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parfaitblogs · 19 days ago

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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night out comes to an end, and your boyfriend has to try to keep your wandering hands off of him.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: alcohol consumption. reader is drunk. reader is a brat. spencer is so exasperated. but he loves you so bad. age gap probably. suggestive content. word count: 2.1k a/n: oh my god i miss having a man to pick me up and love me when im drunk #thisshouldbeme final boss level 1000. simple fun fluff i love when he's nice to us i should do this more often. circa summer 2024 ass title i'm rebuilding spencer reid tumblr brick by brick.

You were never meant to be this drunk.

Truly, you had grandeur plans for it to be a one and done night. Entertain the birthday girl — your best friend — with your presence and take care of her, for it is her night, and then go home and pass out early enough in dark green sheets and the sound of your boyfriend sleeping next to you.

You'd even told him about these plans.

Instead? He's staring down at his phone with a locked jaw, and four different messages from you glaring back up at him. Incomprehensible, if he weren't as smart as he were. If he weren't as attuned to you and your mannerisms down to the way you text. A man who doesn't even like texting, and he's memorised how you do.

Something about him picking you up, maybe, if he wants. Another thing about you finding him pretty. Another with a photo of the — and he quotes — really good vodka coke the bartender made you (he's certain it tastes the same as the last three you mentioned drinking). Finally, a photo of you in the bathrooms, arms around your best friend, grinning at the mirror through your phone, showing off your outfit to him. As if he hadn't memorised, documented, the way the skirt looked on you when you left hours earlier.

When he doesn't reply to a single message, you call him, and endearment for you grows, for he can hear the pout on your lips as you speak into the phone.

"Why're you ignorin' me?" you mumble, which isn't much help considering how loud the world around you is, your voice nearly drowning out.

"I'm not, honey," he says. "I only just checked your messages. I was about to respond."

"Liar. You're ignoring me. You hate me."

"I can assure you I don't," he's amused. He's so stupidly amused, you want to kick him for it. You don't. You can't. Instead, you let him keep sweet talking you out of your predisposed anger. "Are you having a good night?"

"Yes!" you brighten almost immediately. "Did you see the photo I sent?"

"Of your outfit? Yeah, angel. You look pretty," he's practically perfected how to talk to you when drunk. You're oblivious to it, always too intoxicated to register he is extra nice when you're barely able to hold yourself upright.

"Thank you," you reply, and he can hear the fluster. "Look prettier in—in person."

"I know. I saw you before you left, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah," your cheeks heat, and you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. The bricks are a juxtaposing cold against your back. Rough, too. Oddly comforting. "Are you busy? Am I keeping you from somethin'? S'that why you were ignorin' me?"

"No," he replies. "I'm waiting for you to be ready to come home. Is that why you're calling?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, giggling to yourself because you remember he can't see that. He doesn't know why you're laughing, but he smiles at it nonetheless. "Jus' wanted to hear your voice. Miss you."

"I miss you too, honey," he says, and you can hear that smile in his voice.

"What're you doin' then?" you ask, staring at the door to the club you had deserted, keeping an eye out for your friends to emerge.

"Reading."

"Reading what?"

"Sofia Petrovna," he tells you, and, as if he can see the way your eyebrows furrow, he adds, "Russian novel by Lydia Chukovskaya. I'll find a translation so you can read it, I think you'd like it."

"You should jus' read it to me right now," you mumble, crouching down to the floor, resting your head on your knees. "Translate for me."

"You most certainly won't remember a thing I'm saying. Where are your friends?"

"In the club. It got overstimulating," you tell him.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and an excuse about how you can actually see your friends still — you can't — manifests on your tongue, preempting the scolding he's no doubt formulating.

However, two simple, stern — but not too scary — words kill the faux reassurance immediately. "You're alone?"

You hesitate. "...No?"

"Can you go find your friends, please? I don't want you outside alone."

"Yes, sir," you stand back up. His jaw clenches, biting back his reprimand. He doesn't have the energy to lecture you about the dangers of being this drunk alone, and he's sure you wouldn't appreciate it anyways. Or remember it. "I will call you back later! Bye! Love you!"

He continues to hear from you for the two hours following. A photo once you find your friends to assure him you're safe, a mistyped message about how you love him more than anything in the world, another asking if he's mad at you when he doesn't reply. Eventually, you're calling him again, chatter from the smoker's lounge you'd disappeared into loud, but he can faintly make out you asking him to pick you up.

He finds himself in an empty enough street just a block away from the last club you told him you were going to, waiting.

There were people everywhere, just past the corner of the street. Girls with their bags hanging limply down by their calves, fast food paper bags held up to some of their mouths. Never his scene, but he's shown up enough for you since you started dating to know what he's looking out for.

He can see you before you spot him, but when you do, he can't fight the smile at the sight of you brightening up in an instant. Distantly, he hears you call his name, pointing him out to your friends and stumbling towards the car.

"Hi!" you collapse against the passenger's seat door, window open and waiting for you, as you lean into the car.

Recognising the offer for what it was, he leans across the console to kiss you before you can start drunkenly accusing him of not loving you. Or whatever you can come up with to start a baseless, completely harmless argument with him.

"Hi, honey. Good night?" he asks as you finally pull open the door, settling into the seat with a sigh, head nodding as you peel your shoes off of your feet and curl up.

"I think so," you murmur, hair covering your face as you drop your head, and a yawn stretches your mouth open. "I'll tell you all about it t'morrow."

"Can't wait," he muses.

"You never answered me," you then say — which is generous, considering he could barely make out a word — looking over at him. "'Bout if you're mad."

"I wasn't mad," he reassures you. "Just worried. Thought we talked about not being out and alone when you're this intoxicated?"

"Yeah. I know. Sorry."

Tomorrow, as it turns out, follows a quiet drive home for you to collect your thoughts, and his helping hands at removing your makeup and getting you into the shower. A year old promise that he will always force you under the water before bed no matter what protests you come up with.

Now, here you are, rambling his ear off animatedly on the edge of the bathroom sink, as he brushes a wet comb through your hair.

He's listening intently, soaking in every word you were saying about your night out, even if it entirely made no sense to him. Your attempt at stringing together your night's events was poor at best, and he's pretty sure you've re-explained four times that you went into then night with fake names and backstories to try and fool everyone.

"And then we went to... um... I forgot the name. But it was free entry, so we went in, obviously, and this guy bought us drinks because of the birthday sash she was wearing, so that was awesome. That was the vodka coke I sent you, it was so goo—can I have a kiss?"

Your request catches him off guard, and the comb clatters to the basin beside you when his hand drops from your hair.

"Is that all you want?" he hums, leaning forwards. His lips brush against your own, and you smile.

"Yep. Just a kiss," you chirp, slouching your shoulders so you could look up at him with wide eyes you know all too well he can't deny. "Please?"

You just had to ask so nicely, and he was left with very little choice in the matter in the end.

He kisses you for only a second, aiming to pull away and successfully get you into bed before you can take this any further.

Ever so sneaky, though, you catch your fingers into his hair and tug him back into you, legs hooking around his waist to keep him locked. His hips knock the cabinets, but he's distracted by your lips back on his to fully register the hit.

"Honey," he mumbles against your lips. A warning, you think. It sounds it.

You don't listen.

Instead, you inch closer to the edge of the basin until he's forced to roll his hips into yours to push you back, saving you from falling off.

You whine, and the sound has him coming back to reality, deftly pulling away from your lips. You protest, quietly, and he's forced to tangle a hand in your hair to tug your head back, keeping you away from him.

"No," he says, firmly. If you were sober, maybe you'd back down under the demand. Then again, if you were sober, he wouldn't be saying no to you. Instead, his tone of voice only makes your smile widen, and your skin tingle.

"It was just a kiss," you protest, slipping off the sink once he steps back, letting him guide you like a lost puppy back into his bedroom. "Spencer?"

"No it wasn't," he says, hand on your back as he navigates you over to his bed. "We've talked about this."

He sits down before you, and despite the scolding, lets you climb over him into the bed anyways, hips straddling his waist as he lays back on the bed.

"Just a kiss. I promise," you affirm, breath warm against his lips.

He gives in, as he always does, and lets you kiss him again.

Hips square above his, chest pressing on his, fingers ruffling the sheets beside his head. You kiss him until you're out of air, and convinced he's drunk enough on your taste to let you go further.

He isn't.

"Behave," he quips when your hand drops to his waistband, his fingers catching your wrist and lifting it back up. You're too focussed on the way his hand fits around the joint to argue.

"I am," you huff, tilting your head with a lopsided grin. "Didn't do anything!"

"Brat," he pinches your hip, and you squirm, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Go to bed."

"Can't. You've got me caged up on top of you," you jut your chin out. "Maybe you're the problem."

"Yep. Sure am," he confirms, letting his arms around you go slack, just to watch you fall off his chest and to the mattress beside him. "Sleep."

"Or what?"

He pushes air out of his nose, but it's all too difficult to stay frustrated with you when you're staring up at him with the hugest smile on your face. You know exactly what you're doing — and he's just letting you.

He thinks he will forever.

He pauses in choosing a response. "Do you want me to be nice when I wake you up tomorrow?"

"Depends," you study him, eyes narrowing; drunken skepticism. "What's your version of nice?"

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out," he kisses your nose, "and go to sleep."

"Are you being suggestive?" you sit up abruptly, and his palms find comfort in his face, running down it. "Spencer."

"I'm not answering that. Go to sleep, honey."

"I can't. Why would you say that? You're such a tease. Oh my God. I hate you," you moan, dramatically falling back down to the bed, head finding the space between his shoulder and his neck. "Do you promise?"

It's like he knows you're giving up, for his voice has dropped into a drawl, exhaustion he'd been expertly masking coming out as he speaks. "Promise what?"

"To wake me up nicely?"

"If you're good and go to sleep now, yes."

"Pinky promise?" his eyes are now closed, but you still search his face with keen interest. He smiles. He can feel it.

"Pinky promise," he affirms, and he finally — finally — fully relaxes as he feels you curl into him. "Goodnight, honey."

"G'night, Spence."

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff

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pixiexdusts-world · 3 months ago

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Meet the Heffley’s

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Summary: Rodrick’s girlfriend meets his chaotic family, and Manny tries to steal her. She loves it anyway.

Word count: 1010

Notes: this is very random but I love Rodrick so I needed to write something

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Title: Meet the Heffleys

Meeting your boyfriend’s family is supposed to be a big deal, right? Like, one of those moments where you dress nice, bring flowers or something, and sit down for an awkwardly polite dinner while his parents judge you.

Yeah. That’s not how things work with Rodrick Heffley.

When he invited me over for dinner, it was more like, “Hey, my mom said you should come over and eat with us or whatever.” Super romantic. But I agreed because, well… I wanted to meet them. Rodrick talks about his family all the time, mostly to complain, but still. I was curious.

So, here I am, standing on the Heffleys’ front porch, wondering if I should have brought something. Probably not. This doesn’t seem like the kind of house where formal dinner etiquette exists.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

Rodrick smirks, leaning against the doorframe like he’s so cool. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I’m on time.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be, like, ten minutes late so I could say something sarcastic about it.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek, just to make him flustered. It works. His smirk falters for half a second before he clears his throat and steps aside. “Alright, come in before my mom starts thinking I made you up.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. A little messy, with random shoes lying around, a stack of newspapers no one’s bothered to throw away, and a distinct family chaos vibe. The smell of dinner cooking comes from the kitchen, something warm and homey.

And then I hear it.

“Rodrick! She’s here?!”

Before I can react, a woman appears—short, blonde, and way too excited. I barely have time to brace myself before she pulls me into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined!”

“Uh, thanks,” I manage, shooting a look at Rodrick, who just shrugs like, Yeah, this is happening.

His mom pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Rodrick never tells us anything about his personal life. You should’ve seen my face when he said he had a girlfriend. I almost dropped my coffee!”

Rodrick groans. “Mom.”

“What?” She waves him off. “I’m just happy to meet her. Oh, come in, come in! We’re just about to set the table.”

I follow her into the dining room, where a younger boy sits at the table, flipping through a comic book. He glances up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You’re Rodrick’s girlfriend?”

“Greg,” Susan scolds. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Greg shrugs, then looks at me. “You do know he’s, like, the worst, right?”

“Hey, shut up, loser,” Rodrick snaps, dropping into a chair.

I grin. “Oh, I know.”

Greg blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then he mutters, “Huh. Okay.”

That’s when I feel a tiny hand grab mine.

I glance down to see a little kid—Manny, I recognize him from Rodrick’s rare stories about him—staring up at me with big eyes.

“I have a girlfriend too,” he announces proudly.

Susan gasps. “Manny! Since when?”

“Since yesterday,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he looks back up at me and asks, completely serious, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

I nod. “Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?”

Manny grins, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Okay. You’re my second girlfriend now.”

Rodrick groans. “Oh my God.”

Greg snickers. “Dude, you already have competition.”

Manny tugs at my sleeve again. “Rodrick is gross. Do you wanna be just my girlfriend instead?”

Rodrick drops his fork. “Are you kidding me? Mom, tell him he can’t steal my girlfriend!”

Susan barely holds back a laugh. “Manny, sweetie, she’s Rodrick’s girlfriend.”

Manny huffs. “Fine.”

This is amazing.

Dinner is… interesting. The food is good—spaghetti and garlic bread—but the conversation is pure chaos. Susan keeps asking me questions about school, my family, my plans for the future (Rodrick groans at that one). Greg watches me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d willingly date his brother. And Manny? He spends the whole meal making dramatic faces at Rodrick and occasionally whispering, “Rodrick is a doo-doo head.”

Rodrick spends most of the meal making sarcastic comments and kicking me under the table whenever his mom gets too nosy.

At one point, their dad, Frank, comes in late, looking exhausted. He gives me a polite nod, sits down, and immediately starts ranting about something Rodrick did last week. Rodrick barely reacts, just shoveling food into his mouth while his mom scolds him and Greg smirks like he enjoys watching his brother get in trouble.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s so different from my own family’s quiet dinners.

And I kind of love it.

After we eat, Rodrick grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Alright, we’re done here. Bye.”

“Rodrick, wait—” Susan starts, but he’s already leading me to his room.

The second he shuts the door, he groans. “I told you my family was annoying.”

I flop onto his bed, laughing. “I like them.”

He gives me a look. “You like them?”

“Yeah. Your mom is sweet, Greg is funny, and Manny… well, he’s trying to steal me, but other than that, he’s adorable.”

Rodrick snorts. “I knew that kid was trouble.”

I smile and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not worried, are you?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but I can tell he’s relieved. And maybe even a little happy.

Yeah. I think I’m gonna like being around the Heffleys.

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick x reader #rodrick x y/n #diary of a wimpy kid #doawk rodrick #doawk #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick

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thedarkestrivernymph · 4 months ago

Note

I would love any yandere clan leader fluff tbh, maybe one where someone from a clan at a party disrespects reader and he comforts her after defending her? Thanks!

Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Wife! Reader

note: it kind of follows the theme of reader being overly insecure/doubting him

warnings: harassment, insecure! reader,

Everything was loud.

The piano and violin, the hushed whispers surronding you like constant white noise, the whiskey lingering in the air like cheap perfume. You felt your head spin and buzz—bile on the back of your tongue while you clutched your glass filled with the unidentifiable magenta swirling inside of it.

You shouldn't be here. Just were not cut-out for this; for the weight that your husband's last name bore, pushing you down until you could do nothing but slouch.

And then a strange cold limp patted you on your shoulder. Right, you were next to your husband's cousin—what was his name again?

“Relax, I’m sure he's gonna be right back.”

But as he laughed, tipsy as he was, you were certain that his hand shouldn’t feel like a heavy paw of a fox tackling down a lamp to feast on—it probably should’ve comforted you along with his words, reassure you and ease the tension between your shoulder blades.

“Pretty shy, ain't you?” he quipped and all you could do was smile awkwardly.

He was nice-looking, younger than you, probably with no fear of anything; especially not physical contact. It probably didn't mean much to him, but to you the pads of his fingers brushing over your naked shoulder felt violating, as if he placed them there specifically to watch the discomfort spawn on your face. As if he prided himself with being socially more comptent than you.

“Such a pretty face, but you don't talk much, do ya? C’mon talk, it's just me, we’re practically family now.” his breath stung, made your eyes tear up from the potent concentration of alcohol.

You hadn’t even meant to get roped up in this conversation, not at all. Passing by, searching for your husband in the crowd of unfamiliar clan-members and different clans; men dressed in their finest suits or cultural attires, with women adored in extravagant dresses and bold colours—you had stumbled upon the one familiar face of his distant cousin and now his arm draped over your shoulder like shackles keeping you in place.

“Got really lucky with ya—didn’t he? Lucky Bastard.” he laughed and you further shrunk and shriveled into yourself. “Got to be the next clan leader, got the title, the fame, the power, always got the prettier women—”

“That's enough.” a voice cut through the stifling air like a whip; sharp and poised like the gaze of his owner with his sudden appearance —draped in matching midnight blue silk, dressed worthy of the head of a clan as large as his was.

He was angered, you could tell that much—the piercing look in his eyes spoke for itself; as deep as the ocean, a storm wracking in his soul, with waves building up until they even swallowed you.

So you looked away, ashamed.

“I said that's enough.” this time he ripped his cousin's dirty paw off of your shoulder. His jaw was clenched and suddenly you felt suffocated by the intensity of it all—you hadn't meant for this. What if now he would blame you? Thought you were comfortable with being close to other men. He was so sweet till now, but what if he was appalled now, disgusted, what if he—

“Are you alright, love?” he grounded you, as he always did, holding you like fragile porcelain, peering down at you with stern but not unkind eyes.

“I-I am fine.” you stammered, overwhelmed by his gentle tone and softer touch—it made your head spin with confusion. Just why was he always so kind to you? Even now? Even after everything he saw.

“Love, you don't look fine to me.” he whispered, came close enough so that his breath brushed the shell of your ear and the warmth of it travel down to your painfully fast beating heart. “No, I really am—”

“She said she's fine. What? Tryna make me seem like the bad guy when you left your woman alone—” he didn't get any more words out before his collar tightened, dangerously until air was just but a luxury.

Yet you didn't even see him choking, nor did you hear whatever it was that your betrothed threatened him with, shielding your line of sight with his broad back, towering over the other guy as if he didn't want you to watch.

However he, no matter how much he tried concealing the conversation occuring between them—with hushed whispers similar to that of a scolding father—you could see raw terror in his cousin's eyes after your husband let him go. The man’s eyes were as wide as saucers and they may have met yours for just a fraction—yet you were sure of what you saw. Even more so as he scurried away like a mouse.

“Come. Let's get you out of here.” he grabbed you by your arm, firmly with strength that you knew would bruise if he was as angry with you as he was with his cousin. So he wasn't angry with you? Somehow, knowing this only unsettled you further.

