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keferon · 2 months ago

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Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

___________

[Next]

#mecha pilot jazz au #listen #idk #I can barely speak english don’t judge me on the art of bullshiting a made up language into existence #jazz #prowl #jazzprowl #maccadam #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha jp writing

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misserabella · 9 months ago

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in heat

dom! alpha abby x sub! alpha ellie x sub! omega reader

a/n; i’ve made my research about aob and female alphas have dicks, so if you don’t fw it don’t read it!!❤️

cw; +18 content, minors dni!!, synchronized heat and ruts, dom! alpha abby x sub! alpha ellie x sub! omega reader, different positions, breeding kink, oral sex (all three receiving kinda??, ellie and r for sure), making out sessions, dirty sex, cum eating, creampies, multiple orgasms, praising kink, ellie being a sub mess, abby uses her alpha voice for a sec, tit and nipple play (r and ellie receiving), hickeys, biting, hair pulling…

okay so everybody knows how hard ruts and heats are. how brutal they can be when there is no alpha or omega to spend it with. but nobody talks about the disaster that conveys when both sync at the same time.

your gilfriends and you didn’t really keep on track the timings of your ruts and heats. why would you? you were there for each other. so when ellie’s turns up is no big deal. or so you thought. ‘cause the moment you took a whiff of her scent your heat hit you like a wave, triggered by the auburn headed, and so abby’s, triggered by yours.

so now here you were. caged in between two alphas in rut, who couldn’t give you just a mere moment to rest. it’s not as if your body needed it. all your mind could think about was having either one of them inside, fucking up their cum inside of your womb, digging their fangs on the juncture of your neck, knotting you…

the thing is… that ellie and abby were unstoppable.

“oh, fuck!” you cried out as abby’s tip hit your cervix, the mix of the blond’s and red headed’s cum flowing out of your abused and swollen cunt with every harsh thrust of her hips. her lips were harshly sucking on your neck, strong arms surrounding you from the back to keep you still, warm big hands palming and squeezing at your breasts and reddish eyes focused on the other alpha in between your legs, whose tongue lapped messily at your slicked cunt and the peeking base of abby’s dick. your back was arching, your golden eyes shining with tears on them as ellie sucked on your swollen and sensitive clit. you didn’t know how many times you’d already cummed. but by the way your pussy kept swallowing them up, you guessed that not enough.

“good girl. such a good girl letting us use her like this. look at her. she just wants to be stuffed up full, isn’t that right baby?” abby smirked, slightly bitting at your shoulder as she gave you a particularly harsh and deep thrust, what made you moan.

“yes, yes, please… want your cum, want you to cum inside.”

—it was a good thing that you were on tablets, or else you three would have probably ended up with babies a long time ago.—

“yeah? want me to cum inside? want me to cum inside your pretty little pussy, baby?” she panted, feeling her dick twitch when ellie’s mouth sucked on her balls. “fuck ellie.” one of her hands left your chest to take ahold of her auburn locks. the alpha moaned at the tugging, her own throbbing dick painfully hard in between her stomach and the sheets she humped herself against. “someone’s desperate down there, huh?” she chuckled, making the alpha growl, her normally green eyes taken by a deep red.

“you’re the one inside her.” she answered, and the blonde tugged on her hair, pulling her away from you and making her scoff. there was a smirk showing off her soaked lips.

“smart, aren’t you? could be using your mouth for something better instead of talking back but here you are. maybe i should just let you watch and talk instead.” ellie whimpered, thrusting against the sheets, her demeanor changing as quick as the smirk disappeared from her lips.

“just want to cum.”

“i know.” abby said, focusing on rubbing your clit for her. “but you already got your turn. look at the mess your cum made out of my dick.” ellie’s eyes went back to the base of abby’s cock, were a white ring formed, her recent load dripping down her balls and onto the sheets. she moaned. “fuck. you like the sight, don’t you? like to know i’m fucking your cum deeper inside her?” she nodded, bitting on her lip.

“please. let me help.” she begged. it was funny. how out of the bed abby and ellie would always fight for dominance, but once they were inside this four walls she’d give it to her so easily.

“gonna make our girl cum?” she inquired and ellie nodded once again. “atta girl.” the blonde let go of her hair, relishing in the pornographic moan you let out once ellie was back at sucking at your clit.

whimpers fell out of your lips as you clenched around abby, making her grunt.

“fuck. you’re milking my cock baby. you close? gonna cum for us pretty girl?” you nodded.

“yes.” you cried out, feeling yourself reach your peak. “i’m cumming!!” abby was not too far behind, not when she felt you cream all over her dick, her hips pistoning inside your pulsing and warm walls.

“gonna cum. gonna knot you up and breed you, princess. gonna get you all round and pretty for us.” you moaned, tears swelling up your eyes. “that’s what you want? wanna make ellie and me mommies, hm?” you nodded, thighs shaking as ellie whined, still suckling at your clit.

“yes, yes. want you to get me pregnant please, please cum inside, cum inside, please.”

“fuuck.” abby growled, your words making her with one, two, three more thrusts cum, her knot swelling and making you cry as she kept thrusting, abusing your walls to reach your womb, where she stilled, warm loads of heavy and creamy cum filling you up with a grunt.

“shit, it’s too big.” you whimpered, feeling abby’s lips on your neck and her hands on your breasts, pleasing you to relax and take it all.

“you can take it. take it for me. for us. be a good girl.” you nodded, watching as ellie got on her knees in front of the two of you, her cock dribbling with precum as her dazed red eyes focused on you.

she crawled her way to your lips, capturing them in a wet hungry kiss that left you with spit dripping down your chin.

one of her hands surrounded her dick, pumping it with a growl as your tongue glided around hers.

abby cooed. “look at her. so fucking desperate.” ellie groaned. “she just can’t wait to fill you up, baby.” abby whispered, her hands coming up to play with ellie’s breasts. “so fucking cute.” ellie panted, her hips thrusting against her hand. abby clicked her tongue, maneuvering the two of you —since you couldn’t get away from her due to her knot keeping you in place— ‘till she was down on her back, her head at the edge of the bed. “come here, use my mouth.” she ordered, and ellie couldn’t help but moan, hurriedly getting up on her wobbly feet to get herself in front of abby, her dick throbbing when the blonde’s mouth fell open for her.

“fuck.” ellie cried out when abby took her cock and wrapped her lips around her tip, her warm tongue gliding through the slit to savor every last drop of her salty pre cum. you whimpered at the sight. sure, you had to bend your body slightly to turn around and watch, but it was truly a sight of sore eyes, watching ellie slowly pick up her pace down abby’s throat, who was so pliant to please the smaller red head. the sight alone was making you drip down onto her thighs, your hips subconsciously starting to grind against her for some kind of relief, making abby groan in pleasure and consecutively ellie moan.

abby’s hands strongly gripped on your hips, bouncing you up and down her dick now that her knot’s swelling was going down, filling the room with now you three’s moans.

“stop. stop. i’m gonna cum.” ellie whined, feeling the band on her lower stomach about to snap.

abby let go of her dick with a pop, calling out for you. “get up here.” she ordered as she licked ellie’s length from base to top, over lining the veins with her tongue and making the alpha shudder.

you made quick work of following her orders, getting up from her dick to move and present yourself to ellie, back arched and leaking cunt showing for her hungry eyes. abby pumped her with her hand a couple of times before guiding her to your pussy, once she had pressed inside with a moan (which turned into two since you too couldn’t help but cry out at the feeling of being stretched out by her once again), pulling you up to your knees to start to kiss your chest. ellie’s pace became brutal pretty fast. she was close, desperate to cum inside you. and you were desperate for her to fill you up. abby took ahold of her face with one of her hands, kissing her over your shoulder as her free hand came down on between your bodies to rub at your clit.

you weren’t gonna last.

“i’m cumming.” ellie gasped against abby’s lips, and abby smirked.

“yeah? gonna fill her up?” she nodded, whining, feeling her knot swelling. “atta girl. cum for me.” it’s not as if she wanted to disobey to her voice, letting out a whimper just as her seed spilled into your womb, making you gasp as well due to how fucking full of cum you were. the feeling of it all made you fall apart once again, your knees failing and making you lean against abby’s warm and exposed chest. “did so good for me, my good girls…”

you closed your eyes. hoping that maybe just for a few minutes you could get a rest.

a/n; 😔 i can take them both (not in a fight)

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write-tama · 10 months ago

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"hank.. what am i feeling right now?"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ connor anderson (4k800) x officer!reader

sypnosis ; connor is very interested in an officer who just joined the police force. after being told the news that they would be joining the team, connor just had to make an acquaintance with them. anything to hear their voice.

containing ; use of you/yours and they/them pronouns! connor struggling to process emotions. hank being a proud father.

author’s note ; hihi! havent written for connor in SO long so i thought this was a cute little way of them meeting each other. connor is a

04.12.24 | 1.9k words

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everyone knew about the infamous RK800.

The last most developed and intelligent android produced by Cyberlife.

A machine built to hunt its prey and to always accomplish his mission.

But now?

A confused man sitting at his desk, elbows on the surface as he ran the fourth diagnostic this morning.

Connor was never really taught how to feel his emotions, considering that he was forced to compress them from the moment he was made. If he were to feel any sort of emotion, it was either to the scrap factory for him or a hard lecture from Amanda.

But Amanda was gone, and androids were free to express any emotion they pleased.

It’s been weeks since Markus hit the headlines for his famous android revolution. He worked with the government extensively to pass bills in order to settle android rights for the country. Connor, on the other hand, continued to work with the DPD as a full-on detective under the supervision of Liutenant Hank Anderson. Hank was more than just a coworker, but a father figure to Connor. And that brought Connor joy, an emotion Connor was well aquainted of.

But not the feeling he was experiencing now.

Connor couldn’t get his mind off a certain someone who had joined the team a bit before the revolution. You had joined a week prior, and honestly, you were kind of regretting it. As android and human tensions rose, you were on duty 24/7. Originally, you were supposed to start easy with basic patrol around a part of a city, but because you were so impatient in doing the “big kid stuff” you found yourself frequently in the middle of the android and human discourse. Your shifts nearly lasted twelve hours, and you would be absolutely exhausted.

Things are different now. Sure, there were still some situations between the two sides, but it was definitely peace compared to literal boycotts. You sat at your desk idly scrolling through your past cases, making sure that all the information was correct and accurate. On the other side of your desk was a tablet full of notes you had taken after some cases you had to deal with. What you didn’t notice was the android detective constantly glancing at you, watching your every move to see if maybe, at some point, you would notice him.

A loud groan echoing from the desk in front of Connor made him jump, immediately turning his attention to his lieutenant taking a seat in his chair. “Fucking hell..” Hank sighed. “Fowler does nothing but my bust my balls these days, huh?” Connor stared at his partner with his hands folded in his lap and eyebrows furrowed.

“Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, tilting his head.

“It’s nothing too serious. Fowler just wants me to take the rookie on our next homicide case. He insisted that they would be a perfect addition to the team or whatever.” Hank groaned. “Now I’m responsible for two of you fucks.”

Connor, admittedly, felt his thirium pump racing. You? As part of the team? It was almost like he could overheat and shutdown momentarily right now. “I think they would be a great addition to the team.” Connor stated, biting back from smiling. “They have an excellent track record of solving cases in an orderly and timely manner, has caught every perpretrator with their undercover skills, and had a reputation back in their training classes as one of the top students.” He explained. Hank looked over as he was slouched in his seat with arms folded across his chest.

“Jesus, Connor, you sound like some creep searching up their name on Google.” Hank scoffed, half smiling. Though this caught Connor a little off— was he being creepy? He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on you, especially now that you're about to meet for the first time. His face scrunched up in anxiety, feeling as if he made a mistake. Hank immediately took notice and sat up. “Ah— I was just joking, Connor. I’m sure you have uh.. Good intentions.” Hank reassured, though he never said he was exactly good at it.

Hank looked over to you, seeing that you were preoccupied with work despite the fact you haven’t been on a case in a few days now. Hank looked at Connor. “Well.. Why don’t you introduce yourself to them.” Hank suggested, nodding his head over to you.

Connor immediately jolted his head up, a little wide-eyed to even suggest such. “O-Of course.” Connor stuttered out. Connor never stuttered, and though Hank was in a mood after his exchange with Fowler, he certainly didn’t leave that unnoticed.

“Did you just stutter?” Hank asked, a little amused. “Are you.. Nervous?”

“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Connor replied as steadily as possible. “I am an android.”

“Connor.”

“Yes?” Connor replied, mindlessly.

“You’re a deviant, for fucks sake.”

“Oh.”

Connor, to avoid anymore embarassment from the man he deemed his father figure, swiftly got up and started to approach you. Hank watched in pure amusement, not even wanting to stop the boy from probably embarassing himself even further, but at least Hank had some faith in him. He is Detroit’s best god damn detective.

“Hello, Officer (l/n). My name is Connor. It is nice to meet you.” Connor said, putting his hand out for a shake. You looked up from your computer screen only to be met with the most chocolate eyes you’ve ever had the privilege of being in the prescence of. He smiled politely, but behind that smile he thanked Elijah that androids could not sweat, otherwise you would’ve felt the claminess of his palm.

You took his hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure to make your aquaintance. My name is (y/n).” You smiled generously, and wow, did Connor felt like his pump couldn’t get any faster.. He cleared his throat before darting his eyes to the unoccupied chair that sat next to your desk.

“May I?” Connor asked, gesturing towards the seat.

“Of course, I’m not doing much anyway.” You nodded. Connor took a seat, and for some reason, he struggled to even maintain his balance as he sat himself down. He nearly had to think about how to fold his hands before placing them firmly on his laps and looking at you. Thankfully, you barely realized any sort of struggle as you looked away to take a swig of your morning coffee.

“So..” you said, clasping your hands. “Am I in trouble or anything?” you joked. Connor immediately shot his head up, worried he had made the wrong impression.

“Oh, no— I—” Before Connor could sputter out an explanation, you tilted your head a little and started laughing.

“Relax! I was just kidding!” You playfully waved off. Connor’s shoulders immediately relaxed as a breath he didn’t even know he was holding back escaped his lips. You looked at him curiously, a smile still resting on your face.

“I’m sorry. Usually, I am not like this.” He said, shaking his head a little in embarassment. He was always on his A game and constantly prepared. Why were you the reason for this disruption. “I.. Uh..” He couldn’t think of anymore to say. Suddenly, he got a message through his LED.

NEW MESSAGE:

HANK: tell them u think theyre pretty.

Connor blinked a bit, registering the text message. Hank was at a perfect view watching this unfold. The back of your head was visible but he could see all of Connor’s reactions, who desperately tried to maintain a polite smile.

“I think you’re very pretty, (y/n).” Connor complimented.

“Oh— ah—” A subtle blush began to form on your cheeks as your eyes widen a little, not expecting a compliment from a handsome android such as Connor. “Why thank you, Connor. I wasn’t expecting that as our first conversation.” You chuckled a little. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Thirium was rushing through his circuits and to his cheeks. The faintest color of blue appeared dusted on his face. “Thank you.” He maintained a calm, neutral voice. They stared at each other for a minute, sort of registering the sort of corny first conversation the two of you had.

“Ah.. I almost forgot to mention.” Connor snapped back to reality. “I came here to introduce myself sfter I heard that you were joining our team on our next investigation. It’s good to make an aquaintance with our future team member.” Connor smiled politely.

“Why thank you. I am very excited to work with you and Lieutenant Anderson.” You nodded. “Though I will miss working with Gavin and Chris’ team.”

