#drives me up the wall!! again peace and love but what's the point then | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonlight-prose · 5 months ago

Text

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x f!reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #my writing

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facioleeknow · 5 months ago

Text

The art of pleasure ch. 5

Urgency ° Han Jisung

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: SMUT 18+ ONLY, college AU WC: 1.6k +

TW: experienced han, inexperienced han, chan is naked but when isn't he, quickie, kind of public sex, creampie, cunnilingus, reader doesn't cum, changbin cameo and he is flirty

AN: thank you so much for the love on this series, I hope you enjoy this new chapter <3

“We should really get going.” The last thing you wanted to do was part from Hyunjin, his skin was smooth and warm. His hand gently and calmly caressed your body over your clothes.He whined, his head buried deeper inside the crook of your neck. Your hands creeped their way to the planes of his chests and gently pushed against his skin.

“Baby, if you wanted a second round, you could've told me,” Hyunjin nosed at the column of your neck.

“Don't you dare, Hwang Hyunjin, get up, we need to get going.” The boy giggled, you had never heard him do that, it was cute, you wanted to press kisses all over his face. But you couldn't, you needed to go back to Sigma Kappa Zeta to talk to Chan about what happened before the date.

“Any chance you could also drop me off at your dorm?”

The drive back was a blur and you were pretty sure you dozed off because, at some point, you felt Hyunjin’s gentle hands shaking you awake lightly.

“Thank you, Jinnie,” you yawned tiredly.

“Why did you want to come here?Did you forget something?” Hyunjin grabbed your hand and pulled you close to his side, he spoke lowly with his mouth close to your ear. His breath tickled your neck and raised goosebumps all over your skin.

“I just need to talk to Chan about something.”

The frat house was strangely empty, there were no brothers laying on the couches nor making out with girls. There was only one person, playing at the pool table at the back of the room. Changbin stood in the corner in all of his glory, his muscles flexed and moved as he sank every ball he hit. As you walked across the room and to the stairs with your lover boy on your arm, he raised his eyes and then winked at you. Your whole body felt on fire and your mind hazy, so much that you didn’t notice that you and Hyunjin had stopped in front of Chan’s room.

“Wanna stop by my room after you’ve finished talking?” a playful smirk on the boy’s face.

“I’ve had enough for today, lover boy. I’ll see you around.” Your hand was almost on the doorknob of Chan’s room when Hyunjin spun you around and planted a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I’m counting on that second date, pretty girl, please call me.”

With the confidence that the night with Hyunjin still floating inside you and with the warmth of his kiss spreading from your face to your toes, you knocked on Chan's door and entered.

Your best friend was blissfully asleep on his bed, naked with his legs spread out wide. A blood curdling scream ripped out of your throat and you quickly turned towards the wall. With your back to him, you heard a scream similar to yours and then a loud thump.

“Y/N? Is that you, baby?” He grunted, you were still not facing him.

“Why are you naked, Christopher?!!?” you were freaking out but the sight of Chan spread out like that, peaceful and naked had made you feel things.

“You know I sleep naked and you were bound to see it anyway,” he whined once again, he seemed to do that a lot when he was with you, “ come here,” he opened his arms even if you couldn't see him.

“Chan I don't th-”

“Just hold me please.” You sighed. Why was it so hard to say no to him? Had he casted some kind of spell on you? Your jacket and shoes were soon discarded and you tentatively turned around and laid next to Chan. Keeping your eyes at an acceptable height was the hardest thing you had done in your life.

“You know why I'm here, don't you?” Even as Chan's arms circled you and his face laid on your chest, your voice remained steady. You were annoyed at him and he had to know.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have acted all jealous. I know that. But I never had to share your attention with anybody so I freaked out a bit.”

You knew he was honest, lying wasn't a thing between you two.

“Is that it? You wanted attention, you big child?” Chan giggled at the nickname, he would have killed anybody else had they dared call him that, but you of course were different.

“Yes.”

“Should I sleep here tonight and give you all my cuddles and attention then?”

He tightened his hold on you and planted a kiss right on your collarbone.

“You should.”

“Alright, you should really put some clothes on tho…”

“Shush, it's just skin, go to sleep.”

The morning after Chan's annoying alarm blasted you awake. It was almost mocking, you and your plans of sleeping in for once.

“Chris why the hell are you getting up so early?” You groaned and pushed the heavy body off of you. He didn't budge.

“I need to go to the studio, we need to finish a project. Do you wanna come?” His words had an urgency to them but he still nuzzled his cheek against your chest more and refused to get up.

“Should I?” You muttered, already half asleep.

“I want you to.”

“Okay then.”

Needless to say, you did not get to the studio on time but at least you had stopped at your dorm to change clothes and then grabbed coffee for 3racha as an apology. The studio was as you had remembered it, small and messy, clearly used by men as no woman would let it get like that.

“Hey guys,” you greeted the other two boys as you offered them coffee.

“Hey pretty, I saw you with Hyunjin last night, I hope he treated you well, if not you can always come to me,” he winked again, it seemed like some kind of habit. You giggled.

“He did, actually.”

“Focus on the track, Bin,” Chan chastised his friend. He was jealous. Cute. You patted his head to reassure him, he was special to you and you were special to him, and his whole demeanor shifted.

Han was weirdly quiet and just looked between you, your legs particularly, and the track on his computer. You knew he was gonna be there so you had chosen to wear shorts on purpose, it was obvious he had a thing for your legs and the others had noticed his weird silence as well. Changbin smirked, he knew how obsessed the younger friend was with thighs and yours were extremely delicious.

“Hyung, we should go ask for more paper, we’re out I think,” Bin wasn’t looking at Chan but at the two of you instead, he knew Chan would’ve understood and he would've given you your time.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Chan patted your head on his way out. Han swallowed thickly as the door closed, leaving you two alone in the room.

“Do you want me to take them off, Jisungie?” you batted your lashes at him and a cute blush spread all over his cheeks and down his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he spluttered and stuttered.

“I don’t mind, do you want to?”

“Yes please, oh my god, I’m so hard, I’m gonna die,” he blurted out with no filter whatsoever. You giggled again, he was cute and different from the other boys, you liked him. In one swift motion, you lowered your shorts and panties and bent over the desk.

“Come get me baby.” Han didn’t let you repeat yourself twice because as soon as you had laid your chest on the cold wood, he had kneeled behind you. He was gawking at your pussy like it was the most precious thing on earth; his admiring didn’t last long because he soon buried his entire face between your thighs. He was different from Minho, he was messy and clearly ate for his pleasure. His tongue never stayed on one spot for too long, he moved quickly from your entrance to your clit and then back and over your lips. In a matter of minutes your pussy was slick with wetness and his spit.

“God Jisungie, you’re so messy,” you keened out. Han pulled away from you, his hot breath fanned over your opening.

“Baby, can I please put it in? I need it, so bad,” he whined and whined. It was like the roles were reversed, you were the whiny one usually, but you didn’t mind one bit.

“Go on.” Han scrambled to his feet and quickly lowered his pants and underwear. He slammed into you with force, his thrusts and his dick were different from Hyunjin’s; he went fast and hard, he was chasing his pleasure and his pleasure only and his dick was smaller but thicker, but felt heavenly nonetheless. Jisung moaned and wailed like a dog in heat, your pussy throbbed and dripped more and more with each sound and movement of his hips.

“Oh my god baby I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, please can I do it inside?”

“Already?” you asked out of breath, he just whimpered and nodded, “yeah, you can.”

“Oh my god, Hyunin was right last night, you got good pussy.” It only took him a few more thrusts from him to still and spill inside you. Your face had never felt hotter, they talked about you like that?

Han laid on your back, his arms circled around your torso, it was an awkward position but his weight on you felt comforting.

“I’m sorry you didn’t cum, baby.”

“It’s okay, you’ll make it up to me next time,” you smiled, your cheek squished against the desk.

“Yes ma’am.”

A sudden knock at the door shifted the mood in the room, Changbin and Chan’s voices loud and clear.

“You didn’t make her cum, are you serious?!?”

“Unbelievable, Han Jisung.”

@kflixnet

#straykidsland #kpop #reader insert #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung #han jisung smut #han #han x reader #han smut

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hiraethwa · 10 days ago

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purposefully

for ellie @nekozaki <3, hope you enjoy it! i took some liberations with your wishes (part of the hq x reader secret santa exchange by @lale-txt) pairing: miya atsumu x reader cw: hurt/comfort, cursing, atsumu is careless with your feelings, mutual pining, confession wc: 2k

miya atsumu, starting setter of the star-studded msby black jackals lineup, is gifted with looks and charms of a god, graced with sculpted features and a chiseled jawline, his body honed through years of training and experience.

you don’t doubt for a second that his physique is what draws men and women to him alike, and to be fair, he could be so unbelievably charming when he wants to be. but when it comes to you, his dear roommate, he is so damn infuriating, driving you up the wall with every little thing he does.

there’s always a clever quip from atsumu awaiting you, as if he could not bear not having the last word, or a teasing remark when you do anything nice for him, a “did you fall in love with me?” or “your loverboy would be jealous if he knows about this” that you have learnt to ignore, not giving him the satisfaction of your reaction.

every time it irks you, hanging him out to dry for the next day or two, until your forgetfulness comes creeping in, and the vicious cycle repeats itself all over again.

if you had a choice, you would not have moved in with him to start with, but you were in a rough financial situation, and osamu had offered you a solution—cheap rent and nice apartment with a catch—having his annoying twin brother as a housemate.

you had taken it, since it was miles better than moving to a rundown apartment with a shoddy heating system and questionable neighbors.

atsumu had been nice and courteous in the beginning, helping osamu move you into the apartment and making sure you had everything you needed to feel at home, to the point where you were confused as to what osamu meant when he called his brother an insufferable idiot.

it had gone swimmingly, with the two of you getting along almost scarily well as housemates, leaving osamu in disbelief when he shows up at your apartment unannounced to find you two huddled together in front of the tv watching horror films when you both hated them.

he finds you making dinner in the kitchen the second time with atsumu obediently following your orders, and finds it hilarious that he is trying so hard to comply with your instructions when his twin is a hopeless mess when it comes to cooking. osamu bursts out laughing, and atsumu ending up chasing his twin who is dying of laughter in circles until you snap at them both.

the third time he stumbles into the apartment with extra food he ended up making, only to witness you argue with atsumu whether your coworker was flirting with you, an unreadable expression on his twin’s face. osamu just interrupts the argument with a knowing smile, peace offering held up in his hand.

that was one of the last times you hung out with atsumu, before something in him changed, as if a switch had flipped in him, taking the miya atsumu you knew and fell for away, leaving you with a cocky and provocative atsumu—the one that osamu had tried to warn you about.

it was a hell of an adjustment, getting used to this current atsumu who returned to serial dating and bringing his dates back to the apartment with its thin walls, awkwardly interacting with the ones who wander into the kitchen in his clothes in the morning, the sight of them torturing you more than the sounds at night did, reminding you of a time when it was you in his hoodies and sweaters.

worst of all, atsumu did not seem like he felt bad in the slightest about bringing his various one night stands home, not failing to greet you every day with his charming lopsided smile and a ‘morning, sweetheart’, which had grown to be maddening.

there wasn’t any sign of things between you going south, the friendship you had formed with him going down the drain. you didn’t understand it, whatever made him change so drastically without any warning, and it drives you insane.

because miya atsumu is insufferable, and you just happen to be hopelessly in love with him.

because there was a time when you were close, with inside jokes that even osamu was not apart of, late night talks at 2am about your hopes and dreams and everything in between, not so secret glances thrown between you. a time when you believed for a moment that atsumu, despite his well known playboy persona, might have felt the same way towards you.

because in those short months when everything went right, you had truly seen miya atsumu, beheld him in all of his fame and glory, that facade of swagger and charm, and past it to see the sweet man underneath.

but atsumu has always had a short temper, and the same holds true tonight, as the brawl unfolds before your eyes in slow motion. his arm unfurls, muscles rippling with force as his fist makes impact with the other man’s cheek, sending him backwards into the crowd.

he grabs ahold of the man’s collar, barely restrained anger fueling his punches into his face, leaving it a bloody mess.

“miya!” the shrill scream that leaves your lips is unrecognizable, as your body moves on its own, struggling to hold his arm back with everything you have. osamu jumps into the fray, forcefully separating the two of them.

this is bad. it looks bad, especially on atsumu’s part, as if he had assaulted the poor guy without reason.

“get atsumu out of here, we will deal with the rest,” osamu tells you, and you could only nod, wide-eyed and in shock at the events that just unfolded.

thankfully, atsumu does not protest as you tug him away from the crowd, escaping the club and returning to the comfort of your home.

he barely registers the change in scenery from the dimly lit club to the bright city lights illuminating your way home, eyes focused on you, all determined and purposeful, your hand wrapped tight around his, as if you were afraid that you might lose him in the christmas crowd.

he wonders if you knew the reason he had lost his temper back there, if you heard the unsavory words that the guy said about you.

the dull throb in his right knuckles goes ignored as he allows you to pull him along, into the train station, onto the line that brings you home, just a mere twenty minute ride from here.

he does not speak, afraid of breaking the fragile silence, a temporary unspoken truce.

the buildings fly by outside the train as you rest your head against the glass, staring out into the distance. the lump in his throat stays with him, involuntarily and fully aware of where your skin still touches his skin, the contact searing hot against his wrist.

he swallows, wishing to run away and stay here with you forever, all at the same time.

you drag him onwards, out of the train, out into the fresh air of the cool night, the skies stretching above you, reminiscent of the feeling within him that expands and expands with no end in sight, that spiraled out of his control, scaring him to death.

love. it scares him. the relatively unfamiliar concept of caring about someone out of choice, unlike his brotherly love for osamu that was forged on the basis of familial ties, or his love towards his parents ever since he could remember.

you scare him—the worry in your dark eyes as you notice the split skin on his knuckles, scolding him for his rashness, pulling the first aid kit out. the tenderness in your hands as you carefully dab antiseptic ointment on the raw skin with a cotton ball, asking him if it hurts.

why, why do you bother?

the words die in his throat as he feels a prickling sensation behind his eyes. he shakes his head at your question, hoping to blink the feeling away, before the tears well up.

why do you still bother, after how awful he is to you?

but then you pull away, leaving him cold without your touch on his skin, shooting him a small smile and asking if he wanted a snack.

