#if it ends angsty or if they make their way back to each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ivyyisbored22 · 3 days ago

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𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: The company found out about Chan dating you and in order to save his idol life, he is forced to break up with you. The both of you saw this coming but the heartbreak is unbearable…

Warnings: BREAK UP ONE SHOT. Smut🔞, unprotected sex, Oral (f. receiving), pet names, heartbreak, angst, tears.

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: This isn't a loving one shot but a heartbreaking one, just a practice because I wanna explore writing angsty scenes. It's VERY different from my usual work, so I really hope you'll enjoy this...

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 3.9k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The sound of the clock ticking in the once warm apartment felt like stabbing a nail through your head.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time doesn't stop flying. And God you'd do anything to stop it or go back to relive certain moments which are now memories. Time slips through our fingers like sand, no matter how tightly we try to hold it.

The air was suffocating, thick with tension, unspoken words that refused to come out. Your eyes never left the floor and you could feel his eyes looking at you, his heart torn between regret and determination.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this—you had promised each other that. But some things were beyond promises, beyond dreams, beyond even love.

“You knew this could happen, right?” Chan’s voice was a soft whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it real.

Your throat tightened, your eyes blurring with tears that you tried so hard to hold back. Of course it had come to an end. The universe was cruel, pulling two souls together only to tear them apart.

You nodded, feeling the weight of every unsaid word pressing on your chest. "I knew," you murmured, the words barely finding their way out.

A flicker of pain crossed Chan’s face, and he took a deep breath. “If there was any other way… you know I’d choose you. Every time. But I can’t... I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. It’s not just about me—it’s the group, the fans...”

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to say something, anything to make him stay. But deep down, you understood. You always had.

The two of you risked it and spent the night together at a hotel, when a company staff spotted Chan with a mysterious woman. The following morning Chan was called into the headquarters where he was met with cold stares and harsher words.

The company laid out the stakes in brutal clarity; his career, his group, everything he’d worked his whole life for, would crumble if he continued this relationship. There was no room for compromise, no softening of the blow. Chan had been forced to choose.

He was lucky that this remained in the walls of the company, but that luck came with a price. They had made it clear that they’d bury the scandal, keep it from reaching the public as if this had never happened, but only if Chan ended things immediately and distanced himself from you completely. They were giving him a way out, but it was one he’d have to take alone.

And now, in the echoing silence of the apartment, with everything unravelling around you both, the gravity of that choice felt like an anchor around your heart.

Chan’s eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders heavy with the weight of guilt. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he said, his voice breaking. “But if I don’t… if we don’t…” His words trailed off, as though even he couldn’t bear to say them.

A bitter laugh escaped you, though you hadn’t meant for it to. “So, what? We just pretend none of this ever happened? That all of this was nothing?”

He flinched, and you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. “No… no, it wasn’t nothing. You know it wasn’t.”

You shook your head, the tears you’d fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over. “Then why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I’m just… another sacrifice?” You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you felt like you’d lose your mind and crush your already broken heart.

Chan closed the distance between you, his hands resting on your arms as he pulled you close, his forehead touching yours. “You’re not a sacrifice,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re everything to me. That’s why this hurts so damn much.”

Your eyes remained closed, cheeks red and warm, breaths shallow and broken, as if anything you both could come up with would ever be a solution for what was about to happen. Chan held you against his chest, letting your aching tears soak his hoodie. He was holding back, he had to stay strong for the both of you.

You clung to him, fingers fisting in his hoodie, as if holding on tightly enough could somehow prevent the inevitable.

He stroked your hair gently, whispering soft words of comfort, though he knew, just as you did, that no words could fix this. Each breath he took was slow and measured, as though he were struggling to keep his composure, but you could feel the tremble in his chest, betraying the pain he was trying so hard to hide.

After what seemed like eternity, you pulled away from him and finally looked into his eyes through your blurry vision. Chan’s eyes locked with yours, encouraging you to say what you want to say at this moment.

“Chan,” His hand cupped your face. “Kiss me.” You said softly.

And so he did. Without a word escaping, his mouth crashed with yours, hungrily, desperately, as though he could pour every ounce of his love, everything left unspoken.

His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the pounding of your hearts. The kiss was fierce, filled with a longing so deep it felt like drowning.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, taking in his taste, his scent, allowing yourself to memorise every part of him till you were nothing but lost in the feel of him and everything outside ceased to exist.

Fierceness turned into anger as you both stumbled towards the bedroom, tearing your clothes off. His hoodie, your shirt, his shoes, your pants, until you both remained in nothing but your underwear.

Chan broke apart but came back with a roughness that sent a thrill through your body as he pushed you onto the bed and towered over you, sliding off your panties and unclasping your bra. Every inch of you was on liquid fire as Chan discarded his boxers, putting your legs up his shoulders as he buried his face in your wet heat.

A loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue feasted on your soaking cunt, lapping away your sweetness and getting drunk at the way you taste.

Your hands fisted his hair as you grind your needy pussy up his face, Chan groaned sucking on your clit like a man starved.

“Fuck baby,” His fingers gripped your soft thighs continuing his merciless assault on your throbbing nub. “Can never get enough of you.”

All you could do is moan at the way he worshipped you with his mouth and the low, husky sound of his beautiful voice.

He came upwards, kissing a hot trail over your pubic bone, your stomach, giving so much attention to your sweet nipples and crashed his mouth on yours as he sank into you in a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched as you drank every drop of him, welcoming his huge length, letting him stretch you and fill you up completely. Your heart ached but your body responded to him the way it always did.

Eager and desperate.

Chan palmed your breast, swiping his thumb over the hard, sensitive nub slick with his saliva as he pounded into you in an agonising yet sweet pace, hitting spots that made you see stars over and over again.

“Chan…Chan please,”

Pleasure consumed you both whole, a hiss escaped his lips when he heard you moan, a sound that drove him insane, a sound he could listen for the rest of his life.

“Hmm, what do you want darling?” He pinched your nipple just as he slammed into you that tore a sharp cry from your throat.

I want you. With me forever

But those words couldn’t come out of your mouth. So all you could do was moan for him to go faster and harder. His fingers stroked your clit with the perfect pressure, you wanted him to keep pushing you further and further.

Nails dug into his back as he gave you what you asked for, the dimly lit room filled with moans and whimpers and skin slapping against skin. Chan’s mouth never left yours as he thrusted into you in force that felt like ecstasy, your orgasm tore through you as you came all over his cock.

He followed you soon after, a hot load of his cum gathering inside you, groaning into your neck, his huge body over you.

Sweat misted your skin, neck and chest covered in a trail of hickeys, the two of you kept climbing and crashing together for the next hour.

Every moment was perfect, like whatever that was happening before was just a bad dream and nothing was going wrong in the world. Chan wanted this to be the only thing to last a lifetime, you pressed against him, to wake up to your good morning texts, to sneak out with you in secret, to stretch this moment for however long he could take.

From sweet love making to hard fucking that left marks on your skin, you both pretended that this was the perfect life as if nothing is about to shatter you apart forever, reached till you passed out breathless on the bed.

Chan held you in his arms, a tension beginning to rebuild when the quiet room began to fill with the soft; Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You stirred in his arms, and Chan’s grip instinctively tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your skin as if he could brand this moment into memory. He wanted to say something, anything, to tell you how much you meant to him, how deeply he wished this night could be endless.

“Bang Chan,” an icy voice cut through the tense conference room, the PR’s voice cutting through the silence, “you know why we’re here.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, his heart already beating hard in his chest. He nodded, though his mind clung desperately to the hope that this conversation would turn out differently than he feared.

“It’s come to our attention that you’ve been seen with…” The executive hesitated, the distaste in his tone achingly clear. “A certain individual. You know the implications this has, not only for you but for the group as a whole.”

Chan’s fists clenched under the table. "I know," he admitted, voice low but steady. "But she’s not just anyone. She’s—”

"She’s a liability," another manager cut in, eyes hard as steel. "You’ve worked years for this career, Chan. Years. We’ve all sacrificed too much for it to be jeopardized by… personal entanglements.”

“She’s not a liability,” Chan said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice. “She’s important to me, and I’ve been careful—"

“Careful?” The PR head shook his head. “If you’d been careful, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You were lucky it was Miss Jia who spotted you. Can you imagine the disaster that would have come if it was a fan or paparazzi?”

Chan’s face paled as the PR head's words hit him with the weight of harsh reality. He’d been cautious, always looking over his shoulder, timing each meeting down to the minute. But deep down, he knew they were right. No amount of care could guarantee safety from prying eyes forever.

"We’ve considered all the options, and there is no room for compromise on this. The only way to protect your career is to end this relationship, quietly and immediately.”

A wave of dread settled over him, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake off. He swallowed, his throat tight. "So you’re asking me to choose… between her and everything I’ve worked for?"

"No," the executive corrected him coldly. "We’re telling you to choose your career.”

The ultimatum struck like a wrecking ball, leaving him feeling hollow and defeated. He glanced down at the table, the polished surface reflecting back his own tortured expression.

He’d known there was a risk—had tried to prepare himself for something like this. But hearing the words was like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I… I need time to think,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice, rough with emotion.

“There’s no time, Chan,” his manager replied softly, though the finality in his voice was unmistakable. “If you care about her, if you truly want what’s best for her… you’ll understand that this is the only choice.”

A painful clarity began to settle in as he saw the faces around him—faces he had trusted, faces he had worked with for years. And there, hidden behind their demands and their concern for the group, was an unforgiving reality.

Slowly, he nodded, his face etched with an unimaginable kind of pain.

“Fine. I’ll… I’ll end it.”

But his voice caught in his throat, the weight of goodbye pressing down on him like an anchor.

You sensed his struggle, you lifted your head to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the tears glistening in his eyes, barely held back. Your heart clenched, a sharp pang of pain blooming inside your chest as you realized the inevitable was catching up to you both.

"Don't look at me like that," you whispered, your voice trembling, but you managed a sad, fragile smile. "It’s going to make it harder.”

Chan let out a shaky breath, his fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “I don’t want to make it harder,” he replied softly. “But I… I don’t know how to let you go. I can't let you go.”

“Then don’t,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Just...” You sighed heavily.

You took his hand, holding it against your cheek, feeling the warmth of his palm, the calluses that spoke of years of dedication, of sacrifice, qualities that had once made you admire him and had now become the reason he couldn’t stay.

The irony was cruel.

“You know it’s not that simple. If I could…” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “If I could choose anyone, anything, I’d choose you, every time.”

“I know…” your voice trailed off. You smiled, your chin wobbling as you looked at him with those for one last moment. Time has come. You have to leave.

Regret and guilt splashed across Chan’s face as he realised your expression, you reluctantly pulled away from him and started changing into your clothes.

The warmth he’d given you faded instantly, replaced by the icy grip of reality that hung heavy between you. Each movement felt slow, as though you were wading through something thick and unyielding, like your body refused to obey the decision your heart could barely stand.

Chan watched you as you slipped into your clothes, he pushed the blanket over and changed into his shorts, and gripped your wrist as you both made it to the living room.

You turned quickly and looked at his grip then at him, his beautiful woody brown eyes refusing to let the tears fall but they rimmed red, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the love and pain.

“I’ll be okay,” you said, as much for yourself as for him, though your voice wavered. “Someday, I will be. And so will you.”

His eyes shut tightly, as if the words were a physical blow, and he nodded, though you could see the struggle etched into his features.

“Promise me,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll be okay. Even if I’m not there.”

You swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape and nodded, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, then your lips, each one a goodbye of its own. You let him, savouring each moment, each touch, letting it wrap around you like armour, a last memory to keep close when everything else is gone.

“I'm sorry I broke your heart…”

You could have sworn that you heard a genuine crack in your chest the moment those words left his lips. Your hand slapped over your mouth to cover the shattering sob that threatened to consume you.

You looked up at Chan, tears running down your cheeks, smiling painfully, stroking his cheek.

“My heart is yours. Yours to love, yours to keep, yours to break.”

Chan pulled you hard into his embrace, finally letting his tears fall, your hands gripping his back, as you both cried your hearts out to each other one last time.

Snippets of your shared moments crowded your mind—all the cute dates, late night facetimes, sweetly secret gifts, Chan introducing you to his members—there was no room to breathe.

“I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…” That's all he could say. That's all he was allowed to say.

Your fingers brushed through his hair as you held him close, memorizing every detail, knowing this would be the last time. The warmth of his skin, the feel of his chest rising and falling against you, the scent that was uniquely his—it all wrapped around you, making it even harder to breathe, harder to let go.

“Chan…” you whispered, voice trembling. “Even if I walk away now, even if you have to let me go… I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you.”

“I’ll love you, too. No matter what.” His voice broke again, barely holding back another wave of grief. “In some other life… maybe we could’ve had forever.”

There was a universe somewhere, you believed, where you and Chan got to share all the dreams you whispered to each other late at night, where you didn’t have to be a secret, where his love didn’t have to be a risk.

But not here. Not now.

You softly pulled him and leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the final feel of his skin against your lips. “Goodbye, Chan...” you whispered, the words catching in your throat.

He closed his eyes, as if it would help make it easier, but his hand lingered in yours a moment longer.

“Goodbye, my love…” he breathed, his voice no more than a broken whisper.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you let go, turning and walking out of the apartment. The sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoed like a death sentence, filling the silence with finality.

Each step you took away from him felt heavier, as though pieces of your heart were left scattered on the floor behind you. You tried your hardest not to look back, knowing that if you did, it would only pour salt to the already deep wound.

Inside, Chan impulsively grabbed the vase that was sitting on his coffee table throwing it at the wall, which shattered in a powerful crash that felt like a gunshot and collapsed back onto the couch, head falling between his hands as he let the grief he’d been holding back flood over him again.

The empty apartment was now as cold and hollow as he felt, each memory of you hanging in the air like ghosts he could never escape. And as he sat there, drowning in the silence, he could almost still feel the warmth of your embrace, the lingering traces of your touch that would fade too soon.

All that remained now were echoes—the echo of your voice, your laughter, all slipping through his fingers like sand.

And he knew, no matter what, he’d always carry this ache with him, a part of his heart forever held by someone he was never meant to keep.

Some goodbyes leave scars, not because love wasn't enough, but because it was everything.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚��𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

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euphorix-moon · 2 days ago

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Love Maze

Vi x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Helping Vi realize that she can break out of this loop that's she's in

Warning: Slightly Angsty and slightly out of character

A/n: Arcane season 2 just came out and i'm still reeling from everything, just had to make this cause i was inspired by episode 3 it broke my CaitVi heart

It was just one of those days,

There weren't many days where you would get the house all to yourself to enjoy so you didn't waste the chance to relax when your roommate said she was going out to run some errands.

You were currently enjoying your day re-reading through your favorite book series until you were disturbed by a sudden knock at the door.

You skeptical and slightly annoyed you went to go answer the door. Opening the door is when you came face to face with the pink-haired woman you came to know as Vi. She almost looked slightly surprised to see you at the door but kept her composure

"Is she here ? " Vi asked worriedly

"Hi nice to see you too, but unfortunately your girlfriend isn't here, she went out to do some stuff" you replied

She lightly sighs before saying, "Well if that's the case then I guess I'll wait for her till she gets back. That's fine with you, right ?" She says walking through the door before you can get a response out. You sigh closing the door behind you knowing she would stay and wait either way.

There was an awkward silence between the two of you guys so you took it upon yourself to try and get a conversation going.

"So....what brings you here ?..Is it the same issue again ?"