He whisked you away—somewhere much more private and intimate; into a nearby empty room. Staring down at you, he stood still as a statue after closing the door, allowing silence to hug the both of you in a stifling embrace.

“I am sorry—” you broke through the silence, shattering the illusion of calmness.

“Sorry?” he furrowed his brows, bewilderment taking over his features and you swore his eyes watered. In a way, he only looked more frustrated, the sharpness of his features morphing to something animalistic.

“Is sorry not enough?” you flinched, squinting, the moon once more had chosen you to illuminate with its beauty. Yet, you were nothing worth of it—not when he stood in front of you, more righteous and more deserving than you ever had been.

It seemed he was at a loss for words, staring at you as if you were alien to him.

“I truly feel remorseful—” you were about to kneel, lower yourself, but before your knees even had the chance to hit the ground he held you in his arms, shaking you with all his might.

“Stop, my love, please stop. One more word of yours and my heart will rip.” he was frantic, desperate. This wasn't the usual head-strong confident leader, the man with the voice of chiffon—this was him, raw and vulnerable.

“How can you—have I failed this much?” his voice was like tides of the sea; unrestrained yet eerily calm. “Have I neglected you? Have I not shown you how much I love you?” his touch become more frantic, hands burying themselves into the fabric of your dress.

“I failed you, my love. I am so ashamed of myself.” now he was the one kneeling in front of you. The man who's presence alone was enough to demand order and submission, who reigned over his clan firmly yet fairly, who was respected by everyone around you—at your feet, staring up at you as if you were his goddess and he a peasant.

Stunned you could only stare as wetness glistened over his cheeks, strange softness taking ahold of his features.

“I—” he pressed a kiss to your ankle. “I will prove myself to you once again. I will love you so much, you won't ever have the opportunity to doubt. I will love you enough for the both of us. So much, that you won't ever take the blame for a bastard again. I will love you so much, that you will stop thinking that you're anything but a minx that captured me and continues to do so.” he kissed your knee.

“Do you even know how much I struggle to let you out of my arms whenever we hug? I can't bear the thought of someone else claiming that you're theirs. When I know that you're my soulmate since the day our eyes met. I am yours in body and mind and I want you to finally see that.” his voice deep and soulful cracked, fingers clutching you like a lifeline.

“My love, I will do better. I promised once to prove myself to you, and I promise twice now. Even if it takes my whole life, I will get rid of everything that hurts you. Anyone that hurts you. And that includes all that garbage in that pretty head of yours. I will do better teaching you, love.” he kissed you over your beating heart.

“I am yours.”

#yandere #yandere story #male yandere x reader #yandere x you #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere stories #yandere male #male yandere #male x reader #Yandere Clan Leader #yandere oc

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milla-frenchy · 2 months ago

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You oughta know

4k2 | Clint Flood x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: after your ex breaks your heart yet again, you ask your dad’s best friend for a favour

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Age gap (reader is 20, Clint is in his late 40s, early 50s), virginity loss, dbf!Clint, Clint is a little sleazy but soft, pet names (Clint calls reader kid, honey, baby), pussy pronouns, praise kink, oral (f/m), unprotected piv, creampie

a/n: writing really helps to process things. So this one is dedicated to one of my shitty ex bf (no dbf in my own story, tho). To my 16 yo self: you did great, girl 🫂😘

The fic is titled after “You oughta know” by Alanis Morissette, this absolutely perfect and full of rage banger. Shameless use of some lyrics at the end of the fic

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for being you, and for beta-ing me💕🫶 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

You and Mike have never been a thing for a long time, or a thing at all. When he offered you a drink one night, you didn't tell him to fuck off, even though he had already broke your heart twice. Seemed that you were a kind of girl who thought she could fix the fucked up ones.

The way it ended the third time was the worst.

"Still a virgin? Yeah, that's not gonna work. I want someone who knows how to suck a cock, you know? Or to ride me. Not someone who knows nothing."

You ran into him again a few days later, his arm wrapped around some girl’s waist. She was prettier than you, more confident. And probably more experienced. They laughed when they saw you.

Fucking assholes.

You dragged your broken heart around for a while, until you saw Clint one night at the bar, shamelessly making out with a woman, his hand cupping her breast over her top. He was sitting on a barstool, she was standing between his thighs, and the way he was kissing and touching her made you stop dead in your tracks. It was hot, and for a moment you imagined yourself in her place and your pussy clenched. You were more turned on by that sight of him than by any other guys who had kissed you before. Including Mike.

Clint was your father's best friend, he often came to the trailer where your dad and you lived, and they would drink beers and watch a game. Unlike his friend, your father was not really reliable, too often drunk, and a real jerk. Telling you off a thousand times for your mother leaving him. Forgetting that she had left you too, when she’d run away from him.

Clint was cool even though it pissed you off when he called you “kid”. He didn’t give a shit, and seemed to enjoy it, looking straight into your eyes with a smile on his lips.

When your dad ended up drunk on the couch, Clint would often smoke a cigarette with you, then give you a few more before driving off in his Chevrolet. He wasn't much of a talker, but at least he wasn't a jerk. And he was hot.

So when you saw him at the bar that night, you thought about your shitty ex and got angry. He wanted you to be experienced? You were going to fix it with someone who would surely know how to handle it.

A few days later, Clint mentioned to your father about going to the movies the next night, and you knew he always liked to go alone.

Now Clint had a date with you, he just didn't know it yet. And you had to figure out how to convince him.

The movie was at 6 pm, and you finished work at 4. That gave you time to shower before going to the cinema.

Your father was home when you got there, and you wondered if he'd already been fired from his new job. As usual, he made a comment about your skirt being too short when you left. You didn't reply, got in your car and put on some music, trying to control your anxiety.

Clint’s car was already parked on the street when you arrived, and once you entered the movie theater you spotted him immediately at the back row. You went to sit next to him, and he saw you as you were walking along the seats, his usual reserved expression set on his face.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

You were so anxious that you didn't even roll your eyes at the usual nickname.

“Watching a movie. What are you doing here?” you retorted, trying not to show how nervous you were. He shrugged, and you sat down next to him, your short skirt reaching mid-thigh. His gaze slid over your legs for a second before returning to the screen, and the movie started.

He glanced at your thighs once or twice during the movie, and it gave you the courage to brush his arm and an elbow a few times with your own. He never pulled away until he finally turned to you and whispered, “you wanna explain what you're doin’?”

“Come with me,” you said as you stood up- not sure if he was going to follow you, but you could feel the heat of his gaze on your ass. You waited by the bathroom and he joined you a few seconds later.

“You're making me miss the movie,” he grumbled.

“It’s a shitty one anyway,” you replied as you pushed the door to the men's bathroom and entered before checking that no one was there.

"I need your help," you said and quickly explained what you needed from him, not overthinking it for once.

A man opened the door and entered before Clint had time to react to your words. Your father’s friend turned to him, and growled, "it’s busy."

The man’s eyes lingered on you, so Clint took a step closer to him and asked, “the fuck you're looking at?” The guy didn't argue and left. You heard him open the women's restrooms and rolled your eyes.

Clint turned to you, a questioning look on his face. “You want me to fuck you? For your first time?”

“Yeah.”

“To piss off that jerk and get him back?”

“Yeah...”

He scoffed. “This is the dumbest shit ever.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment. You thought that after today when he‘d come to the trailer it would be awkward, that you were very naive to tell him about everything, carried away by your anger. That you should have overthought it.

“You shouldn't go back to him after that.”

His implied sentence made you raise your head and you looked at him hopefully.

“I'm not one of those men who whine some shit like “oh no, no… you're my friend's daughter, I won't fuck you.” Fuck it. You wanna fuck? I'll fuck you, no problem.”

Your smile went wide. “Great. In here?” you asked, pointing at one of the stalls, and he sneered at your words.

“Damn, you're not a subtle kind, kid. No, not here, ‘course not. You can't take this cock like that. Well, you could, but I'm not sure you'd like it. Need some time to get you ready.”

“Ok, when then?” You felt the heat rise in your cheeks at your completely uncontrolled impatience.

“Jeez, he really pissed you,” he smirked. “You're on the pill or something?”

“No, I’m not... Didn’t really need to.”

“Well, honey. I won't pull out, and I won't fuck you with a condom. I'll fuck you raw."

"I'll get the pill, then," you replied. He nodded, then told you to come to his place on Friday night.

"Ok. But Clint?… you're clean, right?”

“ ‘course I'm clean, honey.”

“I thought you'd chicken out,” he smirked when he opened the door for you on Friday. “But you didn't,” he added, taking you in from head to toe.

You rolled your eyes and said “and you? you didn’t chicken out?”

He chuckled. “Told you, you wanna get fucked, I'm all in. I won't say ‘no’ to a tight, virgin cunt, kid. Just don't tell your father, obviously. Don't need that shit in my life. And you aren’t spending the night here. I don’t wanna be rude, ok? But sometimes we can feel… things, after the first time. It can't happen, it would be too damn complicated. Ok? It’s just sex.”

You nodded, a little shy to be in front of him, now that you fully realized what was going to happen soon.

“Okay. So, what have you already done, sexually?”

“I.. ehm… watch porn.”

He raised his eyebrows then said “porn ain't real life, honey. What else?”

“I jerked off a guy once.”

“You made him come?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” he nodded, as if to encourage you. “Ok, what else?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing? Nobody ever went down on you?”

“No.”

“Guys are so stupid, nowadays, damn…” he said, shaking his head. “Okay, undress and lie down on the bed.”

You hesitated and looked around, silently asking for his help.

“I'm not really the romantic type, you know?”

“Come on, Clint. Help me a little, ok?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, and something flashed through his eyes. As if he somehow realized that you needed some softness.

He nodded and moved closer to you, pulling your top off. You looked at him shyly as his gaze lowered to your breasts before he cupped them with his large, warm hands. You shivered at the touch of his skin. He bent down, took your nipple in his mouth and sucked on it slowly, making it twirl under his tongue.

Then he took you in his arms. You weren’t expecting it but it was comforting. He was so big that it felt like being enveloped in a protective cocoon of warmth and your body relaxed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close. He breathed in your scent, nuzzling the spot just below your ear, then said “lie down” in a low voice.

Once on the bed he knelt between your legs and grabbed the hem of your pants, pulled them down, then your panties followed.

“Gonna stretch you, ok? Besides, I like eating pussies. Feeling them getting all soaked for me.”

“Oh mmm…” you said, clearing your throat. “Ok.”

“You're gonna enjoy this, don't worry,” he said with a smirk.

He took off his plaid shirt and a gray t-shirt. He was so damn massive, broad. And hot. And you.. you weren't sure what to do with your arms, hesitant to cover your breasts, even though it was probably a little odd.

“No need to be shy in front of me. It's all natural.”

He got up and took off his pants and socks, keeping his boxers on. Your curiosity led you to look at his crotch. He was massive there, too.

“You, uh… ever done this before? Before me?”

“Being someone’s first? Oh, yeah,” he replied, climbing back onto the bed. “You girls like to let a real man take care of it. Someone who knows what he’s doing, right? Makes you feel safe.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I feel safe.”

“Good. Now, do you know what happens when a virgin’s being eaten for the first time?”

You shook your head. You obviously had no idea what would happen.

“She comes really quickly.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again, and you gasped when he spread your thighs with his large hands. You couldn’t believe he was going to go down on you right there, that he wanted to eat you out, to fuck you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hand, when he licked a long stripe from your folds to your clit.

“I fucking love being the first, you know that? Your ex’s a fool.”

He circled your pussy with his lips and started licking, with the flat of his tongue.

“Oh god,” you whined, squeezing your breasts with your hands.

“Hands on my head, kid. Hold on to it.”

You'd always been annoyed by that nickname, but the fact that he was using it, right now, was the hottest thing ever. He spread your folds with his thumbs and pressed his broad shoulders against your thighs, pushing on them, while still lapping at your cunt. It was sloppy, messy, grunts falling from his mouth, as your hands were holding onto his head tightly. It was so different from touching yourself. The sensations coursing through your body were unfamiliar but so overwhelming, and you felt your limbs tremble and your hair stand up when his nose brushed at your clit.

“Clint, I… fuck?!”

The heat in your lower abdomen was burning you up alive, increasing with every lick of his tongue. He was taking his time and stopped just before you came. You were about to whine, when you saw him staring at your cunt.

“Look at that. She's so messy for me,” he said, eyes fixed on your pussy. “She likes it and wonders why she never got eaten before, right? Well, because this one,” he said, raising his eyes to you, “only dated dumbasses.”

He pushed in a finger, slowly, making you whimper. His digit was thick, much bigger than yours. He pumped it in and out a little, slowly, and smiled as he felt your pussy clench.

“You're gonna choke my cock so hard, baby,” he chuckled, then wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. Your fists clenched his curls hard, making him growl, but he didn't ask you to stop or to release your grip.

“Mmm,” he hummed, still sucking on your bud. “These fucking kids don't know what's good anymore. They just want to get their dick sucked, and thrust in a cunt 3 or 4 times before shooting their load. Jeez.”

He played with the tip of his tongue, teasing your most sensitive spot. You felt your pussy drip along his skin and down your crack.

When you already thought you were close to seeing stars, he pressed a second finger against your pussy, without pushing it inside. Just flattening it against your skin, below the entrance, then his tongue swirled around your clit.

“Oh fuck… oh fuck!!”

“Let it go. Come for me, give it to me,” he breathed between two licks.

“I don't know how, I… the feeling is so… so strong…”

“Just let it go, kid,” he said, sucking again, and you did, coming hard on his mouth, seeing stars for real, your hands clinging to his head.

His tongue rested on your clit until your shaking stopped completely, your legs and stomach relaxed. Only then he withdrew his fingers and licked your folds clean off your wetness. Your head was tilted to the side, resting on the pillow, your breathing slowly going down. You were unable to open your eyes, fully savoring that new sensation of post climax.

You felt the mattress rise and opened your eyes. He was standing beside the bed, pulling his boxers down. His cock sprang free, hard, heavy, its red tip oozing.

“I wanna suck you off,” you said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Can I? I wanna learn this too.”

“I won't stop you. Go ahead,” he said, letting his arms rest at his sides.

“Tell me what to do,” you told him, eyes locked with his.

“Run your hand between your legs, get them wet. And jerk me off. Gently.” He watched you slowly running your fingers between your folds, lightly brushing your sensitive clit and you could swear his cock got even bigger when you looked back at it.

You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and he placed his hand on yours, setting the rhythm.

“Don't squeeze too hard, yeah, just like that. Keep going, wrist loose. Yeah, you're doing good.”

Your gaze was fixed on his cock, your mind on his breathing. You wanted to do it well, wanted him to praise you, to hear him breathe heavily. You dragged your fist up and down his length, slowly, and he growled.

“Now, spread the precum with your thumb, on the tip. Shit, yeah, just like that.”

His fingers still circled yours, but the pace was yours now. He placed his thumb on his slit before bringing it to your lips.

“Taste it,” he said. You looked up at him, circled his thumb with your lips and swirled your tongue around it, slowly.

“Good?” he asked.

You nodded and sucked until his thumb no longer tasted like him, then you moved his hand away, gently, darting your tongue to lick his crying tip.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you rounded your lips and took him in your mouth. You didn’t really know how to do it, but you were eager for his cock and needed to feel him more. Fully.

He placed his hand on your head, then said “that’s ok, keep it… keep it between your lips. Focus on the tip for now, suck on it. Yeah, that’s good, kid. Shit....”

You kept going and felt your pussy drooling again. You slid your fingers between your folds and stroked your clit, without thinking, without really realizing what was happening, just answering your physical needs.

“Yeah, rub it for me, baby. Get her ready for me.”

His hand was still on your head, but he wasn't forcing you. "Stay on the tip. You'll have plenty of time to learn more."

Your brain couldn't process his words and their implication, drunk from the taste of him running down your throat, from his praise, from your fingers sliding against your soaked folds.

“You're so fuckin’ pretty like this, sucking on my cock.”

You couldn't resist the temptation of taking him in a little more. He felt heavy on your tongue. His hips jerked and precum flooded your throat.

“Ok, that’s it, that’s it,” he said, cupping your cheek with his hand. “You ready?” he asked, his thumb brushing your skin. You looked up at him, and wondered if your eyes were as wild as his. If you looked a bit of a wreck, too. Probably.

“Mmm? You ready?” he repeated.

You snapped out of your thoughts and nodded.

“Ok, lie down.” His voice was low, calm.

You did as he said and he took place between your thighs, supporting his weight on one elbow.

“You still wanna do this?”

You nodded and he replied “okay,” grabbed his shaft and rubbed it against your wet folds before nestling it at your entrance.

“Look at you, so damn gorgeous, all ready to take my cock,” he added, and he pushed in, slowly, just a few inches. The feeling was already enough to make him lean his head back as he felt how tight you were, his strained neck just within reach of your mouth. You pressed a kiss there, right on his throbbing veins. Maybe to think about something else, to forget how stretched your folds were around his tip. When he pushed a little deeper you whined, sensing your body resisting him.

“Fuck, Clint… it’s…”

“I know. But you can do it,” he panted. “Just… just a little more.” He pushed in and didn’t stop this time, despite your body trying to keep him away. He bottomed out and grunted “fuck” and “shit” a few times, but you barely heard him, digging your nails into his strong biceps, until your discomfort passed.

His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched hard, with him trying to not shoot his load already.

“Fuck, that’s it, shit… you feel so good, goddamn…”

He pulled back and pushed in again, slowly. “You ok?” he asked, his face lowered to yours. You nodded, your fingers gripping his skin a little less tightly.

“That jerk doesn’t know what he’s missed,” he murmured, pushing in and out slowly, his eyes closed again.

“I’m glad you did it,” you whispered, and he looked at you. “I'm glad I did it with you.”

“Mmm… let’s try to make you come on my cock, ok?”

“Yeah,” you murmured.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re gonna give me one more, baby? Gonna clench on it?”

“I don't know… I don't know if I can.”

“You can. Just don’t overthink it, ok? Lick it for me,” he said, bringing his finger to your lips. Then he slid his hand between your two bodies, down to your clit. Rolling it gently, face lowered towards you.

“You're doing great, kid. You're perfect.”

You nodded. You felt good now, the pain already forgotten, and you were finally able to look at him, to really look at him, while he was thrusting into you. Looking at his hair, the drops of sweat that beaded on his forehead, his obsidian eyes. Your fingers ran up his arms up to his shoulders, his muscles rolling under your skin. You felt his cock twitch inside you at your touch, and he bit his lip.

“You like it?” you murmured.

He swallowed and said “yeah… yeah, I like it, honey. You feel so good around me.”

You closed your eyes for a few moments, his digit stroking you perfectly, then said “kiss me.”

“It's not a good idea,” he objected.

“You dick's inside me... Come on.” You didn't wait for him to respond and cupped his cheeks with your hands, pulling him closer until your noses and mouths brushed. You felt his breath against your lips and pressed them to his, whispering, "kiss me." He pulled back slightly, staring into your eyes, then wet his lips with his tongue before finally giving in, his hips rolling toward yours, his finger still stroking your clit. His lips carried the taste of you, and you wondered if he could taste his own on your tongue.

