#anyway thanks a bundle for this trade
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mysteriousdragon2 ¡ 2 years ago
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Art trade for @fellow-traveller
Requested me to draw Hol Horse and Polnareff! The background was entirely my choice to decide on, since I wasn't told a specific background but- the background chosen for this scenario fits splendidly! Just a flustered Hol Horse, I'm sure anybody who'd kiss him would cause him to be in a blushing fit LOL. But yeah! A blossom-like background is perfect for this, kinda had a bit of a theme going on with the background and the grass/trees being pink! Even added a cloud heart over them, love is in the air eh? Anyway thank you so much for letting me do another trade with you, here's to doing more in the future- looking forward to your part by the way ;p
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tbaluver ¡ 5 months ago
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Hello 👋 love your work so much ❤️. Anyway can I request a scenario where the MC and l&ds boy were adult film actors or porn-stars if you prefer, like what each boy is like on and off camera.
P☆RN STA-A-A-A-AR- The Love And DeepSpace Men
pairings in order: Xavier x fem!Reader, Zayne x x fem!Reader, Rafayel x fem!Reader, Sylus x fem!Reader, Caleb x fem!Reader context: what it's like filming with your lover and behind the cameras genre: MDNI, smut smut, flitthyy but with aftercare a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ thank you for supporting my works! srry i took a while writing this req i was going and forth with this during school as well so i hope i did this justice! if not ignore this for now ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) i also added what they're like when they're filming by themselves i hope thats okay! and i hope you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡
any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆
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Xavier:
tags: male masturbation, backshots, p in v
Solo Video:
Xavier is a well known porn star who prefers to keep his face and identity hidden to keep a low profile in public. With one hand subtly lifting the camera to focus on the bare lower half of his body, just enough to see the full view of his thighs twitch and tremble while the other hand strokes his length slowly, occasionally moving further down to cup his balls.
His viewers tuning in to his new video often see him lying comfortably on his bed, his sculpted body glowing under the light of his camera. His pretty pink tip glistened, making his viewers wonder how long he was going for when he made the video. Envy sparks among them as they wish they could be his bunny plushies resting beside him, wishing they could trade places. He knew what he was doing placing them there.
Soft whimpers escape his mouth as he pumps faster and faster, his chest rising and falling. You can tell he was so close from how his breathing stutters through the camera. Oh how badly the viewers wished they would get a glimpse of his flushed face. They would pay so much more if he’d let them.
Breathless, quiet pants of your name slip from his lips as he struggles to keep his voice down. He could feel his climax coming near, his orgasms building deep inside him and finally releasing his warm cum in thick spurts all over his defined abs.
The video cuts off there making viewers want more. The rest of his channel is filled with teasing mirror pics showcasing his defined physique while wearing his signature grey sweats. His fat cock makes an outline through the thin material while his large hands wrapped around his phone to carefully cover his face.
And his most popular videos? They’re the ones featuring you, his personal favorites.
On Camera With You:
The top of your dress was unbuttoned and tugged down to expose your breast. Your breast pressed against the window, exposed to, well, the backyard of your shared home with Xavier. He would never risk letting anyone catch even a glimpse of your bare body, hence why a lot of the videos that include you are covered or blurred out. The bottom of your dress was slightly pushed up, just enough to have Xavier sink his fat cock inside but also to slightly cover the curve of your ass.
He buries his head into your neck, your moans fogging up the window. “Mine..” He whispers in your ear, the sound of his hips slamming in and out of you relentlessly against you drowned it out. He drills into you harder, deeper, his mind focused on how wet your cunt feels around his dick.
His cock was hitting you so deeply that you felt like he was splitting you in two. “X-Xavier..!” You moan out, his hands travelling between your thighs to rub the bundle of nerves between your legs to give you that sudden stimulation. His hands caress the soft skin of your ass while he peppers sweet kisses down your neck as you both chase your high.
His hands make their way to pinch your perked nipples roughly as you press harder against the window which would leave a foggy mark later. You're almost there, from the way you’re clenching around him and the way he feels your thighs shake around his hand. All the pure sensation he was giving you was turning your brain into mush, your moans turning into incoherent babbles.
He angles his hips so you can feel his veiny fat cock hit right against the spongy sweet spot inside of you while continuing his animalistic pace. You felt that familiar knot in your stomach tighten again, waves of pleasure rushing through your body as you cum on his cock. With one final hard thrust, his cum seeps into you, filling you up to the brim. He rides out his orgasm, his hips stuttering.
He keeps his head nestled against your neck as you both catch your breath, his hands still resting on your hips. “You think you could do that again for me honey?” His warm breath brushes over your skin. You realized it a little too late but you’ve forgotten saying his name on camera would reveal his identity to the public.
“Mhm..” You hum weakly, your chest rising and falling as you tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of Xavier. Honestly, he could’ve easily edited that part out, but he’d rather film with you over and over again. For now this little video will be for you and him to keep.
Behind The Scenes With You:
“Did you feel good? Do you want more?” He asks, making sure you were one hundred percent satisfied and content. He isn’t asking for the video but rather if you still want to go on just for your pleasure. He doesn’t mind at all, he’s more than happy to keep going for as long as you want him too.
And once you were completely satisfied with your needs, he’d carry you to the bathroom, peppering you with so many sweet kisses. He sits you down on the bathroom counter as you both wait for the bathtub to fill and get to the perfect temperature. He dampens a rug to help clean you up, while admiring every inch of your body while pressing soft reassuring kisses to any surface he can reach. 
“Does this feel sore?” He asks softly, massaging your thigh after witnessing you tremble from today’s filming. And if it did, he’s quick to massage any sore spots while making sure there were any markings on your skin that needs tending too.
When the bathtub is finally filled to the perfect temperature, he carefully lifts you, stepping into the warm water together. He gently helps you wash and dry off. Afterwards, he slips you into one of his shirts that were way too oversized on you but perfectly comfortable.
He helps you settle onto the bed, adjusting your pillows just right before sinking into the bed right beside you. Thankfully, today’s video didn’t require the bed or you’d both be stuck on the couch waiting for fresh new sheets. He seriously thinks you should get more from how often you two make videos, but you both often forget.
With a soft chuckle at the thought, he grabs the blanket, tucking it around you both. His arms slip around you, pulling you closer as you two drift off into a peaceful sleep.
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Zayne:
tags: male masturbation, p in v, reader riding zayne
Solo Video:
Most of Zayne’s solo videos feature him sitting in his office chair alone in his dimly lit room. His camera is usually propped up and behind it would be his computer playing a video you filmed touching yourself a while ago. When he’s by himself, he doesn’t remove every piece of clothing but when it's with you, it’s different. He often leaves his button up shirt unbuttoned, just enough to to reveal his defined muscles. His sleeves rolled up to show the scars on his arms, making viewers wonder if they were from you.
Even as a porn star, Zayne remains reserved, often cropping his face out just slightly in his videos, giving viewers a glimpse of his jawline to imagine his lips parting and his eyes shut from the absolute pleasure he was giving himself.
But to him, it would’ve been better if you were here.
Soft quiet groans slip past Zayne’s lips through the camera as his hand drags along his shaft faster now. He squeezes his fist even tighter, pumping faster into his sensitive hot pink tip as his cum spills out with uneven pants. His chest rising and falling, sweat coating his skin that made him glisten. The video ends like that with no outro, leaving viewers to look at the blank screen as they try to finish imagining sinking into his throbbing cock.
They can imagine all they want but the only way to know for sure is by clicking on the next few videos of you two together.
On Camera With You:
“You can do it, I know you can. I’m here.” He murmurs, his lips barely brushing by your ear. Both of his large hands rest on your waist, gently making soothing circles on your soft skin as you slowly sink into him inch by inch.
He was always so gentle and patient with his touches just as he is behind the cameras. Unlike the men you would see in stereotypical videos who rush into things quickly and end up finishing first.
A strangled whine travels up your throat once you finally let yourself down fully onto his cock. There's no doubt that he’s big. He’s so big that it makes you whimper every time he’s in you, splitting you open each time, making viewers completely jealous.
You both agreed it’s best to keep your faces hidden, unless of course you choose otherwise. Oftentimes, after filming you both make sure to blur your faces or crop them out the video. It’s truly a shame they’ll never have the view you have. His cheeks and ears are completely flushed, his lips swollen from all the kisses and biting, and that small pussy drunk smile he still has on whenever he watches you ride him.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, his large hands smoothing over your back. You nod against his shoulder, resting your forehead there for a moment. “Take your time,” He murmurs quietly, pressing a soft kiss at the top of your head. You always manage, every single time. However if you did want to stop, he would with no hesitation. Your hips shift in little experimental ruts, grinding slowly.
Once you angle your hips just right, you pull your face away from his shoulder, sitting up slightly. You whimper loudly, bouncing up and down on him faster. He knows you want to moan out his name but for the sake of the video and his identity you can’t. But he doesn’t mind starting all over again if it means he’ll see you like this again.
He never gets tired of the sight he had in front of him. If this was an addiction then don’t bother him finding a cure. Your body was glistening with sweat as you moved up and down on his length. And the way your face contorts from the pleasure you were getting was beautiful to him.
His hips stutter up involuntarily, instinctively, begging you to give him more. An intense amount of pleasure begins to flood you from the slick drag of his cock inside you, opening you completely and letting him get deeper inside of you. Your panting and whining drown out from the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin in the room.
Your movements started to get sloppy as you desperately chased your high and with one final drop you completely buried yourself in him, your orgasm washing through you. Zayne’s hands tighten on your hips as he follows suit, cumming with a low groan. You could feel his cock pulse, stuffing your cunt full.
You melt on top of him, your chest rising and falling in sync with his as he rubs soothing circles on your back. You tilt your head slightly as he pulls you closer, his lips reaching for yours. “Thank you,” He murmurs against your lips. His body relaxes against yours as he rests his chin gently on top of your head.
Behind The Scenes With You:
The steady rhythm of Zayne’s slow breathing pulls you back to reality but his gentle caress trailing up and down your back almost lulls you to sleep on top of him. “I’m going to grab a few things to clean us up, love. I promise I’ll be quick okay?” He whispers softly. You nod slowly against his chest, too relaxed to say anything more. Gently, he lays you down beside him, propping the pillows behind you to make you more comfortable.
You watch his broad figure walk towards the door, a small smile tugging at your lips as you catch a glimpse of the marks you made from your film today. You let your eyes flutter closed for a couple minutes. However, it doesn’t last long when you hear the soft padding of his feet return and feel the subtle shift in the bed.
He comes back with a glass of cold water and a damp rag. “Come closer, you should drink,” He murmurs, slipping an arm under your back, lifting you slightly to help you sit up. You lean into him, sipping the cold water as he carefully brings the glass to your mouth. “Done?” He asks as he watches you pull away from the glass, your body sinking back into the softness of the bed. “Spread your legs a little, my love. I need to clean you up.” He sets the glass down beside the bed, brushing the damp rag over your inner thigh.
“Not too sore anywhere? How about here?” He asks, carefully massaging any tender spots, making sure he didn’t overdo it during filming. He watches your reactions closely, relief washing over him when you shake your head, offering a small smile.
“‘m okay Zayne, I promise.” His eyes soften, a tender smile curving on his lips too as he rubs your inner thigh in slow reassuring circles.
“Let’s take a quick bath, and then we can rest, okay?” He says softly. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck as he effortlessly lifts you, cradling you against him as he carries you to the bathroom.
The water was already running. He’s prepared everything so quickly, just like he promised. As he helps you settle in the bathtub with him, you catch a glimpse of a neatly folded set of clothes on the counter after your bath.
Once you both finish washing off, he gently helps you dry off before turning his attention to himself. He grabs your favorite oversized shirts on the counter, the ones that always smell like him, pulling it over you.
After you’re both settled in comfortable clothes, he lifts you effortlessly, earning a small giggle from you. The walk back to the bedroom was short, just a few steps really, but he can’t help but love taking care of you.
He carefully sets you down on your side of the bed before climbing in beside you. He tucks the blankets around both of you, his arms pulling you closer. You rest your head against his chest, pressing a soft kiss at the top of your head before nuzzling closer to you.
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Rafayel:
tags: male masturbation, backshots, p in v
Solo Video:
Rafayel is absolutely shameless whether he films with you or by himself.
He smirks when he sees more viewers coming in to join his stream. Sweat drips down his chest as his biceps flex as he bumps faster. “hah-i bet you like this don'tcha? filthy girl.”  Viewers flooded into his stream with compliments while some typed how they wished it was them instead of his hands. “Yeah? Am I making you feel good? You wish you were on this cock huh?” They typed promises in the chat how they would make him feel so good but Rafayel doubts that. He doesn’t need to even think about if they’d make him feel good because with you, he already has everything he needs.
He knows you’re watching so he must perform a good show for you while you’re away.
His head falls back slightly while his eyes remain half-lidded to watch the numbers go up. He lowers his gaze, watching his hand stroke up and down his cock, concentrating on his sensitive tip. His sweet moans echo through the livestream when he cums hard again. A few whines slip out of his slips as he watches his hot cum overflowing to his balls and onto his hand.
He pants, a smirk playing at his lips as he glances back at the stream. He reads the chat, viewers begging for one more round while he cleans himself up.
“Thanks for the tips everyone. Catch me and my cutie new video next week.”
And just like that, the livestream ends.
On Camera With You:
“fuuuuck you feel s-so ah! good cutie,” Rafayel lets out a loud pornagraphic moan, his grip on the camera unsteady as he struggles to focus his view but also to get the perfect shot of your ass bouncing off his dick. 
Ah, this position is one of his many favorites. He has your ass up in the air while one of his hands grip your hips tightly that will probably leave a bruising mark on it the morning after. Your back curves with your face against the plush of the pillows, it was a breathtaking sight and no one can ever take it from him. The viewers can look and touch themselves all they want but they can never have you.
Rafayel looks down to where you’re both connected, stretching you wider than ever before. The sight is mesmerizing and he can’t stop his moans from slipping out. 
His hips slap against yours while his hands roam around the soft surface of your back and your ass, occasionally giving it a tight squeeze. “mmmngh Raf-!” Your moans muffle through the pillow as pulsating pleasures send signals down to your core.
“Did you hah- like that pretty girl? Do mm- you want more? I’ll give you more,” The loud smack of his pelvis hitting your ass fills the room and each stroke he was pulling you down deeper onto his cock. He can’t take off his eyes on your pretty pussy and how it just swallows him up so perfectly. 
“feels ‘s good ‘s good-!” you slur your words which means he knows he’s doing it right. your muffled whines and moans and the wet sounds of your cunt were spurring him on. His heavy balls stains with your arousal as they slap against your puffy clit. Hearing you feel this good because of him, the way your pussy feels wrapped around his dick, it was too perfect.
One of his free hands trails down to rub your sensitive clit while he pounds into you harder. He lets out a small whimper when he feels your cunt start to tighten around him and the way you’re quivering means you’re close. “Look so pretty takin it, take it all for me yeah?”
The orgasm rips through you, soaking his cock. His hips stutter momentarily, thick white ropes of his cum paint your walls. He nearly sinks on top of you but instead he rolls onto his back, pulling you right beside him to see your pretty face.
He smiles warmly at you, brushing the hair away from your face as he turns off the camera, not caring whether he captured anything good at all. All he knows right now is that you’re perfect. Everything you do is perfect.
Behind The Scenes With You:
You two lie side by side, his nebula eyes staring right at yours, a soft smile never leaving his lips. His hands moved gently over your back as your limbs were tangled together. “How do you feel?” He whispers, his gaze never leaving yours.
“Good,” you reply, smiling back at him.
“Likeee realllyy good or just good?” He teases, both of you laughing. He grins, brushing his hand over your cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” You nod as you watch him rise, his touch still lingering on your skin before he leaves.
You watch him leave, a small smirk curling on your lips as you watch his bare ass walk on full display before he disappears completely.
When he returns, he extends his hand to you, helping you drape yourself around him as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. The bathroom smells like your favorite soap while bubbles are gently rising to the surface of the water. He carefully guides your tired body into the tub,  letting you sink into relaxation. “I’ll be right backkk cutie, just stay right there!” He boops your nose with the soapy bubbles, flashing you a wink before quickling walking away.
It takes him a few moments to return and when he does, he joins in right behind you. You relax, leaning your back against his chest. His hands help gently wash your sticky body with soap and water before washing his own. “Is this good?” He whispers, his warm breath fanning over your ear, earning a hum of approval from you.
After helping you finish drying off and getting dressed, he lifts you gently, carrying you back to the room where the sheets and blankets have been replaced by him, so you can rest in a freshly made bed.
He sinks into the bed with you, not letting you have a single moment to pass without wrapping his arms around you, earning a soft giggle from you from his clinginess. He tucks the covers around you both, his forehead gently resting against yours as you both begin to drift into a sleep. The perfect footage for the channel slips from his mind, he’ll worry about that tomorrow.
