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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 7 months

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summary: While Price's injury is healing nicely, you're growing needier by the minute. But you're not the only one. With the doctors order in mind, you and Price attempts to stave your hunger by having you cockwarm him in his office.

pairing: cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine universe)

tags/tw: afab!reader, depiction of canon related injury, NSFW, mdni 18+ please and thank you, cockwarming, p in v, teasing, masturbation (f), unprotected sex, creampie, implied age-gap

a/n: Well, that little valentines blurb really helped to get the writing going🫡

Sunshine universe MASTERLIST & John Price MASTERLIST

Christmas passed just as slowly and cosy as you'd predicted, perhaps with one slight change of plans.

You'd returned home the night you'd dropped John from the hospital and helped him settle in somewhat. Despite debating whether to stay the night, your soldier urged you to head home to rest properly after spending so much time away.

You understood he tired of your company. In fact, he had a point, seeing how you wouldn't sleep soundly with him, constantly worrying if you would disturb his sleep by sharing a bed. And you needed a fresh set of clothes anyway. But you also noticed that being hurt took a toll on John. He'd accepted that you would be there to help him, but something told you he needed time to brood over the fact he was on med-leave for the upcoming months.

Once you returned to the flat you'd left in a hurry almost two days ago, you wandered aimlessly, trying to finish setting up your Christmas lights. However, whatever adrenaline the past 48 hours provided finally seemed to ebb, and you crashed on your couch shortly after finishing your task.

By the time you woke up again, it had been dark outside. Dinner that night hadn't been glamorous, partly because you didn't have any finished food in your fridge and partly because you were yet to be hungry from the late lunch you shared with John before leaving his place. Still, the bowl of instant ramen warmed the cold feeling settling in your body from merely looking outside your window and down at the snowy streets.

You slept in the next day, waking up with a warm body and nose slightly chilled from the cool temperature in your room. The rest of the day was slow. You checked in on John with a message around noon, accustomed to reaching out to anyone in your closest circle around that time, seeing how no one usually was up earlier on the weekend, even if John definitely didn't categorise as one of those. He'd given you the awaited broody reply, grumbling about a horrid night of sleep and a dull ache even after taking his prescribed meds.

You stared at his message for a minute until deciding to give him a call rather than answer it.

'Hell, love'.

'God, you really sound worse for wear', was your instinctive response as John greeted you with a rough voice.

'Cheers', he huffed in return, a groan following shortly after. At that moment, you rubbed your forehead, an ache settling in your heart at not being there with him.

'How about I come over today already? Christmas is approaching, and we already said we would celebrate together. Wouldn't hurt if I stayed with you in the upcoming days with your shoulder and all...', you trailed off at the end.

'Know you have no problem with it, but I don't want to take up all your time if you have other things planned', he responded tentatively. 'I've managed worse on my own'.

'Don't have to do it alone anymore'. You reminded him, and with that, he didn't argue.

'Pack your bags, then'.

And you'd packed your bags for a week. Although, by now, you'd stayed two, with the occasional trip back to your flat to swap out some clothes.

John's shoulder healed nicely, even if the process was arduously slow, but at least it meant his injury wasn't inflamed. God forbid you would've seen it like that. While you never counted yourself as squeamish, the first time you'd helped John rid himself of the bandages and the surgical tape that, for a seeable future, needed to be changing once a week, you also remembered that neither had you ever seen a freshly sewn-together wound.

His skin was a deep pink, and the sewn-together parts puckered and elevated from the surrounding areas. You almost shied from pulling the surgical tape the rest of the way when first laying eyes on the injury. Upon seeing the scrunch of your nose and worried glance up his face, John made you step back and do the rest, reassuring you it didn't hurt, just strained unpleasantly if he moved wrong.

While it may not have hurt while gently cleaning the wound the first time and that John now could go without the sling, it didn't mean you didn't notice the pull in his features when he did make a too-fast movement or a shift that pulled at the stitches and deeper-torn tissue. He's still instructed not to carry anything heavy, making you catch a grumble of 'a goddamn month more' as you passed by right before your name was called numerous times.

You didn't chide him from initially thinking he would manage on his own, but you both knew what the look you sent him implied and that his thank-you kiss was a silent acknowledgement that you'd been right. It would've been anything but enjoyable for him if you hadn't spent the past two weeks with him.

Even though only two weeks had passed, you quickly noticed John wasn't a man who could go long periods without doing anything. That didn't mean he couldn't take it easy. As he said himself, he'd learned that skill. But, reading so many books while having x amounts of scotches was only as enjoyable and appropriate as it could be to not count as light alcoholism. John was itching to do something more than sit idly around or keep you company during whatever you did.

So, it wasn't a surprise the first time you found him in his study a few days ago. He'd looked up from the papers with a caught-in-the-act look when you knocked on his study's door, the excuse of work piling up that he needed to look over leaving his lips instantly. You'd never been the one so strict about working when home; your free-lancing job was practically based upon it. Therefore, you'd waved his excuse away, padding into the office you'd barely set foot inside despite the many times you'd visited him.

You'd leant against the side of his desk, not more than casting a quick side-eyed glance on his computer to show you noted its presence but not the contents on the screen before your gaze sought his. Upon your curiosity of what it was, John indulged you in what he occupied himself with.

And just like that, John, who usually was so strict about not working when spending time with you, grew lenient on that rule of thumb, restlessness gnawing at his bones enough to slip away an hour or two each day to occupy his mind. But, you always saw him at the same times during the day, joining you on the couch in his living room or in his bedroom, hijacking the TV remote to follow the post-Christmas football matches.

You jokingly poked his side each time he did, commenting on how there were two TVs in his house if he'd forgotten. But you only got a quirk in his lip and wink in return as he proclaimed he needed to convert you into a fan, teasingly anchoring you to his side with a heavy arm if you threatened to escape.

But you both knew you didn't mind cuddling into his side with your head on his chest, following the matches of the day, only if he started getting too worked up when his team played and jostling your head around too much.

And that settled you into a new routine. While you busied yourself around the house, occasionally working a few days here and there, John watched football and occasionally retreated to his study. Although you left him to his work, he always left his door open, showing you it was free to enter if you desired.

Today was one of those days you did your separate things, not having seen each other much since the breakfast you shared, after which John left you with a kiss and 'know where to find me'.

It had been fine. It is fine. You'd gotten ahead of work for the new year, and John eased his workload gradually. And yet, glancing at your phone screen, you note lunch is overdue.

Sure, today had been slow. You and John had laid in bed for a while, basking in the last of the Christmas spirit the days between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve carried. And so, breakfast had been eaten later than usual, meaning lunch was also to be pushed forward. However, at half past one, John should've emerged from his office for a well-deserved break and shared the task of cooking something.

Putting aside your book, you move from the couch and wander outside the range of the fireplace's warmth. Its fire had long since burned out, and now the only parts glowing were the embering coals.

Your fuzzy socks act as a barrier between your feet and the cold wood beneath as you wander up the stairs. Despite the constant blast of radiators and the fireplace harbouring a non-stop fire, the floor always remains chilly when the temperature drops outside.

Much like the past days, the door to John's study stood ajar. But, compared to earlier, when you'd retrieved something from the bedroom, you didn't only pass it with a glance inside, finding John staring down at his computer with his injured arm resting in his lap as his other scrolled whatever he was going through. Now, you pushed the door open, locating him not behind his desk but seated in one of the two Chesterfield armchairs.

The edge of your mouth quirks upwards as you observe his upper body bent backwards over the low backrest, laptop resting in his lap, kept only from slipping by his hand. As you enter his peripheral vision, he glances in your direction. You offer him a warm smile as you close the distance, moving to stand behind the chair.

"How's it going?" You look down at the head tilted far enough backwards that John can watch you, albeit upside down, from where he sits. He grunts in response, eyebrows raising swiftly as he straightens.

You chuckle, hands that previously rested on the leather sliding to rest on John's shoulders, where you immediately dig your fingers into his muscles. He groans again, but this time, his head dips forward as you follow the tight tendons near his neck.

"That much to do?" You hum as you let up on the pressure, concentrating more on his uninjured side, following the muscles out to his shoulder, only to return and follow his spine to the back of his head.

"Not really". A harsh breath follows John's sentence when you find a knot along his neck and concentrate on easing it with your thumb. "The boys can manage, Laswell too, but whatever's possible to be pushed forward, they leave to me, meanin' things that need readin' through and cleared for the go-ahead".

"Imagine it ain't like that book I gave you", you muse, John only scoffing in return.

"Nothin' like it", he almost grumbles. "Would much rather cosy up with you and read that than this". He flicked the screen with his finger, a semi-metallic, semi-glass tick ringing from his action.

"You know very well you can drop work and cosy up with me and that book anytime you want. You're on leave". You remind him with a small smile, knowing he isn't really complaining.

With this being your first Christmas, you'd agreed to not spend too much on presents, even if you both had bought each other spontaneous gifts before, John being the culprit for spoiling you with expensive things much more often. While he'd gifted you a necklace he'd caught you looking at, you'd gotten him a book he mentioned wanting to read and a cigar to add to his collection. One, that at the moment, remained pretty stagnant as John refrained from having a smoke the first weeks of recovery. But you knew he itched for one, catching him eyeing the container he kept them in more than once.

"Hm, 'bout that", John's head lolled backwards, his gaze locking with yours. "Come here", he cocked his head, motioning for you to move around the chair. You did as he wished while he lodged his feet beneath the furniture's edge, moving the heavy armchair slightly backwards to allow you to stand between him and the low table.

With you now in front of him, John placed his laptop on the wide armrest, leaning forward shortly after. Concerning it being the closest, the hand of his injured arm slipped around your naked lower thigh when he sat forward, your oversized sweater ending just above his hand.

"Said here", John nods to his lap, pressing gently at the back of your leg.

"Your shoulder, John", you lightly scold his insistence, knowing where things would go if you ended up straddling him.

"It's fine". He insisted, tugging at your leg again. This time, you relented somewhat, stepping between his spread legs, the armchair's brown leather cool against your shins.

"The doctor told you to take it easy, let it heal." You reminded him of the instructions he'd received, but now, he scoffed at them.

With his head tilted to the side and displeased crease between his brows, his hand slipped down just an inch. The sudden tug as his fingers dug into the back of your knee took you off guard. It made your leg bend, and to not fall forward, your leg caught the excess seat beside his thigh as you caught yourself on the armrest to keep yourself steady.

You send John a look, as his stunt could've easily made you brace against his shoulder rather than the furniture. But he only cranes his head slightly as you hover over his self-satisfied self, a quirk bowing his lips.

"Takin' it incredibly easy, just you who's makin' me work hard for it". There's a glint in his eyes as his hands slide upwards, massaging the back of your upper thigh from how your dress-like sweater has ridden up somewhat, sneakily trying to urge you to settle entirely on top of him. Even so, you remain hovering.

"Missed you, love". You narrow your eyes at the change in his approach.

"Missed me or something else?"

"Both." John's answer is almost boyish in how a half grin stretches his lips and the cock of his head. You roll your eyes but can't withstand his request any longer, the butterflies in your chest never truly escaping when close to the man.

Climbing into the seat with as much grace as possible, you're mindful of his shoulder, bracing against the opposite side on the backrest to ensure you don't accidentally grip it for support. But the armchair is wide enough for your legs to comfortably slot on either side of his hips, and your hands slide to rest on his abdomen instead.

Now planted in his lap and more accessible to avoid straining his shoulder to reach for you, both of John's hands find purchase on your waist.

"That wasn't too hard, now was it?" He humours you with an arched brow as you shuffle in his lap to make yourself comfortable, only to feel something beneath you.

"No, but something seems to be". You tilt your head, alluding to the semi you slowly felt more prominently in his sweats.

"Haven't felt my girl in nearly a month. Can you blame me?" You shake your head with a huff through your nose, gaze cast down until it returns to his.

"Thought you were confident you wouldn't cave first".

"Never said that", John hums as he curves his back to make himself more comfortable in the armchair, making you settle more firmly over his crotch. "Although I remember you sayin' you could go the longest without a proper fuck". He dares you to deny it with a cock of his brows.

You roll your eyes but don't technically argue against him. "With how you are speaking, I could think you're growing desperate".

He clicks his tongue. "Can't guilt trip me for missin' your warm cunt".

"Jesus, John", you flush under his heavy gaze and crude words, enough for you to look to the side.

Fingers knock beneath your chin, quickly redirecting your attention back to him. Greeting you is a pair of blue eyes twinkling in intrigue. "So what you say, wanna keep me warm while I work?"

You eye him sceptically. John had figured you liked cockwarming him, the fact nothing hard to figure when you always pulled out the process of him slipping out of you as you caught your breaths in the aftermatch of whatever session had your body trembling and his clutching yours to anchor himself. But those times often happened after, not before.

"We're not fucking", you point at him.

"Keep still, and we won't". He chuckles at your muttered 'insufferable' as you rise to your knees.

John helps you as much as he can, stabilising you with his un-injured arm as you tug down the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers digging into the fabric of his underwear, feeling the hotness of his still not-fully erect member. He sighs as you pump his cock to bring him to full erection before pulling his length out, rubbing the tip against the fabric covering your cunt.

A warmth, a need, you hadn't felt in the past weeks blooms in your lower stomach.

Since his injury, you and John hadn't had sex. It might only be a few weeks, but having a mostly bare-chested, burly man like him walk around the house nearly every day because it was too tricky putting on a shirt did things to you, things which you repressed in favour of not pushing anything onto John that would strain his injury. Doctors orders.

But as you pushed your underwear to the side, how easily worked up you got whispers of a repressed desire, your slit wet without any proper foreplay, not more than the mere thought of finally feeling him inside you. Even so, you softly whine as you sink down onto him, the stretch as he entered not unfamiliar in comparison to unused to.

A drawn-out exhale escapes John as your tightness slowly swallows him, his hands falling to lift your shirt and simultaneously massage your hips.

"Just like that, love", his words are drawled as blue eyes follow how you inch your way down, having to work up and done with rolls of your hips take him after this long. "Just relax. You always take it so well". His praise makes you flutter around him, making your and John's breaths catch.

With a last shift, your thighs finally touch his, his cock buried to the hilt.

"Fuckin' hell so warm". You glance up at John, having his head notched backwards, lips slightly parted. Calloused hands slide up the smooth skin of your sides, outlining the curve of your hip, making your shirt ride up enough to show your stomach before it slides down again as his hands smoothened down your body again.

"Didn't you say you would work? Hard to do that while coping a feel". Your breathy comment brings John's head forward again, his eyes partly lidded.

"Only need one arm for that". There's a gentle tug in the corner of his mouth as he angles his laptop towards him on the armrest.

While propping his uninjured arm along the armrest, scrolling on the mousepad as he returned to the reading you previously interrupted, John's unoccupied hand gripped your hip as he brought you closer. The slight shift makes him move inside you, and your eyes flutter shut. Shit, this would be much harder than you'd anticipated.

In hopes it would distract you, you lean forward, nose knocking against the column of his throat. You inhale his scent, concentrating on how the typical aroma of rich cigar smoke is vacant from his skin with the lack of smoking.

John's unoccupied hand travels to the small of your back, fingers alternating between massaging your muscles and tracing light patterns against your skin.

Shivers run up and down every part of your body, unconsciously making you shimmy as the shudders reach your shoulders. Your shifting jostles him inside you, causing you to clench reactionary. John's chest heaves, indicating he definitely felt how you squeezed around him.

But he didn't say anything, not verbally, at least. He simply grabs a fistful of your asscheek until flesh spilt between his fingers. The silent scold forces you to resist rocking in his lap, only releasing a quiet whimper, burying your face deeper into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

You inhale to steady your breath.

The shower John took in the morning made his body wash more prominent. But he still smells of a certain alluring warmth, a musk simply describable as him, the one making you nuzzle against his bare upper body. You don't know whether to curse or hail him for not wearing a shirt nowadays, his nude chest distracting you somewhat from the delicious stretch and fullness of finally having him inside you. Until you knew it definitely did not help you.

As the hair dusted over his pectorals tickled against your lower chin and his beard against the upper part of your forehead, you ran your hands up and down his abdomen and chest.

Feeling the thick cords of muscle beneath a layer of fat that made him so deliciously big and broad clench beneath your fingers acts like a lighter to gasoline. Mental images of seeing those muscles work as he pumps himself into you fill your head.

You don't even notice how your hips begin to roll until a heavy hand clutches your side, swiftly preventing the motion.

"Be a good girl, hm?" You glance up at John, but he hasn't even angled his head to face you. His blue eyes simply remain fixed on the computer screen. Even so, you feel how the muscles in his neck flex, and a soundless chuckle shakes his chest.

You squeeze your eyes shut, face falling to hide against his neck again, but your attempt to remain calm has already failed as your mind supplies nothing but the filthiest scenes behind your eyelids. Grunting. Pistoning hips. Flesh grasped tightly.

You force an exhale, refraining from moving with any and all willpower in your fibres as you feel his girth throb inside you. You need a distraction. You need to distract yourself from thinking about how his cock fills you so well.

You start to mouth at his skin, light presses of your lips along his collarbone, trailing only far enough to his shoulder that you didn't aggravate his injury. When you once again reach where his clavicle met his sternum, you begin trailing kisses up his neck. You hum in delight, nuzzling against John's jawline, his beard tickling the tip of your nose. You felt him sigh, his chest pressing against yours before he exhaled through his nose.

God, you pliantly move with him as he shifts in his seat, attempting to find a more comfortable position by sliding down somewhat. But you can't help but momentarily dig your fingers into his abdomen as the slight stir pushes his hips against yours, forcing him deeper inside you. The sting of your nails makes his hips jump more erratically than when he'd shuffled just seconds earlier, and you can't stop a moan as you press yourself down into his lap. The only thought left in your mind is that you desperately need to move. Now.

