#a trope that cuts deep instantly

[canisalbus]

AU where there is some sort of zombie-like (maybe something like a rabid vampirism?)

Where one of the boys is bit/infected and desperately wants the other to join them, while also wanting to resist?

.

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!

: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)

You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.

“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.

“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.

The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.

Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.

Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.

Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.

"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"

"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.

Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.

Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.

“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.

"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.

"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.

"Yes, sir."

As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.

The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.

In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.

The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.

One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.

Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.

When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.

Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.

Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.

You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.

Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.

Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.

Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.

You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.

Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.

"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.

Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"

You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."

"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"

Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.

How could he not know?

"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.

"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."

Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"

You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 

He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"

“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.

"Come here."

Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"

"Come here."

With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.

An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."

Sukuna responded only with silence.

You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.

The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.

In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.

Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.

"I can't—Uraume—"

"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."

"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.

"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."

Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.

The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.

The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.

You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.

"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.

"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.

"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."

You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.

"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"

With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.

The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.

The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."

You drifted into unconsciousness.

The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.

“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.

With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.

"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."

"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.

Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.

"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.

"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.

He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.

"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.

You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”

"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.

"Did you want . . . a girl?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."

"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."

Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.

“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.

“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”

“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”

Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."

He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.

"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.

He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.

"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.

You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.

"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."

“Did you fire the last one?”

“I fired at her, yes.”

Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"

He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."

Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."

“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”

He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”

Up until the kidnapping.

Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."

Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"

"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"

You . . . nodded. 

“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”

You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"

"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.

"Oh."

All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.

Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.

But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.

Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."

"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."

"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.

"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."

A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.

“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”

Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”

His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.

In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.

The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.

Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"

"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"

Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.

"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"

"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.

Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.

Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"

"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"

"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.

Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.

"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"

"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"

"Not toys. Friends."

Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.

“Papa!”

“Sukuna, come on.”

There wasn’t any winning with his girls.

Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.

Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'

That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.

"She's asleep," you informed him.

"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.

Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.

"I want you," you murmured.

Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."

"It's late."

"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.

"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.

How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?

“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.

“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 

Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.

“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 

Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 

“Hurry, then.” 

Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 

After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.

Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 

“Are you close?” you whispered. 

“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 

You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Please.” 

Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.

Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 

Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 

“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 

You both snapped in unison. 

Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.

[moonstruckme]

bonfire! spencer reid + only one bed trope pls 💕💕

Thanks for requesting!

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 535 words

You wouldn’t have pegged Spencer for a heavy sleeper. 

You suppose it makes sense. With a brain like his and a schedule like your team’s, good rest when he can get it is probably essential. You’d all worked late into the night tonight, so late that Hotch had decided you should just sleep here and get on the jet home in the morning. Rooms at the hotel had been purchased for your team for the last two nights, but none of you had used the first one, so when you and Spencer had gotten here a few hours ago it had come as a surprise that you’d been double-booked. Or single-booked, maybe. 

Two cards, one room. One singular bed, plus a pull-out couch that you’d both offered halfheartedly to take before collapsing into the plush mattress and 300 thread-count sheets. You’d both changed into your pajamas and fallen asleep almost instantly, at least two chaste feet of space between you on the bed. You’d woken hardly an hour later with an embarrassing pool of drool on your pillow and a long-fingered hand curled in the material of your shirt. 

You can’t decide whether to be grateful for the fact that Spencer doesn’t so much as stir when he hooks an ankle over yours, urging you closer to him almost entreatingly while your fatigued heart starts kicking in your chest. You stay facing away from him, looking into the pitch darkness. You can’t move any farther away without edging off the bed, but you try anyway, inching until one of your legs is dangling off the mattress, and when you slip the other from beneath Spencer’s ankle there’s a soft, plaintive sound from behind you. His fingers wind tighter into your shirt. 

You freeze. 

Spencer’s breaths are deep and even, and you marvel at it as he crosses his ankle over yours again, bare calf sliding against yours and interlocking your legs more securely. And frankly, you’re too tired to fight it. 

You scoot backwards on the bed. It’s twice as easy as it had been going the other direction, probably because of the way the mattress dips in the middle or Spencer’s slight tug or maybe even some sort of magnetic pull like in those books Penelope’s always reading. You suppose anything is possible. Whatever the case, it seems to be a relief for you both. Spencer’s other hand wraps around your middle as soon as you’re close enough, gentle and contented, and he’s warm enough to make the freezing air blasting through the A/C feel comfortable. 

His quiet sigh hits the back of your neck as you both settle, a few careful inches still between you. Even unconscious, you think politeness must be ingrained in Spencer, because his touch stays over the material of your shirt, courteous and unmoving. You let your fingers stroke over his once, and they twitch in his sleep. 

You don’t remember closing your eyes, but heavy as they are it can’t take long. When the blue light of early morning cuts through the drawn curtains and Spencer’s limbs stiffen where they’re twined around you, his breath catching in surprise and embarrassment, you’ll pretend you’re a heavy sleeper, too.

[hobvitr]

can i req spiderwoman!reader whos kinda enemies/rivals with noir and they’ve been competing whos better at fighting villains and one day reader gets hurt too much and he takes care of her

spider-noir x reader

fem!reader

genre/warnings: fluff, kinda rivals to lovers (i don't know how to distinguish tropes damn) angst if you squint, reader gets hurt, self-depreciating joke, mentions of blood, i think that's it, unrevised writing

note: thank you for this request, he's the only man ever !! loved the idea, really. tried to not get carried away in the end (i became flustered while writing) recommended song: te amo - rihanna

being a vigilant is stressful enough, but you manage to make it fun by proving you're better at punching some asses than noir is.

everyone in the group found your relationship with noir the most entertaining thing to see. a spiderman and a spiderwoman competing to see who was better at catching villians wasn't the most common scenario someone imagine happening, and yet you two brought that to the teens lifes.

when you both met, noir wasn't the most talkative man on the presence (especially if peter b was present) but you managed to get him talk to you with your undying charm. that said charm was: your villain count. your count was higher than everyone else in the group, and that made you proud of yourself as a hero and as a woman.

"that is very close to mine" was his answer. your competitive side already starting to show with so little being said. "oh, how close?" you asked with a nudge on his arm. "two more than you." he looked down at you with his mask covering his face, but you could feel the shit eating grin he had.

alright. that was the moment you swore on your life you were going to beat this man's ass at that count. one more motive for you to do your heroic job, and it was a competition.

as you started to show your new count on beating villains, noir always came with a higher one. and that made you frustrated. on the other hand, he seemed to very much enjoy the game between you two as he was always winning, but he didn't cared as much as you did, he just found endearing making you feel competitive, felt like a instigator, and he liked it.

the day both numbers tied, you almost popped a champagne, thinking how funny it would be if you aimed and hit the bottle cap at peter's smug face (affectionately, but he doesn't have to know).

"alright, it's actually not funny when we have the same number" your cheering was slowly stopping when you realized "but i have an idea" noir raised an eyebrow underneath his mask "what is it?"

"we fight the same villain to see who wins" you suggested, shrugging your shoulders "if you win i'll kill m-"

"alright, let's not get that deep" noir cuts you mid sentence, at your not so healthy comment about the competition. you chuckle at his reaction "i'm kidding, I'll obviously win" a wink followed.

when the opportunity showed up for you two to fight together, you took as your win already. not one thing could go wrong... except it could.

as you swing between the wreckage, you took all your effort to not even let noir get close to the vulture. you wanted to handle this on your own and show that you're capable of more than him.

"i thought we agreeded to work together" noir was able to get closer to you enough for you to hear him. his voice broke all your concentration mid fight with the big ass bird, who hit you with full force by the position you were. you flew half of the place, falling so fast on top of some metal shelf that you weren't even able to stick your web somewhere to help your landing.

you feel the blood pooling on your mouth, 'that can wait' you thought to yourself, getting up almost instantly if it wasn't for the stinging pain on your ribcage.

"are you okay?" you swore you heard pure desperation in noir's voice, as he came to hold your arms and check you out for any visible wounds. "yeah, sure" you reply hurriedly, not letting him know you were feeling the most pain you experienced in your life. "I'll just.. beat him very quick I'll be right back" you pat his arm, so fast that when he registers you're already full of rage on the vulture, knocking him out and capturing him underneath a good amount of web.

"oh fuck" you hiss, pressing above the internal wound on your rib. your mask was stained with blood, your blood. noir was so fast to get to you when he noticed. "does it hurt when you breathe?" he asks, hands holding your face, making you concentrate only on him. you shake your head 'no', too weak to speak. "good, but i am taking care of you right now" he holds you bridal style.

"no way, we have to stay here until someone come take him" you try to argue with him, unsuccessfully because he was already taking you out the scene "that can wait" your eyebrows furrow, confused with him so worried. "it's not that bad..."

"it is for me" he finally stopped at what looked like the window of your apartment, you were too light headed to register. he managed to get you inside and you were laying on your bed. "can you sit?" was the first thing he asked, your vision was a little bit blurred but you tried to sit straight with his help.

"apparently yes but not really" you chuckle lightly, rubbing a hand down your face. "here, take these" he offered you some painkillers with a glass of water and you took it like a starving man. "may i..." he asks permission first to take off your mask, and you nod softly.

he lifts up your mask, extra careful with the scratches over your face, and takes it full so it don't get in his way to clean your cuts.

you suddenly feel shy at his touch, you found it cute he was taking care of you even after you were so reckless because of a little competition. he was quiet and so was you, too embarrassed to say something.

his fingers gently pressing the medicine wet cotton pad above all the cuts, you too flustered to make eye contact until you hear a low chuckle "i was so worried" he said almost like to himself, head lowered as he briefly stopped his movements, only to return when he was back looking at you.

"don't do that again, please" he pleaded, making your face go bright red, which was pretty visible with the bedside light on. "i won't" you breathed out. "may i...?" you hook a finger at the end of his mask, asking permission to take it off, which he replied with a low voice cracked "yes".

you took off the material, his face red just like yours, as he picked his glasses to put above his nose. "you're pretty" you manage to say, surprising even yourself, must be some side effects of the painkillers you took.. is what you think, but you couldn't deny his beauty either way.

"you're prettier" you don't feel the warmth of the cotton no more, you feel the warmth of his thumb caressing the skin of your cheek. "is cuddling included in taking care of me?" you tease while smiling from the contact, and inciting a chuckle from him. "you want it to be?" he boldly teased back, making you hide your face under your hand.

"now that you clearly flirted back with me i may want it, yes" you reply with a light shrugg of your shoulders as if it was nothing, but your face showed the opposite.

he supports his weight on his arms, hands on the bed at each side of you, his face leveling with yours, few inches close "on it, doll".

[ssentimentals]

f1 pairings as famous love tropes: george russell x lewis hamilton

fated mates (ABO!AU)

'sun and moon, all of the gods above - they made you for me'

note: event described here is a hunt - annual festival to find a mate. it takes a cruel turn here (where mates can be taken without consent), but nothing of this sort happens between george/lewis. just fyi. (+ also i'm not an abo expert, so excuse any mistakes)

george really wishes he'd taken alex's advice on cardio training in the months leading up to the hunt. all omegas were up and running at an early sunrise, while george was busy collecting plants and flowers for medical and tea purposes. in his defense, he is set to be pack's next healer and george doesn't take this role lightly (he dreamt of it since he was a little pup, staying close to his mom while she helped everyone). his knowledge of plants and different ointments definitely expanded within these months, but his speed remained the same, while all other omegas managed to get faster, which only gave them more chances of escaping unwilling matches with alphas they didn't like. which brings george to his current predicament - hunt starts tomorrow. and george? george is vastly unprepared.

'you can hide,' alex suggests, helping him chop up vegetables for the soup. 'it's not against the rules. you know this forest better than anyone.'

george nods. in reality, this is his best chance at getting through the hunt without a mating mark on his neck and that is his main goal. 'how's logan?' george asks, changing the subject and smiling at the way alex instantly gets shy. 'you two discussed everything?'

alex nods, practically radiating happiness. 'we both don't want to prolong this, so i'll just wait for him at the start. won't run, you know? hunt will start and we'll just run to each other. think it's the best.'

george wishes he had this too. wishes he had someone who'd make him excited for the hunt instead of dreading it. wishes there was someone for him out there, who'd love him, who'd understand his love for his healer work and who'd love this about him as well. someone with a gentle but firm presence, kind eyes, soothing voice. someone with broad frame, blinding smile, caring heart. someone with dark skin that's covered in tattoos, someone who is a leader-

'i heard rumors of lewis joining the hunt tomorrow,' alex drops nonchalantly.

'is he?' george asks, trying to keep his tone casual. 'interesting.'

'very,' alex stops cutting and carefully takes both of george's wrist in his hands, making taller omega stop and turn to him. 'georgie. go talk to him.'

acting dumb has never been his forte, but george still tries. 'why?'

alex sighs and there's pity swimming in his eyes, which makes george cringe. god, he doesn't want pity. 'because you're in love with him, george. and because i think that he's in love with you, too. or at the very least he likes you.'

george closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. 'that's cruel, alexander.'

'no, not when it's true. i really think that he-'

'- is a good, caring leader of this pack, who is nice to everyone.' george interrupts hastily, trying to will his tears back. he can't cry now, it's his turn to feed little pups today, he doesn't have time to wallow in his misery. 'we've been through this.'

'and you never listen to me!' alex hisses out, gripping his wrists tighter. 'you're so in your head, you refuse to see what's right in front of you, what everyone else sees! why do you think everyone calls you his favorite? because it's so obvious how he differently he treats you-'

'because healers are essential to the pack,' george feels like a broken mixtape at this point, repeating the same thing ever and ever again. 'not because he likes me.'

alex opens his mouth and closes it again. he sighs, defeated. 'why are you so afraid, george?' he asks quietly, intimately. 'why are you so dead set on rejecting the mere idea of him being into you as well?'

because it will kill me if it's not true. because when he will find himself a mate, i will die, something in me will break and never be the same. because i never felt anything like this for anyone. sometimes i think that my heart beats for him and him only. george clears his throat and answers with a simple: 'because it's not true, alex.'

'but-'

'not everyone gets to have their happy ending,' george smiles at his friend bittersweet. 'i'm just happy you have one with logan.'

alex looks like he's about to argue but they both freeze up, when footsteps echo and then lewis enters the kitchen. he pauses, his gaze zeroes on the way alex is holding george's wrists - alex lets go instantly, clearing his throat. despite strong smell of the vegetables, potent scent of smoke and amber clouds the air, making everyone tense up. george turns around, blinking fast to get rid of unshed tears; the last thing he wants is for lewis to see him like this.

'i'll be right back,' alex mutters and leaves the kitchen, shuddering under lewis's cold assessing stare.

'hello, lewis.' george greets, gathering control of his voice. he turns and goes for a smile but lewis looks too serious. 'um, i'm preparing-'

'what was happening here?' lewis rarely speaks to him in this commanding tone. with george he is always gentle and soft. 'did he make you cry?'

george blinks, unsure what to say. his friendship with alex is a very well known fact, so to think that alex can make him cry is crazy. 'no, of course not. we were just..talking.'

lewis steps closer and fire smoke in his scent invades george's lungs. he always loved it, found it so fitting to their pack alpha - everything about lewis was strong and commanding, even his scent. george takes a deep breath discreetly and almost chokes on it, when lewis gingerly reaches out for his wrists. he holds them with something akin to reverency and george swallows, ignoring goosebumps that rise up at the touch. lewis carefully inspects his wrists, turns them left and right, his fingers stroke george's skin lightly. 'did he hurt you?' he asks, looking up at omega.

words are so, so hard to speak when lewis is this close. when his breath is fanning over george's chin, when heat of his body makes george's head spin. 'i, um,' george licks his lips and lewis follows that move with his eyes, his grip tightens just a fraction on his wrists. 'no, no. he didn't. alex would never hurt me.' he looks down, hearing water bowling. 'uh- you can let go now. it's my turn to cook for pups.'

lewis obediently lets go, but stays close despite george turning around to continue his task. presence of pack alpha always made george nervous, mostly because he really liked lewis since the moment he first met him. he knows lewis thinks highly of him - he praised him often enough for george to be sure in this, but he never... all those praises were about george's skill. never on his appereance or on his scent or-

'are you participating in the hunt tomorrow?' lewis asks, hovering close.

george nods, grimacing. 'can't escape it this time, i'm afraid. can't call in sick like i did two years in a row.'

'you don't want to participate?' lewis notices how george is struggling with chunking the meat and gently shooes him away, doing everything himself. 'i thought omegas are eager for the hunt.'

'the ones that have a mate are eager. i don't, so i'm not excited to be picked by some random alpha. but it's not like i'm a very desirable omega, so i guess i'm partially safe this year.'

george finishes up carrots and turns to give a sharper knife to lewis. pack alpha looks at him seriously, not smiling and george blinks on confusion. did he say something wrong to kill the nice mood?

'who said that you're not a desirable omega?'

'ugh- i did?' george shrugs. 'it's okay though, i know how i look, so it's all good.'

george is too tall for an omega. he's lanky, his limbs are too long and don't always cooperate well. his eyes are too big and his hands are too rough. he's not exactly charming and nor is he a flirt. george is just george and he's fine with that. lewis, however, looks like he's not fine with it. 'and you?' george asks, needing to get attention away from him. 'you will be participating?'

lewis nods, taking knife from george's hand. 'i'm thinking about it, yes. it's time this pack gets their pack omega.'

it stings. it hurts so much that for a second george forgets how to breathe. image of lewis with another omega, both happy and elated - it breaks his heart into tiny pieces. he puts on a smile though, because he's good like that. 'that's a big decision,' he says, not looking at alpha. 'will make someone very happy, huh?'