Vi glares at you but after some time does lightly nods her head to confirm your suspicions. You kept quiet lightly sighing to yourself.

The cycle had become almost predictable at this point: a fight would ignite, Caitlyn would storm off ghosting Vi, and then, a few days later, Vi would return, offering half-hearted apologies that seemed to smooth things over just enough to delay the inevitable crash. Caitlyn never seemed to learn, and neither did Vi. But the truth was, they both were just playing the same tired game, and you wanted all this nonsense to come to an end once and for all.

Here,” you said, slipping behind the counter to make a couple of drinks. “Let’s take the edge off. I’m sure you could use something stronger than water right now.”

Vi didn't argue. She sank down onto the couch, taking a deep breath, clearly exhausted from everything. As you handed her the glass, you kept your tone light, almost casual. "So, how's work? How’s your family? Anything to distract you from… well, everything?"

She gave a weak laugh, taking a sip of her drink. "Work’s fine. Same as usual. Nothing exciting," she muttered, looking down at her hands, clearly distracted. "Family’s... okay. You know how it is, always got something goin on"

You nodded, pretending to listen, but your mind was already working. "Yeah, I get that. But seriously, when’s the last time you actually did something for you, Vi? Like, something that made you feel alive? Not just for Cait, or for your job, but for yourself?"

That was a hook. Vi wasn’t even aware of it. She leaned forward, a little too eager to talk about herself, to talk about anything that didn’t involve the draining mess she was in. She starts going into detail about the many things she's been interested in but never got the chance to due to feeling like she's alway has to balance a thousand things in her life.

"Well if I'm gonna be real honest with you Violet, it sounds like this relationship is just another thing holding you back" you say with sincerity.

"It’s just... it’s not that simple, okay? Violet shot back.

me and her have history. We’ve been through a lot together. And—" she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "Yeah, things have been tough lately. But we love each other. I know she has her issues, but I really think we can fix this. I don’t want to just... give up on everything we’ve built."

You almost rolled your eyes at the word history—as if that was supposed to make everything else okay.

"Vi," ."You’ve been ‘fixing’ things for months now. You keep telling yourself it’s just a phase, that Cait’s going to change, that things will get better. But they never do. You are stuck in a loop and you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s wrong."

"So, what? You want me to just leave her? After everything? You’re not even trying to help me,You’re supposed to be my friend. You should be supporting me in making this work, not... pushing me away from her!"Vi’s jaw clenched, her chest rising and falling with each breath as if she was holding back.

Her words stung just a little bit but you knew how to respond back. "I am doing this because i care enough to tell you the truth Vi, you deserve so much better than this. Don't let Caitlyn stress you out so much, especially when there's already a lot on your plate".

"You just don't get it. You don’t know what she's like when we’re together,” she says, still feeling obligated to defend her relationship.

"Maybe i don't and i might be wrong about all of this, but all I'm saying is that if you were my girlfriend id be the one coming to apologize and id try to find every possible way to make it up to you." You say leaning closer towards Vi

She sputters trying to find the words to defend herself, every single word unfortunately dying in her throat.

"I’d be the one begging you for another chance after acting like a dumbass. I'd spoil you and not let you do anything till you forgave me" You continued.

The silence that fell between you and Vi after your last words was thick with unspoken things. Vi feels as if her heart is beating out her chest as you continue to close the distance between the two of you guys.

"You do deserve better, Vi," you said, your voice soft but certain. "And when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you. Not just as your friend, but... more than that, if you want. You don’t need Cait to feel loved. I’m not going anywhere."

Vi looked at you, her eyes wide, and in that moment, it was like everything clicked for her

You wanted to kiss her. You wanted to show her that everything she needed wasn’t in Cait. That there was more for her. That she didn’t have to settle.

Just as you leaned forward, your lips barely inches from hers, the door to the room creaked open, and the sudden sound of keys jingling at the front door broke the fragile bubble that had formed between the two of you.

You two quickly back away from each other, moving to the opposite sides of the couch, averting eyes as Caitlyn walks into the room

A/n: Sorry for the cliffhanger and sorry to all the caitvi shippers, i love them too...i just can't pretend that i wouldn't want vi if they broke up fr.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi fanfic #vi x caitlyn #vi x y/n #lesbian #bisexual #wlw #vi x you #arcane league of legends

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sherbertquake56 · 11 hours ago

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okay I’m dropping some of my fable arcane au thoughts before the new episodes drop tomorrow even tho most of it is based on season 1 anyway—

so some basic taggings for you that I based the AU around:

1. Icarus as Jinx.

powder vs jinx is just the sherbert vs icarus name thing. toxic father. unhealthy relationship with sibling. a lil crazy and maybe evil. thinks that they are at fault for the things around them. lil bombs? nah- little SPLASH potions. hearing and seeing mylo and claggor? it’s Haley- it’s literally Haley—

2. Fable as Silco.

okay fable’s design WAS partially inspired by silco— they literally look the same— they’re both a man with two priorities: take over and make his own nation & care for child.

you know the ending scene of season 1? where they’re sitting at the table? THAT. With Jinx assuming that he’s gonna give her up to topside and him getting the first chance to talk and saying “her name is JINX!” i could write an essay on that for icarus. they’re so toxic and it’s so perfect. also that scene at the start of s2 ep2? YEAH THAT—

3. Centross as Ekko

This one is controversial and up to debate but i will die on this hill— SO THE S1 BRIDGE FIGHT. I am so willing to put aside any possible prison duo gay-ness in this AU for that rivalry/fight. they were friends!!! they were so good!! and now they wanna KILL EACH OTHER!! it’s great.

It’s also specifically thinking of Ekko’s tree home as solstice— older Ekko very much has the vibe of Violet specifically-

4. Arisanna as Sevika

I DONT KNOW WHY BUT IT MAKES SENSE TO ME. It’s specifically vexed Ari during the coworkers era but idk it just feels right— I look at her relationship with Silco and Jinx and go ‘hmmm this could be something’

[I will also say there is an argument here for swapping Centross and Ari tho— big tree city as Ari rebuilding the records goes hard, and angsty fighty toxic with jinx centross is also good— it’s like 50/50 for me]

5. Isla as Vander

LET ISLA BE A BADASS IN THIS AU. SHE DESERVES IT— something something raising vi and powder alone, something something the backstory with silco— there’s something there and it hits really hard in scenes where vi sees vander and helps her get back up— also I look at jinx and vander and I go “mmmm this is in fact how icarus sees Isla”

6. Rae as Vi

This was obvious given the above but LISTEN— in this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE OF EVENTS I think it would be fun- do I think that vi perfectly fits canon rae? no. But in this world it would KICK ASS. rae deserves to beat some people up— got kicked out of the overworld (zaun) by fable (silco) and had to go to the end (piltover) to get away from him?? rae end prince aus are already here so why not end rae also punching people huh??? also. gay people.

———

Okay— here’s where I need some help, thoughts, and opinions from you all…

1. Caitlyn.

POLYAMORY IS HARD TO TAG AND I DONT KNOW WHO FITS BEST?? For me, season 1 Caitlyn fits best as Caspian, but season 2 Caitlyn is more for Fenris— so I’m very stuck. yes absolutely give thoughts on this please—

2. Viktor as Aax (but how does that work)

Viktor absolutely should be Aax— mr. Scientist / lab experiment / turned religious figure vessel for god is CORRECT. But honestly the rest of Piltover gang is really hard with Rae as Vi— Jayce/Viktor/Mel is yelling at me to be the polycule but aGH— ya know??? very stuck on this so I instead look at the coworkers and go “mm good yes—”

Random other tags I think also make sense:

- Ulysses as that Telchin looking mf Stev— mans took out one lil medical device as his fish self and I said YUP

- The hexcore big orb thing underground as Quixis— big white glitch orb room make things go wack. couldn’t be easier than that.

———

Anyways that’s all— I’ve been rotating this in my mind for like a week and have had way too many thoughts about it thank you for your time—

#this was so long and I’m not even mad #it goes hard #season 1 specifically works so well #fable smp #arcane #fablesmp arcane au #icarus morningstar

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nariyahcore · 2 days ago

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Sonic and Nine make a toxic duo/“sibling” relationship

And why Silver could easily fit into that dynamic instead

I have mentioned this before not too long ago, but never got the chance to elaborate on why I personally do not like Sonic and Nine as “brothers”. So!!! I’ll take advantage and explain why Silver and Nine are a much better duo :]]

BUT FIRST!!! I want to credit my pookie @abs9lution who came up with this duo in the first place! i have their thread that elaborates further on silver and nine’s dynamic at the end of this post if you’d like to check it out! it also includes a thread on what’ll happen to silver and blaze’s dynamic, and why Blaze’s character was downgraded throughout the years

the end of this post also includes a tldr for those who don’t have the patience to read all this yapping (it’s okay me too 😭)

Table of Contents:

i. sonic and nine’s toxic relationship

ii. explaining how silver’s addition would’ve mattered in sonic prime

iii. why silver and nine would make a better duo as brothers

I. Sonic and Nine, and why their dynamic does not work out.

I feel like I could go on for AGES as to why i genuinely dislike Sonic and Nine as a duo, because there’s just so many things wrong with these two 😭

If you’ve watched Sonic Prime then you’d know Sonic’s goal was to simply bring back Green Hills, with the help of the friends he made along the way.

This also includes Nine (momentarily) before his (EXTREMELY VALID AND JUSTIFIED) villain arc.

Throughout the show it is extremely obvious Sonic only saw Nine as Tails “but angsty”. He didn’t take time to realize that Nine was NOT Tails and never will be. Whilst his main concern was to bring back his friends, I feel like no one talks about how demeaning this was 😭

The poor kid has absolutely no idea what a friendship is like, so having Sonic rely on him for even a little bit was bound to become a heavily over attached and almost obsessive-one sided dynamic.

So no, it’s not meant to be “toxic brothers!!!” core, it is sooo downgrading to not only Nine’s trauma imho, but also the whole plot of S3 in Sonic Prime. They CANNOT be brothers 😭

This is often dismissed just for the fact of “lol sonic and tails brother ship in all universes”

Do not get my wrong, I adore the Unbreakable Bond stuff, I think they’re the brothers ever!! HOWEVER, this should not apply with Sonic and Nine for obvious reasons.

I can yap more about this but the main purpose of this post is about Silver and Nine, so I’ll keep this section short!!

II. Silver should’ve been in Sonic Prime and I will die on this hill

LIKE??? ITS LITERALLY ABOUT THE MULTIVERSE WHY WOULDN’T HE (and Blaze) BE IN THIS SHOW???

Silver in general needs to be in more official media but that’s a rant for another post 😭

His addition to this show would’ve been sooo important, it actually would’ve changed a lot of the plot and even the ending of S3 (which was absolute shit imo 😭)

I don’t have a lot to say about this part of the post, apart from the fact his inclusion would have made the show more interesting, and his background is very similar to Nine!! (Which I’ll explain in the next section)

III. Why Silver and Nine would make a better bond than with Sonic.

they have similar backgrounds and interests! both come from a dystopian city with the want for change; one wants to leave and make a new world, while the other wants to help fix his.

They both balance each other nicely! And YES I KNOW THE SAME IS FOR SONIC. THE DIFFERENCE IS THAT THERES NO TRAUMA INVOLVED BETWEEN THE TWO 😭 and it’s not a complete copy of sonic and tails but with an angsty version of the fox

silver wouldn’t see nine as “tails but angsty” or just another version of tails, I think he’d see nine as his own person!! they could keep each other company and be the sillies ever

Something I like about this is the fact it’s not EXACTLY like sonic and tails, and they can still have that brother bond!! They have tons of potential, which is why I ignore canon and follow my delusions in fanon 😁

TLDR: sonic and nine booooo silver and nine yippee!!! /hj

okay in a serious note, sonic and nine just wouldn’t have a healthy friendship that wouldn’t have one-sided obsession and lots of toxicity, while silver, a character that albeit random, still has enough similarities to fit into that role!!

Please read the thread behind the mastermind of this headcanon!! They explain the details I’ve put in this post, but I’d like for you guys to read it too. It includes a separate thread by another person based on Blaze and Silver’s odd dynamic and why it’s often brushed off!!

sorry for any spelling errors I did NOT proofread this

art by BREADBURNE86414 on twt!!

#nari’s rants #miles nine prower #nine the fox #silver the hedgehog #sonic prime #sonic the hedgehog

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sxfterhearts · 2 days ago

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Hi! I have a request for theo if you feel inspired by it:)

Something angsty (but soft) with "Sorry I'm late.", where he's late for a date, or promised to be at reader's home sooner, something like that, and reader is already frustrated, feeling like his last priority. When he's not busy with p1h things he wants to have a time for himself...

Anyway, that's what I thought for the prompt, but if you have any other ideas I'd love to read anything <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol ! theo x non-idol ! reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: mild angst, soft ending

♡ word count: 912 words

♡ author's note: thank you for requesting lovely anon <3 you sparked my creativity and reminded me just how much i love (and miss) writing! this was a great little fic for me to ease back into it. life has been super duper hectic lately, so apologies this comes so late. i hope you enjoy :)

The seasons were reluctantly transitioning from autumn to winter. It was a warm autumn day, warmer than you initially expected, with heat radiating off the sidewalks and brick walls. Ginko trees lined the streets, a flurry of vibrant yellows dancing and waving as cars drove by.

The dessert shop you had saved on Google Maps for months came into sight as you rounded the corner of the main road. It specialised in bingsu, a traditional Korean milk-based shaved ice dessert, commonly topped with sweet red beans and condensed milk.

You took in your surroundings as you approached the shop. Everywhere around you, you saw couples walking hand in hand, groups of friends laughing together, and people taking photos of each other with the autumn foliage, basking in the remnants of sunshine.

All of a sudden, you felt a pang of loneliness in your chest.

At the same time, your phone screen lit up with a notification.

[5:45pm] theo <3: hey y/n, practice is running over

[5:46pm] theo <3: i’m sorry… i’ll make it up to you, i promise

You sighed. Your heart dropped to the soles of your feet. In a way, you knew this was coming. Amidst all the comeback preparations and promotions, Theo barely had time to himself, let alone to spend time with you. You understood this well. You knew what you were signing up for and you were well aware of the demanding nature and huge time commitments of his career. Lately, though, the tardiness and cancellations were becoming a little too frequent.

He stood you up last weekend. Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic – the two of you were meant to go for a picnic by the Han River. Instead, he texted you 10 minutes before the meeting time to say that his hair appointment was taking longer than expected, leaving you amongst the sea of couples cuddling on the grass – all alone.

And here you were again, alone once more. Casting a wistful glance at the fairy lights and welcoming exterior of the shop, you silently bid it goodbye as you turned around and made your way back home.

With heavy footsteps, you finally dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment.

Absent-mindedly, you fished inside your handbag for your keys. Why was it always so hard to find them?

Your searching was interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat.

“Sorry I’m late… Again.”

“Theo?” You looked up from your bag and sure enough, there he was, crouching outside your apartment door. He was still wearing his sweat-soaked clothes from dance practice, cheeks red from exertion.

At the call of his name, he stood up. “I brought cake?” Theo said gently, trying to gauge your emotions and reactions to him standing you up, yet again. Cake – your guilty pleasure; a peace offering. “It’s dark chocolate with strawberries, the one from your favourite cake shop.”

You couldn’t help it, your ears perked up and your eyes lit up at the familiar pink cake box. The corners of your lips raised into an involuntary smile. “Is this bribery?” You teased lightly.