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Sylus:
tags: male masturbation, size difference, p in v
Solo Video:
Sylus is often mischaracterized even in the industry. He doesn’t talk much in his own videos, leaving a lot of people to fantasize what he’s like in bed. Is he rough? Does he mind vanilla? What would he say to you? 
Well that’s only for you to know and hear.
His solo videos are often him sitting up in his dimly lit room, his legs spread enough to give the viewers a glimpse of his bulging veins on his inner thigh. He keeps eye contact on the camera while his large hand drags along his length. He found this, well, boring, without you. All he could think about was the money he’d make from this and the pretty outfits you’d been eyeing at the mall that he’d surprise you with. It’s a shame really, knowing that it would be easily ripped apart by him.
He imagines pleasing you, his tongue tasting your folds while you whine and babble about the clothes he got you, completely shredded. Those pretty little sounds were cute to him.
He imagines rolling his hips against you while your nails claw at his back as you hold on tightly to him. Sylus curses under his breath as he increases his pace on his hand. His eyes fluttering shut, his jaw clenching. His fist pumps into his sensitive tip, helping him closer to his orgasm. A deep groan falls from his lips, his hot cum overflowing in his hands.
The video ends there, offering viewers recommendations of his popular videos. The ones featuring you and him everywhere. And he wouldn’t want it any other way, showing off his beloved and how good you make him feel.
On Camera With You:
“S-Sylus..” you whimper, nails digging into his skin when he pulls out and slides back in slowly. Your head spins at how full you already feel, unconsciously tightening around him. He’s just so much bigger, bigger than what the viewers see on the screen. A groan rumbles in his broad muscular chest as his grip on your hips tightens. 
Inch by inch, he stretches you wider, stuffing you full of his cock. “Are you alright?” He whispers softly, not an ounce of teasing dripping in his tone as he checks to make sure if you’re okay. It was quiet enough that the camera can’t pick it up, intended only for you to hear.
You hum in approval, “K-keep going, please Sy more” your hips wiggling to signal him to keep going. He begins thrusting in and out of you, each stroke deep, brushing against your walls that felt so so good. Your viewers loved this. They loved watching his monster sized cock disappear into your pretty cunt. His size difference compared to your small frame turned people on while maintaining to be gentle and careful, quite different from the usual videos you would see in the industry.
“You’re doing so well, sound so pretty” he praises while he shallowly thrusts in you, the sounds in the room were so lewd from the squelching of your wetness. Each drag of his cock makes you feel every ridge and vein as he pulls in and out, earning soft mewls from you. “I’m gonna go faster now okay baby?” he murmurs waiting for your response.
With a breathless yes please sy, is all he needed to hear before he slams his entire length back in with a single thrust making you cry and babble incoherent words as he pistons in and out of you. Not even the tight grip you held onto him made you feel secure. He’s hitting depths that were only possible for him to find, each thrust sending shockwaves through your entire body making you chant his name brokenly. 
“Just like that,” he coos, pressing wet sloppy kisses down your neck. It’s too much. It’s too good. Your loud choked sobs captured by the camera as his tip mercilessly drills into that sweet spongy spot over and over again. “That’s it..C’mon sweetie give it to me”
Your walls clench around his length, waves of pleasure continue to wash over you as Sylus fucks you through your high. With a few final thrusts, he sinks his cock as deep as he can, his hips stutter momentarily, trying to milk every bit of his seed into you.
His body melting against you, both of you sticky and exhausted. Both of you breath heavily, the room filled with the sound of your uneven breaths. Once the high clears from his mind, he lifts his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before softly pulling out. He doesn’t ignore your whine from the emptiness, gently soothing you with sweet praises and showering your face with tender kisses.
With one last kiss, he whispers, ‘I’ll be right back’ before turning off the camera to save you both some time to edit. Whether or not that final, intimate moment stays on film is your choice but the care he shows you behind the scenes remains unseen, something just for the two of you.
Behind The Scenes With You:
“I’ll be right back okay sweetie? Do you need anything?” He sits beside you on the bed, his large hand gently squeezing your thigh. You shake your head, offering a small and weak smile before he stands up and disappears from your sight.
A few minutes pass and he returns a few things in hand. He helps you sit up slowly as you take a few needed gulps while he gently cleans you up with the damp rag, massaging any area with some oils that he thinks is sore from the past scenes you’ve recorded for today.
You lay back down, letting out a deep exhale as exhaustion floods your body. Your eyes were growing heavy, nearly fluttering shut but Sylus stops you. “No yet sweetie,” he says softly. “I’ve got a bath running, and then you can rest okay?” He hovers above you, showering you with kisses just enough to keep you awake. With a weak ‘okay’, you give in. He carefully slides his arms around you, lifting you up and carrying you effortlessly to the bathroom. He checks the water temperature, adjusting it to your preference and once he’s satisfied, he carefully lowers you both into the warm, soothing water.
After the bath, he lifts you gently, carrying you to the counter by the sink to keep you from standing. He carefully dries your hair before grabbing one of his oversized shirts, the one you love so much, slipping it over your head. Once you're settled, he takes a quick moment to dry off, grabbing his robe before turning his attention back to you. He carries you to one of his many rooms, as the one you two filmed today needs to be cleaned.
“Would you like anything else?” He asks softly, helping you lay down on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable. You shake your head, pulling at the fabric of his robe to come join you. A low chuckle escapes him as he joins you, sitting up beside you and letting you snuggle closer to him. You rest your hands against his chest, feeling the rise and fall as he tucks you in. Editing the video can wait, right now it’s just the two of you.
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Caleb:
a/n: his is shorter bc im still trying to figure out his personality but i wanted to include him ! tags: reader jorking caleb off
On Camera With You:
The camera was propped up by your kitchen table, near the windows so the natural lighting can capture his defined abs. You stood behind his seat, your fingers teasing his abs, tracing the lines as you go lower and lower. This was how many retakes by now? You stopped counting after the fifth one, losing track of how much he came too fast. The clips were too short but they were handy if you wanted to keep them to yourself, which you will.
“p-please, i need you,” Caleb whines once your finger lines over his waistband. His cock happily awaiting your touch beneath his boxers, again. “make me feel good, only you can. i’ll do good this time, p-promise.”” he’s already a whimpering mess and you haven’t even started yet. 
He helps you tug down his sweats along with his boxers, his heavy cock springing upwards to slap his torso from its release. His cock was so hard he thinks he might explode and you can tell his frustration from the tip of his cock, all hot pink and swollen just for you.He was already leaking again and you hardly touched him there.
You carefully wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking his cock up and down. His head falls back, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips rock slightly up into your hand, meeting your strokes. He’s trying so hard not to finish early again but how can he not when just your hand already feels so good. 
You pump him faster, leaning over with your other hand to squeeze his balls, your nails softly grazing onto the sensitive flesh. He lets out a loud whine when you twist your wrist around his glistening tip. “‘m gonna cum, fuck ii’m so ah! s-sorry!”  He whimpers loudly, spilling all over your hand with a pathetic whine. “I’m sorry..one more time..” He looks up at you with pleading eyes and who are you to say no? At least this time it was at least ten seconds longer than the last one
Behind The Scenes With You:
No matter who was more exhausted after filming, he always insisted on cooking you a delicious meal, despite any protests you might have. Sure he could easily order take out and have it delivered but he personally found it better to have a home cooked meal for a girl he absolutely loves who treats him so well.
But first, he’d make sure you were both freshened up, helping you slip into his favorite shirt, one that was oversized on you. Dressed in nothing but his grey sweats, he’d start up the stove, chopping vegetables to make the flavor pop. If you didn’t listen and rest in bed as he asked, he’d scoop you up effortlessly, ignoring your complaints as he carried you back to your shared room.
When the meal was ready, he’d bring over a tray with your favorite dishes, setting it right in your lap before settling right beside you.
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ijustwannabecool ¡ 2 months ago
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Somewhere Only We Know - Part 2
Lando Norris x Reader
Based upon this request:
Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories. I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool. Just a thought that popped up! Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!
Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.
A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.
Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨
If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵 (No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)
Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:
DO NOT READ THIS PART BEFORE READING PART ONE!!
Chapter 14: Breakwater
The morning crept in slow and gold.
The lake shimmered in the early light, mist curling over the surface like a living thing.
Inside the cabin, it was warm — blankets kicked off, window cracked open, the air smelling like rain-soaked wood and coffee brewing somewhere down the road.
—
Lando woke up first.
Y/N was curled into his side on the small couch they’d crashed onto sometime after their second — or was it third? — kiss.
Her hand was pressed against his chest, fingers splayed over his heart like she was claiming it without even trying.
He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
Just breathed her in. The softness of her hair against his jaw. The steady rhythm of her breathing.
The way the world outside could have burned to the ground and he wouldn’t have noticed because she was here.
His.
Finally.
—
She stirred after a while, blinking sleepily, her nose scrunching in a way that made him smile so wide it hurt.
"Mornin'," she mumbled, her voice rough with sleep.
"Hey," he whispered back, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles.
For a moment, they just lay there — no rush, no noise, no weight.
Just them.
Y/N’s voice was still raspy when she teased, "Are we gonna pretend yesterday didn’t happen?"
Lando shook his head immediately. "Not a chance."
She smiled wider, her cheeks flushing pink, and burrowed closer into his side like she belonged there.
God, she did belong there.
—
They spent the morning wrapped around each other, half-tangled in blankets, trading lazy kisses and half-hearted arguments about who was responsible for getting breakfast.
"You drive," Y/N said, poking his ribs with a sly smile. "You’re the adult here."
"I’m not even qualified to own a plant," Lando protested, laughing as he caught her hand and laced their fingers together.
Eventually, they bundled up and wandered down to a tiny diner by the lake, the kind of place where the menus were handwritten and the waitress called everyone "sweetheart."
They sat across from each other, stealing bites of pancakes and grinning like idiots.
For a few precious hours — there was no McLaren. No cameras. No headlines.
Just this.
Just them.
Until the real world found them anyway.
—
It happened as they were walking back to the cabin, hand-in-hand, feet crunching over gravel.
Lando's phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.
He ignored it at first — until it buzzed so violently it practically jumped out of his pocket.
He sighed, pulling it out — and froze.
Y/N noticed immediately.
"What’s wrong?" she asked, stepping closer, peering up at him.
Lando's jaw tightened as he tilted the screen so she could see.
Tweets. Instagram tags. News pings.
Photos.
Blurry at first — then clearer.
Them.
Leaving the diner last night. Laughing by the lake. Holding hands this morning.
The captions were already spiraling:
"New romance for Norris?" "Who is the mystery girl stealing Lando’s heart?" "Spotted: F1 star cozying up at hidden lakeside retreat."
Lando stuffed his phone back into his pocket like it burned him.
"You don’t have to do this," he said roughly, voice cracking a little. "You don’t have to stay."
Y/N just looked at him steady.
Sure.
She stepped even closer, slipping her fingers into his.
"Lando," she said softly, voice clear and unwavering, "I’m not here because it’s easy."
Her hand squeezed his once �� firm, grounding.
"I’m here because it’s you."
And just like that — he knew.
No matter how high the waves got, no matter how loud the world screamed, no matter how messy it became —
They would fight for this.
Together.
———
Chapter 15: All the Noise, None of the Doubt
If you asked him, Lando would have said nothing changed.
Not really.
He still showed up for sim days and engineering meetings. Still suited up. Still pushed the limits. Still smiled for the cameras.
But something was different.
Not the way he drove — the way he lived.
The way he smiled wider when his phone buzzed. The way he laughed easier when he caught a glimpse of a photo Y/N sent him — some ridiculous thing, like a squirrel stealing a sandwich or her terrible attempt at latte art.
The way he counted the hours until he could see her again.
They carved out a world in the quiet spaces between all the noise.
Secret coffee dates. Late-night FaceTimes. Quick texts during media days
Soft mornings at the cabin when they could sneak away. Long car rides filled with bad music and even worse singing.
Tiny kisses stolen in parking lots. Fingers brushing under tables.
Nothing flashy. Nothing loud.
Just them.
Of course, the rest of the world wasn't blind.
At the factory, Max smirked as he caught Lando smiling down at his phone again.
"You’re disgusting," Max said, tossing a balled-up napkin at him.
Lando batted it away, not even pretending to hide the grin on his face.
"You’re just jealous," he shot back.
Max laughed. "Maybe. But I’m not the one getting meme’d into oblivion every time someone spots me looking like a lovesick idiot."
Lando flipped him off good-naturedly.
But later, alone in the simulator bay, phone screen glowing with a new picture of Y/N doodling all over his face in an old karting photo he sent her, he thought maybe he didn’t mind.
The media started circling too.
Soft at first. Little jabs in interviews.
"So, Lando, any truth to the rumors about a new girl?" "Someone special keeping you motivated this season?"
He ducked and weaved, smiling without answering, learning how to protect what mattered without lying.
They didn’t need to know. Not yet. Not when it was still this precious, still blooming in his hands.
But it was getting harder to keep their world untouched.
Photos slipped through sometimes — blurry ones of them at a gas station, a coffee shop, a grocery store.
Fans guessed. Fans speculated.
Some supported. Some didn't.
The noise was getting louder.
—
One night, they sat on the hood of his SUV under a wide, bruised sunset sky — the cabin just a small speck in the distance — splitting a bag of crisps between them.
Y/N leaned back on her hands, kicking her heels against the bumper.
"You know," she said lightly, "if you ever want to run... I’d go with you."
He turned to look at her, something sharp and warm catching in his throat.
"You serious?"
She nodded, smiling sideways at him.
"I’m not scared of the noise, Lando," she said. "But if it ever gets too loud for you... we’ll just find somewhere quieter."
He stared at her — this girl who had walked into his life on a rainy night with bad coffee and a soft voice — and realized that no matter how loud the world got, with her, there would always be a way back to silence.
To home.
To them.
—
He reached out, tangling their fingers together, resting their joined hands on the hood between them.
"I’m not running," he said quietly. "Not from this. Not from you."
She squeezed his hand, her smile small and sure.
"Good," she said. "Because you’re terrible at directions."
He laughed — a real, full laugh — and tugged her closer until she was tucked into his side.
And for the first time in a long time — maybe ever — Lando knew he wasn’t just surviving.
He was living.
With her.
———
Chapter 17: Our Little World
It wasn’t about hiding. Not really.
It was about protecting.
About keeping something beautiful just for themselves, tucked away where no cameras, no headlines, no strangers could touch it.
Their little world.
Their rules.
When they were apart — race weeks, sponsor events, the constant hum of everything — they stayed connected in the ways that mattered.
It became a routine without them even realizing it.
Late-night texts.
Y/N: Did you eat real food today or just Red Bull and regrets?
Lando: Pop-Tarts totally count as real food.
Y/N: Get a vegetable or I’m calling Max.
Lando: Terrifying. Ordering salad now.
Early morning FaceTimes.
"Hi," she’d say, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Hi," he’d whisper back, already smiling just hearing her voice.
Sometimes they didn't even talk. Just kept the call open while she painted, while he packed, while they existed on opposite sides of the world but somehow closer than ever.
When they could steal days together — God, those days felt like breathing again.
—
Tiny traditions started to form:
Y/N leaving doodles tucked into his suitcase before he traveled. ("I better see this stuck to your laptop," she teased once, drawing a lopsided cartoon of him driving a spaceship.)
Lando slipping notes into the sketchbooks she left lying around. ("Your art’s better than any trophy," he scribbled once, messy and embarrassed but meaning every word.)
Sharing playlists. ("This song is you," he texted her once, sending a track that was all messy beats and golden chords.)
Movie nights where they talked over half the film, cuddled under a mountain of mismatched blankets, and fought about who stole the popcorn.
("You," Lando accused, mouth full. "Me?" Y/N gasped. "You’re inhaling it like you’ve never seen food before!")
They built a language only they spoke — inside jokes, stolen glances, silent conversations across crowded rooms.
—
But the world kept buzzing louder outside.
Photos kept surfacing. Speculation grew.
Y/N didn’t flinch. She teased him about it sometimes, flicking through tabloids at the grocery store.
"‘Lando Norris and Mystery Girl spotted looking cozy at Starbucks,’" she read aloud dramatically one day, showing him a grainy photo of them with frappuccinos.
He snorted. "That’s peak romance. Frappuccinos."
"You sure know how to spoil a girl," she said, nudging him.
He grinned, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles right there between the cereal and the canned soup aisle.
"I’ll buy you two next time," he whispered.
Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away.
The world could shout all it wanted.
She knew where home was.
—
One night — late, after a brutal race weekend that left Lando physically exhausted and mentally shredded — they lay tangled together on the tiny couch in his Monaco apartment.
Y/N traced lazy circles over the back of his hand, her voice soft against the darkness.
"You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?" she said.
He turned his head, watching her with tired, adoring eyes.
"I know," he said quietly. "You’re the only place I don’t have to."
She smiled — small, warm, breaking his heart a little more in the best way.
"You’re stuck with me, Norris," she teased, nose brushing his.
He kissed her gently — sweet and tired and so full of everything he couldn’t find the words for.