'i hope so.' lewis answers and his scent turns acid for a second. they work in silence for some minutes before he speaks up again: 'do you want to mate, george?'

george lets himself dream. of mornings filled with cuddles and sweet kisses. of cozy house where every guest is welcome. of being greeted with warms arms upon his arrival. of being swollen with pups made of big, pure love. he smiles, not realizing that his soft lavender scent bursts in the room. 'i do, yeah.' he speaks quietly in a wishful way.

he blinks back to present when notes of amber intensify in the air, swirling happily with his own scent. george freezes - he's always cautious with his scent and never lets it go that openly - but lewis lets his scent free too and it's...wonderful. lavender soothes the strength of amber, adds flowery notes in it and swallows up the smoke - their scents mellow each other down and mix prettily. when george turns, lewis is already watching him with the scary intensity that makes him swallow. what is-

'i'll see you tomorrow, george.' lewis says, putting knife back down. 'thank you for letting me help you.'

lewis walks away but his scent stays with george long after he's gone.

=+=

'run, george. alex will go to logan but me and lando will cover up for you. we'll be right behind you and then-'

'and then you'll go and hide,' lando interrupts charles, smiling up at george with his boyish charm. 'me and charlie will continue running to the left and we all know that's where everyone will go. it'll give you more time.'

he stares up at his friends and wants to cry from their readiness to help him out minutes before the hunt. george took few vital oils with him that should help to mask scent and shares it with boys - they also don't have alphas and will spend this hunt running away from others.

'i can't believe that lewis is here,' charles mutters, helping lando apply oil on his scent glands. 'think he's in it for you, healer.'

george sputters in surprise and only grows hotter when lando confirms: 'yeah, i think so too. he hasn't stopped looking at you.'

and that is disturbing because it's true. george can't even dismiss this as a lie, because lewis is staring at him and god, why, why? is this some kind of cruel game of rising his hopes up to crush them later? george applies last remnants of oil, itching from the heavy gaze of pack alpha. he takes a deep breath and focuses on the forest ahead of him. omegas have one hour of free run before alphas are also allowed to enter the forest and he needs to make most of it. the second fire goes off, george scrambles and runs off. instead of shifting into his wolf form like majority of omegas - him, lando and charles stay in human form, dashing into the woods. in wolf form it's impossible to disguise your scent, so all three of them chose to stay like this, knowing that all alphas will shift and their noses won't pick up on a scentless omega. faster. one hour seems a lot but knowing how dense and big forest is, it's really not much. go faster. three of them run in one direction until they reach small clearing and that's when charles and lando take left, while george chooses right.

'good luck,' he mutters to his friends before turning away and running up the hills.

george does know this forest better than anyone else. he knows every single secret cave, every single hill or small river - that's his main advantage and despite tightness in his lungs and ache in his legs, he climbs up, up, up until he reaches the river. no one really goes here because bears are frequent visitors here but george knows where to go and where to hide - he easily finds a secluded cave which can be seen only from a certain angle. it takes time to go down by a slippery trope but if he falls into the river then water will wash away oil and his scent will be in the open for anyone to detect, so he takes great care in his steps, knowing that clock is ticking. once george successfully reaches the cave, his knees buckle and he falls, sighing in relief. he's not used to running for this long, he's not used to running in general and his head is a bit dizzy as he moves further up the cave, hiding. safe. his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that george spends next twenty minutes just trying to calm down after adrenaline spike, breathing slowly. there's very tempting idea of just falling asleep right now but he tries to hold on - yes, chances of someone coming here are slim but they are not non-existent. he lets himself relax though, lulled by constant sound of water running down in the river. he thinks of lando and charles and how they are doing right now, hopes that alex and logan are out of this stupid hunt by this time, thinks of lewis. did he already catch his mate? he looked like he knew exactly who he was going for. was he in love with that person for a long time? george curls up in a ball, closing his eyes. lewis probably liked someone very handsome. someone very petite, kind and fragile. someone who is everything george isn't. someone-'

loud howl breaks the silence. it takes few seconds to understand that howl is coming from the clearing up the river and george sits up so quickly, his vision turns dark momentarily. he sniffs the air but no, his scent is not out; maybe there's another omega not far from here? george shivers - he hopes whoever it is, they are not running away from unwanted alpha. he doesn't dare to peek and almost doesn't breathe, straining his hearing for any other sounds. it's strikingly silent at first and then he hears a splash like someone jumped into the river. why-

'george!' no fucking way. 'george, are you in here? are you safe?'

lewis wouldn't be lewis if he didn't inquire about his safety. it warms george's chest and he moves closer to the light. for one crazy second he thought that lewis is here for him, but that obvisouly can't be; lewis is here to just check if he's okay, if he's not being hunted by unwanted alpha. smiling at his kindness, george peeks out - lewis is all wet from crossing the river in a wrong place and generally looks very disturbed by being out here, but when he notices george, he beams at him, waving his hand.

'george!' he calls out, rushing to his side. 'i knew you'd hide somewhere here but hell, george, don't you know there are bears here? it's dangerous!'

george blinks at him in surprise, walking fully out and meeting lewis at the other side. pack alpha is a sight to behold even when he's sopping wet; god, his omega will be so, so lucky. lewis marches forward and grabs him by his shoulders, looking over his form frantically. 'are you okay?' he asks hurriedly. once he realizes that george is indeed fine and wasn't mauled by a bear, lewis relaxes his grip on him, smiling. 'knew you'd be here. i remember how you told me about this river.'

and isn't that...weird. 'i am fine,' george assures him. he then looks around and sniffs air for a good measure but finds nothing. 'there's no other omega here, though.'

lewis tilts his head to the side, confused. 'uh, yes? probably, yeah. no one is as brave as you to go to where bears are.'

george is getting more bewildered. 'i mean, there's only me here. aren't you looking for an omega?'

lewis lets his hands fall off from george's shoulders. he frowns, searching for something on his face and even steps back. 'is that a rejection, george? am i reading this correctly?'

what on earth is going on? george stares blankly at pack alpha, unsure. he feels like he's out of depth to whatever is happening right now that he better keep his mouth shut. lewis waits with furrowed eyebrows, his scent grows acidic, displeasure very evident. when george stays silent, he sighs and speaks up: 'i came here because i knew you'd be here, and when i'm standing right in front of you as an alpha, you're telling me about another omega. if this is not a rejection then what is this, george?'

george tries to grasp the reality and fails. 'what are you saying,' he whispers, eyes wide and mouth agape. 'what are you saying, lewis, you are-' he gulps. 'please don't be cruel.'

george can tell that his scent is pouring out even through the oil due to inner distress he's feeling. lewis feels it too but he stands stoic, watching george closely. 'how am i being cruel?' he asks instead, voice calm and serious.

oh god, he has to spell it out. 'by making me think that- by phrasing your words in a way that makes me think that-'

'that what?' lewis presses.

'that it's me you're looking for.' george finally lets out, ripping his heart out. 'that it's me. your omega.' he sniffs, looking away from alpha. 'this is cruel, lewis. don't do this to me.'

george wants to cry. he wants to scream and shout and curse the gods for not giving him one thing he wants the most - lewis as his alpha. his scent sours and he wants lewis to hug him like he usually does, wants to lose himself in his warmth, but lewis doesn't move. he just stares with lips pursued. 'you know what's really cruel, george?' he asks, not hiding anger notes in his voice. 'this. you thinking that i am looking for another omega. you thinking that it can't be you when it's always been only you, george.'

george breaks. sobs wreck his body and he sways a little, landing right in strong arms of alpha. his alpha. pack alpha, lewis hamilton. it's too good to be true, too unrealistic and yet there hasn't been anything more real than lewis' lips on george's scent glands. george shivers, whining a little when alpha starts nipping on them lightly, forcing more scent to come out. alpha rumbles lowly in approval, tightening his arms around omega, smiling plesantly. 'i'll spend rest of my life making sure you see what i see in you, george,' he promises. 'and then you won't ever have doubts, you'll understand how lucky i am to have you.' lewis leans back, making eye contact with george. 'i do have you, right? george. tell me now. are you mine?'

if this is a dream then george will gladly never wake up. 'being yours is all i ever want to be,' he whispers. 'i never thought that this might be mutual.'

amber and lavender mix together in the most perfect way around them. lewis smiles, staring at george like- like george stares at him. meaning, staring at him like he is the reason sun shines every day.

'my beautiful omega,' lewis says reverently, watching george blush with a smile. 'my most talented pack healer. my perfect pack omega.'

it's a lot. george doesn't think he can take this but then lewis kisses him and oh. it's a lot but my god, he can take it. he can take it so well. 'take me,' george whispers right in alpha's mouth, grinning at a responding growl. 'alpha.'

'do not,' lewis bites back, groaning and hiding his face in george's neck. 'you know i can't.'

as a pack alpha lewis has different customs to follow and george smiles, knowing that he found a new way to tease his...partner. his alpha. fuck, it's real. he lets lewis guide him all the way, lets him hold his hand, lets him announce loudly for everyone that he found a pack omega. alex cheers to the loudest, practically screaming at top of his lungs at the news with logan standing next to him, smiling from ear to ear. when george turns to lewis, alpha is already looking back at him with the softest smile. it's always been you, lewis said. george smiles and looks up at the sky, thanking gods silently. i only ever wanted him, he thinks. lewis, who is kind and thoughtful and fair. lewis, who will fill his mornings with cuddles and sweet kisses. lewis, who build them a cozy house where every guest is welcome. lewis, who will greet him with warms arms upon his arrival. lewis, who will have him swollen with pups made of big, pure love. lewis hamilton, pack alpha, his alpha.

a/n: i love this and i also hate this, i don't know :( let me know your thoughts!! - nini

my other formula 1 works are here

my seventeen works are here

[its-your-mind]

sorry I won't be done dracula posting until never bc ALSO TODAY. WE GOT THE REMINDER OF JONATHAN'S HAIR. I know that hair-turned-white-by-trauma is a well-known and oft-utilized trope, but what I fuckin LOVE about jonathan is that yes. he has been supremely and deeply fucked up by what happened in castle dracula. it took him months to recover with the nuns, and even when mina brought him home he wasn't fully There. it was only after he spotted the count in london and had van helsing come and tell him that no, he was not mad, the memories he had were real, this monster is real and he's now stalking london... that we see an upturn in jonathan's recovery.

but the thing is. the THING. is. hair-turned-white-by-trauma characters are always characterized by a deep, deep wound to their psyche that never healed properly. their interactions with the rest of the world are shaped by that wound - the powerlessness they felt when there was something or someone trying who hurt them, and they had no way to stop the hurt. they'll do whatever they can do get away, and accept help from the first person who offers. and jonathan's story does follow that trend.

BUT THEN. most of the time, that powerlessness and fear is turned to a facade of stoicism, of intense calm, cut through with occasional abrupt bursts of an intense anger that seems to come from nowhere. but it doesn't come from nowhere. it's a self-protection instinct. they were hurt before. they will Not let something do that to them again.

jonathan... calls for mina. when she comes, he marries her instantly. he gives her his journal, makes her promise never to read it unless she absolutely needs to know what happened to him. wants to keep these memories buried. then lucy, then van helsing, then seward... it was all real. and these people want to stop this from happening to anyone else.

and to jonathan, this isn't a quest for vengeance. he stays back. he helps mina keep the logs. he provides information where he can, stays out of the way when he's not needed. he becomes a pillar of support, the "husband of madame mina" who is at her secretarial disposal. the others sleep outside their room to protect them. it is only after dracula attacks mina that jonathan asks to go out on missions, to help seek dracula out, to join in the pursuit, kukri knife in hand, ready to stop the vampire where he stands and stab him through the heart. and when the count escapes? when they have to make a plan of pursuit that may not work? jonathan does not vow to avenge his wife. he does not vow to kill the count at all costs. he vows that, if mina is to be turned and they cannot stop it, he will go with her. he will not allow her to live as such alone. a vow not made from a place of deep anger and pain, but from an even deeper place of personal, unshakable and devoted love.

the character arc for a hair-turned-white-by-trauma character is so often dominated by a journey back to trust, back to love.

jonathan went into dracula's castle with a journal of train schedules and paprika-filled recipes for his fiance. every time he believed himself close to death, he would write a goodbye to his beloved. and so when he escaped, body withered and mind shattered, he didn't patch himself back together again with ironclad mistrust and an impenetrable heart of steel. instead, he tried to get home. when he couldn't, he called for mina, and he waited for her. he could not trust his own mind. he knew she would come. his memories felt like lies. he had complete trust in her. when he was weak, he knew she would be strong. she would hold him, support him, until his mind was strong enough again.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  dartlekey! @dartlekey has 11 fics in the Stranger Things Fandom and 9 of them are in the Steddie tag!.

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @dartlekey:

If you were church (I'd get on my knees)

RUSH! (T4T REMIX)

At a medium pace

With great power

"I read the "with great power" series not long after I got into the Steddie fandom and was instantly like "I need to raid this author's other fics" and subscribed to them. No regrets for that choice!!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @dartlekey answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

For me, Steddie hits that sweet spot of strong characterization but woefully underexplored details, both for the individual characters but also their dynamic with each other in canon. That makes their relationship the ideal writer's sandbox - since they're both so fluid, you can explore the characters through each other, showcasing many different and even conflicting facets of each other while still retaining their original characters and behaviors. Either of them can be rich or poor, famous or an everyguy, Gay or Bisexual, Dom or Sub, Top or Bottom, Trans in any direction - the details are up to you! 

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a good slowburn friends-to-lovers fic. It needs to be a specific kind for me though - I'm not much one for prolonged pining, but I love it when the friendship is explored in such depth that the next step feels like an inevitability. Watching that deep platonic affection turn not-so-platonic, that's the good shit. 

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

My specialty as a writer, I think, is crack treated seriously, or crack with a twist. Usually the first question that sparks one of my fics is “If X happened, would that be hilarious or what?” and then the second is “But if it was because of Y, would that be fucked up or what?” I think you can see it best in If you were church I'd get on my knees (what if Steve was a stripper at Eddie's stag party BUT it was actually a social commentary on queerness and sexuality in the face of religious oppression), but it's in At a medium pace too (what if Eddie couldn't move his arms because of injury so Steve “has” to jerk him off, but it's actually about how growing up queer can warp your perspective on healthy sexuality) , or even in Don't look back (What if Eddie had to dom Steve for plot reasons, but it's all body horror and trauma and spiraling codependency). 

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I don’t think I could name one all-time favorite, because what I enjoy most about fanfic is that different writers bring different character interpretations, storytelling styles and plot ideas to the table, which I find incomparable. I have enjoyed many of the well-known classics, of course (pukner I owe you my life--), but let me use this chance to give a shout-out to some less well-known masterpieces! My top three underrated fics are Three Days on the Red Planet by CaptainHoney/@grandmastattoo on tumblr (retro scifi, gritty but humorous hopepunk, every single fic of theirs is a certified banger but I love this one the most for some reason!!), Love dirty men alike by wrenowich (chef au, an ode to kitchen culture in all its griminess, I love a detailed backstory plus Steddie being wonderfully weird about each other), and That’s just wasteland, baby! by fastcardotmp3 (post-s4 apocalypse survival, sweet and aching and tired and yet hopeful, made me cry in the best way). 

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

One that's pretty unique to the steddie fandom, or perhaps general stranger things fandom, is “if canon event x had happened differently/hadn't happened at all/had happened to a different person, how would the rest of canon change?” I still need to work out a lot of details in my head, so that's all I'll say for now, but it's something I'm very interested in exploring.

What is your writing process like?

Much to the horror of fic writers everywhere, I don't do first drafts, I just write out everything in detail, scene by scene in chronological order. I edit as I go, and consider the many-numbered, often unplanned writing breaks an important part of my process - when I let the written portion sit for a while and the unwritten ideas percolate in my brain for a bit, I often end up with new plot points or solutions for problems I've been having! And when that inspiration strikes, I can write anywhere - on the train, during lunch break at work, in the vegetable aisle of the grocery store… I have gdocs on my phone and I use it liberally; I'd say I write at least 80% of any given fic on my phone. 

Do you have any writing quirks?

Apart from the hot mess I just described, I'd say it's that I never use Beta readers. I'll occasionally ask friends to help with specific details if I need an expert on certain subject matter, but I've found I get very grumpy and fussy if someone pokes at my plot (even if or rather especially if they’re right lol), and I don't want to subject anyone to that. 

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

For oneshots or series comprised of single-chapter fics I like posting as soon as I'm done, but for multi-chapter works I've recently found that starting to post only after I've finished most (if not all) chapters beforehand improves the quality of the story! Since I tend to integrate new ideas or shift around plot points a lot while writing, I often end up in completely different places than my original concept, so if an early chapter isn't posted yet I can retroactively edit it to add foreshadowing or tone-match the end of the work, remove loose threads and suchlike. Don't look back is a good example of how this has worked out for me; comparatively It don't bite (Yes it do) - which I wrote and posted chapter by chapter - is tonally all over the place. 

Which fic are you most proud of?

Naturally I love all my babies, but I consider Don't look back my magnum opus - both because it is the longest fic I've ever written (13 chapters and 90.000 words in total, that's practically a novel!) and because it's the most plot-rich, labor-intensive, and overall serious in tone. I even worked in subplots about the rest of the cast, so it almost reads like its own season. I wrote it for last year's Steddie Bigbang, which means there's also a gorgeous accompanying artwork by @the-chilly-kat. 

How did you get the idea for With great power?