You loved the feeling of him inside you, his lips on yours, his tongue against yours. Your pussy clenched around him, and he whimpered. “You're so close. You feel it?”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he slid his free hand down to your breast, along your torso, then grabbed your hip. Rolling inside you, deliciously, perfectly.

“I… yeah, I feel it, Clint. It’s growing,” you said, your forehead against his.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”

You whined and let it happen, didn’t fight it like a few minutes earlier. You let your body shudder, your back arching, as his hand slipped into the crook behind it to hold you against him while he kept thrusting in.

“Shit, yeah… fuck!” he growled, and froze inside you before pushing in again, a little faster. “Shit, I’m… I’m gonna come, kid. Gonna fill you up.”

He grabbed your hips with his two hands, and barely slowed down as he came, long ropes of cum hitting the back of your cunt, grunts and moans escaping from the depths of his chest pressed against yours.

He pumped you full of his cum, and you felt every jolt of his cock inside you. The emotions you felt were so strong you could have cried, and you hugged him tight. He brushed your cheek and you kissed his neck one last time, then he lay on his side. You stayed on your back for a few moments, catching your breath.

“So what’s the deal with that guy?” Clint asked. “How did he get so into your head that you wanted to do it because of what he told you?”

You turned to him, and tried to explain your thought process. “He already broke my heart twice before that. That’s probably why I was so into him… stupid red flags attraction.”

It made Clint laugh and you did too, then kept talking. “But when he told me he didn’t want to be with me because I was a virgin, it pissed me off. I guess I wanted to get him back.”

“He’s a jerk. Don’t let him poison your thoughts like that.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know.”

“Now… Why me?”

“Well, you’re hot. Yes, you are!” you insisted, seeing his disbelief. “And… I saw you with that woman the other night, at the bar. It was hot, the way you were touching her. I wanted you to touch me like this.”

“Mmm, ok. So… Was this what you were hoping for?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Choose the perfect guy.”

You got up and got dressed, remembering what he told you when you arrived.

“D’ya need a ride?”

“No, it's fine. I got my car.”

“Don't fall in love with me, kid.” he told you when you opened the door. “It’s just sex. Let’s not complicate things, ok?”

“Don't you fall in love with me, old man,” you said, letting him see your wide smile before you closed the door behind you.

You kept seeing each other, despite his words. It definitely wasn’t just sex. You didn't really talk about it, it just happened like that. You would mostly meet at his apartment, since your dad had been fired from his job and was often at the trailer.

One evening, you two went to a bar. One where you were sure you wouldn't run into your father.

"Oh, shit," you said, recognizing a familiar figure in the crowd.

“What?”

“It’s him, over there. My ex.”

“That guy?” he asked, pointing at him. “Let’s piss him off, kid.”

“Hi,” Mike said when he saw you, a slightly uneasy smile on his lips. “It's been a while since I saw you.” He looked at Clint and frowned, then said “you huh… wanna hang out sometime?”

Clint put his arm around your shoulder, letting you know he was here for you, glare fixed on your ex. You squeezed Clint's hand in yours, then said “no… I prefer experienced men, you know?” You hesitated, then added, “and every time I scratch my nails down his back, I hope you feel it.” The way his jaw dropped was worth all the tears you'd cried for him.

You looked up at Clint and smiled at him, then said, "let’s go."

other virginity loss fics:

After (qz!Joel) A summer with the Millers (dbf!Tommy x reader x Joel)

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httpsserene · 10 months ago

Text

your honor, he's a simp. — 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 max verstappen x hijabi fem!poc!reader (fc: shahdbatal) smau. requested! by @animeandf1lover. fluff. humor. profanity. bestfriend!logan sargeant. boyfriend!max verstappen. humor. max yap-stappen. jimmy and sassy verstappen. my personal hc of max using cat emojis unironically. no part two requests, please!

synopsis: an unplanned hard launch reveals more than a relationship. it exposes the biggest simp of the century.

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

instagram • jimmyandsassy 🔒 • monte carlo ⚑

liked by yninsta, maxverstappen1, logansargeant, and 123 others

jimmyandsassy love life

view comments

maxverstappen1: how are you going to caption this "love life" when there's not a single photo of me in it 😕

➥ maxverstappen1: you called me the love of your life this morning on ft 😔 ➥ maxverstappen1: omg are you breaking up with me and taking the cats with you 😭😭😭 ➥ yninsta: max the cats chose the caption not me!!! ➥ yninsta: you're still the loml baby, i'm not going anywhere 😚💙 ➥ danielricciardo: u guys are perfectly made for each other :)

maxverstappen1: my babies 😻 why did you put mommy on the last slide? she's too pretty to be there!

➥ jimmyandsassy: m prettier than mommy - sassy ➥ maxverstappen1: hey! you get your looks from your mother be nice 😠 ➥ charlesleclerc: max mate 😟 with every comment you make on this account i hope you know i think less of you with each one 🙏🏻 ➥ alexandrasaintmleux: he's only saying this because i told him it would be cute to make a priv acct with leo that's like this! ➥ yninsta: you should! the kitties love it :) ➥ charlesleclerc: you're all mentally disturbed. electric chair⚡️🪑

logansargeant: i have post notifications on and i have no clue how max gets here faster than me.

➥ logansargeant: jimmy? sassy? do you tell him when you're about to post 🧐 ➥ maxverstappen1: logan the cats can't speak english or use a phone be serious. ➥ logansargeant: THEY DON'T HAVE OPPOSABLE THUMBS EITHER BUT THEY STILL POST AND REPLY TO COMMENTS ➥ jimmyandsassy: don't yell at daddy! 's mean - jimmy ➥ maxverstappen1: yeah logan don't yell at daddy 😌 ➥ logansargeant: can't believe there was a time i thought you were a respectable man smh

roscoelovecoco: cool cats 🐈

➥ jimmyandsassy: big dawg 🐶

landonorris: they're so pretty i just wanna pet them

➥ landonorris: i wished cats liked me,,, ➥ jimmyandsassy: nobody likes you! hope this helps - sassy ➥ landonorris: STOP HIDING BEHIND YOUR CATS AND COME FIGHT ME SIS 🤬🤺

alexalbon: please don't kill me :)

➥ jimmyandsassy: why would we kill you? we like alex - jimmy ➥ oscarpiastri: oh they're so going to claw your eyes out mate 😂 ➥ georgerussell63: it's been nice knowing you alex 🙂 ➥ charlesleclerc: fly high alexander 🕊️🙏🏻 ➥ schecoperez: gone too soon 🙂‍↔️ ➥ jensonbutton: if she kills you, logan will have a car to race this weekend. she's so going to get rid of you 😈 ➥ yninsta: what. logan has his own williams? are u guys okay???

twitter • yn's spam twt

igstory • yninsta uploaded to close friends story!

[caption1; guess i'm bringing jimmy with me][caption2; target confirmed. bravo six going dark.]

logansargeant: please don't make my team principal disappear ⤷yninsta: i will make him suffer inshallah 🙏🏽 ⤷logansargeant: think about jimmy and sassy! they'll miss you 😢 ⤷yninsta: ,,,i will subject him to a painful lecture about his mishandling of the race weekend ⤷yninsta: instead of death 🙃

alexalbon: are we chill? ⤷yninsta: i have no quarrel with you 👍🏽 ⤷alexalbon: oh thank god. i was going crazy in my room hiding from you 😮‍💨

maxverstappen1: come to me when you're done with james 😽 ⤷maxverstappen1: you're surrounded by the wrong shade of blue :( ⤷maxverstappen1: how's logan doing? ⤷yninsta: he's okay considering they gave his car away. ⤷maxverstappen1: bring him with you, i will tell him exactly what i think about wiliams treating him that way

f1 twitter

FIA press conference: pre-race australia • max, charles, logan, zhou, yuki

post-race interview clips • max verstappen

twitter • the internet reacts

instagram • logansargeant • melbourne ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, yninsta, redbullracing and 546,789 others

logansargeant me and you, and you and me, just us, and your boyfriend max.

tagged: yninsta, maxverstappen1, betterhelp

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maxverstappen1: you have me saved as “yn’s boyfriend - INGORE 🛑❌🙈”

➥ maxverstappen1: that’s not very nice ☹️ ➥ yninsta: logan! change it before you make him sad ➥ logansargeant: fine 🙄 ➥ logansargeant: i’m going to mute him instead.

➥ yninsta: logan and max get along great guys i promise!

➥ yninsta: max asked him if he was okay with asking me out before our first date and logan said “mate you don’t have to ask, i know you’ll treat her right” 😇 ➥ logansargeant: that is NOT public info‼️ delete pls ➥ maxverstappen1: you didn’t have to say any of this schatje 😅 ➥ user1: max asked logan for permission to date her? what in the wattpad fanfic is happening rn ➥ georgerussell63: this is great blackmail- i mean info 😉

oscarpiastri: acting like you hate max but you called me screaming in joy about playing padel with him 💀

➥ logansargeant: oscar please. my reputation is at stake here 😀 ➥ oscarpiastri: hey instagram comments- i misspoke. logan sargeant HATES max verstappen! that’s all, thanks. ➥ user2: dis guy 🤦🏻‍♀️ ➥ user3: osc sarcasm check: ✅

user4: if max verstappen offered to fly me out to hang out with his gf i would not leave his messages on read ijs 🤷🏼

alexalbon: DAMN he even said please 😶

➥ yninsta: not too much now alex 🤫 ➥ alexalbon: 🤐😳 ➥ user5: alex were u silent or sileNCED ➥ user6: i could feel the threat through the screen

jensonbutton: but did you take him up on his offer? that’s what we need to know!

➥ maxverstappen1: he did. left me on read for 6 minutes before he broke 😹 ➥ logansargeant: it was on his private jet, paid for, and i got to see my best friend- ofc i said yes! i’m not stupid.

user7: tagging betterhelp on the sc of max’s desperate ass texts is NASTY work logan 💀💀💀

➥ user8: nothing wrong with sending the homies links to therapy sites ➥ user9: there’s definitely something wrong with how down bad max is for his girl. i know that much 🥴 ➥ user10: are u srs? bc that’s a man who doesn’t play about his woman! i can tell 😵‍💫🫦

instagram • maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 championships are worth winning because i take the trophies back to her.

tagged: yninsta

view comments

yninsta: championships are worth winning because YOU drove like crazy for them.

➥ maxverstappen1: two things can be true at the same time 💙 ➥ maxverstappen1: i don’t know if they would matter as much if i didn’t have anyone to praise me for it. ➥ yninsta: i’ll convince you that they are more than that one day 💙🔒 (good thing i’m never leaving you x)

yninsta: حب حياتي (the love of my life)

➥ maxverstappen1: no you are mine ☺️🤭

user11: no the fuck he didn’t.

➥ user12: GIRL HE FUCKING DID

user13: nahhhh he got it. he got it all.

➥ user13: championships, monaco living, the finest woman, expensive cats and cars—LIKE LEAVE SOMETHING FOR THE COMMON FOLK MAX ➥ maxverstappen1: my bad 🙂‍↕️ ➥ user14: he don’t even mean ts ➥ user15: oh i’m bout to crash out 🤪🤬👹

charlesleclerc: okay. that’s a good caption 🙂

➥ maxverstappen1: take a deep breath charlie, no need to be angy about it :) ➥ charlesleclerc: i knew you’d ruin it. i’ll be seeing you max 🤫 ➥ user16: yo what tf 🤣 ➥ user17: did charles leclerc just ominously imply his plot for max’s demise?! ➥ user18: bro what 😒 @/user17 ➥ user19: what are you gonna say next? “they’re going to participate in a duel of arms 🤓” ➥ user16: “a battle of fisticuffs, more likely it seems 🤓🤓🤓”

user20: oh my days— she’s beautiful 😦

➥ maxverstappen1: she’s the prettiest woman i’ve ever set my eyes on 😊 ➥ user21: don’t worry max, we believe you! ➥ user22: you truly are blessed to be dating her.

danielricciardo: boys what are you’re wagers? max yaps more/less about his gf to us now that they’re public?

➥ landonorris: more +£500 ➥ lewishamilton: more +£1000 ➥ logansargeant: more +(i’ll match lewis in american) ➥ schecoperez: have faith in max! ➥ schecoperez: +5 grand take it or leave it.

user23: she’s majestic! in that first photo, she’s giving padme from star wars 🤩 beautiful!!!!

➥ yninsta: tysm ☺️ this might be the best compliment i’ve ever received !!!

instagram • ynspamacct

liked by maxverstappen, lilymhe, charlesleclerc and 893,430 others

ynspamacct i won't unprivate my main, but here's the bf max content i know you all want :)

tagged: maxverstappen1

view comments

user24: max said: princess treatment only 👏🏻

➥ maxverstappen1: ***queen treatment 👸🏽 ➥ user25: oh. the simp allegations are true. ➥ maxverstappen1: you doubted how much i love my gf? crazy. ➥ user25: i won't do it again, i promise.

logansargeant: why do you wear heels if you know they’re going to make your feet hurt?

➥ maxverstappen1: bc she’s knows i’m going to hold them for her and carry her home 😌 ➥ ynspamacct: bc i feel tall 🥺 and max doesn’t mind carrying me home !!! ➥ ynspamacct: oops ☺️ we must’ve replied at the same time hahaaa user26: i’m going to slam my head into the nearest wall, viciously. ➥ ynspamacct: don’t do that! life is worth living i promise 😰

user26: first photo made my tummy flip for some reason 🫦🥴🤤

➥ ynspamacct: you should see a doctor! that doesn’t sound healthy :) ➥ user27: u better stop thirsting over her man like that 😳

lilymhe: boundaries 🧘🏻‍♀️💆🏻‍♀️

ynspamacct: exactly 😌

user27: breakfast in bed…what did he want from you 🤔

➥ ynspamacct: …nothing? or, just quality time i guess! he’s sweet like that 🥰 user27: ,,,i didn’t know that was an option. ➥ ynspamacct: being treated like a queen comes with accepting that’s how you deserve to be treated, and that it’s the *only* way you’re going to be treated 😚 ➥ user28: SPEAK ON IT MY GOOD SIS 😫

user29: this relationship is dear to me 😪

user30: m-men aren’t shit? who knew that was possible.

➥ user31: i thought all we had was tom holland 💀 ➥ maxverstappen1: i’m honored to be added to the roster ➥ user32: i cannot take this man seriously now. ➥ user33: why bc he loves his gf and you can’t even seem to find the way to a shower or a therapy session 😀 ➥ user34: WOAH VIOLATION

yninsta: max, maxie-max, maxie !!!

➥ maxverstappen1: i love you most, schatje 💛🔒 ➥ yninsta: aw you beat me to it 😞 ➥ yninsta: i love you foreverrrr #1 💙🔒 ➥ user35: oh i’m gonna cry :)

#f1 x reader #f1 smau #max verstappen x reader #f1 x poc!reader #max verstappen x poc!reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x yn #f1 x female reader #platonic! logan sargeant x reader #f1 fic #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #serene’s chapters.#serene’s fave.#♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv.

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storiesforallfandoms · 11 months ago

Text

betrothed ~ emperor geta;gladiator ii

word count: 3607

request?: no

description: in which her parents want to arrange a marriage with one of the two emperor brothers, so she is taken to meet them and is surprised when she gets along so well with the younger brother

pairing: emperor geta x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, period typical misogyny/views of women, arranged marriage, historical inaccuracies, definitely going to be an inaccurate depiction of geta because i know that man is going to be a vile villain but y'know

masterlist (one, two, three)

You followed your parents through the halls of the palace. They were walking with their heads high, proud, meanwhile you were trailing behind them, cowering. You had been told just moments before your arrival that your parents intended to marry you off to one of the emperors; brothers Geta and Caracalla. They had offered you up to the brothers for marriage without your knowledge, and now they were bringing you to meet them so one of them could choose to marry you.

You knew eventually your parents would arrange for you to wed. It was an expectation from the moment you started bleeding, meaning you were able to carry children. There were no guarantees you would like your husband to be. That's not how marriage worked. But you never expected to be married off to a man you were terrified of.

Besides the fact that Geta and Caracalla were co-emperors of the entire Roman Empire, you had heard that they were both violent and terrible men. There was no better option in this betrothal, only fear.

Your parents stood before the two emperors. They both already looked bored by the whole affair. You tried not to shrink back further under their glares. Your parents bowed, and you quickly followed as not to be scrutinized further.

"Your majesties," your father spoke. "We present to you our daughter, (Y/N)."

Your mother nudged you forward. You stumbled to the fore front, all attention now on you. You awkwardly bowed again, murmuring, "Your majesties."

"This is who you expect us to marry?" Caracalla sneered. "I've seen whores who have looked prettier. More experienced, too."

Caracalla smirked at his younger brother, but Geta was still staring at you, studying you. You couldn't stop trembling under his intense gaze. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mother clenching her jaw. You weren't sure if she was upset over Caracalla's insult, or over your continued awkwardness.

The eldest brother sighed and rose from his seat. "She is yours, brother. I feel no need to fight you over her when I can find myself a better wife."

He left without another word, while Geta was still looking at you. He finally spoke to ask one of his servants to take you to your room. You turned back to your parents, wanting nothing more than for them to change their mind and take you away. Of course they couldn't even if they wanted to. They just smiled at you and allowed themselves to be escorted away by another servant.

You followed the young lady with you to a room that was set to be yours. It was a large room, filled with everything you could ask for. Under different circumstances, you would be enthralled by this new room, but all you could think about was your imminent future. Would you still be in this room after you and Geta were wed? Or would you have to move to his room?

The thought of having to share a bed with him made you feel faint.

You heard someone enter the room as the servant started to leave. You turned to find Geta, stood tall and broad in the doorway. The servant bowed, but Geta's attention was solely on you. He moved from the doorway and motioned for her to leave. Suddenly, you were alone with him.

You remembered yourself and moved to bow. Geta held up a hand. "No need for that. We are to be wed soon, which means you will be the Empress of Rome."

You nodded, but the reminder of your future title left you unable to speak as you were focusing on trying to stay upright.

His eyes were raking over you again. "You are a quiet one."

"I-I am sorry, your majesty," you said, your voice soft and quiet. It seemed to amuse Geta.

"We will change that. My wife will not be seen as cowardly and weak." You merely nodded again. Geta took a step towards you and you tried not to flinch. He stopped and something seemed to soften in his face. "I know what is expected of us once we are wed, but I want you to know that I will not touch you without your consent. You can continue to stay in this room as long as you please. I just ask you to accompany me when I call upon you. Is that agreeable?"

You found your voice finally to say, "Y-Yes."