"Good," he whispered against her lips. "Because I’m not going anywhere."
And for now, that was enough.
Their little world held strong — soft, stubborn, untouchable.
For now.
———
Chapter 18: Say It Like You Mean It
It started with a headline.
Bigger this time. Louder.
Not whispers anymore — shouts.
"Is Lando Norris Losing Focus? Friends Fear New Romance May Be a Distraction."
And worse — comments. Speculation. Ugly words flung like stones.
They picked her apart — her looks, her job, her life — like she was nothing but an accessory to his downfall.
Lando saw it before Y/N did. His phone buzzing nonstop. His manager sending cautious texts. Max even texting him once:
Max:
You good, mate? Ignore the shit. You know whats’s real.
He barely read the rest. He couldn’t think straight.
He was supposed to protect her.
And now — they were using her name like a weapon.
—
He found her at his place, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of his race gear he’d dumped there last week.
She looked up the second he slammed the door behind him, her smile fading when she saw his face.
"Lando?" she said, standing quickly. "What happened?"
He didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room in three strides, pulling her into his arms like he needed to be sure she was still real.
"Lando," she said again, softer now, hands sliding up his back. "Talk to me."
He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
"They're saying shit," he muttered. "About you. About us."
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
"I know," she said gently.
He blinked. "You know?"
She smiled — sad and strong all at once. "I’m not blind, Lan. I knew what I was signing up for."
His chest tightened painfully.
"I hate that it touches you," he said, voice rough. "I hate that I brought you into this."
"You didn’t bring me anywhere," she said. "I walked. I chose this."
"But you don’t deserve it," he whispered.
She squeezed his hand. "Neither do you."
—
An hour later, he sat in his car outside the McLaren building, staring at his phone, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
His manager had sent another text.
PR Team: No need to comment. Stay quiet. Let it pass.
But Lando couldn’t.
Not this time.
He opened Twitter. Stared at the blinking cursor.
And typed.
@LandoNorris: You can say whatever you want about me. But leave her out of it. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me. End of story.
He hit post before he could second guess himself.
Then tossed the phone onto the passenger seat like it was on fire.
He didn't care about the fallout.
He cared about her.
—
When he got home, she was curled up on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders, flipping absently through a book she clearly wasn't reading.
He dropped onto the couch beside her, heart hammering.
She set the book down.
"You posted it," she said softly.
He nodded once, his throat too tight to speak.
She smiled — small, shaky — and climbed into his lap without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I’m not going anywhere," she whispered against his ear.
He closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair.
"You better not," he whispered back.
Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Full.
"I love you," Lando said, the words tumbling out — messy, raw, desperate. "I love you so much it scares the hell out of me."
She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands.
"Good," she said, smiling through the tears gathering in her eyes. "Because I love you too, you idiot."
He laughed — choked and wrecked — and kissed her like he was drowning.
And maybe he was.
But if he was going under — he was taking her with him.
Together.
Always.
———
Chapter 19: The Afterglow and the Storm
The first few days after saying "I love you" felt like living inside a bubble.
Warm. Safe. Weightless.
They clung to each other like kids hiding under a blanket fort, pretending the real world couldn’t reach them.
—
Late one night, lying tangled together in his bed, Y/N pressed her nose into his neck and mumbled sleepily,
"Are we gonna talk about it?"
Lando smiled into her hair. "Talk about what?"
"You know," she said, poking his ribs, "the whole 'I love you' bomb you dropped on me."
He laughed, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"I regret nothing," he said.
She lifted her head just enough to glare playfully at him.
"You didn’t even give me time to process."
"You kissed me back!" he protested.
"I panicked!" she teased, laughing.
He rolled them over, pinning her gently to the bed with a grin.
"Say it again," he murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead.
She pretended to think about it, tapping her chin dramatically.
"Hmm... I love—"
He leaned closer.
"You," she finished, nose bumping his.
He kissed her — soft and slow and smiling the whole time.
"Best panic attack ever," he whispered against her mouth.
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Idiot."
"Yours," he said.
"Mine," she agreed.
Always.
—
But outside the walls they built, the world kept spinning.
And not all of it was kind.
—
Another headline dropped the following week.
This time nastier. Sharper.
"Lando’s Focus in Question Again: Sources Say Romance Is a ‘Major Distraction’ for McLaren’s Golden Boy."
And worse — an anonymous "source" claiming Lando was “changing” — not as serious, not as hungry.
It was bullshit.
Lando knew it. The people who mattered knew it.
But still — it stung.
—
He found her sitting on the balcony that night, sketchbook in her lap, a cup of tea cooling by her side.
She looked up when he slid the door open.
"Hey," she said softly. "I saw."
He sank down onto the chair beside her, rubbing his hands over his face.
"You don’t have to keep doing this," he muttered.
"Doing what?"
"Dealing with the fallout," he said, voice tight. "It’s not fair to you."
She shut the sketchbook and set it aside.
"Lando," she said gently, "I don’t love you because it’s easy."
He looked up, heart aching.
"I love you because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me," she continued. "Even when it’s messy. Especially then."
He blinked hard, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.
"You’re sure?" he asked, voice cracking just a little.
She smiled — small, fierce, beautiful.
"Positive," she said. "Now shut up and come here."
He crossed the distance between them without hesitation, letting her pull him into her arms.
They sat there — curled up together under the dark sky, the world screaming beyond their little balcony, but the noise unable to touch them.
Not when they had each other.
Not when they had something this real.
—
Later, scrolling through his phone before bed, Lando grinned when he saw her latest text pop up.
Y/N: Tomorrow = karting rematch. No excuses, Norris. Prepare to lose.
Lando: You’re dreaming.
Y/N: I'm building a trophy shelf.
Lando: You're delusional. I love you.
Y/N: Love you more.
He turned off the screen, smiling into the darkness, and fell asleep with her heartbeat steady against his ribs.
And for once — the noise didn’t win.
They did.
———
Chapter 20: A Quiet Place, A Loud World
Their little world kept growing.
Not hidden. Not ashamed.
Just... theirs.
—
Late one night, curled up together on the battered old couch that had somehow become more home than anywhere else, Y/N pressed her cheek to Lando’s chest and whispered,
"Tell me a secret."
He smiled into her hair.
"Like what?"
"Like... something no one else knows."
He thought about it for a minute. Then said, "I used to dream about quitting."
She lifted her head, surprised.
"Quitting what?"
"All of it," he said softly. "The racing. The noise. The expectations. When it got bad, I used to think about just... disappearing."
Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek.
"But you didn’t," she said.
"No," he said. "Because... because maybe I was waiting for something better to find me."
He looked at her — eyes wide, vulnerable, raw.
"And then you showed up," he whispered.
Her throat tightened painfully.
"I love you," she breathed, blinking back tears.
He smiled — small and broken and whole all at once.
"I love you more," he said.
—
They started talking about futures after that.
Not big sweeping plans. Just... dreams.
"What if we lived somewhere quiet?" Y/N said one night, curled into his side, tracing invisible lines over his chest. "A little house. A dog. Maybe a cat if you stop pretending to be allergic."
"I’m definitely allergic," he mumbled, half-asleep.
"Liar."
"Fine," he grinned. "But only if I get to name it."
"Deal," she said, laughing. "But I get veto power."
"Deal," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
They talked about road trips across Europe. Late-night drives with no destination. Sunday mornings spent fighting over who had to make pancakes.
It wasn’t if anymore.
It was when.
But the world wasn’t content to stay quiet forever.
The invitation arrived three days later.
McLaren Gala. Mandatory Appearance. Formal Attire Required.
An event. A spotlight. A battlefield.
And this time — they couldn’t hide.
—
They talked about it that night, sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptops open, tabs pulled up of tux rentals and dresses she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel comfortable wearing.
"You don't have to come," Lando said quietly, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. "I’ll cover for you. Say you're sick. Say you’re busy. I don’t care."
Y/N closed her laptop and looked at him.
"Lando," she said firmly. "I'm not hiding. Not if you're not."
He searched her face, something wild and terrified and hopeful tangled in his eyes.
"You’re sure?" he whispered.
She reached across the bed, threading their fingers together.
"I’m sure," she said.
A beat of silence.
Then she smiled — wide, mischievous, a little shaky.
"But if we’re doing this," she said, "we’re doing it properly."
He laughed, the sound cracking open something deep inside him.
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning we’re gonna look so good they’ll have no choice but to talk about how lucky you are," she said, sticking out her tongue.
He lunged forward, tackling her onto the bed, both of them laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.
The night of the gala, he saw her standing at the top of the hotel stairs — black dress hugging her curves, hair swept up, eyes catching the light like stars.
She was breathtaking.
Terrifyingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.
He met her at the bottom of the stairs, taking her hand in his without hesitation.
"You ready?" he whispered.
Y/N squeezed his hand once, sure and steady.
"With you?" she said. "Always."
—
The cameras exploded the second they stepped onto the carpet.
Flashes. Shouts. Questions.
But he didn’t let go of her hand.
Not once.
Not when the world stared. Not when people whispered.
He kept her close — proud, steady, unapologetic.
And when they finally slipped inside, breathless and laughing, he pulled her into a shadowed corner and cupped her face in both hands.
"You’re the bravest person I know," he whispered.
"You make it easy," she whispered back.
He kissed her, soft and sure, and if anyone caught it on camera, he didn’t care.
Let them see.
Let them know.
This was real. This was forever.
And nothing was going to tear it apart.
———
Chapter 21: The Space Between Heartbeats
They didn’t plan it.
They just... needed it.
Needed to get away. Needed a place where they weren’t Lando Norris and the girl everyone was watching. Where they could just be Lando and Y/N.
So they ran.
—
They packed the bare minimum — jeans, hoodies, sunglasses, battered sneakers — and drove hours out of the city until the world thinned out around them.
Fields. Mountains. Empty roads.
The cabin was tiny. Hidden in a tangle of trees, overlooking a glassy stretch of river.
Perfect.
Untouchable.
The kind of place where no one knew their names.
—
The first night, they sat on the porch, legs tangled together under a shared blanket, the sky spilling stars across the darkness.
Y/N leaned against him, her voice sleepy but sure.
"I missed this," she murmured.
He kissed the top of her head. "Me too."
"You know," she said after a long pause, "sometimes it feels like the rest of the world... doesn’t matter here."
He smiled into her hair. "That’s because it doesn’t."
—
Inside, the cabin smelled like woodsmoke and old books.
They moved around each other easily — brushing teeth side by side at the creaky sink, arguing half-heartedly over which side of the bed was "better" (it was the left, obviously, and Y/N won, obviously).
No makeup. No cameras. No rules.
Just them.
—
It happened quietly.
Softly.
Not rushed. Not planned.
—
Lando brushed her hair back from her face as they lay sprawled across the bed, the old mattress squeaking under their weight.
She smiled up at him, lazy and beautiful, and whispered, "What are you thinking?"
He ran his thumb gently along her jawline.
"That I’m really fucking lucky," he said.
Her smile faltered — not because she doubted it, but because sometimes love still felt too big to hold.
"You know you don’t have to say that, right?" she said quietly.
He frowned, shifting closer.
"I’m not saying it because I have to," he said. "I’m saying it because it's true."
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing him in.
When she opened them again, they were shining.
"I love you," she whispered, voice cracking.
"I love you too," he said instantly, like breathing.
He kissed her — slow, careful — and she kissed him back like she was anchoring herself to the only thing that had ever felt steady.
—
Clothes fell away in clumsy, breathless pieces.
Laughter slipped between kisses.
Fingers shook a little — not from nerves, but from how much it meant.
Every touch said it louder than words ever could:
I'm here. I'm yours. I'm not going anywhere.
When he finally sank into her, it wasn’t frantic or desperate.
It was slow. Reverent. Real.
Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.
No noise but the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet, broken whispers they shared between kisses.
—
"You're everything," he breathed against her skin.
She pressed her mouth to his shoulder, holding on tighter.
"So are you," she whispered back.
—
Later, tangled in the sheets, hearts still pounding, Y/N pressed her fingers over the steady thud of his pulse.
"The world can get louder," she said softly, tracing a circle over his chest. "I don’t care."
Lando caught her hand in his, kissed her knuckles.
"Let it," he said. "We already won."
Outside, the river whispered over stones. The trees creaked and sighed.
Inside — only the space between heartbeats.
Only them.
———
Chapter 22: Borrowed Time
The next morning felt like waking up inside a dream.
Sunlight spilled across the bed in soft puddles, the air cool and crisp through the cracked window.
Y/N stirred first, her arm thrown haphazardly across Lando’s stomach, her face smushed into his chest.
He was already awake, just... watching her. Committing every little detail to memory. The way her nose scrunched when the breeze hit her toes. The way her lips parted slightly, breath slow and even.
He never wanted to forget this.
Eventually, she cracked one eye open.
"You’re staring," she mumbled, voice raspy from sleep.
"Can you blame me?" he said, grinning.
She groaned and buried her face further into his chest.
"Gross," she said. "You're so gross."
He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"You love it."
"I tolerate it," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice.
They stayed like that — tangled up, half-asleep — until their stomachs rumbled in unison.
Y/N lifted her head, mock serious.
"Pancakes?" she asked.
He nodded solemnly. "It’s the only way."
—
They destroyed the tiny cabin kitchen together.
Flour everywhere. Eggshells in the sink. Syrup dripping down the counter.
Lando flipped a pancake so dramatically it hit the ceiling.
"LAN," she shrieked, laughing so hard she doubled over.
"Ten out of ten landing!" he yelled, throwing his arms up like an Olympic gymnast.
"You’re banned," she said, snatching the spatula from him.
He just grinned and stole a kiss while she was distracted, syrupy fingers slipping against her waist.
They ate standing up, giggling, licking syrup off their hands, stealing bites from each other’s plates.
It was stupid. It was messy.
It was perfect.
But reality doesn’t wait forever.
—
Later that afternoon, as they lounged lazily on the porch, Lando’s phone buzzed against the wood.
He ignored it at first.
Then a second buzz. A third.
Y/N reached over, grabbing it before he could.
"Who's spamming you?" she teased, pretending to squint at the screen.
Her smile faded.
"Lando," she said quietly, holding the phone out to him.
He took it, frowning.
A string of notifications.
Emails. Texts.
His PR team. Zak. Even a few drivers.
New headlines splashed across the top:
"Norris Romance Heating Up: Is the Pressure Getting to McLaren’s Star?" "Sources Suggest New Relationship May Threaten 2026 Contract Negotiations."
Beneath it, pictures — Him and Y/N at the gala. Holding hands. Laughing.
Frozen in a thousand flashbulbs.
Turned into clickbait.
—
He set the phone down carefully, like it might bite him.
Y/N didn't say anything right away.
Just scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder.
"You’re gonna have to deal with this forever, aren’t you?" she said quietly.
He sighed, staring out at the river.
"Yeah."
A long beat of silence.
Then:
"You don’t regret it, do you?" she asked, so softly he barely heard her.
He turned immediately, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.
"Not for a single second," he said fiercely. "I’d choose you every damn time."
Her eyes softened, filling with tears she didn’t try to hide.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I’d choose you too."
—
They sat there as the sun dipped lower — the world buzzing just outside the treeline, the future heavy but waiting.
Not easy.
Not quiet.
But together.
And that was enough.
———
Chapter 23: Choosing Forever
It wasn’t a decision they made overnight.
It wasn’t made with big speeches or ultimatums.
It happened like everything else between them — quietly, naturally, inevitably.
Y/N sat on the floor of Lando’s apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes, holding up one of his old race suits like it was a sacred artifact.
"You’re seriously keeping this?" she teased, grinning.
"That’s vintage," he said, grabbing it from her hands and pressing it to his chest like a wounded soldier. "Historical."
She laughed, tossing a hoodie at his head.
"Fine. But it’s going in the 'shrine' closet."
He grinned, tackling her onto the pile of clothes, both of them laughing too hard to breathe.
They were doing it.
Building a real life. Moving in together.
Not because they had to. Not because the world expected it.
Because it was the next right thing.
Because home wasn’t a place anymore.
It was each other.
Of course, the world didn’t exactly make it easy.
The pressure didn’t stop.
If anything, it grew sharper.
A headline broke two days later:
"Sources Inside McLaren Concerned About Norris’ Focus Heading into 2026."
An anonymous quote — someone "close to the team" saying Lando’s relationship was a "distraction."
That he was "different."
That he was "softer."
The whispers turned into noise. The pressure turned into weight.
Team meetings got tense. Fans speculated. Media circled like vultures.
He got the call late one night.
Zak.
Serious. Careful.
"Lando," Zak said, voice crackling through the speaker, "we need you focused. The board's watching everything right now."
"I am focused," Lando said, jaw tight.
"You need to look focused too," Zak said. "Publicly. Especially now."
Translation: Choose carefully. Choose wisely.
Choose.
—
He hung up and found Y/N sitting on the couch, scrolling through a ridiculous meme account she swore kept her sane.
She looked up immediately.
"Bad?"