“It’s an apology, Y/N. I’m sorry, really.” He replied, voice laced thick with sincerity.

At that, the sadness covering your icy heart melted away. “Come on,” You grabbed his free hand, dragging him into the apartment with you.

As you sat on the floor, devouring your cake in silent contentment, Theo reached across the coffee table for your hand.

“Listen, Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“The past few months have been really busy.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“Our schedules… It’s so hard to predict, and things can change at the last minute.”

You hummed, mouth full of cake.

“I get it if you’re frustrated or angry, I would be too. But this is only the beginning. Once promotions start I will barely have any time to do anything, including sleep, which means I won’t have much time to spend with you. You know that right?”

“Yeah.” You agreed reluctantly. “I know, you told me at the start. It’s just…” You sighed. “Yeah, sometimes it gets lonely without you. But I don’t blame you or anything. It’s not your fault, so I get it.”

Theo’s heart ached a little at your honest confession. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” You waved away his apology. “Like I said, not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel lonely.” He clarified.

You stared into his eyes, taking in the intensity of his sorrowful gaze. “I accept your apology.” You squeezed his hand tightly. “Besides, maybe I should pour some time and energy into other things, like seeing my friends more or picking up a new hobby.”

Theo nodded. “That’s a great idea!” He encouraged, heart-shaped lips turning into an excited smile. “What happened to that knitting club? Did you end up joining with your friend?”

You pouted. “No, the club meetings are too early for her, she gets off work late. Maybe I’ll look for another one, she mentioned pottery when we caught up for coffee last week…”

Theo breathed an internal sigh of relief. It was reassuring to know that you were trying to keep yourself busy with your own life outside of the relationship you two shared and cherished. This was important in every relationship, of course, but particularly for yours, due to his line of work. He felt a surge of admiration and adoration for you as he reflected on how well you handled the situation despite the uncertainty and disappointment. “I love you.”

You looked up from your phone and paused mid-message to your friend. You gave him a toothy grin, dark chocolate staining the corners of your mouth. Theo thought you looked adorable. “I love you too.”

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allthefakepeople · 4 months ago

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(inspired by the lyrics "if you asked me how i'm doing i would say i'm doing just fine/ i would lie and say that you're not on my mind/but i go out and i sit down at a table set for two/ and finally i'm forced to face the truth and no matter what i say/ i'm not over you")

young royals au where wilhelm doesn't chase after the car in the end of ep 6 but still abdicates and years later he's working in and office but he has a little apartment with a cat and plants and it's his and yet he can't help but think about how simon is doing and sometimes finds himself going to cafes and restaurants with table place settings for 2 and imagines simon across from him.

one of these times, simon comes in with a man on his arm. it's the first time wilhelm has seen him since hillerska and he still looks as beautiful as ever and wilhelm's breath catches in his throat. simon notices him immediately and hesitates, his face switching through emotions faster than wille can catch them before he slowly makes his way over to the table and they have a quick but genuine conversation, simon introducing his boyfriend luca and wille, pretending it doesn't kill him to see another person at simon's side, says he's also waiting for someone (he's not) and watches as more complicated emotions cross simon's face. simon asks wille how he is and he says he's doing just fine. before they know it, their conversation comes to a naturally end and simon slowly starts to retreat from the table with Luca. wille watches them leave until he can't anymore and looks down pretending to be busy with his phone just missing how simon can't help look back at wille, a wave of longing washing over him and needing at least one last look before leaving but clearly wille has also started to move on and he's with luca now anyways so he shoves the longing aside and leaves with one last glance behind him

#maybe i'll write it #or you can decide how it ends #if it ends angsty or if they make their way back to each other #i was just listening to not over you by gavin degraw and thought i would wilmonfy it #young royals #yr #wilmon #yr fic #wilmon fic #yr fic idea #young royals fic #miels writes and rambles

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lowkeyerror · 15 days ago

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Ours Together

Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: Spoilers for Agatha All Along (entire series), Angsty, hurt/comfort (ig), Happy ending, Familiar!Reader, Familiar lore for this: They are weakened when away from the witch they are connected with, being with the witch amplifies powers, think of the familiar here as some mythical creature close to a witch but not exactly

Summary: When Agatha and coven summon a Green Witch to the road, they're surprised to be met with 2 people instead of 1. You yourself we're surprised and disappointed to be trapped with Rio and Agatha

An: Another one so soon... they're on my mind

Masterlist | Part 2

“Uh who is that?”

The coven was so distracted by Agatha’s reaction to Rio, that no one saw you struggling to climb out of the ground behind her.

“I’m Y/n, and I could use some assistance,” you say stretching out your hand.

Teen and Alice are the one’s that eventually help you out of the ground.

“I though we only summoned one witch,” Jen eyes you skeptically.

“I'm sorry what?”

You take in your surroundings frowning at the darkness. Your frown grows even larger when you spot Rio and Agatha.

“We're on the witch's road and-”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Beg pardon?”

“The witch’s road it’s-”

You shake your head, “Not real.”

“Then explain this sweetheart?” Agatha speaks and you glare at her.

“You of all people know that the road is a scam,” your jaw clenches as you speak to her.

“You’re more feisty than I remember, pet,” her voice keeps a teasing aura around it.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap at her, voice echoing, with your eyes being absorbed black.

The outburst makes everyone except Rio and Agatha jump back.

“Now, now ladies play nice,” Rio interjects.

“Send me home, now,” you speak to her.

Rio tilts her head, “I think I to want to stay awhile, just to see how things turn out.”

You groan and move to walk in the back of the pack. Agatha refocuses the group and they continue to move forward.

You watch as Rio attempts to rile up Agatha. You see the woman in purple stiffen a few times, throwing her hands around wildly. It makes you want to laugh, centuries pass, but her mannerisms stay easy to read.

Once Rio has had enough of Agatha she trails to the end of group by your side.

“Long time no see hot stuff,” she tries.

“Not long enough,” you shoot back at her.

Rio pouts, “I thought you came along to be reunited.”

“You know I have to go with you if you're summoned liked that,” you mumble mostly to yourself.

“Oh that's right, because we’re fated for each other,” Rio says dreamily.

“Because I'm your familiar,” you correct her.

She shrugs, “Same thing.”

You redirect the conversation, “Why haven't we left yet? You know as well as I do that this is not real.”

Her eyes shift to the ground, “You haven't missed her? Even a little?”

You inhale sharply, “Of course I have, but I respect her wanting nothing to do with us. Rio, we can never undo what we did to her.”

“It wasn't our fault,” her fist clench at her sides.

You guard drops for a moment. Your hand finds it’s way into her grip.

“I know,” you speak solemnly.

“Sometimes I wish-”

You squeeze her hand, “Don’t you dare. I loved him, you loved him, and she loved him.”

“I don’t understand why she let’s people think those things about her.”

“If there’s one thing Agatha still cares about, it’s her image. That’s one of the few marks on her life where she’s soft and no one can know that,” you whisper.

You feel Rio's eyes lingering on you, “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't want to do this here,” you refuse to look at her.

“Well this is the only chance I’ve gotten with either of you in a long time. I don’t want to waste it,” Rio shifts her gaze ahead of her.

“And who’s fault is that Rio?”

You attempt to take your hand out of her's, but she doesn't let you. You let out an irritated sigh.

“With you, it’s my fault. I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You didn't think you'd ever hear Death apologize. It was unexpected and you didn't know how to respond. You wanted to forgive her, but was this all she had to do to regain your trust?

“Did you know it hurts physically to keep my distance from you? As your familiar I’m supposed to stay relatively close to you. When I’m not it’s like my body is burning inside. I had to get used to that feeling after you kicked me out of your life. This is the first time in over 2 centuries that I'm not in pain.”

“I thought you would’ve come back,” she says it with more sorrow than sarcasm.

“Why would I, when it felt like you didn't want me?”

Your eyes lock on Agatha’s figure, “I wasn’t enough for you, either of you.”

Rio stops walking, “You were enough. You are enough. I became obsessed with finding Agatha and it sent me down a darker path than I realized. I wanted to find her so desperately that I let it affect things between us.”

You finally meet her eyes, “I loved her too. I feel like you always forgot, that my heart beats for her. That I belong to her just like I belong to you. I was already hurting then and then you-”

“Let’s move it losers the next trial is waiting,” Agatha says from the entrance of a house, that was not there before.

You finally free your hand from Rio's, “Forget it.”

You walk faster hoping to avoid anymore of this conversation. You go through the door and when you do it’s like you're in the 70’s.

The rest of the coven finds a mirror to check out their wardrobe. Teen points out a potential way to trigger the task and then they disperse. Leaving only you, Agatha, and Rio.

“Well don’t you look good enough to eat, sweetheart,” Agatha comes up behind you.

You turn getting ready to say something snarky, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the low cut of her shirt. The exposed skin looking better than you had remembered it. You begin to wonder if it still felt soft too.

“Boo,” Rio pops up behind Agatha.

You notice that Rio’s shirt also has a deep v cut. It makes you chuckle a bit.

“What’s so funny?” Agatha says, clearly annoyed by Rio’s presence.

“I just think it’s funny the road gave you matching deep V’s.”

Rio chimes in, “It’s because we go together. Don’t we, Agatha?”

“No,” Agatha walks away after that.

You see Rio briefly deflate and you place a hand on her shoulder, “You’ll get her champ.”

“And you?” She looks at you in only the way that she can. Doe eyes, warmth & sorrow mixed together, pleading for the best outcome.

“I’m your familiar, Rio. Eventually it’s in my best interest to come back to you,” you reply and try to walk off.

“You are my love, Y/n. More than you’re my familiar,” her words stop you.

“Good to know,” is all you can manage to say before walking off.

You look around a bit, wondering exactly how this was all possible. You knew that road wasn't real, so where were you? What was this, and how did Agatha manage to get others to do this with her?

You notice after awhile Agatha and Rio are missing. Against your better judgment you look for them. You find them in what looks like a producer’s area. They’re stood next to each other talking about the glory days.

You don’t interfere until you see Agatha’s hand slide across the intercom. Before Rio can fall into Agatha’s poorly executed trap, you clear your throat interrupting the conversation.

You walk over cautiously, and fit yourself in-between the pair, effectively moving Agatha away from the intercom.

“Planning a character assassination so soon, Agatha? What’s the rush?”

Rio’s eyes land on the intercom and she laughs, “Clever as the day we met.”

“I see you’re taking her side again,” Agatha says pointedly.

“I never took sides and you know that,” you fire back at her.

Agatha scoffs, “Well you came out of the dirt together so…”

“You know how the summoning work Agatha, don’t play dumb,” you counter.

Agatha throws her hands up in exasperation, “So what, I’m supposed to believe that you two haven’t been living it up together this whole time.”

“Why do you think I was alone when I came to see Agnes?” Rio interjects.

Agatha stumbled for a moment, “Because it would’ve been weird to have another person with you in my show.”

“I haven’t seen Rio in close to 300 years,” you admit.

“ Boo hoo poor baby. That doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Agatha mocks you.

Your voice takes on an echo again, “IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH YOU! YOU LEFT ME!”

Your argument is interrupted by some loud distorted sound. It makes you cover your ears and close your eyes. You gather around Teen who played the record as a clue. The room begins to spin backwards like the record and the sound intensifies.

Agatha smashes the record player on the ground which immediately stops the song.

Lilia speaks up, “We’ve been cursed.”

Its only a matter of seconds before she screeches and hits the floor.

You see this and start muttering under your breath. Alice springs into action taking Rio’s knife and carving a circle around Lilia.

You keep chanting to yourself. Everyone but Agatha and Rio were concerned around Lilia.

“What are you doing?” Agatha questions, but you just keep chanting.

Your fingertips glow dully as you touch them to your shoulders.

“I am protecting myself,” you say once you’re finished.

Jen gets hit next and once again Alice draws a circle around her. Teen also gets attacked, being flung through the glass mirror. Alice reveals that the curse is hers after that. It’s generational, meaning that it is harder to expel than most.

“We have to sing the ballad,” Agatha says.

She goes back and forth with Alice before they come to an agreement. Everyone picks up and instrument except you. You sit as an audience member.

“What, you’re too cool to play?” Jen asks.

“You don’t need me to play, so I’m not playing,” you shoot back.

Teen tries to encourage you, “The more people we have, the easier this might be.”

Your eyes are engulfed by black once more and your voice echoes dangerously , “I’m not playing that song.”

Agatha can’t help but look at Rio in that moment. The pair are the only ones who know why you aren’t interested in singing the song.

“Let’s just start,” Agatha begins singing before anymore arguments could be made.

You hate what has become of the song. Nicky’s sweet song, was now the witch killer’s anthem. You felt like it was disgraceful. It hurt you even more when Agatha did nothing to stop the song from becoming some rock anthem. Finding out that Lorna used it to protect her own daughter softened the blow a little bit, but not entirely.

Watching them preform you notice Teen wincing while holding the guitar. Your eyes scan his body looking for indicators of injury. It’s not highly noticeable, but you spot blood seeping through his side.

Against your own beliefs you stand and begin to walk over to him. You sing the tune lowly under your breath, before taking the guitar from him.

You can see he wants to argue but you nod your head towards the seating area. Your eyes drop to his side to let him know, that you know that he’s hurt.

He looks annoyed, but takes a seat anyway opting to just sing the ballad instead.

Your eyes lock with Rio’s and you glance towards the kid. She shakes her head slightly and you focus on playing the song.

Once Alice defeats her curse, Teen is laid across the sitting area. His breathes are shallow. Agatha is the first to rush over to him.

“He’s bleeding we got to get him out of here.”

You all take him back to the road and lay him across a large stone. You sit back with Rio watching the group panic. The most panic being evident in Agatha.

She turns to Rio, “Don’t.”

The woman beside you makes no gesture. Agatha starts pleading with Jen to fix it.

“She needs water and moonlight,” you speak up.

It seems to give the potions witch an idea. Alice gathers the water and Jen starts chanting in the moonlight. She pours the water over Teen’s injury and it starts to close up.

Agatha’s gaze falls upon you and Rio once more. Before she goes to help move Teen.

“You’re here for him, why?” You ask the woman beside you.

“That’s not his body. I can’t just-”

You shake your head, “You can. So why don’t you want to?”

“Once is already pushing the limit, but to let him get away with it twice. It’s not fair, it’s unbalanced,” Rio argues.

“What is 2 souls to the hundreds of thousands that perish daily? You have William and you will have the other. You and I both know that you don’t need the body to reap the soul.”

She sits quietly, no reply on her tongue.

“I think you’re here because Agatha is here,” you say.

She glares at you and speaks through gritted teeth, “Does it not bother you that she walks down this road with another woman’s son pretending that he’s ours? She knows he’s not.”

You look at the ground.

“I know you hate it, just like you hate what they did to his song,” Rio pushes further.

“Grief is different for everyone. Agatha is still grieving and I don't think she’ll ever stop. I can’t blame her, I grieve him every day. I know you do too,” you speak softly, getting up from your spot.

You leave her with those words. Maybe you shouldn’t seek her out, but you look for Agatha.

You come across the camp set up before you find Agatha.

“Do you have any scars Y/n?” Lilia is the one to ask.

You take a seat around the fire.

“A bunch, physical and emotional,” you lift your shirt.

There's a long scar that goes diagonally across your stomach. Your finger caresses it gently.

“Jesus Christ,” Alice says.

“It’s fairly new,” you keep your eyes on the scar.

“What happened?” Lilia speaks gently.

It’s then that Agatha and Rio join the circle. They sit on either side of you, both looking at the scar.