Rocking your hips, you gave a quivering sigh, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his blunt tip hitting something so sensitive.

"Love", John's voice is even, hinting at nothing more than attempting to earn your attention. However, how his hand travelled from around your waist to your ass, angling your hips roughly in an arch so you were pressed, forced stationary, against his chest, spoke of something else.

When you emerge from his neck, with hands planted on his chest, his blue eyes lock with yours, and how he tilts his head causes a shiver to run down your spine.

"Said to sit still, didn't I?" A soft whine leaves your mouth, lower lip jutting out. "Only going to keep me warm, eh?" He tuts amusingly.

You huff as you catch the amusement in his voice. "You seem to like it".

"Not 'bout likin' it love, but seein' how strong that resolve of yours is", he hums, taunting words brushing over your lips

You could bare your teeth at that response, like a cat hissing at someone, even if they were petting them because they came close. John's cock was literally throbbing inside you, his hips shifting to get more comfortable, only to rock himself deeper into you, demanding, mocking you to do something about your predicament.

As if feeling your body tense, your frustration growing, the menace of a man you're perched upon decides to stoke the fire by giving you a small kiss on your lips.

"Not fair", you hiss against John. This time, his chuckle is audible.

"No one said anything about fair". You send him a deadpan look, but he only chuckles deeply again. "Now relax again, love". His hand pushes against the back of your head, bringing you to rest it against him. You don't fight him, hooking your chin near the juncture of his neck, staring at the bookshelf opposite you.

You knew you'd given a false promise when you said this wouldn't lead to anything. Called your own lie and his with your initial scepticism. But now you're too far gone, too horny after nearly a month of not properly feeling him; you let out a shuddering, displeased moan as you purposefully squirm.

Your constant shifts were too small to bring any real pleasure, erratic enough they would be written off as shifts to get comfortable if it wasn't for how you and John knew it definitely wasn't.

You could already feel your juices dripping, coating your inner thighs and his crotch, probably soaking his trousers. The lewd picture makes your pussy throb around his length again, and you quietly mewl, brows furrowing in frustration as you glare straight forward.

As if to make matters worse, your clit caught perfectly on the rolled-together line of your underwear that pressed into you at the angle John kept you from sinking deeper onto him. The realisation is like a doomsday announcement, as now it's impossible not to notice how your bundle of nerves is throbbing.

The ache is unbearable, especially as pleasure is within sight, the planes of John's lower stomach pressed right against your mound. With such temptation just a breath away, you wriggle your hips, stuttering a breath when pleasure rushes through your abdomen.

You start with small movements, yet more calculated than before. But soon, your squirming evolves into grinds that never fully make you sit back on John's lap.

You reckon that's why he doesn't stop your movements. But what catches you, pleasantly, off-guard is when you feel a slight push of his hand against your backside.

John lazily guides your hips a few times but stops suddenly as if catching himself of what he's doing when his concentration slips from his reading.

He chastises you with a soft pinch to the skin of your hips, and you know what's coming when he grabs the nape of your neck.

"Thought you said no fuckin'?". He directs your head in front of his. John's eyes have darkened, the good kind, his chest heaving more with each breath.

"I'm a big fat liar. That's what you want to hear?" You're quick to reply, the amusement rising in his blue eyes evident as he rolls his lips between his teeth with a content quirk in their corners before he answers.

"Always a delight when you admit you're wrong".

"Yeah, yeah", you roll your eyes, heat licking up your limbs and spine until pooling in the pit of your stomach. You attempt to quell it by mimicking the same move you'd previously done, but don't get far before John's strong hand anchors you squarely in his lap. The sweet pleasure of him filling you to the brim is momentary as the action keeps you there, fixed.

"Never said I would fuck you. I'm quite satisfied with this arrangement". John Price may be a humble man, but sometimes his cockiness soared when having you at his mercy.

"Piss off".

"Goin' to remain right here", he flashed you a devilish smile before returning to work.

His blatant disregard makes your mouth fall open as you stare at him.

You know John saw your reaction from the corner of his eyes, but he was adamant about not acknowledging you. You clench your jaw, sending him a nasty look.

If that's how he wants to play.

With the single coherent thought that you would get your release, no longer desiring to play into the torture John was putting you through, you decide to make him cave right along with you.

With one hand stabilising yourself on his chest, your other hand slide down beneath your sweater. Your mouth falls open when your fingers brush your clit, faintly feeling how he stretches you open, unabashed moan clawing up your throat and out of your mouth.

Oh, you saw the twitch of his head and felt his fingers dig into your waist. You knew how much he desired to look at you but remained stubborn enough not to indulge himself.

What must be a delirious-looking smile spread on your face as your mouth remains open, releasing all the soft breaths and whiney moans you'd muffled earlier. He's still keeping a steely grip on your lower half, keeping you from rocking your hips, but you make do with what he can't control.

You bend forward at the waist, head falling alongside his until you face his throat.

Whereas your previous kisses had been light, worshipping, now they were shy of foul. You don't leave more than a few open-mouthed kisses along his neck as a heads-up before you trace your tongue over the same spots you journey.

You never stop the slow circles over your clit, your heavy breaths fanning over the wet trail you paint against his skin. And with your pleasured sounds so close to his ear, your lips marking him up without abandon as no one but you will be able to see the light marks, a deep groan fills the air.

Silencing your satisfaction that you're slowly tearing his resolve, you release a low whine straight into his ear instead. "John-".

His facade cracks again, head tilting backwards, and you know he's fighting demons to not give in to your pleasure. But you show him no remorse, chuckling breathlessly over the shell of his ear before nipping his earlobe.

Laving over the sweet little spot on his neck, right at the angle where his beard fades and beneath his ear, another grunt fills the air as his other hand abandons the computer and shifts to grab you.

With both of his hands now on your hips, you take your unoccupied hand and drag it down his chest, the wiry hair tickling you as your nails catch his nipple. You paw at his chest as you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering, "Going fill me up, John?"

"Jesus-". His gravelly voice, how he gropes and grabs at your soft love handles, hints at the restrained pleasure leaking through the cracks you're creating. It eggs you on, quickening the fingers rubbing your clit as you try to see if he'll let you rock your hips.

Although he clutches your flesh when you start to roll your hips over his thick cock, he doesn't stop you, hands remaining dormant on your ass. And, since you don't get any resistance from John this time, you don't stop.

You flutter around him, your peak moving a lot closer when you sit straight, looking down at the man who showers you with his attention as you rise on your knees in tandem with the rocking of your hips. And that seems to break the last straw of his willpower.

You thank the heavens when he hastily moves to close his laptop and slides it a bit too aimlessly into the armchair beside the one you're occupying. The amusement in his eyes quickly faded to offer more place for surging arousal.

His uninjured arm rises to settle his hand at the back of your head, tugging you into a kiss as his other hand paces itself as he lowers it, swatting away your hand to overtake the onslaught on your bundle of nerves. As his thumbs find and rub firm circles onto your clit, you moan into his mouth.

John leans away to look at you, watching your features contort in pleasure as your cunt throbs around him. A lazy smirk on his face tells you he has no desire to drag out your or his pleasure any longer.

He starts moving his hips, meeting each of your falls into his lap, pressing him deeper into you than what you'd managed on your own. John sounded fucking heavenly as a fucked up into you, groans and grunts slipping past his teeth, even if he let you do most of the work, taking it easy with his shoulder.

"Fuckin' hell, that's my girl". He jerks inside you upon picking up the wet sounds squelching each time the back of your thighs meet his. "Takin' my cock so well after all this time, s'good for me, fuck- missed you havin' you around me". John's head drops backwards just as his hand falls to give your hips a firm squeeze, helping you guide your hips. You whine, clenching around him, slumping against him even if your hands get trapped between your chests.

He feels so good inside you, girthy length stretching you so deliciously, every ridge and vein rubbing against your walls. You pant against his skin, teeth closing on the tendons in his neck, not biting, but the pleasure just feels so good that you barely know what to do with yourself.

"Feisty today, eh?" John's jab is breathless, rasped from the back of his throat. "Hm, get so needy when you don't get my cock".

"John- fuck", your eyes squeeze tightly shut as your sensitivity is upped, orgasm nearing, the digit playing with your clit making you keen. "Feels so good, you feel so good... shit, missed this", you blabber. He groans at your admission, planting his heels more firmly to get more power behind his thrusts.

An involuntary squeak leaves you as the added force makes you slide forward a bit, your arm swinging around his neck on his uninjured side. It's nowhere near as fierce as John otherwise can shove himself deep inside of you, but after this long, he doesn't need to.

One final thrust sends you over the edge, body quivering, thighs squeezing his waist. Your moan breaks into heaving breaths, hips stilling in their up-and-down movement. John's not far behind, manually grinding your hips back and forth before he rolls his hips upwards, praises falling in groans from his lips as he spills inside you.

"Best believe you're not going back to working after this", you sigh into John's neck, having caught your breath just as he slackens beneath you.

He gives you a shakey laugh yet to level his own breathing. "No thought 'bout it", his voice is throaty as his arms curl around your waist.

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d4yl1ghts · 6 months

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stuck

mark sloan x shy, fem!reader

summary: you and mark get to know each other when you get stuck in an elevator

A/N- i feel like he would love star wars (not as much as bailey tho)? but this gives me such katniss and peeta vibes

You read the files that Doctor Shepherd had given you to take a look through because he thought his new patient may have some sort of problem with their heart and cardiology was your specialty. You were currently in the elevator, heading up to find an empty room to study your new case when the elevator suddenly came to a halt. Confusedly you glanced around and noticed Mark Sloan, the world’s number one man-whore was the only other person there.

He glanced up from his papers and made eye contact with you. “What happened?”, he questioned with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. This was the first time you’d heard him so nervous. “I think the elevator just broke.”, you sighed as the realisation just set in once you said it out loud. He huffed to himself. “Hopefully they’ll be able to fix it soon, I have a surgery in an hour.”, he stated, checking the time on his watch.

“Might as well get comfortable.”, he added as he fixed himself on the floor and placed his files beside him. You copied his actions and sat opposite him. “So, what case have you got there?”, he asked you, striking conversation. “Oh, just a new case Derek wanted me to check up on. What about you?”, you awkwardly asked as your cheeks blazed. “Just some boring charts of burn victims, I have to reconstruct their faces, arms and legs.”, he said. “Oh, lovely.”, you replied sarcastically.

You stared at the wall of the lift and zoned out into your own thoughts. It must have been around five minutes of silence before Mark started speaking again: “If we’re gonna be here for a while then we may as well get to know each other.”, he said, looking into your eyes. It wasn’t a bad idea, there was nothing else you could really do.

“Tell me three random facts about yourself. I’ll go first: I used to live in New York (I’m sure you’ve heard about that), my middle name is Everett and I love the Star Wars movies.”

“Uhm… this is actually hard to think about, hold on.”, you said, embarrassed. He chuckled slightly. “Okay, I hate posh restaurants, I also love the Star Wars movies and I have a pet cat named Jack.”

“Cool, why do you hate posh restaurants though?”, he questioned as he turned to you with amusement in his eyes. “They’re just so intimidating and I just generally don’t like the vibe of the, do you know what I mean? Also, they’re so overpriced like you could find some cosy place that sells nicer food for way cheaper.”, you said passionately. You did not like posh restaurants at all. “I get what you’re coming from to be honest. I always preferred a cute and little cafe opposed to a fancy restaurant.”, he reasoned.

“If I ever ask you out on a date, I guess I’ll know where to take you.”, he flirted which left your cheeks on fire, well that’s what it felt like anyway. “I’m not surprised everyone calls you a man-whore.”, you said as you ignored what he previously said. “That’s not my proudest nickname.”, he responded. “I want to change my nickname, I don’t want to be known as that anymore. I don’t want loads of hook-ups and flings, I want a real relationship.”

He gazed at you. “I swear we’re having a whole confession session here. Oh my God, it rhymed.”, he laughed to himself. You laughed along with him, he was pretty funny and cute. If you looked past his reputation, he was a nice guy.

After another fifteen minutes of talking and joking, firefighters had arrived and gotten the two of you out of the elevator. “Hey, Y/N, do you wanna hang out one day? Not in an elevator, of course.”, he asked you, almost anxiously as he awaited a response. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“I promise I won’t take you to a posh restaurant.”, he added as he walked away and charmingly smirked at you. You laughed to yourself and waved him off. “We can work out a date.”

#mark sloan #mark sloan x reader #mcsteamy #greys anatomy #greys anatomy x reader #greys anatomy imagine #greys abc #fem!reader

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emyladia · 4 months

Text

Winter Break... | L. Nr

pairing : lando norris x f!reader

summary : Booking a cottage in the moutains for winter break wih your friends sounds like a good idea. I mean it could have been, but with lando around this was meant for trouble.

genre : fluff, slightly suggestive

warning : cursing, pretty sure that's all

a/n : This was just so fun to write, great request I hope this is what was expected and that you'll all enjoy it. Loving the winter vibe even close to the summer. The end is kinda shitty but don't mind it please. 'So american' is totally an alternative title.

Pietra's idea of booking a cottage sounded so great at first. This was a great way to spend time with your closest friends and enjoy winter holliday.

Until you realised what it actually meant, that meant close proximity h24 with Lando Norris.

You were Pietra's bestfriend and he was Max's bestfriend so you were used to spend time together, but if it wasn't for your friends you would already have ripped his head off of his body.

The guy was everything you hate, cocky, provoking, immature.

Saying he was not a big fan of yours was an euphemism. He hated you just as much as you hated him.

You were always trying to put on the best behavior when you were hanging out the four of you but a whole week ? Lost in the woods in the same house as him ?

Now that was something else.

But you couldn't say no.

Not when you had already agreed, and certainly not when Pietra was looking so happy and excited about it.

So here you were, at the back of the car singing to 'So American' by Olivia Rodrigo with your bestfriend, on your way to the mountains, regretting your life choices.

Max was driving, and Lando at the passenger seat was sighing heavily, making well known his annoyment at the two of you.

"What don't you like Olivia Rodrigo ?" Pietra asked Lando when the song was over.

"The problem isn't the song, it's the singers" He answered chuckling a bit.

God you were even hating the sound of his voice at this point. You rolled your eyes and stared at the window.

After a few more time you were finally all at the cottage. It was so lovely, big, all in wood, surrounded by a forest, and it was snowing.

You eyes were shining like a five years old girl, those hollidays were gonna be great with or without Lando.

"Finally smiling ?" The blond girl mocked you nudging your shoulder.

You let out a soft smile. "Sorry, I was just tired, those vacance are gonna be so cool"

She nodded widely at you before running towards the door where Max and Lando were already.

The inside of the house was even better, if it's possible. Every space was huge but yet cosy.

"I love it already" You exclamed happily. You could see that Pietra was as excited as you if it's not more.

"I'm gona check the bedrooms" She clasped her hand at this statement and went immediatly upsatairs.

You followed her letting the lungages to the boys.

When you were finally just on your owns Pietra took a serious face and spoke :

"Let's spend a great time okay ? Please don't fight with Lando"

You rolled your eyes at her comment, but she grabbed your hands insisting.

"Please"

"Fine" You conceed, it's not like you could ever told her no anyways.

You were laying on your bed, scrolling through instagram when you heard a knock on your door.

"Come in" You shouted, too lazy to actually move your ass and opened the door yourself.

The door creacked opened to a loving blond head.

"Hey Pietra what do you want ?" You questionned her putting your phone down?

"Max and I are going to town, I just wanted to let you know." She told you smiling.

"To town ?" You furrowed your eyebrow "But the closest town is one hour away from here"

"Yeah I know but we don't have marshmallows, how am I supposed to ugly cry on rom-coms without a hot chocolate with marshmallows ??" She said acting like a total drama.

You laughed loudly at her childlish behavior. "You're seriously making a two hours trip for marshmallows ?"

"Yes and ?"

"And Max is coming with you ? Dang, that boy is in love" You joked.

"I know right ? Anyways try not to fight too much with Lando" She warned you before exiting the room, letting you alone with your thoughts again.

They had left about twenty minutes ago when you decided to went downstairs.

You were still in the stairs when you noticed him, he was on the couch watching some emission about food on the TV.

Be friendly you remembered yourself, as you put on a smile and sat on the couch too (but the farther away possible from him).

"What you're watching ?" You asked him, trying to make conversation.

"Don't really know... Something about food" He replied not looking away from the screen.

Well this was starting well... Why was everything so awkward between the two of you, you couldn't help but thought.

He clearly wasn't in a mood to talk to you, not that he ever had been, so you just kept it shut and watched the TV too.

The silence between you and Lando was deafening, each passing moment filled with an uncomfortable tension that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy cloud.

You couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the knowledge that you were alone with the one person you couldn't stand.

As you watched the TV together in silence, you couldn't help but steal glances at Lando out of the corner of your eye.

Despite your animosity towards him, you couldn't deny that there was something undeniably attractive about him, from the way his jawline was perfectly chiseled to the way his eyes sparkled with mischief.

But as quickly as those thoughts entered your mind, you pushed them aside, reminding yourself of all the reasons why you couldn't stand him : He was arrogant, cocky, and infuriatingly immature, and the last thing you wanted was to be alone with him in the middle of nowhere.

When you opened your eyes, the sky was already dark. You had fell asleep while watching the TV.

You rubbed your eyes and blinked a few time trying to adjust to the sudden light.

Lando wasn't on the couch and the TV was now off but you were hearing some noise coming from the kitchen so it was probably him.

You checked your phone, it was past 8 P.M.

Have you really slept that much ? You couldn't believe it, but the dark sky out there was telling you otherwise.

You headed to the kitchen to find Lando cooking something, you couldn't help but notice that you didn't knew that he was able to cook.

"Hey, have you seen Pietra ?" You asked him.