He didn’t answer. Just crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside her, burying his face in her shoulder.
She ran her fingers through his curls, silent, steady.
"You don’t have to say anything," she whispered.
He lifted his head, heart pounding.
"I want to," he said.
He cupped her face in both hands, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.
"I choose you," he said fiercely. "Over the noise. Over the pressure. Over everything."
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.
"I choose you too," she whispered back.
And that was it.
Not a flashy decision. Not a press release.
Just two people choosing each other again and again and again — no matter how loud the world got.
———
Chapter 24: Win or Lose, It's You
The race weekend was brutal before it even began.
Everywhere Lando turned — reporters. Questions. Speculation.
"Has your relationship impacted your performance?" "Is the pressure getting to you?" "Is this the distraction McLaren was worried about?"
He handled it. He smiled. He answered carefully.
But inside, a knot twisted tighter and tighter with every word.
—
Y/N stayed out of the spotlight, like they agreed.
She didn’t want to make it harder. Didn't want to become another headline.
But she was there — quiet, steady, just beyond the paddock fences.
He caught glimpses of her between practice sessions — sitting cross-legged on the grass, sketchbook open in her lap, pretending not to watch his every move.
Their eyes would meet.
She'd smile — small, sure, like a lighthouse through the storm.
He'd breathe again.
—
On race day, it rained.
Not a drizzle. A full, chaotic downpour.
The track slick. The sky angry. The world holding its breath.
It was the kind of race that chewed up rookies and spat out veterans.
Every mistake magnified.
Every move scrutinized.
And Lando — Lando drove like his heart was on fire.
Not reckless. Not desperate.
Alive.
Sure.
—
Midway through, after a pit stop from hell, he dropped three places.
The team buzzed in his ear.
"Focus, Lando. You can still fight back."
He closed his eyes for half a second — saw her sitting in the rain, soaked but smiling, refusing to leave — and opened them with new clarity.
For her.
For them.
For himself.
He fought his way back — aggressive but smart, carving through the spray and the chaos.
Lap by lap. Corner by corner.
Until — P2.
Not the win.
Not the trophy.
But victory all the same.
—
After the checkered flag, soaked to the bone and shaking from adrenaline, he found her waiting by the barriers.
No cameras. No microphones.
Just her.
Y/N pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and smiled.
"You," she said, cupping his face, voice breaking, "you were incredible."
He laughed — half a sob, half a grin — and pulled her into a hug so fierce it lifted her off her feet.
"You’re my win," he whispered into her ear.
"And you’re mine," she whispered back.
They stood there — soaked. Laughing. Crying.
And for once, it wasn’t about headlines.
It wasn’t about contracts.
It was about this.
Them.
The only finish line that ever mattered.
———
Chapter 25: No More Hiding
The photos hit social media within minutes.
Not official portraits. Not staged PR shots.
Someone caught it — Lando, still dripping from the rain, still in his race suit, wrapping his arms around Y/N outside the paddock barriers, burying his face against her neck like the cameras didn’t even exist.
And for the first time — they didn’t care.
They didn’t flinch.
They didn’t run.
—
The internet exploded.
"Lando Norris and his girl: Paddock’s New Power Couple!" "Norris shows where his heart really is after stormy podium finish." "Real ones only: Lando and Y/N melt fans’ hearts after emotional race day."
The world finally saw it — not rumors. Not scandals.
Love. Real. Raw. Loud.
And they didn’t apologize for it.
—
The next day, Y/N sat beside him during a press day — quiet, off to the side, thumbing through a worn book while he fielded questions.
A journalist finally asked it straight:
"Lando, care to comment on the... touching moment we all saw after the race?"
He leaned into the microphone without hesitation.
"No comment," he said at first — then paused, glancing toward where Y/N sat curled up in a hoodie three sizes too big.
He smiled — wide, wrecked, unapologetic.
"Actually... yeah," he said.
He adjusted the mic slightly, the entire room hanging on his every word.
"I’m just lucky she puts up with me," he said, voice steady. "That’s all there is to it."
The reporters laughed. Cameras clicked.
But Y/N knew — because he looked at her when he said it — it wasn’t a joke.
It was the truth.
Simple. Unshakable.
Them.
—
Later, when they escaped the crowd and crashed onto the couch of his hotel room, Lando tugged her against him, pressing his mouth to the side of her head.
"No more hiding," he murmured.
Y/N smiled against his shoulder.
"Weren't hiding anyway," she whispered.
He laughed softly.
"No," he agreed. "We were just... waiting."
"For what?" she teased.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
"For the right person," he said simply.
Her heart cracked wide open in the best way.
"I guess we both won," she whispered.
He kissed her — soft, sure, forever.
And in that kiss was every promise they didn’t have to say out loud.
Because they already knew.
Together.
Always.
No matter what.
———
Epilogue: A Place to Land
Six months later.
The apartment was still a work in progress.
Half-finished photo walls. Plants that survived only because Y/N whispered threats at them. Lando’s old race suits shoved into the back of closets she was slowly conquering.
It wasn’t perfect.
It was home.
—
Sunday morning spilled sunlight across the kitchen, dust motes dancing lazily in the air.
Y/N leaned against the counter, sipping coffee out of a chipped mug Lando had refused to throw away because it "had character."
She wore one of his old shirts — faded, too big, sleeves slipping past her elbows.
Lando shuffled in a few minutes later, hair messy, sweatpants low on his hips, yawning like he hadn't slept in weeks.
"You look like death," Y/N said cheerfully, raising her mug in greeting.
He flipped her off half-heartedly and stole the rest of her coffee with a grin.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She snorted, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
"Big day," she teased.
He groaned dramatically.
"Don't remind me."
They had a dinner to attend later — something small, just close friends and family — to celebrate his latest podium.
A real, hard-fought one.
The first one after everything — after the storm, after the noise, after choosing each other loud and proud.
Y/N set her mug down and looped her arms around his neck, rocking them gently side to side.
"You nervous?" she asked.
He shrugged, nuzzling into her shoulder.
"Not about the dinner," he said quietly.
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
"But about...?"
He smiled — that small, shy, completely wrecked-by-love smile that still undid her every time.
"About asking you something later," he said.
Her stomach flipped, heart slamming against her ribs.
She opened her mouth — then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"Lando," she breathed, hands tightening around his hoodie, "if you’re asking what I think you’re asking... you already know the answer."
He kissed her — soft and slow and sure.
"I was hoping you’d say that," he whispered against her lips.
Later, tucked into the chaos of their tiny, perfect apartment, a small velvet box sat hidden at the back of a kitchen drawer.
He wasn’t nervous about it.
Not really.
Because some things — the real things — don't need grand gestures or fireworks or perfect timing.
They just need a place to land.
And he had found his.
Right here. Right now. With her.
Forever.
—
One year later.
The living room was a mess.
Half-unpacked boxes. A dog barking at a rogue sock on the floor. Lando wrestling with a flat-pack bookshelf like it had personally insulted him.
Y/N leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a stupid grin pulling at her mouth.
"You know," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "most people read the instructions."
Lando looked up, hair sticking out wildly, an allen key clutched between his teeth.
"Instructions are for quitters," he mumbled around it.
She snorted, walking over and plucking the key from his mouth.
"You," she said, dropping a kiss onto his forehead, "are a menace."
"And you," he said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her into his lap with a dramatic grunt, "love it."
She laughed, arms wrapping around his neck automatically.
"You’re lucky you’re cute," she teased.
He grinned — wide, wrecked, unashamed.
"You’re stuck with me, remember?" he said.
"Wouldn’t have it any other way," she said, resting her forehead against his.
—
The dog barked again — a yappy, ridiculous sound — and Lando groaned.
"You wanted a dog," he reminded her.
"You named him Max!" she shot back, laughing.
"It was that or Toto," he shrugged.
She laughed harder, burying her face in his neck.
"You’re an idiot," she whispered, affection bleeding through every word.
"Yours," he said.
"Mine," she agreed.
Always.
—
Outside, the world spun on — headlines, races, flights, pressure.
Inside, they built a life in stolen moments. Messy. Perfect.
A home with fingerprints on the walls, dog hair on the couch, and love tucked into every corner.
A place to land.
Always.
———
The end! :’)
115 notes ¡ View notes
barcapix ¡ 1 month ago
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A dad one with Pablo Torre pls pls! I'm thinking a match setting where baby attends his dad's first match ever and is excited and overwhelmed all at once. And tires himself out, so Torre is holding his sleepy son in his arms while getting the motm 🥺
✮ Father of the Match - Pablo Torre
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pablo torre x parent!fem!reader
sy: what the request saysss
a/n: this is a req from oct so i am so so so sorry omg, ill make it up to you however but it was a really cute req thank you💚
warnings: nooope.
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eleven months ago, you welcomed little baby diego into the world. now eleven months later, you’re bundled up in the stadium watching your husbands champions league qualifier, with a new addition to the family.
the stadium is near deafening, thunderous cascades of hollers and anthems rippling throughout the rows of seats like waves.
diego perches upon your hip, snugly cradled close to your chest—his tiny no.14 blaugrana jersey adorably oversized on him.
“hey, y/n!” taia exclaims, instantly sweeping you into an air-squeezing hug. “oh dios mio! it’s been so long! i’ve missed you more than life itself!”
you pull away, laughing at her remarks. diego also erupts with a giggle of his own, using his preferred method of introduction: grabby hands. taia beams at him with hopeful eyes, trading a optimistic glance with you as you hand him over.
“and who’s this este hombrecito?” she cooes, carefully squeezing his cheek. “aren’t you just the cutest! mamà’s been hiding you from me for too long, hasn’t she?”
taia squeals as diego takes ahold of her finger, his laughter also contagious as it reaches the audience in seats behind you, who happen to similarly flare into a chorus of ‘awww’s.
“but how are you anyways, hon?” she asks, prying her eyes sideways. “it feels like it’s been years since i’ve last seen you in person!”
“you know how demanding babies can be,” you sigh, smiling wryly. “he’s a nightmare this one.”
“oh believe me—i do,” she mirrors your laugh. reluctantly, she detaches diego who seemed to be enjoying towing on her blonde hair, back to you. “gael is nearly two and he’s still just as needy.”
“speaking of, where is he? did you bring him?”
the brazilian nods, motioning over to the barrier close to the turf, where raphinha is proudly flaunting his son off to araujo and frenkie.
“ahh, got it,” you say. “why aren’t you down there with him?”
she places her hands on her hips. “well, my mother took him down. told me to stay here and defend the seats, but honestly, i think she just wanted first dibs on the smoothies down at the bar.”
“i can’t say i blame her,” you chortle. “they always sell to the same ten people within a few minutes.”
taia hums in agreement, scanning back over the pitch. raphinha signals her over, also offering you a nod of encouragement.
“you coming?”
your eyes daze at the huddle of players down at the pitch, the one that shines the brightest for you, seemingly searching through the stadium.
“yeah sure, lets go,” you agree and trace her footsteps down the concrete stairs. the atmosphere, from what you could recall, was entirely dissimilar.
the chorus’ of singing morphed much louder down here, the flags had quadrupled in amount and the fulfilled ambiance seemed more lively.
as you approach the barrier, the energy on the field was palpable with anticipation as the players were beginning their warm-up.
raphinha was the first to jog to taia, giving gael one last twirl up in the air before almost carrying taia over the wall, trying to hugs her.
within a beat, out of the flurry of motion, you seize pablo’s attention; ultimately, it causes him to sprint miles over the grass. torre weaves through the players and staff, his focus solely on you.
“mi amor!” he calls, his voice rejecting the fans’ noise. pablo reaches you within seconds, cradling you securely by the back of your neck.
his lips skim your forehead, and trail down to the bridge of your nose, then, landing a featherlight kiss just above your cheekbone before turning his focus to his son.
“how’s my mi pequeño campeón?” pablo says agilely. your baby gurgles with joy, aiming for his fathers face and eagerly exploring his features as if he’d never seen him before.
either that, or he genuinely missed him.
he pinches at his fathers nose, chin and ears. “ow—ouch,” pablo laughs through the pain, his eyes nonetheless crinkling with delight as diego takes ownership of his face.
within a beat, a jagged voice elicits. “torre! vamos! estás tardando demasiado!” (you’re taking too long)
pablo sighs, glancing back at the wrathful staff member, until he gives you a small, apologetic grin. “i have to go.”
“of course, good luck out there amorè.” you lean in for one last kiss. it lingers for a second, prompting pablo pull you back in for another. “we’ll be cheering for you.”
“my biggest supporters, eres la mejor. i’ll find you after the game cariño,” he promises, giving your hand a firm squeeze.
hesitantly, he departs away and you spin around. you spot taia patiently waiting for you, with gael around her neck. “what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as you approach.
it’s only now where it hits you, just how long you’ve been carrying an unshakable grin—like it’s been glued there.
“cmon chica,” she extends her free hand out. “let’s get back to our seats before we miss anything.”
you tumble up the steps together, settling back into the rigid seats just as the first whistle blows almost instantly, the players lining up for the clubs anthem.
diego is perching atop your knees, with gael sat similarly on taia’s lap.
for a moment, as pablo scatters across the field and into his midfield position, you lock eyes with him and so does your son. “papá!” he squeals, pointing down at the field.
pablo gives you a fluttering wave, smiling at diego who’s enthusiastically squirming on your lap. you return a heartfelt smile, pressing a kiss to your son’s conditioned curls. “that’s right baby, there's papá.”
diego was burbling throughout the entirety of the match, exchanging and blowing raspberries to gael every so often. he wriggled on your lap, his miniature hands clapping widly to the rhythm of the shouts wavering via fans.
screams were exchanged, hugs, maybe a few tears were spilled but the match ended in a dominant win for barcelona. the best part about it? pablo had earned the most prestigious award, you believed existed, the potm.
there was nothing short of urgency and adrenaline surging through your veins as you scuttle down the stairs, frantically sprinting onto the pitch.
pablo spots you before your gaze even lands on him—already running toward you. “i’m so proud of you baby!” you squeal ecstatically, leaping into his arms and puckering every inch of his face.
your husband welcomes you with open arms and a kiss that’s far too passionate to appear on live tv—but he doesn’t care at all.
“this one’s for you,” torre bandages the golden medal around your neck, splaying his hands on your lower back. “you’re my real prize.”
you’re crying before you even realise it. you laugh through the tears, cupping your husband by the cheeks. “don’t be so dramatic,” you tease. “but te amo, i’ve never been so prouder of you.”
pablo moulds his lips back to yours. “te amo.”
your silence is suspended by a ringing babble that you both knew too well. taia kindly offered to nurse diego for a bit; she finally hands him back to you, after leaving.
“papá win! papá!”
he crouches down to the height of your hip. “did you see papá score today?”
diego gurgles again, kicking his legs and reaches out to grab his fathers jersey by the collar. “ah si, te gustó?” pablo ushers a laugh, pretending to interpret the babble. “papá ran fast huh?”
all three of you convey soft fit laughter, until you hear the hundredth man shout pablo’s name. lewa’s painfully, obviously the coarsest. “torre, vamos! ven por tu premio, hombre!”
there’s a swarming sea of barça jerseys, ready to swallow him into the circle, chanting and jumping around him as he hesitantly follows through.
“ole, ole ole olee!”
the team congratulate him on his award—slapping his back, ruffling his hair and attempting to lift him into the air. lamine even, jokingly, tries to snatch the trophy; ferran lifts it over his head whilst the others simultaneously holler his name.
“mamà..” diego cries, his eyes flickering shut. you look down, where you see diego abruptly fast asleep. his head is buried near the crook of your arm, already softly snoozing and snoring.
amid the rowdy celebration, pablo is back by your side. “he’s already gone to sleep huh? was he that energetic?”
“you have no idea,” you lean on his shoulder, passing the tiresome baby into pablo’s arms upon request. “i don’t think i’ve seen him that happy in all eleven months.”
your husband wraps his arm around your waist, his silver mvp award sparkling under the fluorescent lights. through the reflection, you can make out all three of you, looking all curled up together.
diego looks merely knocked out, pablo has his chin perching atop your head and your pressed up against his body, nuzzling into his neck.
“pablo,” a woman squeaks behind him quietly. “would you mind recording a video about your motm award for barça’s social media?”
your forced to straighten up when torre turns around. he looks at you for approval, nervously, until you encouragingly smile.
“si, si.. of course i can,” he eventually replies. sarah handed him the camera to hold, whilst you step back, fidgeting with the golden medal.
whilst still sweaty and jubilant, pablo emits a preparatory cough a good couple times, before flashing you a grin and hitting record. he then looks across at his son sleeping snugly, which gives him all the motivation he needs to speak.
“hola culers, estoy muy contento por la victoria de esta noche y por el premio motm, y espero con muchas ganas el próximo partido,” his tone as soft as velvet. (i’m very happy for tonight's victory and for the motm award, and i’m looking forward to the next match)
pablo beams into the camera, titling his head briefly out of shot, to show his son sleeping peacefully in his arms. “por supuesto, este niño en mis brazos me ayudó a lograr este sueño.” (of course this little boy in my arms helped me achieve this dream of mine)
guilty without charge. literally. “and my wife too.” the player directs the tape behind him, utterly catching you off guard.
his own expression softens as he ends the video with a warm smile, drawing his son closer to his body. “¡visca barça!”
