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roosterr · 8 months

Text

i've known war

john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg

requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.

it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.

the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.

it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.

"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"

he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."

you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."

he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"

"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.

"oh, you're on."

perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.

it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.

before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.

he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.

quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?

he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.

he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.

something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.

it's a pair of id tags.

he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.

no. you can't be gone.

he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–

he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–

no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–

a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.

ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.

the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.

"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"

"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."

"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?

ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."

"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"

he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…

it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.

it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.

he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.

the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.

words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.

the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.

price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:

"...one k.i.a."

the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.

johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.

the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.

because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.

there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move.

despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.

"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.

the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.

kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.

with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.

"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."

kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."

the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.

his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.

the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.

that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.

he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.

once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.

he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.

it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.

six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.

he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.

it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.

somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.

one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.

johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.

it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.

the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed.

when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.

it's six more months before anything changes.

in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.

his fingers tighten around your tags.

"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.

they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.

the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.

"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.

their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.

the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.

ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.

there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.

"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.

"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.

"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."

"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."

back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.

the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.

"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."

johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.

the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.

"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.

their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.

"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.

"something very… precious to you."

the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera.

it's…

it's you.

you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.

johnny's sure his heart stops.

you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…

you're alive.

"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?

how long have you been waiting for him?

he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.

the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.

"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."

the video cuts to black.

the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.

"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.

she hums distractedly. "working on it."

their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.

"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.

"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."

he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.

have you given up hope of them finding you?

"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.

johnny can only nod.

his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.

"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."

"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.

"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.

simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."

"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."

the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.

"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"

"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.

"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.

the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.

he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."

the tension is palpable. he watches over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.

price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."

a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."

laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."

"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.

laswell and price share a look.

"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."

the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."

they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.

there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.

he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.

the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.

the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.

the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.

bring you home, or don't come back.

they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.

"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"

his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.

soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.

another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.

gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.

one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.

a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.

hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.

soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.

price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."

his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.

"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.

"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.

gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."

johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.

he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"

johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.

it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.

his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud, leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.

johnny pulls the trigger again.

and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.

a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.

"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.

there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.

neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.

as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?

johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.

price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap."

"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.

he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.

the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.

gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"

a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.

it's you.

curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…

it's really you.

johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.

"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"

his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.

"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.

johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."

"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.

"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"

with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.

"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"

"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."

the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.

eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.

"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"

johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.

it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.

the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.

they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.

a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.

there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.

when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.

no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.

he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.

back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.

for once, he doesn't dream of you.

there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.

simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.

"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.

"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."

johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"

before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.

"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."

johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.

as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.

"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"

"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.

johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?

he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.

the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.

time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.

"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"

your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.

"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"

"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.

"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"

"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.

it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.

your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.

you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"

"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."

your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.

"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.

he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."

your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.

"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.

"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.

you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"

"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."

his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.

"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.

"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."

#soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #roosterr writes

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algae-tm · 4 months

Text

KILL BILL P.6

Charles Leclerc x famous singer! reader

Warnings : morally grey reader, toxic exes

Author’s note : There are so many x readers where the reader doesn’t do anything wrong, which I love don’t get me wrong but I wanted to write one where she’s a bit flawed. And obvs I cannot hate her cause she’s just in love and this is lossely (very loosely) based around real life events y’all so I get it! And also I love Alex 😭 I was gunna make her the villain but I literally can’t! So this is going a bit of a diff direction, in terms of ending. - Algae 🌱

•••••

INSTAGRAM

y/bff/n

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 678,798 others

y/bff/n : talking about boys over brunch? (tagged : yourusername)

yourusername : feels like I’m 18 again

— user3 : holdup when did y/n and Charles get together?

— user4 : she was 18 and he was 19/20…

— user5 : lmao that’s why he’s got her wrapped round his finger… poor baby hasn’t known any better

— user7 : not you guys acting like Charles groomed her be so serious! they have a 1 and a half year age gap touch grass.

— user9 : you can’t argue with people like this, they’re so chronically online!

— user4 : so how did they meet?

— user19 : google is free!

— user6 : her and Lewis did a fashion campaign when she was 16, and he sort of took her under his wing, cause I think her parents were a bit... I believe she then met Charles when she came to watch a race and watched the f2 race as well.

user1 : y/n telling you about how she’s a slut?

— y/bff/n : only ever having been with 1 man equals slut?

— user1 : going after a man with a girlfriend surely does.

lewishamilton : we love to see it

— y/bff/n : we sure do 😍

— yourusername : not you guys acting like I was dead in a ditch…

— y/bff/n : you were in man purgatory, it’s basically the same thing.

user11 : does Oscar know y/bff/n?

— user12 : No why?

— user11 : cause bros lurking in the comments

— user1 : lmao you think the skank’s gunna go for him next? (user1 has been blocked)

— user13 : @oscarpiatri trust you do not know how to handle @yourusename

— user11: poor baby she’d eat him alive

user13 : oh to be a fly on the wall for the Charles convo

user14 : trust it was hours long

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 10,987,843 others

yourusername : boys are awful and grotesque. i had to decompress on an island to get the crazy out of my brain. it’s a good thing mics are portable. Thank you Ephraim! My concierge for finding me a keyboard so I could get you guys this song that entered my brain almost two weeks ago and refused to leave. It’s a good teaser for my album, which is out in TWO days. so without further ado hope y’all like The Weekend!! if you don’t like it I’ll cry.

lewishamilton : oh this gives context to the unhinged messages you sent me at 1 am

— yourusername : I’m an artist, it’s my creative process

— lewishamilton : well this is way more constructive than turning up in Monaco

— user5 : oop- not you clocked by Lewis Hamilton of all people

— user7 : well I’m happy that Lewis doesn’t condone the behaviour of a slag

— user8 : lmao even her friends are getting tired of her

— user9 I think y’all are forgetting that they were together for six years, it was y/n’s first relationship, he dumps her out of the blue gets a new girlfriend within months. I for one would also go a bit crazy and need to be secluded on an island! Too bad I don’t have island money lmao

lewishamilton : I’ve been listening non stop! You truly out did yourself kid 🖤

y/bff/n : thank god you are not in Canada rn

y/bff/n : i was having a heart attack!

y/bff/n : you need to tell me before you travel across the world! We cannot have a repeat of last time.

— yourusername : have I really traumatised you that badly?

——y/bff/name : yes

—— lewishamilton : yes

—— yoursiblinguser : yes

—— friend1 : yes

—— danielricciardo: yes

—— oscarpiastri : yes

——yourusername : now hang on @oscarpiatri I don’t even know you!

— — oscarpiastri : wanna change that?

——- user11 : not you going after your dad’s ex

——-user14 : about to be a messy family reunion

——-danielricciardo : check that Aussie charm 🇦🇺

user7 : okay someone please talk about the lyrics????? Right off the bat it’s unhinged?? “WHY YOU WANT ME WHEN YOUVE GOT A GIRL??!” No cause that is so true like @charles_leclerc why are you still contacting her when Alex is right there?? (Liked by yourusername)

— user8 : ‘knowing it’s selfish, knowing I’m desperate’ oh she’s DOWN BAD!!

— user7 : you get it… cause DESPERATE, you’re describing yourself as desperate?? Bad bitch down in aisle 4 I fear!

user9 : lmao no cause you’ve outdone yourself! What do you mean ‘my man is my man, is your man. Heard that’s her man too’

— user21 : no cause she really is not a serious individual 😂

— user10 : the song is a bop don’t get me wrong but am I the only one who’s thinking about Alex in all this??

— user11 : poor girl hasn’t done anything apart from like a serial monogamist…

— user12 : I mean after this release Alex just needs to count her losses and leave him (liked by alexandrasaintmleux)

— user13 : oop- not her liking… clock it! But at this point I think this is just a messy situation where everyone’s gunna lose. Especially Alex poor girl never stood a chance

user22 : I just keep him satisfied through the weekend!

— user23 : you’re like 9 to 5 I’m the weekend!!!!

— user24 : make him lose his mind every weekend!!!!

sza : please god never let me be this down bad over a man 🙏🏾

— yourusername : now I know you’re not the one talking 🤨

badgalriri : 🖤

donatella_versace : DONATELLA VERSACE 💜

user17 : release the album NOW!

user18 : I’m sorry but weren’t we just mad at her? Releasing a song doesn’t make you automatically in the right? In fact even the song paints her as a bit of a villain :( I can’t imagine poor Alex listening to it.

— user19 : right? She’s practically begging him to cheat with her

— user15 : i really don’t know how to feel about the whole situation but it’s definitely not a good feeling…

••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow

#charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one smau

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if-loves · 5 months

Text

etude op. 10 no. 4 (torrent)

// Yandere Dr Ratio

Sum: When the rain falls, so too does your tears.

wc: 3278

warnings: implied depression, suicidal thoughts, implied suicide attempt, ooc ratio probably

a/n: sorry for the disappearance LMAO uni was holding me by the neck and not in the way i enjoy

also this was a whole load of yapping ngl maybe i projected too much xd

also pls let me know if i missed any tags!! i’d hate to mistag/forget any cw tags

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

As a student with the honor of studying directly under the one and only Veritas Ratio, you’re more than used to the bluntness of his words and his marking. After all, he’s the Dr Veritas Ratio, arguably one of the most intelligent people, beings even, in the cosmos, and you’re just a mere academic. Sure, you’ve had your theories and whatnot, but compared to someone like Dr Ratio you’re basically a child.

Everyone tells you that you’re incredibly fortunate to be able to have someone as prestiged as him as your tutor, that you would take advantage of the opportunity and use it to further your own studies and knowledge, but you’re not quite sure if furthering your studies is truly what you desire. Coming to university was already an expectation from your parents, who in their right mind would reject them when they’ve already saved all that money exclusively for your studies?

You don’t think yourself to be especially smart or gifted in anything. To yourself, you are just a regular person who will go on to graduate, find a job, and maybe settle down if you were given the chance. You don’t expect much for and from yourself.

However, Dr Ratio clearly seems to think otherwise; or else why would he choose you of all people to be under his tutelage?

It has been almost twelve cycles of the moon, and you have yet to figure out why. The agreed period of mentoring is coming to its end, and he expects a full length thesis and three separate reports from you concerning your studies and experience under him, and you cannot for the life of you think of anything that could ever satisfy him. In the whole period of his guidance, he has never once scored you above a low thirties. The more it happened, the more you thought it was more of a him issue than yours - but that’s what people who can’t take criticism say, so perhaps you’ll refrain from thinking that thought.

The sun had long set, leaving your side of the planet at the mercy of the night. In front of you, a too-bright screen from your laptop glares at you with a blank page, as if demanding you finally do something instead of staring out of the window wistfully as if you were some widow lamenting the loss of her husband.

It takes you everything not to just give up and curl up in the warmth of your bed.

With the nth sigh of the day, you woefully start typing, frustration in the pits of your mind. What in the world could you even write about, anyway? The spinning of the sun? No, you’re sure there’s thousands of papers written about that, similarly for the moon; you’re not one for mathematics either, so that was out of the question. Science isn’t really your forte either, so your options for a paper that would gain Dr Ratio’s approval is about zero. Maybe you should just drop out.

When the world is asleep, you remain awake, and so too does something else.

~~~

There are still a few days left before your thesis and reports are to be submitted, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve written utter nonsense.

What in the world are you talking about? Even you didn’t know. Something about some mythicised substance known as Xuixzedlm, that’s apparently supposed to be what the deep oceans of your world is made of, but none have been able to explore said oceans due to their size, toxicity and the creatures lurking beneath its surface. In fact, almost 99% of the oceans have remained unexplored.

You kind of regret choosing such a substance to be the main part of your thesis, considering how little information there is of it. Sure, the main point of a thesis is to propose a theory to be proved, but for something like this where the research is extremely minimal, you’ve ended up circling back to your previous points due to the lack of ideas and, of course, proven research. Not that he’d care about your excuses.

Your days leading up to the submission date are spent typing, deleting, and referencing your paper. You’re a little less stressed about the report because it didn’t exactly require the same thinking as a thesis did, so you managed to finish those in a week. You’d still need to proofread them a few more times to ensure grammar and whatnot was perfect, but ultimately, its priority was far lower on your list.

However, something odd has happened recently.

One evening when you had finally arrived back home after spending most of the day at one of the university’s libraries, you found a silver key with lilac purple highlights and a strange symbol in the middle. You’d asked your parents, but they hadn’t a clue either, leading to some concern that your room may have been broken into. There were a few off parts about that theory, some being that none of your belongings were missing, there was no evidence of lock tampering on your windows, and most of all, why said person would leave an expensive and important looking key on your table.

The sudden and suspicious appearance of the key led to you keeping it on your person at all times, for a reason you’re not exactly quite sure of other than because it felt right. There’s an inexplicable familiarity to it, as if it belongs to you, but you can never seem to recall where you’ve seen it before, if you ever have in the first place.

Another weird thing has been happening ever since you found the key - you’ve been feeling a strange desire to enter the toxic ocean.

The sounds of the waves splashing against the shore invites you in your dreams, and you always take a step forward, one step after another until the water almost touches your toes. The sun is setting upon you, the breeze gently blowing; the sight in front of you is the picture of ethereal. Just as you take one more step, just as you fall into the abyss, someone pulls you back and you are jolted awake.

Scholars say dreams are the subconscious taking its turn, toying with fantasies and fears indiscriminately. Sometimes they mix, giving birth to hopes that only end in hopelessness, happiness that only ends in despair. If this is true, does your subconscious desire death?