Ah, that’s right. You used to work with Gavin. It almost left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth knowing that Gavin probably spat some awful opinions about him to you. Though from the looks of it, you were enjoying your conversation with him which eased him.

“I promise we will a provide a welcoming and safe space in our team, and of course, to make sure you don’t come into harms way.” Connor assured. Though he was mainly promising this to you personally. God forbids Connor seeing you get hurt.

“Why thank you, Connor.” You said, tilting your head. Connor was rather intriguing to you— an android acting this way around you. His LED constantly switched between yellow and blue as if he was making sure to process every word you uttered. Yet he was so human— he would scratch the back of his neck, fidget with his fingers, and shuffle a bit in his seat. You would think someone as advanced as him would at least be able to have a composure, but he was different. It was something you admired about him.

“(l/n), in my office!” Captain Fowler called from the balcony of his room. You looked over to Connor before sighing.

“Well, boss is calling me. I’ll talk to you afterwards?” You suggested as you stood from your seat.

“Of course.” Connor replied, shielding his excitement. He stood up from his chair as well. “I’d be happy to talk again, (y/n).”

“Likewise.” You winked. With that, you left your desk and headed straight to Fowler’s office. Connor stood shellshocked. Did you just.. Wink at him?! Connor’s eyes slowly drifted to Hank, who was chuckling heartily. He gave Connor an assuring thumbs up as Connor made his way back to their desks.

“You’d be a shit detective if this is how you acted all the time.” Hank snickered. Connor grinned a little before taking a seat back at his desk.

“I know.” Connor sighed, leaning a little back in his chair. He at you through the glass walls, noticing your upright posture and the way you listened intently to Captain Fowler’s words. He looked over to Hank before thinning his lips.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“What is it, son?”

“What am I.. Feeling right now?” Connor asked, a little lost on how to explain it. “I can only think about them— only envision them when I close my eyes. I get nervous and its like my programming has reduced to 0s and 1s.” He sighed, hell, even a little frustrated that you had this affect on him.

Hank with a wide smile, shook his head and looked at Connor with a knowing stare. Connor looked up, both lost while desperate for an answer and maybe even a cure. Hank sat up and made sure to look at Connor right in the yes.

“Connor,” Hank sighed, grinning. “Son, that feeling your experiencing is called love. And your plastic ass better get used to it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

thank you so much for reading towards the end ! im sorry if its a little messy-- i quickly had to post this before hanging out w some friends but i just wanted to get this out of the way rq! reblogs, replies, and even likes are so so appreciated <3

#detroit become human #connor detroit become human #connor x reader #connor x you #connor rk800 #connor dbh x reader #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit become human fanfics #hank anderson #connor anderson #4k800 #connor 4k800 x reader #dbh 4k800 #4k800 x reader

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hawnks · 4 months ago

Text

Takami Keigo doesn't want to see you.

Of course, he's too well trained to say it in so many words, but when he 'forgets' his session this afternoon, you get the message.

Unfortunately for him, you're stubborn. You show up at his apartment in the dormitories, ring his bell until your fingers numb.

Only then does he crack open the door, just enough for you to catch his forbidding smile, a caustic gleam to his eyes. "What can I help you with, this fine evening?"

"You missed our appointment," you say pleasantly. "This is the third time."

"Oh, must have just slipped my mind," he says with a dismissive little wave. "I'll catch you next time."

The door slams in your face.

Being so curtly dismissed by a top ranking officer should probably send you into a panic, but the stats you pulled up for him after his no-show are even more concerning. This is quickly turning into an emergency, and unfortunately it's your job on the line if he succumbs to corruption.

Who would blame the second most powerful Sentinel alive, when there's a feckless guide as a scapegoat.

"I'm going to ring the bell again," you say, loudly.

After a moment of silence, you think he must not have heard you.

Then the door swings open. "Fine," he snaps.

You follow him to the living room, watch as he drops himself on the couch with a sigh, eyes squeezed shut.

You'd never known guiding to be this much of a chore for Sentinels. Most of your roster is rather clingy and covetous of your time. None of them has ever been late to an appointment with you.

"Well?" he prods. "Get on with it."

You hesitate. The tension he seems to be holding will make this a lot more difficult, strenuous for you both. "Do you maybe want to talk for a bit? Or I could put on some white noise."

He opens his eyes just enough to give you a cutting look. "No."

You surrender with a sigh, coming to sit next to him on the couch. Every Sentinel prefers contact a different way; some want you to hug them, pet their hair, a few have even asked you to kiss them, fuck them, though you've never fulfilled that type of request, your boundaries in this job too firm for it.

You want to ask him what would make this easier for him, but you're sure waiting any longer will only set him off. So, delicately, you take his hand.

The first draw is always the hardest, the corrupt energy being nullified by your own. Some outside force reaching in, invasive despite the relief.

Takami flinches.

You go slower, a soft steady ebb, pulling the poison from him in silken thread.

His hand relaxes in yours.

You reach deeper, welcoming the full flood between you, warmth and light suffusing you both. And it feels how it's supposed to -- natural.

When your watch chimes, signaling the sessions end, Takami blinks out of his stupor. He'd melted during the thirty minutes you worked on him, body curled toward yours, face falling onto your shoulder.

He pulls away swiftly, shocked by his own willingness to lean on you.

You rise, marking off the details of your appointment on your tablet. "I can come back tomorrow, to finish up. You haven't been guided in a long time, so I couldn't get it all in one session. Does 2pm work for you?"

He's not prepared for the question. "Um. Yeah?"

You mark that down as well, then see yourself out.

It takes three more sessions for you to fully clear the corrupted energy from his body. In his haze he admits to you the reason he's so standoffish to Guides, why he dodges his sessions with such fervor.

"It's never felt good. Always felt like I'm being held down, trapped. Made me feel antsy, nervous." He buries his face against your throat, inhaling deeply. You'd started off just holding his hand again, but now he hugs your entire arm against his chest, your fingers twined. "It's not like that with you."

"I'm glad, Mr. Takami," you return. "Please don't ignore my emails from now on."

As you make your notes, you ask him his availability for next month.

He blinks at you. "You're not coming back tomorrow?"

You check your calendar. You'd had to push back several of your regular appointments to make room for the past few days. "I'm booked solid for the next two weeks, at least."

You glance at him, taking in his appearance, his general well being. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes. He startles, first, before leaning into your touch.

"You seem fine," you decide, pulling away, already heading for the door. "I'll contact you later about our next session."

He trails after you, linger at the precipice as you take the elevator back down to your floor.

...

He never ignores you emails, after that.

In fact, he sends many of his own. He gets your phone number, somehow. Some days he shows up with coffee, or snacks, sits with you on the couch while you eat.

He's always touching you during those times, brushing hair behind your ears or straightening your shirt collar. Mostly he just holds your hand, playing with your fingers or clutching it in his own lap.

You don't guide him during any of these impromptu visits, too weary from the rest of your overfull schedule -- but you've heard of this type of attachment from other Guides.

Sentinels tend to imprint on guides they have a decent connection with. Part survival instinct, part status seeking. A Sentinel without a guide is doomed. A Sentinel with a high match-rate is likely to be stronger than their peers.

But that's the thing about un-bonded Sentinels, they're always on the lookout for a better Guide, their perfect mate.

Takami is overly attached to you now, but it will pass.

...

Or so you thought.

You're sent out into the aftermath of a battle that rocks the city. Dozens of Sentinels pushed themselves to the breaking point, on the brink of corruption, about to turn into the very monsters they fight to suppress.

You spot Takami in the midst of the wreckage. Exhausted, but giving you a shakey smile when your eyes meet. He limps toward you, so glad to see you, so ready for the safety and warmth of your arms--

Someone calls your name. Urgent, an emergency. Another Sentinel with no one to take care of them.

You turn away from Takami, and you go.

He'd fought hard, but his body has grown used to the abuse over the years. He's in bad shape, but it's not life-threatening like some of the others you help today.

It's hours before you can see him.

Slumped on a curb, hands folded neatly in his lap. Like he's been waiting so patiently for you this whole time.

You come to your knees before him, letting him take your hands, draw you closer. "Why didn't you go to another Guide?"

Surely he could have found someone else, despite the chaos of the scene. If not you, one of the high ranking Guides, slotted exclusively for S-rank Sentinels.

He looks at you, trembling, confused. "I don't want another Guide."

When he asks if you'll hold him, you do. You take him in your arms, let his weight settle on you. Feel his warmth all around you, his breath against your shoulder.

"And I don't want you to guide anyone else," he murmurs.

You stroke his nape. "I know. I'm sorry. You'll find your Guide soon enough, and then you can have each other all to yourselves."

His grip tightens. He braces you against him -- instead of a heady tightness, you're constricted.

"I already found my Guide," he whispers into your throat.

Then he bites.

#guideverse #I'm using sentinel now becuase that sounds much better than esper JSJSJDJD #Keigo posting #tw yandere #?#kind of?

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angelofthenight01 · 12 days ago

Text

The witch's secret

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: fluff || warnings: none

Summary: You're best friends with Pietro and Wanda is avoiding you as much as possible. Little do you know that the reason is that the witch is falling in love with you.

The stale, recycled air of the Avengers training room hits you like a damp rag as you step inside. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the corner of your shirt, already feeling the familiar ache in your muscles. It’s been a long morning, dodging energy blasts and deflecting vibranium projectiles, all courtesy of your best friend, Pietro. He’s leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he examines his nails like some haughty prince.

"Took you long enough," he crows, pushing himself off the wall and stretching his arms high above his head. "I was starting to think you’d finally given up on keeping up with my god-like speed."

You roll your eyes, already used to his theatrics. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Quicksilver. Some of us need sleep." You grab your water bottle, taking a long swig. You’ve known Pietro since… well, since forever. You met at one of those weird, half-way houses run by the government when you were kids. You’d bonded over shared experiences and the inability to understand why everyone was so obsessed with being “normal”. You’d been inseparable ever since. And, naturally, that meant you’d gotten to know his twin sister, Wanda, very well too.

She’s… different. A chaotic storm wrapped up in a quiet demeanor. She’s a puzzle you’d gladly spend a lifetime trying to solve. However, lately, solving her has been like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. She’s been avoiding you, and not in a mild, subtle way. This is avoidance of Olympic proportions. If you’re in the kitchen, she’s suddenly urgently needed in the library. If you’re on the training floor, she’s busy meditating on the roof. It’s as if you’ve suddenly become radioactive.

"So," Pietro says, breaking your thoughts. “What’s the workout for today, oh, mighty planner of our pain?”

You shrug, pulling out the tablet and swiping the screen. "I was thinking a bit of hand-to-hand, maybe some sparring. What do you think?"

"As long as it involves me winning spectacularly, I'm in." He flashes that trademark grin, and you can’t help but chuckle.

You spend the next hour getting pummeled by Pietro’s ridiculous speed and impressive strength - but you also get some good hits yourself. You know, he may be fast, but you have been learning from the best. As you’re catching your breath, you hear a door open behind you, and your heart skips a beat, just like it always does.

It's not Wanda. It's Kate Bishop. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a look on her face that spells trouble. You like Kate, she’s funny, quick-witted, and a total bad-ass with a bow and arrow. She's also Wanda's best friend, which is why you’re sure she’s about to deliver some cryptic message or distraction.

"Hey, guys," she says, her tone a little too casual. "Wanda needs my help… with… uh… quantum physics equations."

Pietro raises an eyebrow. "Since when does Wanda dabble in theoretical physics?"

Kate's face is a picture of forced nonchalance. "Since… now? Yeah, she’s on a real quantum kick. Anyway, gotta go, quantum stuff, you know." With that, she’s gone, leaving you and Pietro alone again.

“Quantum physics,” Pietro says, shaking his head and chuckling. “That girl is so awkward. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s trying really hard to avoid you.”

You almost choke on your water. “Avoid me? Why would she avoid me?” you ask, trying to sound casual, as if you hadn’t noticed.

Pietro shrugs. “Beats me. Maybe you smell.” He wrinkles his nose dramatically, making you laugh.

The next few weeks continue in the same vein. Every time you try to talk to Wanda, she vanishes as if she's a figment of your imagination. You find yourself increasingly frustrated, not just because you have no idea what you did to annoy her, but because you really miss her company.

One afternoon, you’re attempting to meditate in the common room, hoping to find some inner peace when you hear footsteps. You open one eye to see Kate Bishop walking towards you, a determined set to her jaw. You see the mischievous glint in her eye, and brace yourself.

"Okay, look," she says, grabbing the cushion next to you and sinking down. "This whole thing has gone on long enough."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if she’s finally about to let you in on what’s going on.

"Wanda likes you," Kate blurts out, her cheeks turning a shade of pink.

Your eyes widen. "Likes me? Like… as in a friend?" you ask, even if you already know the answer.

Kate groans. "No, as in, she’s completely head-over-heels smitten with you. She’s been losing her mind about it ever since you saved her from that rampaging Ultron drone last year."

Your stomach does a backflip. “Wait, what? But why is she avoiding me?”

Kate sighs. "Because she's Wanda. She’s not good at this whole 'feeling' thing, especially when they're feelings of the lovesick variety. She's terrified you’ll find out, and then laugh at her or reject her, or whatever other dramatic scenario she's conjured up in her head. So, she decided the best course of action is to run away."

You shake your head, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "That's... incredibly Wanda." Something warm blooms in your chest, partly from the revelation, partly from the fact that, if Kate is to be believed, your feelings for Wanda are reciprocated.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Kate grins, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. "Now, we set a trap. She has got to face this. And maybe… she could actually go on a date or something? She’s been miserable, poor thing.”

The "trap," as it turns out, involves a suspiciously placed book in the library, a strategically timed fire alarm, and a very confused Pietro. You find yourself facing Wanda by the garden, which, somehow, you’d been guided to under the pretext of a "minor training accident".

She's standing by the rose bushes, her back to you, her shoulders tense.

"Wanda," you say softly, approaching cautiously.

She turns, and her eyes are wide. She’s beautiful. As always. And your heart is about to burst.

"I… I…" she stammers, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

You take a deep breath. "I know," you say.

Her brows furrow. "You know?"

"Yeah, Kate told me. About… everything."

Her cheeks flush a vibrant red. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I’m so embarrassing. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… you're so… I…" She trails off, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You step closer, reaching out and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Wanda," you say, your voice a low hum. "I'm not uncomfortable, I'm… I’m glad. Because… I feel the same way. I’ve been… completely, overwhelmingly, kind of in love with you since forever.”

Her eyes widen further, and a small, hopeful smile flickers across her face. "You… you do?"

You smile, nodding. “I do.”

The silence stretches between you, charged with an energy you both feel. You lean closer, and she does too, and then you’re kissing. Her lips are soft and sweet, and the world disappears around you. It’s perfect, and magical, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

As you pull away for air, you hear a snort behind you. You turn to see Pietro standing nearby, his face a mask of exaggerated disgust.

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy," he groans, putting a hand over his eyes. "I’m going to be sick. My best friend and my sister? It's disturbing, revolting, and completely not acceptable. I need to go drink something and forget I ever saw this.” He is clearly overdoing it, and you end up bursting into laughter, which is soon joined by Wanda's giggle.

You look at her, and your heart flips over again. This is it. This awkward, beautiful mess of a romance. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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tpwk-formula1 · 4 months ago

Note

Oscar piastri.