He turned away from the fryin pan to look at you right in the eyes. You hated it, or you were loving it, you didn't know, god what were you even thinking at this point ?!

There was just something about his eyes, they seemed so truthfull and yet full of mischief.

"They haven't come back yet" He answered before turning back again focusing on his recipe.

You frown immediatly "What do you mean they haven't come back ?"

He sigh visibly annoyed to be cut off again in the middle of cooking esoecially for a stupid question like that.

"I mean they're not home"

"But they have to be" You insisted and it seems to pissed him off even more.

"They are not. What is so wrong with your brain that you can't understand a simple sentence ?" He said harshly.

You got a bit taken aback by his behavior, you still haven't fight yet and it was kinda nice for once to just discuss like normal people. But it looks like it's done now.

"Cmon it's past 8, they should be here since at least one hour" You continued cause you were getting worried now.

"It's already 8 ?!" He was looking confused now, and a bit worried too.

You ran toward the entrance while dialing Pietra's number. Outside the parking area was still empty, but where the hell where they ?

And of course she wasn't answering the damn phone. You called again, but max this time, one ring... two... three...

"Yes ?"

You sighed from relief. "Where are you it's already past 8, did something happened ?"

Max stayed silent for a few second... "Well you should talk with Pietra, I swear it wasn't my idea" He told you, and you could heard that he was feeling sorry in his voice.

But what the hell was he sorry for ? And what the hell was he talking about ?

"Heyyyy Y/n !" Your bestfriend told you in an awkward manner. And suddenly you weren't worry at all anymore, you were even starting to be a little pissed off... Something wasn't clear.

"P ? What have you done ?" You snapped at her.

"I'm sorry" She immediatly blurted out. "I know you'll be mad but it's gonna be good for the two of you staying a bit together. You'll see you'll even grew closer maybe ? And I know that you're acting like you hate him but you most definitly don't hate him at all-"

What. The. Hell.

Between the blond saying nonsense and Lando now standing in front of you in the hallway waiting for news, you were feeling overwhelmed.

"Pietra what the fuck are you talking about ? When are you coming back ?" You cut her off.

"We're not"

"What ?"

"We're not coming back, it's you and him, cmon I know for sure you think he's cute. You can lie to yourself but not to me I have seen the way you look at him when you think no one is looking"

"Bullshit"

"No it's not, if you could just consider it you would se-" You hang up on the phone too nagry to continue talking to her anymore.

She had trapped you, into being locked up with goddamn Lando cause she thought you had a crush on him ???

Life is not a damn rom-com.

"Should've have known fucking marshmallows were bullshit" You mumbled.

You stormed out off the room, going upstairs to your room when Lando stopped you midtrack. Like it was not already shitty, he was the last person you wanted to see right now.

"So ?" He questionned you. Your brow furrowed.

"What ?"

"When are they coming back ? Are they alright ? And what about marshmallows ?"

"Well they're totally fine yeah and no they're not coming back, cause we're apparently two fools locked up in a nice cottage in the middle of nowhere" You immediatly escaped him and throw yourself on your bed after that.

Lando wasn't stupid, he would probably understand by himself wha was happening.

You hadn't left your room since the call, and it was probably pretty late now.

Now that you were less angry, you had thought about it, maybe it could be okay all you had to do was keep ignoring Lando like you had done this evening.

The house was nice and the landscaped was beautiful, nothing shoudl stopped you from enjoying it.

You were still thinking about your little scheme to avoid Lando as much as possible when you heard a knock on your door.

You got up and opened it, without much suprised Lando was standing in front of it, a plate in his hands.

"Can I come in ?"

"Oh yeah sure" Mission avoid Lando : end now.

He smiled, visibly relieved that didn't slam the door on his face and entered the room. He put the plate on the desk before turning towards you.

The room was only lit up by your the lamp on your nighstand, and the little golden reflection on his face was making his skin glow.

He was pretty for sure. Saying otherwise would be lying.

"I made dinner but you kinda looked like you needed a bit of space so here it is" He told you pointing towards the plate.

"Since when are so nice ? It's not poisoned it is ?" You looked at him suspicioulsy.

He chuckled at your comment and god you just wanted to took that sound and keep it close to you forever. What the hell were you even thinking, what Pietra had said was really starting to get to your head now.

"I'm not always the bastard you try to make me look like" He just answered, that damn smile still plastered on his face.

"Whatever" I shrugged.

"So you're gonna eat or what" He asked you cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah right I'm starving. What about you ?" It was all so strange, talking to Lando like that, like you were actually friends... You were kinda liking the sound of it.

"Well, I've already eat, it's pretty late you know" You glanced at your phone and it was past 10 P.M.

"Oh right... Yeah" And awkward silence fell between the two of you as you took your plate and sat on your bed to eat.

He started to move towards the door to let you eat in peace, and probably head to his bedroom. Perfect everything was coming to sense again maybe the mission : avoid Lando wasn't a lost cause after all.

"Could you stay ?" Who had said that ? Cause that could not be you, not in a million time in the world you could have possibly asked Lando to stay with you willingly.

He froze so you added immediatly "If you want cause I mean if you dan't want to it's okay, like I would understand. I mean we're really that close so maybe that's weird but it's I thought maybe you know. And eating alone is really sad but like you don't actually have to stay if you don't want. I don't want to force you-"

"Woaw slow down there" He chuckled a bit. You sigehd of frustration, now you were rambling. Just what was wring with you ?

He was probably thinking that you were completly crazy now.

But Lando wasn't looking at you like someone who's crazy, his eyes were soft and he was smiling fondly at you.

He sat down next to you and you both talked while you eat, actually even after. You have never talked so long with Lando, but everything just looked so easy.

When he finally left to get to his room you find yourself replying the evening and smiling like an idiot.

No. Absolutly no way.

You slapped yourself mentally, you couldn't have a crush on Lando that was ridiculous. You were hating him.

Okay maybe not anymore but you two could never be more than friends. Not possibly he was a lady's man, no string attached, f1 driver, flying acroos the world.

And you were... You. Hopeless romantic, who spended her night reading and listening to Olivia Rodrigo.

You and Lando was a total nonsense, and would never happened.

When you woke up the next morning and in the process of going downstairs bumped into a shirtless Lando mumbling a "Morning" with a sleepy voice you undertood that you were screwed.

You had spend the next day ignoring him as much as you can. You couldn't let yourself fell for him like that.

So everytime he wanted to talked to you or spent time with you, you were making excuses.

And here you were again, pretending to be too focused on your book to joined him watching a movie. Actually that was half true, cause your book was really good.

The two protagonists were about to kiss for the first time when Lando bursted into your room. You nearly jumped out of your bed.

"What happened to knocking ?"

He completly ignored your remark and throw himself on your bed.

"Did I do something ?"

"What no ?"

"What are you avoiding me then?"

"I am not" You lied, and he gave a look, the you-don't-fool-me-with-your-bullshit look.

You avoid his gaze feeling a bit guilty, he sighed and dropped the subject but he was looking... Almost hurt ?

"What are you reading" He asked poiting toward the book you were still holding.

A blushed crept to you cheeks, you knew their was nothing to be ashamed about reading romance novel but still. "Nothing" You hid your book in your back.

"Cmon" He smirked trying to get the book from behind you.

Dammit that stupid man that has way more strenght than you. He eventually ended up catching it and start reading the page where your bookmark was.

"Her eyes were shining with desire as he was pinning her against the wall. He wanted her so bad and deep down he knew that she wanted him just as much..."

"Oh my god stop" You shouted basically jumping on the bed to get your book back but Lando rolled on the other side of the bed.

"But they couldn't get lost in their desire, they were enemies, people who despised each other. And yet the only thought that crossed their minds at the moment was one lustfull" He continued to read out loud.

"Okay really stop that is embarassing" You finally managed to take the book back.

He pouted as you closed the novel and put it on your nightstand.

"Hey, I want to know if they kiss" The curly haired boy spoke.

"Stop mocking me" You hid your fac efrom embarassment.

"I'm serious" You were expecting a laugh, that you could've handled. Mockery, and snarky remarks, that was somethong you knew and you could support.

But him, with that serious look, truly interessed in your stupid romance novel. No that was too much for your heart.

"Really ?" You finally met his eyes, so sincere in that exact moment. He simply nodded.

You sighed before taking the book back. "Okay but don't read at loud please, let's read it... Together ? Just tell me when you've finished the page"

He smiled brightly and sat next to you as you both started reading.

At first it was uncomfortable and awkward to read like that but as time pass you both grew more comfortable and it wasn't so bad reading with him.

It felt so intimate... Being pressed next to Lando so you can both look at the pages, but yet you weren't hating it. Not at all actually, and that was kinda scaring you.

When the dark had became too dark for you to read, you decided that it was time to stopped. Lando groaned about it, he only shut up when you promised him that you could read again the next day.

"I don't know about you but I start getting hungry" He told you.

"Hmmm... I can cook tonight but I can only make grilled cheese sandwich" You laughed a little.

"Like in 'anyone but you'" He commented and you turned to faced him.

"You know the movie ?" Your eyes were wide.

"There's a lot you don't know about me" He winked at you before rolling out of bed and heading towards the kitchen.

You followed him still confused. He was right, there was so much you didn't knew about him, he was nothing like you thought he would be.

You cooked and then you ate together and he burned himself cause he didn't wait to eat. And you laughed, you laughed so much this evening your cheeks were hurting.

When you got to bed you were more confused than te night before but you were sure of one thing : Lando Norris was bad for your heart.

You hadn't answered any text from Pietra since the call, you weren't mad anymore but she gad tricked you, so you could at least do that to get back on her.

The location was for a week, you had been there for now 6 days and your little crush for Lando hadn't stop growing.

You had both read, a lot actually, played chess, throew snowballs at each other, watched movies, talked and more.

You knew that when you were gonna leave this cottage everything will became like before, but just thinking about it was hurting you. You weren't sure you were able to hate him anymore.

Being now Lando's friend also means discovered a whole new side of him, like the fact that he was extremely touchy-feely. It's not that you were hating it, in fact you were loving it a bit too much.

"What are you thinking about ?" The boy asked you, you were reading and you haven't turned a single page in 10 minutes.

"Nothing much just got lost in my thought" You answered him smiling weakly.

He looked at you like he didn't believed a single you said, but he did'nt push it more and simply nodded.

"Wanna see something fun ?" You turned to him intrigued.

"What are you thinking about ?"

"Do you trust me?" He looked at you straight into your eyes.

You nodded. He smiled and took your hand leading you downstairs. His warm hand in yours felt so great, you wished you could kept the feeling forever.

It was already dark oustide so when he told you put on your shoes and coat as he did the same you hesitated a second. Maybe he was about to murder you in that dark forest.

A bit dramatic maybe.

But you never know.

After coming to the conclusion that the idea was ridiculous and that he could've had killed you countless times if he wants, you did as he told you.

"Okay close your eyes" You frown but he only waited for you to do so, so you finally closed your eyes.

He led you outside, you heard the snow creacked under your footsteps. After a few more steps and spoke again :

"Okay opened them now"

As you were looking around you, you realised that you were right in front of the cottage in the middle of the snow, you looked at him confused.

"Up" He told you pointing towards the stars.

And that's when your jaw dropped, the sky was fulled of stars, so bright, that was the prettiest things you ahd ever seen in your life.

"Woaw" Was all you managed to say you were like a child in front of christmas present.

"This is beautiful" You murmured amazed.

"Yes it is" He said looking right at you.

You couldn't helped but laughed "God lando that line is old like the world, you can do better than that" He laughed with you.

You both sat on the porch to looked at the stars comfortably.

"What do you see?" He said poiting towards the sky.

You thought a little bit before answering. "Right there you can clearly see a gun, and those stars here 15 feet away are forming Mcdonald's logo"

"God you're so american" He chuckled. At those words your heart beat a little faster, you were getting stupid, no he wasn't quoting...

"And before you ask, yes I'm quoting Olivia Rodrigo"

Oh god you cheeks were on fire now, actually no, your whole body.

"I thought you hated her" You said him clearing your throat that was suddenly really dry.

"Wrong she's kinda right, I do laugh at all your jokes and I would like if you'd come everywhere I'd go" He confessed.

Now quoting the whole chorus, you were melting right in front of him, how could he said such things this easily ?

"Don't do that" You warned him, it was snowing, how could you be so hot right now ?

"That what ?"

"You know what I mean"

He smiled fondly at you before getting up.

"Alright american girl, let's go to sleep"

You both head back inside and as he deposed you to your room, you realised you didn't want him to go, not now. Not when tomorrow you would had to leave this place and all the moments you shared behind.

"You want to come inside ? To... Chat a bit ?" You sugggested to him visibly embarassed.

His eyes widened and you wonder if maybe you shouldn't have said that but he smiled and agreed.

You were both sitting on your bed, the room deadly silent, none of you daring to speak first.

"Listen-"

"I've wanted to-"

"You go first" He told you.

"No you really, please"

"Okay, so... What did I need to do?"

"Sorry ?" You where caught off guard by his question.

"What can I do for you to finally look at me like i look at you?"

He was supposed to clarified himself with that sentence but you were just even more confused.

He groaned in front of your lack of reaction "Cmon, don't get me wrong I enjoyed it, but why do you think I would read romance and watched rom-com everyday ?? And actually learned lyrics of an Olivia Rodrigo song ?"

"Cause you liked them ?" He gave you a look that really said "Seriously ?"

"I don't know cause of your really sensible heart ?"

"Y/n..." He sighed at how clueless you were acting.

"I just don't know !" You shouted feeling lost and overwhelmed.

"You do know, you just don't want to admit it" He shouted back and you hated how right he was just now.

You send a death glare at him and as you were both staring at each other pupils you were hating so much. Oh god so much, he was freaking annoying.

How could you've had forgotten that.

That's why when he put a hand on your cheek and crahsed his lips on yours you put your arms around his neck and pulled him even closer.

Wait... What ?

You were kissing Lando. Everything was perfectly fine you were kissing Lando. OH. MY. GOD.

The kiss was rough and hungry, like he had wait for so long to do just that. Lando's lips were moving against yours but you wanted so much more.

Apparently him too, because at the second you opened your mouth a bit to gave him access he deepened the kiss. After what felt like an eternity but yet not enough he backed away a little from the kiss to breathed.

"Well..." He started but you cut him off. "Shut up"

You pulled him back into another kiss and god he wasn't complaining at all. Your lips were feeling so great against his, right were they belong.

His eyes widened when you pulled on the hem of his shirt. "Are you sure ?"

"Never been surer in my life" You replied tossing his shirt away in the room. He didn't waste anymore time "Can I ?" he asked his hands on the hem of your shirt.

"Sure, do whatever you want" He took off your shirt of you and started roaming your body with his hands.

"You really shouldn't say things like this."

Before you could replied his lips collapsed again with yours. That was a feeling he could never get used to, his favorite in the world, his lips on your lips.

When you opened your eyes the next morning you're welcolmed by two eyes, and what beatiful eyes, staring at you.

"You're creepy" You chuckled while hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

"And you're gorgeous, morning beautiful" He told you with a sleepy voice, and you were loving that voice. This was definitly the best night you've ever had in your life.

"Morning" You said back snuggling a bit closer to him.

"I love you"

You're sleepiness disappear instantly at his words and you pushed yourslef on your elbows to look at him eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, that was really fast and-" He started apologizing, but you cut him with a chast kiss.

"I love you too Lan" You whispered like it was a secret.

And he smiled, the brightess smile you've had ever seen on his face.

"We should probably get up and make our suitcase" He suggested, and got you just wanted to stay all day long in this bed with him, but he was right.

Max and Pietra woulod probably came soon.

When their car parked on the driveway Lando and you were already in front of the cottage your suitcases in hand. You both seat in the back of the car.

As you and Lando gave your heart out on 'So american' by Olivia Rodrigo, Pietra and Max exchange a look.

"Looks like it works out at the end" She said and he just smiled at her agreeing.

#hi there #f1 #lando norris #f1 x reader #ff #formula 1 #formula one #imagine #i love them #i love him #norris #lando x reader #lando #funny

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spaceshipellie · 1 year

Note

hear me out, ellie, “is there someone who has your heart, that keeps you gone, away from me?”, angry confessions in the rain, modern or tlou au, angst and smut if you want. (i really am just fiening for a heated confession LOL)

“is there someone who has your heart, that keeps you gone, away from me?”

pairing: ellie x reader

summary/warnings: you’ve been dating ellie and everything’s been great, until you suspect she might be involved with someone else and have to confront her. angst. cheating. modern au. mdni

i hope this was heated enough! i’ve been writing a lot of angsty personal shit lately so needed to write an angsty request whilst it’s still in my system lol

being with ellie had always felt like the sun was kissing your skin with smiling lips. like when you first step into a pool and at first the coolness nips at your skin and you’re unsure if you want to go any further but once you allow yourself to be completely submerged, it feels delicious.

you hadn’t had the best of luck with relationships in the past which admittedly made it easy for you to get anxious. the sickening cold rush that travels up through your body, debilitating any move you try and make, was one you felt often and you hated it about yourself. not that it was your fault but you couldn’t help but beat yourself up about it.

ellie knew this and had always gone out of her way to make you feel good. she showered you with reminders about how beautiful and funny and smart you are, how lucky she is to have you, how she never wants to make you feel bad and if she ever does you’re to tell her so she can fix it.

you had nodded your teary face when she had told you this, a weak smile on your lips preparing an apology for getting emotional. you always felt embarrassed crying in front of people, especially people who you were dating. but ellie had held your hands, wiped the tears from your cheeks with delicate touches and kissed them before kissing you like you were her everything.

it was a saturday night and you were lying in her bed, naked, breathless and completely fucked out. she was lying with her face smushed in your neck, a hand comfortingly holding your boob and a cosy smile on her face letting out tiny satisfied sighs. she then reluctantly climbed off of you to go to the bathroom when your phone dinged on the bedside table. you rolled over to grab it but not before seeing a message light up on her phone which was right beside yours, reading:

ava

god i literally adore you

that familiar cold rush creeped up your body and your face went hot. that word, adore, was jabbing your mind. maybe if you knew who this person was you would understand the context of the message but you had no idea. ellie came back in the bedroom then and you quickly shuffled as if you were just getting comfortable. she didn’t seem to pick up on anything as she slid in behind you, wrapping an arm around you and kissing your shoulder.

you held her close, as if it was tricking your brain into believing it would keep her there. that hugging her tightly meant she was yours and couldn’t possibly be someone else’s too. you turned in her arms and glanced down at her closed eyes with her pretty lashes and freckles scattered like a painting. she was so beautiful it made you want to cry. but you suddenly felt like an imposter being here with her, naked in bed. so intimate yet so detached. what if another girl had been in here with her recently? holding her like this with her hand trailing soft lines up and down their arm, fucking her like you just had, making her cum on their tongue whilst she tells them how good they make her feel, giggling and exchanging i love you’s when it’s over. no, she wasn’t like the others. she couldn’t be.

you had pushed the thoughts so far back you had nearly forgotten about them several days later, until a girl drunkenly waddled up to you at the bar you were at with your friends. she touched your forearm to get your attention and hiccuped when she giggled, her eyes struggling to keep contact with yours.