~~~

Veritas Ratio has always thought himself as logical. Most have thought the same of him as well, the rest thinking him some sharp-tongued snake that will not hesitate to bite them should he see fit.

When it comes to you however, he feels an unexplainable feeling in his chest and head, a desire that has only grown since the moment he chose you to be under his guidance for a year. His harshness may not reflect it, but it is merely his way of showing he cares - by being extra critical of your work so that you know how to improve. Veritas Ratio truly wants nothing but the best for a student like you.

Lately, this feeling has grown much in size and desire, leaving him finding trouble in resisting it. It lingers like a persistent headache, and acts up when you are around, leaving him in a constant battle for retention of sanity. His mental fortitude currently leaves him with the upper hand, but who knows for how long.

For someone who prides themself on being logical, he sure feels illogical as he stares at your student ID photo.

It’s one of your least flattering pictures he’s sure, but he finds himself staring at it all the same. The nuisance in his head keeps telling him frankly worrisome thoughts, but he feels no desire to act upon them… at least, the sane part of him doesn’t.

He knows there’s something special about you, and some selfish part of him doesn’t want this mentorship to end, to let you go. There’s no way of being able to guarantee ever seeing you again, so what if…

No. Irrationality has no place in his ideals, let alone in his life.

~~~

You’ve submitted your thesis and reports to him, and now you sit in front of him with your heart pounding in your chest. Is there anything scarier than the judgment of your teacher?

Your hands are laid on your lap, the key in your pocket. The coldness of it transcends the fabric of your pants, a constant reminder of the mystery it holds, and the thoughts it brings. Even now, you find your heart yearning for the sea.

You’re afraid to look at him. You’re afraid of what his expression could tell you, of the disapproval you’re expecting. You’re afraid of disappointing him once again, afraid of his rejection and the harsh words that will inevitably leave his lips. He will berate you once more, and you will be left to silently take it because truthfully, you know he’s right.

The silence continues, and you feel a sudden dizziness and the urge to throw up. You wish the sea would swallow you whole.

“I do not have enough time to finish reviewing everything today, so proper feedback will be given one week from now in person. As for the next few days, they shall continue as normal, as you are still under my tutelage. Do not forget, you still have readings to finish before tomorrow’s class.” He shuts his laptop and takes his alabaster head with him, once again leaving you to drown in the torrent of self-deprecation.

The sea embraces all, doesn’t it? It will lap up all those who dare to offer it their lives, no matter what achievements the person has made in their life, no matter if they are even a person at all. The sea… welcomes all.

(It’ll welcome you, right?)

~~~

After you left the university, you found yourself on the train to the beach. Night is upon the city, but the ocean doesn’t sleep.

People filter out of the trains one by one, until only you are left in the carriage. Announcement after announcement of stops and the sound of the train’s wheels scraping the tracks below it are the only disturbances in the otherwise peaceful silence. Despite the quietness, you cannot hear yourself. The key in your pocket feels like it is burning itself into your skin, but it is also the only thing keeping you awake, a reminder that you are still alive.

You wonder if the ocean too will eat the key, or if it will sink into its depths. Will you sink to the depths?

The train stops at its end, and your legs automatically move. You walk until you hear the sound of waves crashing onto the shore, until you are stopped by a barrier. In an act of madness (or is it desire?), you scale the wall until there is no more to scale, until you see the other side.

There is a certain beauty about the ocean that you can’t quite describe to anyone, that pictures cannot replicate. It brings you a sense of peace, like all will be right in the world. If you could just…

The jump down from the barrier is no easy task. It is a long way down, and the sand can only soften the drop so much; yet, you jump.

Something hurts, but you’re enamored by the sparkling surface of the water. It beckons you, inviting you to a new world beneath its surface, a place to be free of all worries and pains. A place to sleep peacefully, no nightmares or dreams to plague you. It offers you everything the world cannot.

You feel your bag drop off your shoulders, like a weight lifted. A hand takes the key out, holding it tightly as you walk towards the promise of a home. What mysteries will be answered by this new world?

You’d like to apologize to your parents for the disappointment that you are. You had neither the mental fortitude nor the drive to be a success, and you’d like to apologize to Dr Ratio for wasting a year’s worth of his time on an incompetent student like you. His time would have been better spent on honor students, not a mundane, average student like you. You are destined to be just another cog in the wheel, and once you rust, you will be thrown out just like everyone else has and will be.

You find yourself a step away from the water, just like in your dream. You think you see a door. The key in your hand burns hotter. The world pauses. You take a step.

The feeling of the liquid never comes, but being pulled does.

“Just what in the universe are you thinking?!” This voice… is familiar. This voice… Who is it? It can’t be Dr Ratio, no…

But those amber eyes, so familiar, it has to be…

But why? Why?

“I…” Words fail you, just like they always have. What could you possibly say to him? He must think you mad, unfit to graduate, unfit to live perhaps.

“Do you wish to be swallowed by the gaping abyss? For what? To prove the existence of Xuixzedlm? Do you think your life so worthless that you think sacrificing it for nothing is what will make it meaningful?!” He is… angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Dr Ratio doesn’t get angry. “So? Say something, anything, that could possibly help me understand why you’d attempt such an act of foolishness!”

“Why does it matter to you?!” You shout, wringing your arm free from his tight grip. He has pulled you far enough from the gentle ocean, far away from the door. You look back at it, and it remains floating above the water. The key is still in your hand.

“Are you so dull that you need to ask such a useless question?” He scoffs. He moves to grab your arm again, but you instinctively bring the hand holding the key to your chest, afraid that he would take it from you. His eyes, shades of intense amber, follow your hand and lock on to the key you hold. He frowns.

“Yes! Yes, I am! I am so utterly stupid that teaching me is a waste of time, that you should leave me alone! If… if I wasn’t here, then there’d be one less stupid person in the universe! Isn’t that what you want?” Are tears running down your face, or is the sky weeping on your behalf?

He stares at you, and his lips do not move. It goes on like this, until you are both drenched in the rain, clothes wet and only the tempting sound of the ocean, and the pitter-patter of raindrops blending into the dark waters. Moonlight briefly shines upon the both of you, and you see his face clear - there is no anger, only contemplation.

“If you have nothing more to say, then leave me alone.” You turn around and set your sights upon the floating door once more, the key still held to your heart. With a resolved mind, you once more walk towards the beckoning arms of the abyss, the promise of no tomorrow.

Dr Ratio doesn’t stop you until you are one foot in the water. There is a searing pain, but you are one step closer to the door, to a stagnancy that life could never offer you. You are one foot in the water when a familiar symbol appears on the door, like an eye staring at you. You are one foot out of the water when you realize what it is.

“You have lost your mind.” He says, pointedly. You struggle in his grip, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, his hold only tightens. The pain from the water is nothing compared to the pain of losing freedom.

“Let- me- GO!” You desperately push against his chest, legs swinging. Why couldn’t he just let you go? Why did he care so much? What value do you bring to him, other than more evidence that he is far more blessed than the rest of the universe ever could be?

“Struggling will do you no good. Stay still, and I would not have to restrain you like this.” He glares at you from the corner of his eye as he brings you further away from your salvation, and the final straw is when he wrestles the key out of your hand. You’re inconsolable as he takes you past the barrier, brings you to his vehicle, and takes you to the place you can only assume is his apartment.

You let him guide you to the bath and clean your injured foot with a gentleness that is unbecoming of him, and he runs you a bath all while you grieve. Both of you say nothing as he treats you like a child, and you let him bind you to the bedpost without any struggle. To struggle is to fight, to fight is to have a desire to spread your wings; you lost that the moment he took you away.

Dr Ratio, or rather Veritas as he insists you call him, has shown you such a different side of him that you don’t know what to make of it. He holds you at night like you’re lovers, kisses you like he means it. He dutifully takes care of you, and you do not respond in kind. Despite this, he treats you all the same, with no trace of the Dr Ratio you’ve known for the last year, and only of the Veritas that you’ve met ever since that night.

