you something even better

Fifteen minutes later, Klaus stands in the courtyard, freshly changed into a dark henley and his signature necklaces. He's holding something behind his back as he waits for you

The sound of heels clicking against the stairs draws his attention upward, and his breath catches slightly at the sight of you. The necklace he gave you gleams against her skin, complementing your natural beauty

"Stunning as always, my love," he says, his accent thick with admiration "Though I must say, you make everything else pale in comparison."

"Thank you. Whatcha got there?"

He reveals what he's been hiding - a bouquet of deep red roses "I know it's not quite the same as planting flowers together, but I hope these might be a start to making up for my earlier behavior."

Your smile widens as you take the flowers from him, "Klaus...you didn't have to. Seriously," but your smile gives you away

Klaus's eyes crinkle with genuine pleasure at your obvious delight, despite her protests

"Oh, but I did, love," he steps closer, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear "If only to see that beautiful smile of yours. Besides," his voice takes on a playful tone "I'm Klaus Mikaelson. When have I ever done anything because I 'had to'?"

You place the bouquet on one of the chairs, making a mental note to put it in a vase when you get back.

Klaus offers his arm to you in a gentlemanly gesture "Now then, shall we? I believe I promised you a special evening, and I intend to deliver."

His eyes sparkle with mischief and something else - a softness that only you get to see "Though I must warn you, love, I may have arranged a few surprises. Nothing involving compulsion, I assure you," he adds quickly with a knowing smirk "Just a few... favors called in."

"Somehow that worries me more," you say, rolling your eyes

Klaus chuckles at your comment, leading you toward the compound's exit

"Now, now, sweetheart. Where's your sense of adventure?" he teases, pressing a kiss to your temple "Trust me, just this once?"

"Always"

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As you walk through the French Quarter, Klaus keeps you entertained with stories of past Valentines throughout history, particularly focusing on the more amusing disasters he'd witnessed. His real goal, however, is to keep you distracted from noticing the subtle movements of people entering and exiting the compound behind you

"You know," he says, guiding you toward Rousseau's "I was actually present for the very first Valentine's Day celebration. However, I must say, it was significantly less romantic than the modern version. Quite a bit more bloodshed involved, actually."

"Every day I am reminded just how old you are," but Klaus was too busy to be offended by your joke

He glances at his phone briefly, checking a message before quickly tucking it away "How about a drink first, love? I hear they've created a special cocktail just for tonight."

You shake your head, "They always seem to have a 'special cocktail, don't they?"

Klaus laughs, a genuine sound that echoes in the night air

"Touché, my dear," he guides you into the bar, his hand resting possessively on your lower back "Though I must say, watching you get tipsy is always an entertaining affair. You become even more delightfully sarcastic, if that's possible."

He pulls out a chair for you at the bar, then takes the seat beside you, keeping you close

"Besides," he leans in, his breath tickling your ear and causing you to squirm, "I rather enjoy how affectionate you become after a few drinks. The way you curl into my side, how your clever little comments become even more brazen..."

You giggle, "I thought after last time, you'd never let me drink again," you tease, bringing up the time Klaus had to carry you out of the bar.

"You're right. Perhaps we should keep it to just one drink tonight," he says with a knowing smirk "I have other plans for us, and I'd like you fully aware to appreciate them."

"Buzzkill" You grumble with a smile before Camille comes to take your drinks

"Hey, Cami!" You say cheerfully, hugging her over the bar.

Klaus tenses slightly at Cami's appearance, his hand instinctively moving to rest on your thigh - a subtle possessive gesture. Despite their friendship, old habits die hard, and Klaus's jealous nature never truly rests

"Ghayda! Klaus!" Cami greets with a knowing smile, catching Klaus's protective gesture "Happy Valentine's Day! What can I get for you two?"

Before you can order, Klaus interjects, "The special for my love here, and bourbon for me." His thumb traces small circles on your thigh as he speaks

Cami gives Klaus a subtle nod - she's clearly in on whatever he's planning - before turning to prepare your drinks

"Buzzkill, am I?" Klaus murmurs in your ear, his accent thickening "I assure you, love, there are many other ways I plan to intoxicate you tonight."

"Yes" you giggle, "buzz kill and apparently corny too." you turn your body on your stool to face him, crossing one leg over the other noting the way his eyes darken slightly. His gaze trailed over your crossed legs before meeting your teasing expression

"Corny?" he raises an eyebrow, leaning closer "I'll have you know, love, I learned from Shakespeare himself. Though," his hand slides slightly higher on your thigh "perhaps you'd prefer me to be less... poetic?"

His voice drops to a whisper that only you can hear "I could tell you exactly what I plan to do to you later instead. In explicit detail. Would that be less corny for you, my dear?"

Cami returns with your drinks, and Klaus reluctantly pulls back, checking his phone once more

"Perfect timing," he mutters under his breath before raising his glass towards you "To my beautiful girl, who somehow manages to both humble and embolden me with every passing day."

You raise your own with a smile. Sipping your drink, "You know, I didn't expect you to care about Valentine's Day. Though you'd experienced too many of them."

Klaus watches you over the rim of his glass, a thoughtful expression crossing his face

"You're right, love. I've seen countless Valentine's Days come and go," his free hand finds yours, fingers intertwining "But I've never had one worth celebrating before you."

He takes another sip of his bourbon, eyes never leaving yours. "A thousand years of existence, and yet somehow, you make everything feel new again. Even these ridiculous human traditions."

"Ridiculous? That's why you're trying too hard to make it up to me?"

His phone buzzes again, and a satisfied smirk crosses his face.

"Speaking of making it up," he stands, offering his hand "I believe it's time for us to move on to the next part of our evening. Unless," his smirk widens "you'd rather stay here and listen to more of my 'corny' declarations?"

You down your drink, "No, wait, I love this song." You take his hand and stand up, "Dance with me?"

Klaus's expression softens, though there's a flicker of impatience in his eyes as he checks the time. However, one look at your hopeful expression melts any resistance

"How could I possibly deny you anything when you look at me like that?" he pulls you close, one hand settling on your waist while the other holds yours.

As you sway to the music, Klaus can't help but lean down to whisper into your ear, "You're making it incredibly difficult to stick to my carefully laid plans, darling. But then again," his grip tightens slightly, "you've always had a way of making me lose control of everything I thought I had perfectly arranged."

"Arranged? I thought you'd forgotten?" you tease, swaying along to the music

He spins you once, pulling your back against his chest "I did forget, initially," he admits, pressing a soft kiss to your neck "But did you really think I'd let my oversight stand? I am nothing if not resourceful, love. And the past hour has been... productive."

He spins you again, this time bringing you face-to-face with him

"Besides," his eyes gleam with mischief "I have a reputation to maintain. Can't have people thinking Klaus Mikaelson can't give his girl a proper Valentine's Day, now can we?"

His phone buzzes yet again, and this time he actually growls slightly in frustration

"What's wrong?"

"As much as I'm enjoying having you in my arms, sweetheart, we really should be going."

"See? Told you you're a buzzkill," You tease but reluctantly step back, "okay, let's go"

Klaus narrows his eyes playfully at your teasing, suddenly pulling you back flush against him

"A buzzkill, am I?" his voice drops to that dangerous, seductive tone that he knows affects you "We'll see if you still think that in about..." he checks his watch. "Twenty minutes."

He leaves an impressive tip, guiding you out of Rousseau's, his hand never leaving your waist. As you walk back toward the compound, Klaus seems increasingly antsy, checking his phone repeatedly

"Close your eyes, love," he instructs as you approach the compound's entrance

When you hesitate, he adds with a smirk, "Come now, love. Humor your 'buzzkill' of a boyfriend. I promise it'll be worth it."

"Okay, okay," you say with a smile before closing your eyes, grabbing his arm for stability, "last time someone told me to close my eyes, a snake was placed on me."

Klaus tenses at the mention of Kol's prank, a flash of anger crossing his features

"Ah yes, I remember. Kol spent the next week daggered for that little stunt," his voice carries a dangerous edge before softening as he guides you carefully "I assure you, love, no reptiles await you this time. Though perhaps I should dagger him again, just for good measure..."

He leads you through the courtyard, positioning you exactly where he wants you

"Keep those beautiful eyes closed for just a moment longer, love," his voice is soft with anticipation "And no peeking. I know how curious you get."

There's a rustle of movement around you, and the sound of several people quietly exiting

"Alright, my love," his hands rest on your shoulders from behind, his breath warm against your ear "Open them."

You gasp as you see the sight before you, "What the... Klaus" You whisper, "What's all this?" You ask, a grin slowly creeping its way onto your face as you turn to him

The courtyard has been transformed. Hundreds of twinkling lights hang from above, creating a starlit effect. Dozens of flower pots of various sizes are arranged on tables, already prepped for painting, with an array of paints and brushes laid out. In the center sits an elegant table set for two, complete with champagne and covered dishes. Rose petals are scattered everywhere, and soft music plays in the background.