“oh my god, are you ellie’s girlfriend?”

you looked at her, confused.

“yeah? i am, why?”

“oh,” she laughed again, her friends now catching up to her and snickering. “no reason.”

okay, what the fuck? your body suddenly felt too heavy to hold up as you leant further against the bar.

“who are you?” you asked but her friends had already started to drag her away. however, the blood drained from your face when you heard one of them say “ava, come on.”

i adore you. it screamed in your head like a banshee. you needed to speak to ellie. you made an excuse up for your friends and cursed when you walked outside into the pouring rain. hugging your jean jacket around you tightly you marched in the direction of ellie’s apartment, deciding to call her on the way.

“hello?”

“hi, i need to talk to you.”

“sure, what’s wrong? are you still out?”

“i just left. ellie i– please say you’re at home.”

“i’m not.” your heart sunk. “i’m at jesse’s but i can walk back right now if you need me to.”

“please. i really need to talk to you.”

“okay, babe. see you in a bit.”

you were drenched at this point. your hair was sticking to your face and your jacket felt heavy. you hadn’t quite made it to ellie’s street yet when you suddenly saw her walking over the road. you called her name and she spotted you, immediately checking for cars quickly as she jogged over.

“baby, what’s going on? why are you by yourself?”

“who’s ava?” you’d hoped you could be more chill about the situation but the little bit of alcohol you’d already had had made you lose all hope of that.

“what?”

“ava, ellie. some girl i know you’ve been talking to.”

she stared back at you. her face scrunched slightly due to being pelted by rain drops.

“what are you talking about?”

“don’t do this right now,” you sighed, “this girl came up to me giggling and asked if i was your girlfriend and i’m sorry but i saw you had a text from her a week or so ago so, explain.”

you wiped your cheeks as if that would get rid of any of the rain droplets and folded your arms across your chest. her face looked forlorn and concerned.

“how do you know that girl was av–“

“because i heard her name! fuck, is that really what you wanna say first?”

“no, sorry.” she looked down at her feet and didn’t follow up with anything.

“ellie! tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“nothing! it’s not like that.”

“what does that even mean? just be fucking honest, please.”

“we just talked, i swear. nothing happened.”

“talked about what?”

“i don’t know, stuff. fuck.”

“stuff.. hmm. like what, like how much she adores you?”

her eyes shifted to look away from you.

“i saw the text. promise i wasn’t snooping but maybe you should be more careful about your phone next time you decide to fuck around with another girl.” your voice was bitter and she looked like she was struggling to find the words.

“that, that text– fuck. okay. i fucked up. i slept with her once and i regret it entirely.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying not to keep it together in front of her.

“when?”

“like, two weeks ago.”

you paused for a moment to relive the past two weeks in your head. all the touches, late nights, texts, kisses, photos, words, all tarnished by the fact that her attention had been shared with another girl.

“why? how?”

“honestly, i don’t know.”

“well think.”

“i–i met her at a party. i messed up, i wasn’t thinking.”

“is that the best you can do?”

“what do you want me to say?!” her voice was raised now, leaving you both in a bit of a screaming match.

“what is wrong with you? i thought everything was fine. what the fuck did i do?”

“nothing! i just– i don’t know what to fucking say other than i’m sorry and i’ve blocked her already. it’s not going to happen again.”

“oh, you’re so considerate,” you snapped sarcastically.

“tell me how i can fix it.”

“i’m not sure, ellie. i think i need to go home.”

“please don’t.”

“i can’t do this.”

she tried to reach for your hand but you slipped away and walked quickly back to your apartment, not daring to look back at her. halfway through the drenched walk you realised you could have called an uber but you just needed to get away and the adrenaline was carrying your legs too fast.

you had no idea what you were going to do. the sound of ellie’s laugh when she danced with you in the kitchen and ava’s smug giggle when she approached you fought for centre stage in your head. you closed your eyes, praying that when you opened them it would all have just been a huge nightmare, but it wasn’t. ellie had hurt you, just like the ones before.

#tlou x cain requests 🌙#anon requests 🌷#ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie angst

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theslushiestnoob · 1 month

Text

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American Boy (pt.1)

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Word count: 2.4K

A scene where y/n and Hamzah meet for the first time 💕

English girl reader x hamzah

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The bright city lights of Toronto flashed past me as the taxi barreled down the street, a sense of excitement and nostalgia enveloping me. Arriving in early September was shaping up to be a good decision considering the beauty of autumnal Canada, the reddening leaves curling into themselves, the air cool but the brutish snow not yet setting in.

‘Going downtown, right?’ the taxi driver turned to ask me.

‘Yes please,’ I replied, repeating the name of my friend’s street in affirmation. I had landed from London the day before, and had given myself ample time to settle into my holiday rental before visiting Mandy, a lifelong friend of mine.

Despite the distance between England and Canada, we maintained our close bond through daily video calls and messages. Today would be the first day that I had seen her in nine years, since we were thirteen.

Organising this trip had been half spontaneity and half necessity - I had just completed my English degree at University, and was somewhat dreading beginning my teacher training. It was Mandy who suggested that I take a belated gap year, and within that time visit her in Toronto. It took some convincing, but the weariness from graduating was yet to subside, so it seemed like a good decision to get away. I would be in Canada for two months, a somewhat awkward amount of time - too long to be a mere vacation but far too short to put down any roots - but nonetheless I was excited. The possibility of adventure radiated from the metropolis of Toronto, surprise waiting around the turn of each street corner.

The taxi pulled up to the apartment block, the warm lights emanating from the facade casting a cosy glow into the air. It was the early evening, I was coming over for dinner and to officially meet Mandy’s long-term boyfriend, Martin. Of course, I had heard every detail of their relationship over the phone and had even spoken to him briefly on such a call, so he was not a total stranger. He seemed lovely and made Mandy so happy that I already cared for him vigorously.

I walked up to the third floor of the apartment building and knocked gingerly on the door. Despite how well I knew the girl, I was wracked with nerves. The door swung inwards, and there stood Mandy. Her round face crinkled into a wide smile, her cropped hair framing her soft features.

‘Oh my God!’ She exclaimed, rushing forward to pull me into a tight embrace.

‘I can’t believe you’re here. This is crazy,’ I returned her hug and giggled into her hair.

‘And Christ, you’re tall,’ She leaned back, hands lingering on my shoulders as she appraised me.

‘I know,’ I laughed. She was significantly shorter than me, a fact far less apparent when communicating through a phone screen.

‘I still can’t quite believe that I’m here, to be honest. It’s been so long,’ She began to pull me into the apartment, shutting the door behind me.

‘Argh! I’m so excited. You need to meet Martin.’ The warm smile that enveloped her face at the mention of his name confirmed my affection for him. As if summoned, a tall and slender man appeared from around the corner.

‘Martin! We finally actually meet,’ I say as he throws an arm around both mine and Mandy’s shoulders in a side-hug.

‘Hi! This one here,’ he pauses to give Mandy a tender kiss on the top of her head, ‘hasn’t stopped talking about you for the past week. It’s nice to officially meet you.’ He drops his arm and retreats back into the apartment, beckoning for us to follow.

‘So, Martin’s friend is coming over later to film, I hope that’s alright, but I thought that we could order takeout and watch some trashy TV.’ Mandy says as she walks into the open-plan living area of the apartment, a sleek black kitchen overlooking a cosy living room backed by an exposed-brick wall.

The far wall was entirely occupied by a large window, affording a stunning view of downtown Toronto. Two cats lay sprawled on the yellow plush sofa, and a small Chihuahua sat attentively by Martin’s feet. It was a perfect house, so quintessentially Mandy.

‘Sounds perfect.’ I grinned.

‘Oh my God, these people annoy me,’ I say, gesturing toward the TV. ‘Like, why can they never just be nice to one another?’

Mandy giggled, also engrossed in the latest episode of Love Island.

‘I agree, but I don’t think that would be half as entertaining as this trainwreck.’

There was a knock on the door, startling me from my comfy position snuggled into a plush blanket.

‘I’ll get it!’ Yelled Martin from the next room over, followed by the sound of his light footsteps and the door clicking open.

‘Hey, man,’ Martin said.

‘What’s up?’ a voice replied. The voice was deep but honeyed, carrying through the hall to where Mandy and I could hear.

‘His friend’ Mandy mouthed to me. I nodded and looked back to the television screen.

Martin walked back into the room, his friend following behind him.

‘Hi Hamzah,’ Mandy greeted him, smiling as he reached to pat her shoulder affectionately.

‘Hey Mandy,’ he replied, before his eyes flitted to me beside her.

His eyes held an intriguing intensity, as if asking a question. They were a warm, deep brown, and framed by dark eyelashes. His skin was the colour of caramel, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold air outside. Dark curls framed his angular face, falling just above his thick eyebrows in somewhat unruly ringlets. His lips were plump and pointed, accentuated by a defined cupid's bow. A pair of rectangular glasses sat on the arch of his wide nose, enlarging his already big eyes.

‘This is y/n,’ Mandy said, acknowledging him looking at me. Almost instinctively, Hamzah reached toward his face and whipped off his glasses, shoving them in the back pocket of his dark jeans.

‘Hi, y/n. I’m Hamzah,’ he smiled, holding his hand out for me to shake. I smiled and took his hand, amused by the formal nature of the introduction.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Hamzah.’

‘England?’ his voice rose at the end of the word, turning it into a question.

‘Uhh…’ I began to stutter

‘Your accent. You’re from England, right?’ He interrupted, an expression of genuine curiosity on his face. He seemed slightly flustered by the blunt delivery of his question.

‘Yeah, um, I’m from London,’ I smiled warmly at his recognition of my accent.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out like that,’ He turned to Martin and smiled, partly for humour and partly for validation that he hadn’t been impolite.

‘You’re not Canadian?’ I ask, ‘You don’t say sorry like Mandy does,’ I point out, pronouncing the word the elongated Canadian way of saw-ree.

He laughed at my impression and Mandy shot me a death glare.

‘No, I’m American, actually. I was raised in Illinois,’ he nodded briskly, and I copied the motion.

He held his dark eyes on me as if appraising me, an indistinguishable look on his face. The prolonged eye contact made my stomach flip, yet I could not tear my gaze away.

‘Dude, we have to go film,’ Martin prompted him.

‘Yeah,’ Hamzah said, breaking the eye contact and turning toward Martin. They both walked out of the room.

I knew of Martin’s job as a YouTuber and had always been intrigued by it. It was every child’s dream growing up, and it was very impressive to me that he made a livelihood out of it. I never found the urge to look him up, though, only knowing the basic facts about his channel, that it was shared between him and a friend - who I now knew to be Hamzah. I also knew that Mandy was a sort of fan-favourite, and that she had started vlogging too. This fact was endearing to me, and I felt a surge of pride when she had told me. Of course she would be a favourite, I thought, who wouldn’t adore her?

Mandy and I returned to Love Island, commenting on the couplings and absurd challenges presented to the islanders, but all the while my mind was drifting to the other room.

The show had finished a while ago, so we had turned on some music to listen to while we caught up.

‘I mean it has literally been years,’ Mandy shook her head in disbelief as she said this.

‘It’s so weird, right? Seeing you all grown up in person is surreal. I mean, you’re basically married!’ I replied.

Mandy chuckled and hid her face with her wine glass.

‘What about you? Any men in your life?’ she asked, with a wiggle of her eyebrow.

I felt myself redden as I shook my head.

‘Nope. I was too focussed on school, to be honest. And I’m not really interested in the whole partying thing, so I hardly meet new people my age. But it's fine, I’m happy,’

Mandy looked at me sceptically, before sighing and rubbing my arm.

‘You never know what could happen on this trip,’ she said quietly, and I stiffened.

My mind instantly drifted to Hamzah. I imagined his beautifully rugged face, before dispelling the thought. I looked at the time on my watch and realised how late it had gotten.

‘Oh God, I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow, though?’

‘I’m working the morning, actually, but feel free to come round whenever, someone’s always here.’

As I rose out of my seat, the door to the adjoining room opened. Hamzah walked out of it, laughing with Martin who was following close behind.

‘Are you leaving now?’Mandy asks him as he passes by the sofa.

‘Damn girl, trying so hard to get rid of me,’ he deadpans.

Mandy responds with a withering death stare.

‘But yes,’ Hamzah concludes with a grin. He turns around and hugs Martin, smacking his back as he does so. When he turns again, he locks eyes with me once more. Standing, we are almost the same height, him being maybe an inch and a half taller than me.

‘She was just leaving now, too,’ Mandy says, ‘how did you get here again?’

‘I took a taxi, I’ll just grab another one. It’s only a twenty minute drive,’ I reply, pulling out my phone to call one.

‘Nah, I can drive you, if you want,’ Hamzah says, staring intently into my face, once again with an unreadable expression.

‘Are you sure? I don’t want you to go out of your way,’ I shake my head at the suggestion.

‘Really, it’s not a problem. C’mon, let's go,’ He says, starting for the door.

I turn to Mandy and see a sly grin on her face as she looks at Martin. She embraces me in goodbye, and I turn to follow Hamzah.

His car is parked just outside the apartment block, so it’s only a short walk in the whipping cold. Hamzah reaches for a handle and opens it, gesturing me inside.

Confused, I asked him, ‘Am I driving?’

He looked at me quizzically as I realised my mistake.

‘Oh, I forgot that you drive on the wrong side of the road!’ I say, and Hamzah’s face cracks into a grin.

‘You drive on the wrong side of the road, actually,’ he retorts.

I smile at him as I get into the car, glad for the relief from the cold night air.

He walks around the bonnet of the car and gets into the driver’s seat, ducking his head as he bends through the door.

He glances at me self-consciously as he reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his glasses. As nonchalantly as he can, he puts them on with one hand as the other reaches to start the car.

The car jolts into motion, thrumming mechanically beneath me.

‘Music?’ He asks, shooting me a sideways glance.

‘What are the options?’

‘Well, this car is old as fuck so I can only play CDs.’ He gestures for me to open the glovebox in front of me, and I pull out a holographic Disk.

‘Taylor Swift’s Red?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes in amusement.

‘Hey, don’t hate a man for having taste. Besides, it came with the car, so I’m being very frugal,’

‘Okay Mister Happy Free Confused and Lonely At The Same Time. No judgement here. Do you also have a keychain that says ‘fuck the patriarchy’?’

He grins at me and turns to focus on the road as I play the disk, the drums of State of Grace reverberating through the car.

Rain begins to slosh against the windows as the drive continues in silence, an air of awkwardness arising which I feel compelled to break.

‘So, what’s with the glasses?’ I ask.

He instinctively reaches up with his free hand to touch the frames, shooting me a sideways glance.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you just seem self-conscious about them, but I don’t know why,’ I stare pointedly at him and watch him absent-mindedly fidget with the frames.

‘Uhh… I don’t know, I guess, I don’t wear them often in public,’ He replies, avoiding my gaze.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you out,’ I replied, feeling guilty at the prospect of embarrassing him. ‘I just meant that there's no need to be. They’re cute.’

Hamzah snaps his head to turn to me, his eyebrows scrunched quizzically. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but seemingly decides against it. He returns to staring intensely at the road and the rest of the journey continues in silence, aside from the melody of Taylor Swift’s Treacherous.

This slope is treacherous

This path is reckless.

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I hope that you guys enjoy this! Please let me know if you want me to post more, I have written so so much for this fic and am only posting the first scene lol so I have more in the bank 🙈

Have a great day 💕

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah fluff #hamzah fic #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #fanfic #y/n #hamzah x y/n #out of character.#thatmartinkid #mandysiphone

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maplesyrupsainz · 5 months

Note

Hiiii darling i was wondering if prompt 5 with Lance would be possible🥺🫣🩷

pairing: lance stroll x fem y/n reader (she/her)

genre: blurb, best friend's brother

warnings: none just fluff, use of "y/bff/n"

prompt: five [driver] trying to get you to go on a date with him

a/n: omg is this my first ever lance request

my masterlist | my 1k celebration

“aw, come on, y/n,” lance teased you mercilessly, “just one date. you know you want to.”

“lance, no.” you rolled your eyes, turning away from him. “it will always be no.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

lance was your best friend's older brother by two years. he was totally off limits to you in a romantic or sexual way, that much was always clear to you. but that did not stop him from continuously flirting with you and asking, no, more like begging, you to go on a date with him just once. he was becoming extremely difficult to deny, especially as over the years as he really grew into himself; he was undeniably hot.

“god, he's so annoying.” your best friend threw herself next to you onto your bed in a huff, obviously talking about her brother.