“why do you still bother? you don’t have to be nice to me just because we live together.”

you sigh, a loud exhale through your nostrils, seemingly frustrated with him. “it’s on purpose, you know.”

“what?” he does not understand.

“i’m loving you on purpose.” your hands pause on the cabinets, hesitating on the next words spilling out of your mouth, words that have long smoldered within you. “maybe one day i will stop falling in love with you, but my heart is stubbornly yours tonight.”

silence stretches in the space between you. your traitorous eyes flit over to the blonde whose mouth is agape, staring back at you in surprise and disbelief.

you chuckle nervously. “what, cat got your smartass tongue? don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming, i thought i was being obvious enough despite my efforts to hide it”

atsumu still appears to be speechless so you forge on, emboldened by how good it feels to get this off your chest after holding it in for so long.

“i know you don’t feel the same way, so don’t worry about it. i am working on getting over you, i just– i haven’t found a way yet, and my heart still clings on to the atsumu that i fell in love with in the beginning.”

the stubborn thing refuses to let go of the atsumu that you had the privilege of knowing.

“then don’t.” it stutters in your ribcage, confused by his words, his admittance. “because i am a stupid fool, and i–i love you too.”

“it’s not funny, if you are trying to mess with me.” you beg for your heart to still, for hope to delay its flight—you are not sure if you would be able to recover this time if he is fooling around.

“i am not– fuck. i messed up. i have been a terrible person, sleeping around to try and get over my feelings for you but it’s no excuse.” atsumu kneels before you, sincerity shining in his warm chocolate eyes, offering you the truth, admitting his mistakes. “when i realized that i am in love with you, it scared the shit out of me. i have never felt such immense feelings towards another person in my life before, and so i ran away.”

“i fucked up and i am sorry, but if you will allow it, i will make it up to you, please. just one chance, i will never make you doubt my love for you ever again.”

his touch burns, sets you on fire, as you get on your knees before him, holding his hands tight, as your heart soars, despite the hurt that he inflicted on you unknowingly. “one chance, that’s all you get.”

his lips spread into a large grin as he tackles you to the ground in a hug, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leans down, lips ghosting over your skin. “does that mean i can finally do this–”

you beat him to the kiss, pulling on his neck and joining your lips before he could finish his sentence. you smile into it, feeling satisfaction from his surprise and even more when he breaks away in incredulity.

“that’s a yes, by the way.” you chortle from your rare successful attempt of shutting atsumu up. he only makes a noise of protest before he reels you back in for another kiss.

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fanfic #miya atsumu imagine #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #divider by nectardaddy #hq x reader secret santa 24

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beeing1alive · 9 months ago

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Tokyo Revengers boys have to sleep on the sofa after an argument

f.t.: Mikey(Manjirō Sanō); Darken(Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya(Takashi Mitsuya)

Mikey:

he argued with you and you both got loud

after an hour he couldn't take it anymore and left to ride his motorbike through the city to clear his head. motorbike through the city to clear his head

when he came back, his bedding wasn't in his bed as usual, but on the sofa instead

asked you what that was about and you told him that you needed a bit of distance from him and that he needed to sleep on the sofa

became very quiet and went to sleep on the sofa without another word

but he couldn't sleep because he missed you

so after a few sleepless hours, he came over to you and meekly explained that he couldn't fall asleep without you and that he missed you

he also apologised to you

and because he was so sweet, you forgave him and said that you wanted to cuddle

he doesn't need to be told twice and goes straight to bed with you to cuddle you

you stayed like that for the rest of the night and he fell asleep after just a few minutes

Draken:

the argument started with the normal question of where he had been

but he was irritated and then just snapped at you that you didn't have to care

he got a bit too loud and rude

you left and left him alone in that room

this room was full of angry energy and it sounded like everything he had just thrown at you echoed off the walls

fell into a chair and slumped down, thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of his nose

he regrets it, so so so so much

wanted to tell you the same thing and jumped up to run out of the room, still reeking of aggression, into the living room

you were nowhere to be found, only his bedding had been thrown on the sofa

had actually intended to tell you that he couldn't sleep without you and neither could you without him, but realised that you probably wanted some peace and quiet and left you alone

so lies down without you on the otherwise warm and cosy sofa, which seems much colder and more uncomfortable to him at the moment, and tries to sleep

as expected, it didn't work

at some point, early in the morning, he couldn't take it any longer and came to you in the bedroom to ask if he could lie down with you

You didn't answer him, you just threw back the covers next to you back as a symbol that he could lie down with you

mumbled a thousand apologies into your hair as you lay there wrapped up in his arms and the blanket like a borito

Mitsuya

was stressed and, honestly, I hope we can all agree that he doesn't usually take things like that out on the people he loves, especially not you

but even he makes mistakes from time to time and sometimes his brain circuits go haywire

so he grumbled at you and used words that you had heard coming out of his mouth

you just stared at him at first, because that's not his way of just not driving you

that's why you were shocked and the last word you said was that you needed time to think, alone

screwed up in pain at the thought of all the things he had just accused you on

but he respects your decision and will leave you alone until you're ready to talk

is still surprised when he sees his bedding lying on the sofa in the living room and knows straight away that he certainly couldn't go to sleep without you

doesn't even try to sleep and prefers to continue working on one of his works for you instead

at some point he got so tired that he decided to ask you if he could sleep with you after all

asked you as politely as possible and assured you that something like that would never, ever happen again

you allowed him to, of course, how could you have ruled otherwise when he was standing there in the doorway like an abandoned kitten and unintentionally at that -thanks you and apologises to you until you effectively shut him up with a brief kiss of reconciliation and he then simply drifts off to sleep with you in his arms

Attention: The characters and the gif do not belong to me. All credits go to the actual owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please write to me.

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echantedtoon · 5 months ago

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Tipping Point

(Warnings for yandere themes and pregnancy mentions.)

-It didn't happen overnight. Your husband was not someone to be feared yes but never by you. He was always so considerate and responsible. His presence always so stoic but gentle. The way he loved to hold your smaller form against his own. Listening to the soft heartbeats emitting from your form. You gave him the peace of mind he never got before.

-He's never had any say in anything before. His life, family, or what transpired between his brother. His inferiority complex and jealousy driving him to do unspeakable things. Unspeakable things you never held against him. You were perfect. Everything his past wife wasn't. He had everything he wanted. Finally surpassing his brother in life and strength (he was much stronger surely with his hundreds of years getting stronger and he was stronger than a dead man), the high ranking position he deserved, and a perfect wife.

-Just when He doesn't think he could be anymore blessed along comes with the news that you two were expecting. Two little ones. His own lineage. Muzan is pleased with the news, after all he thinks they'd be great to study and Kokushibo couldn't agree more already planning out what and how their lives should be. Everything is perfect.

-In his eyes only. You however have a very different view. Your husband was always kind and respectful in the beginning. He was everything you loved, but you started notices the shifting behaviors. Starting with the news of a person with hanafuta earrings and sun breathing was found. He started acting different. More distant, he didn't come home as often, but when he did he was dismissive...Until he wasn't. One day you're surprised by a new rule he placed on you. "You are no longer to go out anywhere by yourself. You are to stay within the house and go anywhere without me. Understood?"

-When you politely ask what brought this about, he only says that it's for your own safety. You can tell he's lying there's something intense about the way he's looking at you but giving him the benefit of the doubt you agree assuming he was just worried. However it was more than just overprotectiveness. His entire perfect world shattered the moment Muzan announced the existence of his brother's successor. Every buried memory, every locked up emotion, it all resurfaced.

AND HE WOULD NOT HAVE HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS IN VAIN.

-It started with just the one rule. It was pretty overbearing but not impossible. You barely went anywhere anyways as your home had everything you need but slowly more and more overbearing. "You are to not leave this home at daylight." "You are to stay inside at all times. Yes. Even if I am not present. Misbehaving will be punished by the loss of luxuries." "Your skills are starting to lack. ..No. You cannot go to town. I will get what you need."

-It felt like the walls were slowly pushing inwards and inwards and constricting you. Every time you tried to bring up the same dismissive behaviors would play out. He wasn't going to risk outside sources convincing you to leave him. Not like last time. Yoriichi would not convince you to not leave him again. However he didn't see his possessive behavior was driving you away from him.

-Learning you both were going to be parents was the final straw. It's like something in him snapped. He seemed so pleased with learning about it only to sour the news by discussing the plans he had for perfect heirs. To train them and mold them into the perfect heirs.

-You nearly fainted from fear right then and there from what your husband became. So you fled. Fleeing during the day and never looked back.

-The rage and completely disarray of emotions pumping through his body was enough to boil Muzan's blood and send a shockwave to the lower ranks. The betrayal enough to shatter his sanity and send what little control he had left in him diving off the cliff of his tipping point.

-The monster underneath is clawing out. And it won't rest until it finds what it seeks.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader #yandere kokushibo #kny kokushibo #kokushibou

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 6 months ago

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Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me.

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now.

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong?

My head hurts from all the questions.

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.”

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks.

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone.

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes.

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust.

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants?

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in.

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty.

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting.

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way.

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind.

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters!

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place?

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them.

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed.

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it.

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?”

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one.

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest.

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face.

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse.

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this?

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it.

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him.

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people.

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser.

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me.

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me, a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin.

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate.

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men.

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came.

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

---------------------------------

Taglist:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn , @zoeisdreaming6

As always, let me know if you want to be added to the list :) Thx to everyone who has liked, commented or reblogged you're all angels <3

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #Rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys smut #rhysand acotar #rhysand acotar smut #rhys x reader smut #rhys x reader imagine #acotar smut #love and war series #my writing #my fanfic #enemies to lovers #warlord!rhys #warlord!Rhys smut

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diamondcitydarlin · 4 months ago

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----LOTS OF SPOILERS FOR THE FILM BELOW BE AWARE---

The thing that's driving me kinda CRAZY about the sequel though is how perfectly it sets up a personal arc for Lydia to be intertwined with Beej's. Like I said in my reaction post after seeing the film last night, I feel like Lydia as a character doesn't really get much of an arc or a resolution by the end of the story, as most of the plot is focused on repairing her relationship with her daughter, with Delia, maybe even her ex-husband to a certain extent, and for as much as she's rid of someone actually preying on her (Rory) we have no reason to believe she's found inner peace or really discovered herself or isn't still constantly popping pills to help with the 'gift' of sight she still has to deal with. There's so much about her left unresolved that Tim is either going to have to make another film about or I will have to fanfic about. But again, what's also fascinating is the way the beats of Lydia's story become tangled up with Beej's by the end of this, and also the ambiguous suggestion that there might be some kind of red string of fate linking them together across life and death and centuries (my kingdom for Beej saying "I've crossed oceans of time to find you" in a deep sexy Dracula voice and Lydia being like "plz shut the fuck up" LMAO)

Like, the 'psychic connection'. The thing that makes Lydia able to see and interact with Beej in places other than the house/model in Winter River. At first I think we're led to believe these are genuine hallucinations she's having, but ofc that's debunked when Beej reveals he's aware of these sightings and has been participating in them on purpose. Does this suggest that their first marriage may have been binding in some way that didn't release him from death, but allowed him more range to manifest so long as he was attached to her? That's not really addressed or explained, but I feel like it opens the possibility of being a thing (as so many fanfics have had happen before, I LOVE it tbh)

Also, the parallel of them both having had predatory exes that tricked them into 'selling their souls' (one in a figurative sense, the other literally lmao). I'm honestly shocked more conclusions weren't drawn from that conspicuous parallel in the film itself, because it's VERY interesting. It seems almost to suggest they're both meant to safeguard each other's souls (which is why I'm still bitter we didn't get Lydia defending him from Delores, I think that would've been a nice follow up to Beej saving her from Rory, even if she was just doing it out of a sense of obligation).

And idk, on the whole I feel a lot of Lydia's personal struggle at this point in her life is defined by a need to feel 'normal'. I get how that can seem odd coming from the teen girl that confidently described herself as 'strange and unusual', but this is 30 years later, after several failed relationships, after becoming a mom and struggling with a strained relationship with her daughter because of her oddity, idk, I think it's a good case study on how society forces women to conform lest they be a bad daughter or a bad mom or a bad wife, etc, but I think it's obvious she's just fighting her 'strange and unusual' nature and the more she does that, the more difficult her life will be.

To me, that suggests her path to happiness has actually a lot to do with Beej, or very well could. Who else is going to understand her true nature the way he does? Who else is going to unashamedly encourage her to be balls to the wall weirdo like she REALLY is??? Who else can truly set her free that way??? Like I'm gnawing on wires here yall, if nothing else Tim gave us SO much fanfic material to work with on this one.

#beetlebabes #beetlejuice spoilers #im already plotting out the fic tbh #lots of brain food to chew on here #lydia deserves a full personal arc and it deserves to be spooky and weird af

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oozebrain · 2 months ago

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Slow burn Art X Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem. I tried to make the reader gender neutral but there will be instances the reader’s transmasc status comes up.

M rating, warnings will vary from chapter to chapter.