You never see the key again.

~~~

One day, he has packed up everything. You briefly wonder if this meant that he’d be leaving you behind, but to your disappointment, he brings you along. He has cuffed you to himself, a reminder of the rights you have lost when you let him have his way with you.

“Veritas,” his name tastes like poison. “Where are we going?”

“The IPC has assigned me to Penacony, the land of dreams.” He responds without hesitation, turning to face you. “Naturally, you’ll be coming with me.”

You want to say no. You want him to leave you here, to give you back your key, to bring you back to the sea. The scar on your foot is a reminder of what could’ve been, what he has taken from you, and you haven’t - or rather, will never - forgive him. He will never deserve your forgiveness.

“Have… have you told my family?” You whisper, your throat as dry as the sand on the beach. Your hands fidget, and you find yourself unable to look at him; but truthfully, you don’t need to. He has ensured that every part of him has been engraved into the depths of your brain, and carved into your heart.

“…There is no point dwelling on the past. I am your family now. Clinging to such bygones will only serve to erode your mind, and limit your ability to live life.” He is firm, sounding more like the Dr Ratio you knew. He holds the hand that he has chained to his own and brings it to lips, the band of silver gleaming in the sunlight. It is a reminder. A firm, cruel, reminder of who he really is.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than an illogical, selfish, arrogant, cruel and lovesick beast who allowed his heart (if you could even call it that) to take the reins.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than a liar.

#honkai star rail #yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #hsr #dr ratio #veritas ratio #ratio x reader #yandere dr ratio #yandere veritas ratio #yandere x reader #cw depression #cw sui ideation #cw sui thoughts #cw sui attempt

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pedroshotwifey · 7 months

Text

To the Flame chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter tags/warnings: smut, piv sex, breeding kink (kinda, more like territory kink), possessiveness, oral (f receiving), talk of m oral, pwp, manipulation, rough sex, rough oral sex, nipple stimulation, squirting, stuff I'm definitely forgetting, dirty talk, manhandling, stupid amounts of making out/kissing

Chapter summary: You arrive at your new home and spend some quality time with the man of your dreams

A/N: Hey y'all! Hope we're still liking this story! Gotta be honest, 90% of this chapter is pure smut lmao. Can't go wrong there! (or can we?) Thank you for putting up with my bs and for staying tuned while I get some more served up!

***

Javi’s house is almost exactly what you had expected it to be. It’s not too big, and not too small. The Spanish style home is tucked back behind some woods in the middle of a small plot of land, which is apparently owned by his father.

There’s a pasture on half of his property filled with cows, which he tends to in return for living in the house. It’s peaceful and cozy, reminding you of the man who lives in it.

It doesn’t take long for you and Javi to haul your things inside, placing your clothes in his room, and any extra belongings in a hall closet. Your stomach makes nervous flutters the entire time, keeping you giddy with happiness despite your current situation.

Within just a few hours, you’ve gotten engaged, and have moved out—well, been kicked out, but it sounds better the other way—of your house and into Javier’s. It seems like a dream come true when you really think about it.

You fiddle with the ring on your finger as you bite your lip to hide the smile that’s creeping across your face. It’s absolutely the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen, and it fits you perfectly. How did he even figure that out?

It’s a simple ring, but intricate enough to hold anyone’s attention. The plain, gold band comes up to mold into a thorny vine design near the top, where it holds the perfect sized diamond. Not big or obnoxious enough to be gaudy, but keeping on the delicate side.

You also appreciate the way the vine design doesn’t continue all the way to the bottom, instead flattening out so that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable if it scratches or digs into your skin. It seems like Javi really thought this out, on top of knowing that he was going to marry you one day. Never have you experienced something so romantic in your life.

As you’re staring down at it, completely enamored with your thoughts, Javi comes up behind you. He admires the piece of jewelry over your shoulder, putting one hand carefully on the side of your head to pull you to him so he can place a kiss to the opposite side.

“It’s so pretty, Javi,” you tell him without taking your eyes off of it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at it until it was on your finger and Javi pulled back onto the road, and you’ve been in a trance since then. You lean into him, finally looking up to see him gazing adoringly back down at you.

“You deserve pretty things, pretty girl,” he says, wrapping you in a hug as you lean your head into his chest. He sighs and rests his chin on your head.

“I hope you know we’re not going to be able to have a big wedding at first, but I promise you that we will when the time is right. I want everything to be perfect for you, bebecita.”

You smile at that. You don’t mind that you can’t have a ceremony. You know that he will keep his promise, and you’ll get the fairytale wedding you’ve always dreamed of one day. He would do anything for you, he told you so.

HIs hand comes up to your chin, and you allow him to tilt your head up to capture your lips in a slow kiss. He slips his tongue between your lips, gently licking into your mouth in a way that makes your entire body light up with the sensuality of it.

Sparks jump in your belly, and you can feel wetness seeping into your panties. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your body responds to his touch. You moan into his mouth and bring your arms up to circle his neck, leaning on your toes to deepen the kiss until it feels like you’re trying to consume each other.

Javi lets you push him backwards to the couch, keeping his mouth on yours and pulling you back with him as he takes a seat. Your thighs bracket his, and the position immediately reminds you of just last night, when the two of you had been in the back of his truck, you giving your body to him for the first time.

Is it weird that you already want him again?

You decide it’s not as you start to grind down on him, and Javi definitely agrees with that assessment by the way he groans into your mouth.

“Shit, baby, lay down for me. Gonna do this properly this time,” Javi pulls away from you to say, his lips still close enough to be brushing against yours.

You eagerly comply to his request, letting him place you down on your back across the seat of the couch. He takes his position above you, giving you a few more teasing kisses before he starts to trail down your body.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, a gasp tumbling from your swollen lips as he sharply nips at your neck. His hands are slithering up your shirt, and you subconsciously arch your back to help him get it off you.

He grabs hold of the hem and raises it up until your stomach and your breasts are exposed, his mouth worshiping each inch of skin as it’s revealed to his greedy gaze.

“So pretty and soft for me, sweetheart.”

Javi’s lips are so close to your skin when he says it, that you can feel the moisture from his breath. You whine and wiggle, trying to get some friction somewhere. Your nipples are almost painfully hard against your bra, and you wish he would take it off.

“Please, Javi,” you beg, bucking your hips up while simultaneously trying to keep your hands planted on the couch. He didn’t give you explicit instruction to keep them there, but you see the game he’s playing, and you know he would if you moved them right now.

The look in his eyes can only be described as feral, fed by the carnal desire to have you above all. Seeing your struggle, he reaches his hands up again, and you lift up so he can undo your bra and then pull it off.

As soon as the article hits the ground, his hands are on you, fondling your breasts and thumbing over your erect nipples in a manner that makes you keen. You close your eyes as he moves up enough to seal his mouth over one of the buds, sucking and flicking his tongue harshly.

You moan his name wildly as he grasps you so that you’re unable to move, stuck with nothing to do other than take the assault on your sensitive flesh. You feel a heat stirring between your legs—which you didn’t know was even possible without direct stimulation—and when Javi lets one hand sneak down to rub tiny circles on your clit at the same time as he bites down on you, you’re coming undone in a matter of seconds.

You’re distracted enough by the blinding pleasure to be almost unaware of Javi pulling his mouth from your breast and snaking down even lower. His thumb stays on your clit as he spews bouts of encouragement your way.

It’s only when he removes his hand and pulls your pants and panties down that you open your eyes again to watch him scoop up your thighs, and dive into your cunt like a starved man. Your hands immediately fly to his messy hair, already damp from his efforts.

Javi moans into you as he tongues in and out, not wasting a second before going full force, alternating between your overstimulated clit and your weeping pussy. You’re getting light headed, your entire body heating up as he begins to pull another orgasm to the edge, just waiting for that one push. Just as you think he’s about to give it to you, he pulls away, breathing heavily as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.

“You have no idea how fucking good you taste, sweetheart,” he says, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say anything with so much conviction.

Despite the crudeness of what the two of you are doing right now, you feel your face flush at his words. He licks a quick stripe up your seam before coming up again, and you almost come untouched at how much this look puts the last to shame. You’ve heard the term “pussy drunk”, but this might be your first time truly seeing it.

“Maybe I’ll fuck you with my cock and make you taste yourself on me after I make you come, would you like that, baby? See how god damn sweet you taste?”

Your jaw completely drops. You didn’t even know he could talk this dirty. You just keep getting luckier with this man. Your head nods frantically before you can even think about it. Javi chuckles lightly from between your thighs.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” is all he says before dipping down to continue feasting on you.

It only takes a couple of strokes for you to be coming on Javi’s tongue, though he moans and squirms enough for it to sound like he’s the one getting his second orgasm today. He only pulls away once you’re whining and tugging on his hair from the overstimulation.

For a moment, he looks like he’s going to get up and strip, but you see something flash across his eyes, and he just reaches down instead. Your head falls back as you hear the sound of his zipper going down, just the thought of him fucking you naked while he’s fully clothed makes your cunt pulse with need.

You look down, and your mouth goes dry when you see that he doesn’t have any underwear on. He keeps his eyes on yours even though they’re trained on where he’s pulling his thick, throbbing cock from the opening in his dark jeans.

Your eyes flicker back up to his as he lines himself up, wasting no time in pushing into you. Your jaw goes slack at the stretch as he leans over you completely, putting his palms on the couch on either side of your head as he sinks in all the way. Your own arms wrap beneath his to cling and claw at his back. Just by his body language and the hungry look he’s giving you, you have a feeling you’ll need something to hang on to.

Somehow, it feels even better than the first time. You feel stuffed to the brim, but also complete. Like Javi’s been your missing piece this whole time, and now that you’ve found him you feel whole. When you’re staring into his big, deep, brown eyes, you see nothing but adoration for you. Lust. Love.

And it’s in this exact moment that you know you’re in love with him.

Javi hisses as he rears back enough for just the tip to remain inside you, and he captures your lips in a feverish kiss as he thrusts back in, already nailing your g-spot. You gasp and he steals the air from your lungs. You can taste a hint of yourself mixed in with his saliva, and you had no idea until this moment that something like that could turn you on so much.

He quickly picks up the pace, and you find yourself too weak to do much more than whine and moan for him, much less continue kissing him. Javi brings one hand up to hold your chin and make out with you even though you can’t reciprocate. You don’t mind, the feeling of his tongue exploring your mouth is an orgasmic feeling in itself.

You just focus on breathing through your nose, keeping a hold of the man who’s sending you up the couch with his cock, and the feeling of his thick tip pummeling into your most sensitive spot. Your entire body is shaking with the intensity of the sheer force he’s slamming into you with.

There’s a strange but good feeling starting to tug at you someplace between your pussy and your abdomen, making your desperate sounds come out wobbly in addition to being smothered by your fiance’s mouth.

He makes a strangled noise and suddenly moves on to sucking the skin on your throat. You wonder if he can feel the way you’re tightening around him in anticipation as this new feeling grows and spreads.

“J-Javi,” you warn, unsure about what’s happening. You almost feel like you need to pee, but this sensation is far more intense.

He must not hear you, because his pace doesn’t falter and he doesn’t look up at you. He just keeps jackhammering his hips to yours and sucking hickeys on your already-sensitive skin.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because you’re already feeling that coil snap, crying out as you tighten like a vice and gush all over Javi’s dick.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, your body tensing as you ride out what has to be the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. You barely even hear Javi talking to you through your foggy mind. It’s like you’ve been transported to another place completely, a place where you can only feel pleasure.

“Such a good f-fucking girl, squirting all over my cock like that,” Javi praises as he nudges your chin up to make room for more sloppy kisses.

As you begin to come down, you can hear the steady slapslapslap that comes from where your bodies connect, each collision now aided by your juices and Javi’s heavy balls smacking against your swollen cunt.

It’s a disgusting sound in retrospect, but it turns you on even more when you hear your whines and Javi’s grunts blended into it. You can tell he’s starting to get close by the way he isn’t pulling out as much, and his noises are becoming more frantic.

“R-remember to p-pull out,” you breathe into his ear just in case he forgot. He, again, shows no sign of having heard you. You must be speaking even quieter than you thought.

“Javi, please pull out,” you say, louder this time even though it’s a task to do so through your exhaustion. This time, he hears you.

“Please, baby, it’ll be f-fine, gonna marry you, let me come in this pretty cunt,” he says, though you’re unsure of the correlation between those two things.

“No, Javi, it’s not safe.”

He’s pumping himself harder and faster, getting up to the edge.

“Buy you–fuck—buy you a plan B,” he grunts, his voice strained.

“No, n-not this time. C-can’t risk it,” you squeak, clawing at his back as he pushes you even further up the cushions.

You hear him mutter a curse as he pulls out just enough to grasp his dick and splatter rope after rope of cum on your damp stomach. You let out a breath when he finishes and lays back down on you, his cum spreading between your sweaty bodies.

You’re both breathing heavily, trying to come back down to earth. The ceiling fan above you is spinning slowly, pushing just enough air your way as you close your eyes and toy with Javi’s curls where his head is resting on your chest.

“I love you, Javi.”

You don’t know why you say it, well,you do, but you hadn’t known the words were even on your tongue or even on your mind. They just slipped out without a thought. Javi tenses against you, and you feel a ball of dread drop into your stomach.

Was it too soon? Does he not love you back? Are you being too clingy? Too immature?

When he looks up at you, your breath caught in your throat, there are tears in his eyes along with another emotion you can’t quite place. One corner of his lip twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to smile too hard.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says, obviously a little choked up.