“what now?” you giggled, poking her side. you tried to keep conversation about him lighthearted, keeping her from being too mad at him at any time. what can you say, you're covering your back for that day you might really cave and go out with him.

“he always eats my food, he always steals my shampoo, he always scares any boy away that might just be interested in me for once. it's so annoying. and he doesn't even live in the same house as me!” she ranted, using her hands animatedly, making you laugh.

“maybe you should change your locks.” you suggested with another giggle.

“maybe i should kill him.” she stated, twisting her body round to face you, a serious expression on her face, making you burst into laughter.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you unlocked the door to y/bff/n's apartment, dragging your body heavy with tiredness into the hallway. you were staying with her temporarily; you were in between places and being fussy looking for somewhere new to rent.

“y/n!” a male voice called out to you suddenly, making you jump and drop your keys to the floor with a loud clatter.

“shit–” you muttered, immediately searching for them on the hardwood floor.

“oh, sorry y/n, didn't mean to scare you.” it was lance, of course. lance who spent 75% of his time in his hometown at his sister's place instead of at his own. it would've almost been cute, if it wasn't lance.

“what are you doing here?” you raised your eyebrows at him, still standing in the hallway with your coat and bags. you were expecting a relaxing night alone, as y/bff/n was away on a business conference overnight. he just shrugged in response. you didn't bother standing around for much longer, dropping your bags and peeling the layers off your body along with your shoes. you weren't going to let a man ruin the cosy night in you had planned.

“what's for dinner?” he asked, following you into the kitchen like a lost puppy.

“i was going to order a pizza.” you reply, picking up a stack of menus from the corner of the room.

“cool, i'll have pepperoni.” he grinned mischievously at you as you rolled your eyes. you ordered the pizza for him anyway, what else could you do?

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

it was just before 1am on the coach when the first yawn escaped your lips, stretching your body out lazily, like a cat.

“tired?” lance asked, a slight smirk playing at his lips. you shrugged, not wanting to be the one to end the evening. the two of you had been chatting easily all evening, watching a couple of movies and eating takeout pizza. you were surprisingly having a lot of fun with him, and felt very at ease. “or another movie?”

“you can put on another, if you like.” you shrugged again, leaving him to ultimately make the decision on where the rest of the night went.

“no, you look tired, you should get some rest.” you felt slight disappointment at his words, but who were you to challenge them. you nodded, stretching again in an attempt to start moving your body again. “you wanna know something?”

“huh?” you stopped moving then, looking over at him.

“we just had a date.”

“what?” you sat upright, suddenly more awake than you'd ever been. “what are you talking about? a date, no way.” you scoffed, shaking your head at him.

“it kind of was a date. think about it.” he shrugged, standing up. “well, that's me beat. goodnight y/n, sweet dreams.”

he left you there, wide eyed, confused, butterflies soaring.

#f1 #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #blurb #f1 blurb #lance stroll #ls18 #ls18 x reader #ls18 blurb #ls18 fic #ls18 fanfic #ls18 smau #ls18 fluff #maddie's fanfics

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kitthepurplepotato · 8 months

Text

Kirishima Eijirou’s daily shenanigans!

Summary: You work in a little coffee shop (secretly owned by your uncle Crimson Riot), which resides next to Red Riot and Dynamight’s agency. Needless to say, the Crimson Riot signature on the wall lures in the red haired hero on the first day after opening.

Long story short, this a really cute story about a barista and his favorite customer falling in love and becoming a couple. (The only problem is that Red Riot is a himbo and he does not realize you two are actually dating. But that’s a problem for another day.)

Genre: Comedy, strangers to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, slice of life

Estimated chapters: Around 10?

Warnings: Swear Words, one or two chapters with smut but they will be skippable, mentions of injuries, depression, blood, fight scenes, one or two chapters of angst around the end but it’s mostly just fluff and shits and giggles. New warnings on every chapter!

About The Reader: SHE/HER, related to Crimson Riot, has red hair but it’s dyed, not natural. She has a really cool quirk and went to hero school when she was young, but she doesn’t work as a hero.

This story is a spin-off to Bakugou Katsuki’s Daily Shenanigans but you don’t need to read that story to understand this one.

Also, English isn’t my first language so please be kind, I’m trying my best!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Chapter 1 - A wild Red Riot appears!

“Welcome!”

A lovely jingle announces Kirishima’s grand entrance to the brand new coffee shop he decided to visit on this lovely afternoon.

It’s manly to try new things, you know; the old coffee shop he used go to might be nice and cosy but how is Kirishima supposed to know if it’s the best coffee shop or not if he doesn’t try the other places in the area? Right?

… Right?

…

Okay, Kirishima has a confession to make.

He doesn’t care how the coffee tastes like at this place. He really doesn’t. The only thing he cares about is Crimson Riot’s signature framed on the wall.

That’s why he’s here, the traitor.

“Ahh, hello!” Kirishima scratches the back of his head shyly; he doesn’t even look at the poor barista, he’s too busy looking around, searching for the sacred signature. He feels blessed to be able to step into this beautiful, crimson colored coffee shop which conveniently opened almost next to from his agency. Well, his and Katsuki’s agency, but that doesn’t matter.

“It’s on the left side, darling. Do not touch the glass, I just cleaned it.” The barista giggles and… oh hello, that giggle was absolutely adorable?! But first of all, what does she mean he can’t touch the glass?! He wants to touch the glass!

Kirishima makes a pouty face, clearly heartbroken by the sudden plot twist; he’s so close to Crimson Riot right now, yet so far away…

“Okay, you can touch the glass. Go on. You have five seconds. One… two…” The barista counts and Kirishima sprints to the little framed signature and does what he does the best; act like a fifteen years old fanboy seeing naked boobs for the first time. Man, boobs are nothing compared to the thrill he feels right now; Crimson Riot is a legend, no one has seen the man for decades, he’s manly and mysterious and Kirishima really likes that about him; sometimes he wonders if Crimson Riot is real at all; that man is so perfect, kind and chivalrous, he’s everything Kirishima wants to be when grows up… well, technically, he is 25 and he doesn’t have too much “growing up” going on anymore but he still feels like he’s twelve. He also acts like he’s twelve. So yeah, he wants to be like Crimson Riot when he grows up. He’s not there yet.

“Would you like to have a coffee or salivating over a framed signature is enough to start your day off with a kick?” The barista suddenly appears behind him and Kirishima jumps.

Well, that’s awkward.

“Yeah, I’m just about to… oh hi.”

To all the Gods and deities up in Heaven, thank you. - Kirishima mumbles as he takes in the beautiful sight in front of him. No, he is not talking about the beautiful signature on the wall this time; that one was demoted to the second most beautiful sight in the world.

“Good morning, sir.” The barista giggles again, and Kirishima swears an angel descended from above in front him.

Kirishima is known to be a ladies man; he loves ladies, he adores them, he cherishes them, he wants to tell every single one of them how beautiful they are; but this one is on another level. This lady here is the most perfect human being Kirishima has ever seen. This lady is the type of lady Kirishima would never have the balls to actually woo. Not like he ever had the balls to woo anyone, to be honest, he’s more like the funny uncle who flirts with everyone but no one takes him seriously and will probably end up alone with 6 dogs 8 cats, 3 bearded dragons because they are really manly and a house worth of Crimson Riot merch. He already has the latter and he’s working on the rest.

“Is the red hair a part of the work uniform or do you just happen to have a good taste?”

Why did he say that?! Why?!

“If that was supposed to be your way of flirting, you have a long way to go, Mr. Red Riot.” She grins and oh my god, Kirishima is in pieces. Literally. He’s quite sure he accidentally hardened his arms under his super tight-fit turtleneck and the fabric just shred to pieces.

At least it’s not something else that hardened…

Eijirou, no.

Do not go there. Do. Not.

“Ahh, you know me.”

“Our staff room window looks at the private parking lot of your agency. There is a massive poster with your faces by the VIP entrance. I need to say, you look much nicer with your hair down though.”

Why is this angel standing so close to him?! What did he do to deserve this beautiful sight?!

“If that was your way of flirting… it completely worked.” Kirishima admits with a crimson face.

You get it? Cuz he’s in Crimson Coffee? Next to Crimson Riot’s signature?

… Nevermind.

“I don’t mean to break your heart so soon, but I wasn’t flirting with you.”

“Y/N, are you bullying our precious customers again? I already told you… oh hello there, young man!” The random lady went from a loud yell to the most pleasant customer service voice he’s ever heard in five seconds. Well that’s a talent. “That’s Red Riot honey, give him a friend and family card, will ya?”

“I guess that’s alright.” The barista, Y/N, rolls her eyes playfully and gives him the little card. “Now order, I’m getting bored.”

And Kirishima does.

Kirishima orders 13 coffees even though he only needs one just to keep this beautiful angel entertained. He gets 2 massive coffee holders with 6 coffees in each and gives the spare one to Y/N with a shy smile on his face, because he’s a gentleman.

“You know I can drink our coffee for free, right?” Y/N raises her brow with a mischievous smile on her beautiful face and he might not have a shot with her after he embarrassed himself in every way possible, but it was completely worth it for that smile.

Kirishima made a great decision today by trying out new things.

Being blasted out of the window by Katsuki after he arrived late, juggling 12 cups of coffee while spilling half of them in Katsuki’s office was absolutely worth it.

(He also landed in the parking lot and was able to see Y/N in the staff room laughing at him. Best day ever.”

~•🪨•~

“Does he come here often or was that a special occasion? Come on, tell me! Please!”

You have all the respect for heroes but this Red Riot guy… is an absolute himbo. In the best way.

First of all, he has no idea how handsome he is. He takes your hand in a begging way, trying to get information out of you and you really need to concentrate to not show any kind of emotion on your face; thankfully, your family is blessed with amazing poker faces. The biggest master of them is your uncle who’s -surprise!- is actually the person Red Riot is asking about right now with perfect puppy eyes. He was able to keep up his mysterious persona for decades even though he’s also an absolute himbo in real life.

Second of all, Red Riot embarrassed himself at least ten times this week but somehow he always leaves with a proud smile like this is what he wanted to do in the first place.

Personally, you really want to smack this man in the head and tell him to be ashamed of himself because by the look of it, his self-esteem is so low he thinks this is just him being himself. Which isn’t true. Red Riot might be a himbo, but he’s also a well respected himbo… you mean hero, and he should definitely act a bit more… confident.

“So what do I get if I tell you this information, sir?” You ask cheekily; you can��t help it, okay? Red Riot is a handsome guy. And he’s also really sweet and gentle. Who would NOT flirt with him?

“I would like to say my number on a napkin but I feel like you would use it as a filter for the coffee.” Red sighs dramatically.

“That’s highly unlikely.” You retort; he looks up at you with eyes full of hope and you already hate yourself for doing this to him, but… “The napkin would melt into the coffee and it would be absolutely disgusting. I can’t serve that.”

“You are such a heartbreaker, miss Y/N! I would like to speak to your manager!” He yells, fake-offended, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Just order your bloody coffee and leave, Red. Seeing you being blasted through the window because you were late is really fun but I kinda hate listening to the drilling noise when your window gets fixed. It ruins my chi.”

“You’re a chi.”

“Well that’s just rude, sir. I might need to ask you to leave.” You giggle, and you can’t help but realize how the air just changed around you two; there is definitely something there, a tension you can’t describe but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s kinda nice to banter with him like this.

“You already did. But you also told me to order first.” Red retorts with a massive smirk on his face and you kinda want to put him into your pocket and keep him in there.

Finally, Red orders and he’s just about to leave when you decide to give him the tiny present you got him.

Yes, you got him a present. Shut up.

“Hey, Red!”

“Yeah?” He looks back with a massive grin on his face.

“I got something for the most handsome customer in this shop.” Red’s face contorts into a frown at that. Would it be rude to kiss your customer’s cheeks to give him some confidence? It’s just a kiss on the cheek, no biggie. Just one kiss. Come on.

“Lucky gal.” He mumbles, trying to fake a smile, but failing miserably.

“I’m talking about you, you himbo.” You laugh and run to the back; it’s a signed Crimson Riot poster. Your uncle was more than happy to throw one at you when you told him about Red Riot being your loyal customer; he’s kinda obsessed with the guy since his first appearance in the sports festival. Long story. He loves to be loved.

Kirishima pales as he rolls the poster out, his eyes misty by the time he rolls it out completely.

“This is a limited edition poster from 30 years ago. One of the first posters… what the hell, man…”

“Look closer.” You wink and Red starts to cry like a baby. He’s so fucking adorable, it’s ridiculous.

“Watching you grow up made me realize why I was a hero for so long. I’m proud of you. Stay manly! Crimson Riot.” Red mutters under his snotty nose. “Y/N, can I marry you?”

This man will be the death of you.

“No.”

“Okay. Thank you. Bye.” Red mumbles with red rimmed eyes. Working in your uncle’s secret coffee shop was the best decision of your life.

“See you tomorrow, himbo.” You giggle and the redhead disappears; one day, you’ll tell him that all the flirting you do is actually serious but that day is not today. You really want to see him gain some self-respect by himself before you shower him with praises every day. You can only hope you don’t ruin your chances by playing with him for too long but that’s a problem for later; for now, you are just happy to be around this mysterious, funny man.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Want to be on the tag list? Just ask me in the comment section or a message me!

The second chapter will be out in two or three weeks depending on your reception of this chapter then I’ll try to post a new chapter every 7 - 10 days!

If you want to see my other works, check out the Master list for Deku x Reader, Bakugou x Reader, Todoroki x Reader and Aizawa x Reader stories!

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #Kirishima x reader #Kirishima Eijirou x reader #shenanigansbypurplepotato #red riot x reader #Kirishima Eijirou x you #Kirishima Eijirou x y/n #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou #bnha #mha #my hero academia

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silverdragonfly · 17 days

Text

Beyond the Gods' Eyes

Chapter 3 - The Tale of Maggots and Crickets (Masterlist)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Seer Reader

Summary: To see into Aemond’s future, you must perform a floral ritual. But what happens if death decides to interfere?

Warnings: !MDNI! Mature content, including themes of death, and implied nudity. English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 8.2 K

A/N: this chapter is quite a bit longer but provides some hints on what's coming:) hope you enjoy it! likes, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! 💙 p.s. if you have any guesses about where it’s going, i’d love to hear them! 🥀

divider credit @cafekitsune

“Y/N, come here, my child. I must tell you something.” Your mother’s distant voice pulled you from your dream. By this time, such nocturnal adventures had become so common that you no longer needed a candle to find her bed. Despite the pitch-black night, you could see how pale her face was.

“What is it? Are you in pain?” Sitting at the bedside, you reached for her forehead to check if the fever had returned, but it was cool.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, causing her to take frequent breaks while speaking. “The vision… torments me.”

Brushing her cheek in an attempt to soothe her, you softly reminded her, “You need your strength to recover.”

For a year, you had been relying solely on your powers. It was out of the question for your mother to use hers since the illness had claimed her.

She fell silent, her mouth slightly open to ease her breathing. Her hand reached out to clasp yours with a delicate, almost childlike grip. A bitter ache tightened in your throat at the gesture. No matter how fervently you prayed, her strength would not return.

“No one can deceive it for long,” her voice lowered to a faint whisper. Since that day, you had never spoken of her impending death, as if pretending it wasn’t there would prevent it from clasping its sharp claws around your mother’s life. But the truth always lingered unspoken between you. Please, stay. I need you. The words trembled on your lips, but speaking them aloud would only deepen the sorrow.

“I must tell you what I have seen. When I am no longer here, you shall know what to do.”

As you held her frail hand, your eyes brimmed with tears.

“Do not burden yourself with these revelations,” your voice faltered. “Whatever you have witnessed, I shall know it in time too.” You wished for her to release her stubbornness at least once. Yet your mother would choose to be obstinate even in the face of death.

“A desperate man… a kinslayer will seek your aid. He will strive to escape death. Do what you must, but…” Her body shook with a cough, each convulsion stealing the words from her. “Just don’t…”

“Mother, please!” Tears streamed down your face, each drop a silent plea for her to stop, to fight for a chance to live rather than exhaust herself even more.

Her voice weakened to the extent you had to lean closer to hear her. The words were a faint puff against your ear, and yet you couldn't decipher them, for one thought drowned out everything else: "Live, please, live!" Yet she spoke on, until tears fully blurred your vision, making the world disappear, and with it, your mother was gone.

Gasping for breath, you jolted awake in your bed. The house was wrapped in a heavy grey gloom, but you could already distinguish the shapes of objects. A dim light was creeping through a thin crack in the curtain. Birds chirping came from the window, promising that the time of nightmares was already over. Dawn. Looking at your hands, you could still feel the light touch of your mother’s hand. Your body was still trembling, as if you had indeed been crying. The overwhelming sensation of the harrowing memory gradually faded away, yet its echoes were doomed to be deeply embedded in your thoughts.

When you left the cosy corner of your bedroom, you sighed with relief since Aemond was no longer in bed. Drawing aside the curtain, you saw him strolling in the garden. With his upright noble posture, he appeared in harmony with the flowers, as if he were one of them.

You wondered if he behaved differently with his family—was he more open or gentler? However, the confession from the previous day quickly dampened that thought. Perhaps with the woman from your vision? You shook your head, dismissing the thought. It was unwise to dwell on it now. Or ever.

You were quick to join him outside, as it was the right time to do what needed to be done.

“It’s no jest,” you said, sensing his presence close behind you as you rummaged through the cluttered garden shed for a trowel. You sighed as you surveyed the disarray around you. How had this place fallen into such chaos again?

“To pick a flower from the hill?” His voice carried a note of disbelief.

“That’s precisely what I said.” Turning to him, you clicked your tongue as he continued to look at you as if you had commanded him to behead a man and present the head to you.