Klaus's expression softens completely at your reaction, a rare genuine smile gracing his features

"This, my love," he cups your face gently "is me trying to give you both the evening you planned and the one you deserve. You wanted to paint flower pots? Well, now we have an entire collection to decorate. Though I must admit," he gestures to the romantic setting "I may have added a few touches of my own."

"Klaus," you say his name so softly, leaning into his touch

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes searching yours

"I know I ruined your original plans with my temper, but I hoped perhaps..." he trails off, showing a rare moment of uncertainty "Well, I hoped this might make up for it. Even the great Klaus Mikaelson can admit when he's been an absolute fool."

He pulls you closer, pressing his forehead against yours "Happy Valentine's Day, my beautiful girl."

"Happy Valentine's Day." You wrap your arms around his neck, "I love you, Klaus"

Klaus's breath catches slightly at your words - even after all this time, hearing you say 'I love you' affects him deeply. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer

"And I love you, Y/N," his voice is thick with emotion, "More than I ever thought possible. More than I probably should."

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, one hand coming up to trace your cheek

"You know," his signature smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft "I had this whole evening perfectly planned out - dinner first, then painting, then dancing under the lights. But seeing you look at me like that..." he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours "makes me want to skip straight to dessert."

You tilt your head back, giggling, "Absolutely not." You poke a finger into his chest, "You went through quite a bit of trouble arranging all this, so perhaps we should at least attempt to follow the schedule?"

You pull his hand excitedly, "let's go!"

Klaus chuckles at your enthusiasm, allowing you to pull him along

"Eager to paint, are we?" he guides you to the table with the flower pots, pulls out a chair for you, and then sits beside you, immediately reaching for your hand

"Choose your pot, darling. Though," his eyes glint mischievously "I should mention that whatever we create tonight will be displayed prominently in the compound. I've already informed my siblings they're not allowed to mock our artistic endeavors, on pain of daggering."

He leans closer, his breath tickling your ear "And yes, before you scold me, I know that's a bit extreme. But I refuse to let anyone diminish something you put your heart into."

You roll your eyes, "Stop including yourself. You know I'm the only one here with shitty artistic abilities" You nudge his shoulder with yours before tying your hair back, "Can we eat while we paint?" you ask, eager to start.

Klaus's eyes follow the movement of your neck as you tie your hair back, momentarily distracted

"Of course, love," he recovers, reaching to uncover the dishes "Though I must disagree about your artistic abilities. Everything you do has its own charm." He smirks "Even if it's not quite up to my thousand years of experience."

He pours you each a glass of champagne, then watches as you select your pot

"Besides," he continues, selecting his own pot "I rather enjoy watching you concentrate. The way you bite your lip when you're focused, how your nose scrunches up when you're not satisfied with something..." he reaches over to tap your nose playfully "It's utterly adorable."

He picks up a brush, dipping it in paint "Now then, shall we see what masterpieces we can create while trying not to spill food on them?"

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The evening unfolds beautifully, with Klaus and You painting flower pots between bites of gourmet food and sips of champagne. Klaus can't help but steal glances at you throughout the night, enchanted by your concentrated expression and delighted giggles when the paint goes astray. Despite his initial temper earlier in the day, the night transforms into something magical

You both end up with two distinctly different pots - Klaus's displaying intricate designs and professional technique, while yours shows...heartfelt effort and creativity. True to his word, Klaus ensures both are given places of honor in the compound

You looked at Klaus's perfect pot, furrowing your brows. You tilted your head as you looked at my own pot, "Klaus. Be honest. Are my lines wonky?”

Klaus bites his lip, trying desperately to maintain a straight face as he looks at your adorably uneven creation

"Well, love..." he starts diplomatically, wrapping an arm around your waist "I would say they're not so much 'wonky' as they are...uniquely positioned. Besides," he presses a kiss to your temple "straight lines are overrated. Yours has character."

"that's a yes" you groan, running a hand down your face

Klaus can't quite contain his amused smile as you continue to scrutinize your work with such serious concentration

"Though I must say," he murmurs in your ear "watching you furrow your brows like that is making it incredibly difficult to focus on pottery critiques. Perhaps we should move on to the next part of the evening?"

His hand slides lower on your waist "Unless you'd like to continue analyzing your artistic technique, of course."

“Mmm, I'm not done. Give me your hand” I say, putting my own hand out, “palm up”

Klaus raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your request. He places his hand in yours, palm up

"Should I be concerned, love?" he asks with amusement, watching you carefully "The last time someone asked for my hand like this, they were attempting to curse me. Though," his eyes sparkle with mischief, "I doubt your intentions are quite so nefarious."

Klaus is unable to hide his fond smile at how serious she looks

"Shh, don't distract me," you say, taking a brush and painting all over his palm, “just wait”

Klaus watches with uncharacteristic patience, fighting the urge to move as the cool paint tickles his palm. His gaze remained on your face, eyes softening as he watched you concentrate, resisting the urge to curl his fingers, letting you continue her mysterious artwork

"Should I be preparing myself for a masterpiece or another one of your... uniquely positioned designs, love?"

“You talk too much” you mumble, placing the brush down. You do the same on your own palm but with a different color.

“Okay, place your hand right here” You point to a spot on your pot

Klaus follows your instruction, pressing his painted palm against her pot where indicated, a curious smile playing on his lips

"As you command, my dear," he says softly. As he takes his hand off, you place yours, slightly overlapping his.

When both hands were pulled away, two handprints appear on the pot - one larger, one smaller, creating a surprisingly sweet design

"Ah," Klaus's expression softens completely, understanding dawning in his eyes "Now that, love, is actually rather clever."

"is it?" you ask hopefully with a smile

He looks at your combined handprints, something warm settling in his chest at the sight of your marks together

"It is. Perhaps I was too quick to judge your artistic abilities," he murmurs, pulling you closer with his clean hand "This might be my favorite piece of art in the entire compound."

“Aha!” you point a painted finger at him, “so you were judging my abilities”

Klaus's eyes widen slightly at being caught, before a mischievous grin spreads across his face

"Well, love," he catches your painted finger in his hand "In my defense, your earlier attempts at straight lines were rather..." he pauses, searching for a diplomatic word "distinctive."

Before you can protest, he pulls you closer, deliberately getting paint on you dress

"Though I must say," his voice drops to that seductive tone "watching you catch me in a lie is incredibly attractive. Perhaps I should let you win more often?"

He brings your painted finger to his lips, pressing a kiss to it "Then again, where would be the fun in that?"

As revenge, you press your hand into his shirt, fighting back a giggle.

Klaus's eyes darken playfully as he looks down at the handprint now decorating his henley

"Now that," his voice drops dangerously low "was a declaration of war, my dear."

In one swift movement, he grabs a paintbrush, a predatory gleam in his eyes

"You seem to have forgotten, love, that I'm quite skilled with a brush," he stalks toward you as you back away "And I have centuries of experience in hunting down my prey."

His smirk widens as he corners you against a pillar "Any last words before I exact my revenge?"

“Maybe that…you love me? Try remembering that. and that I love you....so much,” you say, eyes on the brush

Klaus's predatory expression falters for a moment, softening at her words before his signature smirk returns

"Oh, I do love you, my dear," he presses closer "Which is precisely why I know you'll forgive me for this..."

In one quick movement, he swipes the paintbrush across your cheek, leaving a streak of color

"Klaus!"

"There," he murmurs, admiring his handiwork "Now you truly are a work of art."

His free hand comes up to cup your other cheek "Though I must say, you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, even covered in paint."

He leans in closer, his lips barely brushing yours "Perhaps I should add a few more touches? Make you a proper masterpiece?"

“Yeah? Watch this” you whisper before turning your head and smudging your cheeks together, transferring the paint.

Klaus freezes for a split second as your cheeks press together, the cool paint smearing across his skin. A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him—a rare, unfiltered sound of pure amusement that echoes through the courtyard. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him despite the mess

"Cheeky little minx, aren't you?" He tilts his head, admiring the matching paint streaks now on both your faces "I should’ve known you’d find a way to weaponize affection. Quite the strategic move, love."

His thumb brushes over the paint on your cheek, smudging it further as his gaze softens "Though I must admit, you wear chaos spectacularly. It’s almost a shame to wash this off."

Before she can respond, he dashes to the paint, dipping his fingers and swirling them dramatically "But if we’re making masterpieces..." he flashes back, dragging a streak of gold down your neck, following the curve of your collarbone with deliberate slowness, earning a gasp "...let’s commit to the theme, shall we?"

"Won't things get...messy?

His laughter fades into a heated whisper as his lips hover near yours "Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll clean every brushstroke off you later... thoroughly."