“Got captured by some witches. They tried to kill me, harvest my organs, etc.”

“How did you get captured?” Agatha asks, not really believing your story.

Your leg starts to bounce a little, “Well, I wasn’t with anyone else and I hadn’t been around… the people I need for my power to be at my strongest. So I was weak in that sense.”

“How did you escape?” Jen asks.

You shook your head, “I got lucky. They got bored eventually because I um- I can’t really die. They ‘left me for dead’ so to speak, but Death never came for me.”

“You’re immortal?” Alice deadpans.

“No one is immortal, I’m just really hard to kill. I have an intense healing factor,” you admit.

“Then why the scars?”

You keep your gaze low, “Because I didn't have my full power. I had enough to close and heal the wound, but the longer I was there the harder it was to make them pretty.”

You hate the silence that follows.

You hear Agatha roll up her sleeve. She gives a one liner about some coven that she wiped out. It’s funny and everyone laughs. You can see it takes her by surprise and it puts a small smile on your face.

“I have scar,” Rio starts.

“No you don't,” you and Agatha say at the same time.

“Yes, I do,” Rio goes on to describe the most fragile parts of your relationship .

She’s vague but you can hear the hurt in her voice. She finishes the story, but doesn’t look at Agatha.

Agatha storms off first, Rio trailing behind her, and you hesitate but ultimately end up following Rio.

Agatha stands with her back towards the both of you. Rio chooses to stay behind her while you walk around to face her.

Agatha’s head lulls back onto Rio’s shoulder. One of her hands snakes it’s way under your shirt, running the path of the scar. You keep close to her, but don’t move.

She puckers her lips as if to kiss Rio. You can see the fight inside of the original green witch. She wants this so badly, but she must push.

You do it for her. Your hands gently grab Agatha’s face pulling her towards you. You close your eyes as your forehead rests against hers.

“My love, Teen is not-”

“I know,” she whispers, and she starts to pull away.

“Please,” you hold her in place. “Please, let me have you close for a second. Both of you.”

It had been centuries since the three of you were this close. The raging fire inside of you finally resting after all this time. The relief that spread through your body was like a cooling agent.

Rio and Agatha both take notice for the first time, realizing how tense you had been since your appearance on the road.

“How long did they keep you?”

“Some years,” you answer quietly.

Agatha whips around to stare at Rio, “Where were you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Rio redirects the blame.

“I left her with you so -”

“SHE WASN’T SOMETHING TO BE LEFT!” Rio let’s out an outburst. She takes a deep breath before continuing, “She is our familiar. Not mine, not yours, but ours together Agatha. It hurts her to be apart from either of us.”

“What did you want me to do? Forget what you did to my son?”

“OUR SON,” Rio’s voice booms louder than you ever heard it before. You swear the entire road shakes with the reverb.

You move forward to put a hand on Rio’s shoulder. You can feel her shaking with emotion. At first you think it’s anger, but then you see her tears fall.

“He was our son too Agatha. I didn’t want you to forgive me, I’ve never forgiven myself. I wanted you to mourn with me, with Y/n. I wanted us to have each other because we needed it.,” It’s defeated when Rio says it.

“I did mourn,” Agatha argues back.

“No, you didn’t,” you interrupt them, but your eyes were far away.

“How would you know you weren't there?” Agatha retaliates.

You sigh, “You act like I didn't want to be there. Like I was the one running and hiding. I know you haven't mourned because we wouldn’t be here if you had. We all know that this is not real. You’re singing his song… walking this road with this boy that you want to be him.”

“You can't deny my grief.”

“He asked you not to. You promised him, Aggie. It was his last promise.” Your voice cracks as your tears begin to form. “And you didn’t just break it, you took his song. Our song… and you used it to do the one thing he begged you not to.”

By this point you were choking on your sobs. The sight of you broke Agatha’s heart.

“I was grieving, I was angry, and I was alone!”

You fight her again, “You didn't have to be alone!”

“Well we can't go back and fix that, now can we?”

You groan, “No, but we can move forward if you just stop running.”

Rio stops the argument, “Enough! Y/n, she doesn’t care about us. The only person she cares about is herself.”

Agatha lets her anger out, shoving the green witch, “That’s bullshit.”

Rio shoves her back, “Is it now?”

Agatha spears Rio to the ground, “You know that I love both of you. That I care for you more than I’ve cared about anything other than my- our son.”

Rio flips their position so that she’s on top of Agatha, “Then why are we fighting?”

Agatha’s chest heaves up and down; Rio’s moves nearly the same. Agatha's hand reaches up to caress Rio’s face. At that same moment Rio leans in.

They kiss. You gasp , not at all expecting things to turn so quickly. A smile of relief coats your face as you watch them. You feel a pleasant warmth spreading across your chest.

“I love you,” Agatha says against Rio’s lips.

Rio smiles, “I love you too.”

“Finally,” you say exasperatedly, causing them both to laugh.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch like a weirdo or are you going to come over, pet?” Agatha says.

You roll your eyes, but continue to make your way over to them, “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

When you’re close enough Rio pulls you into her quickly stealing a kiss from you. You blush at her brash affection. You try to hide your face in her neck, but Agatha’s finger hooks under your chin.

“What do you suppose I call you then?”

You lean into her grasp, “Yours.”

Her lips graze yours as she speaks, “Mine.”

Your lips meet hers fiercely. She pulls you from Rio's lap fully onto hers. Instead of sliding up your shirt like before her hands travel lower. The feel on her fingers causes you to moan lowly, the sound echoing as your eyes filled with black.

“Not here, not yet,” you feel Rio’s breath tickling your neck.

You whine, “Centuries apart and still teasing.”

Agatha let out a hearty laugh, “Let’s get back to the others.”

Agatha and Rio are up first, helping you to your feet. You walk between them, feeling whole for the first time in a long time. Rio’s hand is in yours, while Agatha runs her fingers through your hair.

You still had things to work out amongst each other. One talk or a kiss cannot fix everything you’ve all been through. Yet talking and kisses amongst the three of you are known to be promises. Promises of a better future united together.

#lowkeyerror #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal #alice wu gulliver #lilia calderu #jennifer kale #billy maximoff

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always-just-red · 4 months ago

Note

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, ok? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d’you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, ok?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you ok?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, ok? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, ok?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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justporo · 7 months ago

Text

So you'll see tomorrow

A/N: Seeing a beautiful piece of artwork by @velnna and listening to Half life by Livingston I got a very angsty idea for a drabble (so be warned, it's sad). This idea came to me first a while back listening to Just a Man (you know from *that* BG3 edit). @velnna as always thanks for letting me play with your son - and sorry I hurt him... Also thank you to Dad on Maf's discord server for the inspo for the final line.