You grin at him as he climbs up again to kiss you, this time soft and slow, with care.

“Going to take such good care of you,” he promises when he pulls away.

*** Thank you for reading!! I would love to know what y'all are thinking so far!

Taglist is still open if you would like to join <3

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @movievillainess721 @callachloe @missladym1981 @casa-boiardi

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wystiix · 1 month

Text

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week—he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them?

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

#i need to stop posting late at night #venti #genshin venti #venti genshin impact #genshin modern au #venti x reader #genshin x reader #venti x you #venti x y/n #☆ wystys ink

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snailsgoingdowntown · 2 years

Text

Guilt Tripping - Yan! Diluc

Yandere Diluc x Fem! Reader

part 1 of the “Baby Trapping” series

Warnings: Toxic relationship, general yandere themes, guilt tripping (I think), emotional manipulation, slight victim blaming (I think?), drugging, implied future physical violence (Not towards reader), possessive and obsessive thoughts and behavior, overprotectiveness, overbearing actions, controlling actions/mindset, unhealthy and toxic mindset, paranoia, implied Yandere! Albedo (Towards a different reader of perhaps the same mini-series of this).

Not sfw warnings: Baby trapping, dub-c0n/non-c0n, unprotected sEx, cumming inside without permission, unconsensual and unethical use of aphrodisiacs, vaginal fingering, clothed grinding, loss of virginity (both parties and totally didn't forget to add this warning until now)

Diluc is straight up gaslighting himself in this. He’s aware of how awful he is but keeps justifying it lmao.

Please tell me if I missed any warnings that are needed.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT condone any of the toxic behavior and thoughts that may take place in this work of fiction. None of this should be romanticize or even considered normal as it is very toxic and very dangerous. If you find yourself in such a situation, please seek help if able to.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

WARNING: DUE TO TUMBLR’S SHITTY TAGGING SYSTEM, NOT EVERY TRIGGER WARNING WILL BE TAGGED, SO PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS THAT ARE WRITTEN ABOVE. THANK YOU.

MINORS AND AGLESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. THANK YOU.

Unedited.

Word count: 5134k

===

Diluc was aware that he could be… overbearing, at times. He’s aware that his presence can be suffocating, that he can be a bit delusional at times, and that he’s a bit controlling when it comes to you. But be doesn’t mean to do that on purpose – you just manage to bring out both the worse and the best out of him.

Whether or not you’re aware of that fact is up for debate.

He’s been preparing for the day you snap and talk back, or to take some ‘much needed’ space from the relationship. He can’t deny that your sanity is slowly withering away the more you deal with him. Again, he doesn’t mean to make you so stressed.

He just wants what’s best for you, as long as you come back into his arms. There are understandings at times, where you listen instead of charging away like a bull. He knows that you know he cares deeply for you, loves you to the moon and back. That he’d be willing to do almost anything for you.

Anything but this.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

One sentence, five words, is all it takes for his words to come crashing down around him. ‘I need a break’ implies you’ll be back after a week or so. It’s happened once or twice throughout your entire two years of your relationship. And it never lasted more than a week, max.

Diluc can feel the thin thread snapping like a nose around a neck. He swears that the world comes to a halt at your words, seeing nothing but white. Is he undergoing shock? Perhaps he heard you wrong. Yeah, that’s it – you must have said something else. A prank maybe? Or maybe you mixed up your words.

“What… what do you mean?” He hates the way his voice cracks, how shaky his hands become, even when they’re clenched hard enough to snap metal into two. Your facial expression doesn’t show any signs of playfulness.

There’s nothing playful about this situation.

You let out a sigh, fingers massaging your temple. “I said… I’m breaking up with you. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t deal with you anymore.” Your voice cracks, and there’s a silent sob. There’s a huff, an intake of air.

You’re trying your best not to break down in front of him. And he’s doing the same, fists clenching and unclenching as he thinks of something to say. What should he say? That you can’t leave? It’ll only make things more complicated, making you hostile towards him.

He can’t have that. He just can’t. but even so, he finds himself about to utter those words out loud. He bites his tongue.

“…I thought I was good to you. While… I do understand that I can get overbearing at times… I thought I was a good lover to you regardless of.” He tries to keep himself in check. Diluc was nothing but a good gentleman in your eyes, so he acts as such. Although, that illusion may be gone now.

“That’s the problem! You think you’re a good boyfriend. But you’re not. you’re so… overbearing and controlling. I can’t even talk to people you don’t approve of!” Your own thread had seemingly snapped, leaving nothing more than rage behind. Quite, dull rage that’s too exhausting to come out at once.

“You say it’s for my own good… that I need your protection…”

“I never said that- “

“You implied it. Every. Single. Time. you always imply it.”

There’s nothing but silence. There’s a guilty conscience. He can’t ignore it, but he won’t address it. Because that means he’ll have to let go. And he won’t, not even in death, where hell will surely drag him down. He’ll drag you if he has to.

“We can… let’s just talk about this, okay? No need to make any rash decisions.” He’s talking out of his ass right now. “It’s… been a stressful week. It’s late and we both got out of work not too long ago. Let’s just… how about you come over?”

You don’t say anything, not at first. A glimmer of hope. Yes, everything will go back to normal, over a glass or two, ending with you being a whimpering mess as he grinds against you. Just like always.

“No. I can’t… I won’t do that. It always has the same outcome anyway. We never ‘talk’, you just sweet talk your way out, and it ends with some type of sexual activity.” You shake your head, taking a step back. He takes a step forward.

It feels wrong for you to stand so far away. Alien. You should be next to him, no, in his arms as he soothes you. Reality and fantasy don’t mix well, he realizes. “Please,” he tries again, choking on air.

It can’t end like this. It can’t end at all.

“Diluc… I can’t. I just can’t. I know it may be hard for you to understand but, whether you realize it or not… you treat me like a doll. A pretty, fragile, glass doll.” You don’t look him in the eyes, probably can’t.

To be fair, it felt worse on your own end. You loved this man. You wanted to marry him. But it’s in past tense and you’re not sure if you can keep up this happy façade. He’s nothing but controlling at this point, overprotective, suffocating. You can’t live in denial anymore.

Another sigh, another sob. With every step he takes towards you, you take one back. There’s an invisible wall between you, too hard to shatter. At least completely.

“Hey… let’s talk again in a week. When the steam blows off, okay?” You try not to break, he sees it. The way your body tenses, the slight tumble. He makes an effort to not point it out. “Please?”

And you cave, breaking down, wailing like a child. You don’t move away, only flinching as he closes in on you, gently and slowly wrapping his arms around you. his grip on you is loose, not wanting to chase you away. Gentle, he must be gentle.

It’s always worked in the past. He just needs to tweak a few things to guarantee victory. Anything for you, no matter how shady it may be. His morals become dubious when it comes to you.

A few minutes pass before you answer.

“Alright.”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to go, your resolve going down the drain whenever it came to you. But you had already promised you would, weak in that moment. But he knew. He knew that you would eventually succumb to his wishes. It happens every time.

And it ends with heated kisses, hands exploring each other’s bodies, promises to wait for the full act after marriage huffed into your ears. Despite the bulge straining in his pants, hazy eyes that kept looking at your kiss swollen lips, he never did anything you were uncomfortable with. And for that, you were grateful. But it doesn’t excuse his other behavior.

Something didn’t feel right. You were nothing short of tense, weary of what’s to come. Would he try to pull something? Or procced to guilt trip you once more, as unknowingly as usual? You could never tell with him, despite dating for two years.

Two years and he became a different person.

No. Beneath that gentlemanly exterior lies a control, obsessive and possessive freak. And you fell for it, the charm, the words, the looks. You dug your own grave without even knowing. And now it’s time to dig your way out, no matter how painful it may be.

You just hope your resolve will stay strong.

It must.

Diluc was nervous. It was more common these days, a nervous Diluc. He can’t help it but to be nervous around you. You were just so pretty, adorable, irresistible. And there was a time where you thought the same, where you couldn’t even take your eyes off of him. And yet, you don’t anymore.

He’s aware why. It’s because of him. But you need to understand was for your protection. He has too many enemies, there’s too much danger in the outside world. Surly, you would come around eventually, right?

Wrong. He was so, so wrong. He should have kept up with the gentle approach, no matter the amount of years it might have taken. It’s not too late to restart… right?

Just act the way you always portrayed him as. His mask has slipped too much too quickly. And now, he needs to fix everything as quickly as possible. The question is how to.

He glances at the wine bottle. A little drug as curiosity of Sir Albedo… a new and up coming drug. An aphrodisiac is what he called it. It was still in its developmental stages, but harmless. He was even given the right dose.

A questioning look in the alchemist’s eyes, no concerns were voiced. Most likely thought it wasn’t his business. And besides… even the esteemed Alchemist Albedo Kreideprinz had skeletons in his closet. Likeminded people must stick together, right?

And thus, the aphrodisiac was handed to him under the table, and now in this ‘new’ and ‘unopened’ bottle of wine. The cork was a new one, the previous one hastily thrown into the trash, covered with other discarded things. Not a smooth cover-up, but one you wouldn’t notice. And, if you were to ask for juice, he even drugged that beforehand.

He flinches slightly when a servant comes up to him, announcing your appearance. He takes in a deep breath before grabbing the bottle and two glasses, making his way to the study. When he gets there, he pauses. Would he be able to pull this off?

If you do ask for it, he has your consent, right? Yes, you wanted to save yourself for marriage but…

He shakes his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. He’ll back down if he thinks about too much. So, he takes a deep breath, straightens himself. His feet feel heavy as he walks into the room. He keeps the door open.

“(name). You came.”

You jolt at that, whipping your head around to see his figure at the doorway.

“Yes… just for a bit. This isn’t a casual visit, after all.” You built a wall around yourself, trying to smile but failing. He doesn’t comment on it.

“Ah. I suppose that’s… right.” Awkward silence, your hands tightly clasping together. His own grip on the glasses and bottle are tight as well. Swiftly, he places the objects down on the table in front of you. Everything has to be perfect. This night needs to end on a good note.

“Wine?” he asks, eyeing the way your jaw tenses as you hesitate to answer. You want to say no, he can see it, feel it. And hopefully, you won’t. His legs are already shaking like a newborn foal’s.

“I… sure.” A quiet sigh of relieve, and he opens the bottle, a loud ‘pop’ echoing in the room. You don’t take your eyes off of it. You’re weary of him. And he doesn’t have the right to complain or even feel offended.

Because you were right to be weary. To be weary of him.

He pours you a glass and himself one. He’s going to take the drug with you. God, he’s already silently regretting this. Not because he’s tricking you (although that’s part of it), but because he’ll have to explain, in detail (something he dreads, but a favor is a favor) of the results. He hates himself for being used a test subject and ragging you into it.

He can’t feel bad, considering he was the one who chose this route.

“Thank you…” you say as he passes a glass to you. He sits in front of you, the plush chair soft against him. He takes a sip.

“So… about our relationship… do you truly want to end it? We can work through this together.” He croaks out, trying his best not to ramble. He takes a deep breath, calming his nerves. He can do this.

“… I’m not sure if this relationship is savable. Two years and you’ve just gotten… worse. Much worse than you have gotten better. It’s like you’ve been possessed.” He can see your eyes water up, but you don’t let them fall.

He wants to wipe them away.

“What do you mean?” He’s never felt so scared in his life. He hates this. He hates himself. “It’s just… I know I can get overbearing, and I promise that I don’t do it on purpose-“

You cut him off, “That’s the problem. You don’t do it on purpose. It’s harder to resent you that way.”

Resent him? What do you mean by that?

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do. You’re… you used to be a good boyfriend. Someone I wanted to marry… but you’re not that same person anymore. And I’m not sure if we can fix this… if you can fix yourself. I’m not a therapist… yet you treated me as one for years.”

Your shoulders slack and you don’t make an effort to look at him. You don’t make an effort to drink the wine either.

He can feel his heart breaking. What should he do? What can he do? Crying (a rare sight indeed) won’t do anything. It’ll only prove you right if he cries and begs for you to reconsider. He needs you to drink the wine. A good amount of it.

He takes another swing, enough to the point the glass is almost empty. Too much at once, he hasn’t even eaten yet. He wants to eat you. But not when you’re crying like this.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I was that… inconsiderate.” Ever so slowly, he takes small steps towards you. You don’t resist when he gets on his knees, gently placing his head on your lap. His arms wrap around your legs. And, almost as if it was natural, your hand comes town to thread fingers through his hair.

Even when you ‘resent’ him, you still comfort him. You really were too good for him. But it’s because of that he doesn’t want to let go. No. he’d never let you go. He’ll drag you to hell if he has to.

“… To think the esteemed Diluc would beg on his knees… hah,” a humorless laugh that shakes him through his core. You sound tired, so, so tired. You’re really going to give up on him. Was he really that bad? Sure, maybe he overshared, at times, and was a bit controlling, but…

He never hit you. Never raised his voice at you.

He’s in denial. He doesn’t want to admit to his mistakes right now. He’ll do it (probably) after you two make up. He’ll do it once you say you won’t leave, that you won’t give up on him, on the relationship. You’re all he has left.

His father’s dead, his ‘brother’ is a spy, he can’t really get along with anyone on an emotional level. Anyone except you. You know this, so why are you putting him through this? Can’t you see he needs you?

God helps the poor soul would dare take you away.

“… I’m sorry. I really am,” useless, he’s so useless right now. Helpless, he hates himself, he hates you. “I… can’t lose you. I love you, you know that, right?” Like he wasn’t the one pushing you away with his behavior and actions.

He’s a horrible person, a dreadful and emotional abusive boyfriend. The naked eye can’t see it, but a trained one can. Likeminded people can. The victim can.

“Diluc… sit down, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick,” you run your fingers through his red mop of hair before retreating it. No, no, no, you can’t do that. You just can’t.

You have to drink the wine. You need to understand he’s protecting you. You need to understand he needs you. So, stay, please.

Don’t make things even more complicated.

“… do you love me?” He looks up, eyes glossy and he watches as your strong façade crumble. He was your weakness as you were his. You’re perfect for each other, however toxic the relationship may be.