At the time I'd seen a few marvel AUs floating past me on the tumblr timeline, usually with Steve as Spiderman and Eddie as the human component of Venom, and having just recently seen the Venom movie depicting the rich relationship between Eddie Brock and the symbiote, it surprised me that most left the symbiote as its own character, and not substituted one of the ST main cast. The symbiotic relationship of Stobin immediately came to mind, though I also still loved the idea of Steve as Spidey - then I remembered that in the Toby McGuire movies, the two are not mutually exclusive, and it all spiraled from there. Eddie as Deadpool just made sense - immortal wild-card with a dubious moral code but a heart of gold? Obviously! Plus Spideypool is, of course, a classic ship. 

When writing With great power, what was something you didn’t expect?

I actually got several curious comments about the sex toy Steve uses in Because the night - a grindable or grinder, which is a flat-ish silicone structure, usually ribbed in an interesting way, that one can grind against to get off (as the name suggests). I thought it was pretty common, but apparently it's not very well known!

What inspired  RUSH! (T4T REMIX)?

Oh, it's my time to gush! Because the idea for the first work actually came about from a late night conversation I had with the beautiful, amazing, wonderful @maikaartwork, back when we were, how should I say, in the courting stage? Seeing as we met through the Steddie fandom, I decided to write Baby Said basically to seduce them - and I am happy to say it worked, as we've been dating for over eight months now and are planning to move in together next year! Both works from RUSH! - T4T REMIX (and the secret new WIP, shh) are thus somewhat inspired by our conversations and our t4t relationship, but also by the many interesting and different trans people I've met over the years, and trans solidarity and relationships in general.

What was your favorite part to write from At a medium pace?

The small-talk in between position changes - no, really! I love a mindless marathon-fuck story as much as the next person, but there's something very sweet and intimate about those little breaks in sex, the pass the lube, move your leg a bit, what's for dinner later of it all. That's where you see that emotional connection - there's no admission of crushes or big love confessions in this fic because it's right there in the details.

How do/did you feel writing RUSH! (T4T REMIX)?

Honestly, it's just really really fun and self-indulgent. The Steddie dynamic in it is so bitchy, all the bickering makes me laugh even as I'm writing it. It's also just really fun to write about the trans experience in a way that is curious and loving, and reflects all the very different and yet similar ways people experience living in a body that defies expectation. I've loved all my fellow trans people sounding off in the comments about their own transition experiences, it's wonderful to have such a fantastic community!

What was the most difficult part of writing If you were church (I'd get on my knees)?

Curiously enough, not the many religious trauma bits! Much like Eddie in the fic, I'm only church-freak adjacent - I grew up in a non-religious household but with extended family that were extremely catholic, so the odd juxtaposition of being occasionally close to but definitely not involved in what is pretty much cult behavior inspired much of this fic. The most functionally difficult part to write was actually the wedding - as an aro-spec & trans relationship anarchist, church weddings have never been relevant to me, so I had very little idea what actually goes into one! Very little of the research I conducted on the topic actually made it into the fic, but hey, the more you know. 

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

People keep asking me that, and I never know what to answer! If I had to pick one, though, maybe the last few paragraphs of Don't look back - where you can see the tragedy coming, but there's no way of stopping it, because it was always going to end this way. And then Eddie's last words before the end of the fic call back to the title as well as the general theme of the fic - it just all comes together for such a crescendo of an ending. 

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Yes, actually! Coming soon in the SteddieBang'24, me and my lovely artist @hawkinsleather have been working hard on a 20k post-s4 fic called A glimpse of your canvas, which is about closeted transfemme!Eddie, women's solidarity, and Steve's very confusing no-good trip to the gay bar. Both With great power and RUSH! (T4T REMIX) have another WIP pending which I'll eventually finish (I promise, I'm just easily distracted!!), and for those who are still mad about Don't look back’s open ending, I'm almost done with the sequel, which features a lot of bad decisions by all characters involved, the healing power of community, and a bit of accidental child acquisition. 

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Given the chance of this platform, I would like to notify my readers that I'm a terrible procrastinator when it comes to replying to comments, but I read and cherish every one of them - and repeat commenters, I see you, I love you, I am chewing on your arm like a dog with a bone!! I would also like to thank the steddie fandom in general for giving me the hottest partner known to man or God, and for the many friendships I've been so fortunate to build here. Talk about transformative works, am I right? <3 

Thank you to our author, @dartlekey, and our anonymous nominator! See more of dartlekey's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[dialingyoudarlingyou]

You make me so happy; it turns back to sad.

Summary: one wrong number, two people and tons of coffee, what could go wrong?

Or

Y/n texts the wrong number not knowing that it is the one guy who despises her. or so she thinks.

paring: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

warnings: none that I can think of, just fluff, pining and a dash of angst

Tropes: sorta sunshine x grumpy, rivals (ish) to lovers, best friend’s brother, miscommunication

A/n: ‘I know heaven’s a thing’ I don’t because I’m going to hell. BUT HEY SO ARE YOU.

I also plan to make it a two-part series so that’s that. Part two is out now!

and this is kind of inspired by this one fic i read on Ao3 so check that out!

“I can’t believe that out of everything, he assigned us a project on matriarchy!” Y/n’s voice echoes Helaena’s house as they enter it.

“I know right? and the fact he did it right after dress coding you-” Helaena is cut off by a deep voice interrupting them.

“Who got dress coded?” Y/n’s expression falters at realizing to whom the voice belongs.

It’s him.

He stands there, tall, proud and intimidating. He folds his hands over his chest and Y/n is sure she's never seen him look more menacing in his whole life. His hair is in a tight bun, a strand of his hair falls free onto his face, it looks smooth and the silver of his hair has never been more evident. He clears his throat, his eyes directed towards her, a hint of annoyance in them. Or that is what she can make of them.

She never knows what he is thinking of her, actually, she does.

He hates her.

He always has.

“Y/n did! Apparently, her top was quite ‘distracting’ to the boys in the class, so Mr Jamison dress-coded her.” Helaena chimes in as she walks over to the fridge. Aemond glances at Y/n and his eyes travel down her body.

His eyebrow quirks up, he looks amused. Y/n consciously wraps her arms around her chest. He instantly looks away.

Aemond’s eyes follow Y/n as he notices her walking over to the table. “You could help us, brother! We really need to ace this project and shut his mouth up.” He considers it for a moment but then looks over at Y/n who is staring down at her hands, fidgeting with them. she can feel his eyes glued on her; this just makes her more anxious. She gathers some courage and looks up. he looks away as soon as she does.

“y/n and I really need your help! Please?” Helaena nudges Y/n, and she nods too, playing along. Helaena looks at him expectantly waiting for an answer. He looks like he is considering it but then he looks over at Y/n who looks mortified. “No, I have a lot of work.” He replies curtly, deciding to take leave from there.

“We just finished sixty per cent of our project. I am so proud of us!” Helaena announces as she pulls Y/n into a tight embrace. Y/n welcomes the hug, softly smiling into it.

“Okay well, it’s getting late and I have a feeling the dorms will be closed, so I should get going! I’ll see you tomorrow, El.” The nickname for Helaena casually falls off Y/n’s lips. she picks her bag up from Helaena’s bed as she steps towards the door of her room.

“Text me when you get home,” Helaena suggests, before Y/n could interject realization dwells upon her.

“We don’t have each other’s numbers!” Y/n exclaims rolling her eyes. “Wait what?” that seems to have surprised Helaena, Y/n nods standing by what she said.

“Here, now you can text me when you reach home.” Helaena types the number into Y/n’s phone. “I don’t know why we didn’t do that before!” she berates as she hands over the phone to Y/n.

��Alright, bye! See you tomorrow,” Y/n gives Helaena one last quick hug before leaving.

Y/n enters her dorm and switches on the light. She sets aside her bag and lies down on her bed.

Her thoughts are still stuck on how aemond and her made eye contact so many times today.

Though most of the time he seemed angered by her presence. Y/n wishes he looked at her in a different light. She’s tried several times to make conversation, she’s approached him several times too but nothing seems to work.

Suddenly she remembers, she was supposed to text Helaena! So, she does.

Y/n: just reached home!

Unknown: I’m sorry what?

Y/n: haha, you’re so funny. You literally asked me to text you once I reached my dorm.

Unknown: I’m sorry but you are mistaken, I asked for no such thing.

Y/n: if this is a prank, I’m not laughing.

Unknown: I can assure you; it is not.

Y/n: this isn't El?

Unknown: no, it is not. I am sorry you got led on by someone.

Y/n: oh! no, it isn't like that, she's a friend, just asked me to text her when I reached home.

Unknown: yes, I got that. Well, I am glad you reached home safely. But now I must take leave.

Y/n: are you like 50 yrs old or something? you text so formally-

Unknown: I am not. But I cannot tell you how old I am. It’s not information you share with someone you do not know.

Y/n: well stranger this has been fun. But I’m sleepy so ‘I must take leave’

Unknown: did you just mock me?

Unknown: hey! Come back.

Unknown: hello?

Unknown: come back, please.

Y/n: someone knows how to use manners.

Y/n: ok well, let’s get to know each other.

Unknown: no.

Y/n: :( then how are we supposed to become best friends?

Unknown: we are not.

Y/n: pleaseeeeee

Y/n: pretty pleaseeeeeee

Unknown: fine. but you first.

Y/n: Oki

Yn: I’m a 20-year-old woman majoring in literature.

Unknown: now WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT, A COMPLETE STRANGER?

Unknown: but yeah I’m 21 years old. I am currently studying to become a lawyer.

Unknown: oh, I am a man.

Y/n: ew, I’m going to block you bye.

Mr wrong number: I-

Y/n: just kidding, anyways, I noticed we have the same area code. Is it safe to assume we’re from the same university?

Unknown: yes. It would be. Depends on if you know Mr Jamison.

Y/n: know? Man detests my existence.

Y/n: well best friend I have to go so good night <3

Unknown: not your best friend.

Y/n leaves him on seen but with a smile on her face. She made a new friend. All thanks to Helaena and her wrong number.

She changes the unknown person’s name to ‘Mr wrong number’

Hmmm, lawyer, she thinks. Sounds fun.

Y/n sighs as she enters the most boring class in her schedule. History of Westeros. It’s not that she finds it boring when she does the subject herself it is pretty interesting, but it’s the teacher she doesn’t like. She somehow finds a way to make the subject ten times more boring than it initially is.

she looks around and finds a bench empty. It’s right at the back of the class. Good for her. she can catch up on sleep peacefully.

She takes a seat down as she sets her things aside. She pulls out her textbook and a notebook. Yes, she intends on sleeping but she has to make it look like she tried to pay attention.

The class is about to begin, students rush in as the doors are about to close.

She heaves a sigh as she stares right into the soul of her textbook. Then suddenly she hears someone clear their throat.

Did her book come to life? She squints her eyes at the book, challengingly. It clears its throat again.

She is going insane, she is sure.

“Can I sit here?” it speaks? But the voice is coming from above-

She looks up and freezes immediately.

It’s Aemond Targaryen. He’s wearing a white button-up and black slacks. Fuck, Y/n’s heart skips a beat. She notices that today he let his hair down, not deciding to put it in a bun like he usually does. Her eyes are glued to him and it seems like he has noticed. And let’s just say he isn't quite pleased about it. “can I sit here?” he repeats, a hint of irritation very evident in his voice. She nods, not wanting to piss him off.

She keeps her eyes locked on her fingers as she fidgets with them, anxiousness radiating off her.

He stares at her, now more than ever. This is the closest he has ever been to her.

He watches as she slowly blinks in surprise, and how she gnaws on her bottom lip. He notices as she keeps fidgeting with her fingers, the same way she did at his house. Her cheeks have a slight tint of rose blush on them and he finds that endearing.

“So much for sleeping….” He hears her mutter under her breath. He does his best not to let out a chuckle.

her hair is in a loose messy bun, he notices how the locks of her hair slowly drop on her face. She looks gorgeous. His eyes trail down her neck, the space between her collarbone and neck looks so kissable, he tries his best to look away. He really does. But then her gaze lands on him, and he knows he has been caught red-handed.

But not the way he thinks. There is a glint of panic in her eyes, she deliberately rubs her hand over her neck.

He finally decides to pay attention to the class. He notices as she anxiously taps her feet on the ground. He thinks it will stop, but it goes on.

“What is making you so nervous?” it comes out more as a grimace than a question. He seems to have startled her because she stops instantly.

“Answer my question,” he wants to add a please, but she looks shaken up. “it’s nothing…” she mumbles, taking a deep breath.

His jaw clenches at her response. He knows she is lying but he finally makes up his mind and decides not to acknowledge her for the rest of the class.

As soon as class gets over, Y/n rushes out. Not even looking back once. She quickly packs up her things and walks out.

She scurries off the cafeteria and finds Helaena sitting there. She sets her things on the table and drops down on the chair, scaring her in the process.

“Your brother hates me.” she dramatically sighs, lifting her hand over her head.

“He hates everyone,” Helaena rolls her eyes, passing over the plate of fries to her. Y/n mindlessly picks it up and starts munching on them.

“He hates me the most,” she mumbles staring intently at her phone. Helaena shakes her head, disagreeing. Then she giggles, and Y/n has never been so weirded out. “what’s so funny?” she inquires.

“Nothing…nothing” Helaena whispers breathlessly, a smirk making its way onto her face.

Y/n arches an eyebrow, confusion obvious on her face. but she gives up because there is no point in wasting time on this.

“Oh, by the way, why didn’t you text me yesterday? I asked you to do so-” Y/n cuts Helaena immediately. “You gave me the wrong number!” she exclaims, realizing she hasn’t texted her stranger for quite some time.

“Oh well, here this is the right number.” Helaena types in the number and Y/n hopes it’s the right one this time.

“Gosh my class starts in five minutes; I’ll see you at the lockers! Bye.” Helaena launches from her seat and quickly plants a peck on Y/n’s forehead.

Y/n: hi bestie

Mr wrong number: hello.

Y/n: sheesh why are you being so cold?

Mr wrong number: sorry, not really having the best day.

Y/n: oh, wanna talk about it?

Mr wrong number: no, not really, I don’t want to burden you with it.

Y/n: hey, don’t say that, I won’t force you to talk but if you feel like it, please tell me.

Mr wrong number: thank you.

Y/n: ofc <3

Y/n sets her phone aside and stares at the plate of food in front of her. her appetite dying instantly, faster than her brain cells.

“Hello, Y/n!” Jace’s voice interrupts the stare down between Y/n and her plate. He sits down in the chair that Helaena had just vacated.

She groans into her hands and rubs her eyes. “Wow, someone is grumpy.” He jokes as he steals a French fry from her plate. She swats his hand away instantly. “It might taste like shit but that doesn’t mean I share. Get your own.” She grumbles as she moves her plate further away from Jace.

“Yeah Jace, don’t steal her food,” Luke grins as takes a seat next to Y/n. “hi Luke,” she smiles and hands him a fry. Jace’s eyes widen at this.

“This is favouritism! I want a refund.” Y/n giggles at Jace’s statement. She eventually hands him a fry too. Jace has a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he notices Y/n constantly checking her phone’s notification bar.

“Well, Luke I don’t think there is favouritism to you, hmm Y/n? your phone should know,” her eyes enlarge at Jace’s implication. “What are you talking about?” Y/n decides to play innocent.

“You were texting someone before I sat here, weren’t you? you were also smiling like an idiot. New boyfriend, I presume?” Y/n chuckles at the accusation, “I-” a voice that she is all too familiar with cuts her off.

“Boyfriend? And her? now that is the first time you’ve made a funny joke.” Aemond Targaryen taunts as he stands right in front of their table. It does sting Y/n but she decides to go along before Jace and Luke can interject and burn him alive.

“Yeah! You’re right, who would want to date me? I don’t have a boyfriend guys!” she smiles and it surprises all of them. Aemond hums, he sounds satisfied? Or that’s what Y/n thinks she heard. Looks like she is not the only person part of the bitchless club.

Y/n: you know how if zombies or vampires bite you, you turn into one?

Mr wrong number: mhm

Y/n: ok so what if I bit them? Would they turn into a human?

Mr wrong number: what.the.fuck.

Y/n: HEY IT WAS A GENUINE QUESTION!

Mr wrong number: I am speechless. I don’t know how to answer your question. I am stumped.

Y/n: I thought you were smart.

Mr wrong number: I am. But this- it is beyond my comprehension.

Y/n: you are of no use :(

Mr wrong number: I am sorry you feel like that, I will ask my developer to update my software so they can add ‘feelings’ into my algorithm.

Y/n: OMG YOU MADE A JOKE! AHAHA I AM RUBBING OFF ON YOU

Y/n: title of your sex tape.

Mr wrong number: you have seen Brooklyn nine nine?

Y/n: OBVS, who’s your favourite?

Y/n: let me guess, captain holt?

Mr wrong number: ……

Mr wrong number: yes.

Y/n: BAHAHAHA YOU ARE SO PREDICTABLE.

Y/n: mine’s Gina, just in case you were wondering.

Mr wrong number: I was not.

Y/n: ok rude :(

Another week goes by, and unfortunately for Y/n. Aemond Targaryen has made up his mind, he sat with her in the past three classes they had. Y/n doesn’t even know why? He hates her. he has made that crystal clear. She decides not to dwell upon it as she theorizes that he sits with her because there is no other place for him to sit. The classes have recently been filled with students so it’s not really his fault, right?

Aemond has been sitting next to Y/n for a month now, they just sit in silence during class. They don’t speak and Aemond thinks it’s mostly because he doesn’t like to talk to anyone that much. He is a very reclusive and reserved person.

But it also has to do with the fact that Y/n is one of the shyest and most nervous people he knows. For some reason, everything he does seems to get her anxious.

Last class, he asked her if he could borrow a pencil from her, she stammered her way through the entire interaction.