He nodded, then left without another word. Once you were sure you were alone, you let yourself cry.

~~~~~~

You and Geta were married days later. It was a beautiful wedding, and your parents were allowed to be in attendance. You smiled and pretended to be happy in front of the audience, but in private you were still crying over the whole arrangement.

Geta kept his word; he did not touch you or force you into his room without your consent. He kissed you once on your wedding day, but that was the extent of it. And because he kept to his word, you kept to yours and joined Geta whenever he called on you. It was mainly for official events - meetings, tournaments, and the like - where he needed his wife to be present.

The one time he had asked for your presence for something unofficial was by accident.

You had taken to exploring the palace on your off time. It was so large that even after almost a month of being there, you were still finding new areas to see. You weren't allowed out of the palace on your own as Geta said it was too dangerous, but there were plenty of days when you wished you could see the grounds, and not just to see the gladiator tournaments.

You were wandering the halls on your own when you suddenly ran into Geta. You didn't expect to see him as you thought he was having a meeting with his brother and the general. You also didn't expect the smile that he gave you when he saw you.

"Hello, my darling," he said.

"Geta," you said, stopping yourself before you instinctively bowed. "I did not expect to see you so soon."

"My meeting was cut short." Geta sighed and shook his head. "My brother has quite the temper sometimes. It is why I usually handle these type of things."

You couldn't help the look on your face in response to his comment. To your further surprise, he laughed.

"I know, I do not seem much better. But I promise you when you have seen me lose my temper, it is mostly warranted. Caracalla will lose his temper because he is not being spoken to directly, even though there were several of us there."

When he stepped towards you, you didn't back away the way you would have when you first met him. He offered an arm to you and asked, "Will you allow me to accompany you, my darling?"

You felt you couldn't say no since you both had an agreement, but you also felt a surprising desire to have him accompany you. So, you took his arm, and he started to walk with you.

"How would you like to see the grounds?" he asked.

"I thought it was too dangerous."

"Only if you go on your own. We cannot risk our enemies finding the Empress on her own. They could harm you, take you, or kill you."

You tensed beside him. You were still getting used to how dangerous this new role you had was.

He noticed your tenseness and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I will not let anything happen to you. Trust me, my darling. You are safe with me."

And you believed him. Had he not been keeping that promise, even before making it? He had made sure you didn't leave the palace unsupervised, he was always by your side during public events. This may not have been a love marriage, but it was clear you both had respect for one another.

Seeing the outside of the palace for something other an a gladiator fight was lovely. The view - which you got from your room anyways, but this was different - was breathtaking. You often forgot how beautiful Rome was. It was easy to see so much of the land since the palace was placed higher above everyone else (you tried not to think about the implications of that).

"Do you ever leave the palace?" you asked him. "Besides for your official meetings and such?"

"Not usually," he responded. "It is too dangerous for me to go out on my own, and what would the point of going out with my guards be? I could not truly enjoy being out."

"That sounds awful," you commented, mainly to yourself. This may be a new role and new rules for you, but this was something Geta had been putting up with his entire life. He was the son of a previous Emperor, he was raised in this exact palace. He was probably under a watchful eye his entire life, very rarely ever getting moments alone.

He seemed amused by your comment, though. "Would you want to leave the palace? Obviously, as I said, we cannot leave alone, but we could always go for a walk with the guards."

You simply looked up at him. You were astonished by how nice he was being. Granted, you hadn't spent much time with Geta away from the watchful eyes of his armies or his people, but you had heard plenty about Geta before meeting and marrying him. Everyone called him and his brother ruthless and vile men. You had met plenty of people who would spit at the ground at just the mention of their names, and others who would curse upon them. Caracalla certainly lived up to his reputation, but so far, Geta only did when he had an audience.

"Is there something the matter?" he asked.

"I...am surprised by you," you admitted.

"Surprised by me? What have I done to surprise you?"

"You are...kind."

Any other person would probably be offended by the fact that being kind was a surprise. But Geta was well aware of the reputation he and his brother had, so he completely understood why you were shocked to learn that he had a kinder side to him.

He stopped walking and turned to face you. He had taken your hands in his and ran his thumbs over your knuckles. "Being in such high power, there is a certain image you must uphold so that you do not appear weak to your enemies. That is what our father told us when we were young. He taught us to be ruthless so that others knew not to fuck with us or our families. Caracalla took to that more than I did. He has a temper, he enjoys violence, although he would never put himself on the front lines during a war, and he believes he has the right to anything and everything he wants because he is an Emperor. He sometimes forgets that that is a title he shares with me."

"Everyone says you are both the same," you pointed out.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "All for show, my darling. If I was to show myself as being weaker than my brother, then I would be a target."

Geta moved an inch closer to you. You found yourself inhaling sharply at his sudden closeness, but not in fear as you may have once done.

"It is why I will be forever grateful that Caracalla did not want to marry you," he said. "From the moment you were brought before us, I could tell that you were not like he is; not like how I pretend to be. If Caracalla had wed you, he would not have been as...kind to you as I have been."

You knew what he meant, and the thought of it made you shudder.

"I was willing to take him in combat to marry you if I had to," Geta admitted. "Which I knew he would turn down anyways because, like I said, he is not one to fight his own battles. But I would not doubt him to try so that he could be the one to wed and have an heir first."

It was a lot to take in. You had come into this marriage thinking you knew everything about Geta, but you were learning just how wrong you were to think that. And you were certainly more than happy to be wrong.

You were suddenly much more aware of his closeness to you and the feeling of his hands on yours. It made your heart beat a little faster, and your body light on fire. You wondered if he felt it too, whatever "it" was.

"Thank you," you said, your voice so soft it was almost a whisper. You weren't sure what you were thanking him for; for being honest? For being kind? For protecting you?

Either way, he did not question it. He merely smiled down at you and said, "You are welcome, my darling."

~~~~~~

The next time you were called upon was a few days later for another gladiator tournament. Geta and Caracalla had acquired a new gladiator (Geta had told you not to question how this "acquiring" happened, and you were more than happy to follow his word), and it seemed they wanted to put him to the test immediately. Caracalla was practically giddy with excitement over it, while Geta remained as composed as he could.

You had followed them to their perch - high above the arena and closed off to anyone who was not one of the Emperors or their people. There were two seats for both Emperors, and both were big enough to seat two people. You took your place next to Geta, the side of your body pressing against his as you sat. The small contact alone made your body tingle, but now was not the time to get lost in these new feelings. You had an audience, and in front of an audience there was an image to uphold. You had come to learn very quickly how to act when you were in front of others - head held high, stone faced, follow whatever Geta said to you.

The crowd below you were cheering in excitement. Caracalla was already on the edge of his seat, impatient for the fighting to begin. You, on the other hand, were just waiting for the moment it ended.

You hated the gladiator fights. You didn't like the violence, and almost every time you had come since marrying Geta, they had ended in death. You often had nightmares about what you had seen inside the coliseum.

The crowd roared as the gates opened and the new gladiator entered. Across from him, another gate opened and three other men - past winners of these tournaments - stepped out.

You gasped. "Three against one?"

"Three winners," Caracalla said. "We must see how well our new fighter can do."

"That is hardly fair!"

"Nothing is fair in combat." He had a shit eating grin on his face, and you wished nothing more than to punch him directly in that grin of his.

But, since you couldn't do that, you did the next best thing and retorted, "What do you know of combat?"

Your words seemed to do enough as Caracalla's painted white face started to turn pink with anger. Geta caught your eye and smirked at you, making you feel even more proud of yourself.

The fighting started, and it was quite clear that the new gladiator could hold his own. He took down the first of the three with no problem, taking his weapon and incapacitating him within seconds. The second man put up more of a fight, but eventually he went down as well. The third was smarter. He had been waiting for his chance to go one on one with the new gladiator, saving his strength and his energy. And once it was just the two of them, the third man struck with a vigor.

You gasped as the new gladiator was wounded, blood spraying from a gash on his leg. Geta reached over to take your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. It did little to reassure you as your eyes stayed glued to what was happening below. The new gladiator had fell to his knees, but was still fighting the best he could. The third man was stood over him, sword in hand. It was clear to both of them, as well as the entire audience, who the winner was. They were just waiting for the say.

Geta stood from his seat, letting go of your hand. He looked over at his brother, who was nearly falling out of his chair with excitement. But when he looked to you, he saw a completely different reaction. You tried to rarely show emotion at these battles, but you had found yourself with tears in your eyes over the unfair odds against the new gladiator. He was about to lose his life because Caracalla and the other men involved with creating these tournaments did not care to play fair.

Seeing your upset seemed to soften Geta. He turned back to the two men who were waiting below and held out a fist.

The audience went silent as Geta flipped his thumb upward, signaling for the new man to be spared.

There was a moment, as if waiting to make sure Geta was serious, before the third man sheathed his sword. The new gladiator hunched over, his leg still bleeding from his wound. Someone would come and get him and patch him up, you were sure, but neither of you stuck around long enough to see. Geta had turned back to you almost immediately and extended a hand to you. He helped you up from your seat, then looped an arm through yours to guide you back inside.

"You spared him," you said, still in disbelief.

"You did not want to see him die," he responded, as if it were common sense.

"But...every other time..."

"Every other time has been a fair fight. As you said, it was unfair for him to be up against three previous victors. He will be treated, and should he survive from the wound on his leg, he will continue to train so that he can fight again. This time, more fairly."

You couldn't believe what he was saying. He had spared a man for you. Because you said the odds were unfair, because seeing this man die would've upset you too much.

He did this for you.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by Caracalla calling, "You have gone soft, brother!"

The two of you turned to see Geta's brother storming towards you. His face was now completely red with anger as he pointed at his brother. "You have made a mockery of us."

"I hardly think sparing one man's life makes anyone think any differently of us," Geta scoffed.

"It makes us look weak! It will make them all think that we are too weak to call for the death of another man."

"It was an unfair fight, brother. I was not going to let our new gladiator lose when the odds were against him in such an unfair way."

Caracalla's eyes flickered to you for a moment. You had to stop yourself from shrinking behind Geta.

"So she is the problem then?" Caracalla said. "This bitch has made you soft."

Before you could register what was happening, Geta had Caracalla up against a wall with a dagger to his brother's throat. The guards were watching, unsure what they were meant to do.

"Do not speak of my wife that way ever again," Geta hissed. "If I ever hear of you demeaning her, or me, again, I will make sure it is you who ends up in the arena next. Do I make myself clear, brother?"

Caracalla nodded quickly. You thought you could see tears briming his lash line, but you weren't completely sure. When Geta let him go, he crumbled to the floor. His guards were quick to surround him, while yours and Geta's followed the two of you. Geta's dagger was sheathed and his hand was in yours again in a matter of seconds.

"Was that smart?" you asked him. "Could he use that against you at all?"

"I do not care what he intends to do about my threat," Geta muttered. "I will not have him insulting my wife like that, especially not to my face."

You stopped walking, pulling Geta to a halt. He looked back at you, confused. You pulled him to you and pressed your lips against his. He seemed surprised, but he certainly wasn't about to push you off of him. You had known for a while that the feeling growing within you was love, but now you were finally realizing that Geta truly did feel the same way for you. He was willing to spare a man's life, and to threaten his brother's, in your honor. That was so much more than just a mutual respect.

You pulled away first, albeit reluctantly, to tell him, "I wish to stay with you in your room tonight. And maybe...for the foreseeable future, if you will have me."

Geta's face lit up. He gently cupped your cheeks and pulled you in for another gentle kiss. "Of course, my darling. I wish to have you for as long as you wish to be with me."

#emperor geta #emperor geta imagine #emperor geta x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator ii #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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golddustwomanwins · 2 months ago

Text

BED CHEM

At this point I don’t know what to title these stories anymore.

Art and you are in a happy relationship and Patrick is being the usual perv (we love)

18+

Art and you were in a happy relationship. You were the picture perfect couple, everyone on campus jealous of how good of a match you two were. You were going strong for three years now, high school sweethearts who’ve made it through the first year of college together.

You didn’t have much time seeing each other in between classes and after that Art was on the court most of the time. Still, you tried to stay positive. You brought him to practice and picked him up after but most of the times he was too tired to do anything. You cherished stolen kiss and soft glances. Just spending time with him was enough.

It had been weeks since you two were intimate and you eager to have him for yourself. It surprised you that Art even went that long without touching, usually he was the needy one. But his schedule had been crammed with classes and tennis practice and he’d always get in the zone during this time, almost forgetting that he had a girlfriend.

So when you complained about it he promised you his whole weekend. You had planned it all out: booked a nice restaurant to eat out, watch a movie later in his dorm before you’d finally get what you wanted. You’d had invested in a sweet, hot pink two piece that looked gorgeous against your skin.

You were almost buzzing on Friday night after your class, rushing out of the lecture hall since Art promised to pick you up. You came to a halt when you saw him standing in his red Stanford shirt. Patrick beside him.

“Look who’s visiting for the weekend,” Art said with a sheepish smile. You deflated as Patrick smirked at you as if he deliberately came this weekend, knowing your plans. Which was ridiculous.

“Hey,” you tried to sound cheery as you leaned up on your tip toes hugging Patrick.

“Hey, pretty girl,” his hand wandered a little too low on your back and you pinched his bicep as you stepped back with a scold. On your face. “Behave.”

“You get prettier every time I visit,” he smirked as Art pulled you into his side. You dodged his kiss, slightly disappointed by the change of plans and only let him kiss your cheek. Patrick eyed you two with a smug look.

Did you think Art could’ve told Patrick not to come? Yes, you did. Art knew how little time you two had to spend and now that Patrick was here that was impossible. You swallowed the sour feeling and at least pretended to be happy to spend a little time with your boyfriend. You didn’t have anything against Patrick per se. He was a little touchy and a terrible flirt but her never actually tried anything the past three years you’ve known him.

You decided to go to one of the frat parties on Saturday. Patrick was currently in the shower while you reapplied your lip gloss, Art watching you from the bed.

“You barely said a thing today,” Art said. He stood up slowly, coming up behind you and wound his arms around you. He pressed a quick kiss against your neck but you leaned away.

“Art, I’m applying lip gloss,” you protested. He nuzzled your neck, breathing hot air against your skin.

“Don’t need to bother, it’ll be off by the end of the night.”

“Yeah?” You turned to look at Art, not noticing that the shower had turned off. “How exactly? With your best friend joined at our hip watching us?”

“Baby,” Art huffed. “What did you want me to do? He surprised me.”

You sigh. “I know. But I wanted this to be our weekend.”

“And it will be.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, hands wandering to your hips.

“Not with Patrick here,” you sigh softly as Art trails sloppy kisses up your throat, hips grinding desperately against each other. Art’s hard in a matter of seconds as his lips capture yours. His tongue delves hungrily into your mouth and you moan against him. Frustration long forgotten now that you finally get to feel him.

He lifts you up on your desk, your thighs making room for his hips. His hands cupped your tits as he leaned forward as if he wanted to crawl into your body.

Your nails slip beneath his shirt, dragging over his hard stomach. Art whimpers into your mouth, his hands moving your hips slowly against his.

“Missed you,” he breathes as your hands move for the buckle of his belt. The door to the bathroom creaks and you both turn your head surprised, Patrick walking out with a towel around his hips.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said not even looking at you two which was untypical for him.

You slipped your hands out of under Arts shirt, hopping off the desk and turned back to the mirror to reapply your gloss. Art flushed, cleaning his lips of your gloss quickly. So much for spending time together.

The party wasn’t as bad as you expected. Maybe it was the booze coursing in your system but the frustration from earlier, slowly made way for a different feeling.

You had split up with Art and Patrick, Art talking to his tennis teammates and you to a few friends who were in some of your classes.

Far into the night you ended up back at the counter, refilling your beer when you felt him approach you. A soft tinge of cigarettes and wood made you stiffen slightly. You didn’t bother to turn around as he leaned against the counter beside you, almost too close.

“I can find somewhere else to stay the night.”

You raise a brow and turn to look at Patrick. “Can you?”

“There’s a cute Blondie who’s been eyeing me,” he motioned over to a girl eyeing him from across the room, red lips tilted into a flirty smile.

You scoffed. “You’d prostitute yourself to let your best friend get laid? I must say I am impressed.”

You took a sip of your beer as he shifted closer, his hip pressing into your side.

“Seems like you two need it,” he smirked down at you.

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “And no. You don’t need to sleep anywhere else. That’s not the kind of person I am. Neither is Art.”

“It’s going good between you two then, yeah?” He took your cup, taking a sip of your beer. You shot him and irritated look before taking the cup back.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged but that stupid smile would not leave his lips. He was more tan than the last time he visited. Freckles painting the bridge of his nose and the highs of his cheeks. There was a soft stubble on his jaw, freshly shaven. The white shirt stretched along his shoulders and chest, hugging his biceps.

“We’re good.” You settled on that.

“Yeah I can tell. He’s obsessed with you.”

You look surprised at Patrick, realizing that he was already looking at you.

“Why do you say it like that?” You asked.

“Like what?” He smirked, leaning slightly down to hear you better over the thundering music.

“Like you’re surprised.”

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“What? Am I not a girl to be obsessed with?” You challenged him, stepping slightly closer. His eyes lit up as if that was his plan all along. Patrick was looking at you like he was trying to figure what was so special about you.

Before you could hit him for his rude behavior Art found you again. The rest of the night progressed uneventful and when you were tired the three of you walked back to Arts dorm. You decided to stay with him despite Patrick. Sharing one bed with Art while Patrick took the other.

Art spooned you from behind, pressing soft kisses against your neck. Patrick was already asleep, you could tell by the snores passing his lips. You buried your back deeper into Art’s chest, sighing lightly. Your ass pressed against his crotch, his cock slowly rising to attention.

“Art,” you sighed as he started to hump your ass, fingers sliding beneath your top. Your eyes flew open but Patrick was still sound asleep.

Arts fingers brushed the underside of your tits, his tongue licking a stripe along your shoulder.

“God, I’ve missed you, baby,” Art groaned.

“Shh,” you shushed him, trying to get his hands from beneath your shirt. “Art, we can’t.”

“Just a little,” he murmured, lips finding your jaw, hard cock still working against you from behind. You moaned softly his hand flew over your mouth. “Need to be quiet for me, baby.”

You nodded, biting your lip when one of his hands rolled your nipple between his fingers. You arched your back, panties sticky and wet already.

Art kept on kissing your neck until you couldn’t wait anymore.

“Just—ahh—just fuck me.”

Art stilled for a moment. “You sure?”

You turned your face to him pushing your lips against his for a moment. “Yeah,” you said “we’ll be quiet.”

Arts gaze flickered to where Patrick lay l but he was still sound asleep, probably knocked out from all the booze of the night. If you had more time you’d have made this more romantic. Instead Arts fingers find your wet panties—groaning into your shoulder at the stickiness on his fingers—and pushed them to the side. You heard him fumbling for a moment before you felt the head of his cock at your entrance.

Lifting your leg slightly, Art slid inside you with a soft wet sound, both of you groaning in pleasure when he bottomed out. You froze when Patrick shifted but he only turned his back on you two before snoring on.