“I… I don’t know anymore. I feel like I love you, but I know I shouldn’t.” Shaking your head, you gently push at his shoulders. The effort is weak, almost meaningless. He gives a squeeze before getting up and returning to his seat.

It’s when he sits down, head falling into his hands, when you take a swing. He hears you slam the glass on the mahogany wood. Hope lights up in his chest, but even so, it feels so wrong. But he needs to do this. For him. For you.

How selfish of a person he was.

“… I can’t promise I won’t fall back into the habit, but –“

“You said that last time. And here we are, again. You say you’ll do better, that you’ll listen. Sure, you do, but only for a week. And then the cycle repeats.” You sigh out, now crying, finally breaking down despite everything.

Sobs, ugly sobs that he hates to hear. He’s not sure when he got up, or how long he’s been hugging you, but he knows that you need comfort. Maybe not from him, but he’s the only one here anyway. The servants are outside, cleaning the yard, tending to the grapes, shooing of pests.

Just you and him. No-one will hear, and even if they did… who are they to question their boss? Money talks.

You stay like that, for a while. Crying in his arms as he strokes your hair. He’s not sure when you had stopped, and completely forgotten about the drug.

He only remembers it when his body starts to heat up. And the same must be said for you, as you’re quivering in his grasp. The way you quiver whenever he drags you across his crotch, erection making contact with your clothed pussy.

Like right now, your hips rolling against his as he practically dragged you to the couch in the study once you started to kiss out of pure lust. You’re panting above him, eyes shut tight. Maybe you didn’t want to see him. He hates it, but that’s okay. As long as you’re here, with him, and not thinking of another man.

“Fuck… my body’s hot. I’m scared yet I can’t stop… did you put something in the drink?” You question him, voice broken and breathy as you keep rolling your hips. Harder, faster, more friction, you need him as much as he needs you. He’ll get you, and you’ll have him.

Like it’s supposed to be.

“Are you… mmh… that weary of me?” You’re far too gone to properly hear him, chasing pleasure above answers. His gloved fingers tug at your skirt, wanting it off. He wants to see you bare. Patience... patience, he tells himself.

A squeal, mouth open and he can’t help but kiss you. saliva everywhere, any pretense of a breakup gone. For now. And yet you both don’t care, delving into the pits of pleasure that’ll never be enough. He bites your lips hard enough to draw blood, you claw at his neck deep enough to see crimson.

You hurt and take, hurt and take. You break his heart, he’ll break your mind on his cock. Just… be good.

“Diluc… wedding… I want to wait – oh! – but… ah… not sure if I can…” you’re groping yourself, thumb ribbing at where your nipple would be. Too many clothes, hot, clit throbbing while grinding against him like there’s no tomorrow. Diluc takes this chance to tease you, just a bit.

“Wedding… you still want to marry me?” There’s a slight teasing to it, and he proceeds to kiss your neck. Gently, gently, so gentle you want more. He wants to drive you crazy. “But, of course, if you want it now, I won’t say no…”

Another moan, another messy kiss. Your lips are raw by now, and you’re not sure when he dragged the front of your shirt down, sucking on the bare skin before him. He bites your neck, leaving marks, he gropes your breasts, your hands now tugging at his hair.

He hisses at the sting, but it only drives him to do more. His free hand dives under your dress, the skirt of it wrinkled now.

“Diluc… please, fuck, I need you,” you breathe out, grinding against his hand as he teases you through your underwear. Slowly, he brings his hand back, using his teeth to take his glove off. Almost, he’s almost there. He needs to loosen you up. Hopefully, hopefully this drug will help with the pain.

Ah. Blood.

He needs to do this in the bedroom, easier to change the sheets.

You’re naked in no time, and despite the drug running through your veins like fire, you’re still scared. Very scared, and he feels so horrible about it. and yet, yet he can’t stop himself for shit. He’s horrible, shitty, controlling, obsessive, possessive, and desperate. Paranoid to a fault, he plans on tying you to him via family.

It’s hard to raise a child on your own. Reputation is important, and everyone would lose respect for you, for a good while at first. And besides… they would know who the father was. If they inherit his features, be it the red hair or ruby eyes, they’ll know. They’ll blame one of you, both of you, taking one side or the other.

Thus, it’s just overall easier to stay together, avoiding controversy. A horrible and risky plan. But you would need the support, the funds, the father. It’s harder, nearly impossible to run away from him in such a state.

“Hey… it’ll be okay. I’ll take it slow, alright?” He reassures you, smiling down at you gently. He’s always imagined you like this – a panting mess, lips kiss swollen, hair sprayed around his pillow and your hair. Bite marks everywhere, nipples tendered from being sucked on so much.

He’ll make a mental note to be more gentle next time. But for now, he trails down his hand, fingers ghosting over your burning skin. Shaky breaths, and he can’t take his eyes off of the way you stare downwards. He’s naked too, his own hickies littering his neck like a necklace.

“G-gentle…,” you breathe out, legs shaking in both fear and anticipation. You can’t wait, and neither can he. So he doesn’t, tracking your slick slit once before slowly entering. A gasp, and h looks up to make sure you weren’t in too much pain.

Instead, he’s met with the sight of you biting your lips, pleasure written all over your face. The drug works, it’s helping with the pain. Making things far easier than he thought it would be. He’ll make sure to thank Albedo to the moon and back.

“Diluc…” He’s brought back to reality when you whimper his name, and he softly shushes you. If you say his name like that one more time, he might just slip in without any prep. Without any consideration.

“Shh… there’s no need to rush. Let’s try to take our time, okay?” He kisses your forehead, finger curling slightly inside you. The way you arch your back is heavenly, the drug making you far more sensitive. “I’ll take good care of you. Promise.”

Nodding, you relax, allowing him to add a second finger. It feels rushed despite his words, but you don’t comment on it. You can’t, not when he’s curling them oh so deliciously. And he knows this, he’s not completely lost in lust just yet. He needs to drown you in pleasure, drive you crazy with it before he succumb to his own desire completely.

Just a bit more.

The squelching echoes in his room, bouncing off the walls. His ribs had become a drum, his heart the stick. Small, needy breaths that leave your lips, crying out when he curls his fingers at a certain angle. Oh. He found it.

Your g-spot.

He’s heard of it, and thought it was rubbish at first. Until Adelinde smacked his head when he suggested such a thing. The Head Maid made sure to educate him on sex that day, showing diagrams and pictures, along with books written about the subject. He’s almost entirely forgotten about it.

“There?” he asks, repeating the action once more. You nod your head several times and in quick succession – too lucid to properly beg, too desperate to fully think it thoroughly. “Such a needy little thing,” a third finger elicits a hiss from you, causing him to pause. He waits until you give him the green light.

“It – it feels weird… but good at the same time. Is this normal?” Croaking, you’re croaking out sentences now, and Diluc resists the urge to kiss you until you run out of breath. Your fingers grasp at his shoulders, trembling slightly. He can’t tell if it’s from fear or pleasure.

For his own sanity, he hopes it’s the latter.

“I’m… not sure. I think it is. Just tell me if it’s too much, and I’ll slow down.”

He didn’t say he would stop.

Diluc sees the worry in your eyes, the questions he won’t answer, and he feels guilty. It’s far too late to stop, and even if you were to ask him of it, he wouldn’t be able to. So he gives you the illusion of choice, and from the way your eyes travel down to where he’s fingering you, he can only guess you chose to ignore the reasoning in your head. What a good girl you are for and to him. Like always.

“Diluc… Diluc…” your eyes shut tight, breathing heavier as he fastens his pace, fingers pumping in and out while curling all the same. You need this too, right? He can’t force you if you were the one who asked for it.

Your belly tightens, and hips grind against the hell of his palm. You’re almost there, he thinks. You’re becoming wild, all pretense of rationally gone with the wind. He’s there, he’s there, you’re there, shivering in the palm of his hand. Like you should be.

“Ah, ah, fuck!” One more buck of your hips and he feels something wet. Upon looking down, he notices something red, very thing and small, mixed with a clear liquid. Did you cum? He feels bad for making you bleed already*.

Your chest heaves, and for a moment, he’s afraid you’ll come back to your sense. You’ll hate him for sure. But his own body is burning, cock twitching, and he’s going to die if you resist. Please, just make everything simple and easy. Please, for both of your sakes.

He gives you time to recover despite the urge to fuck you silly. Patience, patience, at least pretend to be a gentleman he tells himself. Anything and everything for you. Except letting you go.

“Do you need a breather?” gently, gently he removes his fingers, trying his best to treat you nicely. He tries not to grit his teeth when you nod your head. He’s already doing something awful. He needs to make you comfortable, at the very least.

A few minutes before you calm down, laying flat on your back, hands leaving him and choosing to grip his sheets instead. You’re distancing yourself from him. A bit lucid, but enough to resist.

“Alright… please be gentle,” closing your eyes, your arousal is still there, you still need him as badly as he needs you. He doesn’t wait a second to hover above you properly. His place, this is his place, you’re his and will always be his. You signed your faith the moment you appeared in his life.

“Gentle…,” he tells himself, taking in a deep breath. It stings you when he pushes in, slowly and gentle like he promised. Hands grip your hips, and he leans back on his heels a bit. You gasp, from pleasure mostly, and he stills. Be a gentleman in appearance, at least.

One second, two seconds, and at ten he starts to move. a deep sigh of pleasure from you both, yours higher than his. The tone was different compared to when you dragged your hips across his, clothes separating you. But now, now he can feel everything – the thought of a condom never having crossed your mind once. Good, everything is sailing smoothly.

“You’re, ngh, tight… fuck, you’re driving me crazy angel.” Unexpectedly, you mewl at the nickname, and without meaning too, he gives a hard thrust. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him. One thrust, two thrust, and you’re begging him to fuck you harder at the fifth one, legs wrapping around his waist and hands clawing at his chest.

He loves you like this; he wants you remain so needy for him. “Diluc! Fuck, don’t stop!” Both blood and slick cover his cock and make a mess on his bed. He’ll have to give you a warm towel after this, a glass of water. And a lie about cumming inside.

“It feels good, fuck why did we wait so long?” His hips can’t stop moving as he questions you. You don’t answer, you can’t when you’re moaning like a whore. And he loves it, he loves the fact that only he can make you this way. He loves the fact that he’ll be your first and last partner.

He might hurt a man who would dare to attempt to do the same.

It doesn’t last long, neither of you do. He makes sure to circle your clit with his thumb, wanting to bring you more pleasure. You needed to finish with him. You needed to be distracted from the feeling of his cum painting your womb white.

And when he does, he lets out a low groan, your squeal music to his ears. he holds you tight until his balls are empty. And ever so slowly pulls out, careful to not alarm you. His goal was done, and hopefully, this’ll be enough to get you pregnant.

If not, he’ll come up with other plans.

“I love you…” one of his hands comes down to wipe away the sweat from your forehead. Your skin is sticky, eyes dazed. It’s a sight he’ll never forget.

You don’t answer, not at first.

“I… I love you too.”

A soft peck and he’s up to soak a towel in warm water. You’re too tired to check your lower half, eyes closing against your will. But it’s okay, it’s Diluc after all. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything… right?

As for Diluc… he’s already coming up with baby names.

===

A/N:* - tmi but the very first time I got fingered, I bleed a bit lmao. I don’t know how it is for everyone else, so I just used my own experiences. Seriously though, acting like Diluc in this fic is fucked up. Please don’t do that.

#Yandere #tw:yandere #yandere genshin #yandere diluc #yandere genshin impact #yandere diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader

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peakyswritings · 2 months

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Join the Italian summer

Heart, Body and Soul || One year celebration

It’s Heart, Body and Soul month! Almost year ago, on August 7th, I posted the first chapter of Heart, Body and Soul, and now August really feels like the series’s month. I can’t believe it’s been a year. A year ago I had no idea I’d carrying on with my project to actually make this a long series, instead of just imagining how things could develop further - and tbh I had no idea I would still be writing the first part lmao. I wanna thank all those who stuck around, your support means everything to me🤍

So I decided to make a little celebration. At first I wanted to post it on August 7th, but then I thought that it would be nice to make the whole month part of it. Whether you’re a writer or just a reader, this is something you can participate in, so if you’re interested keep reading down below!

And before I forget, if you’ve just come across this and wanna give Heart, Body and Soul a chance, you can find it HERE

CELEBRATION MASTERLIST

☀️ Be creative

For my fellow writers, feel free to write something summer themed featuring Nina, and of course your lovely OCs. It can be a drabble, a full story or even a sentence with a little moodboard, everything is welcome!

☀️ Gaze into the crystal ball

For those of you who might have missed it, a few months ago I made a post about Heart, Body and Soul having multiple parts and following the events of the series up until season six. Everything’s already planned out, and I know exactly how Nina and Tommy’s story will develop and end. Make some assumptions about things that might happen. I won’t tell you if you’re right or wrong, of course, but it will be fun to see what you expect of the story!

☀️ Behind the scenes

If you have any questions about things that happened in the chapters posted until now or have some curiosities about something/wanna know why I made certain choices, now it’s the right time to ask!

☀️ Fool for you

Not long ago I made a joke about the fact that I could write a whole compilation of Tommy pining over Nina. So I went to reread the chapters and counted 16 scenes. Send me a number between 1 and 16 and you’ll get one!

☀️ Snoop around

A while ago I saved on Pinterest some photos that resemble how I picture the Ferrante house. Send me an emoji and I’ll share a room with you!

Heart, Body and Soul taglist

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby @look-at-the-soul

General tag list:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat

@red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

Tommy Shelby taglist:

@50svibes

#HBS one year celebration #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x oc #nina ferrante #tommy x nina #heart body and soul

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lovelytsunoda · 4 days

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heart too hot to hold | clement novalak

summary: staying at campus over thanksgiving wasn’t her first choice, but it was a hell of a lot better than a $800 round trip flight back home. over that one week while the campus was empty, she meets clement novalak and a rag-tag group of other holdovers who teach her valuable lessons about life and love

or, yn gets her breakfast club moment

pairing: college!clement novalak x college!reader

warnings: its basically the breakfast club lmao if they all chose to be there instead of being sent there against their will (if romance is not like what andrew and allison had i dont want it, i could go on for hours about how that was the most pure relationship in that movie), this is going to be a long one guys, implied smut at the end but it's not written out.