He did find it kind of adorable how her cheeks flushed as their fingers grazed when she handed him a pencil.

It’s not that Y/n doesn’t talk, he has observed her talk plenty to Helaena, Jace and Luke. He is the only one she doesn’t comfortably talk to, maybe it has something to do with the fact that he hasn’t really been the most welcoming and friendly person. To her. or to anyone.

It was a good day, or that was what she thought. Her shift was coming to an end. finally.

Just fifteen minutes more. She decides to make her job easier by deciding to clean all the dirty cups and tables.

She moves from table to table doing so. She reaches her last table and groans internally when she sees the coffee-filled mug still on the table. Why would someone waste their money on coffee and leave it to waste?

She sighs as she picks it up. The bell on the door rings, oh the last customer for the day. She turns around to greet them but to her surprise, they are right behind her.

And the surprise leads her to splash the mug full of coffee right on the customer. And unfortunately, the customer is wearing a white shirt.

And to make matters worse, the customer is none other than Aemond Targaryen.

He doesn’t react, not for a good minute at least.

Y/n’s mouth remains hung open as she tries to process what happened. She looks up at him to meet his eyes, and they seem to be in shock too. Suddenly there is a flicker of rage and Y/n wants to dig a hole and die.

“I am so sorry! So, so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to; it was an accident.” She drops the tray on the table next to her and proceeds to try to remove the stain of coffee from his shirt. She nervously struggles to wipe it off but to her luck, it doesn’t work, not one bit.

She looks at him, and his expression is unreadable. she isn't sure of what he is thinking but she has officially fucked up that she is sure of.

He grunts and removes her hands from his chest, still not uttering a word. “I am so sorry Aemond I-”

“Stop.” A single word, not holding much meaning or having clear instruction but she does it anyway. She stops.

She backs off, putting some distance between them, standing still not knowing what to do. his hands smooth his shirt, the coffee stain remaining prominent on it no matter how many times he runs his hands over his abdomen.

“I am so so so sorry,” she is panicking. A lot. “I didn’t mean to, please don’t complain about me to Mrs Garcia, I swear it was a mistake! I am so sorry.” She is on the brink of breaking down. tears are forming in her eyes. She has been holding back for quite some time now.

Today hadn’t really been the best day for her. first, someone stepped on her white sneakers. Secondly, Mr Jamison dress-coded her. for the third time. And she wasn’t even wearing anything controversial, it was a sundress that reached her knees but apparently not long enough for him. and lastly, she forgot to save the presentation she made for her literature class. Not really her best day.

“Please…” she clears her throat, trying to make her voice clear and get rid of the traces of any emotion in it. “don’t file a complaint, you can have coffee on me for the next week, just please….”

He doesn’t say a word, not knowing how to reply. He just turns his back and walks out of the café. Leaving a very puzzled Y/n alone.

Y/n: hello I just made a complete fool of myself.

Mr wrong number: knowing you, you have to be more specific.

Y/n: I will literally block you

Mr wrong number: please do.

Y/n: I will fr

Y/n: I’m not kidding.

Y/n: STOP LEAVING ME ON SEEN

Y/n: please ?

Mr wrong number: hmmm

Y/n: anyways, I know we said no personal questions, but have you ever been in a relationship?

Mr wrong number: not recently, no.

Y/n: any crushes?

Mr wrong number: yeah.

Y/n: would it be weird if I asked you to tell me more about them?

Mr wrong number: no, it’s fine.

Mr wrong number: I've known her for quite some time, we share one class together. She is very shy according to what I've noticed, we barely talk but go­­­d I like her so much. There's something about her. Something that always makes my eyes somehow land on her. It's like she's the sun and I am a mere object that revolves around her. There's no doubt that she's the sun. When she smiles, my heart flutters and my natural instinct is to return it. The warmth she radiates makes me feel safe and makes me want to forget all my worries. I do want to talk to her. I desperately do but every time I've tried either I say something extremely hurtful or rude. So, I just stick to curt nods or basically not acknowledging her existence at all. It's stupid I know but I am like 99% sure she hates me.

Y/n’s eyes widen at the way he talks about her. it makes her smile brightly. Only if someone spoke about her like that.

Y/n: oh my god. You should write poetry. You have such a way with your words. I’m literally crying hfdjsk

Y/n: wait why leave the 1%

Mr wrong number: we had gone to this fair one day, my sister and her are friends. They had gone to try some game and I continued surveying and looking around to make sure everything was fine. In the process I noticed her staring at me. Me. She was staring at me. I thought I might die on the spot. I remember noticing her cheeks turn to the shade of her lipstick. Red. And then she quickly glanced away, pretending to be busy. I seemed to be in shock myself. I thought maybe it must have been a mistake, there was no way she'd look at me and blush. Don't think too much. I remember telling silently myself.

Mr wrong number: and that isn't the only time I've seen her stare at me. during classes, when she's over at our place. But I just feel like I am not good enough to be liked by her. she is so pure and wholesome. I've seen the way she takes care of my sister and her friends. I don’t think I deserve someone like that in my life.

Y/n: wow. I am speechless. Literally speechless. But you know what? I think you have a chance. Idk but she sounds like a super sweet person you should give it a shot! Who knows she might be the future Mrs? hmmm :P and don’t say that about yourself. You are super sweet I am sure she would have noticed by now.

Mr wrong number: I don’t know I just. I don’t remember the last time I felt like this for someone.

Mr wrong number: but anyways, why did you suddenly ask about it tho?

Y/n: OMG YOU USED A SHORT FORM

Mr wrong number: did not.

Y/n: ‘tho’

Mr wrong number: fuck you.

Y/n: Nah let your gf do it

Mr wrong number: not my girlfriend

Y/n: yet.

Mr wrong number: don’t change the subject.

Y/n: ugh fine, I have a crush.

Y/n: he is this guy in my class, super smart and stuff but….

Y/n: he hates me lmao

Mr wrong number: it can’t be that bad I am sure.

Y/n: I’m not saying he hates me, what I’m saying is that I am literally the Monday of his life.

Mr wrong number: wow it is that bad.

Y/n: mhm

Mr wrong number: no offence then why do you like him?

Y/n: THAT’S THE PROBLEM IDK

Mr wrong number: ….

Y/n: fine, he is super caring, I've seen the way he cares for his mother and sister. He is smart, calculated and very straightforward. He doesn’t beat around the bush and he is a no-nonsense person which I love.

Y/n: he is also very hot so.

Mr wrong number: ahh explains it.

Mr wrong number: wait why does he hate you?

Y/n: oh, don’t get me started, it’s everything, from me biting my nails to my mere existence. It all ticks him off.

Y/n: but lol it doesn’t matter I've become used to him hating me, one day it’ll go too far and then finally I will get over him.

Mr wrong number: that doesn’t sound fun.

Y/n: trust me.

Y/n: anyways it doesn’t matter okay? At least your ship is sailing.

Mr wrong number: no, don’t do that. Don’t downplay how you feel. Let it out. If I can tell you how I feel you can too. that’s how friendship works right?

Y/n: fine.

Y/n: I’m scared I’ll end up alone because the one person I like is the one person who hates me with burning passion and the funny thing is idek what I did to make him hate me so much! I've barely even spoken three words to him. it just makes me think about how I can be unlikeable? Am I too talkative? Do I come off as too strong? Idk I just wanted him to like me back too yk

Mr wrong number: you won’t end up alone ok? He hates you? well, his fucking loss you are an awesome person with a great personality and if he keeps hating you he is missing out on something amazing. You don’t waste your time on him alright?

Y/n: thank you :( I needed to hear that, you’re a great best friend <3

Mr wrong number: you are a great best friend too.

Y/n beams at the confession. She is glad Mr wrong number exists. She likes the texts and goes back to the book she was reading.

“Hi, you are Y/n, right?” currently Y/n is in the library, trying to read. Emphasis on the word trying. Y/n nods in affirmation. The girl’s eyes look around and then she speaks up. “You sat with Aemond Targaryen in the last class of the history of Westeros, right?” Y/n nods again, not really having the energy to talk, especially to her.

Lydia is one of the girls who tormented Y/n at the beginning of her college year. She did everything in her willpower to make Y/n’s life hell.

If it wasn’t for Helaena, Y/n wouldn’t have survived college.

“I want you to sit somewhere else for tomorrow’s class. I want to sit next to him.” of course she does, Y/n heaves a sigh and gives in, “of course,” it’s not like she wanted to sit next to Aemond and stare at him. again.

“Thanks, Y/n” Lydia flashes her most pretentious smile at her and walks away, leaving Y/n alone in the secluded corner.

Y/n rolls her eyes at the thought of the interaction and takes out her phone.

Y/n: why am I such a people pleaser?

Mr wrong number: elaborate.

Y/n: never mind it’s stupid. How’s your day going so far?

Mr wrong number: well, it’s going. I’ll get by. I think.

Y/n: rough day huh?

Mr wrong number: don’t even get me started.

Y/n: no, don’t do that. Tell me how you are feeling, I know we don’t know each other irl and everything but that helps more doesn’t it? I can’t judge you like this or do anything hurtful.

She notices as the typing bubble appears and disappears. She hopes that he is considering it, he seems really sad.

Mr wrong number: for starters, my father is the worst. He despises my existence. And I have done nothing but try to be the ideal child and yet he still favours my drunk brother who has done nothing but bring trouble upon our family. My mother and sister are the only reason why I stay with my family otherwise I would have left long ago. My father thinks that I have no scope for the future and that studying law is a waste of time. And that I should be contributing to the family business. He thinks I am worthless and leeching off his money.

Y/n: oh god, that sounds horrible. I am so sorry this is happening to you. but forgive my bluntness. Do you like what you’re doing in life right now?

Mr wrong number: yeah, I do.

Y/n: then fuck that old man! who gives a fuck about what he has to say? You’re happy atm and that is all that should matter to you. let your father say what he wants to, you should listen to your gut and follow your dreams. You don’t require anyone’s approval for that. And like you said, your mom and sister are there for you, aren’t they? As far as I can see, that’s all you should care about.

Mr wrong number: thanks, that made me feel 10000 times better. Thank you so much, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Y/n: of course! I am glad I was able to help :P

As Y/n guaranteed Lydia, she sits somewhere else, leaving the last bench to Lydia and Aemond. She sits near the window; thankfully, people walk past her; leaving her to sit alone.

Y/n notices as Aemond walks into the classroom, it’s hard not to stop staring, she likes the way he carries himself. With confidence radiating off him. his head held high as he walks with a hand in his pocket and the other holding the textbooks. Y/n’s eyes aren’t able to leave Aemond as he walks further to the desks. He seems to have noticed that his regular place is occupied by someone else.

Aemond’s eyes seem to narrow at the sight of Lydia sitting at the desk. He approaches her desk and it appears that he is interrogating her.

Lydia points towards the window where Y/n is sitting and Aemond immediately looks at her. He proceeds to walk over to where Y/n is sitting.

He looks at her not uttering a single word, just staring. There is a flash of annoyance in his eyes, but then continuing the charade, he sits down next to her.

the class begins, and yet again Y/n isn't able to pay attention to the class. She keeps staring at him, confused as to why he switched places and came and sat with her.

She takes a deep breath and gathers the courage to talk to him. “why’d you come here and sit?” It was a mere whisper but seemed to have grabbed his attention.

“Hmm?” He glances at her. her breath hitches at the sight of his eyes looking into hers. “Why did you come and sit here? You could have sat with Lydia-” she doesn’t get the chance to complete her sentence as he finally answers.

“Because I wanted to sit with you.” he says casually as he flips the pages of the textbook. Y/n’s heart rate seems to have surpassed the normal rate by a long mile.

She isn't even breathing anymore; he’s left her speechless. Y/n gathers her thoughts and continues, “but you could have sat with Lydia, we both know she’s great at the subject, she would make a great partner. And let’s not ignore the fact that she is also one of the prettiest girls in our year, I don’t know why-” this is the most he has ever heard her speak in one go. It surprises him but also angers him. Aemond furrows his eyebrows, a frown creeps its way on his face. Why does she have to self-deprecate so much?

“I told you Y/n, I wanted to sit with you. I don’t care about Lydia or anyone. You are a great partner too, by the way. You don’t try to make unnecessary conversation or force me to do stupid things. And you’re just as great as Lydia or better, to be honest. So, stop comparing yourself to her and pay attention to the class.” The last part was meant to be playful but it seems like Y/n took it seriously and actually starts listening to the class.

Y/n hasn’t processed any of the things Aemond just said. She is still stuck on the fact he wanted to sit with her, instead of Lydia.

Before she could dwell more on it, Mrs Martinez’s voice interjects, “class, I want you to pair up in twos, and present an essay on the various aspects of culture in Westeros.” The room starts buzzing with people discussing whom to pair up with. Y/n’s anxiety booms up, who will she pair up with-

“I’ll see you in the library at 4 p.m.” Aemond questions, closing his textbook. “Huh?” Y/n blurts out confused.

“For the essay? I’ll see you in the library at 4. Or do you have a shift at the café?” Y/n’s eyes appear to widen at the statement. The incident of that night flashes in front of her eyes. She internally cringes at the memory. Not her finest moment perhaps.

“You want to pair up for this project?” out of everything, Y/n asks the most obvious question to him, still flabbergasted at the fact he brought up the café. He has never ever come to the café since that day, as a matter of fact, Y/n is sure he doesn’t even like coffee.

She remembers him staring with pure disgust at her when she chugged 2 cups of coffee in front of him that one night when she stayed over.

“Yes, I do, now is 4 alright with you or not?” he repeats again, though there is an underlying tone of gentleness.

“Yeah, yes. It is.” she speaks in a shaky voice.

And for the first time ever, he smiles at her. it barely reaches his eyes, but it’s a smile. his lips twitch and slowly curve. Though it wasn’t a complete smile, it was still glorious to look at. It was like a ray of sunlight that could light the dullest parts of the room.

And with that, he leaves, leaving Y/n confused now more than ever.

Aemond runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly. This is the fifth time he has tried setting his hair and it is still not working. It’s not like he is going on a date but…

He still wants to make a good impression on Y/n. and it has nothing to do with the fact that he is completely infatuated with her. every single thing about her makes his heart flutter, from the way she blinks to the ways her lip curve around the words when she speaks.

He is just truly madly deeply in love with her. He has been, for the past three years.

He remembers when Helaena had made a new friend or that was what she told Aemond. He was very sceptical of this ‘friend’ he didn’t think she was as great as Helaena had described.

But then. He met her.

And god, it felt like the rest of the world was in black and white and she was in screaming colours. He felt like he would burn himself if he kept staring at her because of how brightly she glowed.

Then she started coming over to their house and his fascination only got worse. But to his luck every time she talked to him, he was only able to give curt and short replies because he was afraid, he’d blurt out something preposterous and ruin everything forever.

If Aemond had a choice, he would go back in time and fix the way he behaved with Y/n and actually gather the courage to ask her out.

He thought that maybe after getting to know her, his feelings would fade away, but after knowing her they only got worse.

He’s noticed all her little quirks and habits, they only made him love her, now more than ever. He remembers observing how she picks on her nails when she is nervous, or how she always seems to be carrying an extra T-shirt in her bag just in case there is a wardrobe malfunction. Or the way her eyes light up when someone mentions Taylor swift. He has also noticed the way she takes care of Helaena like her own sister. From reminding her to have eight glasses of water to make sure she eats something. All these things just make Aemond love her more.

He thought he had a chance with her until that one night. 

[ereardon]

Friends Don't || Chapter 9

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late? 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid] 

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, angst, SMUT

WC: 3.1K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“Sunny?” Bob’s voice was light, shaky. “What is he talking about?” 

You stood with your mouth open, looking between the two of them. Bradley shook his head, pulling his truck into reverse. “You gotta tell him, Reid,” he said softly before backing down the driveway, disappearing out of sight. 

“Tell me what?” 

You turned. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” 

“Yes, you do.” Bob’s voice trailed after you as you stomped inside, storming down the hallway toward the kitchen, leaning on the granite countertop with both hands, sucking in a deep breath, trying to calm your nervous system. He showed up behind you a moment later. “Sunny, what’s going on? What are you not telling me?” 

You closed your eyes. The incident at Dr. Kim’s office had tipped the scale. You were running out of time. And it had become glaringly apparent why you had picked up your life and moved to San Diego. You were dragging your feet, dating Bradley, sidestepping Jake’s increasingly insistent questions, all out of fear of confronting the truth. 

Opening your eyes, you swiveled around. 

Bob stood two feet in front of you, confusion clouding his handsome face. 

“Sunny,” he whispered. “What are you not saying?” 

Before you could think it through, you stepped forward, placing one hand on his cheek, leaning in, sealing your lips over his. His lips were soft and tender, and he kissed you back right away, despite the surprise. 

You would be lying if you said you’d never thought about it before. How could you be friends with someone for almost a decade and not wonder once or twice what it would feel like to be wrapped in their arms? 

It felt right. And suddenly, everything felt like it was falling into place. You felt grounded for the first time in your life. 

You pulled back, heat rushing to your cheeks. What if he didn’t feel the same way? God, you would be so embarrassed if he didn’t feel the way you did. It should have felt wrong or awkward or weird. To break the bubble of friends to lovers in one swift movement. But it didn’t. It felt natural. And you found yourself wondering why you had spent so long fighting what had been right in front of you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly. “I shouldn’t have done—” 

Bob cut you off, both of his hands reaching out and cradling your face as he closed the gap between your bodies, his lips landing on yours instantly, one hand moving down and threading itself into the hair at the base of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you in toward him. You groaned into his mouth as he slipped his tongue past your lips. Bob walked you delicately backward until your back was pressed against the wall, his body engulfing yours as your fingers scrambled against his sides, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him across every inch of your body. He was a good kisser. Excellent even. You hadn’t expected that. Somehow, you had always thought Bob would be awkward or uncomfortable in any kind of sexual situation. 