“Move, baby,” you whisper, your hand finding his. Art bit your shoulder as he slowly pumped his cock inside you, filling you so desperately. Every time he pushed his hips to you, you pushed yours back, biting your lip bloody to refrain from making a sound.

His lips kept sucking at your neck desperately, small whimpers falling from Art’s lips as he increased his speed. His balls started slapping against you heavily, the frame of the bed thunking against the wall.

Both of you were too turned on to notice the noise you were making. Skin slapping against skin, the wet sound of his cock pummeling into you.

“Youre so good to me—fuck—love you,” Art mumbled in your ear. His hand wandered down to your clit and you keened, arching your back further.

“Oh god, Art,” you moaned. You didn’t even try to be quiet at this point. When your eyes opened and Art fucked harder into you, you could see Patrick’s comforter moving suspiciously.

Art’s cock buried into you harder and you closed your eyes, moaning too fucked out to care right now.

“You close?” Art huffed and you nodded, nails buried in his forearm.

“Just—keep going,” you whined and it all became too much. Art doubled his efforts thrusting into you so hard the creaking of the bed must’ve been heard down the hall. The heardboard kept banging against the wall and your moans grew louder and quicker.

“Art we need to be-oh fuck, fuck fuck,” before you could do or think anything, your walls clammed down on his cock.

“Art I’m—“

Art slammed into you so hard, he had to bruise your hips in his grip to keep you from falling. “Baby you want me to pull out—fuck,”

You were too fucked out to answer, your eyes fluttering open and meeting blue ones. Patrick’s eyes shut immediately when you opened yours but he wasn’t quick enough.

Art kept hammering into you and the knowledge of Patrick watching you only let you fall over the edge again.

“Fuck I’m gonna—“ Art groaned long into your neck as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. Shivers kept racking your body as you felt his warm cum spill inside and run down his cock.

“I love you, this pussy is gonna ruin me, fuck—fuck,” Art kept on mumbling.

It was awfully quiet after, only your breaths and huffs echoing in the room. Art slowly eased out of you, the bed creaking when he stood up to get a wet cloth.

He cleaned you gently before pecking your lips and spooning you again.

“You think we were too loud?” He whispered into your neck, arms back around you. You shook your head gently, letting him kiss your neck one last time and fall asleep before you. All while you were staring into Patrick’s eyes.

Part 2

#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #smut #reading #art donalson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig x you #books #my writing #writing

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pricegouge · 4 months ago

Note

Thinking of nanny!reader x daddy!price once again... You really ate there, damn

[fic]

oh ms. messy... wonder what she's been up to...

"fuckin' call me messy," you grumble under your breath, the pre-wetted wipe in your hands going dry with overuse. emily squirms, her chubby little cheek gone red with the attention.

"not s'ppose'ta say tha'word." face squished in your hand as it is, the accusation comes out too muffled to hold her usual attitude. like this, she's almost cute. or would be, if not for the garish colors still staining her eyelids.

"and you're not supposed to use markers like makeup, but here we are."

she rolls her eyes, the brat, smudgy purple lines fading up into her eyebrows raising with the effort, as if everything in her tiny little body was put into the motion. "wha'ss'a diffr'nce anyway?"

"well for one, makeup comes off with makeup wipes," you snark, tossing another stained towelette into the bin, tie-dye collection starting to overflow. "for another i don't think 'bluetiful' is really your color."

"blue is a primary color," she informs you, apropos of nothing, as if that should explain why she'd tried using it as as a highlighter.

you pause in your endeavor, the bright red 'blush' on her cheek bleeding down the crease of her nose. "that is true," you agree sagely, and then damn near jump out of your skin when a gruff voice behind you asks if she knows her other primaries.

emily lists off a good fourteen colors - far too many from your understanding, though it had been a long time since you were in preschool; maybe they'd added some. you used the time to check yourself out in the bathroom mirror covertly, though you catch him catching you, eyes meeting somewhere around the fourth shade of yellow. "mr. price," you greet him casually, voice too meek in your effort not to interrupt emily's learning.

he doesn't even nod, eyes heavy on you as he lets his daughter prattle off every shade of the crayolla box she'd become overly familiar with. you'd say he's getting worse but he's always been like this - too intense, too direct - and saying as much felt like a jinx, like a dare to the universe at large to make him, impossibly, more driven. "ms. messy," he drawls quietly, the title a low purr as he lets his eyes drag over you. you'd worn shorts today, confident and cheeky in the privacy of your room. he always managed to wrangle that control from you this easily, with barely more than a pointed look that set you back to basics, suddenly remembering the game you're playing. who with.

attempting to save face, you turn back to emily and whisper to her, thick as thieves. "coulda told me he was right behind me. now i look bad, not using this as a teaching opportunity."

emily tells you it's actually your job to know when her dad's home because she's a little shit, but you barely hear it because john takes that opportunity to assure you you don't look bad, doubles down when he sees how flustered he's made you. "emily, doesn't ms. messy look nice?"

and maybe there is a reason you keep coming back for more (other than her hot father and his seemingly bottomless pocket) because she just nods animatedly, sloppy bun you'd piled her hair into bobbing. you start to murmur your thanks, but she ruins the moment just as suddenly as she'd started it, motioning to her colorful face and proudly announcing she'd been trying to look like you.

"oh," you hedge, unsure how you feel about a child thinking drunk drag makeup was the key to stealing your look.

john, thankfully, comes to your rescue. "oh, munchkin. you know ms. messy doesn't need all that to look pretty."

well, maybe 'thankfully' was a strong word. "and neither do you. you're pretty just the way you are," you assert, trying to steer the conversation into something more manageable just as you steer the girl before you back your way, tilting her head so you can get a particularly well saturated bit on her brow.

"prettier than you?" she asks, cheeky, and you roll your eyes much like she had, far too exaggeratedly. let her dad have fun with that bad habit.

"well of course!"

she giggles, turns to face her father as best she can when you've got her whole jaw cupped in your hand. "daddy, am i prettier than ms. messy?"

you don't think he's mean enough to give his kid a complex in the name of flirting with someone half his age, but your breath catches anyway, waiting in anticipation as he lets the moment drag on.

surely your heart's racing because you want him to say no. right?

"now that you mention it, ms. messy sure could use some sprucing up, hm?" you scoff and flick the dirty towelette at him and huff when he catches it easily, palm completely engulfing it without even really trying. he's unbearably smug when he continues, whiskers practically twitching with a barely contained grin. "what do you think, munchkin? a pretty necklace? a bracelet?"

unfortunately, he looks perfectly serious. "maybe a ring?"

if emily responds, you don't hear it, too busy side eyeing him, trying to figure out how serious he is. if you get tipped with a tennis necklace next time you watch his kid, you might just drop out of school.

divider by @/cafekitsune

#humor me #gouge answers #i wrote this in twenty minutes on my lunch break which is unheard of for me lmao #guess i've been missing these dorks #anyway. unedited. we're being nice lol #also THANK YOU!#glad you like it and appreciate you stopping in to lmk! 💛

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cressidagrey · 1 year ago

Text

Lightning in a Bottle - Prologue

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings:

Kinda Elain Bashing?, Low Self Esteem, Mention of Cauldron induced torture...

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

As far as cauldron-made went…Eira Archeron was pretty much useless.

She had neither the power of Death nor of Divinity.

She was neither the prettiest one, that title belonged to Elain…nor the smartest one, which was undoubtedly Nesta. Or the strongest one like Feyre…And if she had tried to hunt like Feyre, it would have been more likely that she would have accidentally killed herself instead of bringing home any meat.

As a human, she had been limited to cooking and cleaning and laundry, all of it with limited supplies and even more limited experience. She had tried. It had never been enough.

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her that her uselessness continued on even when she was no longer human.

So if she wasn’t beautiful or strong or smart…what was she then?

The dumb one?

When the cauldron had burned every bit of humanity out of her…when it had ripped away all her hopes and dreams…when it had been so angry with Nesta after whatever she had done to it that Eira was just…Eira was just an afterthought, something it could hurt in response to her sisters and then leave gasping on that stone floor feeling like she was dying…

She had done her best to accept her lack of humanity afterwards. Nesta had raged…Elain had said nothing, suffering silently in the bed…and Eira…Eira had tried.

Tried to make it better…tried to make it easier for everybody around her. She had tried.

She hadn’t wanted to put even more on Feyre’s shoulders, not with the threat of impending war…and so she had done her best to be supportive and make no trouble…be agreeable and quiet and be helpful…

But she couldn’t be helpful.

She was nothing but a useless appendage. With no powers, no great destiny stretched in front of her…

Not even a limb. Not even a fucking pinky finger.

More like a skin tag.

Completely useless. If cut off, it wouldn’t even bother anybody.

They had made that clear to her over time.

They had made clear what they thought about her, again and again, and now…now she finally realised it. She was a slow learner…but by the gods, she did learn.

It started…slow in a sense. Comments, made offhandedly, that probably weren’t meant that way anyway…sometimes said to her face…sometimes overheard.

“Stop your screeching, girl, I am getting a headache.” Amren. After she had finally…after months felt like singing again as she fixed the hem on one of her sister’s dresses. She had stopped singing then.

Amren had never brought it up again. But then Amren had never been particularly nice to any of them.

“Don’t come crying to me if she bites off your head. I warned you.” Rhysand had told her drily when she insisted on visiting Nesta at the House of Wind every week after all of that had gone down…

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?” Seethingly said by Nesta…pitted against the one thing she liked to pretend she was good at…the one thing she could do and make money with…

It cut. Of course, it did. But it wasn’t even the worst thing thrown at her head by Nesta…so why was it the one thing that stayed in her mind?

“We don’t need Eira. Quite frankly, it’s better if she doesn’t go. Elain is the prettier one, anyway.” Cassian…overheard by Eira before the rest of them had gone off to Hewn City. Eira left behind because…well the contrast of Elain badly dressed was enough, no need for Eira to…be what? A distraction?

And it was true too. Elain was the prettier twin sister.

Eira was just…common as muck as her mother had liked to remind her…Nesta was the smart one, the one who would marry a prince…Elain would marry for love and beauty…and Eira…well, she would make a good farmer’s wife as far as her mother was concerned.

Not pretty enough to garner a richer man’s attention…not smart enough to drag herself up the echelons of society on her own…To easily content as far as her mother was concerned.

“As far as cauldron-made goes, she is pretty much useless.” Morrigan. Said in jest. Eira was quite sure of that…still, it had hurt. Because it was true. She was useless.

No magic sparking at her fingertips…Using her magic was like pulling teeth…painful and a long process…And it never did what she wanted anyway.

“Eira, find somewhere else to be. I really have more important things to do,” Feyre had said with a sigh…after she had brought her sister cookies and tea…after she had only tried to get Feyre to take a break from her work.

Eira hadn’t tried that again either.

And then the one that clinched it:

“At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

Said by Elain…by her twin sister. She was frozen in place, staring at Elain wide-eyed as her sister sneered at her.

That was the last drop into an already overflowing bucket.

Stress. Right? Just stress from wedding planning. Elain would have never said that usually.

She wouldn’t have…

It was just…it was just stress…Just stress.

Elain didn’t mean it like that.

Right?

Elain flounced off…her wedding binder in tow…leaving Eira alone, sitting there, in the dining room, her chest aching.

Eira was in a trance as she carefully put all the plates into one tidy stack…as she was thankful that it had just been her and Elain, every other person in their family busy with their mates or something else…Feyre and Rhysand gone with Baby Nyx for the evening…Nesta and Cassian off at the House of Wind…who knew what Mor and Amren were up to…

Or even Azriel.

A sob threatened to take over, as she thought that name.

She walked up the stairs…to her room…Her room. She locked the door with shaky hands.

“At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

She collapsed on her bed, burying her face into her pillow and let the tears stream.

Ridiculous puppy crush.

All of that said because she had tried to talk to Elain about her choice of flowers for her wedding. Because lilies wouldn’t be in season when she married Lucien in Day Court in less than 2 months.

And then Elain responded with that, because Eira clearly wanted to ruin her wedding with that factoid.

“At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

The worst part of it was that it was the simple truth.

Azriel was never going to pay her a second glance.

He had always been more interested in Elain than Eira…he had on more than one occasion asked Eira questions about her twin sister…had made sure that Elain was comfortable and cared for…and Eira had sufficed as a source of information and nothing else.

And after Elain and Lucien had become serious…well, Eira ceased to be interesting too. He hadn’t sought her out again.

If she sat next to him at dinner, he was polite and quiet, bordering on silent. And then she tried to fill the silence and probably only annoyed him in the process.

He didn’t want her. He never would.

She starved down the sobs that wracked her body.

It was probably high time that she accepted that, right?

High time to get over herself.

High time that she reminded herself that…that she was never going to have him and that staring at him in ill-hidden affection only made everybody else make fun of her and probably made him deeply uncomfortable.

So maybe it was better that she just…

At least he had never called her useless, she supposed. It could be worse…even when he never would want her.

She felt the touch on her hand first…soft like velvet…like kitten fur…never warm, never cold. massive and somehow not… definitely not human.

The shadows. His shadows.

Sometimes they came to keep her company. At the start, she had thought that maybe he had sent them but nowadays she was quite sure that they had just liked her quiet singing while embroidery one afternoon. So quiet that nobody would hear. It had taken her months to coax them out of their corners after that. They probably had just taken pity on her.

Just like they did now.

“Please don’t,” she choked out. She never wanted him to find out how she was feeling about him…never wanted to feel the pain of him outright turning her down.

And if his shadows came to check on her, they would report back in what they saw…and they didn’t need…didn’t need to worry about it.

They never talked to her. Just sometimes they came and listened to her softly talk to them while she was sewing in the evening, about this and that...

It wasn’t right how she talked to you, the shadows whispered.

They didn’t talk to her. Never.

And now they did.

Hell, even his shadows were feeling sorry for her, weren’t they?

“Please don’t tell him,” she begged.

He should know, they disagreed softly. Everybody should know. She should apologise to you.

And what would that give her? Nothing. More embarrassment because everybody else got to hear all about her fledgling little feelings? Feelings she should bury deep and never examine again?

“Please,” she begged again and the shadows seemingly surrendered, curling themselves up against her hands so that she could touch them.

Don’t cry, they soothed her softly. Don’t give her that.

Elain hadn’t said anything that was untrue. That was the worst part. It was true. And that hurt.

Is there anything we could do? the shadows asked Eira softly. Anything at all to make this better?

“No,” she whispered, choking out the words, another sob. Not anymore. There was nothing anybody could do.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. Just like the cauldron had. Then she had wished she would die.

Now…now she wondered the same once again. Maybe then it would stop feeling like this.

She cried her eyes out, as the tears kept pouring over her cheeks…as she sobbed until her throat was raw and everything hurt. And finally, she just laid there…the shadows still swirling worriedly around her prone form.

“Don’t you need to work?” she asked the shadows listlessly, tears tracking over her cheeks. “Don’t you have something more important to do than to try and comfort me?”

Maybe take care of him?

You are important, the shadows snapped.

Eira could argue that point. She was useless. So what did it matter? It didn’t.

She wiped away the tears, but new ones just came pouring over her face and she stopped trying, let them run down her face and wondered how long she could stay in her room and never come out again.

Would you like something to eat? the shadows tried again. So sweet. Trying to give her something, anything to comfort her.

“No, thank you,” she whispered. Alone the thought made her want to throw up.

She didn’t want to eat.

She didn’t want to get up and talk to anybody. She didn’t want to even look at another person anymore.

She didn’t…

What would you like then? The shadows tried softly. Would you like to plot revenge? they suggested.

It was so stupid that she choked out a laugh.

“For what? Elain saying what everybody else is thinking?” Eira asked, her heart painfully restricting.

Nobody here actually wanted her around. If she disappeared forever she would do them a favour. Him especially.

Elain had only said what everybody else was thinking.

All three of her sisters had found their mates, just not Eira. All three of her sisters had some kind of power…just not her. All three of them had found some kind of place for themselves…and then there was her, living with her youngest sister, half seamstress, half nanny for her child, an unwanted appendage that was taken care of out of some feeling of duty and no other reason.

Elain had just voiced what she was thinking. The truth.

It had been the truth. Plain and simple. And Eira maybe didn’t like to hear it but it didn’t…it didn’t matter.

It was the truth.

Elain had two men willing to marry her and spend the rest of their lives with her…and nobody wanted to spend any time with Eira. A husband wasn’t even something that had ever seemed to be a possibility.

Even if everybody else is thinking, that doesn’t make it right. The shadows disagreed quietly. Your sister said that to hurt you and not for any other reason.

“She’s stressed out with wedding planning,” Eira whispered.

It had just been that. Probably. Maybe.

That doesn’t make it right, the shadows disagreed again, twirling tighter around her wrist. We could ruin her wedding. Lilies and all, they suggested brightly.

She shook her head. No. Elain should have the wedding she dreamed of. Eira wasn’t going to ruin it for her.

“Don’t do that,” she said weakly.

We could at least steal her wedding binder, they told her mulishly, and Eira wondered if they disagreed like that with Azriel too.

Azriel…

What did it say about her that she fell head over heels in love with the first man who treated her with polite indifference? That she was so desperate to be loved that that was all it took?

Did it matter?

No.

Elaine was right. He would never spare her a second glance. He was just as unreachable as any other male.

Nothing was enticing about Eira. Neither her body, nor her mind, nor her magical power. What could she possibly offerany male?

All the nightmares she had on a near-daily basis? All the fear and anxiety that swirling around her gut every day?

She could sew on any buttons he lost along the way, she supposed. That was something.

The knife that plunged into her womb and twisted, took her by surprise.

It shouldn’t have.

Of course. 6 months had passed once again.

“Don’t tell him this either,” she begged in a whimper. This was too embarrassing. He didn’t need to know about her cycle.

Nobody did. She was the most modest out of all her sisters. The one with the most human ideas of what was considered to be decent, left…the only one who…

The only one left with her maidenhead intact, because everybody else was mated or married or very much in love and it had never mattered in Prythian anyway.

Just Eira was left.

Without a mate. Without a husband.

Without ever having even been kissed. Nearly 26 and that…hadn’t happened for her.

It probably would never happen anyway.

Why today of all days?

Why did her cycle need to torture her today? How did she deserve this? Why not in a week…Though at least now she had a reason not to leave her bed for a few days.

She could just stay here.

Mope in her own Misery and self-pity…wallow in the pain that she knew would come…

Of course, it would. She had always had a horrible time during her cycle even as a human…as a Fae, it had become her very own personal torture.

Maybe a bath would make you feel better, the shadows suggested softly as she already curled herself together in pain.

She needed to get up and sort herself out before it got even worse…made sure that she wouldn’t get blood all over the sheets, but she couldn’t…She didn’t want to.

And a bath…A stab of pure fear.

“It’s like the cauldron,” Eira whimpered. Just like the cauldron.