dedicated to my partner in clement related crime, @httpiastri

the campus felt different with nobody on it.

she stood by the fireplace in the second-floor common room, watching the last few cars leave campus. her own inexpensive second-hand car stayed in its reserved spot, the lot almost empty around it. her parking pass dangled from the mirror behind her yankee candle air freshener to mask the old-person smell that seemed to permeate the mazda when she bought it.

its not that she didn't want to go home for reading week. she really did. she missed her parents and she missed her house, but she simply did not have the budget to buy peak plane tickets to go one province over. if she wasn't scared of her car falling apart before she got there, she was willing to make the six hour drive over the quebec-ontario border, but she just did not care enough.

and that's why she made the decision to stay on campus and take a longer break for christmas. she passed from the fireplace to the kitchen, a mug in hand and a hot cocoa packet tucked into her back pocket. the lack of kitchen in the individual rooms made cooking her own meals quite hard, so she was looking forward to having the second floor kitchen all to herself.

her phone was connected to the common room chromecast, and she was enjoying being able to hear music she actually liked echo around the room.

"mind if i borrow the stove?"

the voice from behind made her jump, hot milk spilling over the counter. she cursed under her breath, reaching to turn off the obnoxiously loud music.

"i didn't realize anybody else was still here. i expected to be the only one." she'd heard most of her floor leave that morning, and watched all the parking lots on campus slowly empty. nobody else should have been there. "go ahead, i was just about done anyways."

the boy nodded, his floppy hair falling around his face. he was wearing a sweatshirt and baggy jeans, a small coffee stain on the collar. "i'm clement, i live on the third floor."

"y/n. second." she said, a little unsure as she wiped up the counter. "you're not going home?"

"nah. i'd never get any work done if i did. i'm too busy."

she snorted, taking a sip of her drink "i'm too poor. a round trip was about $800 for a flight that's just under an hour and a half. i would rather go home for christmas."

clement smiled at her softly. "i get that. do you want anything to eat? it would be a shame just to cook for one."

she peered at his stunning eyes through the fringe that fell over his face. paired with his pleading grin, it was as if the man was giving her the human equivalent of puppy dog eyes.

"yeah, what the hell. but i pick the movie. are you familiar with st. elmo's fire? i watch it every fall."

clement made a face. "never heard of it."

her jaw dropped. "you've never heard of st. elmo's fire? rob lowe, ally sheedy, emilio estevez, andrew mccarthy, demi moore and judd nelson?"

"none of those words mean anything to me."

"it's the movie that made the brat pack!" she shouted. "you have to see it, let me go grab the dvd. don't stop cooking while i'm gone!"

as she started down the hall, she heard clement shout behind her "you still have dvd's?"

"there's a dvd player in every room, almost makes it worth the crappy tv quality."

when she came back, the common room was full of the smell of fried beef, a pot of spaghetti on the stove. clement had taken his sweater off, now sporting a muscle top with the under armour logo over his heart. she paused for a moment, blinking before she walked over to him.

he was hot!

he had even topped up her mug with extra warm milk and some whipped cream. a cutting board next to the stove had a can of tinned tomatoes and a pile of chopped carrots.

"i see someone fancies himself a chef."

"yeah, its a bit of a hobby." he shrugged, a devlish smile on his face. "i'd offer you wine but it's considered contraband and i didn't want my ra confiscating my merlot, so i drank it all."

if this was the breakfast club, she couldn't figure out if he was more john bender or andrew clark. he had bender's devilish charm, but andy's reserved humor. he had a bit of a bad boy streak, but he wasn't a total dick (every time she watches the breakfast club, she becomes more aware of the fact that she would have punched john bender in his smug face already), in fact, clement seemed quite sweet.

there was a knock on the kitchen wall just then, both parties turning to face the newcomer. she was quiet, dressed in a matching sweatsuit and cubic earrings.

"room for one more? i can pay you." her voice was soft. "it saves me making a skip the dishes order. i've missed eating with people."

y/n smiled waving her forward. "come join us! i was just about to put a movie on."

while clement finished up cooking, the girl introduced herself as olivia and the group of three settled on the couches around the tv. olivia seemed sweet, as did clement, and it struck yn that these were people she never would have gone out of her way to try and meet if she had just run into them in the halls.

"woah, who's the dude with the mullet? i know he;'s like, a bad person and all but i'd let him ruin my life." olivia remarked, watching rob lowe's character on screen

"yeah, you'd be hard pressed to find a character in this movie who gave something ten seconds of thought before they acted. it's part of why i like it so much. every character is messy because real life is messy, and sometimes people we know just suck."

clement raised his eyebrows. “I’m still not quite sure what this movie is actually about.”

“it’s a coming of age movie in a different sense. it’s about the transition from university to adulthood.” she explained, twirling the spaghetti on her fork. “and it’s about having sex with judd nelson.”

"yeah, but his character is a bit of a dick as well."

"that's the point." olivia and yn said in unison.

"alright, forget i said anything." clement laughed, turning back to the screen. "when does rob lowe get a saxophone?"

the movie was about halfway through, dirty plates stacked on the coffee table when someone else entered the room. the newcomer came in a cloud of vape smoke, smelling vaguely like passionfruit.

there's our john bender, she thought to herself. we definitely can't vape in here.

on screen, andrew mccarthy and ally sheedy were making out passionately, ready to tear each other's clothes off.

"no shit, did someone find professor alonso's vintage porn collection."

"woah dude, don't talk about the brat pack like that." yn fired back, flipping the newcomer the bird. "either stay quiet and join us or take your vape smoke somewhere else."

clement laughed into his fist, trying lamely to disguise it as a cough.

the newcomer chuckled, sinking down next to clement on the ratty couch. "so what are you guys watching then?"

"we can explain later. its at a good part!" olivia shushed him.

after the film finished, as the end credits rolled with the john parr song of the same name playing in the background, clement rose to his feet and gave the movie a shocking standing ovation.

"truth be told guys, i lost the plot halfway through." he admitted. "but i had a lot of fun watching it."

"i liked it." olivia hummed, nodding her head.

"so let me get this straight," the other boy stood to stand next to clement, pausing the dvd. "kirby is basically a stalker, billy is a deadbeat, alec is just a dick and jules should probably go to therapy?"

"yes." yn answered with a straight face. "not the most charming bunch, are they?"

he shook his head. "damn. we should watch a giant shark movie next."

"yeah, mate. deep blue sea or jaws?" clement laughed, clapping him on the back. "i'm clement, by the way."

"landon. and the answer is totally deep blue sea."

yep. definitely john bender.

"alright then," yn laughed. "olivia, what would you have picked?"

"insidious."

that was so not the answer she was expecting, but it gave her an idea.

"hey, if it's just the four of us in the building, we should get together every night, one person cooks and one person picks a movie." she suggested, reaching for her phone. "everybody, give me your numbers. we can set up a group chat."

"that's actually a really good idea." clement encouraged, beginning to clear the table. "i call dibs on fast five for my night."

with all the numbers in her phone, she sent out a smiley face to officially start the group chat.

"why are we called the breakfast club?" landon asked, staring down at his phone with a confused grimace.

"because we all match characters in the breakfast club. i'm allison, clement is andrew, olivia is obviously claire and you're bender." she said matter-of-factly.

"then who's brian? there were five in the movie, and there's only four of us." olivia added

"i think we've all got a little bit of brian in us."

they spent the rest of the evening in front of the fireplace (which they were all surprised was still functional with most of the building being gone) playing a game of uno with a deck of cards that clement was sure had more pick-up-fours than a standard deck did. reruns of the big bang theory played on the tv behind them while landon and clem battled with each other to see who could pick up more of the deck before the game was over.

it was 10:30 when y/n called it quits, although she really didn't want to. she had work to get finished in the morning, and needed to decide what recipe she was going to cook the following night. she was having fun with her new friends, and she wanted to make the most of it while she could.

"that's me done for the night. i have to go grocery shopping in the morning. olivia, you have dibs on the movie. nothing that's going to give me nightmares, though."

clement grinned from across the table. "don't worry, yn. i'll protect you."

"oh, shut up." she laughed, trying to hide the nervous blush on her face as she playfully kicked at his leg

"come off it, let me walk you back to your room."

she relented, walking side by side with clement. it was awkward, and mostly silent as they walked the carpeted hall. they made idle small talk, mostly about the events that had transpired that evening. she wondered as they were walking if clement would even remember this night after class was back in session.

"well, this is me." she said idly, pointing at a door with a fall wreath on it. "my roommate went home for the holidays so its just me here." she held the key fob in her hands, trying to come up with a way to make this moment last longer.

to prolong the feeling of calm she felt when speaking to clement novalak, the elation she felt when he looked at her like that.

"well," he sighed, hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he rocked on the balls of his feet. "i'll let you get on with your evening."

"thanks. i have to head out early tomorrow to get the ingredients i need for the meal, my fridge is pretty bare. you're welcome to tag along if you want."

clement beamed at her, and she felt her stomach flutter slightly. he was smiling at her, and she never wanted him to stop.

"yeah, why not. meet in the parking lot for eight?"

"sounds good."

the next morning, clement showed up at her door at promptly seven thirty with two tinfoil wrapped bagels in his hand. he took control of the aux cord in her car, blasting an odd mixture of throwbacks and house remixes of classic rock songs. she liked the way he made her feel, hanging on to every word and letting her ramble about anything and everything. he was a good storyteller, and she found herself filled with a sense of longing as he talked about his travels and his friend group.

she wished she could be a part of it.

they were still singing along to poison when they pulled back into the residency, and y/n found that her heart felt heavy at the idea of her time with clement being over.

she was falling far too deep, especially considering that their social circles shouldn't mix.

"do you want help cooking later?" clem offered, helping her grab the bags from the trunk. "if i'm being quite frank, i enjoy spending time with you."

her cheeks heated up as she buzzed the pair into the building. "yeah, okay. there's a bit we have to do now, and i'll need some latex gloves?"

clement raised an eyebrow.

"do you want to touch raw chicken with your bare hands?"

"fair enough."

she'd never had as much fun in the kitchen as she did that afternoon. they had the radio on, singing out of key and taking twenty minutes to do a ten minute task. clement danced around the small kitchen like an idiot, singing into a wooden spoon.

after the chicken was marinating in the fridge, their phones buzzed simultaneously on the counter.

"its olivia with the movie options for later. she's giving us a choice between the crow and slender man. i'm voting for the crow. as long as it’s the original from 1994.”

clement laughed. today he was wearing a turtleneck and jeans, and why did that make her knees go weak?

"yeah, i think i am too. i don't fuck with slender man."

later that evening, as the group congregated around the large flat screen to watch their movie, yn couldn’t help but notice that clement chose to sit next to her on the large couch. their thighs were basically touching. olivia looked in their direction, a knowing look on her face as she raised an eyebrow.

her phone buzzed in her lap.

olivia: hes so into you!!!

yn; like hell he is. he barely knows me

olivia; trust me, I know that look. get that dick girl, you deserve it!

“what happens after this week?” she asked quietly, shutting her phone as she looked around at the group.

landon still had his vape pen in hand. olivia sat on the floor, back up against the couch. her plate was a cross her lap, strewn with remnants of shawarma sauce and rice. and clement, pretty perfect clement was sitting next to her without a care in the world.

outside of this week, they were not her people, and she found herself dreading returning to a world where she had to pretend she hadn’t made a fuck ton of good memories with them.

landon shrugged, taking another drag of his vape. “I’m assuming we just all go back to normal.”

“but why?” olivia asked. “why should we? I’ve had a good time with you guys, and I’d feel odd just ignoring you if we passed in the halls.”

“I’d hang out with you guys.” yn said softly. “surprisingly enough, I like you guys.”

sure, she wouldn't consider going to one of landon's frat parties, or joining olivia at a pep rally, but more nights like this were right up her alley. good food, good movies and good friendship.

"i think, after all the time we've spent getting to know each other," clement started "that it would be a pretty shitty thing to do to abandon and ignore each other once reading week is over."

they were silent for the rest of the film, an uneasy feeling falling over them. y/n refused to make eye contact, scared of being burned. out of the corner of her eye, however, she noticed that clement was no longer watching the screen.

he was watching her, with a look approaching wistful in his eyes.

soon enough, the end of the week came, and olivia and yn felt like they needed to mark the week with something more monumental than dinner and a movie. olivia's roommate had a karaoke machine, and clement had a liquor store points card. with those two facts in hand, a plan started to emerge to throw a party celebrating their last week.

"let's make a pact tonight." clement said, raising his coffee mug at breakfast. "to treasure the week we spent together, and to solmenly swear not to ignore each other in the halls. we're friends now, whether we like it or not."

“man!” landon says “don’t get all sappy on me. let’s just enjoy this last day. as pitbull once said: life is not a waste of time. and time is not a waste of life. so let's stop wasting time, get wasted, and have the time of our lives.”

“damn straight!” olivia added, clinking her mug against his. “let’s make it the best party that this empty dorm has ever seen.”

yn laughed, pulling olivia in for a side hug. “yeah. we take it day by day. let’s not think about tomorrow and focus on having a good tonight.” this is the best idea I’ve ever been a part of, yn thought later that night, curled up next to olivia in a pile of blankets, smirnoff ices in their hands as the pair watched clement absolutley butcher the hannah montana theme song at karaoke.

It had been a good week, and while she was still sad she couldn’t make the trek home, she loved her new friends and she would always treasure the memories that she had made with them.

“my turn, my turn!!” olivia insisted, making grabby hands towards the wireless microphone. “come to mama, there’s an abba song with my name written all over it!”

yn laughed, watching Olivia saunter over to the karaoke set. no sooner than she had gotten up did clement slide onto the sofa to take her place,

“so, how was I?” he asked, slightly buzzed and sporting that goofy and contagious smile. when clement novalak was in a good mood, it was hard for anyone around him not to be.

she raised an eyebrow. “miley might say you ruined her tour.”