That couldn’t be further from the truth. He pressed one thigh between your legs and you whined against his mouth, grinding down against his leg without even thinking and Bob pulled back, his eyes dark with lust. 

“Sunny,” he whispered, voice hoarse and husky and it sent shivers of desire down your spine. “Honey, what is this? Is this real? Or is this because you’re upset about Bradley?” 

You locked your hands behind his neck, gazing up into his perfect blue eyes. “I love you, Bobby,” you whispered. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while. I was just too scared to admit it to myself.” 

His eyes searched yours, waiting. Waiting for you to call it a joke. Waiting for you to change your mind. But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. It was true. It was all true. “Honey,” he breathed softly. “I’ve loved you from day one.” 

And then his lips were on yours again, his hands on your waist, and all you could think about was that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long. It felt so natural and right when Bob pulled his lips from yours, trailing wet kisses down your neck, his hands skimming over the front of your dress, cupping your breasts lightly as you moaned beneath him, pressing down against his leg that was perfectly positioned between yours, only a thin slice of fabric separating your bare core from his thigh. 

Bob walked you backward from the kitchen down the hall into his room, his lips never leaving your skin. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him until you were straddling his lap, your arms wound around his neck. 

“Bobby,” you whispered into his ear. “Is this really happening?” 

He looked at you with a small smile, one hand tracing delicately over your cheek. “God, I hope so, darlin’.” 

And then your lips were on his again, his hands pulling up the fabric of your dress to your hips, lifting it over your head and Bob bowed his head, lavishing kisses on your collarbone. You reached behind you, unclipping your bra, tugging it off and letting your breasts fall softly. Bob’s eyes went wide and you watched him blush before he reached out one hand, cupping your left breast in his large hand. You gasped as he dipped his head, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, causing you to grow wetter between your legs, a hoarse moan ripping from your throat as he moved to the other nippple. You could feel him growing hard in his joggers beneath you, and you realized that you were about to see his cock for the first time. The thought made you giddy with excitement. 

Your fingers toyed with the hem of Bob’s shirt and you tugged it up and over his head, allowing yourself for the very first time to languidly trace the muscles of his abdomen, let your fingers grip the tight bulging muscles of his biceps as he skillfully nibbled at your earlobe. 

You ground down against his lap, eliciting a whine from Bob. “Oh, fuck.” His breath was hot against your neck.

You grinned, placing your hands on his shoulders and grinding yourself lightly across his lap. Bob practically whimpered before rolling you over onto your back, your head hitting the pillows at the top of the bed as he knelt between your legs, softly caressing your legs. 

“Thought about this forever,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to your ankle. 

“Bobby,” you mewled as he kissed his way up your left leg, his lips teasing the soft flesh of your inner thigh. You were embarrassingly wet, you could feel it soaking the triangle of lace fabric between your legs. He stopped and leaned back, practically groaning at the sight. 

“Can I?” he asked softly, nodding toward your thong. 

You sat up on your elbows, looking at him. “I’m all yours, Bobby,” you replied quietly. “Everything I have, everything I am, it’s yours.” 

He reached down and ripped the thong in two and you gasped, unable to even wrap your mind around the fact that he had done that before his face was between your legs, tongue licking a thick strip up your folds toward your clit and you moaned, hips stuttering. Bob placed one hand on your hip, holding you still, as he leaned forward again, sucking and kissing across your folds, tongue darting out and licking a circle across your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” you whined, grabbing the sheets next to your boy with your fists. “God, that feels so good.” 

Bob nudged his tongue inside of your hole, his nose brushing against your clit with every movement, causing you to shake and whine and moan as he slipped one long finger inside of you, stretching you open. His tongue never left your clit as he worked in a second finger, pumping in and out of you with a steady rhythm that had you panting above him, a neat coil already starting to build in your low stomach. 

“Bobby,” you moaned as he sucked delicately on your clit. 

He lifted his head from between your thighs. “You taste so fucking good,” he whispered. “Could live between your thighs if you’d let me.” 

You closed your eyes, leaning back. “Don’t stop, please, Bobby, don’t stop.” 

“I got you, honey,” he murmured, tipping back forward, tongue darting out and circling your clit perfectly as his fingers curled at the ends, touching your front wall, causing you to melt. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted as your orgasm started to build again, the combination of his tongue and fingers working your core, tipping you over the edge. You cried out in blinding pleasure as Bob thrust his fingers inside of you one last time, tongue delicately working you through the aftershocks before he leaned back, wiping at his slick mouth with the back of his hand. 

You reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling his fingers into your mouth, and he moaned as you drew them back with a smile. “Fuck, Reid,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing you, your legs wrapping around his waist, his cock painfully hard in his joggers as you moaned into his mouth, trailing your hand along the warm skin of his back. He pulled away, sitting back and shucking his pants and boxers, cock springing forward, slapping his stomach. 

You looked at him with wide eyes. You’d seen Bob in boxers before and swimsuits. But you had never seen him naked. 

He was beautiful. You’d been told by countless guys, and girls, that you were beautiful. But looking at Bob in that moment, you understood what beautiful was. 

Bob laid on his side, head propped up on one hand, looking at you, his free hand trailing across your abdomen. 

“Sunny?” he whispered. 

“Yeah?” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he said. “If you want, we can pretend this never happened. All of it. If you’re having any doubts.” 

He thought you pausing to gawk at his body was hesitation. You rolled onto him, pressing your lips to his before pulling back with a smile. “Never,” you said softly. “You’re perfect. I’m never letting you go.” 

And then you reached down, wrapping your hand around his warm, hard cock, stroking him. Bob’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his mouth open in a small “o” shape. “Fuck,” he muttered as you stroked him gently, taking your time, rubbing the sticky precum from his tip along the head of his cock with your thumb, pressing right below the tip of his dick on the underside, causing him to buck up into your hand. 

“Such a pretty cock,” you whispered, your lips ghosting over his forehead as he closed his eyes. You pulled your hand away, spitting onto your fingertips before reaching back down and taking him again into your palm, this time moving faster, Bob’s hips flexing forward with each downward stroke. 

You could feel him getting close, and Bob’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist. His eyes pleading with you. “Baby,” he cooed. “Keep doing that and I won’t be able to stop myself.” 

You released him, spreading your hand up onto his chest, playing with the chest hair between his pecs. “I want to feel you, Bobby,” you whispered. “Need you inside of me.” 

“Fuck, honey,” he groaned, rolling over until you were pinned beneath him, your legs spread wide. Bob ran his fingertips from your knees to your hips, looking down at your core, practically drooling at the sight of you dripping wet for him. “Condoms are in the top drawer,” he said. 

You leaned over, opening the drawer and fishing out a silver square, ripping it open and handing it to him. He rolled it down over himself, reaching forward and touching your hole gently with his free hand, cock painfully hard in his hand as he pumped himself while touching you. 

“Honey,” he whispered, leaning forward, grazing his lips across your jaw. “Are you sure about this?” 

You wrapped your arms around Bob’s shoulders. “As sure as anything in the world. I’m yours, Bobby. Always have been.” 

He kissed you softly and you felt his fingertips brush against your core as he lined himself up with your entrance. You took in a big breath as you felt Bob push himself inside of you. He was thick and long, and you were gasping when only the head of his cock was inside of you, splitting you open. “Doing so good for me,” he whispered. “Such a good girl.” 

The words made you blush. You had never expected Bob to be as experienced as he was. But he was still your Bobby. Calm. Protective. He whispered positive reinforcement in your ear as he sank slowly inside of you, stretching you to your limit, his cock stirring inside of you as you whimpered below him on the brink of pain and pleasure. Finally, he was fully seated in you and he paused, one hand brushing at the hair around your face, smiling down at you. 

“Doing OK darlin’?” he asked softly. 

You nodded feverishly. “Bobby, please,” you whined desperately. “Fuck me.” 

“As you wish, sweetheart,” he replied, pulling back and slamming his cock into you, eliciting a surprised half-scream, half-moan to rip from your lips. 

“Oh, God!” 

“So fucking tight,” he whimpered, pulling out and thrusting his hips toward you over and over, pulling one of your legs up high near his hip so he could angle his cock impossibly deeper inside of you. “Perfect fucking pussy,” he moaned as you leaned forward, grabbing his face with your hands, pressing your lips to him, forcing him to swallow your screams as he slammed his cock inside of you repeatedly until you were jelly beneath him, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone with each breathy thrust. 

“Shit, fuck, feels so good,” you groaned as Bob’s hands dug into your hips, hiking you higher against him. He was gripping you so tight there would be bruises afterward but you didn’t care. You couldn’t get close enough to him. You wanted him deeper inside of you and to never pull away. 

Bob released one hand, letting it float over to your clit, thumb expertly circling the bundle of nerves, never losing his rhythm as he buried his cock inside of you. 

“Fuck!” you cried as you felt your orgasm building. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come for me,” he whispered hoarsely, eyes never leaving yours. “Please, Sunny, wanna make you feel good.” 

“Oh, God, Bobby,” you whimpered as he pressed down hard with his thumb and you felt yourself shatter around him, the even pumping of his cock against your walls and the pressure from his thumb on your clit sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you gasped and moaned beneath him. 

Bob pulled his thumb away once he was assured your orgasm was over, tipping forward onto his forearms, pressing his lips to yours as his hips stuttered and he came hard, gasping into your mouth. You felt him filling the condom inside of you, your fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps as you swallowed his throaty moans. 

He pulled back a few inches and you smiled, dropping your hands from his arms, running your fingers up through his hair. “Hi,” you whispered softly. 

Bob chuckled and the movement jostled his softening cock inside of you, causing it to harden again. He groaned, pulling out and tying off the condom, dropping it into the waste bin next to the bed and pulling you back into his arms, your head resting on his chest. You wrapped one arm around him, nuzzling down against him. Lying there with Bob was so familiar. You had done it hundreds of times before. But never naked. Never immediately after sex. Never having known what it was like to watch Bob break into pieces, to feel him press himself inside of you, to know him as intimately as you could know a person. 

“What now?” you whispered against his chest. 

Bob’s fingers threaded through your hair softly. “I was thinking we microwave some pizza rolls.” 

You sat back and shook your head, laughing. “Bobby! I’m serious.” 

“Me too,” he said. “I love pizza rolls.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

He chuckled, pulling you back down, pressing kisses to your temple. “Honey, not to sound cavalier, but I don’t really care what’s next. I have everything I could ever want. I have everything I’ve wanted since I was nineteen, right here, in my arms, rolling her eyes at me. It’s always been you, Reid. You’re the love of my life. You’re always going to be the love of my life. If you’re in, I’m in. You’re it for me, sweetheart. You’re everything.” 

“I love you so much,” you whispered, tugging him in closer, pressing your eyes closed. “I never want to leave here.” 

Bob pulled the blanket over your intertwined bodies carefully, smoothing it over you. “We have all the time in the world, darlin’,” he whispered. 

You rolled over until you were on top of Bob, shifting your hips and you felt him start to harden against your stomach and you smiled. You pressed your lips to the column of his throat, grinding your wet pussy against his upper thigh, groaning against his salty skin. 

“Baby, what’s the rush?” he asked as you reached down, stroking him. “I mean, I’m happy to go again. I just want to know why we’re rushing it.” 

“I just need you,” you murmured. “I need all of you. As much as I can get.” 

“Like I could ever say no to you.” Bob grinned, rolling you onto your back, already reaching for another condom as you parted your legs beneath him, feeling him sink into you as the two of you moaned in tandem. “God, darlin’, feel so fucking perfect.” 

You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I want you for the rest of my life, Bobby.” 

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[littlebitsmile]

in flames [C.L.] | Chapter I

Welcome back! Here's the first official chapter, situated inbetween the ending of the 2023 season and the beginning of the 2024 season. This played out in my head and be prepared, this whole story will be a SLOW burn. Even slower than Ferraris pit stops.

Dropping a new chapter next week, would be nice to see lots of you again!

But until then, enjoy your happy holidays!

[also, please don't forget to read the Prologue first]

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ C H A P T E R I ɞ────

As soon as the news broke, I have been swarmed by paparazzi. Hell, I could not even go to the toilet in peace without someone asking me about my deal with Aston Martin. But after finishing my last race in Formula 2, I could officially call myself part of a new team.

Sadly, I still have no clue why they approached me with an offer and why they went through with signing me. Initially, I thought it was a joke, some PR stunt to rile up Red Bull, since they made it pretty clear they wanted me and Max as the power duo - after a second and eventually third year of proofing myself in Formula 2. However, a ten-minute phone call turned into an unofficial hour-long meeting, which morphed into a Zoom session involving my manager and a team of lawyers. Three separate five-hour sessions later, where expectations on both sides were thoroughly discussed, I found myself facing a stack of papers with small "x" marks beside every line I needed to sign.

And here I am, wearing a green polo, black trousers, decent makeup, and a smile plastered across my face. Fernando Alonso, one of the biggest names in the sport, nods in my direction, giving me a last look of encouragement or approval—I'm not sure. We walk through the double-winged doors and are instantly met with flashes of light. The noise is overwhelming; I have to restrain myself from covering my ears and squatting on the ground with pleas of "stop." People shout not only my name but also Fernando's, alongside questions we surely are not allowed to answer at the moment.

Navigating through the chaos, we take our places on the couch atop the stage, in front of what must be hundreds of people. I feel like prey, reporters wielding notepads, iPads, and phones as their weapons to summon words that cut through us like knives.

As we sit down, I immediately reach for the glass of water standing next to me to soothe my dry throat. Nausea washes over me as I glance around the room.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first pre-season interview of Aston Martin! We are delighted to have our two drivers, Fernando Alonso and Emma Verstappen, here for approximately one hour to answer all the questions you certainly have. But first, let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we?"

I was informed about this. We went over a few potential questions in countless meetings with my new PR manager. Nonetheless, I can't help but feel like this is a test I didn't prepare for at all.

"Emma, let’s start with you. This is your first year in Formula 1, and there is a big question on everyone's minds: Why Aston Martin? I mean, your brother – Max Verstappen, for everyone who has been living under a rock for the past couple of years -…" Laughter fills the room. I chuckle myself, but I would rather cry. "He has been with Red Bull since 2016. Everyone thought if there's a chance of you getting into Formula 1, it would be alongside your brother in a Red Bull car. What happened?"

I take a deep breath, swallow, pick up the microphone in my lap, and try not to look straight into the ceiling lights.

"Firstly, thank you all for being here. I do realize you’re here for Fernando and not for me—at least that’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself for the last week so I wouldn’t freak out." More laughter in the crowd. I relax a little. "And thank you for the question. I guess a lot of that was gut feeling. To be honest, I am really not sure why Aston Martin initially talked to me about my chances in Formula 1 since my last driver championship was in Formula 3 two years ago. I just finished second in Formula 2, and I've only been there for a year, so that was quite unusual. But when I talked to the guys and they introduced who was supposed to be my future race engineer and some people from the pit crew, I saw in them what I saw in myself: a purpose. They all spoke so passionately and ambitiously about the next season, and suddenly I felt like I found a place where I belonged. At least that's what my PR told me to say. Actually, I am here because green is my favorite color, and I have the biggest crush on Fernando."

The crowd goes crazy. Everyone claps and cheers. Someone screams, "We all do!" I glance at Fernando, and he smiles at me. Then he picks up his microphone: "We all hope you realize that was a joke. You could be my daughter, Emma. Also, Linda is still the love of my life."

"Damn, if there will ever be a chance of dating Fernando Alonso, Emma, you will have to line yourself up in the back. But, thank you for the close insight. We are pretty proud to have you wearing our colors." The host looks away from us and turns to the crowd. "So, let’s do what we and all of you are here for. Time for some questions."

A few hands instantly shoot into the air. My palms are sweating, and I look around nervously, praying that some people here have the decency not to focus too much on my transfer. But apparently, there is no god in the big blue hanging above us.

"Fernando, how do you feel with a rookie as a teammate? A female one?"

Tiny voices in my head agree with him, and probably many reporters in the room too. I shift uncomfortably on my seat. This press conference is not going in the direction we anticipated. Fernando seems to think about the question, but even though I have not known him for very long, I can feel how he tries to behave and stay calm.

"Age or gender have nothing to do with talent. Or capability, for that matter." His eyes revert to me. A smile. Then he continues: "We’re a team, and success comes from working together. I’m pretty sure an old man like me will learn a lot, but we always have to remember that this is a process. Growing as a team will not happen overnight."

Fernando's calmness washes over me and captures me. He has been doing all of this for so long—PR training, talking to reporters, reading about himself in newspapers and on tabloids. I feel pretty lost, like I am on an island with only a book about survival strategies, but it is not written in any language I can speak.

"What did you think about the statement Charles Leclerc made last week, about you being in this sport solely because of your brother? Or maybe, a bold follow-up question: Is your place in Formula 1 rather about connections than skill?"

I laugh, and the room immediately goes silent. "Sorry, what was your name?" I ask.

"Uhm…Kevin?"

"Well, Kevin, that’s a really good question, and I have to say there hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t asked myself the exact same thing." I pause and look around. Shock is plastered all over the reporters' faces, probably because they did not expect this kind of answer. "The thing is, my whole life I was second. Second being born, second to being seen, second to being supported. Second to start karting after Max had already a great start. The only time I did something Max didn’t do before me was when I joined a Formula 2 team—and that was only because he went straight from Formula 3 to Formula 1."