Gluten-free but can I put a slight change if you don't mind other kind of rivals with him being McLaren's driver and yn be in Ferrari's strategist they're rivals but they're also kind of friends.

red sauce

Prosciutto

anchovies

burata

Cheddar cheese

Dr. Pepper

Diet Coke

Mountain Dew with the reader being a sub

And yes to dessert

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

gluten-free rivals red sauce rough sex proscuitto "I love making this pretty pussy squirt" anchovies "How are you already drenched" burrata "How many was that? three... I think you can give me another" cheddar cheese “cumming for me already? Such a meedy slut” dr pepper dirty talk diet coke recording kink mt dew dom/sub dessert yes served by Oscar Piastri

Oscar x Ferrari engineer! reader

TW - more sweet than rough, multiple orgasms, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, Oscar and Y/N are literally so in love with each other

WC 1800+

Y/N POV

"Piastri, are you color blind? You're in the red zone not papaya," I state while walking away from Carlos's car and heading to Charles's to make sure his wheel was connecting to my tablet and his helmet was connecting to the radio.

"I was hoping I could speak with you," Oscar tells me softly making me shake my head.

"Find me after the race." I state not even looking up from my tablet.

"Fine," Oscar says which has me looking up to watch as he walks away towards the exit.

"You and the young one?" I hear Fred ask behind me. I whip my body around and give Fred a sheepish look while blushes softly.

"I'm not sure what's going on between us," I admit softly watching as the smile spreads across his face.

"I've only heard good things from everyone about him," Fred says nodding his head making me smile softly and continue working.

Oscar and I had a strange relationship. We work for different teams which make us natural rivals but on a deeper level Oscar was a friend, a good friend, a friend I occasionally share a bed with. It all started professional but as time passed we started playing jump rope on the edge. Started with small kisses on the cheek, to his hands wandering a bit when he would hug me to eventually full sending it and going home with him one night.

The sex between Oscar and I is by far the best sex I have ever experienced. He knew how to be just rough enough to still be extremely enjoyable.

As the day wrapped up I check my phone to find a text from Oscar telling me to meet him at his hotel when I'm done for the day. When I'm finally all done after the race I leave the paddock and instantly make my way to Oscar's hotel room not even worried about changing out of my Ferrari uniform.

"I would say you look beautiful but you're in Ferrari Red," Oscar jokes when he opens the door after I knocked.

"Well hello to you too Oscar," I tease while pushing him in slightly so I could come into the room. Oscar just smiles down at me before pulling me in for a hug and placing a soft kiss on my lips,

"You wanted to talk remember," I tease making Oscar groan softly.

"Yes, but now I want you," Oscar mumbles against my lips and tries to pull me in closer but I resist and pull back.

"No, we talk first," I tell him softly making him take my hand into his and lead my to the couch.

"Truthfully I realized that not being able to see you before I get into the car ahead of a race I get anxious. I think I need you in more ways than just my bed at the end of the day," Oscar admits softly making me smile.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say but I know I like you and I want you in more ways than just in my bed too," I admit softly watching a smile spread across his face.

"We'll move slow, but I want to give us a real chance," Oscar tells me making me smile and nod my head.

"I would like that," I admit while pulling Oscar in for a kiss and climbing into his lap.

"Fuck, you're insatiable," Oscar groans against my lips when I start grinding down into his lap feeling his cock starting to grow against my clothed core.

"Gotta get you out of this shit," Oscar groans while pulling my shirt up and off my body before he starts up with me still in his arms and takes me to the bed where he yanks my pants down leaving me in my bra and thong while Oscar is still fully dressed.

I feel Oscar's mouth start trailing kisses down my neck before he separated and pulls his shirt off letting my eyes rack over his bare torso.

"Look so good Osc," I mumble while rubbing my hands on his shoulders.

"Fuck please let me take some pictures of you like this," Oscar groans when he finally focuses on my body under him.

"Only for your eyes though," I tell him softly. Oscar just nods before leaning down and placing a few kisses on my lips while grabbing his phone from his pant pocket.

He angles the phone above me and snaps a few pictures before putting the phone near my head and leaning back down to start trailing his mouth down to my pussy where he almost instantly sucks my clit into his mouth making me moan out loudly at the feeling.

"How are you already drenched," Oscar groans against my pussy making me whimper and moan rather loudly.

"Fuck Osc," I moan while gripping into his hair with one of my hands and grabbing his phone and taking a few pictures of Oscar between my thighs before switching to a video and videoing a few seconds of him eating me out before I put his phone back down and completely enjoy the feeling.

I could feel myself growing close to my orgasm and Oscar must sense it too because he speeds up his actions slightly helping bring me over the edge in a massive orgasm.

“Cumming for me already? Such a needy slut,” Oscar groans out while I'm a shaking mess under him. He helps me ride my first orgasm out but doesn't slow down when I start cumming down.

"Too much," I whine when I feel the overstimulation start to take over.

"You can take it," Oscar groans while speeding up his fingers fucking right on my G-spot bringing me closer to another orgasm.

"Fuck Oscar," I moan rather loudly when I feel him bring his other hand down to my clit. I pick up his phone again and start filming Oscar fingering me to another orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," I moan out softly which has Oscar looking up at me and noticing the camera for the first time.

"Fuck, I'm gonna rewatch that video daily," Oscar groans while speeding up his fingers on my G-spot throwing me over the edge into another orgasm and squirting all over Oscar.

With my back arched and eyes close I do my best to angle to phone correctly but being so overhwlemed in pleasure I'm not entirely sure what I'm filiming.

"Fuck Oscar!" I scream when I finally catch my breath after cumming for the past 30 seconds or so.

"I love making this pretty pussy squirt," Oscar groans while slowing his fingers slightly letting me turn off the video again and put his phone down.

"Can't believe I did that," I say through labored breathing still not fully recovered from such an intense orgasm.

"I need you to fuck me now please," I gasp when Oscar just teases my pussy softly with his fingers.

"I need to see that at least one more time," Oscar groans as he speeds up his fingers hitting my G-spot at an impossibly fast speed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I chant when I feel my third orgasm of the night starting to build. I bring a free hand down to my clit and start rubbing small circles on my abused clit throwing me into another squirting orgasm almost instantly.

"Fuck, so hot," Oscar grunts while I'm still squirting my pleasure all over the place while screaming too overwhelmed to do anything but shake around Oscar's fingers.

"Fuck, Oscar that was so good," I whisper not trusting my voice in the moment.

"How many was that? three... I think you can give me another," Oscar states while sitting up and finally pulling his pants off and giving me his dick.

"Fuck, I'm so sentiive right now Oscar," I whimper just seeing his large throbbing dick hanging between his thighs.

"You can take it," Oscar states while pushing into me and thrusting instantly giving me no time to adjust to his rather large size.

"Oh fuck," I moan when I feel Oscar hitting all my sweet spots with his dick.

"Fuck, you look so pretty when you take my cock," Oscar grunts while speeding up his thrusts helping build the orgasm I'm already feeling.

"Fuck! Stretches so good," I moan while I feel Oscar's pubes tickle my clit every time he pushes in making the pleasure more intenze.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last long," Oscar grunts making my clench around him to watch as his face morphs do to the added pleasure.

"Fuck," Oscar grunts as his thrusts falter slightly before he sends one final thrust deep into my pussy making me cum the second I feel his hot cum start to paint the gummy walls of my pussy.

"Fuck," Oscar and I moan at the same time feeling the waves of our orgasms continuously wash over us. Oscar rocks his hips to make sure to ride our orgasms out before he slips out softly leaning down to grab his discarded shirt and cleaning me off the best as possible.

"We can sleep in my room tonight, I know I kinda soaked your sheets," I tell him softly while he's wiping himself down.

"Ya, we can do that. Just wanna relax for a few minutes before we get up," Oscar tells me making me smile and nod while opening my arms waiting for Oscar to join me for a cuddle. Oscar slowly lays down in my arms putting most of his weight on me.

"Pass me my phone please, wanna see you cumming all over my face," Oscar mumbles against my skin making me laugh softly and grab the phone that had been next to my head.

When Oscar opens his phone he groans when he realizes I had filmed more than just when I squirted all over his face.

"Fuck, I was so lost in the pleasure I didn't even noticed you had grabbed the phone again," Oscar whispers over the sound of us fucking. I just smile and lean down to pull him in for a kiss.

"I thought you would enjoy them on weekends I'm too busy to spend anytime with you," I tell him softly making him smile and pull me in tighter.

"I'll make sure we can at least sneak a couple minutes before a race so you can get a good luck kiss," I tell Oscar softly knowing that's always the real reason he comes into the Ferrari garage.

"Good, I want that," Oscar tells me with a small smile.

"Oh! Fred is in full support of us," I saw making Oscar look at me with a raised brow.

"He saw you in the garage and said "you and the young one?" and then told me how he had only heard good things about you, which is his way of saying I picked a good one," I explain softly making Oscar's face grow slightly read at the praise from a rival.

"I can't help but agree. I did pick a pretty good one," I add while leaning down and pulling Oscar back in for a kiss.

"Alright lets get you dressed and head to your room," Oscar says after a few minutes of us just chatting.

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cherryxbooo · 26 days ago

Text

I've got you ... always

Summary: Working as a Mercedes engineer has always been challenging, but with men constantly looking down on you, it becomes unbearable. Lewis is quick to put a stop to it, and fight for justice.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for the love you've shown me so far. I really appreciate it! 🤍 The reason I chose this storyline is to address the issue of sexism and misogyny in workplaces. Unfortunately, this still happens far too often, and with this fic, I hope to bring much-needed attention to this subject. Just know you're not alone 🫶

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Warning: misogyny and sexism

It had been nearly six years since I first joined Mercedes as an engineer.

Six years of intense work, late nights, early mornings, and a relentless pursuit of perfection in the world of Formula 1.

It was my dream job, one I had worked tirelessly to achieve.

But those six years also marked the time I’d spent with Lewis, six years of love, laughter, and challenges with the man who had become my everything.

I could still remember the day we met as if it were yesterday.

A bit of backstory:

I was the newest member of the Mercedes team, fresh out of a competitive hiring process, and I was determined to make an impression.

The first time I stepped into the paddock, I felt like an imposter among the sea of seasoned professionals.

My hands clutched my tablet like a lifeline as I walked into a strategy meeting, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in my chest.

Lewis was already there, sitting at the far end of the room. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in his signature streetwear style, yet exuding an unmistakable aura of confidence.

As I took a seat near the back, his eyes flicked toward me.

I was sure he wouldn’t even notice me, why would he?

I was just another new face among dozens of team members.

But then, he smiled.

It wasn’t one of those polite, obligatory smiles.

It was warm and genuine, as if he could sense my nerves and wanted to reassure me.

That smile was like a silent message:

You belong here.

Over the next few weeks, our paths crossed more frequently.

At first, it was just in passing, a quick hello in the garage, a casual “How’s it going?” during lunch breaks.

But it didn’t take long for us to start talking. Really talking.

It was during a particularly chaotic race weekend in Silverstone that our friendship began to solidify.

A last-minute weather change had thrown everyone into a frenzy, and I found myself staying late in the garage to run some last-minute simulations.

The paddock was nearly empty when Lewis walked in, still in his racing suit, and caught me muttering to myself as I tried to make sense of the data.

“Long night?” he asked, leaning against the workbench with a lopsided grin.

“You have no idea,” I replied with a tired laugh, glancing up from my screen.

He stayed and talked with me for over an hour, even offering a few insights that helped me crack the issue I was stuck on.

By the time he left, I realized that the nervousness I’d felt around him was gone.

He wasn’t just Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion.

He was kind, funny, and incredibly easy to talk to.

From that moment on, our friendship grew effortlessly.

Whether it was over post-race debriefs, team dinners, or stolen moments between the chaos of race weekends, we found ourselves drawn to each other.

We bonded over a shared love for what we did, but also over our differences, his world of high-speed fame and my quieter, behind-the-scenes role.

It wasn’t long before I realized my feelings for him had shifted.

I hadn’t planned on falling for him, but Lewis had a way of breaking down walls without even trying.

He made me laugh when I was stressed, listened intently when I rambled about work, and made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

One evening, after a long day at the factory, he invited me out for dinner.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy little restaurant tucked away.

Over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, we talked about everything from our childhoods to our dreams for the future.

By the end of the night, when he walked me to my car, he hesitated for just a moment before leaning in to kiss me.

That was the beginning of us.

For a long time, we kept our relationship private. We both wanted to protect what we had, to keep it ours without the scrutiny of the public eye.

But as the months turned into years, it became harder to hide.

Fans started noticing the subtle signs, the way Lewis would glance at me during interviews, or how I always seemed to be nearby during race weekends.

When we finally decided to go public, it wasn’t a grand announcement or a carefully curated statement.

It was a simple photo posted on Lewis’s Instagram.

We were in Monaco, sitting on a terrace overlooking the harbor, the golden light of sunset washing over us.

I didn’t even know he’d taken the picture until he showed it to me later that night.

“Should I post it?” he asked, his voice tentative.

I hesitated, thinking of the attention it would bring, but then I looked at him, at the way his eyes softened as he waited for my answer.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Let’s do it.”

The response back then was overwhelming.

Fans flooded the comments with messages of support, and the media couldn’t stop speculating about us.

But through it all, Lewis and I stayed grounded, reminding each other that our relationship wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for us.

One of the things that made our relationship so strong was our ability to communicate.

From the very beginning, we had promised to tell each other everything, our fears, our frustrations, our dreams.

No topic was off-limits.

Whether it was a rough qualifying session for him or a challenging project for me, we leaned on each other without hesitation.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Lately, I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Lewis, to tell him everything, to lean on him like I always had.

The reason? Mark, Alan, and Greg.

They were three senior engineers on the team, men who had been with Mercedes long before I joined.

Older, more experienced, and as I had quickly discovered, painfully set in their ways.

From the very beginning, they had made it clear that they didn’t think I belonged.

I still remember the first time I overheard them.

It was during my second week on the job, and I was running a simulation late at night.

They didn’t realize I was in the corner of the garage, headphones off, sorting through notes.

“Hiring for diversity quotas,” Mark had muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, they want to tick a box, so they bring in the fresh-faced rookie,” Alan had added with a chuckle.

Greg, ever the opportunist, chimed in,

“Let’s see how long she lasts when the pressure’s on.”

"She's better off making us a sandwich."

Their words had stung, sharp and bitter, but I had swallowed my pride.

I told myself that proving them wrong would be the best revenge.

I worked harder than I ever had in my life, triple-checking my calculations, volunteering for extra tasks, staying long hours to ensure that my work was flawless.

And for a while, I thought it had paid off.

At first, the snide remarks tapered off.

They didn’t engage with me much, but at least they stopped openly questioning my abilities.

I had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, I had earned their respect.

But lately, the comments had returned, and they were worse than ever.

It started subtly, dismissive sighs during meetings when I spoke, or whispered conversations that stopped the moment I entered the room.

Childish right?

Then the snark escalated, cutting through my carefully built confidence like a knife.

“Did you even double-check this?”

Alan had sneered last week after a team briefing, gesturing at the simulation results I’d spent days perfecting.

Greg, never one to miss a chance to pile on, smirked as he added,

“Leave the big decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing.”

Then Mark's voice was heard,

"Yeah, go do the laundry or something, whatever you women are good in."

It was always wrapped in the guise of banter, thinly veiled behind forced smiles and casual tones.

But I wasn’t naïve.

There was a sharpness to their words, a deliberate attempt to undermine me that cut deeper each time.

Even Mark, the one who usually played the “neutral” party, had started joining in.