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🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli
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foundtherightwords ¡ 4 months ago
Text
Fallen Empires - Epilogue
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Pairing: Geta x OFC
Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?
Chapter warnings: none
Chapter word count: 1.6k
Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19
Read on AO3
Epilogue
A year later
The sun was dipping low behind the hills, and a hint of crispness in the air signified autumn was on its way. Geta fixed the bundle of linen more securely under his arm as he strolled to the edge of the pasture and whistled. Hearing the familiar signal, the animals all came over. At the head were Vulcan and his mate, Charis, a long-legged doe goat, both strolling sedately. Vulcan's brother had been traded for Charis, and now the black goat, despite the limp in his hind leg, was walking proudly as the leader of the herd. They were followed by Amalthea's three new kids, born just that spring, with Amalthea herself behind, and Midas taking up the rear, watching over them with the benevolent air of a beloved uncle.
Geta walked behind the animals, running through the things that needed doing around the house. There was the garden fence that needed fixing. One of the window shutters had broken and the hinges needed replacing. The goat pen was still without a roof. After what had happened to Vulcan, Daphne didn't want to risk leaving the animals out in the open again, even in the summer months, so Geta had been slowly building a pen for them—slowly, because he was learning as he went. He could have asked Mikkos or any of their neighbors for help, of course, but he wished to build something with his own hands for once in his life.
It still felt strange to Geta that he should concern himself with such trivial, mundane activities, he who had once had empires and armies and conquests on his mind. His empire had now been reduced to this hill with its little hut and gardens, and he welcomed the change.
The hut came into view, and as usual, no matter how many times he'd seen the simple thatch roof under the branches of olive and laurel, the mud-brick walls glowing like gold under the setting sun, they never failed to bring joy to his heart. It was home. A home he'd never had, and never thought he could have.
But that humble hut would never feel like home without Daphne, who was sitting on a bench outside the door, her head back, her eyes closed, basking in the warm late summer sun. She had kept her word and gone to meet Geta at the edge of the pasture every evening as he came home with the animals. Lately, as she grew big and heavy with child, he had asked her not to walk so far, but as was Daphne's wont, she insisted on meeting him anyway, even if it was just outside their front door.
Geta let the animals into their half-finished pen and approached his wife. Sensing his presence, Daphne stirred. "Romulus, is that you?" she said. His name, as written down by Master Kavos in the village census, was Romulus Publius, and Daphne still called him Romulus most of the time. Whenever she called him Geta, he knew he was in trouble. 
"Here I am," he said.
She slowly opened her eyes, and here was another sight that never failed to set Geta's heart fluttering with happiness and gratitude—those green eyes, soft and shining with love as they rested on him. Every day Geta asked himself what he'd done to deserve the love from such a woman. He never found an answer, but he thanked the gods for her all the same.
Leaning down, he gave her a chaste and gentle kiss on the lips and placed his hand on her belly. "This baby should get here soon," he said, "because I'm tired of having to reach around him to kiss you."
"Or her," Daphne said, smiling sleepily at him.
"Or her," he agreed. He sat down next to her, kissed her belly, and then her lips again, not so gentle and not so chaste this time.
"Did you see my mother?" Daphne said, once they broke apart.
He handed her the bundle of linen. "She sent you some things for the baby and promised to come as soon as Mikkos and his wife have settled in."
Timon's death had been a blessing in disguise for his family. Without his dark presence holding them back, they were able to rebuild their own lives. Attikos, who found life in the village too dull after the army, had gone off with a merchant caravan, traveling up and down Syria and Judea, though he made sure to come back every few months or so, laden down with gifts for everyone and full of entertaining tales from his journeys. Mikkos had set up his own carpentry shop and married a nice girl from the village. As for Doumia, she had lost that haunted, frightened look that had hung over her like a veil when Geta first saw her and was having a grand time handing over the running of the household to her new daughter-in-law. When Geta asked her to come and help them during Daphne's confinement, Doumia had gladly accepted.
Daphne spread out the bundle and started sorting through the little pieces of fabric whose use was an entire mystery to Geta, but he enjoyed watching her nonetheless, delighting in the simple domestic scene and feeling excited about what that linen meant for them in the very, very near future. Only a little over a year ago, he would never have dreamed that a simple thing like watching his wife fold linen would bring him such fierce joy. He wouldn't even have dreamed of having a wife or a child. He had been the Emperor then, leading the Roman army against the Parthians. It seemed like such a long time ago that it had nothing to do with his life at present, and the person he had been back then was no more than a half-remembered dream.
"Is there any news in the village?" Daphne asked.
"There's news from Rome," said Geta. He'd heard it from Kavos and had been saving it to tell Daphne.
Hearing the serious tone in his voice, Daphne stopped fussing with the linen and looked up at him expectantly.
"Macrinus is dead," he began. Daphne's eyes widened as she waited, breathlessly, for him to continue. "My aunt, Julia Maesa, has raised an army to put her grandson, my cousin Varius Avitus, on the throne, and they have killed Macrinus and his son in Antioch."
"Recently?" Daphne's voice was hushed.
Geta shook his head. "Back in June," he said. News traveled slowly in these parts.
Daphne let out a long sigh and put her head on his shoulder. Geta realized then, as he wrapped his arms around her, that despite her strength and calm, she had been holding her breath for an entire year, waiting for an assassin to show up at their door at any moment. Now with Macrinus gone, they were finally, truly safe.
They were quiet for a while, just holding each other. Then Daphne spoke up, "This cousin of yours, how old is he?"
Geta tried to remember. Varius had still been wearing his bulla when Geta left Rome for the East; the boy couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen now. He told Daphne.
"Just a child then." She sounded rather sad. Geta remembered that he and Caracalla had been that age when they were named consuls alongside their father, but he refrained from pointing that out to Daphne. Besides, they had been children back then as well, not understanding the gravity of their positions. "Do you think he'd last?" Daphne asked.
"I don't know. I don't care. We're safe here, and that's all that matters."
Daphne raised her head to look at him more closely. "Do you regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"If you had gone to meet her in Hemesos, your aunt might have supported you and helped you reclaim the throne."
The thought had occurred to Geta. He shrugged. "Perhaps. But knowing Maesa, she is just as likely to have me quietly killed so she could put her grandson on the throne instead. She had always been jealous of my mother. My mother was the younger of the two, you see, yet she was married to an emperor and gave birth to two emperors." He fell quiet for a moment. The thought of Caracalla no longer made him cower with guilt and fear, but it still made him sad. "Though I have to say, being wife and mother to emperors had not done my mother any good. She died broken and alone. So... no. I don't regret it. Not one bit."
Daphne took his hand, caressing the remaining stump of his little finger, before lifting it to her lips. "You forgot, I'm also married to an emperor and about to give birth to a would-be emperor," she said, the hint of a smile in her voice. "It's not all bad."
"Only a former emperor, my sweet laurel," he reminded her, smiling. "That makes all the difference." He pulled her into his arms again and caressed her belly, as they both looked over the quiet hills, steeped in the last golden rays of the sun. "And our child doesn't need an empire to rule. Empires fall. So can emperors. But to be free, to rule one's own domain, to rule one's own mind and heart and soul? No one can take that away. That's what I've found here, with you. And that's all I want. For us and our child."
THE END
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Varius Avitus is the birth name of Emperor Elagabalus, whose disastrous reign followed Geta and Caracalla's. He only lasted four years and was assassinated along with his mother by the Praetorians. So perhaps it was a good thing that Geta never appealed to his aunt for help.
Anyway, this wraps up the story of Geta/Romulus and Daphne. It has been such a wild ride, but through all the uncertainty and frustration with the source material, I still had fun writing it, and the response has blown me away. Thank you so much for coming along on this journey!
Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs, @deliciousfestsalad, @charmingballoon
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mewnewew ¡ 4 months ago
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Oni!Sir Crocodile x Reader: The proposal?
Hey hey hey! Yeah I've been running from playing the yakuza game series (I'm on yakuza 3 rn) to college work, to my other ongoing fic series with Croc, and reading a whole bunch fanfiction! So yeah that's a lot. Here's something which will probably turn into a series as well (good grief). Have fun! Crocodile in this series is sort of a half-crocodile demon. It' was supposed to be based after this one art I saw of @/sengoku03100905 on X. Yeah I can't find it anymore cause they post a lot but goddamn they have art about Crocodile. Anyway, take the outfit which kind of started this brainworm. It's from this site: https://www.dreamshop18.it/prodotto/crocodile-treasure-cruise-world-journey/
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You were the daughter of two desperate parents. Two poor, desperate parents who also had two other children. You all lived in a region which was plagued with giving tribute to a oni. Well, he was considered an oni, but according to the mumblings of the local shaman, he didn't really look like one. According to the gossiping housewives and village drunks, you heard that he had two parts. His upper half was like a man having traces of green scales scattered across his torso, and the lower half was scaled, like a lizards but wider and a more powerful tail. He had the ability to conjure up large storms of sand, and almost swallow you whole with that sand, killing you.
The tribute was to sacrifice a some grain or wealth to the demon's lackeys who would come to collect at the first of every 3 months. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, however the recent winter had been absolutely horrible leaving behind no chance for anyone to either take care of their crops or save some of their wealth for anyone other than travelling merchants who would trade their grain and food for wealth. This meant drastic measures. You weren't supposed to have gone, but the whole village was desperate and that included your parents. So with you sat at the shrine where the demons lackeys collected the usual tribute from, decked in the village's prettiest kimono, with the one thing your family could give as a final send off, a comb. This comb had apparently been given by a ronin to your great great grandmother as thanks for feeding him. It was made out of bone with with a design of a cherry tree onto it. It sat in your hair, with along with your mixed feelings to the whole situation.
You were quite aware that most of the villagers didn't care about whether you lived or died. You were chosen over another girl since her family had a cow and therefore more authority to say no. However you were still given a pretty kimono since they hoped you would be enough to settle the debt.
Soon you saw them. A skinny man with an odd hairstyle, with a blue coat and a white lining. He had a yellowish brown kimono inside with a black sash. He walked alongside a young girl who walked with a pink kimono, holding a tied up bundle in her hand. The man frowned as he came close and in a shrill and squeaky voice spoke.
"Who are you? Where's the tribute?"
You shifted uncomfortably, but sat straight. Well, if you died, at least you died with your dignity intact.
"They...couldn't pay this time's tribute. So they sent me"
He scowled and eyed you top to bottom. "We can't accept-"
"She's the tribute" chimes the young girl.
He snaps his head to her, raising an eyebrow. "But he expects-"
"Her village has sent her tribute, hence she is the tribute. We have to take her in as is" She says in a solemn voice.
He cups his chin with his hand, looking down in thought for a few seconds. You shift uncomfortably. He sighs in the end, shaking his head.
"Okay then."
And off you went. Turns out they had a horse driven cart, where you sat along with bags of gold, wheat and even jewels. They didn't see the point in tying your hands and legs together, as you had thought they would.
"No point in you running, really. We know where you come from." Says the man, sneering at you.
You didn't know whether to scream at him and attack or to break down crying from the obvious ridiculousness of your current situation.
You sat and watched hills, towns and cities go by. About a week later, you arrived at the banks of a wide river, with forests surrounding it. The girl hopped down from the carriage, and came to untie your feet. Minutes later, you're led through the surrounding forest, to a clearing with a cave facing it. They set the tributes down in front of the cave, and you sit, hands in your lap. A second later, a bald man with a white, simple kimono comes with his arms folded, swords at his hip. He stares at you with his brows furrowed and gives you an appraising look. Slowly you see him.
He's much taller than the bald man, with a maroon kimono. His feet are bare, openly showing clawed feet akin to a lizards'. One of his hands are replaced with a gold curved piece of metal, bearing a sharp end at the tip. You feel dwarfed and akin to a mouse in front of a snake in front of those eyes. Those vibrant purple eyes, bearing both appraisal and disdain for your mere presence. His face bore a long scar stretching across the tops of the bones of his cheeks. His other hand holds a Kiseru, the smoke leaving the pipe in an unorganized pattern as he raises it to his mouth to take a breath. Behind him, trails a long, and wide tail, not exactly like a snake, but different.
"What's this?" Comes his voice, low and casual.
"A tribute, sir. From the region after the low hills, before the waterfall."
He steps closer to you, and you have to crane your head to look up at him, he's most definitely an oni.
"Why, are you the tribute?" He asks.
"My village suffered a bad winter sir. We don't have grain nor gold to offer" You answer in a clear voice though Internally you're screaming with fear.
He kneels, cups your jaw, his hand almost being as big as your face, clawed and scaled.
"What stops me from just killing you, and destroying your village anyway?"
You fought to keep your eyes to his, nails pushing into your palm to keep from trembling or trying to struggle out of his grasp.
"I can be your personal assistant!" You yelped.
He raises an eyebrow. "I have a helper already."
His tails sweeps to the other side revealing an elegant woman in a purple kimono, who almost looks like a geisha with her beauty. She gives you an inscrutable smile, her eyes blue like the darkening sky.
Your mind races, and you blurt out another answer. "Y-your wife then!"
Everything suddenly stops and internally you screech at yourself. But another part of you debates that what else could you have said and now there's someone in your head starting the funeral rites-
"Ku-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
You blink baffled at him. What was he-oh. He was laughing. He was laughing at you?
He grins, and you finally see it. His mouth somehow stretches beyond the normal amount so that you see that he doesn't have the normal amount of teeth like any human does, but two wide jaws full of teeth, splitting the skin apart. His kiseru sits comfortably between his teeth. You mildly wonder if it hurts.
"Fine then". Wait what?
He leans closer, kiseru smoke blowing into your face. A dangerous gleam of amusement dancing in his expression.
"I'll marry you."
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mysteriousdragon2 ¡ 2 years ago
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And thank you very much for the Hol Horse! He looks pretty good in your style ;p And no problem for the Jonathan! Jonathan was fun to draw, especially in an outfit I never drew before!
Love how you did the pose, it’s exactly what I envisioned!
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Art trade for @mysteriousdragon2 !! This was so fun to do, thank you so much for the jonathan ✨
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heartstringsbloom ¡ 9 months ago
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It’s midnight. The V8 Cafe is closed to everyone except Radiator Springs’ own. Flo sits in a booth near the back, out of her work apron and chatting with Ramone over tea. Lightning leans against her, head on her shoulder, wearing Doc’s old Fabulous Hudson Hornet jacket. It’s definitely a couple sizes too big, but he’s warm and Flo is running gentle fingers through his hair and he’s trying very hard not to fall asleep because it’s movie night and he’s sleeping over at Flo and Ramone’s.
They decide on Beauty and The Beast and Ramone has to run by Doc’s for Lightning’s inhaler but Doc says it’s at the Cozy Cone. By the time he gets back to the cafe Sally’s already dropped it off, bundled in her fluffy blue slippers and McQueen’s dinosaur robe that she refuses to give back. He tells her good luck prying her sleeping mask from his sticky little fingers. She gets on one knee and plants a kiss on said fingers, McQueen swoons, calls her a gorgeous sap, and Flo and Ramone share a knowing look but even they can’t tell if the two are best friends or more
They invite her to movie night but she declines because she has a case to look over, but thanks them anyway, smiling at Flo and Ramone and sticking her tongue out at McQueen who blows a kiss
Later that night Lightning is rambling about how Harv has him booked for, like, three interviews back to back and all with different people, and Flo shakes her head sympathetically as she combs his hair, wondering when he last combed it out because he’s got knots like she’s never seen before. She has to pull one apart with her nails and he winces, she apologizes, but he keeps talking and she can’t help but smile in amusement
They leave together the next morning for work, Ramone’s already at his shop, and they settle into their routine at the cafe. They work together as if they have their whole lives, cracking jokes across the diner and trading off plates for this table or that. There’s an order for pancakes and they notice at the same time that they’re out of eggs, so McQueen is like “oh I’ll get Harv to send some stuff over” and Flo just raises an eyebrow and says they’re going grocery shopping
The next day she lets McQueen wander around while she fills the cart and he comes back with arms full of candy, soda bottles, cookies, and any other sweet he can get his hands on
She’s trying not to laugh and lets him get *one* thing, wonders when she started being the one to give him permission for anything, and he pouts but tosses the cookies in the cart and puts everything else back as if he doesn’t have his own bank account
The kid has one heck of a sweet tooth, always with a lollipop in his mouth or a sweet beverage at the cafe. He also doesn’t eat enough veggies because Doc has to sneak them into his food, Flo learns
Sally managed to get him to drink kale smoothies, convinced him kale was a fruit, and McQueen slurps them up even if they are a little bitter
Strangely he’ll tear up a salad, as long as it’s drenched in salad dressing and cheese, so Flo makes sure to add them to his meals at the V8
The three work together as the Make Sure McQueen Eats His Veggies Club
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arabaka-archived ¡ 1 year ago
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ᰔ ̗̀➛ CHAPTER O3. BLOSSOMING.