Warnings: implied character death (but this is just an alternate timeline ok??), self sacrifice

~~~

So this was it.

This is how they would all die.

There was no way they would defeat the Netherbrain. All their endeavours that led them here, all for naught. Unless…

Staeve saw it in his eyes first. How their expression changed from swimming and hopeless to hardened and determined. Astarion’s brows drew together - the crease they created between them as sharp as his daggers he lifted up once more.

“Staeve.”

He had never heard his voice like this. The tone as sharp as a knife and hard as rock.

It scared him.

“I’m going to create an opening for you. Be ready.”

Fear dug its claws into Staeve’s throat, choking him, as he began to realise what was about to happen.

“No,” the half-drow whispered, weakly grabbing for his lover’s wrists with all of his remaining strength.

“Astarion, no! You can’t do this!”

Panic gave Staeve new power. Helped him to forcefully turn Astarion around to him. Helped him make his love stare into his eyes as he screamed at him again. And again.

He shook him, even making the daggers drop from his pale, blood-speckled fingers.

Staeve kept screaming, feeling his voice become hoarse, hot streams of tears washing away the grime and gore as they made their way down his face.

But as he kept throwing everything at Astarion he noticed ruby eyes remaining hard and unfaltering. The decision had been made.

The last of his strength went with his last drop of hope as Staeve’s hands fell weakly from Astarion’s. His legs gave up, knees hit the ground hard.

And only then did Astarion shift, taking a final step back before making the run-up.

He dropped down in front of Staeve who could only stare up at him anymore.

“Let me do this one thing right, Staeve,” he whispered solemnly, cupping his love’s face. “Just this once let me make things right.”

Staeve’s vision was blurred, his head swimming. But he still clearly saw the warmth in Astarion’s eyes as he leaned his forehead to Staeve’s.

Astarion’s hand wandered to the nape of his neck as he pressed his eyes closed. “Promise me, you’ll live for me, Staeve. To the fullest.” When the vampire opened his eyes again, Staeve was sure there were tears in Astarion’s eyes as well.

There was nothing in Staeve to do or say. He wasn’t in control of anything anymore it felt like. Not even his own body as he solely kept listening to Astarion’s final words.

“And promise me,” the vampire continued, voice breaking, “sometimes - when you sit in the sun - you’ll think of me, Staeve. Promise me.”

Astarion only waited only long enough for Staeve to weakly nod, seemingly the only thing he was still capable of.

Then he crushed his mouth to his lover’s, the motion so forceful their teeth crashed together.

Desperation had them kiss so hard it hurt, that it felt like perishing already. Astarion’s hand on Staeve’s neck pressed down so hard it felt like bones might crush. A single last breath was passed between them as their lips moved against each other as they tried to make this the most vivid moment they had ever experienced.

One so he could never possibly forget this final kiss - how it had felt.

The other so he would go to his end, with the taste of his lover on his lips.

When a small eternity ended and Astarion broke away he grabbed Staeve’s face a final time.

“I know in another life, I would have loved you forever,” Astarion uttered with a smile.

Then he let go, Staeve almost toppling over, suddenly void of anything still lifting him up.

Astarion grabbed his daggers, turned around with a last glance and a smirk - and then he leapt.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #astarion x tav #staeve #astarion x staeve #drabble #bg3

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silverskyeline · 28 days ago

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ੈ♡˳ 'snow day' - logan x gn!reader

summary: logan hates the snow, hates that it reminds him of the past. but he soon finds that being with you gives it a whole new meaning. (1.1k) tags: fluffy, angsty cus he thinks about his past, established relationship, you play in the snow, logan realising he's in love with reader, kissing, gender neutral reader, blood mention (in reference to his memories), for the 'snow' prompt for logan promptober, + tagging @alsoprettyinpink - hope you enjoy!

snow. logan hated the snow.

it once held bittersweet memories of home, of those beloved mountains in canada, nestled away from the world. but those memories were tainted long ago. the snow greeted him that day he fled from alkali lake, droplets of crimson liquid dripping from his knuckles into the pure white flakes below, leaving a sickly trail of red behind him.

each winter, he'd wince at the sound of it beneath his boots, each grating crunch serving as a reminder of where he had come from, what had been done to him. reminded him of that frantic prey-like pitter-patter in his chest as he scrambled, alone in the woods.

yes, for years upon years, logan hated the snow.

that was, until you.

logan tries to suppress the blush rising in his cheeks as he observes you by the bedroom window, how you eye the falling flakes with such excitement. a smile tugs on his lips, betraying the signature steely mask he wears. but he can't help it, not when he's around you.

the snow fell overnight, a lot of it to his distaste. logan can't focus on the snow though, not now you're awake. and that smile, he loves it when you're animated like this, when you get that mischievous glint in your eye. he shouldn't be surprised when he sees you bolt for the door.

you're out there in a flash, coat half on, hat sitting precariously on your head, one glove in your hand as you hop in an attempt to pull your other shoe onto your foot. logan watches, mouth half open, yet he can't find himself to scold or call you back inside.

"look at it all!" you yell brightly, turning to face him with a smile that could bring a man to his knees. and it does, regularly.

logan steps towards the door with a sigh, folding his arms firmly and leaning against the doorframe. his eyes drift across the freshly fallen snow, eyeing it with indifference. but it's when he looks at you, the way you're practically glowing with almost contagious excitement, as though you'd never seen snow before in your life. . . logan can't help but smile fondly.

look at you, with your sweet grin and eyes full of wonder, kneeling down to oh-so gently cup a handful of snow in your delicate palms. he notes the careful nature of your actions, always able to admire your softness, how you're everything he's not.

because that's just how logan is, who he is. haunted, chasing ghosts or being chased. an act as simple as playing in the snow isn't so simple. those memories hurt, sure, but he can't let go of them, not again. he's so afraid of losing parts of himself that he holds on to any scrap he can remember, even the parts that make him feel like the animal he's told he is.

he's trying his best, he really is, for you. there's more to life than the past but what if that's all he has in the end? it's normally all he's left with. memories and -

thud.

a cold wet ball of snow hits his shoulder, tearing him from his thoughts as his eyes widen and land on you.

did you just. . . throw a snowball at him?

you're smirking, evilly, compacting another neat little ball into your hands.

"hey," he barks, eyes widening as he points his finger towards you scoldingly, "no, don't you even think about it-"

it's too late though, you're ready to throw before he even finishes his sentence. another ball hits his shoulder and he scoffs, feeling the coolness soak through his white t-shirt and settle against his heated skin.

"you little shit-" logan growls, but there's a clear smirk evident on his face as he barrels out the door after you.

squealing, you turn and begin to run though you know it's futile. but you already got what you wanted, he's having fun.

he's on you in a flash, snatching your hips as he grapples you to the ground with a grunt. you land, turning to face him as you both catch your breath. his hands find your wrists and pin them into the icy ground below as he hovers over you.

logan's panting, his breath puffing out in clouds against the cool air. but you're still smirking. "think that was funny, huh?" he challenges you with a smirk reflected at you.

you give a defiant nod and he chuckles, a low purr that has you smiling. not for long though. he releases one of your wrists to grab a fistful of snow and pushes it into your face. you scream playfully and attempt to escape his grip. "ah, not so tough now, eh?"

"enough enough!" you laugh, muffled by his large hand, "time-out! you win!"

he grins as he dusts the remaining flakes of snow from your features. it gives him time to admire you more closely, his eyes searching yours with a rare vulnerability. he commits this moment to memory - the gentle pink flush of your cheeks and nose as the cold works its way into your skin, the look in your eyes he feels he doesn't deserve, could never deserve.

you look at him like he's everything, like he's not all the things he's seen and done. you look at him, really look at him. and for the first time in a long time, he feels seen, he feels. . . at peace.

logan wants to say something, anything that expresses the depth of his affection for you. but talking has never been his strong suit, instead, he leans down to capture your cold lips against his, his heated presence a stark contrast to your freezing surroundings.

there's no words he could find that would fit the way he feels about you. those three little words echo at the back of his mind, aching to pour from his lips, to be spoken aloud to you, but logan tucks them away for later.

his lips move against yours in a fluid, languid motion, his fingers tilting your chin just slightly as his other hand squeezes around your wrist. pulling back slowly, his eyes flutter open, taking you in once more. gentle flakes of snow fall into his hair and along his shirt, coating him as he shields you from it above. his gaze remains steady, like he can see all those little parts of yourself you try to hide from the world. just like he does.

fuck, he loves you. like really loves you.

". . . you got some snow on you," you smile softly, pulling him from his thoughts with your mild teasing.

the fingers on your chin trace up to your cheek, the backs of his digits tracing a line down your soft skin almost reverently. a smile curls on his lips at your words, but he doesn't mind the snow. not anymore.

because the snow no longer reminds him of what he once had or once lost, it reminds him of what he has. . . right now, here, with you.

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dreamsteddie · 4 days ago

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There is an AITA out there that I can't find but it's been haunting me for weeks with visions of semi-angsty Steddie that I need to release onto the world. (If anyone happens to know what I'm talking about hit me up and I'll link it)

Edit: @jazzathebunny found the original AITA from Reddit linked Here for anyone who wants to read it. I'm definitely not doing exactly the same premise but this was my jumping off point 😊

Part Two! ------

Modern AU, Eddie and the guys are a moderately successful local band in the Chicago area playing gigs on the weekends and doing small tours whenever they all have the time. Gareth and Jeff are both in college while Eddie and Freak are both working part-time at a game store. Eddie managed to lock down that assistant manager position that lets him work 30 hours a week with weekends off for gigs. All in all, it's a pretty sweet deal and they can't complain.

Eddie had sworn off dating after a small handful of disastrous relationship attempts in their first year in the city. He dismisses any advances from people who attend their shows and tries not to think about how much he wants to make a genuine connection with someone and have something real. He's been burned one too many times to try and make something with someone he met in a bar or at work.

He knows the guys talk about it behind his back sometimes, he catches Jeff and Gareth fervently whispering to each other and stopping when they catch him entering the room one time too many to not suspect they're talking about him and he can't think of anything else going on in his life that they would feel the need to whisper about.

The fervent conversations take a slight uptick one day and about a week and a half after they do, Gareth hits him up and tells him he wants to set Eddie up with a guy from one of his classes. At first, Eddie is skeptical and cites all the reasons why he doesn't want to try with anyone right now but eventually, Jeff jumps in to plea the case and Freak jumps in on top of that and under the combined weight of his best friends he agrees to meet up with this Steve guy.

The guys set up the whole thing and before Eddie knows it it's Saturday night and he's wearing his best black jeans and a gray button-down, untucked, to go on an honest to God blind date like his life is some low-budget romcom.

Steve is not at all what Eddie thought he would be. Not the kind of guy he thought his friends would pick out for him given they know he usually goes for other alternatives like himself. Steve, who is shyly waving him over and getting out of his seat to great him, is the very epitome of prep. Well-fitted polo, light blue chinos, and what Eddie assumes this guy thinks are casual loafers. He's handsome to be sure, a 12/10 at least with perfect hair and defined biceps but Eddie is fairly sure he's being punked.

But, Eddie doesn't want to be rude so he goes to meet Steve at the table, confirming just in case that he's actually here to meet with a guy named Eddie. Steve gives him a bit of a confused look, saying that Gareth showed him a couple pictures of Eddie before he agreed to meet and figured he'd done the same for Eddie off Steve's Instagram. Gareth had, in fact, not done anything of the sort but they both dismiss it and get on with their date.

In all honesty, Eddie is expecting it to be a complete wash, but it turns out that even if Steve is not at all what Eddie would have previously said what his type, Steve is damn near perfect. He's funny, kind, a little bitchy, and even though he proves himself to be every bit the sports nerd he looks like he doesn't turn his nose up at Eddie's own much more classically nerdy interests. By the end of the date, Eddie has a new type and that type is Steve Harrington. He's quick to lock down a second date for the next weekend which Steve happily agrees to. They exchange numbers and Steve gives Eddie a chaste kiss on the cheek that has him floating all the way home.

Steve texted him that next morning letting him now he had a great time and is really looking forward to their next date and Eddie thinks this might be the start of something big for him. When he gets to practice he's clearly still floating on cloud nine and in his own little world designing their marriage invitations and matching tombstones so he doesn't notice the sly grins on his bandmates' faces.

"So...how'd it go last night? Everything you dreamed it would be?" Gareth asks, a strange glint in his eyes that Eddie doesn't clock.

Eddie goes on and on about how nice Steve was and how he might be The One, thanking Gareth profusely. Freak looks pleased for him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder in congratulations but when Eddie finally tunes back into the real world he's greeted by Gareth's livid expression and Jeff's overly concerned one.

He asks the guys what the fuck is up and it turns out that Gareth and Jeff set this whole thing up as a prank of sorts. Eddie was never supposed to hit it off with Steve who Gareth selected specifically because he's a "totally brain-dead prep" and as far away as someone could get from Eddie's previous relationships. He was supposed to be someone Eddie could go on a date with and not form a connection with without getting completely burned at the end like all his previous relationships in the hopes of getting him out of his slump.

Jeff was in on it as well. He wanted to get Eddie back out there, so when Gareth presented the plan he sat in on a couple of Gareth's general credit business class sessions to help pick the guy out.

After Jeff and Gareth finish explaining he does a complete 180 and just...leaves. In any other situation, he would be raging and verbally tearing his friends a new asshole but instead, he completely disengages and walks out the garage door, ignoring his friends' shouts to come back.

He goes back home, socked and hurt and so very confused about how the hell he found himself in this position when his phone lights up.

New Message: Steve H.

Fuck.

-------

Part two coming soon??? Maybe???? We'll see.

#is this something?#idk #It's so clear in my head but it hasn't been flowing correctly #so here's this instead #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #corroded coffic #eddie munson #stranger things #dreamer speaks

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monzabee · 4 months ago

Text

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you.

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems).

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.”

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?”

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?”

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.”

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.”

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you.

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.”

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face.

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.”

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.”

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–”

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.”

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.”

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father.

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.”

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?”

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews.

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?”

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?”

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.”

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.”

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course.

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead.

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you.

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture.

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead.

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.”

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation.

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.”

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.”

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that.

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.”

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?”

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.”

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.”

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.”

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?”

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.”

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.”

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.”

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.”

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.”

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?”

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?”

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!”

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #max verstappen fluff

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 4 months ago

Note

omg PLSSSS do a sequel to ‘under a false alter’ like PLSSS ANDDD i wanna know everything about them

how’s married life? how has she adjusted to marriage? what does he think about her? i need banter i need sexual tension I NEED EVERYTHING PLSSS oh and lots of smut THANK YOUU

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀ ᴡᴀʟʟs

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary: No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape your new husband, not that your father makes it any easier for you.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, the reader has a little angsty past, biting, misogyny, almost drowning

A/n: I've never been so grateful for the amount of love this has received. I hope I do it justice with this part two. Lots of love and joy. ALSO, WE GET A MARCUS POV AT ONE POINT hehe

It had been three days since your "marriage" to Marcus, and the silence between you two had been a welcome respite. The tension in the air was thick, each of you occupying your own space, minding your own business. You hoped it would stay that way. Mornings were spent in relative peace, with Marcus at one end of the breakfast table and you at the other.

Taking a bite of a grape, you glared across the table where your father sat with his mistress, Aurelia. The sight of her playing with your father's hair made your stomach churn. The woman who had tormented you for so long was now lounging comfortably in your home, smugly flaunting her relationship with your father. They exchanged whispered words and glances filled with a shared history that excluded you. Aurelia's laughter echoed off the walls, a sound that grated against your nerves.

You noticed Marcus watching them too, his expression unreadable as he observed the easy familiarity between your father and his lover. As if sensing your gaze, Aurelia's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her gaze as if daring you to disrupt their blissful morning routine. It was a calculated move, a reminder that despite your marriage to Marcus, some things remained unchanged.

"My love, we should go to the villa," Aurelia cooed, her eyes darting towards you with a malicious glint. She was clearly enjoying your discomfort. You could practically taste the bile rising in your throat at the sight and sound of her.

Your father chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "Ah, my dear Aurelia, always full of wonderful ideas," he replied, his hand finding hers across the table. His gaze met yours briefly, a hint of apology in his eyes before returning his attention to Aurelia. "Perhaps we should make a day of it. Just the two of us."

Aurelia leaned in closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or we could make it a family affair," she suggested with a sly smile, her gaze flickering towards Marcus and then back to you, her implication clear.

Marcus tensed beside you, his jaw clenching subtly as he watched the exchange. His eyes briefly met yours, a silent question lingering between you. You shrugged imperceptibly, unsure of what to make of Aurelia's suggestion.

"We'll see," Marcus finally interjected, his tone neutral but his gaze fixed on Aurelia. "It might be a good idea to get some fresh air."

Aurelia chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Marcus for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to your father. "Yes, fresh air could do us all some good," she agreed, her smile widening as if she had won some small victory.

The comment landed heavily, striking you with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Father, that is not—" you began to protest, but Marcus cut you off.

"Parents don't come on a honeymoon," Marcus interjected firmly. "We'll go alone. It's tradition."

Your father looked to protest, but Marcus continued, a subtle urgency in his tone. "It’s important for us to have time alone to... solidify our bond," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at your father. "Besides, it would give her a break from the current... dynamics here."

Your father's brows furrowed as he considered Marcus's words, his gaze shifting between you and Aurelia. It was clear he was torn, wanting to spend time with his lover but also recognizing the benefit of giving you some space away from Aurelia's influence.

"Very well," your father conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But remember, you must be back by fall. And I expect you to return with news of an heir."

The ultimatum hung heavily in the air, weighing down your heart. Visiting your mother was a rare privilege, one you couldn't afford to pass up. But the thought of being with Marcus, of possibly bearing his child, filled you with dread.

"You can't be serious," you whispered, turning to face your father. "You can't make me do this."

His expression was unwavering, a stern reminder of the power he held over you. "It's for your own good," he said simply. "And for the good of our family."

Marcus's gaze remained locked onto yours, a blend of authority and challenge. "It's settled, then," he declared firmly. "We'll leave in the morning."

You bristled, your skin tingling with a mixture of anger and an unwelcome flicker of desire. "This isn't over," you warned, your voice quivering with emotion. "I won't be your pawn."

A dark chuckle escaped Marcus, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I never thought you were," he replied coolly. "But we are bound together now. Whether you like it or not."