General warnings for this chapter include implied abuse, mention of eating disorders, angst, an instance of a homophobic slur, adult themes, descriptions of starvation, poverty, and food insecurity, and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: You receive a great kindness from a strange man you meet in an alley.

“I lean on you, in peace,

Everything stood still, and you You sang to me so softly, You sang to me so softly. In the moonlight I see you in a ditch, In the moonlight you turn into a blue hum, And I thank you for the hope you have given to me, I thank you for the hope...”

Chapter 1

“Am I… am I being fired?” You ask, voice trembling despite your best efforts.

“Yes, this is your last paycheck. I took out what you owe me and left you with two hundred dollars.” Your boss taps on the exact decimal point before handing you your final paystub and check. Two hundred dollars. That’s all you had in the world. Rent was due tomorrow and so was your electric bill. You are descending into hell. You are shell shocked and all you can offer is a polite and awkward goodbye as you part ways for the final time.

Your boss had been waiting on the bench along your usual route to work. You knew when you saw him sitting on that bench with a paper in his hands it wasn’t good news, but you never expected this. And the reasoning behind it...

The reasoning made you feel sick to your stomach. A million questions race through your head and shame floods your face. Once you are out of sight the tears come, the anger, the humiliation. You feel betrayed and hurt, so deeply wounded that you are unsure if you will ever fully recover. You swallow a lump in your throat and snivel as you look down at your phone. You’re going to have to tell people. But what will you say?

Will you admit what you were fired for? It wasn’t bad enough just eating trash. No, not only that, but your love interest had thrown you under the bus and accused you of harassment. For a year he has flirted with you regularly, and loved driving you wild. He’s felt you up discreetly while the two of you worked together and he always found a thrill in breaking the rules. You were only wanted when it was a secret.

As seemed to be your norm, your status as a trans man made the situation messy. In your heart, you knew he was ashamed of his feelings for you. In his shame, he denied any interest in you. You felt as though he had forsaken you and your heart was broken. But still, you took the fall to protect him so he would not lose his management position. Of course he would not claim you and out himself as being attracted to “a faggot”, as your coworkers had put it. He said he loved you but his true love was his reputation.

You aren’t worth it. You never were.

You duck into an alley as a place of solace, just somewhere quiet and dark to put the pieces together. You had no food in your home, nor have you in a little over two months. You work in the food service industry and the smells, the sights, the sounds...

Your stomach cramps again at the mere thought of food. You manage to stave off a dry heaving spell and rest against the cool brick wall. You feel small, insignificant, and like you’ve been kicked while you were down. Despite the rapid weight loss, the dizziness, the headaches, they all looked the other way. You knew that they knew but they were not required to help, they were merely your coworkers.

Still, you feel betrayed that one of your crew saw you saving food dropped on the ground instead of throwing it away. It was regarded as theft in everyone’s eyes and the coworker had purposefully done it to be rid of you. This wasn’t paranoia or anxiety, it was just the hard truth of what life was like in the adult world, a world you struggled to navigate.

After a few moments reprieve you are faced with a decision: what can I do?

Dejection overcomes you. What can you do? Can you do anything? No, you know you can’t do anything right, something that has been drilled into your head every day for as long as you can remember. Tears come again and you walk further down the alley, further away from the sounds of traffic and passersby. You don’t want anyone to see you like this.

You’re starving, exhausted, and unmedicated. In addition to food, you’ve had to forgo your medication and the withdrawal still wasn’t easing up. You have to take your medicine with food and that hasn’t exactly been an option. You’ve barely been able to keep it together to go and work a twelve hour shift. Today would have been your second week in a row without a break.

‘At least I finally get a day off I guess.’ You think to yourself as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You take your glasses off to clean them and find yourself tripping over something solid. With a thud, you and the ground collide.

Collecting yourself, you stumble to your feet and adjust your glasses to your face. Turning around, your heart flutters in fear as you realize you’ve not just tripped over something, you’ve tripped over someone. His attention was fully on you as he stared at you with a stoic expression. Was he upset?

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. Are… are you alright? Are you hurt? Im so sorry. Are you okay?” You inquire nervously, your words coming out a befuddled torrent of noise. The thought you’ve done something wrong again stabs you in the heart and as the knife twists you feel tears return to your eyes. No, not here. You don’t want people to see you sniveling and snotting around, “I’m sorry I... it’s been a really hard day. I hope I didn’t hurt your leg.”

Strangely, he offered no response. He was a thin, tall man, about six foot and dressed like a mime. Or perhaps he was a clown. Regardless, his clothes were dirty and the makeup on his face smeared to reveal the sections of the person underneath. The most striking thing about him was his eyes and you found yourself unable to meet them. Staring down a lion would be easier than meeting his gaze.

His lack of response revs up your anxiety a few more notches. You avert your eyes to the ground shyly, a prickle of humiliation creeping up your neck and spreading over your cheeks. Your ears burned hotly. Was he angry with you? What would he do to you? Did you hurt his feelings? Did you break his leg? Did this ruin his life? You ruin everything else, after all, don’t you?

‘Look at what you’ve done you stupid bitch’ the words often bespoke to you frantically cycle through your head.

The unrelenting hurricane of thoughts halt when out from the mutual silence, your stomach grumbles angrily. Its a miserable sound, different than an ordinary stomach pang. You grip your stomach and involuntarily double over slightly, a strained grunt of pain escaping you. It was as though you could feel your stomach shriveling up and imploding on itself. It screamed at you for something, anything, besides water and garbage.

Your forehead broke out in a sweat and you steadied yourself on a nearby pallet. You find yourself apologizing again and try to minimize, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m not contagious, just stomach problems.”

He watched you for a good minute before he started rummaging in an oversize black trash bag next to him. The man said nothing as the heavy plastic crinkled loudly. His mouth was slightly agape and his eyebrows raised as he peered inside, clearly on a mission to find something specific. After a moment he withdrew... a sandwich?

The speed and ferocity in which he thrust it out to you made you start slightly. It was as though he meant to throw it to you but stopped just short of actually doing it. You were dumbfounded. He was offering you food? But out of the trash, of course. How ironic.

However, it was in its original packaging, he hadn’t made it himself, so it was probably safe...

Your stomach growls again and the nausea overtakes you. Though you are ravenous, the thought of food is simultaneously sickening. You fumble slightly in your stance and grip your stomach painfully. The last time you’d eaten was four days ago, and right now a sandwich from a gas station that had been in a stranger’s garbage bag of curiosities was looking pretty good right now. It was either this or go another day hungry.

“Th-thank you...” You close the distance and tentatively take the packaged sandwich from him. He lowers his hand but continues to watch you. You can’t tell what’s going on behind those shark-like eyes of his, but he’s calculating something. It unnerves you, as though this is some sort of trap, yet still he makes no move to come towards you. He is still and silent like a statue.

A part of you goaded it was all just one step in his plan to overpower you. This city was not known for its inviting community. Still, at this moment, you did not get that impression. Instead, you notice something else. He seems overly comfortable sitting among the rubbish and disarray, as though this is a common occurrence for him, and it makes you wonder if perhaps he is homeless. A feeling of empathy and concern washes over you. He was so gaunt; he was starving too.

Though you were without food, at least you had a home. Taking food away from someone in a more difficult position than you seemed... greedy. Your anxiety ramped up at the thought of essentially taking food out of his mouth. At least have a look inside…

You open the cardboard packaging and the smell hits you like a brick to the face. Cajun roasted turkey breast, provolone cheese, tomato, some kind of fancy aioli, and greens, all on a seasoned ciabatta roll. You want to tear into it like a rabid animal but still yourself. You salivate so much you can feel it drip from your lip. You wipe your mouth on your sleeve with a hint of shame and look to him sheepishly.

“Here.” Withdrawing one of the halves, you hold it out to your gracious host. His eyebrows furrow, he frowns, and it appears it is his turn to be dumbfounded. You nudge it at him, “I don’t feel right taking it all from you, so let’s share. I think we could both use a bite to eat.”

With hesitation, he takes the sandwich and holds it, but makes no motion to eat. You, however, cannot stand the hunger anymore and, with restraint, take a small bite of your sandwich half. It makes your jaws and teeth ache sharply at the cold texture and invitation of something that has become foreign. Another small bite here and there… and then you break. You chomp, tear, and devour. You wolf it down in a matter of four bites, nearly choking at the speed and quantity of which you were eating.

You knew he was watching you but you didn’t care; you were starving and this was ambrosia. This was your salvation. Something primal within you awakened and you could not eat fast enough.

You stuff your mouth so full you cannot fully close it to chew and end up swallowing pieces whole. You ate through the nausea as your stomach tried to expel the contents and forced it back down. All you had been eating for the past week were ketchup packets and honeysuckle flowers. Finally, something sustainable, something edible, something safe. Something not dropped on the floor or left in the trash. Real food. It is less than a minute before you are licking the residual mustard and crumbs off your fingers.

After your hunger fueled trance you once again pay attention to your companion. You feel ashamed, less than. You feel as though you are a beast in human skin and shrink away some. You expect him to laugh at you or call you names, but it never comes. In fact, nothing ever does. He remains quiet, posture so still he could be mistaken for a mannequin.

He still has not eaten his sandwich and has been staring at you this entire time. The man gazes at you with a look of... what was that look? His face held a strange expression. It wasn’t disgust, it was something else. His mouth was slightly agape, showing his darkened yellow teeth.

You felt a strange kinship with him because of his teeth. Yours, too, were in a state of disrepair. Past years of daily vomiting and smoking had not been kind to you and, to top it off, you had not been able to afford toothpaste. You hadn’t brushed your teeth in a month and had several cavities and a broken molar. It didn’t help you’d been uninsured for two years. You felt like he wouldn’t judge you and you offered him a nervous smile, showing your teeth.

His lip curled into a sneering smile to mirror you. He was studying you so critically you wondered if he could reach into the depths of your soul and read it like a tangible object. It was strange, scary, and disconcerting. His look held no malice that you could perceive, but it was still unreadable and therefore unnerving. Whatever look he was giving you, you hoped to your god that it wasn’t pity.

“Thank you. I was just... I guess I was hungrier than I realized! Uh… Oh, um, If you need to charge your phone, the gas station nearby has charging ports, and the corner store gives you free ice water if you’re thirsty after you eat your sandwich.” You offer this knowledge in an attempt to be helpful but also change the subject. His expression doesn't change, his gaze is transfixed on the half of a sandwich clutched in his dirty hand. Slowly, he looks back up at you, eyes burning with curiosity, but at what you were uncertain.

You feel immediately uncomfortable. This is already a place you know you shouldn’t be, and a situation that you shouldn’t be in. Being eyed up and down by a strange man in an alley sounded like the start of a true crime podcast. Though you were seeking an exit, that was not the kind you were seeking.

You clear your throat to find your voice and offer a brief, polite, smile, “Thank you. Um, I’m sorry, I have to get going soon. But, thank you, again. My name is (y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

He held his hand up as though to speak, lips parted but instead he drew shapes in the air with his pointer finger. No, they weren’t random shapes, they were letters. A…R…

“Art?” You ask and he nods joyfully with a wide, tooth filled smile spread across his face. You return his smile, be it with less enthusiasm, and feel yourself relax a little, “It’s good to meet you, Art. Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

He waved you off and made a theatrically nonchalant expression before pointing to himself and then giving two thumbs up in response. You give a small smile again and finger spell his name in ASL. Art looks at you with confusion, miming you awkwardly, and you offer an explanation with every letter you make, “A-R-T. That’s how you spell your name in sign language.”

He gives a wide eyed ‘a ha!’ expression and repeated the letters with his fingers time and time again. He seemed enthralled with this new information and looked at you, expecting more. You weren’t opposed to talking to him, but you needed to get home. Now that you had relief from your hunger you were starting to get groggy.

Art waves at you to grab your attention and he points to himself then you before drawing a question mark in the air. After he repeated the motion a few times you realized he was asking how to spell your name and you happily showed him. He frantically signed both your and his names, his fingers flying furiously. Was this the first time he’s heard of sign language? Surely not… but the way he acted…

What a lonesome existence.

You were lonely too, and felt a connection with him. You offered a polite smile as your anxiety returned with a ventence at the idea of being alone, but it had to be done. Your body was screaming for rest. “I have to get going Art, thank you so much. Will you be here tomorrow?”

He smiled and nodded enthusiastically, the little hat he wore bobbling and wobbling around with each shake of his head. Art patted the ground where he was, indicating he would be right here in this very spot. The smile he showed you felt… warm? Perhaps excited, giddy even. Was he really that happy to know you? It made something in your chest flutter nervously. You were apprehensive of everyone after today, but if Art had bad intentions he could have well acted on them by now. You were curious about your new friend, and the idea of seeing him again evoked a flicker of happiness in your chest.

“Well, I’ll come by and see you tomorrow, okay?” Your response earned a joyful applause from him. He batted his eyelashes at you and gave you a playful wave goodbye and you couldn’t help but offer him a genuine smile which only made his own grow. You mirror his playful wave as you begin to leave, “See you later, Art! Be safe!”

You turn and leave, his wide smile lingering in your mind as the distance between the two of you grows. You look behind you to see if he is following, but there is no one. it seemed like he was a decent guy who was down on his luck, a similar position to your own. Perhaps this could be the start of a new friendship. You didn’t have faith you’d find him tomorrow, but you did have hope.

#art the clown #terrifier #terrifier 2 #terrifier 3 #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you #angst #f slur tw #ed mention #implied abuse #Art learns sign language #slow burn #let me know if this isn’t interesting and I’ll work on another idea!#my fics

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romchat · 2 months ago

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Fangs of Fortune (Ep. 25): Quick thoughts on the visuals

Pretty sure that last scene of Fangs of Fortune's Episode 25 made me feral and has not given me a moment of peace since I saw it (where's the fanfic, y'all???), but it did highlight for me something distinct about Director Guo Jingming's visual storytelling that isn't often discussed: his actor blocking.