The courtyard erupts into playful chaos as paint begins flying everywhere. Your laughter echoes through the compound as you chase each other, leaving colorful handprints and streaks on clothes, skin, and occasionally the walls. Klaus, despite his usual composed demeanor, finds himself completely caught up in the childish fun, his clothes, and skin now a canvas of multiple colors

The romantic dinner and careful decorations become collateral damage in the paint war, but neither seems to care. At some point, Kol appears at the balcony to investigate the commotion, only to quickly retreat when Klaus threatens him with a paint-covered brush

The evening ends with both of them...well, you, breathless from laughter, covered head to toe in various colors of paint. The courtyard looks like an abstract expressionist painting exploded, both of your flower pots forgotten amidst the beautiful disaster you've created

Klaus pulls you close, both of you a mess, and whispers against your lips "Perhaps we should continue this in the shower, love?"

“Is that you admitting defeat?"

Klaus's eyes narrow playfully, his painted fingers tightening on your waist

"Klaus Mikaelson never admits defeat, love," he growls softly against your ear "I'm merely suggesting we move this battle to a more... private venue.

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper "Unless you'd prefer to continue our war here? Though I should warn you, darling, my next tactics might not be suitable for public viewing."

You swat his shoulder, "1...2...3...race you!" you yell, running to the stairs. Absolutely futile but completely fun

"Oh, love," he calls out, letting you get a head start just to make it interesting "Racing a vampire? Particularly one as old as me? That's rather bold of you."

He vamp-speeds up the stairs, appearing in front of you with a triumphant smirk, causing her to scream

"Though I must admit," he catches you as you crash into his chest "watching you try is absolutely adorable."

He lifts her you, throwing you over his shoulder, "Klaus!" you scream, unable to stop laughing

"Now then," his eyes darken with desire as he pats your thighs, "shall we discuss the terms of your surrender? Or would you prefer another futile attempt at escape?"

◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡ ◞♡ ♡

The evening winds down peacefully, with Klaus and Y/N cleaning up and changing into fresh clothes. They spend the rest of the night curled up together in their room, Klaus sketching while Y/N reads, occasionally exchanging soft kisses and quiet conversations

Their painted flower pots dry on the balcony, including their special handprint creation which Klaus insists will have a permanent place in their room. Despite the chaos and the mess, the Valentine's Day that started roughly ends perfectly - just the two of them, content in each other's company

As Y/N drifts off to sleep in his arms, Klaus watches her with tender affection, thinking about how a thousand years of existence led him to this moment, with this remarkable woman who changed everything for him

The courtyard’s chaos remains untouched come morning. Rebekah scoffs at the mess, Kol places bets on how long until they’re at each other’s throats again, and Elijah quietly orders a cleaning crew. But in your room, Klaus sleeps—actually sleeps—your hand fisted in his still-damp curls. Victory, he’d learn, tastes sweeter in surrender.

The compound may be a mess of paint, but Klaus wouldn't change a single moment of their evening together.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

Taglist: @ariesandwolves

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #tvdu #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikealson fanfiction #the vampire diaries #klaus edit #niklaus mikaelson #valentines day

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nariism · 2 years ago

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Wriothesley has fallen asleep on the job.

It's not a surprise, not in the least. He's spent more time at the Fortress of Meropide than he has at home lately, overworking himself with an unfathomable amount of new inmates to house.

He's always taken his work quite seriously, both as a show of gratitude to the people of Fontaine and to protect his pride in having the most inescapable prison in the entire nation. And more than that, he's always refused your help much to your chagrin.

You find him asleep at his desk, piles of paperwork buried under his head as a makeshift pillow. He snores softly, meaning that he must have just knocked out recently.

A quiet sigh escapes you as you tread over to his sleeping form, draping the coat dangling on the back of his chair over his body as a temporary blanket. Fontaine is chilly, and despite his unusual warmth, risking Wriothesley getting sick is the last thing you want in the world.

It strikes you then. He's asleep. Asleep, in front of you, completely vulnerable and unknowingly allowing you to observe every part of him without judgement: the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, human and alive; the hair that's fallen out of place and over the eyes which you love so much; the light murmurs of his recited dreams leaving his lips yet unintelligible.

You're surprised that it's never dawned on you before. You've rarely had the chance to see him sleep.

Wriothesley always roused before the crack of dawn, waking you after him with his lips pressed to your forehead. "Good morning, pretty," he would greet you before taking off for the day. And he was so warm to hold at night that you would often fall asleep before him, comforted by the slow beating of his heart against your ear.

It's a strange sight to see him looking so unguarded, all evidence of the torment of his busy day washed out of his expression as he snores.

You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't. But you can't help it. The Kamera is pulled from your bag before you can stop yourself, fingers nimbly getting the lens ready without stirring him. You're just about to take a picture worth a thousand words when—

"Mornin', pretty."

You almost drop the Kamera out of surprise, clutching it to your chest while you glare at the smugness written all over his face. There's a gruffness and slur to his voice that makes you weak in the knees, so unlike how you're used to hearing him in the mornings when he's already had his tea.

His steely eyes peer up at you curiously as you try and stammer out a weak excuse, to little avail. You should have known that the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide would have sharp enough senses to wake with even the smallest disturbance. He sits up straight, the coat hanging on his shoulders falling off onto the seat.

(It makes him melt that you've attempted to keep him warm, even though it seems like you've come all the way out to the Fortress at such an hour just to check up on him.)

He looks around. "No one escorted you?"

You bashfully avert your eyes, fumbling around with your Kamera and trying pathetically to hide it behind your back as if you weren't caught red-handed already.

"The guards let me in."

"But you came alone?"

His frown deepens when you nod. Wriothesley gathers up his remaining papers into one pile and shoves them aside before striding over to you. "Have a guard escort you home. It's dangerous to go back alone," is his demand.

"You're not coming home tonight?" You ask quietly, lips pulling back into a small pout of disappointment. His heart aches at the thought that he may have been neglecting you in the last few days, even more than he had been neglecting himself.

"I have to finish up some things," he tells you with the slightest bit of guilt bleeding into his words. He runs a hand through his hair before sighing. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

It's a lame offer, asking the love of his life to sleep in such a dinky, run-down place. But the light that explodes in your eyes and smile tell him that you don't care. You never would, so long as you were by his side.

"Okay," you whisper, and he kisses you in apology.

That night, at an hour so late that not even the prisoners make a peep, he realizes that your Kamera is still set down on the coffee table beside your resting form. He has drowned you in his coat and a spare blanket, laid you out across his office couch, and though it's not luxurious you seem to be resting well.

Just a few more days. A few more days of processing all of the new papers sent by Neuvillette and he would be free to come home to your loving arms and fall asleep in your shared bed. For now, this would have to suffice.

The man gathers you up into his arms and slides beneath you, holding you atop his chest like he always does. He's careful not to wake you as he settles in to call it a night.

There's a faint shutter as he holds the device up in the air and takes a picture of the both of you, with your body curled up against his and his arm around your waist.

He presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "Goodnight, pretty."

("When did you take this?!"

"You don't like it?" He asks you nonchalantly, eyes busy with reading the morning Steambird.

"I didn't say that," you grumble, flustered at how he's holding you in the image. Did he always hold you so close? So protectively?

Wriothesley smiles at you with his lips on the rim of his mug. "You snore, by the way."

"Shut up!")

#— whispers in the wind ✧#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fic #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact fluff #wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic

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scarletttries · 4 months ago

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Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Love Languages (Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Request: "hi! i loved reading your baldurs gate companions in love headcanons, i wanted to ask would it be okay if you wrote headcanons for what their love languages would be? or just how they would show love to their partner? thank you!"

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who sent in requests and reblogged my last Baldur's Gate post! Consider me open for any BG3 requests, let me know if you want to see more pieces like this :)

Astarion:

- Astarion has always had a way with words, and there's no exception in the way he sings his praises of you. He is quick to tell you how you have won his favour, how he prefers you to any of his other travelling companions, how he looks forward to the moment you open your eyes each morning. He will come up with a thousand sweet pet names to lavish you with affection, her purring voice leaving no trace of doubt that he doesn't mean exactly what he says. And he takes a certain sick satisfaction in describing all the things he wants to do for you the moment you are left alone together, and watching the blood rise up to your cheeks, only making you more appetizing.

- After years of what felt like indentured servitude, Astarion always feels himself falling only more deeply in love when you do him little favours and acts of service. He never stops being surprised when you've set up his tent for him because he could tell he was battle-worn this evening, or when you fetch him a cup of wine before he's even realised he was actually quite thirsty. He's never had someone know him well enough to anticipate his needs, let alone selflessly step up to deliver those things wanting nothing in return but to see him happy and at ease. He can feel himself grow more trusting and open of you with every kind task you undertake.