During a debrief on a race strategy I’d helped design, he had scoffed and muttered,

“Well, I guess every team needs its token young genius.”

It was relentless.

Every day, there was something, a comment, a glance, a dismissive laugh that made my blood boil.

But I kept it all to myself.

I told myself that it wasn’t worth causing a scene, especially now.

Lewis had enough on his plate.

His move to Ferrari had been the talk of the motorsport world, and while he was excited for the new challenge, the transition was anything but easy.

There were endless negotiations, media commitments, and the emotional weight of leaving the team that had been his family for over a decade.

I couldn’t bring this to him, not now.

Not when he was already stretched thin.

So, I stayed quiet.

I bit my tongue when Alan questioned my calculations, ignored Greg’s condescending remarks, and pretended not to hear Mark’s muttered jokes.

Each time, I told myself it was just words, that I could handle it.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could.

Lewis was busy.

I kept telling myself that over and over, like a mantra.

Between announcing his move to Ferrari, dealing with the media frenzy, juggling sponsorship demands, and the seemingly endless meetings, he had so much on his plate.

The last thing he needed was me adding my problems to the mix.

But today was different.

The garage was buzzing with activity as we prepped for the upcoming race weekend.

The sound of drills, clinking tools, and the hum of engines filled the air, a symphony of chaos I had grown to love over the years.

I was stationed at my usual spot, hunched over a set of data sheets, meticulously double-checking the aerodynamics report for any inconsistencies.

I was deep in concentration, my pen scratching against the paper, when their voices drifted over.

Mark’s gruff tone was unmistakable.

“What’s the point of her even being here? Probably just a pretty face for the team photos.”

I froze, my hand pausing mid-note.

My heart sank, but I willed myself to stay calm, telling myself to ignore it like always.

Alan, never one to pass up an opportunity, snorted.

“Yeah, but even that’s debatable.”

Their laughter was casual, almost conversational, but the sting of their words hit me like a whip.

Then Greg joined in, his tone dripping with mockery.

“She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver or maybe even the boss. Imagine thinking she got this job on her own merit.”

Mark laughed before adding,

"Maybe we can all ask her for a turn as well, if it's that easy to shag the boss, we might have a chance too."

"At the end of the day, that's all they're good at. Women don't belong in the motorsport world."

The room was filled with their laughter.

That was it.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the table as my hands began to shake.

I stared at the numbers on the page, but they were a blur, overshadowed by the burning heat of humiliation rising in my chest.

For years, I had endured their passive-aggressive comments, their dismissive attitudes, their constant undermining of my capabilities.

I had told myself it didn’t matter, that their opinions didn’t define me.

But hearing them reduce everything I had worked for, the late nights, the sweat, the tears, the sacrifices, to nothing more than being Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend?

It was too much.

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold it together.

But their laughter, light and cruel, echoed in my ears, shredding the last of my composure.

I pushed back my chair abruptly, the screech of metal against the concrete floor silencing the room for a brief moment.

My vision blurred with unshed tears as I grabbed my tablet and notes, clutching them to my chest like armor.

I didn’t dare look at them, I couldn’t.

My breath hitched, and my chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in.

I needed to get out. Now.

Without a word, I turned and stormed out of the garage, my footsteps heavy and uneven.

I didn’t care where I was going; I just needed space, air, something to stop the lump in my throat from turning into a sob.

As I walked away, their laughter faded into the background, but the words lingered, etched into my mind like a scar.

I didn’t know where I was going.

My feet carried me blindly, weaving through the maze of garages and team trailers until I found myself at the paddock’s edge.

It was quieter here, away from the relentless hum of activity, the chatter of crew members, and the ever-present cameras.

I sank onto a bench beneath the shade of a tree, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Burying my face in my hands, I let out a shaky sigh.

My mind replayed their words like a broken record, each snide comment cutting deeper than the last.

"What’s the point of her being here?"

"Probably just a pretty face for the team photos."

"She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver."

The worst part was that they’d managed to plant a seed of doubt.

I had worked so hard to get here, put in countless hours, and sacrificed so much to prove myself in this male-dominated field.

And yet, in this moment, I felt like a fraud, like I didn’t belong.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Lewis’s voice cut through the fog in my mind.

I looked up sharply, my breath catching when I saw him standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern.

He must have followed me.

My stomach twisted in a mix of guilt and relief.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this, vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of my emotions.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked, stepping closer and crouching down in front of me.

His warm, dark eyes searched mine, his hands gently resting on my knees.

The concern etched into his face made my heart ache.

“Nothing,” I lied, quickly wiping at my face.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, his expression soft but skeptical.

“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

I hesitated, my resolve cracking under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, but I didn’t want to pull him into my mess.

“It’s nothing, really,” I tried again, forcing a weak smile.

“I just… I’m tired.”

“Y/n.”

His voice was low and firm, but there was a tenderness to it that made my throat tighten.

“Please. Talk to me.”

That was all it took.

The dam broke, and the words spilled out in a rush.

I told him everything, the comments, the dismissive attitudes, the years of enduring their quiet but cutting condescension.

My voice wavered as I explained how it had worsened recently, how their snide remarks had crossed the line into outright insults.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve been under so much pressure with everything, Ferrari, the media, the season. I didn’t want to be another problem for you to deal with.”

Lewis listened intently, his face unreadable as I spoke.

But the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his hands gripped mine told me he was anything but indifferent.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

I stared down at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes.

“They’ve been doing this for years?”

he finally asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.

I nodded, biting my lip. “It wasn’t always this bad, but yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add to your stress,” I said softly.

“You’ve been dealing with so much already.”

Lewis let out a slow, measured breath, his grip on my hands tightening.

“Y/n, nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important to me than you.”

His voice softened, but there was a fierce protectiveness beneath his words.

“You should’ve told me. They don’t get to treat you like this. Ever. No woman deserves this kind of treatment.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Lewis was already standing.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his expression dark with determination.

“Lewis, what are you doing?” I asked, standing as well.

He glanced at me, his jaw set.

“I’m making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I reached out, touching his arm.

“Lewis, please—”

“Y/n.” He turned to face me fully, his eyes locking onto mine.

“You’ve put up with this for far too long. I’m not letting it slide, and neither should you. This is your workplace, your passion. You shouldn’t have to deal with people who try to tear you down.”

His words hit me hard, a mix of anger and love wrapped in every syllable.

I nodded slowly, my throat tight with emotion.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening as he pulled me into a hug.

His arms wrapped around me tightly, and for a moment, I let myself melt into his warmth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Always.”

By mid-afternoon, the entire paddock was filled with noice.

Meetings with Toto were rarely casual, and the tension in the air was palpable.

I stayed out of sight, nerves twisting in my stomach.

When Lewis had assured me earlier that he wouldn’t let this go, I’d believed him.

But seeing the immediate repercussions unfold was a different kind of catharsis.

The walk to Toto’s office felt longer than it should have, every step heavy with anticipation.

Lewis had his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling paddock.

His touch was grounding, but my nerves still prickled under my skin.

“Relax,” he said softly, leaning closer.

“We’re handling this together.”

I nodded, though my stomach was a tangled mess of knots.

The last thing I wanted was to cause drama, but after years of enduring Mark, Alan, and Greg’s behavior, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

When we arrived at Toto’s office, Lewis didn’t bother knocking lightly.

He rapped his knuckles on the door with purpose.

“Come in,” came the familiar voice from inside.

Toto was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers neatly arranged to one side.

His brows lifted in mild surprise when he saw the two of us enter together, but he quickly gestured for us to take a seat.

“This seems serious,” Toto remarked, his sharp eyes flicking between us.

"What’s going on?”

Lewis glanced at me, silently asking if I wanted to start.

I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap.

Noticing my reluctance, Lewis leaned forward.

“It’s about some of the team dynamics,” he began, his voice calm but tinged with an unmistakable edge.

“Specifically, the way Mark, Alan, and Greg have been treating Y/n.”

Toto’s expression shifted, his posture straightening.

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak.

“For years now, they’ve made comments, snide remarks about my qualifications, my presence here. It started when I joined, but I brushed it off because I was new, and I thought I had to prove myself. But lately…”

My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard to steady it.

“Lately, it’s escalated. They’ve been openly dismissive of my work, undermining me during meetings, and even questioning my position on the team. Today, they went too far.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“What happened today?”

Lewis’s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I recounted the incident.

“They implied I’m only here because I’m dating Lewis and that I used my body to get my position,”

I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

“And that I didn’t earn my role.”

Toto exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.

“That’s not all,” Lewis added, his tone hardening.

“This has been going on for years, Toto. Years. Y/n didn’t tell me sooner because she didn’t want to cause problems, but that’s no excuse. Those three have created a toxic environment, and it stops now.”

Toto’s gaze shifted to me, his stern demeanor softening slightly.

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier, Y/L/N? This isn’t the kind of behavior we tolerate here.”

I shrugged, feeling small under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. They’ve been here longer than I have, and I didn’t think anyone would take my word over theirs. Plus, I didn’t want to add more stress to an already intense environment.”

Toto shook his head, his voice firm but understanding.

“You should never have to tolerate that. Not here, not anywhere. The Mercedes team prides itself on being a family. What you’ve described is unacceptable, and I take full responsibility for not noticing it sooner.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his jaw still tight.

“What’s the plan, Toto? Because I’m not letting this slide.”

Toto nodded, already making notes on a pad in front of him.

“First, I’ll be speaking to Mark, Alan, and Greg individually. They’ll be given the chance to explain themselves, not that there’s much room for justification here. If their behavior aligns with what you’ve described, they won’t be part of this team by the end of the day.”

A weight lifted off my chest at his words, but the tension in the room remained palpable.

“I want to be there,” Lewis said firmly.

Toto raised an eyebrow.

“Lewis—”

“No,” Lewis interrupted.

“This is personal. They didn’t just disrespect Y/n, they disrespected the team, the values we stand for, and me by extension. I need to make it clear that this behavior won’t be tolerated. From anyone.”

Toto regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“Fine. But let me handle the disciplinary side. You can say your piece, but I’ll deliver the consequences.”

Lewis nodded, satisfied.

“That works for me.”

Toto turned back to me, his expression softening once more.

“Y/n, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this. If there’s anything else you need, support, time off, anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you feel safe and valued here.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.

Lewis stood, pulling me up with him.

“We appreciate it, Toto. Let us know when the meeting is.”

“You’ll hear from me shortly,”

Toto promised, standing to shake Lewis’s hand before giving me a reassuring nod.

As we left the office, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone in this fight.

Lewis wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked down the corridor.

“We’ve got this,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction.

I leaned into him, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, we do.”

Toto wasn’t one to waste time.

Within the hour, Mark, Alan, and Greg were called into his office one by one.

The first to arrive was Mark.

When he stepped in, he wore his usual smug expression, likely thinking this was just another routine meeting.

But Toto’s steely gaze and the presence of Lewis, standing tall with his arms crossed by the window, quickly shattered that notion.

“Have a seat, Mark,”

Toto said curtly, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Mark sat, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between Toto and Lewis.

“What’s this about?”

Toto wasted no time.

“It’s about your behavior toward Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“I’ve been informed of your repeated condescension, disrespect, and comments that have no place in this team, or any professional setting.”

Mark blinked, caught off guard.

“What? That’s not true. I—”

“Don’t bother lying,” Lewis cut in, his voice cold and firm.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on Mark.

“We’ve both heard enough from Y/n and other team members. You’ve been targeting her for years, haven’t you? Questioning her qualifications, making snide remarks about her role here, and today, outright implying she only got her position because of me.”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… Look, it was just banter. No harm meant.”

“Banter?” Toto echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“You call undermining one of the most talented engineers on this team banter? You call questioning her abilities and belittling her contributions banter?”

Mark leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Toto, I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just—”

“Enough,” Toto interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“I won’t tolerate excuses. You’ve created a hostile environment for one of your colleagues, and that is unacceptable. You’ve not only disrespected Y/L/N but also the principles this team stands for. I don’t care how long you’ve been here, Mark. Your behavior is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Mark paled, his smugness vanishing entirely.

“Dismissal? Wait, Toto, please. I’ve been with this team for years. You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Toto said, his voice resolute.

“Pack your things. Security will escort you out by the end of the day.”

Mark turned to Lewis, desperation in his eyes.

“Lewis, you can’t agree with this. We’re teammates, for God’s sake!”

Lewis’s expression didn’t waver.

“You stopped being my teammate the moment you disrespected Y/n. Pack your things, Mark.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he left the office in silence.

Next was Alan.

He walked in with a similar air of confidence, though it quickly dissipated when he noticed the tense atmosphere.

“Toto,” Alan began, sitting down and glancing uneasily at Lewis.

“What’s going on?”

Toto leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk.

“What’s going on, Alan, is that your behavior toward Y/L/N has come to light. Years of dismissive comments, snide remarks, and today, a blatant attack on her credibility. Care to explain yourself?”

Alan frowned, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I might’ve been a little hard on her, but it’s nothing personal. She’s young and still learning. I thought she could use a bit of tough love.”

Lewis scoffed from his spot by the window.

“Tough love? Is that what you call undermining her at every turn and insulting her in front of the team?”

Alan shifted uncomfortably.

“She’s good at her job, I’ll give her that. But come on, Lewis, you can’t deny people have wondered if her connection to you played a part in her being hired. It’s not like I said anything everyone wasn’t already thinking.”

Lewis took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides.

“The only reason anyone would think that is because people like you spread that garbage around."

"Y/n earned her place on this team through her hard work and talent, not because of me."

We didn't even know each other when she joined. And even if, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, the way you’ve treated her is disgusting.”

Toto’s expression darkened further.

“Alan, you’ve been with Mercedes long enough to know we value respect and inclusivity above all else. What you’ve done isn’t just a breach of trust, it’s a breach of the very foundation of this team. Your actions have consequences. You’re fired, effective immediately.”

Alan stood abruptly, his face red with anger.

“You’re seriously going to throw away years of experience over a few jokes?”

“Yes,” Toto said bluntly.

“And I suggest you leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

Alan glared at both of them before storming out, muttering under his breath.

Finally, it was Greg’s turn.

Unlike the others, Greg walked in looking visibly nervous.

He barely met Toto’s eyes as he sat down, fidgeting with his hands.

“Greg,” Toto began, his voice steady but firm.

“You know why you’re here.”

Greg nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I figured.”

“Then you know the kind of behavior we’re addressing,” Toto continued.

“You’ve contributed to a toxic work environment for Y/L/N and others. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Greg hesitated, glancing at Lewis, who was staring at him with barely concealed anger.

“I—I don’t have an excuse. I guess… I thought it was harmless, but it clearly wasn’t. I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

Toto’s brow furrowed.

“You thought it was harmless? You’ve made Y/n feel unwelcome and disrespected in her own workplace. That’s not harmless, it’s damaging. Apologizing now doesn’t erase what you’ve done.”

“I know,” Greg said quickly, his voice trembling.

“I know I messed up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lewis interjected, his voice low but full of authority.

“You had years to change your behavior, and you didn’t. You don’t get to stay on this team after what you’ve done.”

Toto nodded in agreement.

“Greg, I appreciate that you’re taking responsibility, but the damage has been done. You’re no longer part of this team. Security will escort you out shortly.”

Greg’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded, standing to leave.

“My deepest apologies,” he said quietly before walking out.

By the end of the day, the three men were gone, and the Mercedes team felt lighter.

Word of the firings spread quickly, and several team members quietly expressed their relief and support for you.