Like in My Journey to You, Guo often uses how the actors are positioned in relation to the set and one another to reveal something about their characters, and he then shifts them like pieces on a chess board to signify changes in their mental state and/or relationships. This directing choice really gives his scenes a sense of movement and tension because the characters literally end up in different positions than where they started. We see the change on screen as much as we hear it in the script.

At the beginning of the scene, we see Li Lun looming over Zhuo Yichen, reveling in the latter's apparent defeat over being harassed for being a demon.

Even though Li Lun eventually kneels down, it is menacing and just as much a power move as when he was standing up.

But we instantly feel the switch in the flow of power within the conversation when the distance between the two actors gets smaller. It's like Li Lun is both compelled and repulsed by Yichen's defense of humans and his criticism of Li Lun's indiscriminate violence towards them.

So we know that Li Lun has lost control of the situation when he stands up again and leg kabedons Yichen, pinning him roughly against the wall. Unlike earlier in the conversation, he now has to resort to brute strength to repress Yichen, and we see that realization on Li Lun's anguished face.

SIDE NOTE: That little grunt and exhale of air from Yichen at that move? Sorry, my mind wandered. Moving on...

Up until this point, Yichen has been relatively calm, but when Li Lun goes too far by calling him a coward like Zhu Yan (big mistake to insult his man!), Yichen demonstrates his power and blasts him away from into the water.

Not only is Yichen now looming over Li Lun, they're literally not on the same level, the latter isolated and cast in darkness. His resentment and crimes have sunk him to such a level that Yichen can only see him as pitiful.

Li Lun's switch to Bai Jiu's form in the background as Yichen walks away reinforces this. As a child actor, Lester Lin is significantly smaller than Yan An, so the use of his body makes Li Lun look even weaker.

SIDE NOTE: What a devastating use of rack focus from Li Lun to Yichen, showing how his manipulation won't work on Yichen no matter how painful it must feel to see Xiao Jiu. The shallow depth of field weakens Li Lun's image (and therefore power) even further.

Finally, I love how this scene ends with Yichen walking past Li Lun who remains immobile in the water but eventually drags himself in the other direction. It's the perfect bookend to the start of the scene. Yichen moves beyond that barrier (Li Lun's body), looking forward into the future despite the challenges he will face, while Li Lun's stays behind, most likely choosing an even more self-destructive end to his tragic story.

God, I love this director even when his writing drives me up a wall.

#fangs of fortune #大梦归离 #the story of mystics #meta #guo jingming #director style #cdrama

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thesirencove · 4 months ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆜 A DATE AT THE AQUARIUM -- SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

a fluffy fic for once !! i've been wanting to go to the aquarium for a while now , and what better way to fill that piece in my heart than a cute , fluffy sam aquarium date fic ?! i hope you all enjoy this one :)) thank you to riri (@rrylies) for beta reading and helping me with my fishy madness -- ILY !!!

my requests are open and if anyone wants a part 2 , let me know ! :)

sam winchester x fem!reader (romantic)

summary: reader has been on non-stop hunts for a while and needs a break . she loves going to the aquarium , so what better way for sam to cheer her up than an aquarium date ? :)

warnings: none !

word count: 914

the aquarium was always her favorite place to go. there wasn’t much normalcy in the hunter life, but a trip to admire the fish always restored a little sense of peace in her heart. something about the aquarium always made her feel calm, and ever since her childhood her love for marine life had been as wild as she was.

after four months of hunt after hunt, that feeling had once again started to disappear. it’d been a long time since she last got to take a trip to the aquarium, and she was starting to miss it. she missed the dark environment, the subtle noise of the water sloshing around as she shivered and rubbed her arms from how cold it was. she missed it so much, yet didn’t expect to be going any time soon because of how many hunting trips she and the winchester brothers had been taking.

so when sam, her most loving boyfriend, told her to get ready because they were going out for a while, to get out of the continually shrinking walls of their motel room, she thought nothing of it. she assumed they were just going for a drive, maybe they’d stop and get something to eat along the way. and when she realized sam was pulling into the parking lot of an aquarium, her eyes absolutely lit up.

sam looked over to her, noticing how she shifted to sit straighter in her seat. her hands were clenched by her side on the seat in excitement, and she was grinning from ear to ear. he couldn’t help but smile at how excited she looked, the look in his eyes overflowing with love.

“please tell me this is real and not a dream,” she blurted out. sam chuckled at her response, taking one of his hands off the steering wheel to lightly pinch her.

“not a dream, sweetheart. we’re going on an aquarium date,” sam said, only to hear y/n quietly squeal.

they pulled into a parking spot, y/n practically jumping out of the still running car after sam hit the brake. sam turned the car off as fast as he could, locking it and walking towards y/n near the sidewalk. she was bouncing on her heels, smiling up at her boyfriend as he stopped next to her. he held his hand out for her and she rose up on her tip toes to kiss him. he leaned down, his lips meeting hers, and she smiled once again to break the kiss.

“thank you,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling as they looked into his.

“anything for my girl,” he murmured back, pulling her along towards the aquarium. they bought two tickets, and got their hands stamped with a blue fish to allow them to enter.

as they made their way through the exhibits of fish, y/n couldn’t stop looking around her in awe. she would stop and watch as the fish swam by, pointing at certain ones and telling sam what kind of fish they were. at one point she saw a shark, one of her favorite marine animals, and pulled sam away from the fish they were looking at to see the shark. he laughed at how giddy she was.

they reached a smaller exhibit of fish, admiring the coral and all the smaller fish that swam in and around the coral. at one point, y/n noticed a small orange and white fish – a clownfish.

“sam, look at that one! it’s a–”

“nemo!” sam finished her sentence, though that wasn’t at all what she was planning on saying. she giggled, shaking her head.

“a clownfish! nemo is a clownfish, though, so you got that one right,” she said, turning her head back to look at the fish again.

this time, sam pointed at another fish, coloured with red, yellow, and orange. its face was spotted two shades of red and its body had orange and yellow stripes. three black dots traced the middle of its body back to its tail.

“what’s that one called?” he asked her, looking intently at her for the answer.

she kept staring at the fish before saying, “that’s a blackside hawkfish! they’re actually really popular in aquariums, and it’s mostly solitary. it eats crustaceans, so like shrimp or krill, and small fish! it’s also a really cool predator, it’s an ambush predator, so it sits and waits until prey swims by, so it can dart out and eat it! and they’re sequential hermaphrodites, so the adults are all females except for one, and if that one dies or something then the largest female hawkfish becomes the male. they’re such cool fish. and isn’t it pretty?” y/n said, ending her long-winded rant about the hawkfish.

sam kept looking at her, his expression soft as he watched the way her face tipped up and the way she stared in awe at every fish that passed by.

“yeah,” he said, still looking at her, “the prettiest.”

in that moment, he realized he wanted nothing more than to marry her.

he wanted to put that ring around her finger, hear everyone call her y/n winchester, have her officially be his. he was already thinking up the plans – where to buy that proposal ring, where to get down on one knee.

soon, he promised himself, soon. perhaps they’d hold the wedding by the sea, so he could watch her face as she glimpsed at the fish in the water.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x fem!reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfic #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #romantic relationships #fluff #super fluffy and cute #₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ aqua's fanfics

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thelost-in-time · 1 year ago

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Soft glances and fleeting touches

Honkai Star Rail men x gn! reader

Little romantic moments shared between you and the HSR men that makes them fall more in love with you.

Warnings: Blade speeding up on a motorcycle, and me not knowing Sampo so well

Genre: fluff

Also, I wanted to write for Welt and Luocha, but I couldn't think of anything 😭 this has been in my drafts for 3 weeks just bc I didn't have any ideas for them

Dan Heng and you were in his room on the Astral Express, or the Archive Room, laying together as you recounted fond memories from your adventures.

Dan Heng listened to you talk about your latest trip with the Express, talking about the little things you found, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw the way your eyes lit up.

Dan Heng could listen to you ramble about things you love for hours on end without getting tired, he loves hearing you ramble, and he loves the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about something you love.

Jing Yuan loves taking naps, and that's no secret, but what is a lesser known fact is that he loves taking naps with you.

Jing Yuan sometimes wakes up before you (by some miracle) and can't help but admire how peaceful you look when you sleep. Whether you sleep without moving or sleep in all wild positions (you know what I mean....? Think Anna from Frozen), he loves admiring you either way.

Jing Yuan falls more in love with you everytime he sees you looking so carefree while you sleep, and he wishes he can keep that peace for you even when you awake.

Blade loves taking you on his motorcycle for night drives, because he enjoys the feel of you holding onto him while out on the open road, under the stars.

Blade will sometimes speed up a bit to have you hold onto him tighter, and even smirks when you yell at him to slow down. But he always finds a way to ease your worries, whether by slowing down, or talking you through it. (Unless if you're scared by him speeding up and can't calm unless he slows down, then he won't. He would never make you uncomfortable on purpose)

Blade falls deeper in love with you when he sees you under the night sky and leaning against his motorcycle.

Gepard loves when he sees you getting along with Serval and Lynx, the two people he loves the most in his life.

Gepard is a man who grew up with a lot of family, and so family is important to him. Seeing you so easily get along with Serval and Lynx is enough to send his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Gepard swears he falls in love with you again when you talk happily about how much you love his sisters, because you love his sisters and they love you too, that's all it takes to make him fall much deeper for you. Careful or he might just as to marry you sooner than you think.

Sampo usually asked you to accompany him whenever he had some tricks business to do, and if you went willingly without arguing, he froze.

Sampo will not admit it, but he's ecstatic for you to accompany him without him having to bribe you with anything.

Sampo ult animation where he gets on a knee and pulls out a box? That's him on his knee and pulling out your favourite thing as a way to show his love and appreciation for you. He's happy to have found a fellow prankster.

Caelus (has the options to break the fourth wall) loves sending you random memes or making meme references with you. Or just any post he thinks you'll like in general.

Caelus would absolutely fall even more in love with you if you send him memes and stuff back. Bonus points if you guys are with both your guys' friends and you just off-handedly bring up the meme reference he told you about. (And if the others just go "???" Even better in his opinion, since it can he an inside joke thing)

Caelus would also absolutely melt if you sent him a good morning text with one of your guys' inside jokes.

Likes and Reblogs are welcome!

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yellow-berrys · 2 years ago

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dote on me | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: you are completely oblivious to the way sirius black dotes on you, and think that the way you're infatuated with him is completely one-sided. but he begs to differ.

warnings: mentions of a bad childhood, mentions of smoking, drinking and illicit substances

navigation | masterlist

Sirius Black makes you nervous and he darn well knows that. He uses those consuming grey eyes of his, filled with enigmatic interest, to his advantage. He only needs to focus them on you for a considerate amount of time for you to start burning up like a wildfire. And his nose, it’s pointed and perfect, leaving you wondering just how unfair life can be. His cheekbones are high and structured, light hitting them at glorious angles. His lips are devoid of much red. They’re this cool plum colour that looks like it’s lip gloss all the time but really isn’t. His skin is framed by smooth black hair, and the layers in his haircut are so pretty it prompted every other guy in his life to get the same one. It drives you mad that he was born with this face and that hair. It’s simply unjustified.

It would be fine if he was just a pretty face. But it’s not. It’s simply unacceptable just how nice he is. Sometimes you wish he isn’t a gentleman and that all the rumours about him being a player with a million tattoos were true, because you’re envious and adoring of him.

And like anyone, he definitely has a vice. People think it’s cigarettes for him but he definitely does not smoke. And he doesn’t drink. At parties, he’s cradling a cautiously poured glass of lemonade instead. And he definitely doesn’t do drugs, because he hangs around Remus Lupin and there’s no way he would be allowed to if he did. Remus is a little sickly sometimes, and his body is very sensitive.

He likes to say his vice is chasing things he’ll never have. Like his childhood. He thinks he has regained that. Now, maybe it’s some sort of romance. All his life he’s been mooned over. People love him, mostly because he’s beautiful, and they offer him burning hot love all the time. People think he’s one for angsty, fiery passion. But Sirius thinks that fires never last, they’re too easy to disturb and taint everything with the unpleasant smell of smoke. James once did one of his stupid Women’s Weekly quizzes on him, the one with the “Tell me your favourite colour, and it’ll tell you what other people think of you, tell me your favourite animal…” questions. Sirius had laughed, thrown his head back and answered in a complete stupor. “Black, maroon if black isn’t an answer, dog…” James had asked him what his favourite body of water was and Sirius had said “A lake.”

He had spent summers of his broken youth dipping his toes into the pretty lake by his family’s home in France, escaping from the whirlwind world inside the walls of Walburga and Orion’s chateau. It didn’t make him cry more when he cried, because it would welcome the tears into the gently flowing water.

James had smiled, “Why?”

Sirius had told him, “It’s gentle, relaxing, peaceful. The one in France was so enveloping and soft. I felt safe there.”

“Chateau?”

“Yep. I used to go out there as a little boy. It was so quiet out there and it felt like heaven, so fluid and open.”

“Hm,” James had studied the words underneath, squinting his eyes, “Ooh, that’s how you feel about love. Never knew you were the romantic type, Pads.”

He had laughed.

James had asked you too. You had giggled, “Did you steal Lily’s Women’s Weekly again?”

He grumbled, “Not again.”

“I like ponds with little koi fish swimming in them.”

“Why?”

“It’s calm in a joyful way. It’s safe and there’s always rays of golden sun and it feels so delightful and promising. Lucky too, I guess. Oh! And it’s so pretty by a koi fish pond.”