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₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ゚. content warnings ⤸ sfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. no cw but while this chapter is sfw, the story is generally not. 1.1k word count.
₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ゚. author's note ⤸ chapter 3! sorry for taking so long, muse was dead but thanks to my beloveds, meg and @bulle-blackhole, i was able to break the curse and finish this! b also gave me the AMAZING idea that you'll see when you see reigen again and that honestly got me through the rest of the chapter lol.
CHAPTER ONE. | CHAPTER TWO. | TABLE OF CONTENTS.
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“We should probably set some ground rules, right?” You murmur to his chest after a short while of being in his embrace. 
Admittedly, Reigen hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah… Probably.” Reigen croaks, his cheeks heating up to an obvious red as he hears himself. “Sorry, I’ve just…” 
The man looks away, ashamed, brown eyes looking anywhere but yours as his sheepishness shows in red hues blooming over his cheeks. Though he knows, there is no running from this, not from the very truth of the fact that…
”I’ve never been in a relationship.” His voice drops decibel by decibel with every word but the shame that drips off every word has no one to blame but himself. 
The “going home” club really was a foolish decision. 
You watch Reigen's throat tense with a barbed swallow, your heart beating with sympathy (but not pity) at the sight of it. He’s pensively pushing his fingers and his gaze is to the floor. The only noise bouncing off the walls is the nervous tap, tap, tap of his feet. If his words didn’t say it, his body language certainly does: the man is anxious. Reigen thought for so long that being self-made was enough for him, but as he’s confronted with his first relationship ever, he can’t help but think he’s falling short of what you need. What you deserve.
That’s when your hand comes over his, fingers curling in for a reassuring squeeze. The corners of your lips subtly curl, a tender smile appearing as you tell him, “That’s okay. Every relationship is different anyways… And I think we can both agree our situation is very different.”
We. Our.
Those two little words seem to snap him out of his stupor; after all, Reigen wouldn’t want to miss that smile of yours. 
His hand shifts, his fingers moving to lace with yours. Immediately, he gulps, “S-Sorry, my hands are kinda sweaty.” 
“That's okay. Some sweat never hurt anybody.” You assure him with a light laugh. “How about this…” You whisper as your other hand folds over his knuckles. “Let's revisit this tonight, in the meantime we can think about all of this and… Shower because I know I need one.”
The proposition is a relieving one, Reigen letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding when you were done speaking. “I think that's a great idea.” He murmurs with a chuckle, eyes cast on your linked hands as he continues, “I really… Don't want to screw this up.” The man admits, unable to shake off the fear that everything will fall apart and it will be all his fault. He can fake it ‘til he makes it with everything else, everyone else in his life, but he would never do that with you.
He doesn't have to.
And when he hears you tell him that he won’t screw it up, that you won’t let him, with the sweetest smile, he believes you.
—
A few hours and many, many, Mobgle searches later, Reigen stands outside of your apartment door. He’s traded his suit for a more casual look, even tried parting his hair a different way… Until he saw his reflection in the nearby window and quickly rectified that mistake.
Just in time too because there you are, opening the door with a bigger smile on your face than the one you had this morning. “Reigen!” You chirp, extra excited to show him the bouquet of flowers you had bought for him earlier that day… Only to see the exact bouquet in his hands as well.
Pink roses line both arrangements but the real stars are the gerberas, their stark white petals standing out among the rosy leaves and bundles of baby’s breath. Both sets of flowers are the same, down to the pink cellophane wrap and white ribbon around the stems. 
Both of you blink in surprise at first, stunned to silence until an escaped snort from Reigen gets you both to start laughing. “What are the odds?” You ask after a giggle, wiping your eye of the single tear that came from the belly laugh. “Let me guess…”
You don’t have to, Reigen jumps on it seamlessly, “‘You can’t go wrong with roses and gerberas!’” 
“And let me guess…” You start again with a toothy grin, “He didn’t charge you for the baby’s breath either?”
“... What?”
–
You sit on the couch– yes, the same couch you two were shamelessly making out on like you were teenagers at the height of puberty less than 24-hours prior. Though this time, there isn’t any tension to cut through. No gulped swallows and nervous stirrings of the gut.
“We should say our first rule out loud at the same time.” You’re overeager, every cell in your body just itching to hammer out these details so you can kiss that stupid face of his again… 
Okay, you really just want to seal the deal so you can officially call Reigen Arataka your boyfriend.
Reigen exclaims with a sweat already running from his brow, “What if yours is way more serious than mine?!” 
“Aw, c’mooooon.” He’s still hesitating so you bring out the big guns… A pout and a stare that would put a kitten to shame.
Reigen’s face could not get redder. He can practically feel his heart ramming against his ribs just looking at you! “... Fine.” He clears his throat, trying to recover from the strike to the heart that was your expression. “You’re not gonna do that every time you need me to agree with you, right?” He asks after a beat, letting out a chuckle that makes the red glow on his cheeks even brighter somehow.
“I make no such promise.” You answer with a nod and a smug smile, your chin wrinkling from the silly expression. “Now, c’mon! One… Two… Three!”
“No PDA at work!” 
“We shouldn’t do anything at work!”
You both let out a sigh of relief. 
“Oh, good.” Reigen leans back on the couch, eyes closed briefly in contentment. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on this. But it’s not because I don’t want the others to know!” He’s now sat upright, needing you to see the honesty in his eyes because he would never want you to get the impression he wants to hide you for any reason.
Your hand on his knee soothes his worries, a touch he can already see himself craving. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I knew what you meant but Reigen…” You smile at him tenderly, squeezing his leg as you assure him, “You don’t need to watch yourself around me, afraid you’ll make a mistake just because we’re going to be dating now.” Oh, how your cheekbones already tingle from how much the word “date” makes you giddy. 
“Right, right.” Reigen returns your affectionate smile, his hand coming to hold yours. The gesture is still foreign to his bones but god, it feels perfect. “Well, I’m sure we can handle ourselves at work.”
“Totally.”
“Totally.”
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melanieph321 ¡ 1 year ago
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Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 5/15
Part 6 och 7 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!
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Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.
Enjoy!
It was your birthday. Twenty-fifth to be exact. And yes, you were celebrating it in Liverpool, but not against your will.
"Happy birthday dear Y/N and Trent, happy birthday to youuuuu!"
It was a day you shared with another person. Your other half. For this reason you were quite excited to return home.
"Open them, open up your gifts!"
The celebration was held at Trent's apartment, surrounded by family and friends. Mostly, Trent's friends, since you didn't have nearly as many.
"A golden fly?" Trent frowned, as he pulled out the item that your parents had handed to him in a neatly wrapped package.
"For when Liverpool wins the league, son." Your dad winked. "Grandma is yet to finish your golden suit."
"Thank you, I guess." Trent muttered.
Everyone cheered and threw their heads back with laughter. Everyone but you.
"I swear to God if they got me the same gift..."
As twins it was almost a tradition that the two of you received identical gifts. You and Trent were always walking around with matching pajamas during the holiday season, and that was just last year.
Trent leaned closer to you and whispered. "Where is Whiskey when you need him?"
"Poor Whiskey." You sighed. "May he rest in peace in cat heaven."
Whenever there was a gift or toy that neither you or Trent liked, you would simply hand it over to your one eyed cat. Whiskey played with anything, destroying everything. Usually people would say that their dog ate their toy, however you and Trent had a cat that got the job done for you.
"How old was he when he died, like twenty?" Trent chuckled.
"I know, right? Cat's aren't supposed to live that long, are they?"
"Especially if they've only got one eye and ate Grandma's black beans for a living."
It was nice, laughing with Trent. Whilst the party was going on around you the two of you sat back on the couch, recalling childhood memories. At one point you forgot about your reasons for letting him off easy. You had forgotten to tell him about the great news. Luckily Trent reminded you himself.
"I heard you got a new job."
"Right, my job!" You exclaimed, as it all came to you, your reason for coming.
"Grandma said you were doing terrible at her shop anyway. I guess she is glad to get rid of you."
"I actually got a great job offer." You were grinning from the inside out, eager to tell Trent the news, simply because of the mind games it would cause. "You won't guess who I'm working..."
"Do tell." Trent stretched his arm behind the couch, pulling out a medium sized box with cut out holes in it. "But first open up my gift." He said, placing the box in your lap. Something was definitely moving inside of it.
"You got me something?" You frowned.
"Of course." He nodded. "Now open it, see what's inside."
He wasn't supposed to get you something. A pact made way back. As children you swore never to buy each other gifts because it was smarter to let other people do it for you, then trade the items later.
"Come on, Y/N. Open it." He said, beaming at you like a fool. However it was you who was the fool. Trent made you look like one for not buying him a gift.
You gasped as the box tipped over in your lap with a set of soft paws pressing down on your thighs.
"Oh my God, Trent?"
There was a collective sigh from the people at the party, seeing as a bundle of orange cuteness had swept into your arms.
"You got me a kitten?" You lifted the baby cat in the air, examining him.
"He looks just like Whiskey, doesn't he?" Trent smiled. "He's from the same shelter so who knows, could be his cousin?"
You were suddenly overwhelmed with tremendous joy, and gratitude. Whiskey's death was the first heartache you had experienced as a child, followed by your grandfather's passing. And now it had been restored, a piece of your heart.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." You threw yourself at Trent, with Whiskey Jr meowing in your hand.
"Alright alright, don't break him." He laughed.
You wiped your tears. "Trent, this is the best gift anyone could have ever gotten me. Now I feel bad for sticking to our pact."
"Don't be." He said, stretching out to pet Whiskey Jr. "I feel like I owe you."
"Owe me?"
He shrugged in response. "I told mom and dad about your situation, having them freak out on you. I didn't think they would force you to move to Manchester of all places. And I didn't think that you would...."
"That I would what?"
He had stopped talking, his hand still scratching the back of Whiskey Jr's ear. His expression was hard to read,  but it became clear when he said, "I didn't think you would stop talking to me."
It made you draw a breath, hearing the sincerity in his voice.
"Trent, I...."
"I mean what's it been, like two months?"
"Three." You corrected. "It was the longest you had gone without speaking to each other, ever. You thought about it and realized the emptiness it had caused. A black hole that just kept growing inside of you.
"Trent, I should tell you...."
You had made a mistake. A big mistake accepting Ruben's job offer. You only took it to fuck with Trent, to get your revenge. However that desire was long gone now.
"Should I take him while you get that?" He asked.
"Huh?"
"Your phone?" He said, followed by the two of you glancing down towards the table before you, your phone rattling it as someone was calling you.
"I'll be right back." You said, excusing yourself, handing Whiskey Jr over to Trent. You recognized the number that was calling you and made sure to slip to somewhere closed off, where no one could hear you.
"Um, hello?"
"Y/N, I need you to come into work today. Can you make it?" It was Ruben on the other end of the line, his voice urgent.
You groaned inwardly. You had specifically scheduled your day off to celebrate your birthday, and the last thing you wanted to do was spend it at work. "I'm sorry Ruben, I actually can't come in today. It's my birthday, remember?"
You had mentioned it last week, when Ruben had asked you to once again come in on short notice. It was clear that as his personal stylist you were expected to be on demand during all hours of the day, every day of the week.
"I really need you to come today Y/N. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you on such an important day, however you did make a commitment to work for me, no?"
You sighed and rubbed your temple. Having only worked for Ruben for three weeks you knew that he was a demanding boss, but this was taking it too far.
"I'm not coming in, Ruben," you said firmly. "If you fire me, then so be it. But I'm not going to ruin my birthday for you."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you braced yourself for the worst. The worst came following the sigh Ruben let out. "Fine, Y/N, as you wish. You're fired."
"Wait what?"
The tone went flat in your ear.
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jeanie-g ¡ 6 months ago
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if it's not too late (hope it's not lol) for the spotify wrapped #77 and jamie/trevor
never too late! <3 xmas gifts are put away, leftovers are foiled, and i'm back into the swing of things ;)
[#77] Hot Mess (dodie)
One more reunion, then goodbye again / Oh God, I'd be lyin' if I didn't want ten
There's maybe one silver lining in Trevor being injured again: Jamie doesn't have to play him. It's sort of weird, this odd dance they have going on. And it's not like it's intentional. When Jamie's out, Trevor's healthy. When Jamie comes back, Trevor's injured. The Flyers have had a handful of games against the Ducks since the trade, and Jamie and Trevor have never been in the same one at the same time.
Jamie can't say he's upset about it, though. Trevor's a bitch of player, having more skill in his pinky toe than a lot of guys in the league. He played against Trevor a couple times in Juniors; that was before he really knew him, and it still sucked. One of the things he dreaded the most when get got traded was that he'd have to do it again, this time as his best friend, his boyfriend.
But it hasn't happened—yet, at least. Trevor jokes that it's some sort of curse ("the nice kind"), because it's not like either of them are out that long anyways—just enough to coincidentally miss each other. And Jamie's not one for the supernatural, but he has to agree it's a bit spooky.
But again, he can't complain, not when Philly shuts out Anaheim 4-0 and he doesn't have to block Trevor's shots to do it.
Jamie's just settled back into his hotel room when he hears a knock at the door, and when he opens it, Trevor's smiling face greets him. He launches himself into Jamie, throwing his arms around his shoulders and tucking his face into his neck.
"Jamie, baby, I missed you," he mumbles, and the vibrations from it make Jamie's whole body tingle. If he's upset about the loss, he definitely doesn't show it.
Jamie pulls Trevor fully into the room and shuts the door.
"What, the hotel staff don't get a show?" Trevor asks, laughing.
Jamie just shakes his head and pushes him gently against the wall, bringing his hands to Trevor's cheeks and kissing him deeply. Trevor hums and sinks into it, and there aren't any words for some time after that.
They have to be gentle with Trevor's knee, but they find a way to make up for lost time, Jamie gently laying Trevor out on the bed and taking him apart the way he likes best.
Later, when they're both spent and snuggling under the sheets, Trevor turns to him. His tousled, dirty blonde hair fans the pillow like some kind of Greek god, and his tan skin contrasts the crisp, white sheets. Jamie wants to bundle him up and keep him here forever.
"Jamie," he starts, immediately punctuating it with a yawn.
Jamie smiles, leaning forward to kiss his nose. Trevor scrunches it adorably, which just prompts Jamie do it again.
"I'm trying to say something," Trevor complains.
Jamie rolls his eyes. "Then say it."
He smiles. "Good game."
Jamie laughs, sitting up to lean his head on his elbow.
"What?" Trevor asks. "I meant to say it when I got here but, well, we got a bit distracted."
"Thank you, sweetheart," Jamie says, and he watches Trevor's ears go red. He doesn't use that pet name often—dispenses it sparingly because it makes Trevor blush like he does now.
Trevor tries to appear unaffected. "Don't mention it. It's my duty to comment on my boyfriend's game even when it's to the detriment of my team."
Hearing Trevor say my team still stings, but it's gotten leagues better over the last year. Jamie loves his guys, and he loves the city of Philadelphia. There are certainly worse places to get traded to.
"But you're lucky," Trevor continues. "If I was out there, let's just say it wouldn't have been 4-0."
Jamie sticks out his tongue. "You're right. It would've been 5-0."
Trevor feigns offense and smacks Jamie's arm. "You bitch."
Jamie dissolves into laughter, rolling until he's half on top of Trevor, scooping him into his arms.
"Ow," Trevor says, though Jamie's barely even touching the bad knee.
"Shut up. It does not hurt."
"You're just trying to keep me out longer so we can't smoke you."
Jamie lays his head on Trevor's shoulder and sighs into Trevor's hair. "No, but I would to keep you here with me."
It's awfully vulnerable, and it changes the air between them instantly. A few moments pass in silence, then:
"Jamie, look at me."
Jamie sits up, and Trevor's wearing a sober expression.
"I love you," he says, his eyes darting between Jamie's. "We've done this for almost a whole season. We can get through these next few months, I promise. Then we'll go to Jack and Quinny's for the summer and it'll be the two of us for twelve whole weeks."
Jamie feels that sting in the bridge of his nose that means he's about to cry. "It's so difficult."
"I know, baby." With his free hand, Trevor tucks a piece of hair behind Jamie's ear. "But you're worth it."
Jamie can't stop the onslaught of tears. He drops his head back onto Trevor's shoulder and lets it out. Because they have these times in hotel rooms, and on the phone, and on FaceTime, but it's not enough. It's never enough.
Jamie took for granted what he had in Anaheim—living with Trevor, playing with him, getting to soak up his presence every single day. He was too naive to think it'd stay like that forever.
He wishes he could go back in time and tell himself to cherish every single minute he had with Trevor, even when he was pissing Jamie off or getting into stupid fights. Jamie would kill for just ten minutes in their cozy high-rise, for ten seconds sitting on their rooftop with their pinkies laced and nothing but sunshine on the horizon.