She didn’t bathe…she used buckets of water…even years later…still standing water was not something she could stand. Not without being reminded of her humanity being ripped away and traded for whatever this existence was.

What if we make sure that it isn’t? the shadows asked her softly. It will be nothing like the cauldron, we promise.

A bath…a hot bath that would help against the soreness of her muscles…that would maybe ease the cramps…

It did sound nice. So nice.

So Eira just weakly nodded.

That seemed to be all the agreement the shadows needed as they whisked her to the bathing chamber, in the blink of an eye.

She watched as they flitted about the room, turning on the water, dotting candles around the room, making it brightly lit with faelight and candlelight both.

Lots of foam and bubbles appeared in the bathtub as well as numerous concoctions being poured into the water.

She slowly toed off her shoes and opened the laces of her dress. Eira hesitated and the shadows disappeared, letting her undress in privacy…letting her walk to the bathtub and test the temperature…stare at it for a moment.

It couldn’t look less like the cauldron if it tried.

She waited for a stab of fear but nothing came.

So she slid into it, let the warm water envelope her, the perfect temperature… A few tendrils of shadows came to keep her company, touching her chin so that she tipped her head back and they started to wash her hair for her.

Eira couldn’t even remember the last time anybody had done that for her.

And they did that…without even asking…just…just for her.

“Thank you,” Eira whispered, not daring to close her eyes, but staring at the ceiling. “Are you sure you don’t have anything more important to do?” she asked weakly. “Isn’t your master going to be angry at you?” She didn’t want them to get into any trouble, just because they…they were taking care of her.

You don’t want Master to find out, so he won’t, they said easily. Would you like some pain potions?

If they gave them to her, she wouldn’t need to walk downstairs and maybe face her sister or gods forbid, Rhysand…and ask them for Madja.

Nobody would need to know. She could have her privacy and her dignity left intact.

“Yes, please,“ she breathed in relief as the shadows poured something or other over her head. One shadow brought her a vial, wrapping around her wrist as she uncorked and downed it.

A bitter taste but it left her blissedly numb and tired nearly immediately.

“What’s that?” She mumbled as they hushed her, massaging her head.

It tasted differently than whatever Madja usually gave her…telling her that pain and discomfort were normal and that her potions would ease it…It was like pouring a bucket of water over an inferno.

While this…this was quenching everything. Leaving her numb.

Just a rather strong pain potion, the shadows promised her. You’ll sleep for a bit…We’ll talk more then.

Sleep… Sleep sounded nice…

She didn’t even think about feeling self-conscious when they pulled her from the water, rinsed her off and wrapped her in warm, fluffy towels.

They laid out her favourite nightgown so she only needed to pull it on and pull back the sheets of her bed so she could slide beneath it.

Even a hot water bottle was waiting for her…

Everything so that she would be as comfortable as possible… everything for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears pricking in her eyes as she climbed between her blankets, the shadows fluffing her pillow and pulling the blankets as high as they went.

It was weird…to have the shadows doting on her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Eira was too selfish to protest this bit of attention…the only positive attention she had in years.

They promised not to tell, so she wouldn’t either. Not when this was the sweetest thing anybody had ever done for her.

She fell asleep between one breath and the next, safely and warmly ensconced in her bed. Deep dreamless sleep…When she woke, it must have been the middle of the night…and still, the shadows were there immediately.

She whimpered at the cramps that were ransacking her body…and the growling of her stomach in hunger.

She hated these cycles. Hated how weak they left her and how she wanted nothing more than to cease to exist.

Are you hungry? You’ll need to eat before you can take another pain potion, the shadows told her worriedly. Not a lot, just a little bit, they promised.

“I don’t want to go down into the kitchen,” she answered weakly, biting her lip. Not that she thought that she could safely traverse the staircase anyway.

Eira just wanted to stay here…alone. Maybe with the shadows for company, as long as they wanted her…

We’ll get you something. What would you like? They assured her immediately.

Everything in her body ached for something human, even when she knew that their food would taste like ash for her. She always wanted human things. The things she would never have again.

“Maybe some soup?” Eira asked finally. “If that’s not too much trouble?”

Of course not.

They fluffed her pillows and helped her sit up…and then soup appeared…a bowl filled with clear broth with bits of vegetables and chunks of chicken and noodles…cooked to perfection…better than anything she could have ever produced and by the gods, she had tried…All of it, arranged on a tray, with two slices of perfect crusty bread and another pain potion.

She took that first, and it made her pleasantly numb and tired…and so she weakly spooned as much soup as she could in her mouth afterwards… mopping up the last of her soup with the bread.

She finished as much as she could before she was too tired and the shadows tucked her back into bed, curled up on her side…so they could fuss with her hair which was a mess as always.

She felt like a child being fawned over and she couldn’t help but relax into it…let them do with her whatever they wished if they just kept being so…nice to her.

Feeling better? they asked softly and she hummed.

If you could be anything…do anything... what would it be? The shadows wondered quietly. The movements of them were lulling her to some space of safety and warmth and Eira considered the question.

If she could have anything in the world…what would she want?

A heady question.

“When I was…young,” she said softly… “I wanted a dashing knight to come rescue me, and whisk me away from that horrible cottage,” she said weakly. “That’s what I wanted since I was old enough to want anything.”

A stupid children’s dream.

But sadly there were no knights in Prythian and even if there were any, they wouldn’t pick Eira.

And now? The shadows pushed.

“Somebody that loves me,” she admitted quietly. “A husband…children.”

All of that…she wanted all of that.

And she was never going to have it.

We could find you a husband, the shadows finally said quietly. If that makes you happy…we could help you.

“Who could possibly want me?” Eira asked, her voice breaking. Who would want her? The answer was easy: Nobody.

Only because Master is an idiot, doesn’t mean every male is, they told her tartly.

She wanted to laugh but it ended in a sob.

“He isn’t an idiot,” Eira disagreed. “He just knows that…I am not good enough for him.”

Not pretty enough, not smart enough…not enough period.

That’s ridiculous, the shadows hissed.

It wasn’t.

“He’s in love with my prettier twin sister,” Eira snapped. “I shouldn’t want him anyway. Why should I want to be his second or even third choice? Maybe for once, I want to be somebody’s first choice! Maybe for once, I want to be treated like I matter! That my feelings matter…that I matter!” It burst out of her. The tears burned in her eyes at that admission. At…how unfair it was.

What had she done to deserve this? What had she done?

Eira immediately regretted that outburst though. “I am so sorry,” she blurted out.

They didn’t deserve to be pulled into her feeling unfairly treated. She should stop complaining. It wasn’t going to…

For what? the shadows snorted. You are absolutely right. You deserve to be somebody’s first choice. You deserve to be treated like you matter.

She didn’t.

Maybe you should go shopping, the shadows suggested with a sigh. The suggestion was so sudden that she stared at the tendril of shadow still wrapped around her wrist.

“Why?” she asked with a sigh.

The Morrigan does that if she feels bad. The shadows told her earnestly. Then she buys shoes and feels better.

Ah.

She highly doubted that shoes were going to solve any of her problems. A pretty pair of shoes wasn’t going to make anybody fall in love with her. Or want her.

“What am I supposed to buy?” She asked quietly. “Just shoes?”

Stuff. The shadows answered easily. Whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy, they assured her. All your sisters have more stuff than you. You make them dresses and other things. But you never make yourself anything, the shadows said quietly. Nobody would say anything if you wanted things that are yours.

Right. She had never bothered with that. Not after she had lost all her things together with her humanity…there had been some piles of necessities sent to them by Rhysand…and that had been that.

She had never bothered to get more than that. She still wore those dresses of the very first weeks… and while she had made dresses for all three of her sisters…as human out of necessity, as Fae out of habit…she hadn’t made herself any in years.

Not since becoming Fae. Her new body felt…she hadn’t wanted to look at her new body for long enough to figure out how something should fit onto it. How it had changed….

These godforsaken ears were enough.

Buy things for yourself. Like a new dress! Or earrings! Diamonds! The shadows suggested. Whatever you find pretty.

“My ears aren’t pierced,” she said quietly, a yawn taking over her face.

That brought them up short.

Master bought you pearl earrings, the shadows said suddenly, sounding perplexed.

He had. Beautiful. Impersonal. Unwearable for her…a far cry from all the little trinkets he had given to Elain…

Still, for months she had stared at them and found them oh so beautiful…safely kept in their box in her drawer at her vanity table.

Maybe that alone should have told her everything she needed to know about the state of Azriel’s affection for her.

Namely it was non-existent when the spymaster of the night court didn’t even bother to check if she even wore earrings.

And the earrings…well…they were only…one thing. Her room at the River Estate that she had been supposed to furnish to her liking…that was another.

In the end, it had consisted out of her getting a set of the same bedroom furniture as every other guest room and her walls were painted cream like in every other room Feyre hadn’t gotten to yet. It was still as impersonal as it had been when she had moved in.

She knew that Elain had stuff to litter her bookcases with…gifts from Azriel or Feyre or Lucien, her mate…even Eira had gifted her sister things.

But all Eira had…were the dresses she had on commission laid out on her desk. Which she would need to return to the shop where she worked as a seamstress at soon enough once she was finished with her alteration on them…and well, that was it.

No books, because her reading was absolutely atrocious…no little trinkets from any of her sisters…no paintings or art or anything really.

Just…her sewing and embroidery supplies and that was that…and even these weren’t…held in one of these pretty little wooden sewing boxes on legs that would keep them tidily kept away…

Do you need money? The shadows asked her seriously.

“What?” Eira asked weakly.

She made some money with her job. Not a lot…but some. All of it carefully stashed away to buy birthday or solstice gifts from…or little trinkets she saw in a shop and thought one of her sisters would like…that Nyx would like.

Do you need money? They repeated patiently. To buy stuff? For yourself?

“No, I have money. And I don’t want to owe anybody anything,” she answered quietly, her eyes slowly closing.

She didn’t want to end like Nesta… were in the end, her habits were used to bludgeon her with…she didn’t…

You wouldn’t. The shadows assured her. We have our own line of credit.

What?

“How does that work? Do you have your own bank account?” she asked curiously, and she could nearly feel their amusement.

We like playing the lottery. Everything we win, we put into Master’s Bank Account, they explained to her earnestly. He never uses it anyway. We could just put our winnings in yours instead. Master wouldn’t care.

It was so ridiculous that she couldn’t help but giggle.

“Really?” she still asked weakly.

Really! they assured her seriously. Enough for you to have a shopping spree! We like shiny things, they told her, making her laugh. Master never buys any. We’ll pick up some mail-order catalogues for you and then you can spend tomorrow ordering some things. Maybe some curtains to spruce things up a little. It’s awfully empty in here.

Still, she couldn’t help but ask.

“Why are you doing this?”

Nobody should be treated like you are, they told her fiercely. Nobody should feel like they have no place anywhere.

#lightning in a bottle #acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader

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hameesstuff · 1 month ago

Text

"Trigger Discipline"

Title: "Trigger Discipline"

Word count: ~6.2k

Themes: Exes to lovers, Mafia, Violence, Soft Smut, Angst, Fluff, Almost death scene.

Preview: He’s dragged blood-soaked bodies through alleyways and whispered orders that ended lives. But nothing ever rattled Johnny like the new folder on his desk—one that read your name. You who once kissed his bloody knuckles and told him he was more than what the world made him. Now he’s ordered to erase you. The only woman he's ever loved.

But love doesn’t follow orders. Not even in the mafia.

___________________________________________

A Clean Shot

Johnny had a ritual when it came to bodies.

Late at night, when the streets fell silent and the city stopped pretending it was clean, he’d roll up his sleeves, light a cigarette, and handle the mess himself. It wasn’t about trust—though he had little of it—it was about control. About making sure every job ended with a period, not a question mark.

Tonight was no different. A warehouse. Concrete floors. One bullet to the head, another to the chest for good measure. He crouched beside the corpse in a black suit that didn’t wrinkle, pulled off his gloves, and stared into the glassy eyes of the dead man like he might confess something in his final silence.

He didn’t.

“You sure you wanna keep doing cleanup?” Doyoung’s voice echoed as he stepped into the dim light, arms crossed. “You’re the boss now. The man who orders the trigger, not pulls it.”

Johnny stood slowly, flicking blood off his gloves before tucking them into his coat pocket. “Sometimes I don’t trust the hands holding the gun.”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. “That paranoia gonna kill you before anyone else does.”

A small smirk curled on Johnny’s lips. “Let it try.”

Two hours later, back at his office—top floor of a building people assumed was abandoned—he sat with a glass of whiskey and a stack of target folders. He wasn’t reading them. Not yet. He just liked the weight. The gravity of lives outlined in ink and photos.

Until one slipped free and landed face up.

Your face.

The glass in his hand didn’t fall, but his grip tightened. His throat clenched so hard he couldn’t breathe, like the past had reached out and wrapped its soft, familiar fingers around his neck.

You looked the same. Maybe prettier. Hair up in a lazy clip, a small crinkle at the edge of your smile as you knelt beside a child, their hands buried in paint. The caption on the photo:

Name: [REDACTED]. Status: Civilian. Occupation: Kindergarten Teacher. Priority: Immediate Termination.

Johnny didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared.

You hadn’t spoken in three years. He left you for a life he thought you’d never survive beside. You loved flowers and fairy lights and poetry about the moon. He left blood on his doormat every Thursday.

He should burn the file. Call it a mistake. Tell Doyoung he’d handle it and then vanish you to some new life in a different country, maybe.

But something in his chest—something he hadn’t felt since your bare arms wrapped around his torso in a summer rain—began to twist.

He leaned back, whispering like a curse:

“…Fuck.”

Paper Hearts, Loaded Guns

The street outside the school was quiet, dappled in soft morning light filtered through thinning spring leaves. Johnny stood across from the playground, silent, unmoving, the hood of his black coat casting a shadow over his eyes.

And there you were.

Bent over in a room full of color and chaos, gently tying the shoelaces of a boy who was crying too hard to speak. You whispered something—he couldn't hear it, but he didn’t need to. The child nodded, wiped his tears, and hugged you around the waist.

Johnny didn’t blink.

You hadn’t changed. Not in the ways that mattered.

Still pretty in the kind of way the world didn’t deserve. Still moved like the weight of the world was something you carried for others. Your hair was up in that loose twist you always did when you were focused. There were chalk marks on your skirt. Crayon smudges on your wrist. And somehow, it made you glow.

His fingers curled inside his coat pocket where the pistol rested, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth rising in his chest.

He’d forgotten how much he missed you.

He remembered the first time he kissed you.

He’d had blood on his hands that night too. You were barefoot on the kitchen floor in his apartment, laughing softly as you stirred noodles in a pot, humming something off-key.

“I’m dirty,” he had said, stepping in cautiously, fists clenched at his sides.

“I know,” you replied, and turned to look at him. “But I still want you to hold me.”

So he had.

And he hadn’t let go until the sun came up and his heart remembered it could still beat for something other than survival.

Now, watching you crouch by a chalkboard where your students had scrawled crooked letters, he felt the ghost of your fingers brush his again. The memory of your mouth against his jaw. The whispered I love yous in the kind of silence that made a man forget he was born into violence.

You were peace.

And you were on his list.

His phone buzzed in his coat.

Doyoung:

You’re dragging your feet. You said you’d handle it. HQ is breathing down my neck. We confirmed it—she’s the witness’ tie. Clean shot. No questions.

Johnny looked up at the classroom window. You were laughing now, hair falling out of its clip. A little girl placed a sticker on your cheek, and you didn’t remove it. Just smiled like joy was the most natural thing in the world.

That night, he didn’t drink.

He just sat at his desk, file open, staring at your name. Again. And again.

You were a teacher. A civilian. A bright spot in a world of darkness he’d willingly sunk into.

His thumb brushed your photograph.

The burn behind his eyes came fast.

He closed the file and whispered into the silence, “I’m not killing her.”

Even if it killed him.

The Man Behind the Bullet

Rain came hard that night—thick sheets against the glass, soft thunder rumbling like a distant war Johnny had already lost. The city was quiet in a way that made him restless. His office lights were dimmed low, his black shirt still clinging to him from the walk in. He hadn’t bothered drying off. He needed the cold.

The file sat open on the desk. Again.

Your photo stared back at him—head tilted, half-smile tucked into the corner of your lips like you were keeping a secret only he could ever understand.

Maybe you were.

Maybe that’s why it still hurt.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years. Not since the night he left, standing in the doorway with his bag and his demons and that look on your face—the one that shattered him.

You never asked him to stay.

And he’d hated you for it.

But only for a day.

Then he hated himself.

Two years earlier

You’d been curled against his chest in bed, legs tangled together, rain tapping soft on the window.

“I can hear your heart when I lay here,” you’d murmured, fingertips grazing the tattoo over his ribs.

“It’s fast.”

“That’s just you,” he replied, kissing your temple. “You scare me.”

You smiled softly. “Why?”

“Because when I look at you, I start thinking about things I shouldn’t want.”

“Like what?”

“Like soggy pancakes with our lttle kids. Sunday mornings that aren’t covered in blood.”

You had gone quiet then. But not cold. You just whispered, “You deserve those things too, Johnny. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”

Now, in this office built on silence and fear, all he could hear was your voice—faint and warm and far too close.

He poured a drink. Didn’t sip it.

There was a knock at the door.

Doyoung stepped in, slicked with rain, holding a USB drive. “Final proof,” he said grimly. “Your girl was seen talking to the witness last week. Same bookstore. He was killed two days later.”

Johnny stiffened. “She’s a teacher. That shop’s on her route home.”

“She hugged him.”

Johnny looked up, slow and sharp.

Doyoung raised his hands. “I’m just saying. Boss, it doesn’t matter how she got tied to this. HQ wants it done. If it wasn’t you, they’d send Taeyong. And he won’t hesitate.”

The room grew still. Heavy.

Then Johnny said, voice low and hard, “If Taeyong touches her, I’ll put a bullet in his mouth.”

Silence.

Doyoung exhaled and leaned on the wall. “You never even told us why you left her.”

Johnny turned away. “Because I loved her.”

Outside, the rain had stopped.

And across the city, you were closing your classroom for the night, unaware of the storm circling your name. You packed up the glitter glue, hummed to the silence, then paused.

There it was again.

The ache in your chest.

Like someone you once knew was standing just outside the door.

Ghosts in the Doorway

It started with a knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone. It was nearly 9 p.m., and your apartment was tucked on the second floor of a quiet building that smelled like old books and warm bread. You were still in your soft house sweater—oversized, worn at the cuffs—curled on the couch with a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

The knock came again. Quiet. Firm.

You frowned, setting the cup down, the strange unease curling at the base of your neck. When you opened the door, the breath left your lungs.

Johnny Suh stood there.

Dripping rain onto your doormat.

Black coat. Black eyes. Hands stuffed in his pockets like he didn’t trust them to stay still. You hadn’t seen him in three years, but God, he still looked the same—older around the eyes maybe, more carved at the edges—but still heartbreakingly him.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

For one long second, it was like the world had forgotten how to spin.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said first, voice low. Hoarse. Like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. “I swear.”