James had grinned and left promptly.

Sirius thought it was strange when he had first met you. He hadn’t ever had these feelings before, and it took years for him to shove them aside and focus on his studies, friends and mischief-making. But you were affiliated with Marlene, you were always around in some way. You and him became friends and Sirius felt those feelings resurface again.

He groans into his hands as he runs it across his face.

“Why?!” he asks Lily, who is watching amusedly.

“I’m sure you can’t help it,” she says primly, “But what if you could help it?”

He looks at her inquisitively.

“What if you acted on these feelings? It isn’t half-bad of an idea. You’re grown up, Sirius, and if you still like her that means it’s real.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What if bad things happen?”

“What’s the worst that could?”

“Death.”

“You’re already halfway there,” she rolls her eyes, “Give it a shot, maybe love will make you less sad.”

“I’m not sad!”

“Whatever, start loving, Sirius.”

She picks up her Women’s Weekly magazine and starts reading. “Ooh, there’s this quiz-”

Sirius groans.

–

“Hey darling,” Sirius strides into your apartment. Good start, he thinks.

You’re sprawled on the couch, grinning as you FaceTime Marlene and Dorcas. When you see him, you look up, surprised.

“Marlene’s in Vegas,” you say, “Didn’t she tell you?”

Marlene did tell Sirius, and even offered that he come with her and Dorcas.

You flip the camera to Sirius, and even in blurry, low quality, Facetime video he’s still very handsome.

Marlene screams, “What is that monster doing in my apartment?”

You grin, “Marls, he was looking for you.”

“Actually,” Sirius tilts his head, and if you weren’t so thick you might see the smitten look in his eyes, “I’m here for you.”

You frown, “For taxes? It’s only the start of the month. Besides, the IRS will never tail you, you’re too rich for that.”

“Can’t I spend time with you, pretty girl?”

It’s flattering, but it seems too abrupt to be genuine. You brush it off with a laugh.

“Get a load of you,” you roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“I need you,” he attempts and the confession, although seeming flirtatious and joking, brings a smile to your face.

Marlene chortles, “Guys- I-I-I-I’m…cutt-ing…ou-ou-ou-t.” She fakes it and it’s obvious, but the FaceTime ends and Sirius sits opposite you now. He’s pretty even at seven in the evening and it makes you very nervous.

You stand up, uneased, and make towards your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” you gesture to an old pile of clothes, “Marlene cleaned her wardrobe out before she left, so I decided to follow suit so then we can donate them.”

“Why’re you leaving me?” he pouts.

“You want to…stay?”

You’re so puzzled and your heart is beating far too fast for your liking. It goes pitter patter like the rain outside. It’s exhausting. The feeling might be addictive, like a good old fashioned crush, but it’s always playing with you. It feels avaricious to love someone out of your league, worth more than you have ever been.

His sudden showering of affections and doting on you, you think, is because he’s lonely. He doesn’t live with James anymore. You empathise with him, but only because you think you’ll know what that feels like in a month when Dorcas and Marlene move in together. But it really isn’t. Sirius actually thinks that you deserve all the heavy-handed loving in the world, and he always has. His apprehension towards him being the person to do the loving is slowly fading away as he sees the shy smile on your face.

“If you’ll have me.”

And you turn your head around so he doesn’t see you blush, “Okay, I’ve been meaning to get a second opinion. Whenever I do this I do it with Marlene.”

You try things on by the mirror in your bedroom, instructing Sirius to look away when needed. He isn’t much of a help at all, because he thinks you look good in everything. Which is just certainly not true.

On a whim, he suggests that because he isn’t aiding you successfully, you should help him on his own closet. In the end, you wind up in his apartment.

Sirius has never boasted about what he has at all, mainly because he isn’t proud of it. By what unethical means his trust fund has come from, he doesn’t even want to know, but he’s grateful for it. You’ve only ever seen his living room, kitchen and his small powder room, and they’re lavish and capacious to no ends. Everything subtly screams wealth and luxury. His bedroom is no different. A large bed sits in the middle, framed by expensive paintings. There’s a well made ebony table in the corner, spotless and tidy. The two armchairs in the room are, whilst clearly faux-leather, intricate and of the sort of taste cultivated only by time. A copy of the original Call of the Wild sits on a table. A bookshelf is on one side of the room, grey, stretching from the floor to ceiling. You run your fingers along the spines of the book. They’re all special editions. A simple chandelier (what an oxymoron) dangles in the middle of the room, and you find the ceiling is gilded with plaster and gold. Pictures of friends and family adorn the white walls.

His walk in closet is humongous. You gasp as he opens the door. It’s double the size of your living room. The clothes are organised by colour, style and season and there’s a considerable lack of colour. In the middle sits an accessory table, with dozens of gold watches and silver necklaces. Delicate rings and bracelets all are displayed. A glass cabinet with bottles of cologne and perfume stands next to it. The only ones you can recognise is something that resembles the Ralph Lauren logo and Dior, and then again it isn’t even the one Johnny Depp uses.

He smiles sheepishly, ashamed that he has such nice things, “I did use my own money on this. Euphemia helped me fix it up.”

“It’s beautiful, Sirius,” you’re almost afraid to touch anything. You don’t think you belong in such a gorgeous world. You don’t think you deserve it.

Sirius beams at you, “Guess there’s not a difference between it and you, then.”

Your face warms. Sirius is already taking clothes off the racks, whilst you stand awkwardly. He’s chatting, talking about where the clothes came from and who gave them to him and why he likes it so much. Your shoulders relax and you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. So far he’s through all the things he deems necessary for him to live.

“And this jumper,” he holds up a pristine Ecru crewneck, offering it to you, “Is from when I went to visit Machu Picchu with James. When we left, one of the ladies we had been staying with gave us both a handmade jumper.”

You hold the fabric delicately in your hands.

“It’s alright. It’s just clothes, darling, you can do whatever you like with them.”

He’s so nice it hurts and you grin at him endearingly, “Thanks, Sirius.”

An adoring smile finds its way onto his face as he turns to pick up the next item. You put the sweater in the “KEEP” pile.

“How did this get here?” he laughs as he pulls out a bright yellow crewneck, with a little emblem etched on the side. Immediately he tugs it on, grinning as he surveys the bright colour in the mirror.

You’re blushing away because the colour suits him so well and makes him look way softer than he usually does.

He sneaks a glance at you in the mirror, and when he sees your lack of eye contact with him he frowns.

“Are you okay?” he asks you.

“Yeah. Yellow looks really nice on you, Sirius.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm. I don’t know, it makes you look…cuddly?”

He doesn’t smirk like you expect him to, but swivels around and smiles at you again. He knows he looks like he loves you. He doesn’t mind. You’re just sitting there, confused at why he’s doing this. It’s weird and sudden and it’s definitely something he would do.

Maybe this is his new favourite jumper.

He throws it in the keep pile. You tut disapprovingly and rearrange it gently. Seeing a t-shirt, he takes his own shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. You cover your eyes, not wanting to intrude on his privacy.

Sirius is midway through putting the shirt on when he laughs. “It’s okay, princess, I didn’t ask you to look away. I don’t mind. Unless you do, then I’ll change over there.”

You peek your eyes at him, and Sirius hopes that he’s not imagining your pupils blown slightly.

And you didn’t think he could get more perfect, but he is. His muscles are toned and defined, and slightly strained as he slides his shirt on. Gosh, he makes you feel inadequate. He can’t know you want him, so you grin as if you’re unaffected.

“That’s cute,” you nod.

And the process repeats. Sometimes he takes off his pants too, leaving him to just his boxers that cling onto him in an ungodly way.

“Are you done?” you ask, eyes covered tightly by your hand.

“Yeah.”

Sirius is dressed in a suit, the tenth one tonight, “Do we like this one, or the grey one?”

“I like the way this one fits, but I like the grey colour more. But I think the dull dove blue one was the best because it brings out your eyes.”

Sirius makes a mental note to get the grey one altered. He chucks away some old sleeping tees, and a bunch of band hoodies he doesn’t wear anymore. He also gets rid of one of his expensive sweaters with a cable knit and a button up shirt, a bunch of sweatpants and this hideous sweater vest that his Aunt Thelma gifted him for his 17th birthday.

He thinks maybe you might like to wear some of the things he has in his wardrobe–Euphemia picks them out with him and she represents a small portion of women. He lugs the bag of clothes to his car, and when he’s back, he sees you cross-legged on an armchair, typing on your phone.

“Sweetheart, what do I owe you?” he asks.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, “For what?”

You put your phone down on the side table.

“For helping me?”

“Nothing, Sirius, nothing at all. It’s my pleasure, really.”

“Do you want to take some of my clothes? I have more than enough.”

You look inquisitively at him, “You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

You go home that night with two of his fancy jumpers, he insists, and one big button up shirt, and a bunch of other stuff he is adamant you should take too. You call Lily. Her voice comes out muffled on the other end.

“Hey Lily!

“Mhm, I’m well, how are you?

“He’s not that bad, I’m sure. You do know he took your Women’s Weekly–

“I’ve already done that quiz.

“Right, well, I don’t think Sirius is fine, in his own right.

“No! As in the sad happy fine, not the cute handsome fine.

“Well- no- I- I don’t think he’s not fine- I mean - Okay whatever. Is he alright? He keeps on acting weird.

A long pause.

“You know something, don’t you, Red?

“It’s kind of strange. I mean, he offered for me to take one of his- I don’t know, the Ermenegildo Ze-

“Yes, that! One of those jumpers.

“Are you sure? That’s what he is normally? Isn’t he usually bad-boy cool guy? Not dorky weird compliment giver?

“Alright, fine.

“Bye, love you!”

You survey the pile of clothes for any trace of a prank. Nothing. You take out one and inspect it suspiciously. Then, your intrusive thoughts get the better of you and you sniff the material carefully. It smells really nice. You chuck them in the wash just in case Sirius has popped one of his silly prank gadgets into the pockets or beneath the collar.

The next time you see him, Lily has called you to tell you she and James are going to Vegas to join Marlene and Dorcas. They’re celebrating a championship. She invites you, but you decline, not liking the idea of tailing behind the two couples and intruding on the romantic atmosphere. Sirius is all alone, and Lily tells you to ‘please go and check up on him’.

The apartment seems okay. It’s spotless like it always is, smelling of air freshener and Sirius’ cologne. It doesn’t look like Sirius is going through something rough at all. Sirius might not even be home, so you’re about to leave when you hear music coming from a secluded area of the apartment. You sneak into the corridor and the door is ajar. A beautiful black grand piano stands, Sirius sitting at it, playing the finest tune you’ve ever heard. The sounds reverberate gently through the room, and it’s divine. It’s joyful and skips on merrily. His eyes are closed and his lips are turned up. It makes you think that maybe he’s thinking of someone.

He stirs a little at the noise and you pull back. He gets up from his chair and peeks his head around the door. You’re wearing his jumper over some sweatpants. It’s so pretty on you, falling oversized.

He laughs, which brings heat to your cheeks, “Do you want to come in?”

“You’ll let me?” you gasp, “But you don’t even let Dorcas come in, and she’s a cello-ist.”

“You’re special,” he winks and you blush. You must look like a motley of colours- florid and pink. But you don’t mind, he makes everyone nervous and you’re not special, which puts you at ease.

You perch on the cushy chair as he plays a lilting song. You hum, approving, “What’s the song called?”

“Love,” he says and you agree. The song plays like what love feels like.

It’s so soft, and warm. Combined with Sirius’ lavender and honey cologne, it makes you drowsy. He notices your eyes are barely open, and instead of ending the song, continues to play the same melody over a lighter bass. When your breathing becomes steady, he quietly rises from the piano and scoops you up, knowing it can’t be comfortable to sleep in a chair. He carries you to his own room, where he tucks you into his bed. You’re murmuring unintelligible things. He leaves and continues playing, before Lily calls and he knows he should be in bed, because it’s morning in Las Vegas. Thus, he shuts his piano and drapes a soft velvet across it. He falls onto the couch and listening to Lily’s calming method to waking up, he falls asleep.

In the morning, you’re in a vaguely familiar room. The sheets are silk and the ceiling is fancier than an art gallery’s. You yawn, stretching. The clock next to you detects the motion and flashes a dim white. Of course it’s an analogue clock, reading 5:00 am. You remember shutting your eyes slowly in the piano room, the news had been playing on the TV earlier. So you had fallen asleep at seven. 10 hours, more than enough. You quickly get up and make the bed. After using his fancy skincare products and brushing your teeth with a spare toothbrush you find packaged up, you hear soft snores coming from the living room. Sirius is there, phone by his side.

You pout at how much of a gentleman he is, retrieving a blanket and carefully placing it on him. Then you prepare a smoothie, with the fourteen-million ingredients he has in his giant fridge, and leave it in there with a note. But Sirius wakes. He’s always been a light sleeper.

He leans blearily over the couch, “Sweetheart?”

“Good morning!” you chirp.

“Why do you have to be so gorgeous at five in the morning?” he slurs. You raise your eyebrows. He’s really always very flirty, and you’re used to it not being genuine by now. He sways out of bed and into the bathroom. You hear the running of a faucet, and sit down on a kitchen chair, checking your phone. Lily has blown it up.

TO: REDHEAD

REDHEAD 7:31 p.m. sooo, how is he??

REDHEAD 7:43 p.m. hellooooo babes????

REDHEAD 8:00 p.m. are u ok ??

REDHEAD 8:05 p.m. ANSWER ANSWER ANSWER

REDHEAD 9:47 p.m. I’m calling sirius

REDHEAD 10:00 p.m. omg YES GO YOU OMG

5:30 a.m. what

5:30 a.m. he was playing the piano lils and i fell asleep

REDHEAD 5:31 a.m. ok keep telling urself that <3 i mean has he ever let us sit in when we asked???