The next morning, you found yourself in a lavish carriage, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Marcus sat opposite you, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. The silence between you was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and simmering tension.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I hate everything about this."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Or do you hate that you can't control it?"

You glared at him, your fists clenching in your lap. "You think you're so clever," you muttered. "But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I intend to find out."

You turned your gaze away from him, looking out the window as the scenery shifted. The villa was near the ocean, a place you knew well. It was where you had grown up, where you had spent countless days playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. The familiarity of the landscape brought a rush of memories, both comforting and bittersweet.

Despite the beauty of the place, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The promise of seeing your mother again was the only thing that had convinced you to agree to this honeymoon, but the thought of returning pregnant filled you with dread. You knew your father’s ultimatum was a trap, a way to ensure your compliance and submission.

"I won't return pregnant," you said firmly, breaking the silence. "I'm only doing this to see my mother."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think you can control that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can decide what happens between us?"

"I can try," you retorted, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I won't let you dictate my life."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You’re stubborn, I'll give you that. But you underestimate the power of our bond. We are married now, and that means something."

"Not to me," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "This marriage is just a prison, a way to control me."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We could make it something more, something real."

You scoffed, turning back to the window. "I doubt that," you muttered, your heart heavy with resentment and fear.

As the carriage continued its journey, you lost yourself in thoughts of the past and the uncertain future. The villa by the ocean, once a place of joy and freedom, now seemed like a gilded cage. The waves crashing against the shore were a stark reminder of the turbulent emotions within you, a mix of anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite extinguish.

When the carriage finally arrived at the villa, you were both relieved and apprehensive. The grand entrance and the familiar scent of the sea filled you with a sense of nostalgia, but the presence of Marcus at your side was an ever-present reminder of the new reality you were forced to accept.

As you stepped out of the carriage, Marcus placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward. The touch was both possessive and surprisingly gentle, a contradiction that left you feeling even more conflicted.

"We'll make a fresh start here," he declared, his voice tinged with sincerity. "No more fighting. Let's give this a real chance."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then we keep trying," he said simply. "Until we do."

You studied him intently, trying to gauge the truth in his words. The weight of his gaze held yours, earnest and unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, you spoke, your voice tinged with skepticism. "What makes you so sure we can make this work?"

Marcus sighed softly, his hand falling to his side. "Because I'm not here to control you," he explained gently. "All I want is communication. That's all we need to make this work—open and honest communication."

His words resonated with a truth you hadn't expected. Despite your reservations, a flicker of hope stirred within you. "Communication," you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. It sounded simple, yet laden with potential.

You'd been at the villa for two days, and despite everything, you had managed to avoid Marcus and even sleep in separate bedrooms. Meal times were awkward, the silence between you both louder than any words could have been. You had resolved to stay like that for the entire three weeks your father had given you to "get pregnant." But your alcohol tolerance had other plans.

Each morning, you found yourself waking early to escape to the farthest corners of the villa, the sprawling gardens and the serene lake providing a much-needed sanctuary. You spent your days wandering through the lush greenery, finding solace in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Marcus, it seemed, had taken a similar approach, retreating to his own activities and leaving you undisturbed. The villa was vast enough to make this evasion possible, yet each evening you couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the loneliness amplifying your homesickness.

The memories of your mother haunted you. The villa, though beautiful, reminded you painfully of the home you'd left behind and the loving presence of your mother. You missed her gentle voice, her comforting embrace, and her wisdom. The separation weighed heavily on your heart, each passing hour a reminder of the emotional distance that now lay between you.

It was late afternoon when you asked one of the maids to bring you a drink. A mistake, you realized too late, not specifying how strong it should be. Without your father's supervision, you had indulged far too much. The room spun around you, and your vision blurred as you stumbled your way toward the dining room.

You pushed open the heavy door, the sudden light from the chandelier making you squint. Marcus was already there, a book in his hands, but his eyes snapped to you the moment you entered. You could feel his gaze like a weight on your skin, making the room feel even hotter than it already was.

"Well, if it isn't my estranged bride," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He put down his book, his posture straightening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You squinted at him, the light from the chandelier making your head throb. "Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out more slurred than stern.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Start what? Observing the obvious? You're drunk."

You staggered forward, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine," you insisted, though you nearly tripped over your own feet.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a mess."

You shot him a glare, your temper flaring. "Like you care," you spat. "You're just loving this, aren't you? Seeing me like this."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "No, actually, I'm not. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Better a fool than a tyrant," you retorted, your fists clenching at your sides. "You think you can control me, just like my father."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to control you," he replied, his hands gripping your arms. "I just need you to stop acting like a child."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your anger boiling over. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Someone has to since you clearly can't handle yourself."

"You're such a pompous ass," you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you really think I wanted any of this? To be stuck with you?"

His grip tightened, but his voice remained dangerously calm. "You think I wanted this either? To be saddled with a spoiled, reckless girl who can't even hold her liquor?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol fueling your reckless words. "I hate you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I hate everything about this, and I hate you."

Marcus's eyes darkened, his grip on your arms firm but not painful. "Good," he said, his voice low and intense. "Use that hate. Let it drive you. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself in front of everyone."

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get to tell me how to feel," you choked out. "Or what to do."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

You glared at him, your vision blurring. "I don't need your help," you insisted, though even you knew how weak it sounded.

"Too bad," he said simply, lifting you into his arms with ease. "You're getting it anyway."

You struggled weakly, your head spinning. "Put me down," you demanded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying you toward his room. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you."

You hated the feeling of being so helpless, so dependent on him. "You're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you're stubborn," he retorted, his grip on you firm but gentle. "But I'm not leaving you like this."

He pushed open the door to his room and set you down on the large, plush bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary. You tried to sit up, but your body refused to cooperate.

"I'm sleeping in my room," you said, trying to push yourself up, but failing miserably.

"Not tonight," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knelt in front of you, removing your shoes with careful precision. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only because I finally get to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't need your help," you repeated weakly.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe not," he said softly. "But I'm here anyway."

You tried to maintain your defiance, but your vision was blurry and your body was betraying you. The alcohol had dulled your senses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You attempted to sit up straighter, to keep the conversation going, to keep your mind sharp. But the effort was in vain. Your head felt heavy, and your eyelids were drooping despite your best efforts.

"Don't fall asleep," you murmured to yourself, the words slurring together.

Marcus's expression softened, and he crouched down beside the bed, his face level with yours. "You need to rest," he said, his voice gentle.

"I can... stay awake," you insisted, but your body had other plans. Your limbs felt like lead, and the comfort of the bed was becoming impossible to resist.

Marcus reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair from your face. "Just sleep," he urged. "I'll be right here."

You tried to fight it, tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. As you stared into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was the last thing you saw before everything went dark. His eyes held a depth that made your heart ache, a mixture of frustration, determination, and something else you couldn't quite name.

Your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself slipping away, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. Marcus's presence beside you was a strange comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you weren't alone. His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer, his touch surprisingly tender.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was his face, the worry and care etched into his features. Your final thought was a confused jumble of emotions, a mixture of anger, defiance, and a reluctant sense of safety.

I watched her struggle to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering as the effects of the alcohol took hold. Her earlier defiance had melted into a fragile vulnerability that tightened my chest. Despite everything, there was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in me.

She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. This marriage wasn't her choice, just as it wasn't truly mine. But here we were, bound together by circumstances beyond our control. I had accepted the arrangement with a single, desperate hope – to escape the life of a gladiator. To live a life where survival wasn't measured by the swing of a sword.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had spat venom at me earlier. Her reputation had preceded her – wild, unladylike, with a rebellious streak that made her father's blood boil. Any other man would have turned her away, seen her as too much trouble. But not me.

I was no stranger to trouble. Hell, I lived in it every day in the arena. So when this opportunity arose, I took it. Perhaps, deep down, I saw a bit of myself in her – trapped, fighting against the current, desperate for a way out.

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight. The villa was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the ocean outside. It was beautiful here, far removed from the chaos of our everyday lives. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a place for new beginnings.

But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it. We were too different, too stubborn, and too caught up in our own struggles to see eye to eye. Still, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe over time, we could find common ground. Maybe I could help her see that not all men were out to control her, to use her.

As she slept, I couldn't help but reflect on our wedding night. I had been a little drunk, my senses dulled by the wine and the weight of what lay ahead. I hadn’t known what to expect, and the confusion of hate and passion made me feel odd, out of place in my own skin. She had initiated sex that night, surprising me with her boldness. Yet now she pretended I was nothing more than a rodent, something to be tolerated.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way she looked at me, the physical attraction she tried to mask with disdain. It was confusing, this mix of desire and loathing. I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force it. I refused to become the monster she seemed to believe I was.

My eyes wandered over her sleeping form, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed out over the pillow. She looked peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where she looked at me with that same peace when awake.

I remembered the way she had clung to me on our wedding night, her body warm and pliant against mine. The way she had moaned my name, her defenses lowered, just for a moment. It felt like a betrayal that she could feel so passionately in bed yet treat me with such coldness during the day.

Watching her now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had fallen asleep in my presence, a small step forward in this tangled mess we found ourselves in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for us to find common ground.

The exhaustion from the day's events washed over me, and I settled into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips. The urge to go to her, to hold her and comfort her, was strong, but I stayed put. Pushing her now would only drive her further away.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought about the road ahead. The days would be long and difficult, filled with arguments and misunderstandings. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we could find a way to understand each other, to build something real from the ashes of our forced union.

With that thought, I let myself drift off, the rhythmic sound of her breathing a strange, comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, we had this moment of fragile peace. And in the quiet of the night, it was enough.

You woke up with a slight headache, the overwhelming scent of a man filling your senses. It was a heady mix of sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine. You sat up, and the room spun a little. A groan escaped your lips as you checked to make sure your clothes were still on. You didn't remember him taking off anything other than your shoes, but he was still a man, after all. Your eyes landed on Marcus, uncomfortably slouched in a chair facing the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of him asleep, vulnerable, stirred something unfamiliar in you, but you quickly pushed it aside.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up slowly, testing your balance. The headache pounded behind your eyes, a painful reminder of your overindulgence. You made your way to the washbasin, splashing cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear the fog in your head. After a moment, you straightened, took a deep breath, and left the room, eager to put some distance between yourself and Marcus.

The villa was quiet as you made your way to the dining room, the only sounds the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lap of waves against the shore. The familiarity of it all made you ache with a longing for simpler times. You remembered your childhood here, playing on the beach, carefree and happy before the world became so complicated.

As you entered the dining room, a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl and a single, raw egg. She approached you with a polite smile, her eyes downcast.

"Good morning, my lady. I've brought you something to help with... pregnancy," she said, her voice hesitant.

Your eyes narrowed, and you snapped, "I'm not pregnant. The only remedy from an old wife I want is a hangover remedy."

The maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's just that raw eggs are believed to help with getting pregnant. I meant no offense."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just bring me something for this headache, please."

She nodded quickly and scurried away, leaving you with the bowl and the raw egg. You stared at it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The idea of swallowing a raw egg made your stomach churn, but you knew that in the world you lived in, old wives' tales often carried weight.

Moments later, the maid returned with a cup of herbal tea and a damp cloth. "Here, my lady. This should help."

You took the tea gratefully, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid soothed your throat, and the bitter herbs began to work their magic on your pounding head. You sat down at the table, placing the cloth over your eyes and leaning back in the chair.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You peeked from under the cloth to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He had changed into fresh clothes, but the scent of him from the night before still lingered in your nostrils.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Not really," you replied, your tone sharp. "What do you want?"

He walked over, sitting across from you. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You glared at him, the words from the previous night echoing in your mind. "I don't need your concern."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You were quite the handful last night."

"Well, if you hadn't dragged me off to bed like some helpless damsel, maybe I wouldn't have been," you shot back, the anger flaring up again.

"You're right," he said, surprising you. "But I didn't want you hurting yourself. Despite what you think, I don't want to control you."

You scoffed, lowering the cloth and meeting his gaze. "You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he, too, had a headache. "Look, I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did. But we're in this together now. Fighting each other isn't going to make it any easier."

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes catching you off guard. You wanted to lash out, to keep up the walls you had built, but something in his demeanor made you pause.

"Why did you accept this marriage?" you asked quietly, the question that had been nagging at you since the wedding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I hoped it would be a way out," he admitted. "A way to escape the life of a gladiator. And yes, I knew of your reputation. But I also knew that any other man wouldn't have accepted you, not with the rumors."

His honesty disarmed you, the anger slowly seeping out of you. You wanted to understand his motives further, but another question gnawed at you.

"So, you did this for your freedom?" you asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

"And maybe for yours too," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you didn't choose."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask, and it left you feeling more conflicted than ever. You didn't know if you could trust him, but you couldn't deny the small spark of hope his words ignited.

The sound of the waves outside grew louder in the silence, as if echoing the turmoil within you. You took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through you, grounding you in the moment.

Marcus shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to visit the pier?" he asked, his voice tentative.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "The pier?" you echoed, memories flooding back. You remembered visiting the pier with your mother, the laughter, the carefree days. Since returning to the villa, you hadn't gone to see it. The thought of revisiting that place brought a mix of nostalgia and longing, but also a sense of trepidation.

"Yes, the pier," Marcus repeated, watching you closely. "I thought you might like to see it."

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to reject his offer out of sheer stubbornness, to prove you didn't need anything from him. But another part of you, the part that missed the simpler times, yearned to go.

"Why do you care?" you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about caring. I just thought it might be nice for you to see it again."

You glared at him, trying to keep your walls up. "You think taking me to the pier will make everything better? That I'll suddenly forget everything and be grateful?"

"No," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I don't expect anything. I'm just offering."

The sincerity in his voice made you falter. You hated the way he could make you feel so uncertain, so conflicted. But the thought of the pier, of the memories it held, was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," you said, your tone laced with defiance. "I'll go."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Meet me at the front door when you're ready."

You finished your tea and stood up, taking a deep breath. You made your way to your room to change into something more suitable for the walk. As you dressed, your mind wandered back to the days with your mother, the laughter and the joy of simpler times. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

When you stepped outside, Marcus was waiting by the villa's front door. He gave you a brief nod, his expression unreadable. You walked down the steps and joined him, the air thick with tension.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered, starting down the path that led to the pier.

The walk down the small hill was silent at first, the only sounds the distant calls of seabirds and the gentle rustling of the trees. You kept your eyes forward, determined not to let Marcus see the turmoil within you.

"Did you ever come here often?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied curtly. "With my mother."

He nodded, glancing around. "It's a beautiful place."

"It was," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

Marcus matched your stride easily. "You know, you don't have to be so hostile."

You shot him a glare. "I wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep treating me like some delicate flower."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trust me, there's nothing delicate about you."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly do you know about me, Marcus?"

"Enough to know you're stubborn as a mule," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips.

You bristled, your temper flaring. "Well, at least I'm not a brute who thinks he can solve everything with his fists."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think of me?"

You turned to face him, your eyes blazing. "That's exactly what I think of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, quickening your pace down the path to the pier. The sand and salt air grew stronger as you neared the shoreline, the familiar sights and sounds stirring a bittersweet nostalgia.

When you arrived at the pier, you paused, taking in the scene before you. The wooden structure stretched out over the water, the waves gently lapping against the posts. You could almost hear your mother's laughter, feel her hand in yours as you walked together.

Marcus stood beside you, his presence a steadying force despite your irritation. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the pier.

With a sigh, you stepped onto the weathered planks, the wood creaking slightly underfoot. You walked in silence, the only sound the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lapping of the waves.

As you reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before you, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

Marcus joined you, his gaze also fixed on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm. "It is."

For a moment, the tension between you seemed to fade, replaced by a shared appreciation for the beauty around you. But the peace was short-lived.

You turned to leave, but your foot caught on a loose board. The world tilted as you stumbled, losing your balance. With a yelp, you plunged into the water below. The icy shock of the sea stole your breath, and you struggled to stay afloat, panic surging through you. The water was a merciless force, dragging you under. Your limbs flailed wildly, but you couldn't seem to break the surface. The salty liquid filled your mouth, choking any attempt at calling for help. Your heart pounded, every beat a frantic plea for air as you fought against the pull of the sea.