You didn’t move.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“I know.”

He exhaled, the weight of the universe in his shoulders. “But I needed to see you before they do.”

“Who?” you asked, even though part of you already knew.

He hesitated.

Then: “People who kill for less reason than I have.”

The silence between you turned thick. Heavy.

You stepped back without a word, and he followed you in.

Your apartment was small, warm. Familiar in ways that made his chest ache. You still kept candles on the windowsill. A bookshelf half-falling apart. A cat he didn’t recognize blinked up at him from the kitchen counter like it already hated him.

He stood in the middle of the living room, dripping on your rug, hands twitching.

You watched him carefully. “You said before they do.”

Johnny nodded once.

And then—for the first time—you saw it. The pain in his eyes. The guilt in the line of his jaw. The tight way he held himself, like he didn’t know if he was here to beg or bleed.

“They sent you,” you said softly.

Not a question.

He didn’t lie.

“Yes.”

The floor fell out from under you. But you didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stood there—arms crossed over your stomach like you were holding yourself together—staring at the man who once made you believe the world could be kind.

You let out a breath like it broke something inside you.

“Was I really ever just a job, Johnny?”

“No,” he said instantly. Stepped forward. “You were the only real thing I ever had.”

He didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

But he looked at you like a man memorizing every line of a poem he would never get to read again.

And then, finally: “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t care what they say. I’ll burn the whole organization to the ground before I let them touch you.”

You blinked.

“Why?” you whispered.

He looked wrecked when he said it.

“Because I still love you.”

Before the Fire Started

Three Years Ago.

The night before he left.

The city was asleep, but your apartment lights were low and golden. You stood in the kitchen wearing one of his old black shirts, too big on your frame, the sleeves rolled up as you swayed barefoot on cold tiles.

Johnny leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you stir soup in a chipped pot.

“You look domestic,” he teased softly.

You smirked without turning. “Don’t ruin it.”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he knew this moment was borrowed time.

“I like it,” he murmured, now behind you. His arms wrapped gently around your waist. “You. Here. With me. Like this.”

You stilled in his hold.

Then slowly leaned back against his chest, letting the silence settle.

“You’re tense,” you whispered.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “Everything in my world breaks. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

You turned then, both hands pressed to his chest.

“I won't, Johnny. Not when it’s you.”

He bent his head, forehead resting against yours.

“I don’t get to keep this life,” he said, barely audible. “The people I work for—they don’t let you have peace. Or light. Or love.”

You tilted your face up, eyes stinging.

“I don’t care.”

He smiled. Soft. Devastated.

“You should.”

That night, he made love to you like a man saying goodbye with every touch.

He memorized your breath, the way you whispered his name, the way your fingers gripped his shoulder when you came apart around him—like he was the only place in the world you felt safe.

He kissed your throat afterward, whispering, “I’ll never love again. Even if I live to be a hundred. There’s only you.”

You kissed his mouth to quiet the ache.

Now.

You stared at him in your living room, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. The hurt hadn’t dulled with time—it was just quieter now. Sharper in how it pierced.

He was still standing there, soaked and sleepless, looking at you like you were the only clean thing he had left in the world.

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” he whispered.

You didn’t respond.

You just stepped closer—heart beating too loud—and reached up.

Your fingers brushed the scar under his jaw. One he didn’t have before.

He didn’t flinch.

“You still smell like smoke,” you murmured.

Johnny’s throat bobbed. “I never stopped burning.”

Between the Trigger and the Touch

You didn’t speak for a while.

Not after tracing that scar. Not after his breath hitched at your touch like he’d forgotten how to be held gently.

The room was quiet but charged. You turned away slowly, walking to the window, arms folding tight over your chest. The city lights blinked below, rain still glittering on the glass.

He didn’t move.

“I waited,” you said finally, voice like a scraped match. “For weeks. I thought maybe you’d knock again. Maybe you just needed space. But you didn’t even leave a note, Johnny.”

He exhaled sharply, pain twisting through his features. “I couldn’t. If I stayed—if I wrote, called, anything—they’d know you mattered. You’d be dead by now.”

You turned to him. “And now?”

“I don’t care anymore,” he said. “If I die protecting you, then I die doing the one good thing I’ve ever done right.”

Your breath caught.

Johnny stepped forward then, slow and deliberate, stopping a few inches from you. His voice dropped.

“I dream about you.”

You swallowed.

He kept going. “About what I left. About what I ruined. You cooking barefoot. Laughing. The way you used to fall asleep on my chest mid movie.”

Your lips twitched.

He saw it.

A faint, broken smile pulled at his mouth too.

And then: “Do you still listen to that stupid playlist? The one you made me for night drives?”

You blinked hard. “You remember that?”

“I remember all of it.”

Silence.

And then he said, quieter, “Do you want me to go?”

You could lie. You could say yes. You could ask him to disappear again so your heart didn’t have to remember how to ache.

But instead—

You reached for his hand.

Fingers lacing slowly. Trembling.

“No,” you said.

And he looked at you like he was about to fall to his knees.

When the Light Broke

You whispered, “Kiss me.”

And for a moment, nothing in the world existed except his lips brushing yours.

Slow. Reverent. Like he’d waited his entire life for that single contact.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an apology, a confession, a resurrection.

Your fingers trembled as they curled in his jacket. His hand cradled your jaw like you might disappear again if he held too hard. Your bodies hadn’t touched in years, but they remembered. His mouth moved like he was desperate to memorize you again.

You broke apart only to breathe. You were just about to say his name when—

The window behind you shattered into a thousand pieces. A blink. A sound like thunder swallowed in glass.

And then—

A burning punch to your side.

You gasped.

The air was gone. Your legs buckled.

Johnny caught you mid-fall, and suddenly the world was sideways. His arms tightened around your body, but your vision was already going soft at the edges.

“No.” His voice was jagged. “No no no no no—”

Your blood soaked through his hands instantly. Hot. Fast. Too fast.

He dragged you behind the couch in one fluid motion, his back shielding yours as more glass sprayed across the room—fragments glinting in the air like falling stars. But no more shots came. One bullet. One message.

You coughed. Choked on your own breath.

“Johnny…” you managed, voice like smoke.

He ripped his jacket off and pressed it to your side, hand shaking so violently he almost missed. “Stay awake. Don’t you dare fucking close your eyes—don’t you dare—”

Tears flooded your vision. Not from pain. From the sound of him. You’d never heard him sound like that.

Like he was dying too.

“Help’s coming,” he said. It wasn’t a promise. It was a prayer.

Your lips parted, blood trickling into your mouth.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wild, voice breaking. “I just got you back. I just got you back. Don’t leave me like this—not you—”

Your body was going cold.

But his hands never stopped holding you like they could pull your soul back in.

The Aftermath

The cold sting of antiseptic filled the air as Johnny rushed through the hospital doors, adrenaline still running through his veins, mixing with the heavy weight of panic.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be hurt.

He wasn’t supposed to be holding your bleeding body in his arms, fighting for your life in the back of his car. It wasn’t supposed to be real.

But it was.

He shouted for help as soon as the doors opened, his hands shaking so badly he could barely feel the blood on them anymore. Your blood. The warmth of it on his skin still burned like fire.

“Emergency!” he barked, voice cracking with desperation.

They moved fast, voices echoing in the chaos, and in the blur of rushing hands, he finally let go. Reluctantly. He stepped back, watching helplessly as the doctors and nurses surrounded you—working fast, speaking in quick, sharp commands. He was useless in this moment, and it tore him apart.

“She’s losing too much blood!” one of the nurses shouted.

Johnny barely registered their words as he stood, frozen in the doorway. His chest was tight, his throat clogged. His body was still shaking from the shock, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was from the guilt. The ache of knowing he might’ve just lost the one person who ever meant anything.

One of the doctors looked at him, eyes hard, and gave him a single, firm command.

“You need to leave. Now.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t fight. He turned, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders as he stepped into the sterile hallway, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts that couldn’t be caught.

The hours dragged by.

Johnny didn’t leave the hospital. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He just waited.

And waited.

By the time the sun cracked the sky and the sterile lights in the hospital halls flickered to life, his eyes were sunken. He’d spent all night pacing, trying to stay awake, to stay present. But a deep, gnawing dread crawled under his skin—the fear that you might not make it.

The sound of a door opening caught his attention. A nurse appeared, her face tired but calm.

“She’s stable.” she said, her voice soft. “She’s going to be okay.”

Johnny exhaled. It was like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath all this time. His heart beat again, and for the first time, the weight seemed a little less suffocating.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Can I see her?” he asked, voice raw.

The nurse nodded.

When Johnny walked into your room, the sight of you—pale, bruised, breathing steadily beneath the sterile white sheets—nearly broke him all over again.

You were alive. You were breathing. And that was enough.

He stood by your bedside for a long time, just watching you. His eyes tracing every inch of your face, memorizing every detail in case he never got the chance again.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, it wasn’t shock or pain that crossed your face. It was relief.

“Johnny…” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He took your hand, fingers trembling as he gently kissed the back of it. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“Don’t leave.” You whispered, barely audible. The faintest of smiles curled your lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he whispered back.

And for that moment, it was enough. But not for long.

Hours later, you fell into a deep, healing sleep.

Johnny’s gaze lingered on your face one last time. He knew he should stay. He knew he shouldn’t go.

But there was something he had to do.

He quietly slipped out of the room, leaving a single kiss on your forehead, and as he walked down the empty hallway, the weight of the decision crushed him.

You’d live. You’d heal. But he couldn’t let this go.

Not yet.

The morning after, Johnny was already gone.

Blood Bath.

He didn’t wear gloves.

He wanted the blood on his hands.

Johnny didn’t knock when he entered the second-floor room of the warehouse. The metal door slammed open, a blinding flash of moonlight cutting across the shadows. Inside, the man who’d given the kill order—Leon Vargas—was seated at a round table, surrounded by half-empty glasses and two bodyguards.

Johnny didn’t hesitate.

Two bullets. Two guards dropped before they even reached their guns.

Vargas shot up from his chair, stumbling backward as Johnny strode in like death itself. Dressed in black, eyes cold, jaw tight—he looked like vengeance incarnate. His gun remained steady, a seamless extension of his fury.

“You shouldn't have touched her.”

“Johnny, wait—”

Johnny’s fist slammed into Vargas’ jaw, sending the man reeling against the wall. He followed him, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him down onto the table, glass shattering beneath the weight.

“Was it a message? Huh?” Johnny hissed, gun pressed to Vargas’ mouth. “That kindergarten teacher? My ex? That was the line you wanted to cross?”

“I didn't know—”

Another punch. This one split his lip.

“You did. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Vargas coughed blood, a shaky laugh escaping. “You went soft. Thought you needed reminding.”

Johnny froze for a moment. That laugh. That arrogance.

Then he smiled.

But it wasn’t kind.

He reached for a knife from his belt—cold steel glinting in the low light—and drove it into Vargas’ thigh.

Scream.

Vargas writhed beneath him, blood pouring down the chair leg.

“I haven’t gone soft,” Johnny whispered into his ear, voice calm and cold. “I’ve gotten worse. Because of her.”

He twisted the blade slowly, like he was savoring it.

“I love her. You made me bleed for her. Now you’ll drown in yours.”

He pulled the knife free, slick and dripping, then stepped back and emptied his entire magazine into Vargas’ chest.

The final shot went into his head. Point blank.

Johnny stared at the body, chest heaving, blood on his hands, his face, his soul. But his eyes were calm now. His monster fed.

He dropped the empty magazine, reloaded, and turned without looking back.

His hands were stained red.

And now, finally, so was his soul.

Epilogue: “The Quietest Thing”

The city was far behind them now.

Up in the hills, where the clouds rolled slow and the nights came soft, a quiet house sat tucked behind rows of apricot trees. It smelled like jasmine in spring and woodsmoke in winter. And tonight, it smelled like home.

Johnny stood barefoot in the hallway, shoulder against the frame of her bedroom door.

Inside, your daughter was curled up under a pink blanket, knees tucked to her chest, a stuffed rabbit clutched tight in her arms. Her hair fanned out across the pillow like ink in water—thick and dark, just like his.

You stood at her bedside, humming something faint as you tucked the blanket higher. The glow from the nightlight kissed your cheek, and Johnny felt it again—that quiet, shattering ache of love so deep it felt like forgiveness.

“She’s growing fast,” he whispered.

You turned to him, smiling gently. “She’s already smarter than both of us.”

“She’s got your heart,” he murmured.

“She’s got your fight.”

You walked over, sliding your hand into his. He kissed the back of it, eyes drifting back to the tiny body sleeping peacefully in the bed.

“She asked me today if you were a superhero,” you whispered. “Said you have hands like a soldier but eyes like a prince.”

Johnny swallowed. “What did you tell her?”

“I said no,” you said softly. “You’re not a superhero.”

His heart thudded. You leaned in.

“You’re her father,” you whispered. “That’s better.”

Outside, the wind danced through the trees.

In the living room, Doyoung was passed out on the couch, glasses askew, a coloring book open on his chest—one your daughter had abandoned halfway through. Crayons littered the floor. Classical piano music still hummed faintly from the kitchen speaker.

The home was chaotic in the way only happy homes are.

Johnny reached for you as you stepped into the living room, pulling you gently onto his lap as he sank into the armchair near the fireplace. You melted into him like you always did—like the world outside didn’t exist anymore.

“I thought the blood would follow me forever,” he murmured into your shoulder. “Even when I left, I thought… one day, she’d see it in me.”

“She won’t,” you whispered. “Because it’s not there anymore.”

He held you tighter.

“You gave her a different name than the one you lived under,” you said. “You gave her peace. You gave her a life.”

He looked up at you slowly, eyes glassy, voice raw. “You gave me a soul.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead to his. “And she gave us a forever.”

That night, as the fire crackled low and the world quieted, Johnny slipped into his daughter’s room one last time.

He kissed her forehead, brushed a curl from her cheek, and whispered the words he never thought he’d live long enough to say:

“I love you, little one.”

She stirred faintly in her sleep, a soft hum escaping her.

And in that moment, Johnny realized:

He’d never be a monster again.

Because the only thing he killed now—was the past.

The End.

___________________________________________

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ordinary-barbie · 2 months ago

Text

slide tackling my mind.

frat!rafe x black!fem!reader

summary: when Ruthie makes a quip about your relationship with Rafe, it sends you into a spiral of doubt. Luckily, Rafe is there to reassure you through it all.

tags: language, pet names ("babe" and "baby"), reader is insecure and has anxiety, implications of racism, allusions to sex but no smut, no usage of y/n, Ruthie kinda sucks

word count: 2.6k

note: title from the song "slide tackle" by Japanese Breakfast!

It was the most wonderful time of the year. No, not Christmas—college spring break. This semester had been a bit hectic, and you were ready to have no responsibilities or obligations except relaxing on the beach with your gorgeous boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Sometimes, you still couldn't believe this was your life—it's like you'd won the lottery. And you had Sofia, your best friend and freshman year roomie, to thank for that. She'd taken you to your fair share of frat parties last year, but one particular bash last semester changed everything. Sofia had played matchmaker, orchestrating a meeting between you and Rafe Cameron, and the rest was history. (You really needed to send her a gift basket with your eternal gratitude.)

You inhaled deeply, letting the smell of the salty beach air fill your nostrils. You'd only been in St. Petersburg for a few hours but had already been endeared by the place. It was gorgeous—you could look at that beautiful beachfront view forever.

"Nice view. The girl looking at it is even prettier, though." You smiled, turning to face Rafe. His blonde buzzcut glinted in the evening sun, and his ocean blue eyes shone with affection for you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him and tenderly kissing your forehead.

"Thinking we should all check out the boardwalk before dinner," Rafe said. "You down?"

Unfortunately, you and Rafe didn't have paradise all to yourselves. Rafe had invited Sofia and her boyfriend, Dylan, as well as his two best friends, Topper and Kelce, which was fine—you especially had a soft spot for Kelce's girlfriend, Aimee, who was in the same sorority as Sofia. The one issue was Topper's girlfriend, Ruthie, who went to Duke but would be joining you all since her school had spring break at the same time as UNC.

Ruthie hadn't said or done anything to you to cause the uneasiness you felt around her, but you could just tell she didn't like you for some reason. She never talked to you or made you feel included in group convos. Anxiety swirled in your gut, making you wonder if you'd slighted her in some way. But for Rafe's sake, you planned to squash down your feelings and act like it didn't fill you with dread to be in close living quarters with Ruthie for a week.

"That sounds great!" you chirped, hoping your performance was convincing. Rafe smiled softly, pecking you on the cheek before returning into the house.

"That food was literally so good—I think if I eat another bite, I'll explode," you joked, rubbing your stomach satisfiedly.

After taking a little stroll down the boardwalk (and stopping to take copious photos), your group decided to eat at a cute waterfront restaurant for dinner. Rafe insisted on paying for you, so you indulged, especially when it came to dessert—you'd had a key lime pie that made you want to get down on one knee and propose marriage.

Aimee and Sofia giggled, agreeing with you. Ruthie smiled thinly before returning to her phone. You pretended that her reaction wasn't a blow to your self-confidence.

"We should go back to the beach and watch the sunset!" Sofia suggested. "I've heard the sunsets here are so beautiful."

Aimee squealed, clapping her hands together. "Ok, yes! We defo have to get some sunset pics!"

"Ames, does everything you do have to be documented for the gram?" you joked.

Aimee playfully rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're gonna take sunset pics too, don't even lie." You snorted. Guilty as charged.

You looked down at your phone for a second, checking your notifications and responding to some texts. When you looked back up, you could feel the intensity of Ruthie's gaze, like she was sizing you up. Suddenly, you felt like a zoo animal being kept behind bars for Ruthie to gawk at.

Rafe squeezed your knee under the table as he chatted with Topper, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts. You leaned into your boyfriend, nuzzling his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. You appreciated Rafe for bringing you momentary comfort.

Sofia was right—the sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The sky was a swirl of vibrant colors: pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds. You snapped an aesthetic pic for your Instagram stories and took group shots with Sofia and Aimee. Ruthie was content to lay out on the beach, taking selfies in her bikini.

You allowed yourself to feel content—and then the shrieking started. Sofia and Aimee ran into some of their sorority sisters and got wrapped up chatting with them and taking pictures with their massive sorority flag. The boys were clowning around in the water, leaving you and Ruthie alone. And as usual, she was staring.

"Can I help you?" you asked jokingly, hoping to lighten the lingering tension in the air.

Ruthe jumped, startled that you'd actually spoken to her. She quickly regained her composure, flipping her hair and pursing her lips together. "I just think it's interesting that Rafe is dating you. You're just...different from the other girls he's dated before. You don't really seem like his type."

Ruthie had grown up with Rafe in the Outer Banks, so you knew she'd seen her share of past girlfriends. You had an idea of what she meant: you weren't blonde or blue-eyed; you couldn't be mistaken for a Hadid or a Jenner sister.