5:32 a.m. i told u he was acting strange

You grin as you see some of the videos she has sent you. One is where James and her and celebrating, him beaming like he always does. She looks madly in love with him. You screenshot and send it to your email so you can print it out later. There’s another of Marlene and Dorcas doing the spaghetti thing at a Michelin star restaurant. They look as if they’re having a wonderful time. It makes you realise that you’re craving something like that too, only not in the wild world of Vegas. You already have something like it, but it’s so one-sided and your heart can’t stand it. You wish someone would just, dote on you. And genuinely, because there’s no way Sirius Black means it.

You express these feelings to Marlene when she’s back, moving boxes and taping things up.

“I want to love someone, Marls. Who loves me back, so don’t even say Sirius.”

“He doesn’t act like that around everyone else, you know.”

“He does! Besides, what makes me so special, Marlene? He could have anyone.”

She laughs, “Oh goodness have you got a lot to learn.”

–

Marlene and Dorcas invite you to their housewarming party in their house. They say it’s perfect for a family and they want to start one whilst they’re young. It’s quite a large gathering for a housewarming party, and the inside is buzzing with excitement. You’re talking to some of their colleagues- Alice and her boyfriend Frank on the couch.

“And we’re planning a trip to Ibiza for next month,” she blinks up at him lovingly and he does the same. It makes you subtly raise your phone as if you’re getting a message and type, before quickly flashing a photo of them whilst they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.

Sirius spots you grinning away, like you want what Alice and Frank have. He sidles in next to you.

“Hey darling,” he smiles and you smile back, “Hi.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Alice asks.

“Oh of course! I thought you would already know him,” you put down your drink, “Alice, this is Sirius. Sirius, Alice. Frank, Sirius. Sirius, Frank. They’re planning a trip to Ibiza and were voted Best Couple in high school.”

They’re both intimidated by Sirius, you can tell, but Sirius smiles, “Nice to meet you Alice and Frank. How long have you been together?”

They cheesily smile at each other, “Seven years and going strong,” Alice flashes her wedding ring.

Marlene calls you over to the kitchen island, where she is mixing drinks up, “Hey darl!”

“Sup, Marls.”

“Need a drink?”

“Just pink lemonade,” you hold out your cup. A boy comes around the table, smiling at you. Marlene smirks a little.

“Y/n, this is CJ. He’s a footballer, and a damn good one.”

You grin, outstretching your hand, “Hi CJ, nice to meet you.”

He shakes it heartily, “Likewise.”

“What team do you play for?”

“Oh, just a local one,” he rubs his neck bashfully, “I’m not that good.”

CJ, whatever it stands for, is handsome, with bright green eyes and curly brown hair. He’s sweet too and has this shy air around him that’s impossibly good natured. He’s Emmeline’s to-be lover.

“Try me.”

“Liverpool,” he says meekly.

“Oh, you’re the Cruz Johnson! How’s football for a living?”

“It’s great, actually,” he chuckles, dipping his head to whisper secretly into your ear, “Though this beer is actually some recovery drink, so could be better.”

You laugh.

He grins as he takes a sip and makes a funny face, “So what do you do?”

You tell him and he nods, “Impressive indeed. How’d you meet Marls here?”

“She and I were classmates! I wore her down eventually, she used to hate friendship.”

“Oh tell me about it. I met her at the football club, where she was playing for the ladies’ team. And the first time the coach tried to congratulate her she just rolled her eyes. He was filthy.”

“Oh?” your eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“When he dislocated his cheekbone a few weeks later, she told him she could ski on them if she tried. Anyway.”

You purse your lips in amusement, “Am I allowed to laugh at that?”

“He looked like this,” Cruz makes a face and you giggle.

Sirius is watching this all with a very sour look on his face, feeling very jealous.

Cruz takes another sip of his drink, “So, who are you here with?”

You’re confused, “No one? I mean, unless you count Marlene, but she’s with Dorcas. And my friend Emmeline too.”

At the mention of Emmeline’s name, his eyes light up, “About her…”

“She’s single and she does like green eyes,” you pull him near the wily, tall Emmeline, who blushes shyly as she sees Cruz, “Besides, I think she has a thing for you. Ever since, you know, you crashed into her and spilled your coffee on her favourite shirt,” you joke.

He blushes, “Gosh, you still remember that? Will you send me the name of the shirt so I can buy her five more? I know I already replaced hers but I still feel so bad.”

“Awh. That’s very nice of you, Cruz. Here,” you hand him your phone, “What’s your number?”

Sirius is watching you, hands tense around his cup. He decides to go up to you.

“Hey darling,” he says lowly into your ear, making you jump and your cheeks heat up.

“Sirius!” you berate. Cruz is watching with a knowing smile as he hands your phone back. You quickly text him, “Okay, sent it.”

The two guys are sizing each other up. You can sense their hostility.

“Now, boys, be friendly. Cruz, do not worry, Sirius is only friends with Emmeline, and Sirius, don’t worry, Cruz won’t try to pick up Regulus.”

You feel both of them relax. Cruz grins at Sirius, “Nice to finally meet you, man.”

“You too!”

“And don’t worry, I don’t have feelings for her either.”

You’re silently eavesdropping on the conversation whilst texting Emmeline. You sneak a look at Sirius, who has an unnatural pink on his porcelain skin.

“C’mon green-eyes, aren’t I obvious about it?”

Cruz agrees, “Too much so.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you get to Emmeline, Cruz.”

He stumbles, grins at you and waves at the same time, “Thanks, mate.”

“No problems.”

You watch as he goes and makes a fool of himself in front of Emmeline, who likes it. You turn to Sirius, eyes still watching them. You’re still painstakingly lonely. Tonight you think you’ve third-wheeled at least three couples, and set up two. Even though Sirius is there, he’s just a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Sirius can see it in your eyes. He doesn’t know how much more he needs to do. Lily wants to know though.

“Soooo, lovely,” she begins and you narrow your eyes at her.

“I swear I didn’t take your cookie cutters and destroy them whilst trying to make clay sculptures with Emmeline and Cruz,” you put your hands up. Lily raises her brows and you murmur a quiet, “Oh no.”

“My cookie cutters that you gave me?!” she yells.

“It’s fine, I’ll get you new ones.”

She sighs, “Right. Anyway, Sirius Black.”

“Sirius Black,” you say slowly.

“Mhm. Are you ever going to tell him you like him?”

“No, I don’t even like him.”

“You don’t?” Lily feigns surprise.

“Nope.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“He doesn’t like me like that, Lils,” you scold.

“Why does he call you ‘darling’ then? He has to.”

“If he did, that would be embarrassing for him. Gosh knows he’s too good for me. If he likes me, I would question why because he could probably do better,” you shrug, “I’m confident, but not completely blind.”

“Okay. So if he liked you, you would want to date him?”

You reply meekly, “Yeah.”

“I think you should tell him, though,” Lily sighs, “Better you than anyone else doing it.”

You ponder for a moment, “True,” you sigh, “He’ll be nice about it.”

Lily squeals, “I’m planning your wedding!!!”

You knock on his apartment door, reconsidering for the last time whether you want to do it or not.

Sirius opens the door, looking confused and handsome, eyes bluer than usual.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“Gorgeous, to what do I owe this sudden visit?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?” his eyes are glistening.

“Yeah.”

“Come in then. Mind the mess, taxes.”

You hum, “Need help?”

“Actually, yeah. Should I write off…”

You sit down, distracted by the papers flying everywhere, taking a pen and starting to write. Your mission is almost forgotten after you finish helping him with his taxes, smiling satisfiedly at the hefty return he receives.

“Good,” you grin, admiring your work, “I’d say this is a successful tax file.” He swipes his tongue over his teeth, so attractively and seals the envelope, setting it down on his stack of things he needs to post.

“Package to Marlene and Dorcas, papers to…” he rambles, pacing out his thoughts, “Oh, and my portfolio. Can you check if they’re alright to send in?”

“Portfolio?”

“Oh,” he turns red, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, “Someone asked me to model for them?”

“When?” you gasp. He hands you the envelope, and you carefully pry out some photos.

“A week ago,” he murmurs, “Can you check these aren’t too…much?”

They’re glossy between your fingers and smooth, candid shots, some staged and every single one of them belongs on the cover of Vogue. It’s strange, the pictures of Sirius should be in a magazine, famed and lovely, but he’s right here. Nervously fidgeting around. He’s so tangible right now. You reach out to skim your fingers over the photos, then stretch them out to touch the skin near his lips. He’s taken aback but leans into your touch.

“I think they’re perfect,” you fold the envelope over, handing it back to him.

He’s still looking incredibly ashamed of himself.

“Why do you look so sheepish?” you laugh, “Stop that! It’s alright.” You surge to hug him, “It’s amazing, Sirius.”

Sirius hides his face in your neck, “I feel like a show-off,” he mumbles and you laugh.

“Sirius, it’s honestly alright. You’re not, far from it actually. It’s okay to have nice things.”

“I’m sorry. I’m being a wimp.”

“It’s fine, I understand. These feelings are completely normal, but that doesn’t mean they’re true. If I had a staggering net worth of a few hundred million and never told you, would you think I’m a show-off?”

He shook his head.

“Exactly,” you smile at him, “Now do you want to go to the post office? It closes in half an hour.”

He nods, “‘Kay.”

The post office man greets him with some flirting, and he sets down his stack of parcels, ignoring him to go sign some of them.

He looks over to you, “You’re his…” he studies your face, “friend?”

It makes you feel small and judged. You chew nervously on your lip, unconsciously stepping towards Sirius. You know you couldn’t possibly pass off as his girlfriend, but it’s an ugly reminder you don’t need. Sirius smiles politely, “These three are in a letter card, but can we get them to be delivered…”

After he pays, you try not to make it seem like you’re in a rush to get out. He notices, of course he does. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say to you?”

You stay quiet and Sirius does too. He drives to his apartment and sits down on his couch. You follow. He’s silent.

“He said something about us,” you break the fragile silence, “About me.”

“What?”

“Well he looked at me and then asked if I was your friend after giving me a once-over.”

Sirius shrugs, “Aren’t you?”

Your heart falls, “Well–. The thing is–, look, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I kind of– scratch that, I have this massive crush on you and probably more,” you wince, “Please be nice about this.”

He looks positively shocked. You can’t tell if it’s good shock or bad shock.

You grimace, “And please can we stay friends?”

“You think I’m rejecting you?” he almost scoffs, lifting you easily into his lap. He’s so close you could count the colours in his eyes. A charcoal, a light cerulean, a tinge of yellow ochre, “After all my countless advances, the gifts, even inviting you into my piano room whilst I played, I couldn’t, sweetheart,” he says softly.

“Haven’t you noticed I haven’t ever dated anyone since two years back? That I pretty much have been begging to be noticed by you these past years,” he continues, “All because I want to be yours. Because I couldn’t even think of wanting anyone else. I like you so much.”

“Hey Sirius?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did.”

You huff, “Can I kiss you?”

Before you can do anything, he’s grinning as he presses his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. When you break apart, he's still grinning. He thinks he will be for the rest of his life.

“Whoa,” you say as you grin at him.

He hugs you tightly, “Please never say we should be friends again.”

You nod, “Never.”

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allywthsr · 1 year ago

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Can you do one with lando where reader get anxious from time to time. Maybe when watching him race etc. And him being their to calm her down

I COME BACK TO YOU | (l.norris)

summary: you feel anxiety from time to time when you see Lando in his race car (or basically the silverstone weekend with an anxious girlfriend)

wordcount: 3.8k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none

notes: hope you like what I did with it :) I definitely had fun writing this!

Another race weekend. You love it, and you hate it. It’s Thursday morning and you lay with Lando in the hotel bed, McLaren organized for you. While the alarm clock just rang, Lando fell asleep again, on you this time. His head is laying on your right boob and his right arm is draped over your stomach.

You waited for the second alarm clock to start ringing and waking Lando up, if he‘s late again, Jon will not be happy, especially when Lando promised to be on time.

When the loud ringing sound blasted through the hotel room, Lando winced as he got startled. You chuckled as your hand reached to his head and started to play with the curls of his hair to sort out any discomfort he might feel from waking up. What a little baby. When he realized what was happening, he let out a sigh of discomfort and shook his head, which looked more like he rubbed his head on your boob, well, maybe that was what he actually did, you weren’t sure. But you knew, that he wasn’t a morning person and hated waking up.

”Lando, can you turn off the alarm?“

He mumbled something, but due to having his face shoved in your chest you couldn’t understand him. A smile formed on your face, he‘s like a little baby in the mornings.

When he eventually did turn off the alarm, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall in front of him. What a mood. After a big sigh, he stood up and started to change into the outfit he picked out for today. His new merch for Silverstone. The bright yellow hoodie was combined with a black jeans and his favorite shoes. And to finish it off, he put a bucket hat on. Your outfit also consisted of basically the same Lando wore. His hoodie, a dark pants, and your favorite shoes. When you looked into the mirror, he shoved a bucket hat on top of your head, smiling at you with a tired smile and his eyes definitely told you, that he wanted to stay in bed.

”Ah come on Baby, it’s only Media day, you just have to answer some questions, it’s not like you have to drive around at high-speed today, and it’s Silverstone, your home race and you guys have the new updates in the car, today is easy.“, you tried to cheer him up, knowing how much he liked Media day.

”Exactly, it’s media day, I‘d rather drive around in circles than having to deal with weird questions,“

”I‘d rather have you not drive around in circles“, you said as a joke but really, it was true. You were horrified of the idea of losing him, and him sitting in a car like that, a few weekends in the year wasn’t your idea of fun. He knew that but didn’t see your point. And it’s not like you wanted him to stop racing, he loved doing that, and you loved watching him enjoying his biggest passion. But that’s an argument for another day.