In the midst of your panic, a shadow loomed above you. Through the haze of water and fear, you saw Marcus diving in. His strong arms encircled you, pulling you upwards with a force that felt both powerful and reassuring. "I can't swim!" you wanted to shout, but the words were swallowed by the water. Instead, you could only gasp, your chest burning as you fought to breathe. Marcus's grip was unyielding, his strength a lifeline. He hauled you to the surface, your head breaking through to the sweet relief of air. You coughed violently, expelling the seawater that had threatened to drown you. Your vision blurred, but you felt Marcus's steady hands guiding you to the shore.

The sand was a rough but welcome texture beneath you as Marcus laid you down, his grip loosening now that you were safe. You continued to cough, your lungs heaving as you expelled the last of the water. You were soaked to the bone, the chill of the sea clinging to your skin. Marcus stood over you, an amused glint in his eyes despite the concern etched into his features.

"I thought you said you grew up here," he remarked his tone light but edged with teasing.

You glared at him through your exhaustion, still catching your breath. "Just...shut up," you managed to rasp, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment as you realized how helpless you'd been.

He crouched beside you, his expression softening slightly. "You should have told me you couldn't swim," he said, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his teasing demeanor.

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your wet hair. "I didn't think it would matter," you muttered, annoyed more at yourself than at him. "And I didn't expect to fall in."

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I was here to save you."

You shot him a withering look. "Don't let it go to your head."

He grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Too late."

You pushed yourself to your feet, shivering as the cool breeze hit your wet skin. "I need to get cleaned up," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Do you need help with that too?" Marcus asked, his tone mischievous.

You glared at him again, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not a chance."

As you made your way back to the villa, you couldn't shake the conflicting feelings that Marcus stirred in you. His arrogance was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence and the way he had jumped in to save you without hesitation that you couldn't ignore.

"Your father said you grew up here, and you can't swim?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What kind of life have you led?"

You glared at him, anger and humiliation warring within you. "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother didn't want me learning. She was afraid of the sea."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "And you? Are you afraid of the sea?"

You looked away, the memories of your mother's fear mingling with your own. "Maybe," you admitted quietly.

Marcus sighed, helping you to your feet. "You could have told me."

"And you could stop assuming you know everything about me," you shot back, refusing to meet his gaze.

He paused briefly, then chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, the earlier bickering had faded, leaving behind a tentative peace. The walk back to the villa had taken an unexpected turn, yet as you gazed out over the water, a curious sense of calm settled within you.

He remained quiet, and you welcomed the respite of silence as you reached the villa. You marched inside, heading straight for your room. The maids hurried over, their eyes wide with concern.

"Prepare a bath," you ordered, stripping off your wet clothes. "And make it quick."

The maids hurried to obey, filling the tub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils. You stepped in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh of relief. The water soothed your aching muscles and washed away the sand and salt.

As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. The bickering with Marcus, the fall into the water, his unexpected rescue. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions he stirred in you, the blend of anger, frustration, and something else you couldn't quite identify. The bathwater's warmth wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease, the door to your room creaked open. Your eyes snapped open, and you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized you were still in the bath.

"Gods above, Marcus!" you shrieked, sinking deeper into the water and grabbing a towel to cover yourself.

He quickly turned his back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't know you were still in here!"

"What part of the closed door didn't you understand?" you snapped, fumbling to wrap the towel around yourself.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he faced away from you. "About what happened today."

"Can it wait until I'm dressed?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "I suppose it could, but I thought we should clear the air sooner rather than later."

You finished securing the towel and stood up carefully, stepping out of the tub. "Fine, just... turn around and give me a moment."

Marcus nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. You quickly dried off and pulled on a simple, comfortable dress. The fabric felt soft against your skin, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, you can come back in," you called, tying your hair back with a ribbon.

The door opened again, and Marcus entered, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you about learning to swim."

You raised an eyebrow. "Learning to swim? Now?"

He nodded. "Yes. After what happened today, I think it's important. You grew up by the sea, but you can't swim. It's something you should know, for your own safety."

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "And you think you're the one to teach me?"

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it might be a way for us to... not bicker so much."

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head. "You really think swimming lessons will solve our problems?"

Marcus gave you a small smile. "It couldn't hurt to try."

You thought about it for a moment, the memory of the cold water and the panic still fresh in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Learning to swim would be useful, and maybe it would help ease the tension between you.

"Fine," you said at last. "I'll let you teach me. But if you mock me, even once, I'll throw you into the sea."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll go down to the beach and start there."

You gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Tomorrow morning."

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be a step towards something better. Or at the very least, it would give you a chance to prove you weren't as helpless as he seemed to think.

You were dreaming so sweetly, the air from the balcony streaming into the room, bringing with it the scent of the sea. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of seabirds blended into a lullaby that cradled you in its arms. In your dream, you were walking along the beach with your mother, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. "Get up!" Marcus's voice was a harsh whisper in the pre-dawn darkness.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind still clinging to the remnants of your dream. "What...?" you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"It's time to start your training," he said, pulling the curtains open. The sky was still a deep indigo, with the faintest hint of light on the horizon.

With a groan, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half-asleep. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"Good," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Get dressed and meet me outside."

You quickly changed into a simple tunic and tied your hair back, the cool morning air nipping at your skin. As you stepped out onto the balcony, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. You made your way to the front of the villa, where Marcus was waiting, looking annoyingly alert.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" you muttered, stifling another yawn.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to make the most of the day. Unlike some people who would rather sleep through it."

"Some people prefer not to be woken up at the crack of dawn," you retorted, crossing your arms.

"Maybe if some people had learned to swim earlier, we wouldn't be here now," he shot back, starting down the path towards the beach.

You followed him, the cool sand squishing between your toes. "Or maybe if some people weren't so insistent on dragging others out of bed, they could have a more peaceful morning."

He chuckled. "You know, you could just admit that you need the lessons."

"I don't need them," you grumbled, "I just don't want to drown."

"Same thing," he said, shrugging.

The beach stretched out before you, the waves gently lapping at the shore. As you walked, the sound of the sea grew louder, filling the air with its soothing rhythm. The familiar scent of saltwater brought back memories of playing on the sand as a child, carefree and happy.

"Alright," Marcus said, stopping at the edge of the water. "We'll start with the basics. Just try to relax and trust me."

"Trust you," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot to ask."

He gave you a patient look. "I know. But if you can't trust me, trust that I don't want to have to save you every time you fall into the water."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. But if you mock me, even once, I swear I'll throw you in."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

As you waded into the water, you could feel your tunic growing heavier, clinging to your skin. You paused, looking down at the soaked fabric. "This tunic is going to get ruined," you muttered, more to yourself than to Marcus.

With a huff, you turned your back to him and carefully pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it onto the shore. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stood bare before him. You waded back into the water, feeling exposed but determined not to let it show.

Marcus watched you with an appraising gaze, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders and the lines of your back. There was a moment of silence between you, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Then, without a word, Marcus reached for the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head.

The sight of his bare chest took you by surprise. His skin was bronzed from days under the sun, muscles defined and powerful. Droplets of water clung to his torso, catching the sunlight in a way that made you momentarily forget your irritation. His presence was commanding yet strangely comforting, like a force of nature you couldn't resist.

You tore your gaze away, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. "Alright, enough staring," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Marcus chuckled softly, stepping into the water beside you. "Just making sure you're not the only one feeling exposed," he remarked his tone light but tinged with something deeper.

You scowled at him, but there was a hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Don't get too comfortable," you warned, trying to regain your composure.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in the gesture. "Enough of your smugness. Let's just get this over with."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just focus on the lesson, Marcus."

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. "Alright, let's get started then."

Marcus led you into the shallows, the cool water lapping at your ankles, then your knees. He moved with an easy confidence, his presence reassuring despite the lingering tension between you.

"First, we need to get you comfortable with the water," he said, his tone more serious now. "Can you float on your back?"

You hesitated, the memory of your earlier panic still fresh. "I can try."

"Good," he said. "I'll support you. Just relax and let the water hold you."

You lay back, feeling his hands under your shoulders and lower back. The sensation of the water buoying you up was strange, but Marcus's steady grip kept you grounded. You focused on the sky above, the blue expanse calming your racing heart.

"See?" he murmured. "You're doing fine."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "For now."

Marcus chuckled, his hands firm and reassuring. "Now, try to kick your legs gently."

You did as he instructed, the water resisting your movements. It felt awkward, but you persisted, trying to find a rhythm.

"That's it," Marcus encouraged. "Just like that. You're doing great."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

Marcus grinned. "I told you. Now, let's move a bit deeper."

He guided you further into the water, his grip never faltering. As the water reached your waist, you felt a flicker of unease but pushed it aside. You were determined to prove you could do this.

"Alright," he said, stopping when the water was up to your chest. "Let's try some basic strokes. I'll show you, then you copy me."

You watched as he demonstrated a simple stroke, his movements smooth and confident. His muscles rippled under the water, every action purposeful and efficient. You tried to mimic him, feeling clumsy in comparison.

"Good," he said, nodding. "But keep your elbows higher. Like this."

He corrected your form, his touch gentle yet precise. You adjusted, trying to follow his guidance.

"Better," he praised. "Now, let's keep practicing."

You continued the lesson, each new skill building your confidence. As you practiced, you couldn't help but feel a growing respect for Marcus. Despite his arrogance, he was a patient and effective teacher.

After a while, Marcus called for a break. You waded to shallower water, grateful for the reprieve. As you stood catching your breath, Marcus studied you thoughtfully.

"You're not afraid of the water, are you?" he asked suddenly.

You shook your head, surprised by the question. "No. I just... never learned to swim."

"Why not?" he pressed, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

You hesitated, the memories tugging at your heart. "My mother... she despised the sea," you began softly. "She preferred the safety and serenity of the countryside. My father, on the other hand, adored it. Most of our family's wealth came from his sea trade ventures. He built his entire empire on the waves."

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued. "So your mother didn't share his love for the sea?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "No, quite the opposite. She was terrified of it. She hated the constant worry every time he left on a voyage, the endless nights spent alone. She never understood his obsession with the sea. Their marriage was arranged, just like ours. But unlike us, they never found common ground."

"And your father?" Marcus asked, his tone gentler now.

"My father loved the sea more than anything," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "He saw it as a source of freedom and wealth. He would spend months at a time on his ships, overseeing his trade routes, and ensuring our fortune grew. The sea was his true mistress."

Marcus seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful. "So your mother lives in the countryside now?"

You nodded. "Yes. She moved away a few years ago. Couldn't stand the sight of the sea anymore, or the memories it held. She wanted peace, a life without the constant fear and loneliness."

"Do you see her often?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

"Not as much as I'd like," you admitted. "She visits sometimes, but my father keeps her at a distance. He's still bitter, even after all these years. He sees her as weak, unable to embrace the life he chose."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we're both products of difficult marriages."

"Indeed," you replied, meeting his intense gaze with equal fervor. "But I don't want to be trapped like my parents."

Marcus's eyes softened as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty that sent a thrilling shiver through you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his torso, feeling the strength of his body supporting you effortlessly.

"We won't be trapped," Marcus assured you, his voice low and steady, filled with promise. "Not like them. We'll find our own way, together."

His words, spoken with such conviction, resonated deep within you. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own, forging an unspoken bond between you.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, casting a serene glow over the water, Marcus leaned in closer. His warm breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the tranquil sounds of the sea.

With a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, Marcus brushed his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something more.

You responded eagerly, your heart racing as you deepened the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating connection between you. The barriers that had once stood firm melted away with each tender caress of his lips, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of your shared desire.

As the kiss grew more fervent, Marcus's hands roamed your body, their touch both possessive and tender. He guided you out of the water, each step a testament to his strength and control. The cool breeze hit your wet skin, but the heat between you and Marcus was undeniable, a fire that neither the sea nor the morning chill could extinguish.

He laid you down gently on the sand, the grains rough yet grounding beneath you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Would it really be so bad to at least try for a baby?" he asked, his voice a mix of longing and challenge.

You bristled at his words, your defenses rising again. "I'm a child myself," you retorted, your voice trembling with both defiance and uncertainty. "How can I bring another life into this world when I'm still figuring out my own?”

Marcus's gaze softened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No one said it had to work," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "But we can try. Together. We can make our own Path.

His words were a balm to your fears, a promise of partnership rather than domination. As he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, you felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble. The passion between you was a living thing, a force that demanded to be acknowledged.

Marcus's hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverence that made you shiver. You arched into his touch, your body responding to his in ways that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of fire in their wake.

"Marcus," you breathed your voice a mix of need and wonder. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

"We don`t have to do this if you're not ready," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But know that I want you. I want us to have a chance."

You searched his eyes, finding a sincerity that both scared and exhilarated you. "I want you too," you admitted the words a leap of faith. "But this... it changes everything.”

"Then let it change us," he murmured, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss deepened, a blend of urgency and tenderness that left you both breathless.

You felt the rough sand beneath you as Marcus pulled you closer, his hand gripping your cheek firmly as he kissed you passionately. His touch was both possessive and reverent as if he were handling a precious porcelain doll. His hand traveled down your body, caressing every curve with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss, the sun reflecting off his body, making him glow with an almost ethereal light. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand traveled lower, caressing your upper thigh before spreading them, giving him a place to stabilize himself. You felt his length prod at your thigh, the heat of his desire palpable.

Unable to resist, you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling his hips move into your body, his erection grinding against your thigh. "God, you're hard," you murmured, pulling away from the kiss to take in his disheveled appearance.

"I've been hard as a rock since we started the lesson," he teased, his voice thick with lust. He captured your lips again, his hand wandering down to your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Marcus," you gasped your voice a mix of need and frustration.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he bit softly, making you wince. "You dick," you muttered, but your protest was cut short by a moan as he rubbed his length up and down your slick wetness.

Leaning over you, Marcus positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes dark with desire. "I know you want my dick," he said with a smirk, pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He lifted your legs slightly, pushing your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you completely almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, but they quickly turned into borderline screams as he brutally fucked into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and frantically grab at the sand for some stability. You could swear he was rearranging your insides, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense pleasure he was giving you. You didn't think getting fucked like this was physically possible, didn't think you were capable of feeling such intense pleasure at the hands of a man.

Marcus's smirk widened as he leaned down, his eyes following the bulge on your lower belly. "Yeah, feel it," he mocked, resting his forehead against yours as he bottomed out again. "Got you stuffed all the way in, huh?"

You couldn't even argue, your eyes brimming with tears as he pressed his palm harder against the bulge. Your eyes clenched shut, but his relentless thrusts only edged you further. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him. "No, you keep looking. Taking me so good, gonna—fuck, gonna have to ruin you."

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as the pressure within you built to an almost unbearable peak. You were so close, so desperately close to the edge. Sensing your state, Marcus's gaze flicked to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Ask nicely, goddess” he grunted, picking up the punishing pace once more. "Use your manners and I'll give you whatever you want." His hands moved to your thighs, forcing them against your stomach, letting him push into you deeper. The sensation made your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening immediately.

"Please... for fuck's sake, let me cum or I'm gonna rip your stupid perfect cock off the second we're done," you managed to grunt through gritted teeth.

He chuckled breathlessly, his hand returning to your clit, pressing rough and rapid circles against it. "We'll work on that," he laughed softly, feeling you rapidly slipping towards the edge. He didn't let up on his ruthless motions, finally pushing you over the brink.

You were loud. Probably too loud. Your scream of release echoed along the shore, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Marcus followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending one last wave of pleasure through your already trembling body.

As the intensity of the moment faded, you both lay there, tangled together in the sand, breathing heavily. Marcus's forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

Marcus's smile widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If it feels that good every time," you added with a playful smirk, "I might not mind at all."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours once more. Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the kiss again, a voice suddenly called out from behind you.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The voice was stern, and authoritative.

You and Marcus scrambled to cover yourselves, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as you fumbled with your discarded clothes.

Realization dawned on the guard's face as he took in the sight of Marcus's distinctive, regal features and your own disheveled state. His expression quickly turned from stern to horrified as he realized who he was interrupting.

"I-I'm so sorry, my lord, my lady," he stammered, turning an alarming shade of red. "I didn't realize—"

Marcus, still half-naked and laughing, held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

The guard's eyes darted around, clearly trying to avoid looking directly at either of you. "I'll just... I'll just be going now," he mumbled, backing away quickly before turning and sprinting down the beach.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension that had been lingering. Marcus joined in, his laughter a deep, infectious rumble that made you forget all your worries, if only for a moment.