I remember the call I got when my place at DAMS was secured. I was excited beyond words, screamed, cried, laughed, all at the same time. I thought, finally, I have something to be proud of, something I achieved by myself. Something for myself. But when I went to tell my family, the only comment I got from Dad was: "Well, maybe you’re not as talented to just go straight to Formula 1. But it’s a nice chance, for a girl." Max does not know about that conversation, and I try to keep it that way. Otherwise, he would probably punch Dad in the face, a couple of times.

"Of course, it is hard to believe in yourself when there are so many people who doubt you, but that’s the beautiful thing about Aston Martin and the seat they offered me: They see something in me no one else sees, and they believe that I can contribute something to this team. These are guys who have been in motorsport way longer than I am, so I think it would be pretty fair to say I trust their judgment more than someone who tries to make a living of writing stories about strangers, I guess." A few people laugh, a few clap. I try not to be rude, but it is true. People are so quick to judge situations they are not in, and I am not here for that.

"Also, I cannot influence what any other driver on the grid has to say about me. As I said, I am here because some people see potential in me being a F1 driver and I will not let them regret this decision, so...I guess Charles, and any other driver for that matter, can have opinions about me all they want, but I am going to race these guys, whether they like it or not. This is a chance and I don't intend to blow it."

"Well, that’s a clear statement, and I’m right with you on that. Hopefully, pardon my French, you will kick some ass out there this season. The men need it, believe me." There is a wink in his tone. The room erupts in applause and camera flashes. I smile and nod, a small "thank you" gesture to the reporter.

"Thanks, Kevin. I will try my best not to disappoint you."

The press conference concludes about thirty minutes later; we say our quick goodbyes and leave to go back to the headquarters.

"What a day, huh?" Fernando remarks as we come to a halt in front of our cars. I sigh, shake my head, and gaze down at the ground.

"This was a lot more challenging than I thought. They're like... like..." I struggle to find the right word to capture the feeling. Fernando nudges me, a gesture of understanding.

“I know what you mean, but that’s their job. If they don’t bring out the worst in us, they would suck at it. But you handled it quite well, so don’t worry about it.” I glance at him. When I grow up, I want to be as calm as this man—like a huge cliff at sea, never giving in to whatever storm is coming.

“I haven’t seen what statement Charles made, did you?” I try not to sound too curious.

“Don’t dwell on it. I’m sure a lot of people will comment on you joining Aston Martin, some more, some less. But the most important thing is to clear your mind. We don’t need distractions – we only need some confidence. I can feel it; this will be our year.”

"If you say so."

And with that, Fernando waves one more time, gets into his car, and then drives off with a loud roar of the engine.

I look around, absorbing the peace and how silence envelops me.

Guess it’s time to start believing in myself and kick some ass.

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Prologue] [Chapter II] ɞ────

[katyspersonal]

Gideon for the ask meme. =)

(Ask from this ( x ) meme)

Favorite thing about them:

I like that he kind of subverted the trope he seemed to be going for! I already answered the same thing in your ask regarding what exactly made him turn around and abandon everything ( x ), and honestly I DID need to answer that question to myself first of all so thank you for that one! x)

He feels like the trope of a guy who is very smart with books but not a smart person, or rather, "knowledge does not equal wisdom"! Like, you know this trope! And a very pleasing trope to latch onto, because we all knew at least one person like this! One who is very well-informed, a walking encyclopedia, but either doesn't make real sense of this information or misses the main point in all these facts and details! Well... nonetheless, he understood something not even we have: Marika's true wish!

He understood the lie of "consort of Marika", and why exactly she shattered the Elden Ring! He understood she wanted to end the vicious cycle that existed as long as she does, and sure she did not want another one to start by Elden Ring being repaired! Unfortunately, "a God can't die" (though she probably hoped Hewg and someone he helps would find the way?), so the best he can offer to approximate her wish is to gatekeep the Elden Ring endlessly!

Not only he understood what we, who seek Lordship, didn't. Being the head of the Roundtable Hold was THE massive chunk of his life, his main accomplishment. He gave all this time, research and even many deals with his own integrity for the purpose that the called Tarnished were promised. He lived hell knows how long and the lie of Two Fingers was all he ever knew. And yet, as soon as he glimpsed into truth, his instant reaction was "alright then, new plan". A typical trope of this character would've had a severe cognitive dissonance at least, a pathetic reaction of rejecting the truth at most. But he just... rolled with it. No denial, no despair. Instantly embraced the fact that everything he's been working on was a lie. How many people do you know that take having their whole world shutter THIS well and simply accept the new facts?

This is commendable. He might have made many mistakes in his life and appeared arrogant and became cold, but he passed THE one trial for whether he really values knowledge that mattered the most. He, in the end, lived up to what he aspired to be with no struggle beyond "shuddering in fear".

Least favorite thing about them:

Oh, I definitely agree that it got to be the way he disowns Nepheli, but it speaks more about him. Because this is the same trait that allows him to take Ensha's death as just an inconvenience that must not distract him any longer! Ironically, it is simply the other side of the trait of his that I JUST praised above!

He is quick to adapt and bounce back from the stress, true... But he is also quick to severe the bonds if his goals or situation calls for it. I do not believe he never cared for Nepheli! The way he talks about her, both words and his voice tone, betray respect and affection.

And yet he later says he "no longer has a use for her".

The man can't get mentally staggered by anything, which is his power, but a power that comes with a price. ....that usually other people will pay. He will instantly move on from a breakup, not shed a tear at the funeral of a loved one, bounce back from betrayal as though he never expected anything to begin with, and he definitely, DEFINITELY won't hesitate to cut the ties if the hold him back! Does this man have a heart? Can truly lasting, deep bonds be formed with him, if he doesn't let anyone's hand hold his heart strings?

Strange, how the same trait can be commendable strength of the character in one instance, but a rather repulsive callousness in another, don't you think?

Favorite line:

"Despite knowing next to bloody nothing, he's so far up his own arse he won't suspect a thing. His inevitable display of arrogance will certainly be a sight to behold."

I do love all of his nerding, but him being salty about Seluvis felt sooooo satisfying! xD I don't know why, this dialogue just always makes me smile! It is both the sense of "being against the same bitch" even if briefly AND knowing that he is not wrong though. >:3

brOTP:

Him and Dolores, I think!

I was talking about his callousness that doubles like strength of the character for a while, right? I feel like he was friends with Dolores and Seluvis before he developed to be like that, in younger years!

It is not quite like Gideon that we know now, to cut the ties with someone because they've harmed a person he cared about and not because "they are no longer of use"! More than that; whatever you say about Seluvis as a person, but I'd say he is quite useful acquaintance!

I am not sure whether this experience broke Gideon's heart and he never assed to glue it back, or he simply changed over years on his own. But nonetheless, he held her dear. "Both a critic and a friend of Gideon the All-Knowing". He appreciated a person who had the balls to disagree with him, and you KNOW she had actual arguments and good points to be respected as a critic by HIM! It is another glimpse into how he really IS the man who values the truth over "being right". She must have been the type to be clever even without much knowledge or read books, and he for sure is aware that being informed doesn't mean understanding this information. Their debates must have been very productive for both of them! I can see how he valued her honesty and insight, yet back in his better days, he grieved her, not her "lost use".

OTP:

I think maybe, again, Dolores? It feels like this ship would've never came to fruition in canon! I can picture either him having a crush but never expressing it, or her not feeling the same and them bouncing back to being friends very quickly! Still, the "love" from Gideon we know these days is a treacherous kind, ready to leave you behind as soon as the situation calls for it. But, he used to be different.

I also like to think he liked Wilhelm and Vargram both! True, Vyke was the Roundtable Hold Tarnished who approached Lordship the closest! But, he respected the approach of those two more. Wilhelm is a goddamn NERD as well, peering as far as primeval current and accepting the "Insight" that told him to fight his friend! Vargram took the task put on Tarnished so seriously that he fashioned himself after a Shadowbeast! And found Gloam Eyed Queen's sword?! I could picture his respect to the two who take it as seriously as he does growing into something stronger! Don't know which guy though. 🤔 In any case, these things are from the days long past, but he wishes Tarnished at least half-way as endearing as those two joined again.

nOTP:

I think Gideon x Seluvis just doesn't hold appeal for me.. I do not mind 'hatefucking' kind of pairs at all, okay? *voice of a guy who wrote that mini speculation about Hornsent and Leda lol* They're funny! But it is the "they fell apart because of Dolores" that seals the deal for me...

It is a Serious One, to be together with someone who obliterated the free will of a person you cherished for that free will to begin with! Gideon is a different person now, but I think he reserves the younger Gideon that lost her as inseparable part of his history, and buildup to who he became. And that includes grudge with Seluvis. These days, he would've "forgiven" someone like that as long as they're "of use" as he learned to not expect any human decency, but the pillars of the past may remain untouched.

Random headcanon:

As you can see, Gideon is unprecedented case of a Nox Tarnished, something we don't get to have in character creation presets nor anything seen in any other character!

From the way he speaks of Nepheli, he is not quite blind to someone's origins or heritage! As much as he ultimately values someone's own potential, these biases he can't fully uproot, and it includes him. Deep down, he feels proud to descend from folks that angered the Greater Will itself and dared to try and do no one else would! In an oddly poetic way, it played nicely into the end of his story, where he did favor what Marika wanted rather than what Two Fingers and whatever behind them wanted! Without intending to, he lived to the mindset of his ancestors...?

Still, he always knew he was "not like other kids" for his looks, and felt glad if someone was able to recognise his kind of eyes.

Unpopular opinion:

Most (all of them) things people guilt Gideon for actually apply to Seluvis! Seluvis is the arrogant one, Seluvis is the all-books-no-wits guy! Seluvis is a disgusting scheming bastard! Seluvis is the one "coping"! Gideon IS wise and knowledgeable, Gideon DOES have principles even if he lost the struggle to uphold him on his way! STOP LIVING IN A LIE WAKE UP

Song I associate with them:

For some reason this, makes me think of him... More particularly, his gradual descent into making more and more deals with his own consciousness.

This song made me imagine Gideon constantly having to convince himself that this is "the last atrocity he commanded", that the situation simply called for it now, but surely, when he (or someone he helped) becomes a Lord, all will be fixed and redeemed? He will be back on the track to his goal to fix the world and never let oppression happen again! This is just this time, he will have better options later, eventually, for sure...

Favorite picture of them:

[hihimissamericanbi]

Enemies to lovers AND only one bed? Babe, you're speaking my favorite language here. Tell me more.

well hello there, snitchy snitch!!

Okay, picture this. Sapphic enemies to lovers. Wedding trope. Our MCs are the sister of the groom and sister of the bride. They have disliked each other from the moment they met, back when their siblings first started dating. One is "Miss Priss," the other is "Surly Girlie." Our story takes place at the bachelorette party, a weekend away at the beach. Both our MCs arrive late (so they are grumpy AF already) to find they have to share the only room left. and there's only one bed.

NOW. IS THIS NOT THE PERFECT PANSMIONE. Harry and Draco are getting married. Hermione and Pansy never mended things after the war; they still despise (read: are obsessed with) one another. Now, they've had to work together (ew) to plan this stupid joint bachelor trip for the whole crew. To top it all off, Pansy's portkey got cancelled last minute, and Hermione got caught up in a work emergency at the ministry (at least what I was doing was important, parkinson; sorry if I don't feel bad your fancy first-class portkey got bumped). They spend the first night in their shared bedroom bitching each other out and sleeping as far away from each other as they can get, rolled over to each side and huffing in exasperation.

Honestly this works great for any HP ship pairing. Jily having to work together to plan Wolfstar's bachelor trip. Wolfstar exes-to-lovers planning Jily or Jegulus' trip. Drarry planning Ginsy's. You get the idea.

Below the cut for more stream-of-consciousness fic, incl NSFW art from @upthehillart :D

@hpsaffics you're getting a tag here too :)))

After much description of hot girls in bathing suits (hermione's ass) (pansy's legs) and both of them just absolutely losing their minds over each others' bodies, with lots of sniping back and forth to cover up how embarrassingly into each other they are, they end up last ones at the muggle bar the second night, too tipsy to try apparating. Fuck it, granger, dance with me. Oh boy, do they DANCE. It's so fucking hot, they can't get enough of each other, the feel of their bodies close, their flesh beneath each others' hands, that LOOK in pansy's eyes that says I'm going to eat you alive and you're going to say thank you. But just before something drastic happens, like hermione putting her lips to pansy's neck like she's been wanting to for honestly a very long time, longer than she cares to admit, Harry bursts onto the dancefloor "there you are!!! we've been looking everywhere for you get in the uber right now!"

The spell is broken, and, faces beet red, they let harry drag them back to the air bnb. they take turns showering, being sure to change into pj's in the bathroom (Pansy in a giant band tee shirt and booty shorts, Hermione in a lace pink matching set). Hermione is tying her hair up in a specially-charmed silk scarf and going over some notes from work that got delivered by owl while they were out, and pansy thinks she's the loveliest thing she's ever seen. Pansy's caught staring. "what?" "nothing, granger." there's a pause, like maybe they each want to say more, but instead, pansy just turns out her light with her wand. "night, granger," she whispers.

There in the dark, they both lay on their backs, listening to each other breathe. they end up having a tension-filled, intense exchange where they are truly vulnerable with each other for the first time. apologies are given and accepted in the softest whispers. tentatively, pansy reaches out a hand beneath the covers, drags the back of her fingers gently over the soft skin of hermione's arm. "i really am. sorry. i never meant any of it. you." deep breath. "you're the most incredible girl I've ever met. I've always thought so."

and then--

Hermione moves with that intense decisiveness of hers. She rolls over, straddles pansy, grips her face and kisses her long and deep. Pansy opens her mouth to her instantly, and a stupid little moan escapes and it's the most pathetic sound she's ever made but she will make it again and again if it's hermione who pulls it from her. "Want you," Hermione whispers into pansy's neck, finally latching on and sucking, biting, coaxing blooming bruises of violet and and blue to her pale skin. She shoves her hands up underneath pansy's tee shirt, not an ounce of hesitation, grips her tits hard. kneads them, dances fingers over her nipples, seeing which touches elicit the most gasps from the beauty beneath her. pansy is arching and writhing with pleasure, and hermione grins into her mouth, wicked and brutal. The witch who kept a woman in a jar for months for slandering her friends, the witch who destroyed horcruxes and single-handedly kept two boys alive for the better part of seven years, the 20-something witch ruthlessly bulldozing over all the old white bureaucratic wizards at the ministry, is now the witch taking pansy apart inch by inch and fuck if pansy isn't thrilled to be broken by those powerful hands, sucked dry by plush lips, devoured by sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as they sink into her skin over and over.

But Pansy has a few tricks up her own sleeve. She grips hermione with strong thighs and rolls them over, "Can I take off your scarf?" she breathes it her ear. "wanna pull your hair while i suck on your tits." Hermione whimpers and pulls her scarf off and pansy gathers those fucking curls into her fist and pulls, careful of course not to damage the curl pattern. Pansy licks a long stripe up her now-bared neck and over her ear, then whispers, "pull your top down. let me see." Hermione obeys, of course she obeys, pansy is commanding and relentless and if pansy wants to look hermione will let her. she fingers a strap of her camisole down off one shoulder, skims her fingertips over the top of her breast, just over the nipple still hidden beneath the fabric. Pansy's mouth is dry and her cunt throbs as she anticipates finally getting a glimpse of her nipple, already hard and poking through the silk and lace. "all the way," pansy murmurs. "take it out. show it to me." hermione whines and squirms and finally digs her hand all the way in and pulls out her breast, so fucking full and delicious with large brown nipples that beg to be kissed, so of course pansy does. Pansy looses her patience and pulls the camisole all the way down, exposing both breasts to her gaze and her wandering hands. she dives in, laving attention all across hermione's warm skin, nipping and licking and sucking and groping. her hips have started grinding down against hermione's pelvis, and hermione is arching up to meet her. "wanna make you come," pansy growls between hermione's tits. "how do you like it?" hermione stills, and pansy looks up. "um," hermione bites her lip. pansy kisses it out from behind her teeth. "yes, baby? what do you want? let me give it to you." Hermione take a deep breath. "i thought i was going to have my own room. i may have brought a few... toys." "oh, like what?" Hermione rolls over, digs around her her bag by the bed, and shyly pulls out an ENTIRE FUCKING STRAP. The magic kind that connects sensations from the strap to the wearer's clit. "I was hoping i might get lucky, going out and everything this weekend." Pansy's speechless. "Would you, um, let me fuck you with it?" hermione asks, big brown eyes wide and hopeful.

Cut to, pansy on all fours, legs kicked wide, ass up, facing the mirror by the bed, watching hermione completely naked and fucking her with her cock, her curves bouncing and slapping with every thrust, the sounds wet and loud and crude, mixing with Pansy's gasps over and over and over. Pansy's tee is shoved up by hermione's demanding hand; she's gripping the skin of her shoulder, her other fist burying in Pansy's hip and pulling her back onto her dick even as she fucks into her, hard and deep and fast. Hermione is strong and her grip bruises and Pansy couldn't move if she wanted to. "M close," Hermione murmurs. "yes, yes, yes," pansy chants in reply, all other words fucked right out of her brain. "touch yourself for me, baby, wanna watch you come first." but when pansy collapses down to one shoulder so she can use her other hand to rub her clit, she gasps in shock. Hermione has wordlessly and wandlessly charmed her fingers to vibrate. pansy shouts when her charmed fingers makes contact with her aching clit, swollen and needy from what feels like a lifetime of getting handled by hermione fucking granger. just a few passes through her folds and over her clit has Pansy shaking and coming with a muffled scream, Hermione following right behind her, the force of her orgasm plunging her cock even harder into pansy's pulsing cunt. it kicks off a second orgasm for pansy, back to back, and she screams and screams until hermione finally pulls out and gather pansy into her arms, shushing her and smoothing her hair.