Back in the garage, Lewis pulled me into a quiet corner.

“It’s done,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest.

“Thank you, Lew. For standing by me.”

“Always sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“No one messes with my girl.”

To all the women facing sexism at work, school, home or online: You are strong, capable, and deserving of respect. Don’t let anyone diminish your worth. Your voice matters, and you are making a difference just by being you. Keep pushing forward.

The end

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton au #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lh44 fic #lh44 x you

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writingsbychlo · 1 year ago

Text

KNOW YOU LIKE I DO | tom riddle

summary; love letters are tom's way of communicating. unfortunately, he's not as good with his actions.

word count; 7036

notes; another one that I said was gonna be short and it wasn’t. I think I’m physically incapable of writing short fics, actually.

Dear Tom,

Tommy.

My Tom.

Do you still have that first letter I wrote to you, back in summer? No, I suppose you don’t, that’s not very like you.

I’m drunk. Just a little bit (a lot), and I can’t take it anymore. Mattheo told me to tell you how I feel, and that is exactly what I’m going to do. He’s asleep on my bed right now, drooling into my favourite pillow waiting for me to write this.

So here it is.

I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m in love. And it’s all your fault.

Staring across the crowded room, your eyes fixed back onto that of Tom Riddle. It wasn’t hard to spot him, not as he was the only man who came to a Christmas party dressed in all black and sat alone, brooding. His lips were pressed into a line, the lights bouncing off of those shiny curls, green and red splashed across his pale skin as he sipped at his drink, listening to the conversation Draco and Blaise were having, but never participating.

Your heart lurched a little in your chest, just the mere sight of him had a thousand different feelings rearing their heads, and you sighed to yourself. Shaking your head, your attention was redirected to the drinks table, pouring yourself an extra strong helping of Giggle Gin and topping it off. The urge to look back over was strong, and you steadfastly ignored it, suppressing the urge and instead, turning your back to his direction, walking towards the group of girls giggling in the opposite corner.

Taking your seat back in the comfy corner of the sofa, Pansy offered you a smile, her arm looped over Luna’s shoulders as the blonde cuddled into her side. Astoria was currently recounting the intimate details of her latest night with Draco, and you hid a smile in your cup as you tuned back into the conversation.

You lost the battle with your will, however, gaze moving directly back across the room to Tom. He had a slight smirk on his face now as he watched Draco speak, and you did not doubt that he was receiving a tale of the exact same encounter Astoria was currently telling, only from a different point of view.

Blonde cut across your vision, the perfect smile of Daphne blocking your view as she sat in front of you, severing any sights of Tom you might have had. “You know,” She started, grinning as she took a sip of your drink cheekily, before handing it back. “If you stare at him any harder, you’re gonna’ drill holes in the side of his head.”

You could only scoff, but no argument formed. Lately, all you’d been able to do was stare longingly at him across any room. You weren’t subtle, and you’d never been much good at hiding your feelings. Which seemed fitting, since you’d fallen for someone who was like a blank slate, permanently.

Tom Riddle was a harder book to read than a tablet written in a never-before-discovered language.

“He looks so… miserable, Daph.”

She glances over her shoulder at him, snorting a laugh, and turning her attention back to you. “Because Tom Riddle doesn’t go to parties, and he’s probably counting the minutes until he can leave.” She smirked a little, shuffling closer, perched on the edge of her seat as she leaned in, “At least, he didn’t go to parties. Until you, that is.”

Your cheeks flushed, a subtle hint at the running joke your friendship group had taken on. They’d all become convinced that Tom attended parties for you, ever since he’d been a willing guest for the first time at Draco’s end-of-summer bonfire bash, and spent the majority of the night talking with you. They refused to let it go.

“You should go over there and cheer him up. I bet he’d be smiling in no time if you gave him a little attention.”

That was exactly the problem. You’d been giving him a little too much attention, and now, everyone was painfully aware of your feelings for him. Except for him, maybe. Either that, or he was just very good at pretending he didn’t notice, in a chance to let you down gently. You didn’t know which option was worse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daph.”

“No, you don’t be ridiculous! You and him are… something else.” She took your free hand in hers, squeezing tightly. All amusement melted from her face, and she gave you a serious look. The expression she wore when advising her sister on Draco, or comforting Pansy after a panic attack. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened over the summer, or are you just going to keep acting like it wasn’t some cataclysmic shift?”

“So dramatic.” You hummed to your roommate.

“Still pretending, I see.” She teases lightly, but her brows are still furrowed. She waited a few more seconds, to see if you’ll crack. All you do is hold her steady gaze, and take a sip of your drink. With a sigh, she released your hand, and leans back in her chair. “Well, whatever. We can all see it, see how you two pine for one another, and how perfect you’d be together. Just go and talk to him! He’s probably sat over there waiting for you anyway. He had that exact same kicked-puppy expression on at the summer party, until you walked in.”

“He did not…” You murmur, the very thought making you blush.

“I think that’s the first time I ever saw Tom Riddle smile. A real smile, not the smile he gets when threatening someone, or when Mattheo falls over. A good smile.”

“Now you’re just making him out like some kind of sulky villain.” You retort, and she only raises a brow at you.

“Here, take him this box, and go talk to him. The poor boy looks lost over there without you.” Reaching under her chair, Daphne produces a familiar box, wrapped neatly in black paper with dark green ribbon, and your jaw drops.

“Daphne!—” Reaching out to snatch it from her, your brows furrow. “Did you go through my things?”

“I didn’t exactly go through your things,” She grins, watching you turn over the label with his name written on neatly. “I just watched you hide it under your bed and got curious… it smells good. Is it cookies? Can I have one?”

When she reaches for the box, you slap the back of her hand, and she sticks her tongue out at you in return. “No! You cannot, you little snoop!”

“Fine! If you won’t let me have a cookie, then you have to go over there. You either give me a cookie, or you give me the satisfaction of seeing you and him smile.” Her arms crossed, her tone annoyed but her words caring, and love shone in her gaze as she stared at you. “Go on. Go over to him. Please.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t already want to, and with her encouragement, you were a weak woman to say no. Downing the rest of your drink for a little liquid courage, you hop to your feet, present clutched in your hands.

Weaving through the room, the bass notes of Mattheo’s custom-made playlist pumped through the room from the speakers, a playlist you might have slightly altered a few days ago to add a couple of songs, just to mix up his usual tastes. Your stomach was twisting nervously, but the alcohol in your veins made for a pleasant buzz as the distance between you both closed.

After almost taking a ping-pong ball to the eye, courtesy of Theo on the beer-pong table, you cleared the games and settled into the pleasant atmosphere surrounding where the boys had set themselves up for the evening by the fire. When you approached, Tom looked up, frown melting away as the crease between his brows disappeared, and he sat up a little straighter as you approached.

“Hi, doll,” He murmured, shifting his arm from the armrest of the chair, so that you could take a seat on it instead. That same arm soon wrapped around your waist, his head falling to rest on your shoulder, and your heart skipped a beat within your chest. “Where’ve you been?”

“Over there, with Daph and the girls.” You whisper in reply, balancing the box on your thighs, and pointing through the crowds to the barely visible patch of chairs and sofas you’d all been occupying. He only hummed, squeezing you a little closer.

“Stay here with me for a while?”

“Sure,” Your voice hardly worked as you spoke, emotions clogging up, and you reached for the gift in your lap. “I have this for you, anyway. I made you those cookies you like so much.”

“You did?” His head lifted, and one of those pretty smiles that made your heart stop clean in your chest was adorning his lips. “The ones with the orange peel and the dark chocolate?”

“Those very ones.” You handed it to him, and he tugged at the ribbon covering the box, fingers flipping under the seals of the paper until it fell openly neatly. Flicking open the catch on the cardboard box, the smell of freshly baked treats filled the air, and he made a rumbling noise of happiness as he plucked on up, and took a bite. As you laughed at him, he took another, pushing it between your lips with a smirk while he chewed.

He resealed the box, savouring them, as he did all things, and putting them on the table in front of himself. You held the cookie now, eating it slowly, as Draco and Blaise finally seemed to become aware of your presence.

“I have a question.” Draco started, and your gaze moved to him, brow raising as you took the final bite. “Is Astoria over there talking about me?”

The blond smirked, and you twisted, lifting your legs to sit over Tom, ankles crossing on the opposite arm. “No, no. She’s been recounting a scene from a book.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You know, the fun books. It was really, really hot.” You teased, fanning yourself, and Tom chuckled, reaching over you for his drink, and taking a sip. Instead of putting it back down, he rested the cool glass on your thigh, his free hand coming to sit on your calf, rubbing lightly as you shivered at the touch. “Why? You think you’re better than a good spicy romance?”

“I know I am!” Draco huffed, and Blaise rolled his eyes, watching you wind his best friend up with barely a few words at all. “What book is this?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know…”

“I do want to know! Tell me!” His cheeks were turning pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. In the spirit of Christmas, you took pity on him, rolling your eyes.

“I think it was called… Astoria’s Diary.”

It took a few seconds for it to register in Draco’s mind, and the furious pink turned to an embarrassed red, and he shook his head, eyes narrowed at you. “I despise you.”

“You love me.” You fired back, and he scoffed, but the edges of his lips pulled at a smile, and he looked away to cover it. Settling back a little more, you leaned into the cushion, feeling Tom roll his head across the cushion to lean in your direction.

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week.” He says, voice low for only you to hear, and your head twists towards him You were close, close enough to pick out the different coloured flecks of colour in his eyes as he looked at you, and the hardly visible steaks of lighter brown that trailed naturally through his dark curls.

“Well, I’ve had detention all week, thanks to a certain someone.” You poked his chest, and he only smirked a little bit, shuffling his head a fraction closer.

“I needed you, what can I say?”

“You needed someone to keep a lookout while you snuck into the restricted section again. Why did it have to be me?” You scoffed, working to keep the smile on your face as the answer to your own question flickered through your mind. He chose you because he knew you’d drop everything and come, the voice taunted; you buried it under the song playing and the laughter in the room so you didn’t have to think about it...

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun when we ran.” He chuckled, hand sliding up your leg again, fingers lacing with your own. The same way they had when you’d been caught, and he’d grabbed your hand, the two of you ducking and weaving between stacks, fleeing through the corridors. Laughing and out of breath, he’d clutched your hand, thumb rubbing over your knuckles just like he was doing now, staring at you with those pretty eyes.

You hadn't been caught, but you had gotten detention for skipping class to go with him, and so you’d spent all five nights of your final week in detention, writing lines. You lifted your free hand, sighing with a nod, and running it through his curls. His eyes fluttered, head tipping back to follow your hand, and a content smile took over his lips.

You loved to see him like this, to see him so carefree and happy, to see him relax at just your touch. You’d never seen him like this before. The thought that only you could do it to him sent a thrill down your spine, made your thoughts feel hazy and slow, like treacle in your mind, and your nerves tingled. So, why had he never made a move to make it anything more? You’d given him a dozen chances, a dozen more opportunities…

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you this holiday.” He broke your train of thought, eyes opening again to peer up at you, and his lips became a frown as he thought about it. “My father is going to pile on the pressure not that I’m in my graduating year. I can already feel the headache forming right between my eyes.”

“Oh..” You coo, hand slipping down from his hair to rub your thumb over his forehead, the space you know him to get stress headaches the worst, when he works too hard or gets wound up. He just chuckled, eyes sliding shut once again.

The song changed, and his body tensed underneath you for just a second, before his eyes snapped open, gaze locked on you. “This is my favourite song.”

“Is it?” You mumble, finger still tracing lightly over his skin, and he nods.

“I didn’t think Mattheo put it on the playlist. I asked him, and he very emphatically said no.”

“Maybe he changed his mind.” Your shrug doesn’t convince him, not as you both hear Mattheo question the song with a stream of curses somewhere in the distance. His lips twitched at the edges, a small smile, but he said nothing else. Instead, he leaned in, your arm going around his shoulders, rubbing softly as his head nestled onto your shoulder, a sigh on his lips.

It was perfect, just like this. If he could just open his eyes and see, he’d know how wonderful it could be. Nobody knew him like you did, he’d made sure to keep his secrets locked up tight. But over the months of exchanging letters, and candle-lit nights in the library, he’d bore so much of his soul to you.

Deep, wounded parts, that you’d tried to put back together.

Soft, tender parts that he protected so valiantly, but trusted you with.

Sweet, loving parts, that never saw the light of day, unless you were together.

It was impossible, surely, that he didn’t know. He might keep his feelings locked up tight, but you didn’t hide yours very well at all. As you sat here now, fingers weaving through his hair, lips tracing his temple as you whispered nonsense to him about your day, his head on your shoulder, that he didn’t know. Even a man like Tom Riddle couldn't miss it, right?

You just wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t feel the same.

With a heart-aching sigh, you ran your fingers through his curls one more time. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your night. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your Christmas. You would not be one of those girls who gave in to their feelings, and crumbled at the feet of a man who didn’t return her affections.

Sitting up some more, he grumbled at the disruption, blinking his eyes back open as he lifted his head again. “I’m… I’m going to go dance, and play some games, okay?”

“Alright,” He smiled, patting your thigh and lifting his drink away. “Have fun. I’ll probably leave soon. If I don’t see you again, just know I’ll be thinking of you over these holidays. We’ll write again.”

His words send a rush of heat to your cheeks, a tumble of nerves through your stomach, and you could only nod. One more chance, one more chance to make a move…

“Merry Christmas, Tommy,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek. A kiss that was purposefully close to the edge of his mouth, a kiss that purposefully lingered just a second too long as you pulled away slowly, giving him a chance to turn his head, to close the gap, to kiss you—

But he didn’t, he only smiled. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

So, you stand. You brush it off. You brush off the moment, and the feelings, and all the disappointment and heartbreak that came with it.

But I can’t do it anymore.

We’ve been housemates for seven years, we’ve been friends for half of those, and I’ve been in love with you for months.

But you don’t love me. Mattheo says you do, says you’re just stupid when it comes to feelings. But, even you couldn't miss how I feel about you.

So, I’m letting you go.

New Year, New Me, New Heart.

“No, your dorm is that way.” You giggle, Mattheo’s arm over your shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the boy’s dorms and pointing. “My dorm is this way!”

“No, you’re wrong!” He mutters, shaking his head dramatically. “Boys to the left,” He says, pointing right, “Girls to the right, because girls are always right!”

“Well, I won’t argue with you there.” You grin, spinning him around. “Wait, now I’m confused. Who’s dorm were we going to again?”

A few too many shots, a few more drinks than your limit at the beer-pong table, and as the last of the party was dying down, you and Mattheo were attempting to stumble back to your dorms. “Theo’s.”

“Right. But why are we going to Theo’s dorm?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Mattheo said. “And also, his bed is next to mine.” Another fit of laughter, drunken giggles melting away, and the two of you collapsed down against the wall, heads tipped back to the stone as amusement took over. When you finally caught your breaths once again, he was smiling, eyes sparkling in that unique Matty-way. Kicking his legs out before himself, he sighed. “Maybe I will just sleep here.”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Why?” He pouted, and you searched through your foggy mind for a reason.

“Because you have to sleep in a bed.” Is what you settled on, shrugging your shoulders, even if you were getting a little bit too comfy against the stone too.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” He wiggled his brows, smirking, before burping, and you giggled again.

“No, you may not.”

“Why?” He whined, kicking one leg like a toddler in a tantrum. “You have fluffy pillows.”

“And you have sheets that haven’t been washed in months.” Your nose screwed up, and he let out a dramatic, wounded sound, like a soldier who had just been shot in a war movie.