After a few more moments of searching, you finally retrieved a trowel with a satisfied hum. Walking briskly past Aemond, you headed towards the secluded garden spot for the ritual. The crisp morning air felt soothing compared to the day’s earlier scorcher. The flowers began to reveal their exquisite colours in the first rays of the sun.

The only problem was the figure trailing behind you. Like a cat, he followed in your footsteps all morning, just as gracefully. You had anticipated dissatisfaction with the ritual’s details at some point, but not right from the start. Pivoting abruptly on your heels, you nearly caused Aemond to crash into you.

“I thought we had an understanding,” you said, your brow furrowing as displeasure coloured your voice.

“I fetch a flower, and then what?” He leaned down slightly to meet your gaze. “How is it supposed to work?” This man was awfully tall—and curious.

“Could you explain to a commoner how one might claim a dragon or what it is to soar through the heavens?”

The way his lips twitched told you he understood the point. Not giving him a chance to question further, you added, “Now, please, go pick a flower from the hill. I’ll be waiting in the garden.”

The flicker of surprise in his eye didn’t go unnoticed by you. Turning around, you headed further with a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He was clearly not used to obeying, and yet you felt victorious simply because you caught Aemond Targaryen pouting.

Digging a medium hole not far away from your mother’s favourite peonies, you settled casually on the grass, your knees sinking slightly into the soft earth, its touch was a soothing balm to your soul. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. The sky above you grew clearer with each passing second, and so did your mind. No visions. No dreams. No memories. Even the nagging thoughts that had tried to intrude on your calm remained at bay. The fewer emotions and thoughts involved, the smoother the ritual would go. Breathe. In and out.

“This one will do?”

At the sound of Aemond’s voice, you opened your eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him holding a tender flower—a bluebell, the absolute opposite of his dark figure. For most people, a bluebell resembled gratitude and love, yet it would be the last flower you would choose for such a ritual. “Bluebells connect us with the afterlife,” your mother warned, “but they also foretell misfortune. If you hear it ring, someone you care deeply about will die.” You swallowed hard. It would be unwise to reveal this to him; the flower choice was personal. A bluebell had called to Aemond; you could not interfere.

With a composed nod, you rose to your feet. He seemed unaware of any change in your demeanour.

“We’ll proceed here.” You gestured to the hole you had dug.

“Stand in front of me,” you instructed.

His face remained calm as you stood facing each other, just a few inches apart. You couldn’t get used to his steady, unblinking gaze. You knew it was a mask—the one he chose to wear alongside the sword and dagger, a calculated choice. The mask you wished to tear off. Your fists clenched involuntarily.

“I’ll need you to hold the bluebell in both hands…” The delicate flower seemed even smaller in his palms. “…As if you’re shielding it from the wind. Just like that. During the ritual, I may utter incoherent words; do not heed them. You must keep your mind clear.”

“Are you going to curse me?” he purred, tilting his head slightly.

“No, but should you question me too persistently, I might be tempted to try.” You shot him a deadly serious look, but it wasn’t convincing, as a faint smile played at the corners of his lips. “I’ll also need to hold your hands throughout the ritual.” You searched his face for any sign of protest, but he simply hummed in agreement.

Wrapping your palms around his hands, you felt their warmth; his fingers were calloused, though not unpleasantly so. A flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. You had performed this ritual before, but the closeness to Aemond made it feel different.

Lifting your gaze back to him, you added, “I will close my eyes and begin. You may do the same.” He nodded at you unusually calmly, and you wondered if he was simply curious. With that thought, you closed your eyes, and the darkness welcomed you.

Breathe in, breathe out. In and out. Mind clear, all set. You heard the bluebell's faint whisper. No ringing, though. Good. You knew it would take a few minutes for the sound to become clearer. You needed to listen to the flower first before it would listen to you. As you concentrated on its voice, something else intruded on your focus. Your body tensed with a sense of caution, as you tried to decipher the sound. Some sort of…. rustling? Was it coming from the bluebell? You knitted your brows, listening more closely as you began to recognise it—the very same sound you heard every time you went to bed and woke up: the sound of crisp sheets shifting. It couldn’t be right, you thought.

While you were attempting to make sense of it, like a net catching a butterfly, the vision took hold of your mind, transporting you to a dimly lit room. Shadows cast by flickering candles danced on the walls and transparent curtains, lulling you to sleep and luring you into dropping your guard. You’d been here before—the brothel. Yet this time, it wasn’t an older woman who was the focus of your gaze, but Aemond. His silk hair tumbled down his naked back, with a few delicate strands framing the curve of his serene face, begging for a gentle touch. Along with his clothes, the menacing part of him had vanished. He was so... vulnerable, and yet the strongest man, no, warrior, you’d ever seen. Seated on the bed, his forearm muscles flexed as he reached for the cup of milk. Each swallow made his Adam’s apple move rhythmically, hypnotising you with its motion. His chest revealed the well-defined contours of his abdominal muscles. Putting the drink aside, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His gaze was directed at you, but there was no way he could see you—a ghost that didn’t belong here. Yet under his piercing violet eye and the dark blue sapphire glittering in place of the lost one, you forgot to breathe. You couldn’t tear your gaze away; you were looking at an angel carved by the gods. Rising to his feet, the thin sheet slid off him like a marble statue, revealing his powerful legs, and... Oh gods.

Gasping, you opened your eyes. You were struck by the cruel irony of the vision lurching into your mind while Aemond still stood before you, his gaze utterly perplexed.

“What happened?” A slight crease appeared between his brows. For fuck’s sake. You immediately averted your eyes, feeling a flush of heat creeping up your neck. A wild urge to run surged in your mind. Your hands grew wetter as they still held his. To let go would mean starting the ritual from the very beginning tomorrow.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” you managed to mumble, your mouth suddenly dry. His gaze burned against your skin as if he could somehow see through you. Say something. Please, say something. As you shifted your eyes to look at the man you’d just seen naked moments ago without his knowledge, no plausible excuse came to mind.

His gaze suddenly softened. “Are you unwell? Your cheeks are burning.”

“Yes! I mean, no!” You bit the inside of your cheek. Gods be merciful.

Your mind was absolutely clear, so why now? What could have caused—

“Have you been thinking about something?” you asked, suspicion rising in your tone.

His gaze briefly lowered before meeting your eyes again. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Your voice was on the verge of shouting, eyes wide in shock. “Didn’t I just say how important it is to keep your mind clear?” You barely contained your emotions. Any thought racing through his mind could spark unexpected visions in you, especially during the ritual when you were more perceptive.

He just brushed you off, his tone calm to the point of irritation. “It was nothing but a fleeting, innocent thought.” The emphasis on “innocent” sent a shiver down your spine. “I wonder what thoughts occupied your mind.” His self-satisfied smirk didn’t help.

“There were none,” you shrugged, striving for nonchalance. However, the remnants of the vision and your blatant staring still lingered within you. You felt bitter about the fact that you could have stopped it at any point but didn’t.

“Mm, very well then.” His eye remained narrowed, boring into you, searching for more evidence not to trust your word.

A breath caught in your throat. Foolish. What a foolish reason to interrupt the ritual and lose precious time. You had to tame your emotions and put up a strong mental shield for now.

“Let us resume,” your tone laced with determination. “Clear your mind completely, banishing even the most trivial thoughts.” You didn’t dare to add “innocent.”

“I shall attempt my best,” he said, not blinking an eye.

Your eyes fell closed again. Breathe in and out. In and out. The bluebell began to glow instantly, warmth transferring through Aemond’s hands. Breathe in and out. In and out. The whisper returned, faint and delicate at first. Gradually, it grew stronger until you could fully grasp it. Now you heard the voice, distant yet clear. Your lips began to mumble, repeating the incoherent syllables. Suddenly, your heart ached. Your mother would have performed this ritual silently and flawlessly... "Shh. Keep your mind clear. Keep your mind clear." Mentally repeating the phrase as a mantra, the distress eased.

Still engulfed in darkness, the bluebell appeared in your mind and then, as if by pure magic, transformed into its initial form—a small seed. It was your turn to speak. Your soothing tone became water, your words—sunlight and soil. The seed began to swell, spreading its tender roots downward. A small stem was formed, and it grew taller and sturdier with each word of yours. Around it, leaves formed, and soon there was a tiny bud. It took some patience for it to unfurl soft blue petals, deepening to a dark lavender blue as it caught the sunlight. The seed transformed into a fully bloomed bluebell, and with that, you fell silent.

As you opened your eyes, they stung from the harsh sunlight streaming in. Gradually, as your vision adjusted to the daylight, Aemond's face came into focus— the usual coldness in his gaze gone, and you wondered if it was an optical illusion. With a deep breath, you said, “It is set.”

His voice was hoarse as he asked, “What comes next?”

“Now we plant the flower.” With that, you let go of his hands. When he opened his palms, your lips parted. The bluebell was as fresh and bright as if it had just been picked from the field. The colour of Aemond’s sapphire. You bit the inside of your cheek. One more secret had been stolen away from him.

Aemond’s curiosity transformed into a silent contemplation as you dealt with the flower. You lowered the bluebell into the hole, adding a splash of water to help it settle. With a trowel, you began covering the flower with soil, its bright blue petals vanishing beneath the earth as if they had never been there. Pausing to smooth the soil’s surface, you ensured it was level and even. In nature, everything must be in its place. You had no choice but to comply with its rules.

Rising to your feet, you briskly shook off the remnants of earth from your hands. The ritual was performed exactly as it had been that day.

Aemond’s gaze lingered on the freshly turned soil, his arms crossed as he spoke, “From what I can presume, ’tis not how one typically plants a flower.”

“It’s no usual flower,” you said, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. The sun had already begun to beat down relentlessly. “It is now tightly intertwined with your destiny. Once it blooms, it will reveal to me where death awaits you.” You ought to be very careful with what you’d tell him from now on.

Picking up the tool, you started walking toward the garden shed, the exhaustion creeping over you. Aemond fell into a step beside you, the path too narrow for both to walk side by side.

“In what manner will it reveal this?” he asked.

“In a manner difficult to explain. Each flower has its distinct voice, though most people are deaf to it,” you said, entering the garden shed. The coolness of the place felt soothing against your skin.

“But not you.” His scathing tone made you wary.

“Not I.” You nodded, dropping the trowel on the wooden table. With your back turned you sensed an eerie change in his demeanor. Something else was hidden behind his words, something you couldn’t grasp. As if, while you had been busy with the flower, his silence had given him a chance to uncover a dangerous thread he was now eager to pull on.

When you braced yourself to face him, Aemond stared at a blank spot. His gaze, gleaming in the darkness, reminded you of a predator. A sudden urge to go outside rushed through you.

Heading toward the door, you paused with a frown as his tall figure blocked the entrance with a decisive movement.

“How can I be sure you won’t deceive me?” His voice crawled under your skin.

Taking a step back, you did your best to maintain your composure despite the wild racing of your heart. “Well, you cannot. Just as I cannot be certain you spoke truthfully when you promised my life would be peaceful again.” With that, you intended to walk past him, but he halted you with a hand around your elbow.

“Yet by lying to me, you might secure your peace—at my expense.” He hissed the words. “That will not suffice.”

You studied his broad hand closed around yours before lifting your gaze to meet his. The memory of your mother burned brightly in your mind, her words echoing in your head.

“I have no proof to offer beyond my word.”

His violet eye assessed you unblinkingly, as if for an eternity. The intensity made you feel as if you could confess to any crime, simply because he demanded it.

“If you dare to trick me,” his voice lowered, “remember I am not the only one who can turn you and your garden to ashes.”

You retorted, “As long as you don’t threaten me, I am willing to help and keep my promise.”

His gaze flickered, and you feared you had crossed the line. When his grip loosened, you rushed into the daylight without a second thought. You hoped he couldn’t see the tears welling in your eyes. You had let down your guard, believing there was a mutual understanding and agreement. But here it was again—a ruthless reminder that you always had to stay on your toes, that you were prey in this situation. Yet you couldn’t quite understand what had triggered such a change.

You picked a green apple from the grass and sat on the wooden bench, shifting your legs under the table. Rotating the fruit in your hands, you noticed a slight bruise on its skin; perhaps it had fallen from the highest branch —price for being closer to the gods.

The exhaustion that had washed over you was replaced by caution. One moment it seemed you knew exactly what to do, but your plan was akin to a cotton fabric. A spark of his fire set it ablaze, destroying it mercilessly.

You didn’t notice how much time you’d spent brooding, but when Aemond joined you, it felt as if the raging storm within him had subsided; his shoulders slumped. Was it guilt? Clasping his hands, he rested them on the table, his gaze distant. There could be no mistake. Something was clearly torturing him.

You wanted to be obstinate, for him to acknowledge his fault, for him to say he was sorry. But a part of you, one that had witnessed him in the visions, suspected the bitter truth: He didn’t know how. The mask was both a choice and a shelter.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you said, “My powers may not work as you expect, but they are real.” You thoroughly wiped the fruit with your apron. “The flower needs at least a week to grow, and when it blooms, I will answer your questions—as you wish.” You offered him an apple—a gesture of reconciliation—but he only shook his head, averting his gaze to the hills in the distance.

A soft crunch pierced the silence as you took a bite of the fruit, savouring its juicy taste. This apple tree was your favourite sort—producing hard and sour apples. Your mother could never grasp your odd preference.

The shadows pooled under his remaining eye were stark. The question had been burning on your lips for a while, and you finally dared to ask, “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

He shrugged. “I dreamt.”

You knew what he meant. You had been dreaming for months since your mother’s demise. Your voice softened, “It is not the same. Is anything wrong?”

“Besides the obvious?” A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

Could it be that history repeats itself?

“You hear them,” you said quietly, your hands lowering to the table. “The voices.”

Silence fell between you, punctuated by a faint breeze ruffling the leafy trees. You looked at his face, searching for a subtle change, for proof you were right.

“Will they ever go away?” His voice was devoid of emotion, almost as if he had come to terms with the fatality. Just as your mother once did. The apple suddenly felt too bitter on your tongue.

“They will fade away sooner or later,” you said carefully, “but the echoes are likely to remain.”

“What are they?” When his eye met yours, mirroring your own exhaustion.

“Have I not told you?” The fruit tightened in your hand. “You are marked by death. The voice you hear is its own.”

His jaw clenched, but the tension faded as he turned to face the garden as if nature was easing his burden.

“Are all the flowers here part of some ritual?” he asked.

A trace of a smile glimmered across your lips. “No, I planted most of them for the sheer joy of it.”

He hummed quietly. “Only a few are special then.”

“To me, every single one is precious,” you said solemnly and took another bite of the apple. Its fresh juices satisfied your thirst, making you sigh in contentment. Suddenly, a weird sensation ran through you, freezing you in place. The apple remnants were still in your mouth as you tried to make sense of the strange swirling on your tongue, a soft shifting not provoked by your body. The realisation made you jump to your feet, spitting out the fruit with a desperate cough, ensuring no remnants were left inside. The apple slipped from your grasp, hitting the grass with a dull thud.

Aemond closed the distance between you in a few swift steps. His hand hovered a few inches away from yours, as if there were an invisible wall between you.

“What’s that?” His gaze darted between your trembling figure and the fallen apple. When he noticed, his face hardened, and he stepped back slightly.

Your hand flew to your mouth, nausea churning in your stomach at the sight of countless tiny white, pale bodies wriggling in the fruit's rotting flesh. Maggots.

The message. Death didn’t like to be tricked.

By the end of the day, maggots and flies had infested nearly every foodstuff, and their eggs were found even in the herbs and spices. The nauseating stench they brought quickly pervaded the house, attracting even more vile creatures. You had to discard all crops, potatoes, and vegetables in the dump located in the chasm of the forest near the hill. The path there had never seemed so long to you as it did that day. Aemond helped without so much as wrinkling his nose. His demeanour remained composed, but the absence of his sharp remarks made you suspect that beneath his stoic façade, he was taken aback.

A loaf of bread was the only edible provision spared—until you discovered mould creeping from its edge. The only option left was to eat fruits and berries right off the trees or bushes, as those weren’t infected—for now. Today, though, the very thought of dinner was repulsive. Fear gnawed at you. If this plague spread to the garden, it would cause dire consequences.

“What shall we do?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the dagger he was swirling in his hands—the very same one that had caught your eye the other day. You sat under the apple tree, a small tub of water before you. The first stars had already appeared in the sky, but no one dared to enter the house. The windows and door were wide open, inviting fresh air to combat the pervasive stench.

“I must purchase a few Eritaiol candles,” you said, washing your hands thoroughly. “They could help.”

You’d learnt about these candles the hard way: when you’d been bedridden with a fever, your body had burned for days, causing your lips to crack and bleed like raw flesh. Nothing had helped until your mother lit a few Eritaiol candles. According to her, they were known to banish evil spirits and diseases. You weren’t sure death belonged to either category, but perhaps it would loosen its grip on you.

“It doesn’t sound particularly promising,” Aemond concluded.

“It is the first thing to try,” you replied with a sigh, examining your hands. It felt as if the odour was clinging to your skin.

“What would be the second?”

You remained silent, adding more lavender and rosehip to the water before dipping your hands in it again.

His gaze bored into you. “If I leave, will things return to their natural order?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

“We both know it won’t happen.”

“The prospect of starving to death doesn’t persuade you to rid yourself of me?” A strange amusement played in his tone.

“You’re not so easy to get rid of.”

“What of your powers? Can they not reveal something to you?”

“My realm is that of living and nature, not death and decay. I can see the future as it is written, but as we stand against death, it alters the course of events to its own design.”

“Isn’t it futile then?” His fingers tapped absently against the blade. “You’ll tell me of my death, and it will still find its way to me.”