"Oh, because I'm not white?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. You weren't stupid—you knew that you didn't exactly fit into Rafe's world. It was one thing for Rafe to date someone who wasn't in Greek life, but the fact that you were also a Black woman? You knew that raised some eyebrows, but hearing Ruthie say the quiet part out loud stung.

Ruthie froze for a second, then smirked. "I'm just surprised he's stayed with you this long. I honestly thought Rafe was going through a phase."

You bristled. A phase. As if Rafe was just dating you to seem quirky and different and piss off his parents. As if you were some kind of experiment.

Your lip wobbled, but you refused to let Ruthie see you cry and pick on you for being weak. "Fuck you, Ruthie."

"Wow, real classy," Ruthie snarked.

You rolled your eyes, already so over this conversation. Ruthie snorted, returning to her phone, and you did the same, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram to distract yourself. However, your mind couldn't help but fixate on what Ruthie had said and how small it made you feel. You thought you were over the insecurity you felt about dating Rafe. His friends seemed to like you, especially Topper and Kelce. But Ruthie managed to cut deep without saying much at all.

You wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Your brain was buzzing with a litany of negative thoughts, and there was suddenly a dull ache in your chest.

Sofia and Aimee returned, arm in arm, blissfully unaware of the shit that just went down. You plastered on a smile, trying to push those pesky feelings to the furthest corners of your mind.

It wasn't enough, though. You weren't enough. And the more you dwelled on what Ruthie had said, the more you started to believe her.

You found yourself pulling away from Rafe. You shrugged off his arm when he tried to put it around you after coming out of the water and then continued to stay distant on the ride back to the beach house. Now it was bedtime, and you were lying in bed, staring off into space while Rafe scrolled through TikTok next to you.

You hated seeing how Rafe's face fell as you continuously rejected his attempts at affection. But that nagging critical voice in your head just wouldn't shut up. Your self-doubt was a mosquito, constantly buzzing buzzing buzzing in your ears. You sniffled, finally succumbing to your sadness and letting the tears fall.

"Baby, please talk to me," Rafe pleaded, gently tugging at the covers draped over your body. "Did I do something wrong?"

You slowly sat up in bed, wiping your eyes before turning to face Rafe. "I don't think we're a good fit for each other," you said, the words feeling bitter on your tongue.

Rafe let out a nervous laugh, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "What are you talking about, baby?"

You wrapped your arms around your body self-consciously. "I'm not the kind of girl you should be with. You need a rich blonde sorority girl who would look great on your arm at the country club. Someone nice, who isn't a fucking anxious mess all the time." You were rambling now, your shaky attempt to self-sabotage this relationship. Not that you deserved it, anyway.

Rafe's jaw ticked. "No," he simply replied.

"No?" you echoed. "But Rafe, I'm—"

"I don't want those other girls!" Rafe interrupted, firmly shaking his head. "Been there, fuckin' done that. I like you, all right?"

You scoffed, refusing to believe him. "Ruthie said I'm not your usual type. That you're just in a phase. And she's right, Rafe. Guys like you don't go for girls like me."

"Ruthie said that?" Rafe's eyes blazed with anger. "What the actual fuck."

"But she's right, though," you repeated. "I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated before—I’ve seen your Instagram. Honestly, I’m just waiting for the rug to be pulled from under me and this to all be revealed as some practical joke.”

You forced out a chuckle, but Rafe wasn't laughing. He said your name sternly, beckoning you to come closer. You sat in his lap and let him wrap his arms around you.

“Ruthie doesn’t know shit,” he said bluntly. “I care about you—a lot. You’re amazing. Honestly, I don’t think I deserve you! Fuck whatever she said to you. This isn’t a fucking phase. You’re it for me, baby.”

Rafe's words tugged at your heartstrings. He was looking at you so tenderly; it silenced the whispers of self-doubt, making them disappear into the ether. You suddenly felt so much lighter, and your lips curled into a small smile.

Rafe smiled warmly at you, taking your hand and rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb. You loved it when he did this—it was always so soothing and grounding and got you out of your head.

"Ruthie's a cunt," you muttered, eliciting a chuckle from Rafe.

"I honestly don't know what Top sees in her," Rafe admitted.

You shrugged. "She's hot, and Topper is...Topper."

Rafe wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck. "You're hotter. And much more fun to be around."

You giggled, and Rafe looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky. "I love your laugh, baby."

"Yeah? What else do you like about me?" you asked, a playful glint in your eye.

Rafe started kissing every part of you that was in reach—your cheeks, your neck, even your nose. "So much. Gonna have to write a fuckin' book about it," he murmured, running his hands up and down your body.

You gasped, feeling Rafe's bulge pressing against you. "Rafe, you're hard."

Rafe chuckled, nipping at your neck. "'Course I'm hard. I have a hot girl in my lap."

"Well, let's do something about that then," you teased, fiddling with the elastic of his sweatpants.

Rafe growled, pinning you to the bed. "Gonna fuck you so good tonight, baby."

He kissed down your body, making you moan with pleasure. Normally, you'd be more self-conscious about being vocal in bed with other people around, but fuck it. Your hot boyfriend was about to rail you, and you didn't care who knew about it.

Topper and Kelce snickered as you and Rafe entered the kitchen the next morning, while Sofia's boyfriend covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. "Y'all have a good time last night?" Topper teasingly questioned.

"Oh, we had a great time," Rafe said, smirking widely. You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to hide your grin.

"I guess some people forgot that their room is right next to me and Topper," Ruthie snarked. "Maybe turn down the porn star noises a bit next time, ___."

"A pleasure to see you as always, Ruthie," you deadpanned, making a beeline for the box of donuts on the kitchen island.

Rafe cleared his throat, glancing at Topper. "Hey Top, can we talk in private for a sec?"

"Sure, man," Topper said, following Rafe out of the kitchen.

Sofie and Aimee joined you at the kitchen island, grabbing some donuts—though they seemed hungrier for gossip. "What's going on with you and Ruthie?" Sofia whispered. "That's the first time I've heard y'all talk to each other, like, ever."

You sighed, getting into what went down on the beach last night. Aimee's jaw dropped open, while Sofia was seething.

"I'm about to throw hands," Sofia muttered, staring daggers at Ruthie, who was absorbed with her phone yet again. "Nobody talks to my bestie like that!"

You laughed, shaking her head. "You're not throwing hands, Sof."

Sofia turned back to you, softening her gaze. "It's just so fucked up that someone would go out of their way to belittle you like that. You are a total catch, and Rafe thinks so too. Who cares what she thinks?"

You felt a warm feeling in your chest at Sofia's words. You were so lucky to have such a supportive friend in your corner, and honestly didn't know what you'd do without this girl in your life.

Your ears perked up when you heard Rafe and Topper return to the kitchen. Topper went up to Ruthie, a stony expression on his face. "Ruthie. Let's go outside—we need to talk."

Ruthie looked up from her phone, furrowing her brow but following Topper outside anyway.

"Rafe...what did you say to him?" you cautiously asked your boyfriend.

Rafe shrugged. "Basically told him his girlfriend was being a bitch to you."

You felt your cheeks grow hot. "Rafe, you didn't have to do that—"

"Yes, I did," Rafe said firmly. "I had to stick up for my girl."

"Simp!" Kelce jeered.

Rafe flipped Kelce off before wrapping his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a bang, and Ruthie stormed up the stairs, looking livid.

"Shit, what happened out there?" Rafe asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Told her I didn't like the way she was speaking to ____ and that we should break up," Topper casually replied.

"Thank fuck," Rafe muttered.

"Aw, Top. You'd really blow up your entire relationship for me?" you quipped, dramatically putting your hand on your heart.

"You're my best friend's girl," Topper responded, shrugging his shoulders. "And you're my friend."

You launched yourself into Topper's arms, giving him a bear hug. "Thanks, Top."

Topper chuckled, patting your back. "Don't mention it."

Ruthie stomped down the stairs, leaving the house without a second glance at anyone else.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" Aimee called after her.

With Ruthie gone, you felt like you could finally breathe easily. After breakfast, you and the rest of the gang headed back to the beach to relax. You took a book out of your bag, a cozy little romance novel, while Rafe laid next to you, getting a tan.

"Lemme put some sunscreen on you," Rafe said, already rummaging through your bag for the bottle.

"You just want an excuse to put your hands all over me, you perv," you accused, arching an eyebrow.

"I can't believe you think so little of me. I just want to make sure your skin is protected from the sun...and I want an excuse to put my hands all over you."

You snorted, putting your book down and lying on your stomach. As Rafe gently caressed your body and rubbed in the sunscreen, you felt totally content. You wanted to bottle this moment up—just you and Rafe, in your own little world, enjoying each other's company.

You belonged at his side, and vice versa, no matter what anyone else thought.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #tiff writes ✏️#rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe x black reader #rafe cameron x black reader

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isetfiretomyself · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere Shapeshifter X Reader (G/N)

Guess who's back!!!! >:3 Hey,hey,hey! Did I say I'd draw my Oc's....lets not talk about it I got self conscious 😭 They're in my notebook so I might upload it one day! Since my last fic my friends are following me lmao. They're super supportive though so shout out to them :)Next post will be the Yandere Villain like promised! :p

Trigger warnings! gaslighting, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of stalking. This is all fiction I don't condone toxic behaviour irl!

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who had tried time and time and time again to get your attention but it never worked! From a hot guy at the gym to a flirty girl in a club nothing made you fall for them.

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who finally finds a form you bond with! It's not their favourite but anything for you!

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who definitely switches forms to look into (stalk) anyone who might want to date you. You haven't given them a chance yet!

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who will shift into you to log into your phone. No face ID is gonna stop this yandere!

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who's forgotten their true form. They refused to look at themselves because anyone who did ran away.... apart from a reader who thought they were a messed up animal and tried to pick them up. That's when they knew they needed to stay by your side! Not all shape shifters are kind hearted you know?

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who you swear is taller then normal and then they're smaller again, Oh! Now they're taller again...must be your eyes buggin' out.

"Did you dye your hair?" you say, titling your head to the side to look at their hair better. "What do you mean.." They say nervously shifting their weight from side to side. "I don't know it just looks... lighter."

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who's extremely insecure that someone will be prettier then them in your eyes. If they hear you mention attractive features they'll change themselves to meet that want. If you mention it they'll act like you're crazy. What do you mean their eye colours changed? It's always been like that silly!

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who can also shift into animals! Which is great for intimidating (mauling to death) rivals! (People who say hi!)

💌 Yandere Shapeshifter who shifts into random people to scare you into their arms. It's just to protect you! It hurts them as much as it hurts you!

"Aw that's awful! I didn't know people could say such cruel things" They say rubbing your back when you cry. They were trying not cry themselves! They didn't mean to be so harsh when yelling at you. They just wanted you to not make it to your meet up not make you cry!....oops. But it's okay because you have them!

#yandere imagines #gn reader #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere headcanons

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thezombieprostitute · 2 months ago

Text

Royal Pain: Announcements

Summary: You talked back to Ransom and now you're getting married to him!

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Bad parents, Fat shaming, Insecure reader. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Series Masterlist

The press in the midst of a "Wedding Season" campaign. With the announcement of Prince Rogers' engagement to the Princess of Carga, the media was making it seem like it was a good time for everyone to get married. It certainly made your own engagement announcement easier to handle since it got swept up with all the others or buried by comments about the Prince's announcement.

That's not to say it didn't hurt that your wedding was considered so much less important. You knew you'd never make the front page, that your wedding wouldn't be an ordeal, but it would be nice if your friends would actually congratulate you. Then again, every time you chat with them you get the feeling of being unwanted. It was difficult to find anyone who would let you into their friend circle but now they appear to hate you for marrying above your station. Even though you didn't ask for it, you're now somehow both above and beneath their interests.

No friends and a future with a man who didn't want you. Well, your mother never made any promises of love and happiness in your future.

At least Ransom seemed willing to negotiate a few things so you wouldn't be entirely miserable together. Maybe he'd tolerate you getting a pet cat so you wouldn't be so lonely. Sure he said he wasn't able to get a mistress but Linda won't be around forever and once Ransom has full access to the accounts, either he'll divorce you and marry someone younger and prettier or he'll keep you around for optics while sleeping with someone younger and prettier. Well, maybe he wouldn't object to you have a separate relationship as well. You'll have to bring it up at your next round of negotiations with him.

Today you're meeting with Ransom and his mother, Linda, to discuss the plans for the wedding. Based on what you know about her, you're fully expecting to just sit and agree with everything Linda says is going to happen. Yet another aspect of your "special day" that you have no control over.

As you enter the manor, you're greeted by a servant who takes your coat and another leads you to Linda's office.

"Your Grace," you say as you politely bow.

"Oh, just call me Linda," she says in a tone that you recognize as fake friendliness. Well, at least she's better mannered than Ransom and your friends?

"Hello, Linda," you correct yourself. "It's nice to meet you in person. You're quite the legend!" It was no exaggeration on your part. Linda's fight to inherit her father's title instead of her brothers was quite the impressive feat. Even if the primary reason for it was her father advocating for her at the court with bribes and being overly dismissive of her brothers.

She smiles and shakes her head with a false modesty that's easy to see through. "Honestly, I just hope I can inspire more women to fight for what's theirs."

"And where is Duke Ransom? I understood he'd be joining us for the wedding planning?"

Linda rolls her eyes, "he should be here already. He's probably whining and moping in his room again. You'd think he'd grow out of this." She lights up a cigarette before turning to one of the servants, "go and bring him here." As the servant bows and leaves she turns back to you, "at least it gives us a bit of girl time, right?"

You smile and nod. Linda gestures for you to sit across from her and sits in her own overly large chair clearly built to add to the intimidation of the giant desk. You were meant to feel small in front of her.

She continues to talk about herself and her accomplishments while you smile, nod, and mentally take notes. The nobles you've interacted with seem to take it personally when you don't remember something about them and will not hesitate to "quiz" you at random times.

In the middle of telling you how she single-handedly increased her property's crop production, Ransom stumbles in, reeking of alcohol. Linda rolls her eyes at him as he nearly trips over his own feet. You rush to help him, giving him your arm. The stench of alcohol clings to him and his breath and you can't tell if he's hungover or still drunk.

"Oh, don't worry about him," Linda waves her hand. "Let him fall on his face."

Ransom sneers, "oh sure. Would serve me right for trying to enjoy my last few days of freedom."

Speaking as tactfully as you can you tell them both, "it might be good for me to learn how to handle him when he's like this. In case he's like this in public?"

"Smart," Linda nods. "Should probably also get some practice on PDA while you're here. Don't want either of you flinching at each other while on camera or something."

Ransom snorts. "She doesn't want me touching her."

"Well I don't blame her," Linda scolds. "You're a mess! But you're both going to at least be holding hands whenever you're seen in public, understand."

"Yes, Linda," you nod, keeping your eyes down.

"Yes, Linda," Ransom mocks.

"Don't you start with me, young man," Linda chides, wagging a finger at him.

Before Ransom can reply you look at the servant who brought him, "can you please get some water for him?"

The servant turns to leave and Linda gives you small glare. "Already trying to usurp me?"

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Linda---"

"Your Grace," Linda interrupts.

"I'm so sorry, your Grace," you say while mentally noting the change in address based on her mood. "I will refrain from instructing your servants any further."

"Good," she snaps before turning to Ransom. "You see, Ransom? This is what good behavior looks like. This is acting with integrity."

Ransom rubs his forehead. "Can we save the lectures for after the painkillers kick in?"

Linda rolls her eyes and you see the family resemblance. "Fine. Let's go over some of the wedding details. But I need to make sure you two can pass as a 'happily married couple' so you better start practicing!"

Without further prompting you take Ransom's hand and gently rub the back of it. You feel him try to pull away but then he seems to think better of it.

"You said you didn't want me touching you," he mutters.

"I don't, but right now, I'm touching you, not the other way around," you softly explain as you continue to pet his hand.

"You touch gently," he comments as he watches your hands move.

Not wanting to feel even more awkward, you turn back to Linda, "have you already picked out a venue for the wedding, Your Grace?"

"Yes," she nods as she pulls a large folder from her desk. "It's a traditional wedding spot from my husband's side of the family. I would have set up something from my side of the family but it's currently overbooked because of the Prince's wedding. You understand." You nod in confirmation and she continues. "Now, given that the place is outdoors, we have to have a flowers and plants themed wedding. We'll get you a custom made dress from one of our designers. I'm sure your person is very good, but we need to upgrade your wardrobe to match your status. There will be a lot of fittings because they're not used to someone so...curvy."

You give a small smile and nod while Ransom rolls his eyes. The servant arrives with the water and Ransom busies himself with drinking it, removing his hand from yours.

"Also, I know that young ladies today are a bit more...sexually aware--" she's interrupted by Ransom spitting out the water in surprise.

"Seriously?" he yells.

"Oh grow up," Linda shoots back. She turns back to you, "I'm all for the more sex-positive stuff, of course. Body positive, too. But our designers have some serious codes for their wedding dresses. If you're not a virgin, they will not give you a white dress, it'll be off white. So we need to know about your virginity status."

Heat rushes to your face as you tell her, "I am a virgin, Your Grace." From the corner of your eye you see Ransom's face turn a shade of pink.

"Excellent," she says as she makes a note. "Now, for the flowers I'm thinking sterling silver roses. The roses for 'love' and the purple to remind people of your new status. It will be a small wedding, of course, but that just means fewer people for Ransom to embarrass us in front of."

"I'm sure he'll do okay," you demur as you resume holding his hand.

Linda scoffs, "I sure as hell hope so." She points her pen at Ransom, "best. Behavior."

"Yes, Linda," he huffs.

She turns back to you, "make sure he doesn't drink at the reception."

"Yes, Your Grace," you nod again.

The rest of the meeting is spent as you expected, simply nodding and agreeing with everything Linda has already planned out for you. You're regularly making sure pet Ransom, hold his hand, other things. It doesn't surprise you he's not trying to return the fake affection. What does surprise you is how, aside from that first instance, he has yet to try pulling away from you. Clearly he's as eager to not get yelled at by Linda as you are.

The two of you are finally dismissed with Linda telling Ransom to take you out for lunch and "smile for the cameras." You were hoping for some time to decompress but that'll have to wait. At least it'll give you and Ransom another chance to negotiate some aspects of your shared life.

Ransom insists on driving you to a nearby restaurant but you're hesitant. His car is his pride and joy and you don't want to accidentally break something on it. He lets out an exasperated sigh and opens the car door for you.

When he gets into his own seat he says, "don't expect me to open the door for you every time, okay?"

"Oh, that's not what I was...I was worried I'd damage your car somehow," you admit.

He gives you a confused look. "How would you?"

"I don't know! But I know this car is your world and I didn't want to screw something up."

He gives you a look you can't interpret. "Huh. Okay. Let's just get some food. I missed breakfast."

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