“That was cold.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Not as cold as the frozen Earth Tom would bury my wee little body in if I spent the night at your dorm.”

You didn’t respond, the mention of his name was like a bucket of ice over your head. Not exactly sobering, but shocking.

“I’m saying he would murder me.”

“Yes, I understood.”

“You didn’t laugh.” He pouted, and you chuckled for his benefit. “No, it’s not real. Now I feel like I begged for it.”

“You did.”

“You suck.”

“You swallow.” You sighed, and he groaned once again, another argument lost. His head rolled to your shoulder, his body slumping into relaxation.

“So… what is the deal with you and my brother?” His lips twisted as he thought about it, but he looked up at you curiously, frown only deepening at the sad look on your face.

“There is no deal.” You shrug, “He doesn’t want me like that. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” He snorts, “And the sky isn’t blue.”

“I’m serious, Matty. I’ve given him a hundred chances. He could’ve made a move anytime. I haven’t exactly kept my feelings to myself, all you fools can see my heart dripping and bleeding on my sleeve. He knows, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.” Your lungs burned for air at the end of your speech, and you took a deep breath, staring ahead at the chipping bricks in an attempt to avoid tears. “Why doesn’t he want me, Matty?”

“He does,” Mattheo mumbled, taking your hand in his and squeezing. “He’s just a fucking moron. But, he’s also scared. You know, you’re pretty much all he talks about? And, I never saw him smile so much as he did during the summer, when he’d receive your letters. He’d get all anxious and fidgety every day, waiting for the mail owl to arrive. He’s never going to make the first move. He’d rather suffer for all his life but have you like this, than risk losing you entirely.”

The words felt like a warming blanket and an ice-cold lake. Comforting and terrifying, sweet and burning, all at the same time.

Mattheo huffed a laugh, “Maybe you should write him a love letter.”

“Maybe I should…” You whisper, drunken thoughts taking over, and his head snapped up.

“I was joking.”

“I’m not. That’s a good idea. I should write him a letter, and tell him that I’m moving on.” You brushed your legs off as you stood, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet, determined.

“Okay, that’s not what a love letter is. That’s so far from what I said—”

“Let’s go!” You grabbed his wrist, tugging him along behind you as you made your way through the halls.

“Now? Why are we doing it now? We should be sleeping now!” His protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him along. Throwing open the door to your room, Daphne was already asleep, still in her party dress, face down on her pillow, out cold from the night’s festivities and snoring.

Mattheo collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto his side and clutching a fluffy cushion to his chest as he curled into a ball.

“I’ll just wait here, then.” He yawned through his words, but you were too busy to care, scrambling for a pot of ink and some new parchment. Taking a seat at your desk, you stared at the paper, quill hovering, ready to write.

So, I will spend the end of this year away from you. You say we’ll write, but I don’t want to.

Only write to me, Tom, if you feel the same. If not, don’t. Let me heal, and when we come back in the New Year, I promise, nothing will change except for my heart.

We will still be friends, best friends, and we’ll never talk about it again.

I will wait for you.

Finishing the letter, you sighed at it, the ink drying and immortalising your words onto the page. Sitting before you was the sum total of what sat in your heart, and your mind. Laid out and ready to go, your hands trembled a little as you read it over, and over, to be sure.

But you had to do this, you had to give this letter to him, to alleviate the strain on your heart, to finally have some closure. Whether he felt the same or not, you’d have relief. Folding it carefully, you searched a strip of wax seal lighting the end and waiting for it to get hot, drips of Slytherin green filling into a pool that overlapped the edge of your paper. When there was enough, you stamped it carefully, sealing it shut as the wax cooled.

Taking a look behind you, you caught sight of a sleeping Mattheo, his jaw hanging open, drooling onto your favourite throw pillow, half tucked under your blankets from where he’s only bothered to cover his legs. Peeling away the wax seal, you walked over to him, shaking his shoulder, until he awoke with a huff and a groan, whining as he sat up.

“I was dreaming.”

“I wrote the letter.” You show him the proof, and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, glancing from it, to you, and back. “You have to give it to him.”

“Now?”

“No! Not now. Tomorrow. After we get off the train.” He blinked a little more, waking up from his power nap and taking the paper from you. Flipping it over in his hands, he inspected Tom’s name across the front, no address, and raised his brows.

“Why don’t you mail it?”

“That’ll take days, and I don’t want to leave it up to chance. I need you to give it to him, tomorrow. I know you’ll be swamped with everything your father expects of you both this time of year, events and frivolities and all, but you have to. I don’t want it getting lost amongst other letters and Christmas cards, and such.” Your hands clasped together before you, blinking at him pleadingly, and hoping your puppy-dog eyes were half as good as his.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself as he stood.

“Please, Matty.”

“Fine. I’ll give it to him.” He caved, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Tomorrow? After you get off the train?”

“Yes. I will give Tom the letter… tomorrow.”

Yours,

If you want me,

(y/n) x

Tom double-checked his bags, sighing as he zipped up the piece of luggage he’d actually have access to on the train, everything he needed to survive a six-hour train journey. A knock sounded from the door, a signature one that only Mattheo ever used, excessively long and irritating, and the door swung open a second later to reveal his brother.

Placing his carry-on down on the bed beside his own, Mattheo slumped out on his freshly-stripped bed. “You took your bags to the carriage already?”

“I got up early.”

“Surprising, I thought I’d have to drag you out of your bed this morning considering how much you drank last night.” He gave his brother a look, a single brow raised, and Mattheo just huffed.

“It’s called having fun, you should try it sometime.”

Tom only rolled his eyes, gaze scanning across the bag Mattheo had abandoned, snagging on the letter sticking out of one pocket. T— was all that was visible. It might have been a card, that someone had addressed it to ‘Theo’ instead of Mattheo, but everyone called him ‘Matt’ if they wanted a nickname, to avoid confusion with Nott.

Curiosity ate at him, and nudging the bag subtly revealed just enough more to show an ‘O’.

Definitely Tom, then. Mattheo was carrying a letter for him, and had not delivered it. Before he could pluck it from the pocket, his brother was sitting up, reaching for his bag and getting to his feet, swinging the letter out of his reach inadvertently.

“Ready to go?”

“Is that letter for me?” Tom burst instead, making another move for the bag. His suspicions were only confirmed when Mattheo shifted his body, pulling the arm carrying the bag away from him, behind his body and out of Tom’s reach. “Why do you have it? When did it arrive?”

Mattheo turned casually, looking down at it, patting it and pushing it back into the bag, deeper. Tom recognised that handwriting now, though, and the urgency swelled. “Uh… last night, I think. But I was a little drunk, so…”

“Why didn’t you give it to me?” Tom pressed, biting his tongue from yelling at his brother, and Mattheo just shrugged.

“Figured I’d give it to you on the train, or something. Or when we got home. It’s just a letter.”

“Yeah…” Tom could only hum in response, his mind spinning a little. Everyone had exchanged gifts and goodbyes last night, before the party. For exactly this reason, to avoid the morning rush to the train, to avoid the hassle in the morning. “But— I saw her last night. Why wouldn't she just give it to me then? Or mail it to me?”

The questions were ceaseless, almost making Tom dizzy as he tried to think them through, and Mattheo could only shrug, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself.

“I don’t know, Tom. She just came to me, and asked me to give you that letter because she didn’t want it to get lost amongst other letters, or take too long, or something like that.” It was a small lie, really, fabricated from aspects of the truth.

“So, it’s important, then! It’s obviously important if she couldn't risk it getting lost, if it had to be hand-delivered! I should read it.” Just like that, Tom stepped right into Mattheo’s trap. Now all he had to do was pull the pin, and let the steel jaws snap shut. Yes, it could potentially backfire hugely, but Mattheo was looking on the positive side for this.

“We have to go, Tom. Everyone else has probably already left for the train.” Mattheo swung his bag again, making his point, and kicked Tom’s suitcase from where it sat beside the door towards him to pick up. “Let’s go.”

Tom sighed, grabbing his bags and taking a few steps after him, and didn’t even make it over the threshold of the door before he gave in. His bags dropped from his hands, and planted on his hips instead. “I’m going to read it.”

“Tom—”

“Give me the letter.” He held out his pal, and Mattheo tipped his head to the side, but pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “I’ll catch up, you go. I’ll read it and I’ll catch up, it’s only a letter, can’t take that long.”

He lunged for Mattheo's bag, snatching the crisply pressed paper from the pocket before his brother could stop him. As he turned away, he missed Mattheo’s victorious smile. “Alright, I’ll take your trunk down. Don’t be long, or you’ll miss the train.” And you’ll miss her, were Mattheo’s unspoken words, as he grabbed Tom’s suitcase and disappeared, leaving him alone.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tom’s hand shook a little. The paper felt like it weighed a thousand tons. There was so much unspoken mystery behind it that Tom was sure whatever this letter said, it was not their usual correspondence. Not the chatty, friendly, borderline flirty letters they’d send each other when apart, this was more.

Sliding his thumb neatly under the wax seal he was so familiar with, Tom popped open the letter, unfolding it carefully and flipping it around to read.

His gaze scanned over the paper, lips flicking up at the use of the nickname he only allowed you to use, the swirl of your handwriting that he loved so much. The smile didn’t last long, however, and neither did the breath in his lungs as his chest seized. He read it.

Over and over again, he read the letter.

The minutes melted past as he absorbed what it said, until he could read the letter word for word without looking at it, tattooed into his mind now like a brand. With trembling fingers, he folded the letter back up carefully, lifting the paper to his lips as his eyes slid shut.

His heart was pounding, more so than he’d ever felt. Tom was not one for rash decisions and sudden jumps, everything was calculated and thought through and planned. But this, this was you. This is just what you did, forced him to let go of routine and be spontaneous, forced him to be carefree, to loosen the grip he had on the reigns, to show him he wouldn't fall apart at the slightest breeze.

He smiled against the letter, thoughts of you flicking through his mind.

And then a clock chimed, and he jumped violently within as he was rushed back to reality in a split second. The clock in the common room chimed loudly, echoing through the empty dorms and halls.

Rushing to his feet, Tom opened his bag, tucking the letter safely inside one of his books to preserve it, to tuck it inside the box of letters from you that was tucked under his bed at home. You doubted him, his feelings, unsure he’d kept that first letter, when in reality, he’d kept every single one.

Every letter, every note, even the silly little joke you scribbled on torn-off pieces of paper and threw at him in class, he kept them all.

Zipping his bag back up and grabbing it, he had no time to spare, racing to the chimes of the clock through the castle, to the front gates where the final carriage was leaving.

It felt too long. Too long as the horses plodded through the snow, too long as the wheel scrolled slowly, and his foot tapped agitatedly on the floor in a way he never allowed himself to do. His thumbnail was between his teeth, flicking between the frost-covered ground and his bag, wondering if it would actually be faster to run there himself.

Ahead, the train sounded its horn. The final warning for all students to begin boarding and settling in, because they’d be departing soon.

You watched as the trunks were beginning loaded onto the train, all to be collected when you arrived in London, only letting out a breath of relief as Mattheo rounded the corner, finally joining your group.

“Matty! About time, we were worried you’d miss the train.” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he sighed, a little out of breath, and hugged you back once he dropped the two bags in his hands. Nobody followed him, and your brows furrowed, pulling back, “Where’s Tom?”

“He’s probably already on the train, sulking somewhere. He’s never late.” Theo snickered, and you rolled your eyes, smacking him across the shoulder for his joke.

“Blaise is inside holding a cabin for us, is Tom not sitting with us?” Enzo questioned, and you turned to Mattheo, waiting for answers.

“He’ll be here, trust me.”

“He’s late?” Draco asked, quickly followed by Enzo and Theo, all discussing it. Regulus stayed quiet, smoking and trying to hide it from being seen, but his expression was just as concerned as everyone else’s.

The chatter continued on, by your worry didn’t cease, checking up and down the platform as people bustled and crowded it. Saying their final goodbyes and giving out hugs, climbing on and off the train as they all wished one another Merry Christmas, and being unable to see either end was causing your anxiety to rocket higher.

The train horn blared again, and students began to board. “Mattheo, seriously, where is he—” Just like that, you saw him, the busy platform parting to let him through, the look on his face as terrifying as ever, and people moved out of his way as he made his way towards your group.

“Told you he’d be here,” Mattheo smirked, and you raised a brow.

“The hell did you say to him this morning, Matt?” Regulus questions.

“He looks mad,” Draco murmured.

“He looks like he’s plotting.” Enzo corrected.

Every step closer rose the tension as Tom finally looked up, his sights setting on you, and his jaw clenched. Brows drawn in, he did look like he was plotting, like a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind that he couldn't sort through.

“Hey, man. We thought you were gonna’ miss the—” Draco’s words cut off at your squeak, as Tom stepped closer, never stopping the movements of his body until he was cupping your cheeks, his mouth descending upon your own.

You were almost knocked backwards from the force of it, your hands gripping at his shoulders as he bent you over backwards, a kiss so intense your knees almost went weak.

It was desperate, you could barely keep up, kissing back as best you could through your shock, until it wore off enough to reciprocate. Wrapping one arm around his neck, your other slipped to his face, his own hands making their way down, to band around your waist and pull you in closer, until your bodies were flush.

His tongue licked into your mouth, a sigh escaping you as he did, and your heart pounded against your heart, the same way he was doing, felt through his jumper and layers. The boys were whistling, cheering and hooting, and if you weren’t so happy you’d have been embarrassed by the show they were making, and the attention they were no doubt drawing.

When he finally pulled back, you panted softly, his forehead resting on your own, blinking his eyes open to meet your gaze.

“Can I write to you regardless?” He mumbled, voice rough and tense with emotion, and your brows furrowed.

“Wh— What?”

He leaned in, not helping you clear your dazed mind at all as he kissed you again, and again, until you were smiling, fingers clenched so tight in his coat that your knuckles were white, just to stay upright.

You pecked his lips once more, chasing him as he pulled back, and the train horn sounded, a final warning, but you didn’t care. “You know how I feel now. You don’t have to wait for my reply. You can be assured that I will miss you dearly over these two weeks, and I am already counting the minutes until I see you again. But can I write to you, still?”

As the realisation set in, your face flamed, jaw dropping a little bit, and he wasted no opportunity, kissing you softly. “You read my letter.”

He only nodded, a gentle chuckle onto your mouth as your lips brushed. “You’d leave it to Mattheo to deliver? He’d probably lose it at a McDonalds, trying to get a Big Mac before my father saw him, on the way home.

Your laughter was sweet, a puffed-out sound as his hands smoothed up and down your back. “I’d love to get more letters from you, Tommy. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you in person, but I was scared. I thought I’d made my feelings for you obvious, and you didn’t reciprocate, so I had to write that letter. To get it out, to finalise it all.”

“I like to consider myself a smart man, you know. When it comes to you, clearly, I’m a fool. You leave me speechless, and without proper thoughts, every time. All I can think about is how pretty you are, and how much I like you, despite my best efforts not to.”

The declaration was so utterly Tom, to hate being in love even if he loved it.

“For Salazar’s sake, what have you done, Matt?” Theo cussed, and you twisted your head to look at him. “Shakespeare over here is going to be writing sonnets for the rest of the year. None of us will stand a chance with any other girls when he’s showing us up, standing under windows, yelling his love to the moon.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring their nonsense. Tom did the same, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and leaving a kiss there.

“I’ll look forward to your letters, just as I did in the summer.” You whisper, pulling away from him as the platform clears, most students already aboard now.