“oh come off it.” clem laughed, playfully launching a pillow in her direction. “you did this, you know.” he nodded in the direction of where landon was trying to hijack olivias performance of dancing queen. “earlier you said that if this was the breakfast club, you’d be allison, but i don’t think that’s entirely true. I think you’re brian, because he’s the one who brought everybody together in the end.”

her heart softened, something fizzing in her chest that was either heartburn or flattery. “you watched the breakfast club for me?”

“duh,” clement laughed “I had to know if you were insulting me hen you said I was andrew.”

she smiled, curling closer to him on the couch, bravely reaching to touch his forearm. “so if you’re andrew and I’m allison, it’s only right that I kiss you right now.”

oh god, that’s the cringiest thing I’ve ever said.

she didn't have time to dwell on her choice of words before clement cupped the back of her neck and pulled her face towards his, pressing his lips against hers.

the kiss took her breath away.

her hands slid up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair, the off key singing fading into the distance.

she pulled away, fully able to hear the heartbeat in her chest.

"holy shit."

clement laughed, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "holy shit indeed."

"shall we take this somewhere a little more private?" she asked tentatively. "i'd love to keep kissing you, but i dont want an audience."

clem beamed, lacing his fingers with hers. "should we go to your room or mine?"

she laughed, a smile splitting her face.

she never wanted this weekend to end, but if it had to, taking clement novalak to bed was exactly the ending she was hoping for.

#the cozy collection 2024 #clement novalak x reader #formula one x reader #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 smut #clement novalak x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #Spotify

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diorkyeom · 8 months

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「✦」 oh, how i adore you | TEASER

joshua x dokyeom, non-idols, friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, inspired by "jump then fall" by taylor swift

READ THE FIC | WANNA BE TAGGED?

teaser word count: 860 (full fic ~ 22k)

warnings: none

notes: this was meant to be part of a svt fest but,,, the disorganization of the mods bothered me so i dropped out lmao. couldn't abandon the fic tho, so i finished it here! there are vvv blatant references to the song lyrics but like. it's a very seoksoo coded song. what can i say.

summary: "and joshua… well, joshua had realised something. seokmin’s laugh was, without a doubt, one of the best sounds that he had ever heard." - in which joshua always has and always will do anything for seokmin, and perhaps that should have been his first sign that he'd well and truly fallen for him a long, long time ago.

Joshua had met Lee Seokmin for the first time during his third year of university.

It had been an odd encounter, but it had been an encounter brought on by one Yoon Jeonghan, and so when Joshua thought about it, by that man’s standards it hadn’t really been all that odd in the slightest.

“Joshuji,” Jeonghan had declared one afternoon, opening the door and flouncing through the small dorm into their kitchen, dragging a tall boy by his oversized hoodie sleeve behind him. “Meet the first-year that I’ve collected this year.”

Joshua, who had been peacefully sipping his fifth coffee of the day, didn’t even bat an eye at Jeonghan’s declaration. “Another one?”

Even in the present, Joshua could very truthfully admit that Jeonghan had been the sole reason he’d decided to carry on going to uni in Korea and not turn on his heel and return to the States three months after the first day.

It was because Jeonghan had had this… thing, where he liked ‘collecting’ first-years in their literature department who he wanted to take under his wing. During their first year at uni, he’d latched onto Joshua, who’d been a confused Korean-American student that Jeonghan had, for some reason, taken an immense liking to. Their second year, it had been Lee Jihoon, prickly and snappish but who had a hyper boyfriend who Jihoon stared at with hearts in his eyes.

It was a weird, almost mother hen-like act from Jeonghan, but it was a sweet habit, and Joshua had long since given up questioning anything that he did.

And so, a little absently, Joshua had turned to look over at Jeonghan’s newest adoptee, a polite smile on his face, before promptly freezing.

“Meet Lee Seokmin,” Jeonghan had said, proudly, like a mother introducing her favourite son. “Isn’t he just the cutest?”

Joshua blinked rapidly, because goodness, Lee Seokmin really was cute.

He was biting his lips nervously, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie before Joshua finally made eye contact with him, and his eyes rounded as if surprised that Joshua had looked his way.

And then Seokmin waved, before ducking his head, as if attempting to (unsuccessfully) hide behind Jeonghan’s much shorter form. The action was so startingly cute that Joshua couldn’t help the genuine smile that tugged at his lips, giving a small wave back even if Seokmin looked too busy avoiding his gaze to see it.

“Hello,” Joshua said, and awfully, his voice managed to crack on that single word. Jeonghan stifled a snort. So, in order to cover the awkwardness, Joshua did something even more awkward, and stuck his hand out in Seokmin’s direction. “I’m Joshua Hong. Or, Hong Jisoo. You can call me whatever’s easiest.”

Seokmin had stared down at his hand for several seconds, confused, and Joshua wanted nothing more than to turn back time and restart this entire interaction because really, how much more embarrassing could this get?

Before he could retract his hand, trying to forget the handshake and hopefully forget the new layer of awkwardness, Seokmin leaned over and grasped Joshua’s hand, strands of hair falling into his eyes as he looked up at Joshua, eyes startlingly warm and earnest.

His hair was awfully fluffy, Joshua realised suddenly. And he had big eyes.

He looked like a large, adorable puppy, if adorable puppies were tall uni students who drowned themselves in oversized hoodies.

Seokmin’s cheeks were rather flushed as he shook Joshua’s hand, eyes wide. He had a brief thought that maybe Jeonghan had chased him around their apartment block until he finally reached their floor.

Jeonghan did that sometimes.

And then Seokmin smiled, so brightly like a blinding beam of sunlight, his earlier perceived shyness completely forgotten as he released Joshua’s hand and instead lunged forward to engulf the elder in a hug.

“Hello!” Seokmin chirped, arms still wrapped around Joshua’s shoulders, and when he pulled away, he was still smiling so widely that Joshua felt a little dazed. “It’s nice to meet you, Jeonghan hyung’s told me a lot about you. I like your eyes! Can I call you Shua hyung?”

Joshua blinked rapidly, surprised by the sudden and random bout of chatter coming from the boy, but Seokmin’s eyes were lit up with that white gold light and he was so cute that Joshua couldn’t be anything but endeared.

“Sure,” he said amusedly, and marvelled internally at how Seokmin’s eyes crinkled and he seemed to vibrate happily on the spot. “You can call me Shua hyung.”

Seokmin let out a small laugh, delighted. “Shua hyung!” he cried, and then launched himself into Joshua’s arms again, pulling him in for another hug as the elder stumbled back, arms wrapped securely around Seokmin for balance.

Jeonghan had met Joshua’s eyes over Seokmin’s shoulders, face set in a curiously indecipherable expression. When Joshua furrowed his brows, he just grinned, nodding proudly. “Seems like I chose my first-year very well.”

And, well, Joshua couldn’t say anything at that, because Seokmin still had his face buried in his shoulder and he was just so warm and friendly and also because—

Because Jeonghan might have been the tiniest bit correct.

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ebongawk · 12 days

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rules: post the first lines of up to 10 of your last fics/chapters posted on ao3 or your wips and try to draw some conclusions.

tysm for the tag @pipergirl17 (like a week ago whoops) this seems so fun!

every star in the sky (is taking aim)

I love you, man. It was a strange feeling, lungs filling with blood. His lungs filling with his blood. Painful, yeah, but also weird. Unnatural. Like his blood knew it wasn’t supposed to be there, but it didn’t have a choice. And the sensation of drowning in the liquid of his own body, the wet he produced that was supposed to keep him alive literally killing him? Fucking unreal.

the beating of our hearts (is the only sound)

Chrissy was exhausted. Three hours before, when she’d initially walked into Jason’s home, she’d already been tired. But then fifty of their classmates popped out of poor hiding spaces, shouting surprise! so loudly she thought they’d ruptured her eardrum, and her internal dial went from ‘worn out’ to ‘enverated’ almost immediately. Like the room was full of vampires that thrived on energy, and every ounce she had was leeched as soon as she stepped foot past the threshold. Whatever she wore on her face, Jason mistook it for excitement.

overheated heart (head over heels)

Eddie needed this goddamn movie to end. He was dying. Like, actually suffocating, his lungs inhaling and exhaling oxygen without absorbing any of it into his blood. He kept taking slow, deep breaths, but every passing second was agony. Because with every stupid, necessary puff of air, Eddie kept getting little nudges of flowery perfume, and it was gonna be the death of him.

let's climb too high (for the stars to reach us)

Plopping down on a stool, Chrissy gave a weary sigh, letting her head droop against her crossed arms on the bartop. She felt, all at once, like she’d been awake for a thousand years, and all she wanted to do was go to sleep. Curl up in her bed after a long, relaxing bath and read one of her romance novels until she passed out with the pages spread over her chest. Joke’s on her, considering her bed was now tainted.

give me your hand (give me your sound)

It was a weird fucking day. Walking into the hellscape that was school, the aura was weird. Anticipation hung heavily in the air; the promise of an impending week off made tension thick as people prepared for their spring break with wandering minds and jittery dispositions. Ignoring lessons outright in favor of planning road trips and parties, discussing how to obtain alcohol despite the prying eyes of ‘authority figures’ standing over their shoulders. Eddie reveled in it.

heart begins to beat

The memories came in increments. Lying awake, staring up at the ceiling of a hotel room that felt more like home than Chrissy’s own childhood bedroom ever had, the pieces of a past her tormented mind had begged her to forget slowly stacked together. Like a game of Jenga towering higher and higher, waiting to fall and crush her completely. Each new brick connected the dots of a nightmarescape she couldn’t have fantasized in the most insane of dreams.

the conclusion I'm drawing is that I'm a big fan of single-line tag lines to sort of set the tone for a story 😂 which tbh I already knew. I also tend to steer my Chrissy POV intros more toward emotion while my Eddie intros seem a bit more physical? but idk if that's true for every fic or just these six.

(also idk if it meant the first few lines of the story or of the most recent chapter posted but I went with the former lmao)

I'm gonna tag @cyraclove @billysblueeyes @astorytotellyourfriends and anyone else that might want to play!!

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #stranger things #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #my writing #tag game

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asumofwords · 2 years

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: I'm testing out using gifs for chapters, let me know if I should continue, or refrain from doing it. I think it looks cool lmao.

Chapter 27: No Turning Back

The flight to Storm’s End was not too long of a journey. Arrax flew below you and Syndor, and you watched as the younger dragon struggled to keep up with your speed.

When you had noticed this, you slowed Syndor down, opting to fly him closer to your brother, looping below them and up. A tiny laugh barely heard from your brother bursting in the air.

Finally, you and Lucerys are flying together and you had only wished that it had been under better circumstances.

How many times had he begged you for this? And here you were, flying to Storm's End to remind a stupid old man of his oaths and secure your mother on the Iron Throne.

Lucerys was a good dragonrider. Though he and Arrax were young, their bond was irrefutable. Arrax felt Lucerys and vice versa. It was a joy to watch him grow into a young man, and you could not wait until they were both fully grown so that you could fly them down to Dorne to pick star fruits together and eat them fresh from the tree.

The air was cold and had a bite to it, and suddenly you were thankful for your riding gloves. Once you had ridden without gloves in the cold, and your fingers had become dry and cracked and raw afterwards.

A lesson you would not forget.

The closer you got to Storm's End, the darker the clouds became. The air around you changing significantly and becoming almost static and charged.

You huffed an aggravated sigh, knowing that you may arrive wet from the storm building around you. Though you could not deny that it was almost expected at a place called Storm’s End.

The storm building in the sky was not unlike the storm building inside of you.

A loud clap of thunder rang across the sky as you flew above Lucerys, the lightning striking across the clouds before you, lighting up the keep at Storm’s End.

The keep was a large cylindrical tower that sat on the edge of the cliff. Large crashing waves crawled up the side, looking like arms reaching to hold it and drag it back down into the murky depths below.

The wind whipped your hair back away from your face, as both of your dragons slowed their wings to begin to descend down to the ground.

Deep rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning distracting your descent as Arrax landed before you in the large entrance garden of the keep. Syndor however, was too large to land with him, opting to move out to the side near the cliff.

The large dragon landed heavily against the ground and bowed for you. You dismounted Syndor, patting him gently as you walked briskly to join your brother, who still stood beside Arrax, as six guards stood at the bottom of the steps preventing his entrance.

Above you, the storm began to move in quicker, the thunder and winds getting stronger with each strike. Once you were at Lucerys' side, you noticed that he hesitated to walk forward. Your hand reached out, gently touching his shoulder, the young boys body jumping slightly at the touch.

“It’s okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle smile. "Ivestragī īlva jikagon.” (Let us go.)

Lucerys scratched Arrax’s neck gently as he passed, the small light coloured dragon purring in response as you walked forward together. The guards of Storm's End all turned to watch you, large dome topped building behind them. You moved through the yard heading towards the entrance of the keep together.

A deep bellow crackled through the sky.

Your stomach dropped.

Lucerys jumped beside you, turning to look back, though you recognised that sound. Behind the wall of the entrance, the large shadow of Vhagar stood up behind it.

Syndors screech followed in response. The small dragon jerked with anxiety, sensing the bond with your brother, causing it to react to the sight of the large beast.

The wind picked up, blowing both of your cloaks sideways and you sucked in a stiff breath.

Your uncle was here.

Looking down at Lucerys who still watched Vhagar sitting behind the walls, you dipped your head towards him subtly.

"Tolvie run kessa sagon mirre paktot, Lucerys.” (Everything will be alright, Lucerys.) You cooed, giving him a gentle smile, even though your own heart jumped wildly in your chest.

Your brother stepped forward to the guards and you stood tall beside him, “I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon, this is Princess Y/N Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, sharply turning their heels to lead you both into the stone walls. You smiled at Lucerys, pride filling you. Flanked on each side by guards, you and your brother walked into a large hall.

The Hall was darkened, due to the lack of light as only a few torches were lit and affixed to the wall. The barren room felt cold as you entered, sending a large shiver up your spine.

The keep had no warmth to it, had no life to it, and felt as though it was ready to disembowel itself. There was no welcoming presence as you arrived, and no joy or talking to be heard. All there was, was the storm outside and the echo of your footsteps across the cold stone floors.