Wyll:

- Wyll has lived a life subject to many stories, and finds himself weaving a new tapestry of tales with his Words whenever he speaks to you. A simple good morning is never enough, he must soliloquise on and on about the way it feels to wake beside you, and how each ray of sunlight captures your beauty in a thousand different ways. He will wax poetic as you stroll through the lands, letting you know exactly what he admires about you, and exactly what your future adventures together would mean to him. He wants nothing more than to tell you the story that he sees the two of you writing together, every sweet word just another reminder that there's never been anything more important to him than you.

- You can show Wyll how much you care about him by just being there and sticking by for all the quality time he needs. This may include a lot of listening to the heartbreaking tale of his father's scorn, and sitting in supportive silence as he tries to let go of some of the weight he has carried on his shoulders thus far. You also need to be willing to put in the time to learn a dance or two, the retracing of steps bringing warmth to Wyll's heart and flooding him with all the brightest memories of his childhood. And when the dances have your bodies twisting closer and closer then Wyll has another idea of how you can spend some quality time together.

Gale:

- While Gale does see himself as a man of adventure, he is first and foremost a scholar of the magical arts and that requires a certain amount of Quality Time spent with his books. As he makes space in his life and heart for you, he views his time with you as equally precious. He loves that you two can sit quietly next to each other reading for hours, or just swapping stories of your adventures. He knows if the gravity of it all is getting on top of him, he can pass an easy day resting his head in your lap while the two of you discuss what the future could hold for you, giving him reason after reason to keep on fighting and never surrender to ache in his chest. On the rare occasions that Gale has to spend the day away from you, prepare yourself for the most dramatic reunion you can imagine when he returns - sweeping you into his arms, ready to cling by your side as he tells you everything you missed while being apart.

- Gale has heard and read a lot of pretty words in his time, knowing they are often not to be trusted in their intended meaning. So rather than telling Gale you care, you find it much more effective to just show him with your touch. He's a needy boy at the best of times anyway, but with a gentle caress of your fingers over the nape of his neck you can render the chatty wizard speechless and completely entranced. It's difficult to overstate how much of Gale's day he spends thinking about when it all grows dark and finally he can retire into your bed roll and feel your skin pressed against his, feeling completely safe and content in your company.

Shadowheart:

- Despite having little to offer and no intrinsic idea of an item's value, Shadowheart finds herself compelled to offer you small gifts and tokens of affection as you travel together. It might be an especially well aged bottle of wine picked up while exploring some abandoned castle, a bottle she hopes the two of you can share as the sun is setting that night. It might be a resilient flower she sees sprouting from a hillside, she can't help but tuck it behind your ear and marvel at the way it draws out the highlights in your eyes. A cup of water from a glistening stream, a smooth pebble plucked from the shore, a sweet handful of berries found deep in a thicket. Her hand is constantly extending out towards you, with some small reminder that you are never far from her thoughts.

- So much of Shadowheart's life has a been shrouded in dishonesty and mystery, so when you speak to her with only kindness and truth she comes to really value those Words of Affirmation. Giving her your honest opinion, and letting her talk through whatever moral quandary is playing on her mind, will strengthen the deep understanding you share and remind her of the way you give her something no one else has before. Let her know you're thinking of her too, that you care about how she's doing, and you like her no matter what version of herself she is becoming, and Shadowheart will continue to open her heart and mind to you again and again.

Karlach:

- Karlach has always been a helpful soul, even if she's been misguided in the past about who she's been helping. So her favourite way to show you she cares is through Acts of Service, doing little tasks for you and reinforcing that your life will just be easier if you keep her around and ideally very close by. She is particularly happy when she gets to do something for you that doubles as an excuse to show off her statuesque build; reaching something off a high shelf, lifting some heavy boulder out of your way, carrying you in her arms when the day has been long and there's still a journey ahead of you. She feels like she needs to improve your life in all these tangible ways in order to let you know just how appreciated you are, even though it would be impossible to ever feel like you were being taken for granted by this loving soldier.

- After decades of burning ultimately hot because of the infernal engine in her chest Karlach has become used to being a certain level of touch-starved. But when you first celebrate her mended heart by throwing your arms over her shoulders, all that need and want come flooding back in a landslide and Karlach is sure she'll never be able to stop squeezing you again. Show Karlach love through physical affection and this fierce warrior will be melting like a puddle into your lap at the slightest touch. Wake her with a hug each morning, let her fingers grip your hand as you explore the treacherous world, squeeze her thigh as you settle round the campfire each evening. Remind her you're there, and let her cling to you in a way she has always craved, and you'll have a very happy Barbarian on your hands.

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satorusugurugurl · 1 year ago

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My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 5,818

Warning: dirty talk, language, making out, wedding duties (lol), oral sex, smutty smut

A/N: Our final part 🥹💚 wow what a journey! There will be an epilogue for our sweet beans next week! Along with the start of the Best Friend!Suguru series.I'm so sorry for the late post, I was so sick yesterday and sleepy from my medication! But better late than never! ! If you want to be included in the tag list, YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Eight

For two days, two days, you and Satoru spent most of the time in your room. Wrapped up in your sheets, him on top of you, you on top of him. You only separated for the rehearsal dinner and getting your nails done. But the second you were back in his arms, he made up for the lost time like you had been gone for years. His lips were on yours in slow, gentle kisses that became passionate.

Those same kisses would end on the futon, which probably had seen more action in the last forty-eight hours than since the inn opened. Satoru bent you in all different positions, twisting you like a pretzel, stretching you in ways you didn't even know was possible. He made it his goal to make up for the year and a half that you didn’t sleep with anyone. Gojo Satoru turned you into a mess- a withering mess.

“Oooh holy shit.” you cried out, gripping the blanket, “fuuuuck oooh fuck Satoru.”

“Yeah~? Does that feel good~?”

“S-So good~!”

“Mhmm~ good.”

Fingers moved gently, expertly making your back arch, jaw opening in a soft cry of pleasure. Satoru bit his lip, his fingers increasing the pressure against you. Cerulean eyes narrowed, focusing on your face, watching how your eyes rolled back and your face flushed.

“T-Toru~Toru.” Toes curled as you cried softly, eyes watering.

“Oooh yeah~ you gonna cum~?”

Blinking, you lift an eyebrow, watching Satoru wiggle his at you. His fingers are massaging into your sore feet, kneading away knots and easing the aching muscles. Both of you were fully clothed, sitting on the back porch overlooking the gardens. Anyone around would have assumed you both were doing the deed from how loud you were being.

“Oh my god, was I being that loud?”

“What~? No!” You relaxed a little, your feet still in his lap. Thumbs worked at a particularly sore spot, making you whine again. “I’m pretty sure Suguru heard that whine, and he's in Tokyo.”

“Ya’ know what—”

You try pulling your feet away, only to have Satoru yank them back into his lap, inadvertently pulling you closer to him. “Stop, I'm just teasing. Let me do this.” his fingers continue working, moving gently over your feet. “You were in the kitchen all morning, making a three-tier wedding cake. Then those ‘friends’ of yours make you wear heels to take pictures. And you have to wear heels for the wedding tomorrow?” Satoru shook his head, white tufts of hair swaying.

“I offered to bake the cake, the benefit of having a baker as a friend.” His thumbs hit a sore spot, making you jolt. “But the heels are torture.”

“They seem like it.”

A soft, comfortable silence filled with chirping crickets and a distant wind chime grew between you. You just sat there while Satoru rubbed at your sore feet under the blanket of glittering stars. You had one more day together here in Kyoto, then a train ride back home, and you would be back to reality. A reality that had changed drastically over the last week.

When you both retired to your room, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling in thought. You had gone from a woman who was quiet, shy, and hell-bent on not needing anyone to this giggly, joyful woman who couldn’t be any happier. Satoru had peeled away at the layers of scar tissue you had hidden yourself in. He brought a certain confidence out in you. Being with him was as easy as breathing; even when you returned home to your mundane lives, you had faith you both would continue to strive forward. To keep your relationship going strong.

Strong as the urge to stay in bed with him all day despite your fellow bridesmaids pounding on your door the next morning. Satoru grumbled in horny frustration; his cock was pressed firmly over your barely clothed core. You pulled your lips away from his neck, pushing your hair back, groaning at the sudden interruption.

“I have to go, Toru.” You pulled off of him, giggling as he threw his head back. “Hey~ don’t be like that; we’ll pick up where we left off tonight.”

“Wedding sex is the best kind of sex. Especially when you’re on a sugar rush.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, grinning ear to ear. “That sounds enticing.” Satoru sat up on his elbows, licking his lips.

“Oh, it’s gonna happen tonight,” Satoru promised with a shake of his head. “I promise you that.”

Another knock at the door, “If you don’t come out! We’re coming in! Regardless of how indecent you two are!” A series of knocks sounded from the other side of the door by several different hands from the sound of it.