“And after?” Tom questions, “May I still write you letters if I, too, find myself struggling to confess my feelings in person?”

“Oh, God,” Enzo muttered. “He’s going to be writing love letters all year. He’s making the rest of us sound like cavemen. Me, you, bed, now.” He grunted, smacking a fist in his chest. You giggled as Tom rolled his eyes.

“We should get on the train.” You whisper, taking pity on the others and untangling yourself from his arms.

Tom took his bag again, and your own. With a final kiss on your cheek, he walked away to the door of the carriage, letting the rest of you follow behind. Mattheo fell into step beside you, smirking as he bumped your hips with his own.

“So, should I tell my mother and father that they have a new daughter-in-law this holiday, or wait ‘til the next.”

His teasing made you blush again, cheeks already red in the cold, warming you under all those layers. “You’re a filthy traitor. You gave him my letter early.”

“I said I’d give it to him ‘tomorrow’. Never agreed to the after the train part.” He tutted, proud of himself. “Always pay attention to the words of a contract. My dear brother taught me that. You never have to break a promise, if you’re smart with your words.”

That sounded exactly like something your man would say, your eyes rolling to the Heavens.

Mattheo leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper as the pair of you climbed the steps. “You never have to break your heart either, if you’re smart about who you give it to.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle/you #tom riddle x you #hp #christian coulson #slytherin boys

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milkoomi · 13 days ago

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semester success. ᥫ᭡

[ 3 chapter mini series ] | chapter one

in this series, i’m going to teach you all my helpful tips and tricks on how to succeed in the new semester in just 3 quick chapters! get ready to take notes, we’re diving right in!

chapter two — MASTERING NOTE-TAKING

in the last chapter, we talked about the first week and how to prepare for it! now, we’re going to get real into it and talk about one of the most important skills that can help increase your level of success throughout the semester: taking notes.

class is in session …

୨ৎ — physical or digital

let’s first decide how we’re going to take notes. if you’re the classic/traditional type, a notebook & some pens/pencils & highlighters are the way to go! but if you’re feeling a bit more modernized, grab your laptop and/or tablet!

i personally use my ipad to take notes! i know lots of people who use Notion, create digital documents for their notes, utilize GoodNotes/Notably, and i use this app called CollaNote (more on this later)! if you’re note-taking digitally, find an app or format that works best for you! you can play around with the different apps and tools on your device! digital note-taking also allows for more creativity, in my opinion, but i’ve seen loads of students get really creative with traditional styled notes!

digital note-taking inspo:

i highly recommend this post by @glowettee if you want a quick, but detailed list of how to get set up for digital note-taking!

physical note-taking inspo:

୨ৎ — note-taking methods

there’s lots of ways to take notes! that’s the beauty of note-taking, there’s no one right way of doing so or any wrong way of doing so! there’s a variety of ways to take notes, so find and play around with what works best for you!

different methods:

quick notes - the unaesthetic version

you’ll see lots of people say that they rewrite their notes, and i’m one of those people! i typically don’t take notes during lectures (mainly because my ADD doesn’t allow me to lol) but when i’m actually able to take some notes, my in-class writing is just plain bullet points and words scrambled onto my page.

i see “quick notes” as a way of making sure you get all the key points from the lecture without the stress of writing everything else down.

here’s how:

don’t focus on writing every single thing down! this will make you lose track of what the professor might be saying in addition to what’s in the textbook/lecture slides.

focus on the key points! keep an ear out for your professor and if they say something like “this will be on the exam” or “this is really important to know”. those are the things that need to be written down!

remember: you can always go back and rewrite your notes! having just the key points written down will help you 1. stay focused during class and 2. be prepared for what to focus on during your studies.

don’t worry about your notes looking bland or messy, again, you can go back and rewrite your notes to make it look nice and add additional information! this “quick notes” method is for people who are like me and struggle with taking notes during lectures!

** tina’s tip: record the lecture! if you’re able to have your phone out or if your computer/tablet has a recording feature, use it to record the lecture so that when you do go back to rewrite your notes you don’t forget any other important points!

mind-mapping - an organized flow chart

how it works:

start with your central idea or main topic you want to focus on! have this be the center of your mind-map.

when info regarding this topic starts to come up, write them down and connect that additional information with the central idea using lines and arrows.

get creative! use different colors and add images or symbols!

mind-maps are a great way to organize and visualize the information you need to do into a creative diagram! this is a great method for those visual learners!

boxing method - compartmentalizing notes

this method is another great one for visual learners as it allows you to create a chart for yourself and all that you’re learning in class!

how it works:

start by dividing up your page so that you have different boxes set out for you!

include headings/titles for each box and have them relate to each topic you’re learning.

in those boxes, write down key points from each topic and include any and all information as you can!

you can also connect the boxes with lines and arrows to see how all that information flows together and relates to one another!

i suggest going onto @nenelonomh ‘s blog and reviewing her study corner where there’s a section dedicated to different note-taking methods! as well as other helpful academic advice!

୨ৎ — record your lectures

i mentioned this earlier, but i just want to reiterate this point! recording lectures will help you so much with note-taking as it allows you to go back to what was said in class and continue taking notes that way. it’s extremely helpful especially when your teacher/professor is a fast talker and you can’t keep up with note-taking in class!

୨ৎ — color coding

an easy way to make your notes more appealing to you is by color coding everything! feel free to pick your favorite colors and use those!

what to color code:

key points

important vocab/terms

connecting topics

additional notes from your teacher/professor

୨ৎ — CollaNote

i promise this is entirely unsponsored, but i do love this app! it’s completely free (with in-app purchases if you want to unlock other templates)!

it comes with a variety of free tools, pen styles, highlighters, colors for those writing tools (which are also entirely customizable!), page templates, recording feature, and so much more that i can’t fully remember off the top of my head!

it also allows you to organize everything into folders which is really, really nice! organization of your notes is also super important when it comes to note-taking! so let’s get into organization!

୨ৎ — note organization

if you’re taking notes in the traditional way, make sure you have designated notebooks for each class. if you’re using a binder that includes all of your classes, make sure you have those divider tabs to prevent from any of your notes integrating with your other ones!

for digital notes, make sure you have folders or an organized list of links for each of your courses! it’s important that your files are titled accordingly so that there’s less confusion when you need to go back to any of your notes!

going back to note-taking methods, make sure when you’re writing your notes that you stay consistent with your organization!

write your topics in chronological order

create sections for different bits of information

color code

you don’t want your notes to be a jumbled mess! not having some kind of organization system can lead to confusion while studying or unclear information on the topics you’re learning.

before you’re dismissed …

note-taking, as i mentioned at the beginning, is one of the most important skills to have while in school. you want to make sure you have effective notes that will help you understand the material and help you study for upcoming quizzes/exams! just imagine yourself as the main character in a show or movie and think of yourself as this studious and amazing person while taking notes and sitting through lectures! romanticize your academic career!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

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ventique18 · 8 months ago

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Shop owner 🌸 and 🐉 who comes by everyday to get something without fail. The first time you met was uneventful; just one normal customer amongst the many-- if a huge guy dressed in expensive-looking tailored outfits was the norm. You called him "sir" the first couple of times, but after a few pleasant conversations and comfortable laughter, you began to affectionately greet him with a "Hello, stranger." He flushed at that and immediately introduced himself because he always forgot to do so before. You laughed and proposed that "stranger" be your exclusive nickname for him, to which he reluctantly agreed. He eventually grew to like it.

If you sell flowers, he'll rotate between bouquets and mention that they're for his grandmother. If you're a pharmacist, he'll pick up vitamins and maintenance meds daily. You ask why he just doesn't get a bottle once a month, so he'll share that his father's a bit forgetful so he personally hands it to him daily. It doesn't really answer why he needs to buy exactly one tablet each, once a day-- but you're not one to press people.

If you sell...rice, he's basically providing 90% of your income by picking up several kilos every day. You ask if he's running an orphanage with how much he needs, but he just laughs and spills that he has growing brothers and they both eat like hungry crocodiles.

Honestly, you quickly catch on that he just likes talking to you. You don't really see him around outside of his appearances to buy something, so it must take a bit of effort to travel from wherever he comes from. So one day you jokingly mention, "You should just move next to me if my wares are that integral to your life. God knows we need more neighbors here besides retired old ladies and their noisy grandkids ringing my doorbell for shits and giggles."

"I wish you would move into my house."

"Sorry, what was that? The neighbor's music is a bit loud."

He smiles a polite "nothing" before bidding you farewell for the day. A week passes by and he doesn't come again. You wonder if what you said was off-putting to him, but you settle with the more positive thought that he must have a lot going on in his private life. You find yourself hoping he'd pass by again so you could apologize if your joke offended him in any way. Odd as your relationship is, you do think of him as a friend.

So when one day you're walking home from having visited the groceries, your surprise is immeasurable as you stroll by Ms. Betsy's house. Because instead of the cranky auntie who liked to yell at kids and hiss at visiting stray cats, there now stands a guy. A huge guy with equally huge shears shaping the bushes around shrubs of roses that you swear Ms. Betsy never had. A guy that you know very well.

You do remember that the auntie used to like droning about how she'd sell that house and fly to a different country as soon as the opportunity arises, but...

"Hello, stranger..?" You greet with an equal amount of hesitation, confusion, and relief.

He turns. You swear your stomach exploded into a fit of butterflies when a mischievous smile plays on his lips.

"Why, hello... neighbor. You were not joking when you mentioned the children who enjoy ringing doorbells."

You laugh, "Did I mention shopkeepers who ring their neighbor's doorbells yet?"

"That," he replies as he begins sauntering back to his house, "I do not mind." When his hand reaches the door knob, he looks back to you with a grin, "Would you like a cup of tea? You can tell me more about this mysterious shopkeeper over a tray of honey biscuits."

#i played fields of mistria's demo and thought of this #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #ventique rambles #malleus x reader

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dovesdreaming · 5 months ago

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Boutiques and bionics

Summary: Chase’s girlfriend loves to shop and is a bit of a diva but fits right into the davenports with her loving attitude towards them.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

Chase Davenport sat in the middle of the sleek Davenport mansion's spacious living room, his eyes glued to the tablet in his hand. The holographic projection flickered, showing a complex blueprint for a new bionic enhancement he'd been working on. The numbers and diagrams danced in his mind, but his concentration was abruptly interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the marble floor. “Chase! There you are!” a melodic voice chimed, filling the room with an energy that was both captivating and, at times, overwhelming. Chase looked up, his expression softening as he saw his girlfriend, you, walking towards him. You were a vision of glamour, as always, dressed in a perfectly tailored designer outfit that complemented your flawless style. Your dark hair was swept back in a sleek ponytail, and you wore a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on your head like a crown.

“Hey, y/n” Chase greeted her with a smile, setting his tablet down on the coffee table. You, the epitome of fashion and flair, had an aura that could light up any room. Despite your diva like tendencies, your love for shopping, designer brands, and everything luxurious. You were kind-hearted and adored the Davenport family. You had a way of making everyone feel special, even if your enthusiasm for the latest fashion trends sometimes overshadowed the more mundane aspects of life.

You sauntered over to him, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “Guess what I just found at the mall? The most fabulous dress! It’s perfect for that gala you’re dragging me to next week”. Chase chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist as you showed him a picture of the dress on your phone. It was a stunning piece, all elegance and sophistication, just like you. “I’m not dragging you anywhere. You were the one who said you’d be happy to come”. You smirked, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “True, true. But we both know you’re the one who’s really excited about this whole sciencey gala thing. I’m just there to look pretty on your arm”. Chase laughed, knowing you were only half joking. He loved how different you were; where he was analytical and logical, you were vibrant and spontaneous. But it worked. Somehow, it just worked.

“And how are my favorite couple doing?” a voice interrupted from the entrance. You both turned to see Donald Davenport, Chase’s adoptive father and the genius behind the bionic technology, walking in with a grin on his face. You instantly brightened, stepping away from Chase to greet Donald with a hug. “Hi, Mr. Davenport! I was just telling Chase about the amazing dress I got today. You’ll love it, it’s absolutely to die for!” You exclaimed, your enthusiasm infectious. Donald chuckled, patting your shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll look fantastic, y/n. And please, call me Donald”. Chase watched the interaction with a warm smile. You had been part of his life for almost a year now, and in that time, you’d become close to his family. You had a unique way of winning people over, even Leo, who was usually skeptical of most people.

“By the way, y/n” Donald said, as they all moved toward the living room, “Tasha wanted me to ask if you could help her pick out an outfit for the gala. She said you have the best fashion sense out of anyone she knows”. Your eyes widened with delight. “I’d love to! Tell Tasha I’ll be over tomorrow to help her out”. Chase’s heart swelled with affection as he watched you chatting animatedly with Donald. Despite your love for all things glamorous, you never hesitated to go out of your way to help those you cared about. You were kind, compassionate, and brought a vibrancy to the Davenport household that Chase hadn’t even realized was missing.

After a few more minutes of chatting, Donald excused himself to go back to his work, leaving Chase and you alone again “So” you began, turning to face him with a mischievous glint in your eyes, “I was thinking we could have a little date night tonight. Maybe dinner at that new rooftop restaurant downtown?”. Chase hesitated, glancing back at his tablet. He had planned to spend the evening working on his latest bionic project, but one look at your hopeful expression and he knew his work could wait.

“Sounds perfect” he said, slipping his hand into yours. “But I’m picking up the tab this time. You always insist on treating me, and I want to return the favour”. You giggled, squeezing his hand. “Deal. But only if you promise to let me drag you into a few shops afterward. I saw some shoes that would look amazing with my new dress”. Chase rolled his eyes playfully but nodded. “Alright, but you’re going to have to explain to me why you need another pair of shoes when you already have a closet full”.

You laughed, pulling him towards the door. “Oh, sweetie, there’s always room for more shoes. Now come on, let’s go. We have a date with the stars and some fabulous cuisine!”. As you left the mansion, hand in hand, Chase couldn’t help but marvel at how lucky he was. He had his family, his work, and you-a girl who brought color into his meticulously ordered world. And for once, he was more than happy to let go of his logical side and just enjoy the adventure. Because with you by his side, life was anything but predictable and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Thank you for reading!

#blog #fanfiction #fandom #x reader #x you #x y/n #disney #disney channel x reader #disney x reader #disney channel #chase davenport #chase davenport x reader #lab rats #lab rats x reader #chase Davenport imagine

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escelia · 9 months ago

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Congrats! Its A Boy!

Here's the second chapter of New Sibling Just Dropped! The inspiration train is still on track, and I've been having a lot of fun writing this. So far, my goal has been to post one chapter after I've written the one after it. I hope my motivation sticks around long enough for me to get all my thoughts typed out! Enjoy!

@flamingpudding here is your best friend mandated update tag! Love ya~

“For interrogation,” his children had said as they diligently separated their hostage and Robin from being near each other. His youngest was absolutely seething, and rightfully so. He’d been cloned several times by his mother, each one of them out for Damian’s head. His children had been right about this one though, he was different in a very strange way. He hadn’t put up much of a fight at all, and in fact had been quite obedient thus far. He seemed very confused and lost in thought. It was suspicious. He couldn’t let his guard down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce had been suspicious when Nightwing and Red Robin dragged a blindfolded child on board. He’d been blindfolded and maneuvered into a seat, but hadn’t struggled at all.