Lord Borros sat heavily in a large stone seat before you, two guards on each side, whilst his daughters stood stiffly away from him, lined perfectly, faces wooden.

Prizes to be won.

Women to be traded for lands, or gold, or alliances.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon and Princess Y/n Velaryon.” The Baratheon’s Knight announced to the hall.

You stared at Lord Borros, whose eyes roamed your figure. A shiver crawled through your body. Before you could open your mouth, you felt the hair on your body stand up. You were being watched. Movement to your side caught your gaze and you turned to see a familiar head of long white hair.

Aemond.

The One-Eyed Prince stood lazily beside another daughter. A long leg cockily stuck out away from him as he leant back on his heel, hands clasped behind his back.

Cocky bastard.

You felt Lucerys stiffen beside you.

“Son and daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” The knight continued.

Aemond's eye slid over your body, smirk crawling onto his lips as he then looked to your brother, the same smirk widening deeper as he watched Lucerys' unease.

A crack of thunder boomed through the room, the lightning glowing inside of the Hall as you turned your head sharply away from the watchful gaze of your uncle, and back onto the Lord before you.

“Lord Borros…” Your brother spoke softly, the Lord's hard face staring him down, “We have brought you a message from my mother…the Queen.” Lucerys voice held strong at the end.

There he was.

“Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the King.” Borros spoke snarkily, “Which is it? King or Queen?” He asked. “The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He laughed and you felt rage simmer inside you.

“Queen Rhaenyra is the true born heir to the Iron Throne. The late King Viserys named her his successor.” You spoke sharply, lifting your head to stare at Lord Borros who smirked at you meanly.

Aemond shifted in your periphery.

“Whats your mothers message?”

Lucerys held his hand out with the scroll holding it out to a knight, who took it from his hand, walking up to where Borros sat. Though once the scroll was in his hand, Lord Borros yelled out.

“Wheres the bloody Maester?” Borros looked about the Hall in search of him.

The Baratheon could not read.

His all imposing demeanour suddenly dwindled in your eyes.

The wind outside whistled through the windows and doors, grumbling thunder breaking the silence of the room whilst you all waited for the Maester to arrive. You tapped your foot against the stone impatiently as Lucerys turned to look at Aemond and you followed his eye.

Your uncle stood still, watching you both, face void of anything. His eyepatch sitting snugly upon his cheekbone, as his usual black leather attire donned his lithe figure.

In that moment you wished to rip the patch away from his face, reveal his eye to the room and the girl beside him. You wished for all to see what your brother had done to him.

A younger boy no less.

Let it be a reminder of what the mighty House Targaryen can truly do. You smirked cruelly at your uncle who’s eye twitched in response.

Your brothers hand came up to rest upon the hilt of his blade, the sound of the glove on the metal made you look down at him. You uttered a soft “Dont.” to your brother through your teeth, not moving your lips.

Footsteps bound into the room as the old Maester ran to Lord Borros’ side who’s hand was impatiently held out with the scroll loosely in his grip.

Reading it, the Maester leant down to whisper the message from the Queen. Lord Borros’ chest rose and fell heavily with anger as he seethed on the stone chair.

“”Remind” me of my fathers oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

You looked sharply at Aemond who had not taken his eye from you.

Lord Borros leant forward in his chair, “If I do as your mother bids…which one of my daughters will you wed…” All three turning to look at their father as he spoke, “boy.”

“You will address him as Prince Lucerys, Lord Borros.” Your voice rang out into the hall, “If you had sired any sons, my mother would have offered my hand to your House.”

You eyed his daughters as you spoke, “My brother is not free to marry. He is promised to Lady Rhaena Velaryon and your House swore an oath to Queen Rhaenyra.” You sneered.

“So you come with empty hands.” The man growled.

“Go home, pup, and take your bitch with you.” You tensed at the insult and from the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond twitch, “And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

“Lord Borros, I apologise for any confusion but your likeness to a dog is uncanny. I should thank the Seven that you are unable to sire a son, lest I be forced to birth a litter of pups-”

Your brother cut you off swiftly, voice louder than yours, “I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.” Lucerys turned on his foot and began to leave as you continued to stare at Lord Borros, before moving to follow him.

“Wait…” Prince Aemond's voice cracked across the room, your steps faltering as you turned together to look at the tall one eyed man.

“My Lord Strong.” He taunted your brother, yet did not lay his eye on you.

"Uncle.” You responded, sensing Lucerys tense beside you anxious as he shifted from side to side. Aemond's one eye slid to yours before back to your brother who walked warily into the space beside you.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?” He asked, shifting to stand with his legs wide.

“Your brother usurped the throne from its rightful heir, uncle. Your words hold no power of truth.” You snapped.

“I will not fight you.” Lucerys spoke, “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond sighed, “No.” He reached up to slip the patch off of his eye, revealing the sapphire stone to you.

Lightning crackled outside, causing the orb to glint in the flash of light. "I want you to put out your eye," Lucerys shuffled beside you nervously and you walked to stand in front of him.

“As repayment for mine.”

He sneered, hand coming to pull his leather coat to the side, revealing the blade he always carried, “One will serve.”

He pulled the blade from its sheath, tossing it towards you both. The blade clanged on the ground loudly, rolling towards your feet, as you stared at him in rage.

“I would not blind you.” He smacked his lips, “Plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

Lord Borros watched cautiously, eyes shifting from you and your brother back to Aemond. You lifted your chin higher moving to take a step towards the blade hiding Lucerys behind your form with your own.

“No.” Lucerys replied.

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“The only traitor in this room is you, uncle.” You growled, stepping forward again towards the blade.

“Not here.” Bellowed Lord Borros.

“Give me your eye,” Aemond yelled, and started towards you, and you felt Lucerys' hand pull your arm backwards, making you stumble with the yank as you watched your uncle bend down to scoop up the blade, “or I will take it, bastard!”

“Take his eye and I will take your other.” You promised.

The sound of a blade behind you made you turn your head as you watched Lucerys unsheathe his sword, holding it up, the guards around you unsheathing theirs.

Lord Borros Baratheon jolted out of his seat, “Not in my Hall!” He bellowed. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof.”

Aemond stood still watching you both, arm poised with the blade. You heaved uneven breaths as adrenaline rippled through you, your body still poised, unarmed in front of your brother, ready to fight.

“Take Prince Lucerys and Princess Y/n back to their dragons….Now.” Borros commanded.

You watched as Aemond twirled his blade and placed it back into its holder, the sound of your brothers being sheathed behind you.

The guards surrounded you and walked forwards you to push you out of the hall. The storm raged wildly outside as the rain was blown sideways with the wind, loud booms of thunder breaking across the sky with flashes of lighting amongst the clouds.

You and Lucerys descended the steps outside rapidly making your way towards Arrax who roared loudly in distress, sensing Lucerys' anxiety.

“Lucerys!” You called out to your brother, voice drowned in the rain.

He turned to look at you quickly, “Fly home, get to mother and deliver the message. I will be with you shortly.” You moved to turn back inside but Lucerys' hand caught your arm.

“We swore to our mother! We are messengers, not warriors!” He yelled over the storm.

You watched him for a beat, looking at the anxious dragon behind him and his desperate face, streaked with fear and anxiety.

“Ok. We will go.” You leant forward to kiss his head, holding his face in your hands, “I will be right behind you, okay?” His cherubic face softened as he nodded, walking swiftly towards Arrax who leant down for him to mount.

As you ran to the side of the walls to exit and find Syndor, lightning lit up the sky, and yet at the side of the wall where the large shadow of Vhagar had been now sat empty space.

There was no sign of the large dragon.

Your stomach dropped and you looked to Lucerys who had also noticed, watching at you anxiously, waiting for your command.

“It’s ok!” You called out, before moving to run in the rain outside.

The downpour drenched your cloak and attire, making it pull heavily on your neck with the weight. Your hair slicked to the sides of your face and back.

Syndor sat where you had left him, looking up at the storm above him, also agitated.

“Syndor!” You called out to him, and he turned to your voice, the large black dragon moving slowly towards you, each step vibrating the floor beneath.

The large dragon leant down and you crawled up his wing and onto his large horned back. Hands coming to grasp tightly on his spines with your gloves for purchase.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You called out against the loud thundering rain.

You looked up into the sky, eyes squinting from the droplets assault as you watched your brother and his dragon slowly make their way into the sky.

Your large dragon unfurled his wings, stretching up high with his legs as he moved to run and push off of the ground. Wings pushed you both higher into the storm, the waves below you crashing against the cliff's edge as thunder grumbled above you.

You watched your brother as his dragon struggled against the storm's wind and rain, their figures tiny in front of you. You moved behind him, Syndor catching up to your brother as you both dove higher and higher into the sky, trying to escape the storm below.

A patch of light was far above you and you both flew towards it, a break from the torrid sea and storms assault. As you soared higher, lightning lit up the clouds above you, their shapes illuminated.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You commanded again, hoping to get to Lucerys sooner to give him and his dragon a piece of calm.

A thunderous boom cracked above you and the sky lit up. Horror wracked through you as the shadow of Vhagar hid amongst the clouds above Lucerys.

“Lucerys!” You called out, but your voice was lost in the storm. The young boy looked up and saw the great dragon in the clouds above him as he looked about in search of it again.

“Sōvegon Syndor!!!” You yelled, the dragon beating its wings faster to chase up with your brother.

Vhagar emerged from the clouds in front of you and Lucerys, diving at your brother as you and Syndor swooped downwards to miss the giant dragon's talons. Your brother and his dragon faltered from fright, Arrax’s movements becoming more and more scattered as the dragon became overwhelmed with fear.

Aemond's laugh echoed in the sky as he and Vhagar disappeared back into the clouds above you. Vhagar roared out as she turned around, coming up from underneath your brother, jaws snapping at the back of Arrax’s tail.

“Keligon Aemond!” (Stop) You screamed out at him, his high Valyrian curling around you both in the drowning sounds of the storm.

Lucerys dove down to escape Vhagar’s claws once more and you flew up above him, calling out to your uncle as you flew.

“Nyke paktot kesīr!” (I’m right here!) You called out hoping to take the attention from your brother, to give him time to get away.

Vhagar dove from above, coming straight toward you as she roared, and Syndor flipped away from her, your grip faltering at the sudden movement as she continued downwards towards your brother. You turned Sydnor around to follow after them, tailing Vhagar before flying over him to come between her and your brother.

The ocean was close below you, its choppy waves carrying the salty water up into the wind to spray your face. Aemond's laughter came from behind you still as you soared forward, reminding yourself that you were messengers not warriors.

You would not be the one to start the war.

Arrax flew into a cavern and you and Syndor pulled to the side violently, barely missing the rocks of the cliff. Syndor pulled out across the water beside it, both of you disoriented by the thunder and rain.

“Lucerys!!” You called out, hoping to hear him call back.

You looked around you, trying to see through the barrage of rain that fell into your eyes. It was dark all around, the only light coming from the sudden flashes and booms of lightning around you.

“Arrax!” You called out to his dragon as you both flew back towards the entrance of the cliff.

Vhagar and Arrax were nowhere to be seen.

“Sōvegon!” You commanded as Syndor took you above the cliff, a large crevice down the centre.

“Ao enkagon iā gēlȳn!” (You owe a debt!) The sound of your uncle's voice blew across the air.

You urged Syndor to fly towards the sound, wings beating against the wind that brushed your wet hair across your shoulders, your cloak heavy behind you.

“Taoba!” (Boy!) He taunted, the faint figure of Vhagar ahead of you as you sped towards them both.

Suddenly, Arrax emerges from below, large flames licking at Vhagars face. The fire lit up the sky before you. Fuck. Vhagar let out a bellowing roar, shaking the air around you as she pulled away from the flames.

“Daor, Arrax!” (No, Arrax!) Cried your brother, as he steered to control his dragon. “Dohaerās Arrax!” (Serve me, Arrax!) His shaky voice called across the air as the small dragon frantically flew away from Vhagar.

“Lucerys!” You called out, flying closer to the both of them, as they soared higher in the sky.

“NO, no, no, no! No, Vhagar! No!” Aemond yelled as his dragon suddenly steered upwards chasing your brother rapidly.

“Dohaerās!” He called, “Serve me, Vhagar! No!”

You watched as the small figure of your uncle pulled desperately at the reins on his dragon, though she did not listen, taking him high into the sky as you chased them.

“Aemond!” You screeched into the air. “Stop!”

Syndor roared as he felt your distress, his wings desperately trying to catch up to your brother and uncle.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar!” He cried again as the great dragon soared upwards in chase of Lucerys.

“Sōvegon, Lucerys!” You screamed into the air, heart racing in your chest as the rain beat against your skin. Your brother disappeared into the clouds above, the small dragon flying into a clear patch of light.

Vhagar continued to chase upwards and you behind her, as Aemond cried for her to stop and obey him. Suddenly she pulled down to the side as he wrenched his reins sideways away from her trajectory.

The dragon shook her large head angrily as she growled. You kept upwards, overtaking Aemond and finally surfacing up into the light.

You broke through the clouds, their soft edges peeling back as Syndor pulled you out of the storm. The sky was bright, the light stinging your eyes. The rain had stopped, and above the storm below, was peace.

You felt yourself calm when you saw Lucerys in front of you.

“Lucerys!” You called, and the young boy turned over his shoulder to look at you, brown hair wet and stuck down on the sides of his face, his dragon seeming to calm at your presence.

“Y/n!” He called out, relief in his voice as he turned his dragon towards yours. You felt a large breath slip from your lips, as your heart settled in your chest.

“You’re okay!” You called out to him, watching his face calm as he looked to you as you flew closer, you were almost there.

Your hair stuck to your face, a cold chill wrapping itself around you as the wind blew against your wet body. Arrax screeched in relief at the sight of you and your dragon, wings gliding into the sky.

Gods, you could not wait to go home, and take the wet and sodden clothes from your body. And to bathe in a boiling hot bath, and drink some spiced wine from Dorne and cry.

Actually cry.

The clouds separated below Lucerys, and jaws rose from beneath them. Vhagar's large form burst through the clouds, jaws snapping over Lucerys and Arrax.

Arrax screamed.

You could not breathe.

“No! No! No! No! Vhagar!” Called a voice.

You watched in shock as what’s left of Arrax’s corpse fell back down into the storm below.

Lucerys.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin

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