They clean each other up take turns in the bathroom, and fall asleep in each other's arms.

maybe this wedding won't be so bad after all.

ps: below is my headcanon depiction of pansmione from a fic i cannot recommend enough . Art and fic both by @upthehillart

watch out the girls are naked and hot

[andorerso]

sissi hello!! in regards to the post about ocs, i would LOVE to hear more about dani and elijah 💜 (partly bc i love both of those names so so much, always have, and that intrigues me instantly).

hope you're having a wonderful day!

rolling up almost two months later like hiiiiii <3 sorry it took me so long to answer ahfgdchg

but first of all, thank you for asking because I love talking about them, second of all, I'm so happy you like the names because I do too 🥰 well obviously, I wouldn't have chosen them otherwise, but I'm very particular about names and they have to feel right, and this was one of those instances when I almost instantly knew their names, like it was just fate. meant to be. and I think they sound nice together!! anyway, I'll stop ranting about names now

so, the story is urban fantasy, and their tropes are slowburn, mutual pining, idiots to lovers, battle couple, codependency, angstttttt, two sides of the same coin, flirty & awkward, snarky & serious, impulsive & rational, short-tempered & calm

Dani (full name Danielle Preston but she hates being called Danielle) is our leading lady, she's in her mid-20s, and she's the flirty, snarky, impulsive, short-tempered side of the two. she's always cracking a joke, which is mostly a self-defense mechanism, and tends to cover up real feelings with humor, sex and booze. I have such a soft spot for characters who'd rather cut open a vein than show weakness or vulnerability in front of someone, but still deeply care about people and are intensely loyal if you earn it, so she's kinda that archetype. she'd literally burn down a whole city for someone she loves but will never actually say the words. also she's bisexual like almost all my MCs

here's kind of how I imagine her (made with this picrew)

and Elijah is the more level-headed, serious, all business no fun counterpart to Dani's generally chaotic behavior. he's a couple hundred years old, and not human, but he looks to be in his early 30s. he's very matter-of-fact, goal-oriented, and pragmatic, but he's also very kind to those who deserve it, and can be surprisingly intense and passionate when he actually lets himself feel it (which is not very often, at least not at first). he has a very strong sense of justice, but he kind of follows his own moral code, so he definitely falls into the morally grey category (Dani kind of does too, but Elijah even more so)

here's a picrew for him too

as for their relationship, it starts as kind of an unwilling partnership and they clash a lot at the beginning because of their different approaches and worldviews, but they eventually form a friendship. Elijah's kind of drawn to her/fascinated by her from the start, because she's so different from him but has a lot of the qualities he admires/wishes he had too. Dani takes a bit longer mostly because she's better at lying to herself lmao. but there's an attraction of sort from the beginning. it's a difficult ride, mostly because they're both stubborn idiots who tend to repress their emotions, just in different ways. she's lost people and is afraid to lose more, and he's just not sure he knows how to allow himself to want things and be a functioning human person, so neither wants a relationship and they're both violently trying to deny any feelings. but the feelings are definitely there. like they're not together but they're deeply devoted but they will never admit it but there's no one else who could possibly compare. those kinda vibes, you know?

some other tidbits/details that I love about them: she loves to antagonize him (mostly in a teasing way) and he's so offended/annoyed at first until he realizes it's her love language. then the annoyance turns into fond exasperation. she's pretty much the only one who can make him genuinely smile and laugh, in fact sometimes he's the only one who actually finds her funny at all lmao (she definitely overdoes it sometimes but he finds it charming). she's a bit of a romantic deep down, and he's very intensely devoted once he commits, so it's the kind of relationship she always secretly wanted but never thought could have. and he's the only person she will tolerate calling her Danielle (it's kind of a turn-on from him).

anyway, I could go on but it's gonna get long very quickly, so this is just the basics. but I love talking about them and I'm always open to more specific questions from anyone <3

also here's a moodboard too because why not

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

I don't think pancakes are gonna fix this. I need ice cream too, for the band/whoever you want!

okay full disclosure, i'm a little bit terrified to post this. I've never done this ship before 🙈 or this trope/plot device... but. due to the typical people at fault for the fics that enter my brain... (*ahem* @narcissusbrokenmirror and unnamed party who DOESN'T DO TUMBLR) it exists. and meant I finally had something to write that fit this prompt! (and there's a little treat in here for you) I hope someone likes it 😅 a part II is also planned. just... later.

“Heeeeeey Lukey, you’re up early,” Reggie exclaims from in front of his electric griddle. He’s been busy making pancakes for their weekly band brunch. “Where’ve you been?”

Luke stares, unseeing, as he moves through the motions of removing his shoes by the door. He’d just gotten back home after running out unexpectedly a few hours earlier. Only Willie had been awake early enough to see him off.

“Luke?” Reggie calls back out from the kitchen.

Luke doesn’t answer. He just rounds the doorway into Reggie’s sightline. 

Reggie looks up from pouring the next batch of pancakes, almost dropping the bowl when he catches sight of Luke’s face. It’s very nearly expressionless and entirely unlike Luke.

He recovers quickly and sets the bowl  gently on the counter before bounding over to Luke. 

“Luke? Buddy?” Reggie asks, trying to catch Luke’s gaze. “What happened?”

Luke opens and closes his mouth, trying to speak but can’t manage to make sound.

“Alex! Willie?” Reggie calls desperately, raising his voice loudly enough to ensure they hear him.

They both appear almost instantly.

“What’s-” Alex starts to ask before catching sight of Luke and cutting himself off. 

“Something’s wrong,” Reggie cries, panic edging into his voice. 

Alex runs a hand through his hair as he gulps in a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Let’s…” he looks around the kitchen and then back out to the living room. “Let’s get him sitting down somewhere.” 

Alex and Reggie each grab one of Luke’s arms and try to steer him toward the couch. 

Reggie suddenly drops the arm he’d been holding and turns back toward the kitchen. “Shit! The-”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” Willie assures him, picking up the flipper. They gesture back toward Luke. “You take care of Luke, I’ll finish these.”

Reggie sends them a small grateful smile and grabs back hold of Luke. He helps Alex guide Luke to the couch where they gently set him down.

Reggie kneels in front of Luke, trying again to catch his gaze. When he fails, he sets a hand on each of Luke’s knees. The contact seems to jolt Luke back to reality, at least slightly. 

Alex sits next to him on the sofa. Luke leans into his side and Alex wraps an arm around Luke’s shoulders.

“I got you. We’ve got you. You’re okay,” Alex murmurs softly. 

Luke’s eyes go glassy as he settles back into the present, soaking in the comforting presence of his best friends. 

Reggie decides to try again. “What’s going on?”

Luke raises his eyes to meet Reggie’s. “Carrie’s pregnant.”

Reggie jumps back in surprise while Alex’s brow furrows. 

“Carrie… Like Carrie Wilson,” Alex confirms. 

Luke nods. 

“Why…? Luke…” Alex pulls back slightly and turns so he can face Luke. “Luke, why would that affect you?”

Luke looks up at Alex with sad eyes. 

Reggie’s eyes widen in understanding. “Luke! When? Carrie?! How?” he stammers through his shock.

Luke takes a deep breath and pulls himself fully away from Alex. He clasps his hands together and stares at them to  avoid looking at Alex or Reggie. “The night of  the Billboards,” he explains.

“You and Carrie?” Reggie asks again, disbelief still present in his voice.

Luke nods. 

“How? I mean. It’s Carrie. And you. I just…”

“I know. It just… happened.”

“And you never told us?” Alex chimes in, betrayed.

Luke shakes his head. 

“Okay. Don’t think we won’t be revisiting that later. But. Is she okay? Does she know what she wants to do? Do you know what you want her to do?”

Another shake of Luke’s head. He collapses back into Alex. 

Reggie climbs up to wrap his arms around both of them. “You know we’ve got you, right? No matter what,” he murmurs.

Luke nods into Alex’s chest. 

Reggie’s thighs start burning from how he’s perched for their little huddle. He’s just about to pull away when they hear the apartment door open and close. 

“Julie,” Reggie whispers. As always, she’s perfectly on time for brunch.

The three of them pull apart. “Do you want her to know?” Alex asks sincerely.

Luke’s mouth opens in an attempt to answer but his efforts are stalled as they hear Willie call out from the kitchen, very obviously warning them of Julie’s arrival. “They’re in the living room.”

The guys don’t speak as they watch the doorway for Julie. 

Julie enters the room and immediately stops. She takes in their state and her face scrunches up in concern.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, slow and wary. 

Alex and Reggie both turn to Luke, waiting to follow his lead. He looks up at Reggie with wide, pleading eyes. 

Reggie furrows his brow in silent question. At Luke’s slight nod, he turns back to Julie. “Carrie’s pregnant,” he tells her, rushing through the pair of words as if it’ll make it easier to say. And hear.

“Okaaaaay,” she counters slowly. 

“It’s Luke’s,” he adds just as quickly. 

Julie turns wide, disbelieving eyes on Luke. “Really?”

He nods. 

“Shit.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment before she breaks it. “Are you okay?”

Luke’s eyes fill with tears and he shakes his head. 

Julie walks over to the couch and shoves Luke and Alex over to make room. She wedges herself between Luke and the arm of the sofa.  Julie takes Luke’s hand and gently strokes the back of it with her thumb. “Tell me about it?” she offers.

“There’s nothing to tell, really. We were both pissed at how the Billboards went, hooked up, never spoke about it again. Until…”

“Yeah,” Julie softly responds, saving him from having to finish the sentence. 

“There’s a uh… lot of details missing there, Luke,” Reggie chimes in. 

Alex swats Reggie’s shoulder with the back of his hand. 

Reggie rubs his shoulder and glares at Alex. “That are totally none of our business,” he adds hastily.

“It was so… stupid!” Luke exclaims. He pulls his hand back from Julie. He scrubs at his face before running his hands up into his hair. He leans over to rest his elbows on his knees, supporting his face in his hands.

“Hey,” Julie counters gently, pulling his hands away from his head. “Hey, I think we all did some pretty stupid shit that night.”

“We did?!” Reggie squeaks.

“We did,” Julie confirms. She averts her gaze but the blush rising up her face is unmistakable. 

Reggie narrows his eyes at her. “What stupid shit did Julie do?”

“We’re not talking about me right now.”

“Hm. Well, maybe knowing Julie’s stupid shit will make Luke feel better,” Reggie counters, looking pointedly at Luke. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Julie says, drawing out the ‘yeah’ to make her doubt clear.

Luke lifts his gaze up, trying to catch hers. He narrows his eyes. “What did you do, Julie?”

“I… really don’t think you want to know. Forget I said anything.”

Luke cocks his head and looks at her sideways. “You know that’s not gonna happen.”

Julie stands. She turns toward them and then back away, uncertainty lacing every movement. 

“Julie?” Alex tries. “Jules, it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not that bad if I keep it to myself,” she murmurs.

Luke lets out a good-humoured scoff, “It’s not like you hooked up with Bobby or something.”

Julie stops in her tracks. Her eyes widen and she gapes at them. 

Luke’s expression shifts to mimic hers. “You hooked up with Bobby?!” He exclaims, disbelieving and angry.

Alex sets a calming hand on Luke’s knee. Luke brushes it off. 

Alex quickly glares at Luke before redirecting his attention to Julie, “Okay well, you’re not pregnant too, right?”

“No!” Julie assures them. “I mean, probably. I don’t think so… No. No, I can’t be. I’m not.”

“Are you and Bobby like… together?” Luke asks slowly. 

Julie shakes her head. “No. No, it was just… We got lost in the chaos of everything that night. I swear. It only happened the once,” she pauses to consider before continuing, “Well, the one night.”

Luke’s face twists up in disgust, “Ew. Gross. I do not want to know. You’re right. I don’t feel better.” He groans. “But at least I didn’t hook up with… him.” Luke’s expression contorts into a final  grimace.

Alex sighs, “Okay, can we get back to the issue at hand?”

“Pancakes?” Reggie exclaims hopefully. 

“No, Reggie. Not pancakes.”

“Pancakes fix everything,” Reggie mumbles. “Sue me for trying to help. Though… they’re probably cold by now…”

“I don't think pancakes are gonna fix this… We need ice cream too,” Luke murmurs. 

Reggie jumps up and bounds toward the kitchen. “Willie! Willie, we need to dig out the ice cream to have with our pancakes! It’s an emergency. What kinds do we have?” He trips over his feet in his enthusiasm, just barely managing to recover before face planting on the floor. 

Alex, Luke, and Julie shake their heads fondly as they watch him leave. 

Julie turns back around to Luke. She crouches in front of him and takes his hands. “We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Let’s just… never talk about it again please?”

Julie nods her agreement. “You bet. Are you going to be okay?”

“No, but we’ll figure it out. We always do, right?”

Julie smiles up at him. “Right.”

“And we’re all here with and for you,” Alex confirms. He puts his hand on Luke’s back. “All of it. No matter what.”

Luke directs a sad smile at Alex. “Thanks, man.”

Alex nods once in acknowledgement. “Should we go see what kind of mess those two have managed to create in the last three minutes?”

Luke and Julie cough out matching laughs. Julie stands, pulling Luke up with her. She squeezes his hands twice before letting one go and pulling him toward the kitchen.

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

Kalon | Pt. 5

Beauty that is more than skin-deep.

Jimin x staff!reader

Summary : you have been working at hybe for/with BTS for a few years and have become great friends with them. Suddenly Jimin starts acting different with you and you can‘t help but get upset because you secretly have a crush on him:(

Genre/Tropes : angst, jealousy, friends to lovers (more like idiots to lovers tho), painful blindness of the two…

Word count : ~4.6K

A/N : The last part of this story! I hope you enjoyed this rollercoaster of feelings<3 

Series masterlist<3

<

The many strange occurrences between you and Jimin were totally giving you whiplash. One second he’d be acting normally, cracking jokes and smiling, and the other he seemed as if possessed by the devil himself, his eyes would get dark and his soft lips would start spewing venom.

Every day walking into work you didn’t know what to expect and with each interaction your confidence has been diminishing. Getting ready in front of the mirror has become your own personal hell and the fact that you spent 90% of your time surrounded by walls covered in mirrors didn’t help either. Every time your eyes lingered on your own reflection in the mirror his triggering words spoke out in your head as if he was standing right there beside you.

There was just something so convincing in the way Jimin said all those things to you... or was it your adoration for the man that made you take every word he was saying to heart…

You rub your forehead with your hand trying to scatter the insecure thoughts from your head once again as you reach the studio where all the boys were waiting for their lunch.

Before you could enter you heard your name being mentioned and decided to listen in, needing to silence your rising insecurities to know whether Jimin was the only one not fond of your presence or not.

“What do you have against her then!?” you could make out your best friend’s enraged voice.

“She’s always around and annoying us… the least she could do is give us some space gosh…” Jimin answered the older man, his voice void of interest.

Your eyes dart to the ground tears already prominent, creating waterfalls on your cheeks as his words imprint themselves in your head. Your mind instantly runs trough all possible encounters where you could have come off as annoying, wanting to find the error faster than one of then can mention it to you.

All you can think about is how you physically cannot enter the room, your feet have planted themselves in the spot too scared to move. Your mind runs a thousand miles a minute creating a headache that even Jin’s following words can’t calm.  

“It’s her job to be around us and I don’t find her annoying. At all because she IS our friend.” Jin’s voice cut through the air of the room.

“No she’s not. She’s just a staff that is annoying us every fucking day, deluding herself into thinking that we are her friends.” Jimin lights up like a match, explosively getting his insulting words out for everyone to hear.

While at first the other boys paid no attention to the small bickering between Jin and Jimin thinking that it was harmless now everyone’s mouths were hanging open, eyes wide. Not only was it shocking to hear these particular words leave Jimin but for them to also be directed towards you was beyond disturbing.

“You can’t possibly mean that hyung…” Jungkook stared at Jimin unable to recognize his friend of several years.

“Whatever man…” Jimin rolled his eyes and stood to leave the room. Suddenly Jin stood before him visibly mad, towering over the younger man.

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that.”

“Sorry hyung but not all of us can be blindly in love with her the way you are.” He grit his teeth pushing a confused Jin out of his way and escaping the small room that was making his head spin.

Pushing trough the door he stumbles into someone and loses his footing falling over to the ground with that someone.

“Oh I’m sor-” his voice cuts off when he sees that the someone is you. Your tear stained cheeks come into view sending a painful sensation piercing trough his heart. You definitely heard everything that he said.

“Y/n are you okey?!” Jin came out of the room offering you his hand that you do not take. You do not break eye contact with the ground as you rise from the ground, pick up the bag full of food and hand it to Jin.  

“Y/n I’m so so-” Jimin can’t help himself but melt in your breaking vision, apologizing for his words promptly, his mind coming to a conclusion that enough is enough, it was time to stop his actions that were actually hurting the one he loved with his full heart.

It felt like the clouds that were in front of his eyes the past few months dissipated, everything sat in their places after he saw those broken sad eyes. No more self-pity was left in his body when now all he wanted was to see you smile again, to see you shine the way you used to in his close vicinity, to joke around with you like good friends, to at least be your friend if he could not be your lover.

You turn to Jimin, pain and anger mixing together inside of you giving you confidence to say your last words to him.

“I’m so sorry for being a nuisance to you mister Park, I’ll be sure to give you all the space now” you bow slightly to the man and turning away abruptly to completely isolate yourself from the man you still wished to be your lover.

The rapid tapping of Namjoons foot was the only sound in the eerily quiet studio.