It's only a few minutes before Jamie calms down and his sobs quiet. Trevor's petting his hair; Jamie hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. He pulls back and readjusts himself so he's not crushing him, turning and resting his head in the crook of Trevor's armpit. Trevor's arm wraps around his side.
"Better?" Trevor asks.
Jamie chuckles hollowly. "Yeah."
"Nothing like a good cry, huh? I think I went through three whole tissue boxes the night you got traded. Mason had to keep feeding me water so I wouldn't get dehydrated."
"You did?"
Trevor's finger's make circles on Jamie's torso. "I was a mess, Jimbo. You know that."
"But you never told me that."
He feels Trevor shrug. "I didn't wanna make you feel worse than you already did."
Something drops in Jamie's stomach. Of course Trevor didn't wanna let him see the damage. Why would he?
After the trade, Jamie had an excuse to act like an emotional wreck; Trevor was the one who had to save face and act like he was fine. Jamie, feeling so low at one point, had wanted to break up just to spare them both some pain. It was Trevor who convinced him to hold fast, who fought for them tooth and nail and brought them to where they are today.
He always spares people's feelings and bears the burden when needed. He's always the one to get Jamie to open up, yet he keeps his own feelings close to his chest. He cares so openly and loves so deeply that he forgets he has to turn some of that attention towards himself. And Jamie has spent the better part of three years angling that mirror, showing Trevor just how amazing he is.
Jamie turns his head and captures's Trevor's lips in a kiss, slow and careful this time. He's trying to emit every feeling he has for this man, every ounce of love and gratitude, into the movement of his lips.
When he finally pulls back, Trevor's eyes are dazed.
"You're right, Z. We've got this. We're together now, and that's what matters."
Trevor nods. "We just gotta stay in this moment—right here, baby."
He will. They'll get through this. Day by day by day. But for now, all he has to do is close his eyes and bask in the warmth of Trevor's body against his.
He'll never take it for granted again.
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my-favourite-zhent ¡ 1 year ago
Text
New Tricks - Chapter 7
Status: Work In Progress
Version: 1.01
Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC
Rating: NC-17 (This chapter R)
Genre: Adventure/Romance Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.
Table of Contents
Read Here on AO3 or below the cut.
New Tricks - Chapter Seven
“Everyone’s got their daggers right?” Rugan asked while double-checking his own in the side of his boot.
Both his companions nodded. They didn't usually carry their proper weapons when out of armor but it was best practice to always have something small and concealable at hand. Just in case.
“Good.”
Deciding it was too risky to take the main thoroughfares, the trio made their way down the side alleys in the general direction of the tavern.
It was slow going through the tight twists and turns. Checking every shadow lest they be ambushed.
“Maybe the fighting will be over by the time we get there.” Olly whispered hopefully.
“And if they've set the tavern on fire by then?” Rugan asked. “That's all our stuff you can kiss goodbye.”
“Wouldn't mind a good fight anyways.” Added Bellar. “Gets the blood pumping.”
Rugan noted that the adrenaline had already sobered Bellar up quite a bit.
After what felt like an eternity they wrapped around to the rear of the tavern. They were close enough to the main street now that they could hear the ring of steel on steel, the shouts and screams of combat. The smell of smoke was thick here and the air hazy with soot. The tavern itself was still intact but Rugan could see flames licking the roofs of the structures across the street.
Cautiously, Rugan tested the back doors and found them stuck fast.
“Locked. Probably whatever patrons that are still inside barred the doors to keep the fighting out.”
“Fat lot of good that'll do them if the place goes up.”
“Maybe we could gain entry from the second level?” Olly suggested.
Suddenly a large bundle wrapped in cloth fell at their feet. Rugan looked up to see Izzy peering down at him from the balcony.
“Did you know, you can see the smoke from this place clear to the apothecary in the Trades Ward?”
“Izzy!”
“Your things are in there.” She gestured to the bundle at his feet and Rugan hastily moved to open it. Sure enough his jerkin, crossbow and shortsword were there.
“I wasn't sure if that was everything.” She called out hesitantly.
“No, this is perfect, Iz. My thanks.” He beamed up at her and she returned a heartfelt smile.
She turned to address the others as Rugan scrambled to put on his kit. “If you two can tell me where to find your rooms I can grab your things too.”
“Let a stranger rifle through my things? Guess again love.”
“Fair enough.” Isolde slid herself over the rail before sliding down one of the beams that supported the balcony.
Reaching down she twisted a ring off her left hand and held it out to Bellar. The ring was copper in colour and shaped to imitate a braided rope.
“You can climb up there yourself pretty easily with this-” She pulled it back as Bellar reached forward. “but I expect it back as soon as you're done.”
“Give it here.” He replied impatiently and Isolde placed the ring in his palm. Bellar examined it, rolling it between his finger tips. “This is a ring of climbing.”
“So that's how you scaled the tower.” Rugan chuckled as he continued buckling the straps of his armor.
“Useful tool in my line of work.”
Bellar proffered the ring to Olly but he waved his hand. 
“I’m fine, it's not so high.” And with that he began scrambling up the wooden planks of the tavern's outer wall. He easily mounted onto the ledge of a second story window and from there leapt, grabbing the lip of the balcony before hoisting himself up and over.
“He's a rather good climber isn't he?” Izzy stood in awe.
“Even with the ring I don't know that I want to attempt that particular manoeuvre.” Bellar agreed.
Luckily Olly was already securing a rope to the balcony rail. He tossed the other end over the side.
“Oy. Where the hells were you keeping this?” Bellar asked as he grabbed the rope.
“In my pocket?” Olly wrinkled his brow in confusion. “It's not a very long bit.”
Bellar scaled the wall and climbed over the rail onto the balcony before turning back to Rugan. “We hopping into it once we've all got our kits?”
Rugan sighed. “Seems you've already set your mind to it.”
Bellar grinned. “Well we've got to look after the family.”
“You called the locals sullen.” Rugan's voice rising with annoyance.
“Well maybe they'll be less sullen after we help.” 
“Family first.” Agreed Olly, stepping out of the doorway back onto the balcony. He was already in his leathers, bow strung and at the ready.
“When did you?” Bellar was momentarily stunned before hurrying inside, muttering something about not being the last one out.
“I'm gonna check the windows on the north side, see if I can get a vantage.” With that Olly slipped back inside.
Rugan turned to Izzy. “You should get out of here, lass.”
She made to argue and Rugan held up his hands to stop her. “Look, I know you're not a fighter. I appreciate your help really but you shouldn't have even come down here.”
“I was in the area.” She lied.
“You just said you were at the apothecary's.”
She opened her mouth to lie again but no words came to her. Rugan smiled and shook his head before pointing back the way they’d come.
“The way through the alleys should be clear straight through. If this place isn’t safe by supper then we’ll meet at the Mermaid.”
Izzy pouted but did as she was told. “Don't let Bellar lose my ring.” She warned, then softer so that he almost didn’t hear. “Be safe.” Before slipping away quietly towards the eastern alley.
“Right, ready.” Called Bellar as climbed back over the rail and down the rope, armor on and morning star strapped to his belt. He brandished the mace as he landed and Rugan unsheathed his short sword in turn.
The pair stalked down the laneway between the tavern and its neighbouring building. As they rounded the corner of the building they could see fighting in the street. 
It took a minute to realize who was on which side, dressed as they all were in dark armor. Rugan noticed that two combatants with their backs turned to them wore cloaks emblazoned with an eye that looked something akin to a sun in splendour. Certainly not a zhent design, and conceivably something that represented a beholder like Xanathar.
The left most enemy seemed to be brandishing a blade in defense of her partner. The one on their right began gesturing and intoning the beginnings of a spell. Rugan and Bellar shared a look before raising their weapons.
Bellar's morning star crashed down on the caster’s head with a sickening crack. They toppled to the ground in a heap, brain matter oozing from the split in their scalp.
Rugan for his part thrust his sword from a low angle that would've easily pierced ordinary chainmail or leather. Instead it glanced off the plate mail under the cloak with a heavy clang.
“Bugger.”
The half-orc paladin spun on him, her eyes flashing as she raised her long sword. Heavily armoured as she was, the first sweep she took at him was too sluggish to connect, Rugan dancing back just out of the blade's reach. This forced him back into the alley however, with less room to manoeuvre out from her next strike. The slash whistled pass, just grazing the bridge of his nose and leaving a hot red line in its wake. Bellar was behind her then, his morning star crashing against her ribs, the reverberations of that blow flowing up his arms.
It stunned her for a moment and Rugan took the opportunity to come forward with another thrust to her face. She was faster this time, batting away his strike easily before coming forward again. Bellar moved to repeat his earlier hit but she whirled on him, it had been a feint and now her blade swept his weapon aside with ease. Bellar stumbled back over the corpse of the caster and had to roll to the side to keep from tripping. 
The half-orc raised her blade to strike at Bellar again but a spear point burst through her eye. With a grunt the spear's wielder thrust again, pushing the tip clear through the paladin’s skull.
The blonde elf danced back, abandoning their spear as the half-orc tipped over.
“Who the hells are you?” The elf turned to size up the duo.
“Family from out of Baldur's Gate.” Rugan supplied.
“Ah, Zarys' crew. She said you were halfway competent.”
“Probably the closest thing to a compliment we’ll draw out of her.” Muttered Rugan.
He noticed the sounds of fighting had died down and instead there were cheers from a little way down the street.
“That was a fine jab.” Remarked Bellar to the elf.
“I know.” Came their smug reply.
As the cheering grew louder Rugan saw some of the local crew carrying Olly while hooting and hollering.
“Do you have a name, elf?” Bellar asked.
“I do.”
Rugan approached the crowd. “What have you gotten yourself into now, lad?” He shouted up to Olly.
“Shot some mages!” Came Olly's reply.
“Kid got two with one arrow!” Came a cry from one of the zhents and Olly beamed.
“Good on ya’ lad.” Rugan smiled back.
“Alright folks, let's get the hells out of here before the city guard shows up!” The elf shouted over the cheers.
“The fighting’s already over, what's the point of them showing up now?” Rugan scoffed.
“Didn't expect them to involve themselves when it was actually dangerous did you?” They rejoined.
Already the zhents were putting Olly on his feet, scavenging from the fallen and scattering to the various alleyways.
“Come along then, lad.” Rugan called over to Olly. “Zarys will likely be at the warehouse, we can debrief her before trying to salvage our afternoon. Are you coming, Bellar?”
“The locals can debrief her.”
“They can but she’d rather hear it from us, and preferably before the days out. I don’t want to get another earful about slacking off.”
“You handle it, that’s what you’ve got seniority for isn’t it?”
Rugan sighed and waved him off. ��Olly, would you rather stay with bell end over here?”
“Nah, I saw some stuff you two missed, better to come along.”
“Fair enough, lad.”
+++++
Rugan had been correct in assuming Zarys would want a report, she actually seemed pleased for once.
“You’ve done good work, but don't get involved in any more skirmishes if you can avoid it. They may be family but we've got to look out for our numbers too. We'll be back on the road again in two days after all.”
“Aye, Zarys. We'll keep our noses clean.”
Zarys snorted. “Might be a little late for that, Rugan.”
Olly laughed softly and Rugan touched his nose remembering the cut there. “Oh very clever.”
“Olly, you can take your leave now. I need to speak to Rugan.”
The boy obeyed without question. Rugan could hear some of the locals give Olly a few cheers when they saw him emerge from the office.
“He showed good initiative today.”
“He always does. I know a good recruit when I see one.” Rugan wasn't just bragging about Olly's recruitment but Zarys' too.
“He's smart, a terrific shot, keeps a cool head and follows the rules. I want to keep Olly on as part of my crew for a long time to come, Rugan.” The fact that Zarys hadn't yet made a complaint was a bad sign.
“I know where you're going with this Zarys.” Rugan sighed.
“You do? Well fantastic why don't you tell me then.”
“He’s capable in all the ways a zhent should be excepting one.”
“Which is?” Zarys prodded.
“He's soft, and not in the way men usually are. He's not squeamish or cowardly, those would be… more acceptable.”
“Go on, how is he soft then?”
“You know already and I know it's my job to sort it out.” Rugan could hear the frustration in his voice.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“He's kind. He's kind and one day it's going to get him killed.”
“What I'm worried about, Rugan, is not simply that he'll get himself killed. What I'm worried about is that one day he's going to make the kind choice, not the smart choice. The likelihood being that the rest of us would be worse off for it.”
“By worse off you mean poorer for it.” He scoffed.
“I mean what I said. Don't presume to correct me. You and I know better than most what the kind choice can cost you.”
Rugan winced at this, it was a memory he preferred not to dwell on.
“Aye. I'll see to it.”
“Good. Go on then, we're done here.”
With a resigned sigh Rugan turned to go. He descended into the warehouse and found that Bellar had made his way down as well.
“And I'm just saying who names a city ‘WaterDeep’. Like yeah water deep, I sure hope it is, mate!”
“It's named after the harbour.” Olly argued. “Where it was deep enough to dock the boats.”
“That's just proving my point Olly.”
“Having a rousing discussion I take it?” Rugan joined them at their usual cluster of crates.
“Bellar is being a poor guest.”
“Me? I'm perfectly amicable.”
“Take it you followed the elf here.” Rugan eyed Bellar knowingly.
“He's right smitten.” Olly was grinning from ear to ear.
“He's a right hypocrite is what he is.”
“Hey, it's different if it's one of our own.”
“Sure, different in that they're more likely to cut off your balls if they catch you messing around.” Rugan slipped back into his easy humour and lilting cadence.
“No problem for you then, Zarys already has your balls.”
“Just for safekeeping. Now if we're done here gentleman…” But Rugan realized that Bellar was already distractedly looking somewhere over Rugan's shoulder.
Rugan and Olly shared a knowing look, Olly snickering though Bellar failed to notice. Rugan simply clapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. “We'll see you later lad.”
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fentrashcat ¡ 1 year ago
Text
TW- mention of pet loss
I wrapped my coat around the tiny, weak cat to shield it from the storm as I carried it home. It purred against my chest, making my wonder if it had been a pet, or if it just knew I wanted to help.
The wind whipped my hair around my face as thunder crashed across the sky. The startled cat dug its claws into my stomach, and I hissed from the pain. I adjusted my hold and muttered an apology under my breath as I picked up my pace. The cat yowled as my hurried footsteps jostled it, but I couldn't slow until the door of my apartment slammed shut behind me. I was panting, knowing that I was too weak to be running like that right now. When I was so close to the end. I sank to the floor with my back against the door as I took the cat out of my jacket to examine it. The poor girl was little more than a kitten, covered in fleas and mites, her bones clearly showing through her skin.
Wanting to act fast to avoid an infestation, as soon as I caught my breath, I headed to the kitchen. The kitten laid on my chest, cuddling to my neck as I started to run some warm water in the sink. One dish soap bath, and many cuts to my hands later, I wrapped the kitten in a dish towel and gently dried her face.
"I know darling, I know," I cooed over and over like a mantra to the distressed creature. Now that she was clean, I could see that she was a tawny brown tabby with white on her paws and tip of her tail. "Aren't you a beautiful girl? What should I call you?" I asked, cradling her to my chest as I pulled out my phone. I frowned as my thumb hovered over a number I hadn't called in a while. I shook my head and put my phone away when the kitten yowled in my ear again. "You're right Fawn, I can handle this." I hummed and rocked almost unconsciously as I switched over to a delivery app.
A knock at my door sounded about thirty minutes later, and I opened it to grab the pet store bags. "Thanks for coming out in this storm, here's a little extra for your trouble," I said, trading the bags for some extra cash. That would eat into my grocery budget for the week, but does that really matter? It's likely I only have a few days left anyway. Still clutching the bundled kitten to my chest, I started one handedly putting together a bottle of formula. The kitten ate greedily, purring just as loud as she could, and I finally managed a smile. Now with a full tummy, Fawn started to fall asleep. I put together a box of blankets and set it on a heating pad, settling her in for the night. As I cleaned and bandaged my hand, I could hear Fawn purring away. I set an alarm for her next feeding, and fell into a peaceful sleep as a warm feeling washed over me.
As the days passed, I slowly found myself gaining strength. I was surprised. After Cal left, I knew no one loved me, and thus my days should have been numbered, yet here I was several weeks after I expected my death. Fawn was my constant companion in this time, also regaining her strength and becoming a normal playful kitten.
Many many years passed, and Fawn had been the first of many more rescues to come. Although love could not sustain pets the way it did humans, which broke my heart, their unconditional love was enough to save me. The walls of my apartment were now lined with pictures of my beloved rescues, and pictures of them with the forever homes some went to. As my eyes settled on a longe yellowed picture of Fawn, I smiled sadly. She had passed 106 years ago to the day, and I missed her just as much now as I did the first day after her passing. Before my mind wandered too far, a litter of puppies sprinted past my feet with playful yaps, making my laugh at their antics.
Truly, this is where I was meant to be, the love I had for these creatures, and the love they had for me, my own form of immortality.
Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.