You pressed your lips together. “That’s why I asked what you intend to do. Death can be escaped once, maybe twice. But no one can deceive it for long.” The bile crept up your throat as you realized these were your mother’s words. Swallowing hard, you continued, “I can help avert the most imminent scenario, but there will surely be others on the way. I don’t know how much time I can buy you. You’d better have a good plan for what you’ll do with the precious moments you gain.”

He went quiet, considering your words. You stole glances at him, but what he was thinking of was beyond your understanding. The sound of the sheathing dagger made you shriek. With a swift motion, Aemond stood up and came closer to the wooden fence. His hand fell upon a burgundy rose, holding it as if a glass of wine. Leaning further, he inhaled its sweetness.

“Where do we find the candles?” his voice came out velvety, like a lullaby.

“Market. Eight miles away from here. I shall go at first light.” You withdrew your hands from the lukewarm water and dried them with a rag. Bringing them closer, you inhaled deeply, savouring the long-awaited freshness.

“I’ll go with you.” Letting hold of the rose, he faced you.

“There is no need.” There would be no chance you’d stay inconspicuous together with him by your side.

“Aren’t your flowers the next to be threatened?” He nodded toward the garden.

His words stirred a pang of anxiety within you, your fingers tightening around the rag. As if sensing the change, he added, his gaze unyielding, “Perhaps if we both leave for a time, it may relent.”

The eerie sensation washed over you. You knew he was being rational. Again, you found yourself speaking of death with a naïve hope that it would be deaf to your conversation.

“Very well,” you said, gazing over the garden. “Tomorrow, we shall go together.”

The Eastcross market was bustling with sellers and buyers, many coming from remote areas for the fair. Stalls lined up on both sides left a clear space between them, but the crowd had grown so large that it became a struggle to get around quickly. Aemond and you constantly had to stop to wait for a customer to move off the path or for someone to move a basket out of the way.

Food was abundant here. All kinds of vegetables and fruits, including exotic varieties you had never seen before, filled your sight. Crops, potatoes, fish, and meat made your stomach rumble.

When the mouth-watering aroma of fresh baking wafted towards you, you couldn’t help but stop by. After purchasing a few pastries, you and Aemond found a quiet corner to eat, blending into the crowd as people passed by. Neither of you complained as you hadn’t eaten anything yet. The soft dough tasted so delicious that you barely restrained yourself from gobbling it down.

Your gaze kept turning to the vibrant silks across the road—fancy fabrics that were perhaps too expensive for you to purchase. When the wind picked up, the silks fluttered beneath the deep blue sky, mesmerizing you with their delicate motion.

After finishing your meal, you brushed the crumbs off your pale blue dress. The golden lines at the waist mimicked the skeleton of a corset. Aemond was wearing a dark hood over his head, hiding his silver hair. The eye patch was in place too, but since people were busy with the market, to your relief, they paid little attention to you.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Aemond after the incident earlier this morning. Walking into the house, you barely contained a gasp upon seeing him braiding his hair at the back of his head. His long fingers worked skillfully, intertwining the strands with ease. You’d been holding your breath for reasons you’d forbidden yourself to think of, completely forgetting why you had returned in the first place. When his icy gaze had met yours in the mirror, it had urged you to rush outside, mumbling curses under your breath.

As you set out again, your gaze searched for the dark grey brick shop. With the vast crowd around, you worried about passing it by and risking losing more time.

“I can’t imagine you’d have to journey so far for simple supplies,” Aemond said, moving closer until his arm brushed against yours. A plump woman, her body tightly cinched by a corset that seemed ready to burst, filled the remaining space with a huge basket of vegetables in one hand and a chicken tucked under her other arm.

You exhaled a soft snort. “Nobles aren’t meant to walk such distances.”

“I’ve gone beyond.” There was a hint of pride in his attitude, causing you to furrow your brows.

“On a dragon,” you said, lowering your voice. You’d be unlikely to be heard by anyone through the wild cacophony of bleating, clucking, coins clinking and chatting coming from every corner, but the caution wouldn’t hurt.

Leaning closer, he murmured with a teasing edge, “We could’ve come here on Vhagar if you weren’t so wary. A dragon ride would have been less exhausting.”

Earlier this morning, when he had suggested it, you had choked on water. His eye had shone with a mischievous glitter, and a smirk had played on his lips. You were quick to realize he had been jesting and drawing great satisfaction from your reaction.

“Where is it?” you asked nonchalantly. It barely interested you, but you couldn’t deny it would be a relief to know the creature was far away.

“She,” he corrected with a touch of protectiveness. You’d already learnt Vhagar was his utmost treasure.

“Where is she?”

“I can’t tell you.”

You snorted, casting a look at him. “I knew it was a jest.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed anyway.”

He had a point. Mounting a dragon for a ride with Aemond was certainly the last thing you’d consider.

“How is she without you?” you asked, pausing in front of a flock of sheep. The pungent smell of wool and musk filled the air. Two dark-skinned men were herding them across the street. “I mean—what does she eat? Doesn’t she miss you?”

Aemond shrugged. “She’s likely in deep hibernation. Dragons can endure such a state for years if the rider is away or dead.”

“So she’s-” Your voice was interrupted by the men shouting something in a language you couldn't understand, but apparently sheep knew quite well since they started moving in the direction, away from you. You struggled to find the right word, but eventually gazing up at Aemond, came up with, “ …not in danger?”

His eye, full of amazement, met yours. “She is the danger.”

Your cheeks flushed. Right, it was silly to ask. Looking at the cattle around you, you realised how far removed they were from the majestic dragon. Maybe it was the vision from earlier that had influenced your thoughts. Aemond, as a child, had flown on Vhagar, speaking to her in a language so captivating it had sent shivers down your spine. Up in the sky, his sheer joy had become your own. Even Vhagar hadn’t seemed as menacing as she had during your first encounter. As Aemond stood in front of her, she leaned into his touch, her huge dark eyes softening as if she had become almost human.

The sight of the familiar building facade dragged you out of your thoughts.

“Here it is!” you exclaimed with relief.

Stepping into a small shop, you marvelled as if for the first time. It was remarkable how a variety of different-sized objects had been packed into the tight quarters. The interior was a rich blend of dark mahogany furniture with geometric carvings and emerald accents throughout the shop. Anyone who walked in here wouldn’t have a single doubt that the owner loved this place. Though the counter was unoccupied, the rustling from behind a closet door hinted at the presence of someone within.

You walked further into the shop, while Aemond lingered close to the threshold, his gaze caught by crickets in tiny metallic cages. Why would anyone—

“Y/N! Long time no see!” A raspy voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Mr. Waterwing!” Your face beamed with joy at the sight of an elderly man coming from the pantry. He was so short and thin that people could easily mistake him for a child. His gaze darted to Aemond in confusion, urging you to add, “This is my companion.”

Mr. Waterwing’s shoulder visibly relaxed at your words, and he nodded at you knowingly.

“What brings you here?” he asked, coming closer, wrinkles scattered at the corners of his eyes and cheeks as he offered you a gentle smile. “As far as I remember, you don’t favour such fairs.”

“Eritaiol candles,” the words felt bitter, mirroring your uneasiness. “Is there a chance you have them?”

“Oh, goodness,” his eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten sick.”

“Not really, but I fear it’s a matter of days. Unless,” you punctuated the word, “I get the candles.”

“My dear! So unfortunate!” He shook his head sullenly. “Eritaiol candles are getting more difficult to find. I do have a few in the store, but the price… well, you understand.” His eyes were filled with guilt.

You pressed your lips together. “How many candles do you have?”

“Let me see.” He said, approaching the shelves behind the counter. The drawer creaked open, and he began to rummage through it. "Where are they?" he muttered, opening another drawer and shuffling through the items.

Your gaze returned to Aemond, but he was still closely observing the grasshoppers, leaning over their cages. His hands were clasped behind his back. You couldn’t grasp what caused such an interest in him.

“Here it is!” exclaimed Mr. Waterwing, placing three hefty candles on the dark wooden counter.

“Two will do?”

You shook your head. “I need three. What about the price?”

Mr. Waterwing’s gaze darted between the candles and you, his furrowed brows betraying his worry. Your heart sank. If he had plans for those candles himself, bargaining would be impossible.

When his eyes finally fixed on you, he leaned closer over the counter. Involuntarily, you did the same.

“How about a favour for a favour?” His voice dropped to a whisper, but you knew Aemond could hear every word.

“Sure,” you nodded. “What is it?”

“My daughter-in-law has gotten sick. Perhaps you could assist?”

Of course. If anything would come before money, it’d be family.

“Does she walk?”

He shook his head bitterly. “Mostly in bed these days. The fever has made her utterly weak.”

Given the plague would recede in the next few days, you could aid her. But if it didn’t… You swallowed hard. Now you had no choice but to give an empty promise.

With a decisive nod, you said, “I’ll assist her.” You were surprised by the confidence in your own voice. The elderly man let out a sigh of relief, and it felt like the burden had lightened upon your shoulders too.

You watched as the old, wrinkled hands skillfully wrapped the candles in creamy paper, securing them with a string. Without lifting his gaze, Mr. Waterwing said loudly, referring to Aemond, “These crickets will be singing in a few hours.”

Aemond’s gaze shifted to the side for a moment, as if he remembered something, but said nothing.

Slipping the package into your compact satchel, which hung over your shoulder, you gave the final instructions, “Her husband may come to me any day, but preferably before the storm. Just ensure he does exactly what I’ve said.”

Mr. Waterwing’s wrinkly hands wrapped around yours. “Of course! Thank you! And take care!”

“I will.” You forced out a wide smile, despite a lump tightening in your chest. You were no longer certain what the future held for you.

“Nothing better than a barter system,” Aemond said as soon as you had walked far enough away from the shop.

“Not many options for a seer,” you sighed, your hand resting firmly on the satchel. With the crowd being so dense, you had to pay extra attention.

“What of the storm? You said…” His voice trailed off, his eye peering into the distance as his body tensed.

Oblivious to the change in his demeanour, you replied, “The scorcher and the sky colour…” Ahead of you, there was some odd movement. So many horses—

Before you could grasp what was happening, Aemond gripped your hand and pulled you off the road, dragging you further between the stalls. The owners of the stalls gazed angrily at both of you.

“What are you doing?” you exclaimed in utter confusion, attempting to free your hand, but his grip tightened further, making you hiss.

In an alley between the shops, you were pinned between him and the cool brick wall, ready to explode from such audacity. Your blood boiled, and your mouth fell open, but no sound came out when you realised that the people’s chatter had suddenly died. Instead, the clear rhythm of horses' hooves approaching filled the silence. You could see little from your position, but the red dragon across the black banner caused your eyes to widen in realisation.

“The Crown offers,” said a loud, steely voice, “35,000 Golden Dragons for Aemond Targaryen—the one-eyed prince.” You felt his body tense against you, his hands remaining in a tight grip on your forearms as if fearing you'd disappear. Horror crept into you. You looked into his eye, searching for an emotion, but his gaze remained steady and focused on your face. “If you encounter him,” the voice boomed, each word heavy with menace, “do not dare to confront him. Seek out your village leader immediately. He is a danger beyond imagination. The Crown’s bounty stands at 35,000 Golden Dragons for Aemond Targaryen—a traitor and sworn enemy of Queen Rhaenyra, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” The chilling words receded into the distance, but your ability to move was still paralysed.

“What did you see?” Aemond’s voice was a soothing whisper.

“What?” you uttered, puzzled, your gaze fixed on his lips in an attempt to decipher his words.

“During the ritual,” he tilted his head, his eye searching your face with an intensity. “You saw something as we’d just commenced.”

It felt like you’d suddenly been pinched and woken up from a nightmare. Memories from the dim-lit room flashed through your mind, banishing the chill from your chest.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, shaking your head, though your voice betrayed you with a soft tremble.

Leaning closer, his breath was a soft puff near your ear. “Liar.”

Your cheeks flushed hot. The proximity of his body pressed against yours and the warmth of his skin caused your inner voice to scream unabashedly, “You saw him, all of him. You know what’s hidden behind the clothes.”

A wave of guilt washed over you. Should you reveal the truth? Apologise? Explain that the visions clung to you, capturing your mind without permission. You’d never had a stronghold over the people’s past, so the only option was to banish such visions from dancing into your mind. It was too late. By opening the door into his mind, you left yours open too. In an attempt to gain power over him, you had let yourself be exposed to him, to the parts of his soul merging into yours.

Taking a deep breath, you asked, forcing a distraction from your unsettling mind, “Are you fond of insects? You were observing the crickets at the shop.”

He replied distantly, “It was unusual, and that’s all.” But the way his eye flickered didn’t go unnoticed by you. You’d got a hold of the right string.

“Liar” was burning on your lips. But you did not dare to say it out loud. You held each other’s gaze; all words had died in your throats. His hand was still upon yours, though the hold was weak. You could pull it off if you wanted, but the touch felt like an anchor, the only thing that steadied you.

The street started buzzing with voices again, signalling that it was safe. Aemond was the first to break eye contact as he leaned away, his touch still warm against your skin.

Hesitating no longer, he stepped out of the alley, and you followed him. Time to go home. Looking at his dark figure before you, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you’d glimpsed something beneath his usual mask.

The sky was painted with interwoven shades of purple, pink, and orange as the sunset unfolded. You had observed the landscape countless times, yet each evening presented a new masterpiece in its perfection. Sitting cross-legged in the meadow felt like paradise. Dragonflies danced around you, their swift wings creating a gentle hum that harmonised with the crickets' chirping. Every soft breeze made the ears of corn tickle lightly against your bare arms, bringing a soothing sensation.

Having returned from the market, you’d immediately lit the two Eritaiol candles in the house, securing one in a safe place in case anything similar occurred again. To your relief, the garden wasn’t infected; the flowers were blooming exquisitely. Aemond had been correct in saying that with both of you away, the plague’s power would loosen around the place. You felt as though you’d escaped its grip.

“They’ve barely burned down,” Aemond said as he approached. He had shed his mantle and was now in a short-sleeved tunic. His hair remained neatly braided, and you wondered if it was a subtle gesture of trust.

“This is one of their benefits,” you replied, swirling a spiklet in your hands. “Though they’re expensive, they serve well and long.”

“The scent, however…” He grimaced, making you chuckle.

Shaking your head with a rueful smile, you said, “Right. We’ll have to sleep with the windows open again.”

Aemond sank to the ground at arm’s length from you, one leg stretched out while the other was bent at the knee. When his demeanour was quiet, it was surprisingly soothing to be in his presence, as if his calmness somehow passed to you.

A grasshopper landed on your leg, its legs twitching slightly. You tapped gently near it, and the insect hopped away.

“Have you ever performed it for anybody else?” he asked.

You gazed at his side profile, puzzled. In the golden hour, his skin shimmered with a warm glow. The light accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity of his violet eye, making him seem almost ethereal.

“The ritual,” he clarified.

Your chest tightened. It had never occurred to you that you might talk about it, let alone with him. Years had passed, but the wound was still raw in your heart and fresh in your memory. The price you paid as a seer—the curse of never being able to forget.

Involuntarily, you began picking at your fingers, a habit born from nervousness. One finger at a time, you moved to the other hand, a futile attempt to ground yourself. It was a trick you used to determine if you were dreaming—if this moment with Aemond was real or merely a figment of your imagination.

“Yes,” you finally breathed out, as if the quieter your voice, the lighter the truth would feel. He didn't push further and simply continued to gaze into the distance. This, or the unfulfilled desire to unburden yourself, coaxed you to add, “For my mother.”

When his gaze met yours, his violet eye flickered with deep understanding. He would have done the same for his mother, even if his experience hadn’t been similar to yours. You knew his mother was sacred to him, just as yours had been to you.

“How long did she live after?” His question came out softly.

“A year,” you replied, a lump forming in your throat. You could only bring yourself to talk about her in fewer than a dozen words without risking tears.

“I am sorry,” he said, his voice lowered and genuine.

Something prompted you to add, “She was very kind.”

“Aren’t all mothers?” A faint, genuine smile touched his lips, making you hold your breath. In stark contrast to his usual facade, he could win over hearts simply by being himself.

His gaze turned back to the distance, and you felt a smile on your face, and, surprisingly, a tiny part of the burden was lifted from your chest.

Listening to the melody of nature and admiring the view, you forgot why Aemond was here in the first place. Observing how the incompatible colours blended, merged, and created something magnificent, you were delighted to be back to your serene, cosy world. For the first time, his presence seemed to blend in.

“Please!” Hot tears streamed down your face, each drop a plea for her to stop, to fight for a chance to live rather than exhaust herself even more.

Her voice weakened, and you had to lean closer to catch her words.

“Hold the ritual just as you did for me. He won’t go away. In his madness, he’ll be ruthless and spiteful. When the flower blooms…” Her body shook with a violent cough, each convulsion stealing the words from her. “Lie. Whatever happens, whatever he says, don’t attempt to save him.”

“Mother…”

“Promise me, Y/N, you have to promise me.”

With those words, your vision blurred, and everything fell into darkness.

#hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader[4.1k] that nick millar line that's like "stop being mean to me i'll fall in love with you." scoops!steve, record store!reader and some weird drabbles about how steve gets flustered i don't like this i'm sorry

Steve knew he was a goner when he spotted you stacking shelves at the record store. He’d asked Eddie your name and the boy had cackled, slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Harrington, she’d eat you alive.’

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Steve had answered.

You wore boots with laces that were never fully tied, fishnet tights, bike shorts and too big T-shirts that served as dresses, gold rings on your fingers and ruby red lipstick on Saturdays.

You looked like trouble, like a whole lot of fun and Steve took Eddie’s warning as a personal challenge.

The first time he spoke to you, it was on his day off and he shoved some dollar bills at Dustin, Lucas and Max, told them to go to the arcade and stay in the arcade.

He found you behind the register, perched on a tall stool and flicking through records, cassettes littering the desk and your foot tap, tap, tapping against the wooden legs. Your store was quieter than the rest of the mall, so Steve tried to act casual, thanked everything holy that he wasn’t wearing his scoops uniform and browsed the boxes of music.