Once the laughter had subsided, Marcus turned to you, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper, "there's always the sea. No guards to interrupt us there."

You raised an eyebrow, your own smile widening. "Is that so?" you asked, the idea sending a thrill through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, standing up and offering you his hand. "Shall we?"

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. Together, you made your way to the edge of the water, the cool waves lapping at your feet. Marcus's presence beside you felt grounding, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the playful breeze and the gentle rush of the sea.

As you reached the water's edge, Marcus pulled you into his arms. The sea welcomed you both with its refreshing embrace, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat that had built between you. You chuckled softly at Marcus's promise, spoken against your lips.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, the sea providing a refreshing contrast to the heat between you. "I promise," he murmured against your lips, "no interruptions this time."

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countlessimagines · 3 months ago

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Downfall [ Five Hargreeves x Reader ]

Summary: No matter the timeline, you and Five never get your chance.

A/N: well I think I can agree with everyone that season four was not good… so my way of coping is making angsty imagines for it… I’m trying to cope with the fact this is the last time we will ever see them ): This is also super short, apologies

Warnings: Season Four Spoilers

MASTERLIST LINK

Five had seen multiple timelines with Lila throughout their time spent together. And in almost every single one they saw, you were dead by the hands of him or vice versa. Eventually it became normal to see you mourning Five or him taking revenge for you.

Lila could see how distressing it was for him to see every timeline play out the same for the both of you.

Fate never seemed to be on your side, and even in your timeline, Five never had the courage to tell you his feelings. Despite spending six years by his side, being his roommate, helping him with cases, being there emotionally for him… he never seemed to catch on to the fact that you held feelings for him, too.

On one of their multiple train rides, Lila tried to address what the two of you meant to each other, but Five didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because he feared the moment he’d open up, fate would play it’s cruel trick again and guarantee he would never see you again.

So he buried it deep within himself so it would not haunt him.

For you, it was mere hours you had last seen Five. You had helped Allison and Claire rescue Klaus from being buried alive, and had found your way to Lila and Diego’s home.

Everything seemed to be alright, and although you could sense something was wrong with Five, you didn’t have the energy to ask, simply from the long day you were all having.

However, you didn’t fail to notice the looks Lila and Five were sharing. It made not only you suspicious, but Diego as well. It was started to grow more and more tense as he pried information from them.

It almost felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, being stomped on by the universe, as Five and Lila confessed of their infidelity.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to console Diego or slap Five.

You decided on the latter before storming out of the house. Diego tried to stop Five from chasing after you, but Five was quicker and blinked to your side.

“Let me explain.”

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you exited the house. Nobody followed the two of you, so you only assumed Lila was in the hot seat.

“(Y/n)! Stop acting like a child and listen.” Five grabbed your arm and whipped you around to face him. He was close now, his breath fanning your face.

“How could I listen to the fact you and Lila shared such an intimate relationship while I have been waiting years for you to do the same with me.” You made sure to throw your words in his face, making all of your emotions clear as day. Pretending to not hold feelings for him was beginning to weigh you down, so you needed to let go of those weights now.

“All we did was kiss,” Five said it like it was the most simple action in the world. “One kiss and we realized our mistake immediately. We got wrapped up in our own little bubble and forgot the important things. I just… I couldn’t handle seeing you die anymore…”

“What?” You pushed away from him. Had he seen a timeline with you dead?

“I… we don’t get a happy ending in any timelines. No matter what we do, we fail to be together.” Five sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost hope that even if we got back, it would lead to our demise.”

You didn’t know what to say to him as your heart began to beat uncontrollably.

He looked into your tear filled eyes and said, “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who, after forty years in the apocalypse, couldn’t even keep his heart on one person for seven years. It doesn’t matter if you realized your mistake, Five. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you. I took care of you when you came home bloodied. I stayed up with you while you had panic attacks. I made sure that you had coffee brewed every morning.”

Five felt ashamed he had let everything you had done for him go to waste with his one mistake. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Maybe I’ll be the bigger person and actually forgive you, because I know deep inside I am that person. And I for sure know you aren’t because you kissed your brother’s wife, Five.” You scoffed and wiped away your tears. “Good luck with that.”

You began to walk towards your car without another word, and Five just watched as you left.

He was smart enough to know that if he chased you, it would lead to a grave.

And not too long after, he would sacrifice himself with his family, his last thoughts only consisted of you and how much he failed your relationship. Some selfish part of him hoped that he’d come back, to be able to see you again.

But the more rational side of him knew that he would never touch you again.

Because for once, you would be able to live in a peaceful timeline without him there to cause your downfall.

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves #number five x reader #number five #five x reader #tua #tua season 4 #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy #tua imagines #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua x you #five hargreeves x you #aidan gallagher #Aidan Gallagher x reader #Netflix

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adragonprinceswhore · 5 months ago

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Warm Me Up

Summary: When his wife speaks out of turn during a dinner with the King, Aemond needs to reprimand her indiscretions.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, wife!reader, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, (slight) humiliation, talk of obedience, heavy petting, (light) bondage, P in V, a little angsty in the begging, a little fluffy in the end

A/N: Okay so editing took much longer than anticipated - you could tell this was the first fic (read: smut) I wrote. This has had a real make-over, please enjoy!

Word Count: 3300

Getting to know your new spouse after a hasty wedding had been a far lengthier process than your swift unification.

When first being presented to Prince Aemond, you’d been unsure of how to approach him. His stoic façade and short-worded answers left you wondering if he’d ever let you get to know him, or if you’d spend a lifetime with a shell of a person; too stubbornly proud to let anyone in. However, with time, you've noticed that the imperturbable prince is a loyal husband, and by opening yourself up a bit to him, he returned the favour by allowing you to get to know him as well.

You’d now grown closer than you’d ever dared imagined. Most fears from the beginning of your union had been washed away by the prince's attentive nature, and you feel thoroughly satisfied with the state of your marriage.

You and Aemond connect and relate to each other immensely, being far more alike than appearances might presume. Behind closed doors, there barriers previously separating the two of you from each other had essentially vanished.

In public, however, you did not always see eye to eye.

The grip Aemond has around your arm feels bruising as he led you into your shared chambers, letting go of you only to close and bar the door with a heavy thud.

“Have I not asked you to watch your tongue in the presence of others?”

He's still facing the door, low, soft voice sending a chill through the blood furiously pumping through your body.

The tension in his shoulders is evident, and the way his voice sounds unnaturally calm lets you know that he is trying hard to sound composed.

You knew from the moment you raised your voice that Aemond would not approve. That he'd be displeased with you.

Yet, you could not hinder the words from spilling from your lips, entire being suddenly consumed with irritation over the thoughtless remark King Aegon had uttered during dinner.

“It was not my intention to speak out of turn, husband. But you know as well as I do that the King’s comment-”

“It does not matter! I’ve asked you to hold your tongue in public, especially when it comes to my brother”, he interrupts, the fake calmness he’d previously tried to maintain slipping away,

“Engaging with him will only rile him up. He will not relent until he’s had the last word and left you humiliated. Do you truly wish to enter a battle like that with the King? You know it will serve no good”

You swallow thickly and look down at the floor, overwhelmed with feelings of regret and shame. Your husbands eyes bore into you, challenging you to fight back, yet you do not feel brave enough to defy him.

You're not even brave enough to meet his gaze.

You hear him sigh and walk towards where you stand, voice calmer yet somehow more authoritative than before,

“Take off your dress and get on the bed”

You knew not to argue, feeling a tiny spark of excitement at the possibility of him disciplining you for your transgressions at dinner. You had gone against his wishes before, hoping he would spank you, as you had found yourself getting impossibly aroused from the act.

During such instances, however, he had been far less displeased with you. This time, you hadn’t defied him with a cheeky grin and a glint in your eye. This time, you had been unable to keep your mouth shut, momentarily forgetting yourself.

You follow his orders wordlessly and take off your dress, quickly working your fingers along the buttons of your bodice in order to yank it down your body. Stepping out of the garment, you raise your head to look Aemond in the eye, showing him that you’d follow his commands without resistance.

“Your smallclothes as well, wife. Take everything off and get on the bed, on your belly”.

You do as he says without much thought, feeling your heart beat harder in your chest in anticipation in what’s to come.

You cannot decipher if you feel excitement or dread when pondering on what he will do next, yet you eagerly wait to find out more.

Aemond’s seeing eye trails down your naked form, sternly observing you as you step out of your smallclothes and get on the bed, again heeding his demand without protest.

He undoes his belt and instructs you to tuck your legs under your body, leaving you no option but to press your face against the soft, moss-coloured sheets of your marital bed.

Kneeling on the bed behind you, he takes both your hands and tie them behind your back, the rough, stiff leather of his belt pressing into the delicate skin of your wrists.

He moves off the bed and kneels next to it, taking your chin in his hand. He moves you so that you’re facing him, letting his thumb rest softly against your cheekbone.

He still appears stoic, but you can see the fury dancing in his eye as he looks into yours,

“I will know if you’ve moved”

You swallow thickly. How long does he plan on leaving you here?

He stands up, takes one final look at your naked silhouette, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Once alone, the reality of the situation begins to settle.

The hearth has not been lit, and the chilling autumn air easily penetrates the chambers through the large windows facing the sea.

King’s Landing suffered more from heat than chill, and the Red Keep was built to allow air to flow through the castle, rather than to keep warmth in. Without your clothes and the hearth, you found the room you otherwise regarded as a comforting haven to be chill and foreign.

After some time of disturbing silence, unease creeps up your chill spine and enters your rapidly beating heart.

Had Aemond locked the door?

What if someone were to enter, just to find you in this humiliating state; arse on display for all to see?

Your heart beats faster.

Fiercer.

You know you could easily turn your body around and get off the bed, despite being unable to move your arms.

The thought feels more tempting as your skin grows colder; gooseflesh spreading over your unmoving arms and legs. Only one thoughts keeps you still,

What would Aemond think?

You’d already upset him, and part of you knows that what you did had been foolish. Speaking in the way you did to the King would have left others without their tongue.

Aemond had spared you.

He needs to know that you regret your indiscretions; that you are a better wife than what your actions had shown earlier.

So you relax your jaw to stop your teeth from shaking, inhale deeply, and wait.

You do not know how much time has passed when Aemond finally returns.

You find it hard not to shiver. Your body has gone impossibly cold, and your feet and hands already feel numb.

He comes up to the side of the bed, looking down at your trembling body with satisfaction dancing in his lilac eye.

“Have you learnt your lesson yet, wife?” he asks. You hum weakly, wishing he would allow you to get dressed, if only to end your agony; both the one evident across your cold skin and inside of your chest.

His eye flickers from your exposed bottom to your face, the hint of a smile pulling at hush lips,

“And you haven’t moved since I left?”

You softly shake your head, watching as your husband’s eye crinkles from the victorious smile he wears.

“I knew you were a good wife. I am so proud of your display of obedience”

As he speaks, he places a warm palm on your cold buttock, prompting you to let out a surprised moan from the intensely pleasurable feeling.

Aemond’s smile grows wider, causing dimples to appear on his cheeks.

You don't know if you’ve ever seen them before.

“Does my sweet wife need me to warm her up?”

He almost sounds taunting, yet you could not care less. The hand he had placed on your buttock comes back to rub your lower back, and the heat from his palm feels so good; so warm.

So comforting.

“Yes, husband. Please touch me”

Swiftly moving to kneel behind you, he places both of his large hands on the back of your thighs, slowly trailing them upwards, halting at your shoulders. You sigh loudly, relishing in the wonderful feeling of his warm hands on your cold body. The feeling of relief accompanied by his touch is so strong it feels foreign; like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

As he continues to caress your body, you notice the demanding ache of arousal between your thighs intensify. You hadn’t really paid attention to the wetness collecting there, but now that a drop slides down your exposed thigh, you cannot disregard the effect your husbands touch has on you, even when his intentions are not of a entirely lewd nature.

The next time his wandering hands reach your buttocks, they travel to your front, caressing your belly and cupping your breasts. You moan again, no longer recognising yourself or this newly discovered inability to control your mouth.

You hear Aemond sigh behind you as he leans down over your body, placing a few kisses on your shoulders. His touch stays on your breasts, kneading them with an increasingly harsh grip.

The leather of his tunic and breeches do not feel as comforting as his warm hands and you hiss as your chilled back makes contact with his cold, stiff attire.

“Please husband, take off your clothes. I crave your warmth”

Aemond hums in reply to your plea, pulling away briefly to discard his clothes on the floor. You try to turn your head and look at him, but the awkward position your body is in does not allow for you to move your head, cheek still pushed into the bed.

Soon you feel the bed dip again behind you, Aemond now so close that his thighs touch the back of yours.

They say that the blood of the dragon runs hot, and perhaps you’ve never been more pleased at having married a Targaryen; revelling in the way his heated skin gives you relief from the cold air of your stoney chambers.

Your husband begins to gently trace his palms across your body once more, stopping at your waist before wrapping both of his arms around the dip there, slowly pressing down to rest his heavy body on top of yours.

Again, you moan at how good the warmth of his skin feels against yours, the want between your naked thighs intensifying.

Aemond tucks his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin,

“Does this feel good, wife?”, he mumbles into your hair.

“Yes”, you sigh, feeling wholly consumed by him.

The familiar hardness pressing against your behind does not go unnoticed, and you take pride in knowing that you’re not completely at his mercy.

He’s at yours as well.

“You’ve been such a sweet, obedient wife for me. Ask me anything and I’ll be a sweet, obedient husband for you” he says, moving his head from your neck to press fleeting kisses down your shoulder.

You know what he wants you to answer; know that he loves you submissive, begging for him to make you feel good.

“Please, keep touching me”, you request as he moves off of you to sit on his haunches behind your kneeling form, taking your tied up hands in his and gently undoing his belt.

He discards it on the floor next to his own leathers, gentle fingers softly caressing your wrists, noticing the red remnants of his belt there.

Grabbing your arms, Aemond carefully places them down by your head. He leans in to kiss your cheek, tucking away a strand of hair that has fallen to cover your face.

His palms travel from your arms down your torso, ending up on your bottom again.

“Do you wish for me to touch you here, sweet girl?”

His voice is loving yet his touch is not as he begins to knead your buttocks a bit too harshly for your liking. You do not dare to protest though, the feeling of his warm hands on your cold body too good to endanger.

You simply moan again, head moving to look back at him, the same confident smirk still illuminating his face.

“Or would you like me to touch you here?”

One of his hands trail down between your buttocks to meet your soaking centre, and he huffs out a chuckle at the wet sounds of your arousal echoing in your quarters.

“Such a wanton little thing you’ve become. Does obeying your prince arouse you so?”

Though you adore the feeling of his fingers caressing your womanhood, the lack of his warm body pressing against yours causes you to shiver again.

Aemond suddenly withdraws his hand from between your thighs, evoking a displeased whine to leave your lips.

In return, he releases an amused huff, thoroughly entertained by the desperate way you’ve come to crave him.

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, fisting his already hard cock a few times before turning to you, beckoning you to come over with a flick of his head.

You eagerly get up from the bed, swaying clumsily as your stiff legs feel unstable from the extended time you’ve been kneeling on the bed.

You stand in front of him, between his spread out thighs.

He appears just as calculated as he always does; long, silky hair neatly falling down his broad shoulders, and brown, worn eyepatch securely fastened around his head.

It’s only his eye, the expressive one on display, that shows his true intentions.

His hunger.

Aemond leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your stiff nipple, then moves to do the same to the other. Both of his large, warm hands find home on your hips, and you sigh at the wonderful relief yet again.

He turns you around, grabs your hips once more, and manoeuvres you so that you’re bending down with your back towards him.

He grabs his cock, hard and leaking with arousal, and moves it up and down your slit, allowing it to explore the path from your pearl, all the way down to the cleft of your arse.

He smears your slick everywhere; there’s so much of it that it taints your entire centre. Had you been more sensible, you might’ve found the act sullying and lewd. Now, it causes more desire to drip out of you.

When he places the tip at your entrance, he wraps his muscular arms around you, pushing you down in a swift motion to impale you on his cock.

Although you have had him more times than you can count, the stretch stings as he forces you to take all of him at once.

More overpowering, however, is the feeling of relief your cold skin is granted as Aemond envelops you in his arms, holding on to you so tightly it’s like he wants to squeeze the life out of you.

He does not neglect your desires though; his cock instantly finds that spot within you that makes you feel weightless and heavy at the same time.

It’s almost too much to handle; the sharp, intense pleasure.

You groan loudly, throwing your head back to rest on Aemond’s shoulder.

He continues to thrust up into your cunt, using the grasp he has on your body to continuously impale you on his cock. You try to keep up with his pace, but the immense pleasure sprinting through you being leaves you incapable of doing much, so you stay limp in his unyielding hold, allowing him to use you in any way he pleases.

The harsh sounds of your skin smacking against his, his cock repeatedly fucking your wet hole and your combined breaths fill the room, seeping out of the still uncovered windows.

Aemond keeps a steady pace, the muscles of his toned arms flexing around your body as he takes his pleasure from your cunt.

His face is pressed to yours, cheek to cheek, as he breathes loudly through his nose. Tilting his head, his mouth right next to your ear, he whispers,

“You do not know what you do to me, sweet wife. I cannot stay cross with you for long, even when I wish to”

With the little strength and physical control you still possess, you turn your head to face him, pressing your lips to his in an attempt to pour all your pent up feelings of excitement, nervousness and devotion into the kiss.

One of your hands seeks his, and you pry it off the grip it has right under your breast, taking hold of it and guiding it down to the apex of your thighs. With his hand in yours, you begin to draw small, determined circles on your pearl, pressing on his fingers to let him know how firm you want his touch to be.

Your peak approaches you quickly; aggressively, as the knot in your lower belly tightens within you. As it finally bursts, you press your head back against Aemond’s shoulder, a cry loud enough to alert the entire Red Keep of your activities accompanying the pure bliss overtaking you.

Your body jerks in Aemond’s arms, pleasure sending lightning bolts from your core down to your toes and up into your chest.

“Fu-, fuck, your cunt’s-”, Aemond interrupts himself with a groan as the tightening pulsation of your heat around him sets off his own peak.

His hips buck up into you for a few more seconds before he stills, holding you tightly in his arms as his weary head moves down to rest on your shoulder.

“Would you like me to call for the servants to pour you a bath, my love? Warm you up?”, he inquires, still out of breath.

You let out an exhausted laugh and turn yourself slightly in his arms to face your husband again.

His cheeks are flustered and pink, eye half-open. He looks equal parts tired and satisfied, and you realise you probably look the same.

“You have successfully thawed me, dear husband. Now all I ask of you is that you allow me to stay in your embrace”

For a second he almost looks bashful at your words, but before you have a chance to ponder it further, he lifts you off of him and helps you lay down on the bed, this time tucking you in underneath the furs before quickly fetching a cloth to clean you up. When he’s done he tosses it on the floor and climbs down to lay next to you, pulling you towards him with your face right in front of his, so close your noses bump together.

“It is not my desire for you to mind your tongue when we are alone”, he speaks quietly, meeting your eyes in an attempt to reason with you.

“But you must understand that life at court is unforgiving, especially if you attempt to speak against the King”.

You nod softly.

His thumb travels down to caress your cheekbone,

“I could not bear to see you hurt. I only wish for you to obey me since I care for your well-being”

It feels like your heart is melting at his words; spilling from your chest down into your limbs. You press your forehead against his and close your eyes, revelling in the feeling of adoration you have towards your husband.

You realise that you’ve never said it before, but you could not have stopped the confession from slipping out even if you’d wanted to,

“I love you”

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