”I better go before they knock down the door.” With a pout, you leaned down, kissing Satoru goodbye before heading out. “I’ll see you later!” just before you shut the door to the room, you pouted as Satoru watched, sticking his bottom lip out. “It’s just three hours, babe!”

Three hours flew by before you knew it. The excitement of getting ready for the wedding and seeing your best friend practically buzzing in anticipation fueled everyone's energy. While you were bouncing up and down eagerly waiting to see Satoru in a tailored suit. Just imagining him had you grinning as you stared out the bridal suite window, looking towards the garden decorated for the joyous event.

“So, when are you and Satoru getting married?”

”Eh!?” All of your friends surrounded you, devilish smiles gracing their faces. “I-I—we are not getting married!” At least not yet. “We’ve barely started going out.” Literally. “There’s no indication that we're even considering that!”

“Oh, please!”

“Says the girl that’s been locked in her room with said boyfriend for the last two days!”

Your face burned like a fresh sunburn. “S-So! That does not mean that we’re getting married anytime soon!” All of your friends booed in protest. “Will the whole lot of you stop? Seriously, I don’t want you guys scaring off Satoru!” The bride stepped forward in her gown and all of her glory. “Finally, Mina, will you please talk some sense into them!?” Your best friend looked amongst the other girls, all dressed in a beautiful sky blue. For a moment, you thought she might take your side. But the second a smirk at the corner of her mouth, you knew she didn’t have your back.

“I was going to ask you the same question! The man would’ve fucked you against the wall at the bar no one stopped him!”

“Oh my God!”

“I’m serious! I think I’ll hand you the bouquet when I toss it!”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, I think I will!”

“We are not getting married—not yet!”

Satoru sat off to the side, right next to your parents, as the wedding started. He watched with wide and sparkling eyes as you walked down the aisle with a groomsman. Your hair was styled beautifully, and the flowing sky-blue dress looked stunning on your figure and complimented your skin tone. His mouth felt suddenly dry as you looked at him, giving him a gentle, sweet smile. Cupid himself must have shot him through the heart at that moment because fuck, he was falling so hard for you.

“Ma’am—“ he learned next to your mother's ear, “just so you know, the next wedding we host here will be ours.”

“Huh?!”

Her reaction didn’t even seem to faze him. All he cared about was standing near the front of an outdoor arch decor with flowers of different colors—a gentle breeze brushed by you, making your hair and the dress flow. Even when the bride made her grand entrance, everyone turned to see her walking down the aisle towards her future husband. Satoru had his eyes locked on you.

You could feel his eyes, and that burning sensation had your focus transfixed on him. Was it wrong to be looking at your wedding date instead of the bride-to-be? The chances of that were very likely. But how could you not stare back? When his eyes burned holes into your very soul and left your heart racing like you had just run a marathon. It was impossible to pay attention to anyone else.

He was so handsome. Satoru was wearing a white button-down shirt with a blue tie that matched your dress. His navy blue jacket and pants were tailored to his body perfectly. You could tell by its appearance that it was expensive. It was probably more expensive than your best friend's wedding dress. You wanted to rip it off of him and let him take you right there in the garden.

Yes, he was extremely good-looking. But it wasn’t his clothes or his appearance or the fact that he had money that made you so attracted to him at that moment. The way he looked at you, eyes trailing over your body, with a soft grin, told you everything you needed to know. Satoru truly cared for you. This wasn’t just about sex, and it wasn’t the magic of the wedding to be. Chemistry, connection, and attraction were one hundred percent genuine.

After exchanging vows and rings, hundreds of pictures were taken with everyone. You were finally free from your wedding duties. The first thing you did as soon as you broke away from the rest of the group was run to Satoru’s side. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight to his chest. Lips pressed against the temple of your head, and you could’ve sworn he let out a little sigh of happiness to have you back in his arms.

“You look so fucking beautiful.” He cupped a strand of hair behind your ear before gently reaching down, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Is it wrong for me to say you’re even more beautiful than the bride?”

“Satoru!” you playfully punched at his shoulder, “I am not.”

“Oh, you are; that’s a god-given fact, sweetheart.” His thumbs brushed ever so lovingly over your cheek. “But there’s just one thing I would change about the outfit.”

“You and me both.” You winced, moving your arm away from the scratchy sequins top. “This material is an absolute nightmare for my underarms. I’m serious. You’ll probably have to put lotion on them for me later.”

“Oh.” Satoru deadpans. “ I wasn’t talking about the material.”

You hum in thought, looking over the dress for any flaws he may have noticed. “Oh?” When you didn’t find anything else wrong with the dress in your eyes, you tilted your head, looking up at Satoru. “Well, what would you change about it then?” His hand gently pulled your face closer to his own; he leaned down, the fresh smell of minty lemonade coaxing your nostrils.

“I’d change the color.”

“Wait, what?”

Your date says nothing for a beat of silence. “So anyways! Let’s grab our seats; I’ll get you one of the cocktails!”

He rambles on while you’re still stuck on how he would change the color of your dress. Surely, he meant he would do a different shade or maybe red instead of blue; there’s no possible way that he was talking about it to white. Yeah, he didn’t mean that at all! Your friends just put the stupid notion in your head that you guys are going to get married next. You didn’t even know what the two of you were yet. You hadn’t put a label on your relationship.

What you did know was that Satoru wanted to make your relationship work. So you knew for sure that you weren’t just another fuck buddy or client. This went deeper than that. What you both had was real, which was a lot more than other couples had. So who knew, maybe your friends were right? Perhaps Satoru had thought that white would make your dress look one million times better.

These were questions and answers for another day. You weren’t going to rush into things. Both of you wanted to take your time and get to know one another.

And you learned a lot of things about him as the party began. Like how he despised the taste of alcohol, he had mentioned it in passing when he walked you to the bachelorette party. But when he accidentally took a sip of a cocktail unintentionally, not knowing it had alcohol in it, the man sputtered and choked. His hands grabbed a cola from the bartender, chugging it like water. You learned that he was a pretty good dancer. He bumped and ground with you on the dance floor while the music blared. You learned how gentle his hands were as he slowly danced with you to one of the many love songs the DJ played.

He was so tentative to you. He’d always make sure you had a drink of some kind. He insisted that you drink plenty of water to avoid getting drunk. He even went to the room and grabbed your sandals when your high heels bothered you. God, he was everything and then some. If you hadn’t called for each other, he truly would have made this wedding a lot of fun for you. There was no doubt that he was worth every penny you were willing to spend to have a good time.

The party has toned down almost entirely, a few stragglers drunkenly laughing and drinking while others chat while eating the vanilla and raspberry compote cake you had made. Your best friend and her husband are one of two couples on the floor dancing to a slow song. The other was Satoru and the flower girl who had been smitten with his white hair and blue eyes. She was convinced he was Prince charming and begged him to dance with her. Satoru jumped at the opportunity. Gently placing her little feet on top of his shoes as he danced with her to the slow beat of the music.

Your gaze was locked on him as you nursed a cup of coffee between your hands. He was so perfect in every way, shape, and form. Satoru had made this one of the best nights of your entire life. God, you don’t think you’ve ever had so much fun at a wedding before. It was all thanks to him that you were having one of the most memorable nights of your life.

Those deep, happy thoughts are cut short when a tiny, chubby hand gently smacks your cheek. The sudden contact has you jumping, nearly spilling the hot coffee over your hands as you turn to see who has smacked you. You’re met with beautiful, big navy-colored eyes—dark tufts of hair spill over the head as the baby gently smacks your cheek again.

“Please don’t hit me, I have my kid.” a familiar voice speaks, “and don’t yell, please.”

You scoff, cocking an eyebrow up at Toji as he sits down in the chair next to you. “Are you seriously using your kid as a human shield?” Your ex shakes his head before looking over his shoulder, searching for someone.

“I cannot confirm nor deny that.” He cradles the babbling baby in his lap. “But if my wife is around, I will deny every word.”

“So you are using your child as a human shield.”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?”

“What do you want, Toji?”

He cradles his son in one arm, reaching into his suit jacket with his free hand. Toji pulls out a manila envelope and places it in front of you. Gingerly, taking it off the table, you open it and find the money you had left in the kitchen the other day. The money he almost ruined your relationship with Satoru over and the money you’d spent on him

He exhales deeply through his nose before clearing his throat. “What I did was wrong.” His son babbles, chubby little hands pulling the sleeve of his jacket. “I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened. I broke your heart, not once but twice. You, of all people, don’t deserve to be treated like that.” You cock an eyebrow. “And no, I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just wanted to say that I was sorry. For breaking off our engagement the way that I did. For almost sabotaging your relationship with that brat over there.” His head jerks in Satoru’s direction.

“Yeah, you almost fucked that up for me.”

“Well, luckily, you guys worked it out.”