He just gave you a knowing look, this conversation often has turned into arguments before. He didn’t really understand that you just want him safe. And then one thing leads to another and another argument was born, but not today.

He changed the subject quickly:” You coming with me or are you staying in the hotel?“

”Depends on whether I can work in peace for a little bit, I have to do a few things for work.“

He nodded understandingly. Thankfully you had a job where you could travel with Lando. Not everywhere but you are able to just take your laptop and work anywhere you want from time to time.

When you gathered all of your things, you guys got into the McLaren, they set up for you. While Lando drove to the circuit, you looked outside the window and admired the beauty of nature. Your thoughts wandered to the coming weekend. Going through all of the fear, the too-quick heartbeat in your chest, and the panic in your mind. But also the happiness this sport provides Lando and you. You loved the sport, but watching it and not knowing the drivers is a lot different than knowing the drivers and being in a relationship with one of them. Feeling the quickened heartbeat in your chest, you did some breathing techniques Lando showed you when you were having a panic attack. Having it learned himself in therapy. And it worked magic.

Lando noticed your loud breathing, put his hand on your thigh, and squeezed it. Wanting to comfort you, but he knew there was little that he could do.

After arriving in the paddock and settling in Lando‘s drivers' room, your Boyfriend said goodbye to you with a long kiss and a quick hug before he went off to his meetings and interviews. You made your way to the outside area of the McLaren hospitality to start your tasks for work.

/////////////Next day//////////////

Again you woke up because of the alarm sound that rang from Lando‘s phone. Letting out a sigh, you put your hand out to your right to wake Lando and tell him to shut the alarm off. When the back of your hand came in contact with a warm and firm chest you patted Lando to wake him up.

After a confused groan, he shut the annoying beeping sound off. The silence was music to your ears.

”I think you need to change the sound of the alarm, you got too used to it, it doesn’t wake you anymore.“, you said while cuddling your head into the crook of his neck.

After a muffled ’yes‘ you remembered what day it was. Friday. Your eyes shot open in a second at the thought of him sitting in the car. But it’s only free practice, not as scary as the actual race you tried to calm you down.

”Do you have to do work again, or can you watch from the garage?“

”I have to do a little bit of work, maybe I can come for fp2?“

You felt him nod his head. Cuddling into you while hoping you didn’t feel uncomfortable.

You guys got ready and Lando drove to the circuit again, he knew that now you really got nervous. He placed his hand on your thigh again and when you put your hand on top of his, he took your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on it. And again you noticed how small your hand was in contrast to his hand.

After arriving, the routine you both had started, placing all of your stuff in Lando‘s room, Lando getting ready for the session and you’re looking for a calm space to do your work tasks. Having done most of them yesterday, you only had a few left, you would calculate about 30 minutes for them and the session didn’t start for 2 hours. You thought about fp1 and how you didn’t want to be in the garage.

You were scared people would call you ungrateful, you really were thankful and happy you had this opportunity but you also were really scared of something happening to Lando.

So you took your time to work on the new task and even edited the ones you did yesterday. In between you went to see Lando. You may be scared of him driving but you could never let him go in the car without hugging him.

So you went to see him.

”Well baby, have fun, I love you. Go fast, yeah?“, you always told him the same. It’s a tradition. In Spa 2021, because of the rain, you told him to be careful and safe, and well I think we all know what happened in Spa. You were sure that the change of the tradition with the added words, cursed this crash and you‘ve never said them again.

”Thank you, baby, are you coming to watch from the garage for fp2 then?“, he gave you a kiss. ”Yes baby, I will, I just have to finish 3 last tasks and then I‘m done. Might even come for the last few minutes of fp1.“

After a last kiss, he pulled the balaclava over his head and then his helmet.

You watched him go into the car and drive out of the garage. With a sigh, you made your way back to the little table you claimed outside of the hospitality as your working table. Now opening a new slide in your browser to watch the session on your laptop. You were hella scared to watch it, but you could never endure hearing the noises and not knowing what was going on.

After finishing your work, halfway through the first practice session, you packed everything together, your phone, laptop, notebook, pens, a water bottle, a cup of your favorite drink, you got from the hospitality, and made your way to the McLaren garage.

You settled on one of the chairs in the garage and looked at the screen where Lando was shown how he put some laps in, collecting data.

You felt the panic slowly creeping up on you but tried to remember, that it was only free practice. As long as Lando didn’t do a mistake, nothing could happen.

Doing the breathing technique, you slowly calmed down. And before you knew it, Lando was back, finished for this session.

He jumped out of the car and ran straight to you, with his helmet on, you looked into each other's eyes while he embraced you in a hug.

”You okay my love?“, he asked worryingly.

You just nodded with a big smile.

Putting your hands on the sides of his helmet, you pressed your lips to where he would be.

You saw wrinkles appearing next to his eyes, meaning he also had a big smile on his lips now.

After a meeting with his team, where you stayed in his room just chatting a bit with your family and friends over the phone and stalking fan accounts for Lando, you guys went for a cold drink outside of the hospitality.

You spend your time talking about his feelings for the weekend and your plans for the coming week, where you would be staying in London due to the Goodwood festival. You definitely wanted to do some shopping in central London and just spend time with Lando in general. Your work consumed a lot of time the last two weeks because of the weekend in Silverstone and you being off work for the next week, you spend little to no time with Lando. You were excited about the next week where you would be staying in a hotel in London.

The next session began sooner than you wanted it to, but it’s his work and passion, so you sat down in your spot in the garage again and watched him going into the car. But not without a: ’ Have fun baby, I love you. Go fast‘.

The fast breathing, the sweat, and the panic began to start again, and you hated how Lando wasn’t there to comfort you. You needed him in that situation. The more times he went around the track the worse it got. Thankfully Lando came in after 10 laps to go over some data.

Because Lando knew you for over five years, he knew when you were stressed or not feeling well. He saw your distressed look and pulled you towards him while talking to Jose. A few kisses were placed on your head while his hand rubbed up and down your back. Providing the comfort you desperately needed.

You felt a little more relaxed when he went into the car again. And after a few more laps you could fully relax for the day. When media stuff and team meetings were over, you were ready to go to the hotel.

You immediately went down for a nap where Lando joined you but not before setting an Alarm so you wouldn’t oversleep. And after 45 minutes the beeping sound blasted through the room. And guess who didn’t wake up again? He really needed to change his goddamn alarm.

You sat up and shook him so his body swayed from side to side. He opened his blue-greenish eyes and shook his head.

”Change your fucking alarm right now. I hate being the one waking you up.“

He took his phone and opened his setting. Choosing an even more aggressive sounding alarm, hoping he would wake up from it.

You fell backwards on the bed again and cuddled into his side.

”What do you wanna eat for dinner?“, Lando asked after checking the time, seeing it was already 8:30 pm and you still needed dinner.

”Can we order something from a takeaway? I don’t feel like going out and the hotel only has real pricey and noble stuff. I just want like a pizza or something.“

He nodded and opened just eat. Finding a good-rated pizza restaurant that was also fast in delivery.

”Here, pick something“, he gave you his phone and you went through the menu just to settle on your favorite pizza topping. You could never go wrong with that.

”Do you want one with chicken?“, you asked him. He just let out a humming sound.

”And can you ask for sa-“ ”Yes, I‘ll ask if they can add salad cream on top of it.“

Knowing Lando, you didn’t even have to guess what he wanted to say. It’s a common thing by now.

After choosing a medium chicken pizza and requesting salad cream on top of it, you completed the order and gave Lando his phone back.

Getting up, you walked into the bathroom to start removing your makeup and doing your nightly skincare routine. After applying your night cream there was a knock on the door and Lando went to answer it, getting the pizzas from the delivery guy.

You sat at the table that stood in another room in the suite, McLaren did not hold back with their room choice, as always, and started munching on the pizzas while talking about fp3 and the qualifying tomorrow.

Lando noticed how you started to tense up again, and put his hand on your on the table resting one.

”Baby you know how much it hurts my soul when you start getting nervous about me racing. It’s my passion, I love it and that’s why it hurts even more. Maybe we should actually look into counseling for you, to cope with it. I‘ll come with you if you don’t feel comfortable doing it alone. But I just want to be able to talk about my job without scaring you.“

You lowered your head.

”I know Lando, but I‘m scared. And it’s not like I want to be nervous or feel the panic, I just can’t help it. Whenever you sit in that car I get nervous. Look how many people have died because of it, I could never live without you.“

The tears started to form in your eyes at the thought of losing Lando. He‘s the best person you ever met, you couldn’t live without him.

”Y/N, your not losing me. Ever. The car nowadays is safe, look at Roman Grosjean, his car snapped in half, he was literally stuck in a fire and barely had anything big happening to him. We are safe in that, I am more scared of a plane crashing while flying to a race than a crash with my car.“

”Great, now I have to be scared of a plane as well, thank you Lando“, you let out a laugh, not meaning this seriously.

You went to bed a little after this, watching your TV show you guys started not that long ago and you fell asleep with Lando cuddling on your chest rather quickly.

/////////////Next day//////////////

You woke startled because of the unknown alarm sound. But it seemed to do the trick because Lando already turned to his nightstand, where his phone was blasting the annoying alarm.

When he saw, that you were awake he let out a quiet” Good morning love“ and cuddled into you. In the mornings he always was a little extra clingy.

You replied with a ”Good morning baby, how did you sleep?“ to which he just answered a hum. Yep, definitely not a morning person.

After getting ready, which consisted of getting dressed, putting on your makeup, and putting all the stuff in your purse that you needed, it was time to go. As usual, Lando drove you to the track, and you first settled in his drivers' room where he also changed into his suit and before you knew it, he sat in his car ready to go.

The ”baby, have fun, I love you. Go fast please“, was already exchanged with a kiss and now you sat on your seat in the garage and nervously looked at the screen where Lando drove over the track.

A sense of discomfort settled in your body but you tried to remember the conversation you had with him yesterday. How safe the car actually was nowadays. And you remembered most of the crashes you‘ve witnessed in the 5 years of being with him, and all of them had a happy ending. Maybe a rib was hurt or someone had a headache, but no one had lost his life or a limb in F1 when you were there. You really needed to get your shit together. He was safe and he was happy, there were many marshals who are able to help immediately and they had good doctors on the track. With that thought you could eventually calm down a little.

After the last lap in the practice session, it was time for lunch, so you settled in the hospitality and you had whatever they provided for the crew. Lando and you went to his drivers' room for a little cuddle session. He was a needy baby sometimes. Cuddling and you stroking his hair was his favorite activity to do with you well, he did other things that he loved but we won’t name them here.

Qualifying. Qualifying wasn’t very easy for you. That was the time Lando pushed the car the hardest, obviously wanting to get a good result. That scared the heck out of you. When he went around the corners and maybe came on a curb, you nearly had a heart attack.

Adam finally joined you for the qualifying so you had someone to hold on to, and that always made things easier for you.

When Lando sat in the car, after a hug, a kiss, and a ” Have fun, I love you baby. Go fast please“ you and Adam settled on the chairs and looked at the screens in front of you. With every time Lando sat, you calmed down. Seeing how the car adapted to the new updates and how he glided around the track, you could breathe. He loved this track and knew it inside out, he drove it billions of times on his sim. Before he set the last time, you were on your feet shuffling around the garage, and couldn’t hold the tension. You knew he was fast, everyone knew this by now. And when he crossed the line, his name flying to the first place you let out a scream and immediately turned to Adam who just looked at you in shock.

These are the moments where you weren’t scared of his racing. Seeing what he can accomplish with it, took your anxiety and shoved it out of the window. Sadly Max took the first place not long after Lando had it, but you were fine with it, it was Max we’re talking about, he was always in first place.

When you were laying in bed later, Lando was energetic, running around the suite with a big smile, he couldn’t sit still. You did everything you could to calm him down, saying you could cuddle, watch your series, take a bath, get some food, and even suggest to play some ps5 game he brought and you hated, but nothing worked. He was like a little puppy after a nap that had zoomies. You promised Jon that he would go to bed early, he needed that rest to be fully focused for tomorrow, but you were clueless. I mean, you can’t just Google what to do in that situation, it’s not like everyone had a boyfriend that was a f1 driver and got second place in qualifying.

So you settled on the bed turning on a movie and eventually Lando joined you for some cuddles and more.

/////////////Next day//////////////

Race day. The scariest day of the weekend. Especially when he was in a higher position to start from. More likely to crash because of some crazy shit drivers do behind him.

After a quick lunch, it was almost time for Lando to jump into his car. But he knew your heightened sense of anxiety on race days. So he took five minutes of his busy schedule to spend with you and to calm your nerves.

”You know that I will always come back to you, yeah? Always. I love you so much, nothing is ever going to happen to me except for some podiums. Don’t be scared anymore, please. You‘ve been by my side since I started in f1, what has happened so far? Spa 2021 was the worst I‘ve had. And yes Miami last year was a scare but I walked out of both just fine. If anything ever happens to me, you can kill me, okay?“ he chuckled saying the last sentence. And that made you laugh as well.

”Please promise me, you will try. I hate to go into the car when I know how scared you are.“

”I will try baby, I have your whole family with me in the garage, I think that‘ll help as well. I also don’t like how I ruin a weekend for you, just because you have to take care of my anxiety.“

”Y/N, you know that you could never ruin anything. We‘re in a relationship, which means we take care of each other. My job is not normal, you’re allowed to be scared, but you don’t have to. Everything will be fine.“

You nodded and hugged him real tight.

You watched how he climbed in the car after: ” Have fun, I love you baby. Go fast yeah?“ and while you watched with his family, no anxiety in sight, the rest is history.