He kept letting his eyes flicker to you, the store dimly lit and smelling like old books and smoke, a stark contrast to the sweet sugar and bright lights of Scoops Ahoy.

It was nice, Steve noted, cosy, warm, a strange kind of quiet despite the music that played overhead. He didn’t even own a record player, not anymore, not since he’d been gifted a shiny new Walkman for his Christmas after his parents were out of town on his birthday.

But still, there was something calming about thumbing through the sleeves, some pre owned and fraying at the edges, arranged in their own box that was labelled ‘already loved.’ The handwriting was neat and romantic looking, big swirls and loops in the L’s and Steve wondered if it was yours, if you were sweeter than your big doc martens suggested.

But then he took his choices to the cash desk and you looked up from the price labels you were sticking to each record, a smile that was like sunshine and sin on your lips. You looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised and now that he was closer, Steve could see a gold hoop in one nostril.

He swallowed, tried to say something cool, something flirty, something alluring, but his throat was sticky like honey and he was suddenly speechless. Steve Harrington had lines, he knew how to flirt - sometimes it didn’t work, he could admit that now - but not a single word came from his mouth.

You were really something. A smirk rather than a smile, jewellery making you glitter, eyes lighting up at the sight of him and Steve felt like he had a neon sign above him, a shiny big arrow saying ‘fresh meat.’

He suddenly knew what Eddie had meant. He was out of his depth.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

God, scratch that, he was drowning.

Your voice was sweet, lined with a laugh, like you knew something he didn’t and Steve Harrington had never been shy in his life but your words had his cheeks tinted pink and he could feel the same heat at the tips of his ears.

“Did you find everything you needed?”

He stuttered, stammered, licked his lips and nodded instead. It was that magic kind of flirting, the kind where no one really spoke but the idea was heavy and thick and tension in it made your head spin. And maybe you weren’t as affected as Steve was, but the boy felt a little giddy with it, eyes nervously dancing between yours and your hands, watching the way you bagged up his records.

He didn’t even know what he’d bought.

But he took the bag from you with a smile that made him look really soft, hand warm as it brushed your own and he didn’t even wait for his change, he just backed out of the store with a dazed look in his eyes and the sound of your laughter following him.

—————

The second time Steve saw you, was half way through his lunch break, his hands full of soda cans and wrapped up sandwiches for himself and Robin, ‘cause there were only so many tubs of rocky road he could have instead of real food.

You were rounding the corner the same time as he was, barely managing to avoid colliding, shoulders bumping and a can of Dr. Pepper falling to the floor and making a break for it. It rolled enough for Steve to deem it a lost cause, telling himself he’d share his drink with Robin instead of trying to juggle it back into his already full arms.

But then you were catching it, wiggling it at him between a finger and a thumb as you carefully tucked it in the free space under his chin. He gaped, realising who he’d bumped into too late. You were a pretty painting, black lines above your lashes all cat like, lips coloured in a soft rosy shade. The sweater you wore was too big, bike shorts barely peeking out from the hem and you made music as you moved, necklaces catching against each other.

You were lovely. But your smile was dangerous.

“Thanks, uh, thank you- for that,” Steve managed, trying to gesture to the soda but almost losing two sandwiches and a bag of chips in the process. “Shit.”

“S’alright,” you told him softly and Steve had almost forgotten what your voice had sounded like, because after the first visit to the record store, he’d been too embarrassed to return.

He’d kept watch from behind the ice cream freezer, sighing over you as he refilled mint chocolate chip and scattered more sprinkles on floor than he did atop of cones. Robin thought it was disgusting.

“Lunch time?” You asked and it was obvious, the way you were making conversation, seemingly actually wanting to talk to him but Steve couldn’t wrap his head around why.

He nodded, too fast, hair flopping into his eyes and he had no free hands to smooth it back. Was he red again? He felt warm. You were smiling, eyes on his, scanning his face, taking in each of his features without any shame, bold in each of your actions.

Fuck. You were really pretty.

“Uh yeah, yeah,” Steve managed, “for me and uh,” he looked back, saw Robin leaning over the cash register with a grin on her lips as she watched on, more than amused. “And uh…”

“Your girlfriend?” You prompted. You sounded intrigued, voice still soft. “The pretty one in the hat?”

“Oh no, god no,” Steve replied and you grinned at how quick he spoke. He shook his head, fumbled another sandwich was still gazing at you from behind his messy hair. “I mean, fuck, she’s pretty and yeah, she’s wearing a hat but— no, not my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you were smiling, arms crossed as you tried not to full on grin at the way the boy was floundering, trying his best to assure you that his co-worker was definitely not his girlfriend.

“I mean, we’re friends,” he was telling you, “best friends but like, super platonic. So platonic. I’m single.” Steve swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “So single.”

You didn’t miss the little ‘fuck,’ he whispered into the lunch he was still clutching to his chest and his cheeks went from rosy to ruby, a flush across the high points of his face that you would adorable.

You didn’t say anything, not yet, but you leaned a little closer and pushed yourself onto your toes so you could sweep a hand through the front of his hair, pushing back the locks that had fallen into his face.

Steve wondered if he had stopped breathing.

“That’s better,” you hummed and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at his stricken expression. He looked panicked in the best way.

Steve nodded and you took it as a thanks because his lips were parted and his brown eyes were turning into honey and he looked a little wrecked. It was fun, you realised, watching the way he reacted to you.

“It’s Steve, right?” You tapped at his name badge, still standing too close for what some people would consider polite but Steve smelled like sugar and mint and the forest, like cedar or pine.

Steve cleared his throat, tried not to stare at your lips when you said his name and he nodded, “yeah, uh— Steve Harrington.”

Another grin from you, wide and bright and fucking magical, because Steve decided that every time you smiled at him he felt like he was turning inside out.

“Okay, Single Steve Harrington—” he cut you off with a groan and it was suddenly your new favourite sound. “—I need to get back to work, enjoy your lunch.”

“Right, yeah, shit,” he winced at the way his voice cracked and Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, what was he? Sixteen again? “Uh, do I get to know your name?” It was a lie. He knew your name. He’d asked Eddie weeks ago.

And you must’ve been thinking the same because you laughed, reallt fucking cutely, Steve noticed, nose scrunched and eyes bright as you said, “don’t play coy, pretty boy, I know who your friends are.”

You left him standing there, cheeks still flushed, soft hair perfectly rumpled from how you’d pushed it back and you couldn’t help yourself. You turned, a head over your shoulder, lashes lowered as you looked him up and down, doing the least you could to try and hide it.

“Hey Steve?”

The boy's head snapped round to you, eyes wide as ever. His pretty face was a question mark.

“Nice shorts.”

—————

The third time, Steve was almost confident enough to say you sought him out.

Because it was a slow Tuesday and the summer outside had reached its peak, the sun warming the mall through the glass roof like a greenhouse, the air stifling and hazy. It was too warm for even ice cream, most of Hawkins had seemed to decide, and even the kids had passed up on free samples in favour of spending a day at the pool.

But there you were, record store lanyard missing from your neck which told Steve it was definitely your day off. And besides, if he happened to have remembered your shifts, well, that was just a coincidence.

You swaned into Scoops with your usual confidence, a glint in your eye and a surprisingly bright sundress on your frame. You were still glittering with jewellery, chains and trinkets on your neck, delicate rings on each finger, tiny gold daisies hanging from your ears. Your dress was a startling red, cherry coloured and all the bare skin on show meant that Steve could see fine black lines of ink peeking out from beneath the cotton.

He smiled at the way you still wore your boots, laces undone and rolled socks peeking out the top. You had spent some time talking between shifts now, “accidentally” bumping into each other when the mall was still closed, early morning starts spent standing in line together for a coffee as Steve tried his damn hardest to remember how to speak in your presence.

It got a little easier and Steve could hold a conversation without his voice cracking, but every now and then he’d spot you already gazing at him and you had a look on your face that could take a man down to his knees.

And god, did you know how good you looked in that dress? Did you understand what you did to him? Steve thought that maybe you did because you were leaning over the counter on your elbows and invading all of his personal space with the smell of your perfume and cocoa butter body lotion.

You tapped out a beat with your fingernails, Ruby red to match your dress, hands dancing in gold, rings that Steve knew woild look so fucking pretty wrapped around his—

“Hey, pretty boy.”

The boy dropped his ice cream scoop and from an empty table behind you both, Robin snorted.

“Hey, hi… hi,” he settled on, ducking behind the counter to retrieve his scoop and he tried not to wince at how decidedly unsmooth he was around you.

He’d panicked to Robin more than enough times about it. How he managed to trip over his words, even his own feet, when he was around you. But, despite his friends usual teasing and unsupportive behaviour when it came to his dating like, she’d surprised him with:

“Well shit, Steve, she keeps coming back, doesn’t she?”

“Hi,” you repeated, grinning. “How’s it going?”

Steve smiled back, wider than he’d have liked, too happy, too pleased that you were here on your day off, in his store, standing talking to him whilst you looked like that.

The hem of your dress swung at your thighs as you tapped your foot to music only you could hear and you were looking up at him with the most wicked expression. Steve had realised you seemed to save those looks for only him, the rest of your time spent in the record store ignoring the boys who tried to chat you up with cheap lines and shit chat.

Steve sighed and looked around the empty store. “It’s going,” he replied. “What’re you doing here? Aren’t you… off today?”

“Keeping tabs?” You grinned and Steve flushed.

It was your favourite thing.

“What? No, no I—” if Steve could get away with volleying a ball of raspberry ripple at Robin right then, he could’ve. She was hiding her face in the pile of delivery notes but he could hear her laughter. “I just— yeah, shit, maybe I am.”

His admission made you preen, straightening up to catch the ends of that stupid, little sailor scarf between your fingers. You lifted one brow, looked at the boy through your lashes and wondered if you listened carefully enough, would you be able to hear the thumpthumpthump of his heart.

Steve was almost certain you would.

“That’s cute,” you mused, sighing dramatically, wistful almost, as you tugged at the scarf. Steve jolted closer, lips parted, eyes hooded as he tried his best to keep his gaze on yours. But your lips were right there. And so were your tits. “It’s a real shame you don’t use that knowledge to work out when to take me out on a date.”

Even Robin stilled.

“A date?” Steve asked and you were so close, closer than you’d ever been ‘cause he could tell your lipgloss was cherry flavoured, he could smell the artificial sweetness, could count the freckles on your nose.

You nodded, smiled, let your eyes flicker down to where he was licking at his lips and you felt the way he sighed. He had a knuckle white grip on his side of the counter, arms flexed as he leaned in, letting you hold him as close to you as you dared.

“Y’know… dinner, maybe a movie, a hot little fumble in the backseat of your car before you kiss me goodnight and go home to take a cold shower?”

“Christ,” Steve breathed and you watched the way he flushed, eyes drooping prettily as he seemingly thought out your scenario. “Yeah— yeah, I can do that, fuck, we can do that.”

The grin that took over your face was more than pretty and Steve was about done for when you finally let go of his sailors scarf, only to reach up and brush back his hair again. He let you, eyes full of sticky fondness, a little awe as your fingertips brushed across the top of his forehead.

“Great,” you told him, backing away, boots scuffing across the parlour tiles. “You can pick me up at eight on Saturday.”

—————

Steve had never been so nervous on a date.

The good kind, an excitement he’d almost forgotten about and he revelled in the way his stomach tumbled, cheeks flush and lips bitten as he waited for you to appear from your front door.

You’d smiled at his shyness, ducked your head in a similar fashion when he told you how pretty you looked and then it was a night of feet touching under the diner table, stealing the crispy fries from his plate and Steve pretending that he cared.

He eventually calmed down enough to talk about everything and anything with you, his job, education, his parents, his friends. And when he’d finished making you laugh like it was his new hobby, you both realised too late that you’d missed the movie.

But you didn’t seem to care, happy to walk shoulder for shoulder with the boy through the emptying mall, watching him with a smile as he worked up enough courage to hold your hand.

You let him, hands tangling, a finger gently prodding his pink cheek and he swatted at you with a smile, a fond roll of his eyes and then that was it.

You didn’t leave his side after that.

The windows of his car were rolled down as he parked up near the water tower, wheat fields and the forest hiding you both from the rest of the down. The summer air smelled sweet, like leftover barbecue smoke and wet grass and Steve had the radio on low as you teased him about his music taste, the way he’d bitten his bottom lip raw from being so close to you.

He could take it better now, your little mean streak, the one that liked to push his buttons and turn him pink. He still flushed when you called him pretty boy, heard his breath hitch when you stretched your bare legs over his, back pressed to the passenger door as you let the wind pick at your hair.

But he got a little braver and let his hands smooth over your shins, eyes flickering from yours to the way your sundress was played messily across the tops of your thighs. Steve was a gentleman about it though, listened when you spoke, asked you questions and got to know you, making those eyes at you, even if he didn’t realise.

“Did you come in that day just to buy those records?”

Steve snorted, let his cheek turn and press against the headrest so he could look at you with those big brown eyes, wild hair that you ached to brush away.

“I don’t even have a record player anymore.”

Your laugh was a whole other type of song and it warmed Steve more than the summer night did.

“You don’t?” You grinned, nudging a foot into his thigh. “Steve Harrington, you’re a damn fool.”

“If you keep bein’ mean to me,” Steve grinned, voice full of tease and sticky sweet affection, “m’gonna fall in love with you, you know?”

And he did.

—————

You didn’t grudge Robin for the way she rolled her eyes at you upon seeing you walk into Scoops. You couldn’t. She knew, she knew that you knew. So you just smiled.

“Is Steve….?”

“In the back,” she groaned good naturedly. “You’re lucky we’re dead.”

You grinned, blew the girl a kiss and slipped through the staff only door. The door to the walk-in freezer hummed and music came from the break room, quiet and crackling with static from the old radio. You found the boy at the table, feet kicked up on a stool as he played with his empty bottle of soda.

Steve lit up when he saw you, an unexpected visit as you were on a late shift at your own store, the chances of you both getting lunch at the same time slim. But you’d bartered with your boss, promising that all of the new stock that had been delivered would get done before close. He’d rolled his eyes and grudgingly agreed, muttering about your new boyfriend and how he was affecting your work ethic.

You hadn’t used that word yet. ‘Boyfriend.’ And neither had Steve, but that was okay. You were enjoying that inbetween stage that came with uncertainty and butterflies, second guesses and kicking your feet in your bed at night when he dropped you off, each new kiss feeling like another first.

And you were still making the boy blush, the prettiest pink across his cheeks, stealing reasons to touch him whenever you could, playing with the ends of his hair as he spoke, pressing a hand to the skin under his shirt when you wanted his attention.

Which was a waste of time, if you asked Steve - you always had his attention, whether your hands were on him or not. Not that he ever complained.

In fact, he looked downright ecstatic when you dropped yourself in his lap, pleated skirt hitching up your thighs as you grinned down at him, pink cheeks, messy hair and sailor boy uniform to boot.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

“Hello to you too, trouble,” he’d gotten better at that part, talking to you without falling over his own words, more flirt and confidence in his voice than the first time you’d met. “I didn’t think I was gonna see you until after work.”

“Sold my soul for you,” you pouted, lifting his little hat and placing it atop your own head. “Promised that a full delivery would be finished before close.”

Steve tried to pout back, but he couldn’t help but smile at how you bargained just to be able to come see him. The sailor hat was perched adorably on top of your head, a little squint and with a cherry ice cream stain on the side. His hands palmed at your hips, squeezing gently and you lifted a brow to gaze down at him questioningly.

“Robin already isn’t happy I’m back here distracting you,” you smiled, “don’t start something you can’t finish - or win.”

“Win?” Steve scoffed, “sweetheart give me a little cred-”

The boy’s words died in his throat as you stood only to swing a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs with your own, fishnet tights stretched over your skin. You brought your hand to his chin, caught it between finger and thumb and smoothed the pad of it over his bottom lip. You tugged a little meanly, let it fall back with a cute ‘pop’ and grinned at how he was already flushed for you, eyes a little glassy and unfocused, cheeks turning pink.

“You’re too easy, Steve,” you whispered, stretching your arms over his shoulders, fingers tugging through the messy curls at the nape of his neck. You leaned in as if to kiss him, turned before he could catch you and pressed your nose to his cheek instead, letting him feel your smile against his jaw before you mouthed at it.

“You smell so good,” you sighed, voice hitched a little higher than normal, a little breathier. “Could just eat you up.”

“You’re a demon,” Steve huffed, canting his hips up into yours, hands squeezing more tightly at your waist but he did nothing to stop you from tugging at his hair. He let his head fall back, exposing his throat to you and your mouth. “Baby.”

“Baby. Love when you call me that,” you cooed, planting a line of kisses along the column of his neck, nipping at his ear lobe as you pressed yourself against his chest. “Makes me feel so sweet.”

Steve groaned, barked out a laugh that ended in a hiss because you rocked yourself against him, grinding down and grinning. “Yeah? You’re anything but,” he lied.

“Mean,” you teased, bringing your mouth to hover over the boys, lips just grazing his. “You don’t think I’m sweet? That’s not what you said the other night.”

You were pouting, pushing your lips to Steve’s in a barely there kiss before pulling away, running a hand over the front of his hair, pushing it back so you could see the way his eyes glazed over at your words. He knew what you were referencing, of course he did. How could he forget?

“I distinctly remember you telling me that you thought I tasted real sweet in the back of your car,” you grinned, wicked, cupped the boy’s face and smoothed your thumbs over the high points of his cheekbones. “There is it,” you whispered.

A blush, pink and warm and rosy, just for you, even after Steve had spent countless times between you legs, lips sucking, mouth too busy to do anything but moan. He was pink even then. But this? Now?

“I think you’re the sweet one.”

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