“Yeah, we did.” For the first time all week, you don’t feel the slightest bit of dread being near Toji. Maybe it was because you slapped the shit out of him, or perhaps it was because you felt as though your last confrontation was able to heal your wounds. “He’s a great guy.”

“Great for an escort.”

“Former escort.” You correct him with a smug smile. “Satoru sent in his resignation letter on Thursday after we talked.”

Toji’s eyes went wide before they softened with a gentle gaze that you hadn’t seen since high school. “Well shit, I guess I had him pegged wrong.” Taking another sip of your coffee, you giggle before resting your chin on your fist.

“I thought you said you were the greatest PI.”

“Nah, I’m one of the best.” Toni leans back, and in this light, you can see the slight discoloration on his face from both you and Satoru’s hits the other day. “I’m far from being the greatest. I wasn’t for you, but—“ he pressed his lips against his son’s head. “I’m trying to be a better person for this brat and my wife.”

“You always were an asshole.” Your point-blank statement had him wincing. “But if you hadn’t been an asshole, I wouldn’t have become the person I am today. So thanks for being a dick.”

Toji tilts his head, chuckling. “You’re welcome, I guess.” A squealing babble has both you and Toji glancing down at his son. He gently gums at his father’s jacket, drooling over the fabric. Toji sighs and gently lifts the baby to stare at him. When he does, those navy blue eyes glance towards his chest that's straining against the fabric. His son smacks his lips in hunger. “Fuck, I gotta find my wife; the little shits hungry again. And I’d rather not have him gnawing at my pecs.” He stands and pauses before turning his child to face you.

The tiny human gurgles at you, tilting his head. “Uhm, Toji, I can’t feed him.” Your ex rolls his eyes so hard you can almost hear it.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know, I just—“ he sighs, “this is my son, Fushiguro Megumi.” You can’t help but smile at his name; a blessing.

“Well, hello there, Megumi.” You gently pet his hair back. “It’s nice to meet you; whatever you do, don’t turn out to be like your father.”

Toji barks out a sharp laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that’s for sure.” Megumi laughs loudly, smacking his hands against your face.

“Toji!” Both of you turn to see a woman with dark hair waving at him.

“That’s the wife, we’re leaving.” He cradles Megumi into his side ever so gently. “I’m sorry again for all the shit I put you through in the past and well in the last week.”

“Well, all that shit led me to someone pretty great.” Your eyes drift back to Satoru, who's walking the little girl back to her parents. “All those years of putting up with you gave me some good karma.”

“For putting up with me, you deserve the world.” He scoffs hurriedly to join his wife. “Later.”

You wave goodbye to him, returning to your cup just as Satoru joins you. Two plates with cake in his hands. “Was that Toji!?” His ocean eyes meet yours, searching for any sign or tears of frustration. “The hell did he want?” He shoves the sweet cake into his mouth before offering you a bite, which you eagerly take.

“Mhm, he just wanted to give me the money he owed me.”

“What you should have given him was a knuckle sandwich.” Your soft giggle has butterflies swarming inside his stomach.

“I already gave him one, so I’ll gladly take the money this time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He takes another bite of cake. “It would be a shame for you to bruise those knuckles again.”

You press your body against him, relishing in the warmth. “You know I don’t even care anymore. I got hurt in the past. I wallowed in my self-pity for over a year. But things are starting to look up for me now.” He hummed, turning to press a kiss against your forehead. “All thanks to my—“You hesitate, not sure if you want to be the one to put a label on your relationship.

“Boyfriend.” Satoru finishes for you, making your hearts swell with joy.

“Yes, my boyfriend.”

Satoru takes one last bite of his cake before wiping the mixture of whipped cream and buttercream off with his thumb. “Mmm, I love hearing you say that. It sounds so damn pretty rolling off your tongue.” You grinned, gently gripping his hand on your own, squeezing it as you stood.

“Wanna see what else I can do with my tongue~?”

Without hesitation, your boyfriend stands up from the table, following you down the hall. “Oooh? Is the sugar kicking in?” Satoru quickly takes the lead from you, dragging you down the hall and towards the guest rooms.

“It’s not just the sugar.” You correct him. “It’s you.”

The second you step into the room, and the door is slammed shut, Satoru’s on you, cupping your face, kissing you deeply with a guttural moan. You return the kiss, tasting the sweet, tangy remains of the cake on his tongue that worked its way into your mouth. You’re moaning, pushing his jacket off, letting it fall to the ground as you start working on the buttons of his shirt.

While you do that, Satoru runs his hands down your back, searching for a zipper or buttons, only to discover an intricate series of strings. He breaks the kiss, looking down at the saliva connecting your lips before he forces you to turn around so he can start working on the corset holding you hostage. His fingers struggle with the silky strings; he’s far too excited to sit down and take the necessary time to care for this.

“Hey, sweetheart, this isn’t a rental, is it?”

”No, I wish it was; I seriously haye the sequins, Toru.” You huff out, feeling his hands gently grip both sides of the back of the dress.

”So you wouldn’t be heartbroken if anything were to happen to it?”

”No, I guess I woul—“ RIIIP!! “Oh fuck!” You tumble as Satoru uses all of his strength to rip down the back of the dress—the thin fabric pools around your feet before Satoru turns you back to face him. The second you do, he drops to his knees in front of you and kisses down your bare chest, all the way to your lace panties. “S-Satoru~”

“Mmm, I wanna show you what I can do with my tongue.” He states flatly before tugging your panties down. “I get to eat two sweet treats tonight. Your amazing cake and your delicious pussy.”

His tongue instantly slides over your clit, making you grip his hair for support in fear that you are going to buckle over. Your hand grips the soft strands of hair, winning the softest of groans from him. While your fingers run through his hair, only make him move his tongue faster, with the sole purpose of making you cum.

Unfortunately for you, even if you were willing to hold off, Satoru is just too good at what he does. He teases your clit, going between gentle flicks, suckling on it, and writing his name against it with the tip of his tongue. His antics and techniques leave you nearly falling over, wishing you were on the futon. There was something about towering over him, though, bucking your pussy against his willing mouth that gave you a certain sense of empowerment.

You could see why men would like a woman on their knees. It was fun holding all of the power to make Satoru do what you wanted, to keep his face in place with you humping his tongue. You could have cum from just thinking of riding his face like this. Doing it though, fuck, it was so hot.

Satoru thought so, too; his jaw opened wide as he flattened his tongue, allowing you to use his mouth as you saw fit. His hand gently reached around, grabbing the fat of your ass, encouraging you to move and grind faster against him, wanting for you to cum. His squeezing you had your head falling forward, strands of your kiss-messy hair falling as you came hard, rolling your hips in time with the waves crashing over you. Satoru hummed happily, lapping up the juices you kindly offered him.

“Fuck, oooh fuck Satoru.” Your knees were buckling as he gently peppered hisses down your inner thighs. “I don’t think I can walk after that.”

”Hm? Oh, don’t worry about that.” He lifted you gently, placing you down on the futon. “I have a perfect place for you to sit.” You watched in awe as your boyfriend stripped out of his clothes and slipped on a condom before standing completely naked in front of you. “Now, what do you say,” Satoru laid down, grabbing your hips and pulling you to straddle him. “We pick up where we left off this morning before your friends rudely interrupted us.”

”Mmm, I love the sound of that.” Sitting back ever so slightly, you gently grabbed his cock, easing the thick throbbing tip inside of you. “Ah~ fuck I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how thick you are.” You cry out as you slowly begin to slide yourself down his shaft with a whimper.

”And I’ll never get over how tight and warm you are.” Large hands gently grip your hip, holding you as you sit down on him, his cock fully buried inside of you. “God, I can’t wait to feel how wet you are one of these days.” He hisses through his teeth as you slowly begin to rock back and forth on him. “Y-You fuck, sweetie, you feel so fucking good!”

“Yeah, so do you, Toru; I feel you getting bigger inside me.”

“And I can feel you clamping down.”

Knowing that he could feel just how good you were feeling was the only entice you needed to pick up your pace, your gentle rocks becoming a bit faster and harder as you gently began bouncing up and down on him. Your sudden increase in speed had Satoru choking on a raspy whine, his head tilting back as you placed your hands on his chest, steadying yourself. This position was one of your favorites. You were able to watch Satoru’s face contort with pleasure while his cock hit all the right places deep inside of you.

Satoru also loved this position because he got to see how relaxed you were, how he was able to grope your perfect tits, his thumbs brushing gently over your sensitive nipples. But his favorite thing about this position was being able to touch you. Not just your breasts, as great as those were. Running his large palms down your hips and over the top of your thighs, feeling your muscles twitch made happy, satisfied grunts leave his mouth. But it was when you interlace your fingers with his that got his heart pounding.

Your hips were moving faster, harder against him. Your smaller fingers held on to his for support, squeezing them gently as your tiny whines turned into desperate moans as your fucked yourself on him.