And he always came back to you.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #silverstone gp 2023 #formula 1 #mclaren

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faynthearted · 7 days ago

Note

OMG I've been trying to find a fic about switched family background au for 84 years but couldn't find it anywhere 💔 i love the idea of poor weak HT and spoiled rich GS lol

i would love if u share with us a snippet of it or share the whole fic 🥲 I'm sure it's really good since it's your work

hope you're doing well

I'm happy to share what I have of this AU, even if it's not much! :)

(also I'm like 98% sure I already posted this snippet on my old blog a long time ago because a certain section of it feels super familiar to me -- so, just in case anyone has been around long enough to recognize it again, I'm posting a longer/extended version of it! enjoy!)

------

The city is damp with old rainwater as Guan Shan parks on the curb. When he steps out the car, the night is peaceful, but deceivingly so. Noise often gets lost in the city, especially here in the developing urban areas. Late-night construction sites and the nearby highway overpass do well to mask any other miscellaneous noises. It’s exactly the kind of place Guan Shan would expect to find who he’s looking for.

Hands trembling, Guan Shan double checks the image on Qiu’s phone before half-jogging to the store sign flickering at the end of the block. No one is on the streets at this time of night, and he begins to doubt himself as he nears the storefront and still sees nothing. Are they already gone? Is he too late?

But just as he’s about to stop to get his bearings, Guan Shan hears the echo of voices. Breathing heavy, he slows his pace as he approaches the source: a rundown tailor’s shop, its door and windows shuttered, its flickering LED sign the same as the one in the background of the text message’s image. They haven’t left.

Guan Shan steadies himself before pushing forward. They can’t possibly be inside the store so they must be behind it, hidden in the alleys, and he’s right. From around the corner, shadows formed by a streetlamp stretch into view. Guan Shan can see two figures though he knows there are likely more.

But he’s more concerned about the noise — or lack thereof. On the drive over, Guan Shan was expecting shouting, arguing, fighting. The image left no room for misunderstanding the situation at hand. But now, as he comes closer, Guan Shan can only hear chatter; casual and collected, completely undisturbed. He clenches his teeth and clears the final few meters.

The building prevents the streetlamp’s light from touching him, so the two nearest men don’t see him at first, their backs turned. But the third one, lounging against the wall with a dying cigarette between his fingers, does. He must be surprised by Guan Shan’s presence given that he doesn’t immediately react. The hesitation gives Guan Shan a few moments to evaluate exactly what he’s walked into: to determine what damage has been done and, more importantly, what portion of that damage can be reversed.

But it’s wishful thinking. Upon spotting the person on the ground crumpled into himself and the scattered drops of blood that look like oil in the darkness, Guan Shan gets a horrible, nauseous swelling in his stomach that is only deterred by the third man finally coming to his senses.

“Red?” he slurs. “What are you doing he—”

“What the fuck is going on?” Guan Shan demands. All eyes turn to him and, somehow, it makes him feel grounded, secure to the earth. He grits, furious, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The two men nearest to him trade a look. Then one of them drops their smoke, crushing it underfoot as they start, “Look, bud, we—”

“That’s a student, you dipshit!” Guan Shan snaps, pointing to the figure on the ground who, for reasons Guan Shan wants to ignore for as long as humanely fucking possible, cannot look away from Guan Shan now that he’s here. “He’s still in his uniform for fuck’s sake! How the fuck do you justify assaulting a student?"

Recognizing the escalation of the situation, the third man speaks up. “Your father is aware— This kid has had it coming for a long time now, and the little shit knows it—”

Guan Shan storms forward, over the blood and the broken glass, getting in his face. He can smell alcohol heavy like cologne on him. “Look at me. Look at me. Does it look like I actually give a shit what your excuse is?” he growls.

The man doesn’t respond, scowling against Guan Shan’s trembling anger. There’s a moment of silence during which they don’t break eye contact, and then one of the other men behind them shifts in his stance, exhaling.

“You ought to remember who the fuck you’re talking to, Red," he says, low. "I don’t give a shit who your daddy is. Watch your fuckin’ mouth and show some respect.”

Guan Shan likes to think that the man realizes his mistake just as quickly as Guan Shan does. Suddenly, it’s silent. Suddenly, all of the quivering anger traveling through his body like a live wire is gone, replaced with something much colder but much, much sharper, like a blade freshly honed and wielded. The man in front of him stays still as Guan Shan turns to face the other, deliberate and calculative.

“Yeah?” he says. There’s a pause. His target looks away, jaw stiff as he lifts his cigarette to his lips to take a pull. It’s only then that Guan Shan sees the dark purple bruise staining the side of his face. It’s fresh; swollen. Painful.

Guan Shan glances at the student and finds him still staring at him.

Idiot, Guan Shan thinks, looking away. Don’t you know not to fight back when you’re bound to lose?

“Get the fuck out of here,” Guan Shan tells the rest of them. “Now. And don’t worry — I’ll be sure to tell Qiu just how much I fucking respect you."

It takes a moment, but then the three men look at each other and come to a decision. They leave without another word, the only sound being the scuff of their shoes on the pavement and, later, car doors slamming and engines revving in the distance. Guan Shan stares into the dark until they can’t be heard anymore, overridden by the construction sites and the overpass.

Then, it’s just the two of them.

Whatever bravado Guan Shan held only moments ago has been lost. Now, there’s a rapid thudding in his chest and throat that is borderline painful. He doesn’t know what to do when the student — no, He Tian, because they can’t quite pretend they haven’t seen each other before, can they? — pulls himself into a sitting position against the wall, smearing blood from his nose on the back of his hand and rubbing the edge of his purple, swollen jaw with stained fingers and a repressed wince.

Guan Shan doesn’t look at him and that seems to be perfectly fine with He Tian. They stay in silence for a while, only broken by the occasional sniff from He Tian in an attempt to clear the blood. Eventually, Guan Shan just closes his eyes. His head and heart are racing so fast he can’t understand any of his thoughts clearly. All he can understand is the panic, the dread, the complete and utter exhaustion of coming to terms with what lies ahead.

He was so close to graduation. So painstakingly fucking close.

“Hey.”

Guan Shan opens his eyes. He Tian gives him a two-fingered salute from the ground.

“What?” Guan Shan blurts despite himself, incredulous.

He Tian’s head tilts. His voice is dry and croaked. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”

“I mean,” Guan Shan hisses, stepping forward, “what the fuck happened? What are you doing here?”

He Tian shrugs — then winces as it brings an obvious pain with it. Recovering, he says, “I could ask you the same.”

Guan Shan’s mouth snaps shut and he swallows dryly. Eventually he says, “Are you asking?”

“Should I be?”

Guan Shan’s gaze trails over his visible injuries: a potentially broken nose, perhaps a fractured jaw, a definite black eye. His school jacket is torn at the sleeve and there are small patches of blood soaking through his white t-shirt. God knows what damage he can’t see. “No,” he answers.

He Tian nods and crystal-like shards of glass fall from his hair and into his lap. It could be beautiful. “Then let's leave it at that. Give me a hand?”

He reaches out his hand presumably as far as he can without tempting pain, but Guan Shan doesn’t take it. The absurdity of it all seems to finally be catching up with him. He wonders if He Tian feels the same — as if piecing together a puzzle with no reference picture on the box. But even if he does, that doesn’t make Guan Shan feel better. Four school transfers and two different cities since junior high have built callouses on his ability to empathize. He’s long learned that people will sooner cover their own asses before looking out for someone else — especially him.

And of course, this time it has to be He Tian. He Tian. Top of the class, teachers’ pet, social fucking butterfly with a tempting grin and a sadistic streak often mistaken for boys being boys on the basketball courts after school, but Guan Shan knows better. He’s seen it before. He’s just never had a reason — or the interest — to poke the bear. But then again, he never thought he’d find the bear bloody and broken at his feet like this.

Is this reason enough, now?

“Did you fight back?”

The words spill out before he can stop them. He Tian considers him for a long moment before retracting his hand. He looks at the dark coloration of his knuckles that Guan Shan is staring at.

“Yeah,” he answers eventually. “I wasn’t going down without a fight.”

“Idiot,” Guan Shan breathes, throat tight. “You could’ve gotten off with a warning if you’d just — complied.”

He Tian laughs, but it’s broken and rattled and sounds like it hurts. “Thanks for the insight, but no, I really wouldn’t have.”

It sounds like acceptance; like a confession. It paralyzes Guan Shan. Looking down at He Tian’s bruised state is like watching venom take hold of prey’s body. Guan Shan just can’t be sure if it’s his prey or someone else’s.

He doesn’t know what to say so he chooses to say nothing. Instead he sinks to a knee, worrying his lip as he takes a closer look at He Tian’s injuries. Most are open wounds; they’re not life-threatening but are prone to infection if not treated soon. He’ll need some ice on that cheek and swollen wrist, and based on the awkward angle that he’s seated in, Guan Shan suspects bruised or fractured ribs. Remembering he forgot his wallet in his rush out of house, Guan Shan curses under his breath and considers the cash in the armrest of his mom’s car that he can use at the 24-hour convenience store a few blocks down to get gauze and disinfectant and—

“You don’t need to take care of me.”

Guan Shan’s anger returns, prickly. “I can’t just fucking leave you here like this, either.”

A huff. “That’s cute, but you—” He Tian winces. Breathes in, shakily. “You actually can.”

“I know you.”

“Do you?”

He Tian smiles sickly sweet and Guan Shan sees blood in his teeth. The nearest hospital, it should only be a few minutes drive—

“What the hell are you doing?” Guan Shan says as, suddenly, He Tian begins to pull himself to his feet. Every movement makes him shudder but he pushes through it, relying heavily on the wall. “What’re you doing? Stop, you idiot!”

“I’m leaving,” says He Tian, voice tight with pain and something else. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. Red, right?”

“I’m being fucking serious,” Guan Shan tells him sharply, hands hovering close but not knowing where or if he’s allowed to touch. “Stop moving. You’re gonna make it worse, and then what, genius?”

He Tian does stop then, but only momentarily. He fixes Guan Shan with a look that’s nothing short of a warning. Even hunched, he’s still an inch or two taller and Guan Shan gets the notion that He Tian still has some fight left in him. He has a sense of dignity but only as much as a wounded animal backed into a corner, teeth bared and pupils blown wide.

“I’m surprised,” He Tian breathes, “that you’re being so damn adamant right now. You hardly speak to anyone at school.”

‘How would you know?’ Guan Shan wants to shoot back at him, but sometimes a wounded animal can be more dangerous than a healthy one. This situation is a fight Guan Shan doesn’t think he should pick. Still:

“And your fucking fangirls will flip their shit if you show up on Monday looking like that,” Guan Shan snaps. “For a prospective valedictorian, you sure have a thick fucking skull.”

He Tian can’t seem to help laughing at that, the crusted blood at the corners of his mouth cracking. Even beaten, he acts like he’s done the beating. A forgotten, first-year rumor about a dispute involving him and She Li crosses Guan Shan’s mind, but he’d never had enough interest to verify it. It was much easier to take the information at face value and reduce them to just that: entertainment, however fleeting.

Eventually, though, He Tian’s laughter fades out. Guan Shan is too distracted by a fresh drop of blood falling off the edge of his nose to notice He Tian taking a step forward to leave — as if they’re done here. But Guan Shan quickly comes back to himself, sidestepping against the brick wall to block his path of escape.

He Tian’s gaze slides over to him slowly, a small fire lit in his eyes. His profile bleeds into the night’s darkness like it belongs there.

“You’re fucking serious right now?” he asks lowly.

“I’m fucking serious. Sit down. Now.”

He Tian shakes his head and scoffs, disbelieving. But against all odds, he turns and sinks back down the wall, hair mussing against the brickwork as he grunts with the effort. Something deflates inside Guan Shan and he follows him back to the ground, kneeling.

He Tian takes a moment to collect himself, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin while he rests the crown of his head against the wall, eyes closed. While he waits, Guan Shan says, “You need a hospital, but is there anyone you should, like, call? Where’s your phone?”

“They took it. Smashed it, actually, and then threw it onto the tracks. So.”

Guan Shan scowls. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He Tian’s eyes open. “What?”

“I said I’ll buy you a new one. And are you talking about the train tracks? Like, the metro?”

He Tian blinks once, twice, then nods. “Yeah, the metro. The station around the corner.”

Guan Shan considers the many things he could say right now. “But why did they—”

“Thought we agreed we wouldn’t be asking questions, Red.”

There’s a danger there but Guan Shan can’t help himself, snapping, “Don’t call me that.”

This seems to intrigue He Tian. “I suppose I can’t ask why?” he ventures, snarky.

“No,” Guan Shan bites back, “you can’t.”

He Tian watches as Guan Shan slips out his own phone, pulling up Qiu’s business number since his personal phone is currently in Guan Shan’s possession. The line only rings twice before it’s answered.

“Qiu? Yeah, I need— Fuck, I know it’s late, okay? But I need you to come pick me up. Yes, right now. I don’t really have an address so I’ll send you my location; I’m like ten minutes from the house. And bring first aid, whatever you have. It’s—”

Guan Shan looks at He Tian. He’s quietly watching, wearing a ghost of a smile that he doesn’t bother to hide. Guan Shan looks away, suddenly finding all of this to be very comical because whatever they’ve gotten themselves into, neither of them know how to handle it. That much is crystal fucking clear.

Guan Shan exhales. “It’s urgent.”

#19 days #tianshan #my writing #mailbox #okay the writing isn't horrible but it isn't great either. I edited a few things just to make me cringe less #also if you have questions about what's happening -- me as well lmaoo. I can't quite remember what the plan was...#but an assertive/confident/demanding guan shan? sign me the fuck up

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