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unknownjpegs ¡ 1 year ago
Text
letters
Item select —> Letter
[A bundle of inexpensive parchment, tidily pressed, tied off with brown twine. Smells faintly of the sea. Fingerprint marks indicate where it’s been read and reread.]
Benji! [This is written larger than the rest of the neat, careful script]
I have found a quiet place inside the crypt, which means that I have found a moment to write to you. We’ve made camp alongside a sarcophagus that we’ve not been able to open—cannot help but judge the poor rogue (Lyana) doing her thief kitting, because Lark could probably get this done with his eyes closed.
Oh, right, you’re probably reading this and wondering where I’ve landed myself now. I’ve taken a contract to eliminate some undead (paladin duties, as you know, the code, oath, all that) with a new group of adventurers. And speaking of judging—Benji. Actually, I will get to the cleric in a moment.
Let me thank you instead for the recipe you sent for that tincture! You know how fucking rotten I am at potions and the like. You made it rather easy, though. Reading the instructions sort of felt like you were over my shoulder, telling me what to do. Admittedly, miss that a bit!
[an ink blot has stained part of the letter here, a smudged fingerprint]
Anyway, I need you to not be angry at what I’ll be writing next. Stop being preemptively angry just by that as well. I can picture you right now, with so much ease. Get that knot in your brow and tilt to your mouth. Might show off a cute fang with a curled lip. Well, the thing is, the crypt is dank and molded and I’ve definitely gotten a cold. Which, actually, you might be laughing at this part. Reading me talk about a cold (likely cramped up inside a tree, aren’t you? Half folded in on yourself, in weird ways. Never could sit right), probably a bit funny.
I guess you’ll be more annoyed that I haven’t spoken up about it. Or tried to ask our Cleric for some assistance. And I could heal myself probably (paladin!) but I don’t want him to see me doing it. Right, I can also imagine you rolling your eyes at me—like you aren’t just as stubborn. I just don’t like him, Benji. And I can’t let him win. He can’t know I’m suffering a common cold from dusty, moist crypts. One Healing Word on myself and he’ll see the blue flash and go ‘Aha! We should not have hired this paladin!’
Which, maybe is true…
Lyana, the rogue who cannot get the sarcophagus open (really easy work, Benji, promise, doesn’t look like alchemy, know what I mean?) is lovely really. Very sweet. I think she disikes me. Like, a lot, Benji. Tried to explain that I should hold the map of the place and she laughed at me. ‘Knights don’t hold maps’. Well. Told her, ‘I’m not a knight. I’m a paladin. And I should hold the map’.
I got a look at it, at least before we went in. So, you know me, memorized it pretty easy. Except, when I told her—and the fucking cleric—where to turn, they went the opposite way. We’re all stuck in this little crypt until someone starts listening to me. Or I lose it and kick the coffin over, wake up whatever’s inside and then maybe they will have use of me. Other than holding torches.
I think they hired me because I’m tall, Benji.
Made me miss [the sentence ends abruptly and the writer seems to pick up on a new page, as if the thought was interrupted or abandoned]
Hope you’re doing well, of course! Bet you hate when I get a long winded one out like this, huh? I traded some rings for parchment from a trader and he laughed at me over it, but I have to say. The rings probably were worth more, but getting to write to you is still probably the only thing keeping me sane on some of these journeys. I’m a bit tired of them. Of it, all, really.
I miss the fishing village. Missing a lot lately [another ink blot and furious smudges]
I’ll be waking up the undead in a minute. By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll have hopefully found a different party to travel with. Might try and find Lark again…
Anyway!
Your friend for as long as you’ll have me and my letters,
Xavier
[There is a crude, poorly drawn dog at the bottom of the last page. The words ‘bark bark’ are written next to it, perhaps to indicate that it is a dog, as the writer is not gifted with artistic talent.]
Item select —> Letter
[This single letter has a decisive, near violent but misaligned fold through the middle of it; as though the recipient read it once and tucked it away with haste.]
Benji, [the script is scratchy and messy and terribly lazy looking]
How are you, my fiendish friend? I’m writing you partially because I found out that you have been corresponding with a paladin we’re both acquaintances with; and yet I have never once received a letter from you. My heart is broken beyond repair. Hopefully you know how your cruelty has affected me. I wait, on a chaise lounge, tuning my violin and waiting for your reply.
[There’s a large, dramatic space.]
Actually, I am writing to you for a reason, not just to be a proper fucking annoyance. Though, you and I know, fond of that. Especially to you—but I’d like for you to be sitting for the next part of this letter.
When Xavier told me he’d been in regular correspondence with you, I felt I should be the one to write to let you know—once again, please be seated—that he was injured recently. Don’t get hasty, as he’s currently healing in a sick bed. Nice and well taken care of by a busty dwarf cleric that seems absolutely fond of the red head. Never seen someone lean over a man so frequently to check a fever.
Well, thought you should know! I’ll disclose the location in the way I always do when sending a secret through courier. I’m sure the man would like to see you. Groaned your name once or twice when they were straightening out those ribs to fix them.
You owe me, by the way.
Charmed as always,
Ben the Bard
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x-amount-verbs ¡ 3 years ago
Text
A Helping Hand: Prologue
An Even Trade
Masterpost || Prologue || Part 1
[reader x silco (eventual)] [1.5k words] [no y/n] [during time skip] [henchperson reader] [SFW] [minor body horror]
AO3 Link
Tumblr media
Sevika’s unabashed focus is unnerving. She stares at you across the narrow hall you both sit in, waiting to be seen to. Your fingers twitch nervously in your lap— not as many as there should be.
“…This isn’t some fun club, kid.”
You hate when she calls you that. She’s, what, six years older? Seven? You’re not a child. Your eyes raise just enough to catch hers, before glaring down at your lap again. At the bundle of fabric swaddled around your right hand. …What’s left of it, anyway. You haven’t been brave enough to check. Honestly, part of you is distantly impressed that you’re still conscious, given that you can’t feel most of your right arm, but you chalk that up to the dubious variant of shimmer that was jammed into it as soon as the damage was noticed. While you were still in shock. Are you still in shock?
“Don’t think you’re replacing me, either. You did your duty, that doesn’t mean you get a promotion-”
“I don’t want a promotion.” That may be just a bit of a lie. You wouldn’t mind a change of scenery, after sacrificing life and literal limb for the guy. Hell, it’d be nice to have a few weeks off, at the very least. And— “I just want a hand.”
Her lip curls in a sarcastic smirk at your wording. As if she’s about to sneer with what?
You roll your eyes. “Ha. Ha.” Your tone is flat, dry and unamused.
“Oh you’ll get one.” Theoretically words of assurance, but there’s no comfort in her tone. If anything, there’s an edge of warning. Some sort of be careful what you wish for.
Well fuck that: you’re wishing for a hand.
—
It wasn’t entirely intentional, saving Silco’s life, but you’re happy to let people think it was. If you’d known your hand would get blown to bits, not just pinching a finger or two, you might’ve taken more time to make the decision.
…Eh, fuck it, you still would’ve done what you did. Not for morals - you’d deny those claims in the hopes you were smarter than that - but because you were too damn impulsive for your own good. Amazing you’d survived, pulling a stunt like that. Maybe more amazing that the assassin had the balls to attempt to shoot Silco in his own club. You’d grabbed for the barrel of the weapon, not realizing the man’s target, and not realizing exactly how far along in the firing process he was. Definitely not thinking he might be shooting with live explosive rounds.
Your jaw is tight, breath straining to remain even as your good hand clenches over and over again where it’s strapped to your seat. Sweat beads on your forehead, a miserable headache pounding behind your eyes, but you make yourself look.
It’s like you’re suddenly on one of those little dinghies you’ve seen in the river Pilt, one of the ones bobbing desperately against the wake of much larger ships, tossed about in the rolling waves. Thank the goddess you’re seated, because the bizarre sense of you and not-you upon seeing the hand throws you completely off-balance. Your fingers twitch-
“Stop that. I’m not done.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, dumbly. Now that you’ve looked, you can’t stop looking. The strange contraption is so much cleaner than you’d expected.
When Sevika said you’d get a hand, you assumed (rather optimistically) that it would be like hers, or Ran’s. Plain metal, built for function but not beauty. Running on either chemtech or shimmer. But this is something… between the two? Beyond the two? Custom built, finely crafted. Way too fucking expensive for you to ever afford on your own— but good thing the man you saved is filthy fucking rich. And good thing his pet doctor has a passion project for creating extra limbs.
As the Doctor raises a scalpel to your forearm, you quickly turn away. Seeing it, when you can’t feel it, will only lead to unnecessary movements. …Why didn’t he just sedate you? The anesthetic has been good, yes, but being awake for the final installation feels… cruel, somehow. Awake for the measurements, the fittings, the one-on-one tests over the last few weeks, wherein you’d had a plethora of organic and inorganic compounds flushed through your system— those seemed fair. Not always pleasant, but fair. He’d had questions to ask, nerve damage to evaluate, and you had to answer them. Staring at the mangled flesh left after the accident was… not great. But necessary.
You can’t feel the pinch of skin as the Doctor tightens the straps on your off arm, but just knowing he’s doing it in your peripheral vision puts you on edge. Whatever he’s doing, it’s going to make you—
“Fuck-” Your body spasms at the sudden shock to your nerves, hissing and gritting your teeth, eyes watering as sensation bores into your bones.
“Stay still.”
That guy has no fucking right to demand that, not with what he’s doing. He sure as hell wouldn’t be able to sit still through this.
You can feel the pain traversing your arm, zipping through muscles and tendons - bones? veins? - as receptors bind together, webs of nerves reconnected through the brute force of… it can’t be just chemistry. Is this chemistry? Alchemy, maybe. Fuck: dark fucking magic, feels like.
Ow ow ow fucking ow—
Short sharp gasps break your breath into pieces, tears overflowing even as you try to blink them away. You’re not sad, it’s not even just the pain, you’re just— you feel so much, so suddenly. Sensation is overwhelming in a place you haven’t properly felt in weeks. You feel things from the inside out, starting in the marrow of your arm and radiating out to feel every vibration jarring you, every minuscule ridge of texture. There’s no possible way to stay still, so maybe it’s a good thing you’re strapped down, if he’s still got that scalpel out. Legs thrash at their bindings as well, jaw locking up.
“This may take some time…”
Your response is chattering teeth and a distressed moan, skin fading to a buzzing numbness as the muscles beneath claw fiber-to-fiber, hooking and weaving themselves together. You shouldn’t be able to feel this, you must be hallucinating, feeling the individual cells of blood flowing through veins and tubing and wires, all cobbled together. An impossible feat. You’ve never tried modifications like this before, never had invasive chemtech, and this feels as invasive as it gets. Grafted straight into your nervous system.
Your sense of time dilates, compresses, vision blurred and then gone white as you lose the ability to process, for however long, everything happening without. Within, you are so focused on your body attempting to assimilate the modification, willing it not to reject the thing that has been essentially bonded into you.
—
Mind blank, you surface however many hours later, mouth parched and throat raw, eyes dry and burning. Your whole right side is aching. It was only supposed to be your hand, but everything from your ribs to your neck - that whole half of your torso - is one heavy throbbing pain.
The Doctor is snapping his fingers before you, trying to pull you from your reverie, and you blink a few times. Just the act of blinking stings.
“Flex.”
You do as you’re told, but frown. You feel the muscles in your arm, and painfully so, but— You glance down at the hand, once again experiencing the strangest you-but-not feeling upon seeing it. Hand open. Closed. It moves the way you’re trying to make it go, but the sensations that had been so overwhelming earlier have retreated. You feel the muscles under your skin, but not the… the presence of it. Patting your hand down against the armrest is strange. The pressure on the outside is nonexistent, but deep within you can feel the jolt when you can’t move any further. Tapping your fingers radiates a vibration into the deep tissue, but you can’t feel the texture of the armrest.
“I don’t have… skin.” Your voice comes out hoarse, and you struggle to swallow. It’s not like the skin thing is a surprise to you; it’s a prosthesis - a prosthetic limb - it’s just the bizarre polymer and metal and ceramic; there’s no reason you should feel sensation, but you thought you had earlier.
“Hold.” The Doctor presents you with, what, a ball? Looks simple enough.
He must’ve undone the bindings on that arm while you were lost in sensory processing. You have enough range of movement to reach forward and take the object— and promptly drop it. It’s impossible to gauge the strength of your grip. When he presents it again, you grab it tight enough that you can feel the vibrations as the planes of your fingers’ joints roll against the sphere.
The Doctor makes another note.
“Before, I—” You lose your words to a bout of coughing. Wheezing a plea for water, you instinctively cover your mouth with the free hand, and wince at the heavy weight slapping against your mouth, lip splitting as it hits teeth.
“You’ll have to work on control.”
Apparently.
—
[next part]
[Guess who’s got a multichap on their hands?? That’s right: it’s this gal! I know this prologue has a grand total of zero Silco, but part one? 👀 ooh boy. This story is all about touch starvation, y’all.
If you want to be kept up to speed, I’ll probably end up making a tag list in a response post to whoever asks me about it first 😅 I don’t exactly plan ahead. A better way to guarantee you get notifications is to subscribe to the fic on ao3. While you’re there, I wouldn’t mind a comment if you’re so inclined 👉👈 And always feel free to boost this post! I love notes, they fill me with writer juice! ❤️ - verbs]
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valiantxunion ¡ 1 year ago
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Karol frowned to himself at the dead man walking comment but he chose not to bring attention to it at the moment. No, he was much more occupied with wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to bring himself the warmth that his body was now lacking due to the rain. He quietly placed his bag and the now soaked prey by the door before pulling his white and green vest off of his body and placing it on the floor by the door. After removing his boots as well, it left him in only his pants and his skin tight black shirt he wore beneath.
He thankfully takes the blanket from Raven and wraps it around himself with a shiver. “Thanks…” He mumbled before quickly taking another look around the house. There had to be other blankets in the house for Raven to use as well. After a moment, he spots a small closet in the corner and makes a beeline for it. “Wanna check under the bed for more blankets while I check in here?” 
If he didn’t find anything, he briefly hoped that Raven didn’t have an issue with sharing the blanket. He really didn’t want Raven to get sick just because he didn’t have anything to bundle up with. Especially since this was sort of Karol’s fault that they were lost anyway. It was becoming increasingly clear that Raven wasn’t exactly pushing to take care of himself and that definitely made Karol anxious. Was he doing it because Karol was a kid or because Raven still felt bad about what he did…?
Karol managed to find a sheet within the closet but it was rather thin and definitely didn’t smell the greatest when Karol pulled it out. Granted, neither did the blanket he currently had hanging off of his shoulders. “I found this but I’m not sure it’ll be enough to keep you totally warm…” 
As he moved over to the bed, he pulled another thin sheet off of the mattress and examined them both thoroughly. Maybe by combining them, it would be enough for Raven? As he worked on folding the blankets on top of each other, he glanced over at the older man, eyebrows furrowed. 
“Were you able to find anything? This will probably work but it’s still pretty thin, so I’m not sure. I know you don’t do well with the cold so if you want to trade blankets, we can.” 
Why, indeed? Raven still didn't have a good answer other than the nagging thought of needing to punish himself. Thankfully, the thought went back where it belonged before too long as Karol set to the task of picking the lock. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that Karol had the skills he did. The kid had been a part of many guilds before making Brave Vesperia. Still, he imagined the boy's hands probably weren't having the easiest time even while gloved. All the rain coming down didn't make things easy. Before Raven could offer to try and shield some of the rain away with his coat, even though it hadn't done him any good, Karol managed to accomplish their goal.
Raven joined Karol in looking inside. Whoever used to live there sure hadn't been there in a long time. Thankfully, as Karol was quick to point out, there were no skeletons. As Raven stepped inside, wringing out his hair as best he could before setting to work on wringing out his coat, he found himself nodding in agreement.
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"Yeah, no kiddin'. Though I guess technically I fill that whole 'dead body' quota," he joked. Mostly just a jab at himself. No sense in not doing that much when the secret of his being a dead man walking was already out in the open air.
What were they meant to do now? They needed a fire if they wanted any hope of getting warm, but the same thought occurred to him in relation to the firewood. Hard to make use of it with them both being soaked as they were. Maybe there were blankets or something they could make use of. Not a perfect solution, but it would have been better than nothing.
A shiver rolled through him, giving him enough incentive to close the door at last so no rain got in. Of all the times for Rita not to be present. Instinctively, he brought his arms around himself as best he could. Cold. He imagined Karol was just as cold as he was, though. Had to take care of him first.
Blue eyes darted around the little house, looking for possible options all the while. Well... no one lived here now, so surely they wouldn't mind if they used their stuff. Blanket on the bed included.
"Well, might as well make use'a what we got," Raven said. He moved forward, taking a moment to lay his coat out to dry on a nearby chair before going toward the bed, and retrieved the blanket that was laid out on it. Then, he held it out to Karol. "Ain't much, but I imagine this'll help ya stay a little warmer. Or at least help ya get a little more dry. Maybe we can see if there's anything else around."
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