”Toru, oooh fuck~”

”Yeah, you close?” His fingers gave yours a gentle squeeze. “You gonna cum? Make me cum with you? I feel it coming back, god, I feel it; you’re going to make me cum so fucking hard.”

”Y-Yeah wanna make you cum, cum with me, Satoru, please I need it, need it so fucking bad.”

Satoru groaned, nodding his head as you slammed yourself up and down on him, his hips bucking up to meet you, fucking the tip of his cock directly into your cervix. You both are moaning so loud you know people will be calling the front desk to file a complaint, but you could care less about all of that. All that mattered right now was you and Satoru.

“Ooooh fuck me.” You cry out, releasing your boa constrictor grip on his hands, digging them into the bedding as you fall forward onto his chest. Your hips bounce up and down faster and harder, skin slapping against skin as your ass slams down. “Satoru, I’m gonna—“

”M-Me too, baby, holy fuck me too!” Satoru’s hands grip the sides of your hips, forcing you to move faster, which seems almost impossible. “Fuck, oooh fuck, fuck shit!” He’s gritting his teeth as you cry out into the side of his neck. “Oh, holy fuckin shit, baby! I’m cumming! Cumming inside you!”

With one final slam, both of your bodies go rigid as the orgasms hit you at the same time. Your pulsating walls have Satoru’s cock throbbing eagerly deep inside of you, filling the condom. Leaving both of you shaking, sweaty messes. Satoru recovers first, his hands gently caressing your sides as you lay all your weight on top of him. While you gently press open-mouthed kisses over his collarbone.

It isn’t until your muscles are protesting the position that you’re in that you finally move. Satoru helps you push off of him gently, laying you down next to his side. His fingers brush some of your hair back before he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. You kiss him back burying yourself into his chest as his hands gently move up and down your back.

“So, how was our first date?” The gentle tone of Satoru’s voice has you happily humming.

“One of the best dates I ever had in my entire life.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with you on that one.” His hand continued to rub up and down your back gently. “I can’t wait to go on another and another, and god, I just want to go on countless dates with you.” He waits for you to respond, to say anything. When you don’t say a word, he peers down, finding you sleepily snuggled against him. Your hard work from the last few days has finally caught up to you. “Get some sleep.” He whispered, disposing of the condom before pulling the sheet over your body as he shut his eyes, too, following you into a deep sleep.

The next day was a blur at the inn. From packing your bags, checking out, and bidding farewell to your parents before you at Satoru took the train back to Tokyo. Where you both leaned against each other, still tired from the last week and the wedding from the night before. You only fully regain consciousness when the train pulls up to your stop. You grab your bags in silence as you slowly leave the train.

It didn’t feel real that the week was finally over. That tonight would be the first night you would be alone in a week. Part of you dreaded the night you were about to spend alone in your apartment. But you didn’t want to be clingy and ask Satoru to stay the night.

While your relationship had been entirely out of order, you didn’t want to ruin it right when it began. There would be another time for Satoru to spend the night with you. You are almost certain he would love to go home to his apartment and unwind.

So you stopped in front of the coffee shop where you met each other for the first time. Turning around, you adjusted the backpack on your shoulder, winning a slightly confused look from your new boyfriend. Swallowing hard, you hugged him tight before pulling back.

“Thank you again for everything.” You wet your bottom lip with your tongue. “I can’t thank you enough. Text me later. Maybe we could meet up for coffee or dinner sometime this week. Go on our second date.”

Satoru said nothing for a moment as you fiddled with the handle of your suitcase. “Hey.” He finally broke the silence, his hand gently grabbing yours. “Would now be too soon to take you on our second date?” Light shimmered in your eyes as Satoru put his sunglasses on. “I know this great spot for brunch.” You felt your heart swell as he rubbed at his slightly slushed neck. “I just—I don’t want to say goodbye yet.” Round sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing his breathtaking eyes. “But if you’re too tired or busy, later this week would be fine, I gue—” You reach up, pressing your index finger gently over his lips, silencing him.

“Brunch sounds great.”

“Great!” Satoru beams gently, interlocking your hands as you make your way up to the surface. “You’re going to love it.” You gently squeezed his hand as you stepped into the bustling streets of Tokyo. A week ago, you never would have thought the man you had hired to be your wedding date would be taking you out on your second date, hopefully leading to many more.

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Forever Tag:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart

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captain-bubble-wrap · 4 months ago

Note

Christmas time engagement with Quinn, yeah? Something to make me feel less #foreveralone or whatever

#foreveralonesquad

Gold-coloured holiday lights reflected off the dark water of the bay like diamonds scattered against black velvet. The distant sound of several Christmas songs played from storefronts in the distance. All around downtown Vancouver, laughter could be heard as the city bustled with last minute shopping and dinner plans. It was a magical time of the year, the last fleeting moments of Christmas Eve right before everything shut down.

Quinn had three days off before the season resumed pace as usual on Friday. You had spent the day with your family in Vancouver, before Quinn and yourself would catch a flight to Florida in the early hours of the morning. The day had been wonderful! You helped your mom in the kitchen like you always had, while Quinn and your father talked hockey and the outlook of the Canucks for the playoffs. Your own personal Hallmark movie, that was what today had felt like.

The goodbyes had been hard but then you remembered it would be harder for Quinn in the coming days. You were fortunate enough to have your family outside the city proper, but his were thousands of mile away. You couldn't imagine what that must feel like, but you were appreciative that he had given up some of his rare time off to spend the day with your family instead of catching a flight the night before. There was also another agenda, that Quinn had, that involved needing to spend the day with your family: he wanted the permission from your father to ask for your hand in marriage.

He was an old-fashioned, hopeless romantic at times and this was one of those instances where it was almost necessary. He couldn't picture doing it any other way and thankfully your father appreciated the respect the young man had shown in asking him. Getting the chance to ask him had been harder than he had expected. The kitchen had butted up against the living room, in one large, open-air styled space. They could hear you and your mother just as easy as you could hear them, but just asking your father to leave the room would have been weird for Quinn to ask. He had to get creative. So, while he was having a short conversation with you about lunch, Quinn had texted your father about the idea of leaving the house on the premise of picking up something from in the city.

[Quinn: I need to talk to you about something. Can you make an excuse about us needing to leave the house?]

Your father didn't question it, and brilliantly spun the tale of Quinn and himself needing to pick up some wine that he had forgotten he had ordered. Both of you had looked at your father with mild confusion. He didn't drink wine, hated it actually, but the man probably had his reasons. So, when the two of the moved to leave, you gave Quinn a kiss goodbye as did your parents. Even after all these years, they still seemed to be in love. That was all you wanted in life; you wanted a marriage like they had.

No sooner had the car left the garage, your father turned to Quinn and asked him if everything was okay.

"Is there some kind of problem?" Your father asked.

"No, no, quite the opposite. I um, there was something I wanted to ask you, but I didn't want anyone to overhear it."

"Yeah?" He replied, eyebrow cocked in interest.

"I wanted your permission to marry your daughter."

Brakes were applied instantly, lurching the occupants forward in their seats. Quinn was wide-eyed and nervous, fearing he had said the wrong thing. He was now pained with regret.

"Are you serious?"

Quinn swallowed hard, his brows knitted making his face look more troubled than usual. "I am, yes."

In an instant, your father busts into a wide smile and laughter. "My god, that's great to hear! I always knew you were a good one, Quinn! Shit, you had me nervous there for a minute!"

The car returned to its forward momentum; Quinn sighed a full-bodied sigh of relief. "That makes two of us," he said, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"You're a good match, the two of you. I'm happy she found you, Quinn, truly. She loves you like no other. I would be happy to give you my blessing. When were you thinking of asking her?"

"I was hoping tonight before we left the city."

"Perfect! Since she was a teenager, I swear she's dreamed of a Christmas engagement," your father laughed, shaking his head over the fairy-tale moment that was being orchestrated. "This is just…wow. I'm at a loss for words!"

Dinner had been wonderful: full of laughter, embarrassing childhood stories, and new memories to be recounted years from now. Now, however, it was time to get ready to head to the airport and travel the eight hours south. Your parents had given you each a hug, and your mother both a kiss before finally letting you leave. Your waves goodbye continued until you left the driveway.

"That was nice," Quinn said, holding your hand as he drove.

"It was! Thank you for wanting to go!" You reply, turning in your seat to look at him. He always made you smile: from his brown curls, to that sly little smile he had grown accustomed to.

"I have somewhere I want to take you, before we get to the airport."

This strikes you as odd. "Are you sure we have time?"

"Oh yeah, it's fine." He brings your hand to his mouth for a kiss which makes you blush. "It will be worth it."