“Nothing you want to talk about?” Namjoon’s voice broke the silence.

“Not particularly…” Jimin let out a sign resting his locked arms on his thighs, eyes moving from his leader to every corner of the room, afraid that the hyung’s fierce gaze will make him spill all the secrets he’s been keeping from all.

“Do you know why I asked you to come here?” Namjoon’s low voice hinted at the significance of this conversation, but Jimin only remained silent.

Jimin turned his head to the left, Namjoon’s form leaving his perifery vision.

“Be respectful and look at me when I talk to you” his voice was louder this time “You’re almost never at the dorms and no one ever knows where you are. I get that you like to have fun outside of work but you could keep it to a low when we only have a month before the tour. Also I didn’t want to mention it before for obvious reasons but have you been eating? Because in all honesty Jimin you do not look good… like you don’t look healthy, you’re beyond thin nowadays, which makes me question whether or not you’ve been eating lately and that is not acceptable. I understand… we all understand that you want to look good for our armys but you’re going too far with all the practicing too…” Namjoon’s whole being radiates frustration as he tries to get the younger man to see the problems.

“Also you have distanced yourself from the group… it’s really hard to work together when someone is outside of the whole system, whenever we’re practicing it’s like you’re not actually here, not to mention all the meetings where you have not uttered a single word with the group...” Slowly Namjoon tries to approach the most uncomfortable of topics. “and Y/n…”

The mere mention of your name makes Jimin tear up and lock eyes with his hyung.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you… was it her or was it you that started all of this… but as much as I love you Jimin I can’t stand behind your actions. You have been unreasonably cruel to her and I can’t understand why. I would ask you to fix the situation but like I said, I don’t know anything abou-”

“I’m so sorry hyung” Jimin drops to his knees in front of the older male hugging his legs, begging for forgiveness. ”I’ll try to be better hyung… I’m so sorry for everything… I’m so sorry that I am not good enough”

Hard sobs escaped Jimin’s lips as he continued apologizing to an alarmed Namjoon.

“Everything is gonna be okey…just let it out, it will be better soon” Namjoon slid out of the chair and hugged his younger friend, holding him in a strong grip, making sure to stick his broken pieces back together.

“it hurts so much hyung… I can’t hide it no more…she… hurts so much” Jimins body was shaking with every tiny breath he took and the hard crying was making him dizzy and he felt like he might just fly out into the space. But he was no longer alone the only thing holding him down now was his friend, a friend who wants to help him, who wants to understand.

The revelation that he is not alone calms him down enough to give him back the ability to form sentences. That is when everything starts to spill out of his lips. Jimin tells Namjoon everything from his major crush on you to the horrible way he has been treating you and to the main reason why.

Thw two of them don’t even notice when the dead of night changes to the sunny morning. The entire night has passed as Jimin utters the last words.

“-and that is how I ended up here, in your studio, on the floor, crying my heart out because she chose him instead of me…”

“You have to fix it Jimin. I don’t know anything about what’s going on between Y/n and Jin, but that does not matter, you still owe her an apology for the way you treated her” Namjoons wise words initiate an intent inside Jimins heart, one that has to do with making it right with you.

“I promise hyung, I’ll do everything to make her forgive me… even if it means that I’ll never have her.” Jimin narrows his head at the thought that you might not forgive him, because, in all honesty, you have every right not to.

 It has been 2 weeks after your last incident with Jimin and you have run out of excuses to skip work. To your displease you had no vacation days left and yesterday was your last official sick day, which meant that today at 8 AM sharp you’ll walk through the doors of the infamous Hybe building and greet numerous eyes that you’ve been actively avoiding.

The missed calls and texts are still unanswered, creating a pile of notifications on your phone screen, but in all honesty you barely had any strength to get out of the bed this morning, let alone respond to hundreds of messages from your best friend and others.

You did see a couple messages from Jin. He was threatening to show up at your house with police if you don’t let him in and continue to ignore him, but thankfully you had been keeping yourself locked away from the surrounding world in your friend’s apartment that has been vacant for months and Jin knew nothing of.

Although now as you step into the building after a long lunch hour you wish you had responded at least once to let him know you were alive and well. The unreadable expression on Jin’s face scaring you more than the devil himself. He struts over to you and grabs your arm without a notice before dragging you to a nearby room.

His back is to you as he closes the door and immediately you begin apologizing.

“Jinnie I’m so sorry I didn-”

Your breath gets knocked out of you from the sheer force of Jin‘s embrace.

“Thank god you’re still here. I- we all thought that you left or that something happened to you. But I’m so happy now, even though I was so mad at you for not texting back.”

“I’m sorry really, I just haven’t been in the best of headspace lately… I needed to work with myself a bit… alone ya know” you offered him a soft reassuring smile and watched his bread cheeks rise as he nodded at you acknowledging your statement.

“I understand. Now let’s go back to work before we get fired- oh and dinner at our dorms tonight?” he asks leading you out of the room and toward the elevator.

“Absolutely” you beam at him.

“Oh one last thing” Jin put his hand between the elevator doors “you need to talk to Jimin today” he says nervously.

“I know” you nod determined to solve all the problems that have been weighing you down, ready for your new chapter to come.

It’s late when you finish your work that had piled up during your absence. You check the time on your phone, a single new message from Jin reminding you of the dinner that was in about an hour. You take your bag and coat into your arms and exit your cubicle.

Since practice time is over you decide to walk through the practice rooms having forgotten their spacious feel after the scrutinizing two weeks at a small apartment.

A particular beat catches your ear as you walk down the hall. You identify the music as a BTS song which peaks your interest. You near the unclosed door and take a peek inside. You’re greeted with a sight you definitely did not expect to see.

Jimin is kneeling on the floor his head narrowed down. Your first thought is that he’s once again perfecting a routine like he usually does but a painful cry and a harsh shake of his frame alarms you.

You instantly drop your bag and coat to the ground and run to him and get down next to him putting your hand in his shoulder, shaking him to get his attention.

His head snaps up at you and then is when you notice his eyes full of pain causing distress to build in your chest. You pull him into a tight hug tears now forming in your own eyes. His body continues to shake against yours and you hand begins to soothe his back while your own tears run dampening his shoulder.You pull away first to check up on him.

“Are you hurt?” Your voice laced with concern speaks out as you lock your eyes with his searching for an answer.

He looks at the space between the two of you and nods his head confirming your question, which makes you panic.

“What!? Where?! What hurts?!” You frantically start scanning from his face running down to his hands and legs that are curled beneath him.

“Here” he points at his chest right where his heart is located.

“Did you fall and hurt it? Let me see maybe I can fix you up…” your eyes lock on the location and your hands lift from your lap to examine the place but before you can get any closer his voice stops you.

“No.” he stressed.

You promptly straighten up and away from him putting your hands in your lap caving in yourself to keep your distance from him.

“I’m sorry…” you mumble.

Now Jimin became panicked seeing you distancing yourself from him.

“Nonono that’s not ... unhh you keep taking everything wrong Y/n” he runs his hands through his hair frustrated with himself mostly for not being able to communicate his feelings with you.

“I didn’t fall.” it comes out with a sign.

“Do you know why it hurts then?” you question him full heartedly, all you want to do is help him with his pain.

“Yes, I know”

You look up at him again “well what hurt you?”

“You did.” He meets your gaze and watches the horror encrust your features realizing that he could have worded that better.

Your first thought was that maybe you squeezed him too hard while you were hugging him, but he was crying even before you came in… And then it hit you. He wasn’t talking about you physically hurting him…

“Me? I-I don’t understand Jimin … you were the one who told me to act like a staff because we weren’t friends” you were fighting your body trying to keep your compose saying those words in front of him when all you wanted was to let your tears flow.

“You disappeared. For weeks.” His tone strained.

“YOU wanted me away”

“No that’s not what I said”

“That is exactly what you said”

“Okay I did, but that’s not what I meant … I’m not sure I even meant anything by that. Maybe I just hoped that you’d stop being with Hyung so much.”

“What? Jimin I don’t think I understand” your eyebrows furrow at his last statement.

“Well I didn’t understand you for a long time too and I don’t understand you still”

Silence engulfs both of you as you think of what to say next.

“Why didn’t you take my hoodie?”

“What?”

“Back then at the cafe. You were cold and I wanted to give you my hoodie to keep you warm because I care about you and I-I didn’t want you to get sick, but then you refused me, not because you weren’t cold, because just seconds later you took hyungs hoodie…so I… my question is why not me? Why him?”

You didn’t know what perplexed you more the question or his note to a certain hyung that he believed you were involved with, but before you could get a word out he continued.

“Also the time when you were over at the dorms making us food and once again you chose his help over mine”

“Aaaand you even stayed the night at the dorms which you NEVER do but because HE gave you HIS clothes to sleep in.” he takes a deep breath trying to put together the last of his rant.

“Y/n I just want to know why I couldn’t be the one to make you warm, help you cook or have you stay with me whenever I wanted, why your eyes couldn’t look at me so lovingly why couldn’t your smile be directed to me. Why can’t I be the one for you to love?”

He’s still on his knees in front of you tears streaming down his cheeks. Now you can see what your best friend and the boys and even some older staff have been telling you for the past year. Park Jimin does love you.

“Jimin” you begin with a small voice. He’s still breathing heavily after his emotional rant.

“Do you love me?” your question comes out smooth like butter making Jimin frown even further.

“I know you love him.” he stands “so I’m gonna spare your heart Y/n out of respect for you and Jin hyung...I won’t stand between your happiness” he turns away from you, but before he can step away and leave you distraught on the floor, you catch his hand jumping onto your feet. You knew exactly what to say to Jimin now.

“I don’t love Jin.” You beam at him “well I do but in a way I love all my friends”

“But-”

“There are no buts. He’s my friend, he understands me and he knows a lot about me, and he knows about my crushes, and how crushed you made me feel, and he even pushed me to talk with you! I don’t like him in the way that I like you Jimin, I never did and I never will” your eyes sparkle as you stare intently into his eyes watching him connect all the dots inside his head.

“You chose him over me Y/n, many times…” he can’t shake the insecurity.

“I didn’t choose him over you. Jimin you have to understand that a girl like me isn’t supposed to like a boy like you. But I still did and it made me so self-aware...in literally the worst way… Whenever you were close or paid any form of attention to me it’s like a little voice would recite me all that’s wrong with me inside of my head” tears began to develop again as you remembered all the beautiful moments that were smudged with self-hatred.

“Y/n there is nothing wrong with you” he pulls you closer to him by your interlocked hands.

Your gaze is on your feet as your mind is still clouded with ancient worry. Jimin softly places his hands on your cheeks and makes you face him.

“There is nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you. I wish you could see yourself for the way I see you” he speaks with intent, not letting you miss a beat.

“Jiminie I like you, I only ever liked you but I just wasn’t sure you’d like me back…” your lips form a little pout, which makes a smile break out on Jimin’s face.

“But that’s alright now. Because I do like you” his warm thumb caresses your cheek making a smile light up your face.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you Y/n, I was so jealous of hyung for the relationship you shared. Please forgive me?” he gives you his puppy eyes, the one’s you could never say no to…

“Of course I forgive you, but only if you forgive me for taking Jinnies hoodie”

“I’d rather have you in his hoodie than freezing” he wraps his hands around your waist hiding his face in your neck and takes a deep breath in. War is finally over.

“I think it’s about time we went home, you need sleep” you pull back from him.

“Do I look that bad?” he frowns.

“You actually do, sorry sweetie” you offer him an apologetic smile at which he only laughs and packs up his stuff quickly.

You put your coats and gloves on and exit the building together, both Jimin’s and your bags slung over his shoulder. It’s snowing slowly and the air is crisp with the dry cold.

“Are you hungry? We should get you something from the store” you turn to him. He turns to you and takes your hand in his.

“It’s okay, I’m full” he gives your hand a squeeze and gives you his warm smile and you smile right back at him, warmth filling you up inside.

When you arrive at the dorms he helps you out of your coat and slips out of his quickly.

“I need a shower” he smells himself and you chuckle making him go beet-red in the face.

“Then go take one, I won’t leave you” you reassure him with a smile.

“I’ll be quick, you can go to my room if you want, also the boys are out at the movies so feel right at home” he smiles at you again before entering the bathroom.

You instantly go to the kitchen and prepare him a quick meal with minute rice, ramen noodles, warm pork belly and some kimchi. You had completely forgotten about the said dinner that was happening tonight, must have been one of Jin’s ploys to get you and Jimin back together. That thought makes you chuckle now.

You gather the bowls and bring them to his room, placing them on the table right when he enters. He only has a towel wrapped around his torso leaving the rest of him to be observed.

“Yah why aren’t you dressed!” you panic and cover your eyes with your hands.

“I forgot to take clean clothes with me, you’re really distracting to me you know?” he smiles at you and you shake your head laughing.

“Get dressed and come eat you casanova”

“You made me food?” he clutches a t-shirt to his chest.

“Yes so don’t let it get cold.”

He quickly picks up few articles of clothes from his huge closet and runs out of the room returning only seconds later fully dressed in a black T-shirt and lilac sweatpants.

You smile at him.

“Let’s eat” he rubs his hands together and sits at the table where you’re already sat waiting for him.

He overlooks the table a genuine smile pulling at his lips. He looks at you again. You look between him and the food.

”Is something wrong? Why aren’t you eating?” you get nervous that he doesn’t find the food appetizing.

“Y/n I need to say something to you and you don’t have to say it back okay.” He breathes out.

“I love you Y/n, I truly love you. Thank you, for everything”

You’re left speechless by his words and bite your lip to keep your mouth from falling open.

After he’s done shoveling every bit of food into his mouth and asking you about a hundred times that you should have some too he lets out a breath his hand resting comfortably on his stomach.

“You didn’t have to eat everything Jiminie, it might have been too much” you take notice of his comical position.

“But you made it for me, I couldn’t leave anything behind“

You caress his cheek and he melts into your hand closing his eyes and putting his hand on yours.

“You should go to sleep minnie, you’ve been working hard”

He locks his pleading eyes on you “will you stay?”

“I can if you want me to” your words make him nod his head like an eager child.

“Although I don’t really have anything to sleep in…” you tap your finger on your chin deep in thought “I could ask Jin for some pjs..” you think aloud and Jimin almost falls out of his chair.

“Hey! I’m right here! You’ll wear my clothes only!”

“I thought you said that’s it’s alright if I wear Jin’s clothes” you decide to annoy him a little bit.

“I changed my mind. You can only wear my clothes” he stands from the table and brings out a matching lilac hoodie and black sweatpants. He stands before you handing them to you.

“Jimin… I won’t fit into that” you tell him truthfully not wanting to go running around circles again.

“Well you can look into my closet I’m sure you can find something that you’ll like” he gives you the most reassuring smile, you can’t help but submit to him.

You open up the closed and rummage through his T-shirts grabbing a black one that looked large enough to fit on you and some lilac shorts (secretly wanting to match with Jimin). You put them on in the bathroom and surprisingly they fit… of course the shorts hug your curves but they aren’t glued to your skin and very comfy while the shirt fits almost perfectly.

When you return to the room the dishes are gone and Jimin is lying on the bed. The click of the door takes his attention and his mouth falls open.

“What?” You ask confused, getting hot in your face.

“You look so beautiful in my clothes” he obsesses with the image of you standing in front of him in HIS clothes. His heart beats like crazy seeing you turn red at his compliment and he stands up to drag you into bed with him.

You lay together now eyes on one another hands interlocked, smiles covering your faces.

“Jimin?”

“Yes jagi?” his use of the nickname makes you blush again.

“I love you too”

His face becomes serious as his eyes look down at your lips before he descends at you. The next thing you know his hand is cupping your cheek and yours is on the back of his neck both of your lips interlocked in a warm embrace of each other.

And at that moment the two of you smiled into the kiss, you both knew that no matter the circumstances your love was each other’s kalon.

 >

[moghraidhs]

wound tending is the trope of all time, it fits in with every dynamic so well

strangers to lovers? you just met this person. you don't know them and they don't know you, yet they're treating you with more gentleness than you've experienced in a long time. perhaps never. either way, you don't want them to stop.

friends to lovers? you've known each other forever, through a million bumps and bruises and broken hearts. it shouldn't really make your breath catch to see them fussing over you, the furrow of concentration in their brow as if you are the only person in the world who matters. they look up and catch your eye and the two of you instantly get embarrassed. which could mean nothing.

enemies to lovers? you hate them. they hate you. the sight of them bruised and bleeding should mean nothing to you, shouldn't it? yet here you are tending to their injuries, heart in your throat at the idea that you could have lost them. they won't say who did this to them and it sparks something deep inside you never knew existed: a desire to protect. you might despise them, but you don't want anyone to hurt them. that's normal, right?

exes to lovers? it's been a long time since the two of you split up. they've moved on and so have they, and you're fine with it. really. doesn't explain the jolt of panic that goes through you seeing them injured, even if it is just a small cut. suddenly you're nagging them to sit down, fetching bandages and whatever else is needed. silence falls between the two of you as you work and time slips away with their hand in yours. whatever split you apart doesn't seem that important any more.

fwb to lovers? it's just casual. you've told yourself that a million times and you'll do it again. whatever you may or may not be feeling is temporary, and even if it isn't, they'll never care the same way you do. yet when you get hurt, they're the first person at your side, the one patching you up and shielding you as if you're special to them. maybe you are after all.

there's the element of touch starvation, finally getting contact with another person - or even just non-harmful contact; the forced proximity, the watching the other person while they're not looking, the tense or tender moment that turns charged leading to an almost kiss before the inevitable interruption...i could go on and on.

tldr; wound tending >>>> everything else