There was an area of the bay that was absolutely dripping in golden lights; strung from every lamppost for as far as the eye could see. With your hand still in his, the two of you began walking beneath the lighted glow of the numerous archways beside the waterway. There was a slight breeze but the temperature was mild enough and no rain. In fact, it had tried snowing a couple times that day but had ended moments later. White Christmas' were rare in Vancouver, it was just the nature of the region.

"Are you warm enough?" Quinn asked, checking in after a few minutes into the night air, he was fussing with the ring box in his coat pocket. It was like he had to reassure himself that it was still in his possession.

"Mhm, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Before waiting for your answer, Quinn let go of your hand and put his arm around your waist, pulling you in close. Your head found his shoulder, and your arms around his waist in a compromise. Still you walked, unsure just where he was taking you. You tried to stay in the moment but the looming stress about catching a late-night holiday flight was still lurking in your mind.

In the distance, there was a garden gazebo, absolutely ablaze with light. It looked so beautiful against the dark backdrop of the bay. You found your feet being steered in its direction, Quinn placing a kiss to your temple.

"Here, sit down a moment," he spoke, taking a seat beside you. "I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me this year. For being with me through all my ups and downs, the playoffs, my moods, and my injuries. You've been my everything. You've kept me grounded and my feet going forward."

You smile, letting him talk without interrupting him.

"I owe you so much. You've been with me through the celebrations and the tears and there's no one else I'd have rather had by my side but you."

You watch him smile, as he shifts his weight, and before you can react he's on one knee, the black ring box in his fingers. "There's no one else I'd rather ask: will you marry me?"

Hands cover your mouth as you gasp. Of course, you had hoped he would have one day asked for your hand, but you hadn't dreamed it would be today. A fanciful daydream, sure, but you tried not to get ahead of yourself.

"Oh, Quinny! Absolutely! Yes~"

He's grinning ear-to-ear, putting the stunning diamond on your finger. As soon as it's placed you grab his face for a kiss, the warmth of his skin soothing your cold fingers. Minutes could have passed before you two parted ways but it didn't matter. Never, in your life, could you remember being so happy.

"You'll want for nothing with me," he whispers, your foreheads touching, lost in each other's eyes.

"I never have," you reply, tears now streaming down your cheeks.

"Only happy tears, okay?" He asks, kissing each and every one of them away.

"Only happy ones."

"I love you," Quinn smiles, holding your face in his hands.

"I love you. I love you so much!"

Moments pass, just exchanging sweet little promises to each other before Quinn remembers the night isn't over yet.

"Come on, sweetheart, lets get you warmed back up. I don't want you to get chilled." Another kiss is placed on your lips, one you could tell he didn't want to end. "We've got a flight to catch."

"Quinn?" You sniffle as he stands to his feet.

"Hmm? Something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I just… thank you, for everything."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to thank me for anything. I'd give you the stars if I could reach them."

#💌Maven's Love Notes #may we all find our Quinn #I - too - feel like a “forever alone”#a - “I'll never get proposed during the holidays” - girlie #may this post find you anon (and everyone else) well and with lighter hearts #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction

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flowersforchoso · 8 months ago

Text

Back to you

summary: bi-han is going on a solo mission, but you don't want him to. husband!bi-han x reader. cw: angsty, slight hurt/comfort, established relationship, domesticity. nothing too serious

it was one of those nights were you found it hard to sleep because your thoughts raced a thousand miles per hour. bi-han was going on another one of his long missions, which wasn't surprising; only this time, there was a lingering dread you couldn't quite shake off.

you knew what you were getting into by being involved with him. you just didn't envision it would always be like this: that all of his days would be spent away from home, away from you.

but you couldn't fault him entirely; he was a busy man, with an entire clan to govern. still, deep in your heart, you wished he set consideration aside for you.

even during your honeymoon—what was supposed to be an intimate period, free from interferences—his duties still took precedence, effectively casting you aside; placing you on the backburner. and the worst part? he never once protested, his priorities were clear.

he doesn't belong to you, even though you're evidently bound to each other.

you once thought about asking him if the lin kuei needed more members that you'd like to join since it seemed to be the only way you'd get his undivided attention, but had an inkling your attempt at jest would be poorly received, so discarded the idea entirely

you tossed and turned, trying to ease your anxiety but it was no use; eyes landing on bi-han's back, who was no doubt fast asleep.

shifting your gaze to the ceiling above, you blankly counted sheep hoping you'd eventually tire out and succumb to sleep. when that proved to be ineffective, you resumed tossing and turning, which provoked a response from your husband.

finally

"what is it?" his voice is groggy when he calls you out for disrupting his sleep. there's a certain softness to it, and you bite your lip, seeing this as an opportunity to share your thoughts, even though you knew it would lead nowhere, as always. but what harm was there in trying?

"must you go?" you didn't expect the words to come out in a squeak, but you're certain he heard you loud and clear, his reply made that evident

"we've talked about this, i won't repeat myself." his tone is sharp this time, it's obvious he's irritated by your goading, but was it really a bad thing to show that you cared, that you needed him, that you prioritized his wellbeing above all else?

"i feel like it's a bad idea" you swallowed, not allowing his iciness deter you from speaking. "i've been having nightmares. my intuition tells me—"

"your prattling disturbs me. cease it and rest." and with that, silence fell, signaling that no further discussion was needed. there was nothing new to say; you knew that, so did he. getting bi-han to change his mind was an exercise in futility, no different from trying to teach a pig how to fly—it was simply impossible and yet, you persisted.

perhaps his stubbornness had begun to rub off on you. it is said that couples often mirror each other, though you weren't sure how true that was. but if it were, you wished he adopted your traits instead.

sighing, you resign yourself to fate. but not long after, a certain thought crops up in your mind, making your eyes twinkle at the opportunity to turn lemons into lemonade; despair into joy, if only for a moment.

"can you... can you hold me? i'm finding it difficult to sleep." you finally confessed your troubles, hoping he wouldn't deny you something as innocuous as cuddling. contrary to popular opinion, bi-han wasn't all that affectionately challenged. he had the capacity for romance, although his displays of tenderness were few and far in between and sometimes difficult to decipher.

seconds soon turned into minutes, and when silence accompanied inaction, you dejectedly muttered, "goodnight bi-han," as you curled into yourself under the covers.

the next morning, you awoke to the sounds of muted shuffling. bi-han was already up, nearly dressed in his familiar lin kuei getup. you yawned whilst rubbing your eyes, then got out of bed to make your way towards him.

"shall i brew tea?" his back was facing you when you asked, but then he turned to meet your eyes, brows slightly furrowed. "i'm not a child, i can fend for myself if need be."

you only shook your head, fully aware of his disposition and refusing to take his words to heart. "i'm well aware; i just want to help in some way, be useful to you"

"go back to sleep." his dismissiveness made you struggle to hold back tears, but a sob managed to escape your now quivering lips. "how can i, when my husband is leaving?"

"bi-han, please. for once in your life, acquiesce." your eyes squeezed shut in frustration as you pleaded with him to rethink his decisions. it was a pitiful sight, and you were on the brink of bursting into tears at this point—the culmination of your feelings regarding this situation, and perhaps your marriage with him.

as expected, he is unmoved by your outbursts and heads for the bedroom door. you blink away tears before following him into the living room

"i don't have the time and my patience is growing short." he gruffs, already standing near the doorway, about to make his exit. tears are streaming down your face now; you've tried. you've only got one appeal left.

"promise me..." you sniffle, "promise me you'll return home—right here, right back to me"

bi-han's expression softens at your crestfallen countenance. a sliver of guilt tugs at his heartstrings, although you'll never know. he'll never afford you that privilege

"be at ease," he calmly assures. "do you need constant reminders that i'm grandmaster of the lin kuei, not some third-rate lackey?"

this time, you let out a sorrowful chuckle. his bravado is so typical, ego larger than the size of two planets. you firmly rebuke him, showing your seriousness on the matter. "that's not the answer i want to hear. promise me you will return, bi-han"

those words prompted him to act. and act he did, moving closer to you and gently placing a hand on your cheek. you embrace his touch, silently praying for this moment to not end while the tears flowed, seemingly neverending

"i'll return to you. come hell or highwater, neither will prevent me because it is destiny to be with you. i solemnly promise you this."

his words, rather than comforting, were far from it. yet you believed him regardless, because what else could you do besides blind belief?

as if sensing your doubts, he seals his promise with a quick kiss on your forehead, leaving you longing to uncover and experience more of the warmth hidden beneath those frozen layers. but it's too late for that as he backs away and sets off on his mission, not once looking back at you.

you don't know why your heart is suddenly constricting, but his absence is already palpable and engulfing. both of you, unaware, chaos and all its conundrums awaits him while you remain, waiting and pondering, as a pulse continues to grow within you.

wallowing.

#bi han x reader #bi han x you #bi han sub zero #sub zero x you #mortal kombat 1 #sub zero x reader #mk1 sub zero

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