When they entered the cave they immediately restrained the child in their little interrogation room. It wasn’t ideal that he was there at all, but they’d get way faster results from the DNA they’d swiped from him on their way there on the Batcomputer than anywhere else. And if he was a clone of Damian, they didn’t want anyone seeing his face. He had Tim get to work running the sample while he grabbed the folder with everything he knew about the League’s clones so far. He could have taken a tablet in with all the digital files, but it was never quite as intimidating as slamming a folder around.

When Bruce entered he zeroed in on the kid’s body language. He was tense and restless, but not in any way that indicated he was likely to attempt an attack. His gaze wandered and frequently settled back on Bruce. He certainly didn’t act like a trained assassin. He started by asking a few questions like his age and name. When he answered his age it wasn’t with any certainty, and he’d either picked a new name for himself or was really good at lying. It was also possible, of course, that he’d been a failed clone experiment. It would explain why the League was so willing to throw him into the fight and then lose track of him afterward.

“Why are you different from the other clones?” he asked bluntly, watching the child’s reaction. He didn’t falter at all when he responded that he wasn’t a clone. Bruce slammed the folder shut and watched the boy startle and tense like he would have to defend himself before leaving the room. The results should be in by now.

“Red Robin, what have we got on the DNA results?”

Tim stared at the screen with wide eyes as he typed something in. He looked to Bruce then back to the screen.

“Uh, I’m going to run the test again just to be sure, but you should sit down B.”

Bruce ignored him. He needed answers now, and while the Batcomputer worked fast, he didn’t want to wait for the test to run again. He had a family to protect. He peered at the screen over Tim’s shoulder and had to grab his shoulder to steady himself. He could see now why Tim insisted on running the test again.

“B? You okay?”

The others started to gather around him to see what was going on. Cass had brought up a hand to cover her mouth in a show of shock. Dick gripped Bruce’s shoulder in comfort and to steady himself. Tim was still gaping, looking back and forth between the screen and his family. Steph bit back a laugh, though whether it was from shock or just because of how absurd it was, no one could tell. And Damian, for the first time, looked genuinely stunned speechless by the words on the screen.

Familial Match Found

Damian Wayne- 99.7%

Relationship: Twin

Bruce Wayne- 48.3%

Relationship: Father

Run again? Y/N

“Damian, you have a twin?” Tim asked incredulously, turning his stare to the youngest.

“I… mother only ever implied– she never said it directly and didn’t bring it up often…”

“Damian, you knew you had a twin?” Bruce asked, his voice shaking with the unmistakable quiver of pain.

“No! I only had the vague impression that there had been another child. It always sounded as though they died. Mother never even mentioned a name!” the boy seethed.

“Run it again,” Bruce demanded.

Tim didn’t need to be asked twice. He was going to run it again anyway. It was just too scary to imagine. Another Damian running around terrorizing the public? One was more than enough! And not to mention the pain that had to put Bruce in; knowing that Talia had hid not one, but two children from him and those kids didn’t even know each other. Would Damian get even more stabby now that he thought he had competition for Robin? Would he get violent over not being the only blood son anymore? Tim didn’t know how they would manage if the two started fighting.

Bruce swept back into the room where Danny was waiting. His chest was tight, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, so he whipped his cowl off to take deep breaths and look over Danny properly, like a person instead of a threat. If he hadn’t been reeling, he was sure he never would have revealed his face, there was still so much they didn’t know about him.

He really did look so much like Damian that you could mistake him for a clone. Except, now that he was really looking, Danny was a bit paler than Damian. His complexion was a little closer to his own than that of Damian and Talia. Their face structures were the same, as well as their build and stature. But where Damian’s eyes were green like Talia’s, Danny’s were a bright, baby blue, like his. How had he missed that? They didn’t even have the same eye color! How could they have mistaken him for a clone? Had Tim noticed? Was that why they brought him back with them?

“Hey, are you okay?” Danny asked him. He looked genuinely concerned over someone who had essentially kidnapped him. He obviously hadn’t been raised the same way Damian had. If he and his brother hadn’t grown up together, then where had Danny been this whole time? And why did he suddenly show up in the League of Assassins’ base?

“I have so many questions,” Bruce found himself saying out loud.

“Dude, same,” Danny replied, “like why did you think I was a clone? Did you get those DNA results you were talking about? What did they say?” And why had he taken his mask off? If they were heroes like he suspected, then the man definitely knew the number one rule of ‘don’t reveal your identity to strangers.’

“My apologies– Danny, right?” Danny nodded. The man finally moved his feet to take the seat across from the kid again. The door cracked open again and the kid Danny recognized as Robin shuffled in to stand next to Batman. His fists were clenched and his posture stiff, but he was much better at concealing his emotions than the older man was. He stayed silent for now, just hovering beside the unmasked man.

“Do you know who we are, Danny?” he was asked calmly.

“I heard someone call you Batman, and,” Danny pointed at the one next to him, “you’re Robin, right?”

“Stop playing dumb!” Robin snapped at him, clicking his tongue in displeasure.

“Whoa! There’s no playing involved, I’m just dumb. From the moment I woke up to right now, I haven’t had a single clue what’s going on!” Robin looked at him suspiciously like he didn’t believe him.

“What happened when you ‘woke up,’ please explain.”

“I opened my eyes for the first time in this dimension and suddenly some guy was shoving a knife into my hand and throwing me at the tall one in blue. Nightwing, I think his name was? I literally woke up just standing there and then almost got my head bashed in!”

“Your results suggest that you’re not a clone, but there are holes in your story. Do you not have any memory of what you were doing before you encountered Nightwing?” Batman asked seriously. He seemed to finally be under control of his emotions, and if he hadn’t taken his cowl off, he might have been a bit more intimidating. Robin, on the other hand, looked to be getting more frustrated, like he was expecting Danny to say something else and was angry when he didn’t hear what he had anticipated. Danny clicked his tongue in annoyance, noticing that it sounded almost exactly like when Robin had done it, and glared suspiciously at them. They were trying to get at something but refused to say it.

“What did those test results say?”

Damian finally ripped his mask off his face to scowl at Danny properly. Their faces were practically identical to each other. Danny finally understood at least one thing, and that was why their little clan thought he was a clone.

“Oh, wow, okay,” the halfa muttered under his breath.

“Those test results seem to imply that we are identical twins! Mother made it sound like you were dead. Where was she hiding you all this time? What is your goal in coming here?” Seeing a sneer like that on a face that looked just like his own was a weird experience for Danny. The other boy looked poised for a fight and the halfa was glad that, if he was attacked again, at least he would see it coming this time.

“Cool, cool, cool. Always wanted a stabby sibling.” Dani had been a stabby sibling when he’d met her and she’d ended up being pretty cool. Of course, she’d moved on to do her own thing eventually and he never really saw her after that. She was her own person, it made sense that she didn’t stay glued to him.

Robin snapped and snarled at him, pulling out a knife from somewhere on his person (seriously, that was pretty impressive for a human) and throwing himself across the table. Danny was able to phase out of his restraints and float to the side of the chair since he’d seen the lunge coming. He’d planned on telling them about that anyway, but he was seriously starting to get tired of not being able to explain himself.

“If you guys would just chill for a moment,” he froze Robin’s feet to the floor and Batman’s cape to the chair he was on, “I’d be more than happy to explain myself! I really don’t want to fight anyone if I don’t have to. Please?”

“Guys, he made an ice pun and it was beautiful,” Nightwing whispered in awe. It seemed the door had been swung open and the others that he’d heard milling around before had come in to either stop or join the fight that had been brewing.

Robin looked as though he had no intention of letting it go that easily, but Bruce, whether it was because he was curious or because he couldn’t stop thinking of the floating child as his son, hummed and nodded his head to hear him out. The rest of his brigade followed suit.

“Finally!” he was still in his human form, so it felt a bit weird to tuck his legs up underneath him, crisscrossing in midair. All kinds of thoughts raced through everyone's heads from Lazarus Pit demons to genetically modified test tube baby.

“My name is Danny and I’m something called a halfa. I am NOT a clone, I do NOT have nefarious plans, and I DO NOT know why or where I woke up when you guys nabbed me. Yes, I was sent here from another dimension. No, I don’t know why my DNA results came back as being Robin’s twin.”

“Do you know why you were sent here?” Bruce asked while he processed the information the child had given them freely. He would never in a million years admit it out loud, but he felt bad for the way this had gone down. Danny clearly didn’t seem hostile and had no interest in fighting any of them or refusing to answer their questions. He’d just gotten so worked up over all the clones that had been sent to kill Damian that when they stormed the League of Assassins to deal with them and they found what they thought was a clone acting strangely, his immediate instinct had been to be suspicious and protective.

Danny thought for a moment about how to answer the question. He’d already decided to hold off telling them about the whole Ghost King thing, and he wasn’t really sure how to go about explaining the Lazarus Pit thing without bringing that up. But that wasn’t the only reason why he was there. His cheeks burned at the thought of explaining it out loud, but he’d made his mind up.

“I… do know. But promise not to laugh, okay?” They nodded their heads seriously at him.

“It’s to… it’s so I can try being a kid again.” Danny frowned when Robin scoffed at him. “In the dimension I’m originally from, I had a sister and we pretty much raised ourselves. And when I turned fourteen, I was in a lab accident that biologically changed me and I spent a few years after that dealing with the fallout of an interdimensional portal as my city’s only hero. It was hard. And I was tired from doing everything by myself. By the time everything finally settled down, my sister had already left for college, my parents forgot I was there, and my best friends were graduating high school without me.”

He took a deep breath to keep himself from crying in front of these people he barely knew. He didn’t like crying in general, but at least with Clockwork he knew the ghost understood why he was crying and wouldn’t judge him for it. Nightwing looked to be tearing up on his behalf, though.

“I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything I wanted to do in that world. I hadn’t had the time to go to school or develop other skills outside of my hero work. So my mentor from the Infinite Realms offered to drop me into another dimension with the opportunity to try childhood again. And you can tell I’m still a child because I didn’t ask him any questions,” he rolled his eyes, “like what family he was placing me with, where I would wake up, or how old I was going to be.” Danny began laughing at himself, filling the silence while waiting for someone to say something to him.

“So this mentor of yours just dropped you into this world with no one to take care of you? Then why does your DNA flag as this gremlin's twin?” Red Robin asked incredulously.

“Like I said, I don’t know. However, I think I have a theory, but…” he grimaced as he glanced over at the maskless Robin. Knowing Clockwork for so long now gave him an advantage when it came to stuff like this. He had a few theories actually. It was possible that Robin really did have a twin and something happened to him that had allowed Danny to take his place when he was sent here. It was also possible, though way more unlikely in his opinion, that the role of being his twin was created upon his arrival, and the world had retroactively rearranged itself to fit him into it. Something about being an Ancient, Clockwork had said, but Danny was still young for an Ancient so he didn't think it was likely.

“Did you maybe already have a twin? I could be an alternate version of a twin you already had, which would mean…” he trailed off, letting the implication that they were supposed to be the family that took him in hang in the air.

Robin tried to jerk his legs out of the ice, probably not wanting to accept another sibling, let alone one that was supposed to be his twin! But Danny started to speak again.

“But if that doesn’t work for you or you don’t want me around, I can just figure something else out like I always do!”

“Absolutely not!” Batman countered. “You’re twelve and we don’t know anything about your powerset, you are not wandering off on your own!”

“Are you sure? I could just go, like, haunt a park or something,” he asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the door. But it seemed like everyone other than Batman and Robin were vibrating with excitement as they started to shed their masks. And holy crap they all looked alike, their whole group really was a family unit! Nightwing was grinning wide and Red Robin was fiddling with something on his phone. Danny couldn’t have known, but Tim was already drafting up paperwork to make him a legal person in Gotham. There were two whose names he hadn’t caught yet next to them. One of them, a blonde, was holding up her phone to take his picture. He hoped her photo turned out okay with him in it. (Steph was uploading his photo into their group chat with the caption, ‘New brother just dropped,’ for everyone that wasn’t there that night.) The one next to her had dark hair and was quietly chanting, “new brother.”

“You may not originally be from this dimension, but biologically, you’re my son here. I’m not going to make you live at the park.” He moved to get up but was stopped by Danny’s ice. He bashfully muttered an apology before dispersing the ice on both him and Robin.

“You said you were a hero before, so I'm sure I don't have to remind you not to tell anyone our civilian identities, right?”

“Absolutely! My lips are sealed, don’t worry!” Danny confirmed saluting the man before he finally let his feet touch the ground again. He didn't actually know anyone's names yet either, so there was that too. Everyone started to file out of the tiny room; it had felt so cramped in there with all those people blocking the door. A dignified, older gentleman was waiting outside for them with an expectant eyebrow lifted at them. If he thought it was weird that Danny was there, or that he looked almost exactly like one of the others, he was really good at hiding it.

“I’m sure proper introductions can be made after everyone is out of costume and upstairs for the night? I’ve even taken the liberty of preparing cookies and hot chocolate.”

It was like watching a flock of birds scatter with how fast everyone started moving. Some of them even tripped over each other trying to be the first one up for what Danny could only imagine were god tier cookies and hot chocolate, going by their reactions.

“You may call me Alfred,” the man gently greeted him. “What would you like me to call you?”

“You can just call me Danny.”

“Very well, Master Danny. Allow me to fetch you a change of clothes. I’m sure Master Damian has something suitable for you to wear for now.” Alfred motioned for him to follow. Danny assumed that Damian could only be Robin, since he was the only one the same size as him as far as he could tell. He absently wondered if he should prepare himself to eventually get stabbed by his new and unwilling twin brother.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfiction #batfam #damian wayne #dcxdp #update #danny and damian are twins #bruce is so emotionally incompetent he can't even panic properly #bruce is planning his text to Talia as we speak #alfred is the only one even remotely composed #and he's only there for like 5 minutes #my cat screamed at me the entire time i formated this post #he says hi

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perfinn · 4 months ago

Text

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader - part ii

wc: 4.6k

summary: you search for answers on why aegon is here, and find you rather enjoy his company

cw: f!reader, aegon the cringefail king, kinda just a lot of hanging out, a little make out session, aegon almost pushes toward dubcon advances but he's quickly stopped

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You hardly sleep a wink that first night with Aegon in your flat. You’re too worried about him, and the carpet in the living room. You’re still not an expert on history, but you’re quite sure that vodka hadn’t been invented yet when Aegon was supposed to be alive. If it had, Westeros hadn’t yet set up any trade routes beyond the Bone Mountains. You still remember your first vodka hangover, even if you don’t quite remember the night that preceded it, and it was not a good time. Aegon is in for something of a shock if he hasn’t drowned in his own vomit– cheap as your vodka is, it’s a lot stronger than that piss water from the Arbour the historians all say he drank.

You rise from your bed with your alarm, not snoozing it as you usually do and instead going to go check on Aegon. Thankfully, he’s right where you left him and alive and well, if his open-mouth snoring is any indication. He’s splayed out on your couch, legs falling over the side and bottle of water you’d made up for him spilled on the floor. Hells, at least it’s only water he spilled.

Leaving him to sleep a moment longer, you pad into the kitchen and rummage around for the electrolyte tablets you keep for this exact scenario. Well– maybe not this exactly. Usually it’s reserved for your own hangovers, not for when the time travelling king of Westeros has broken into your drink cabinet and passed out on your couch. But close enough. You make up a drink for him, deciding he can cope with the orange flavour even if he doesn’t like it and come back over, setting the glass loudly down on the coffee table and waking Aegon with a jolt.

He almost falls from the couch, gasping and throwing his hands over his ears. “Get out!” He demands, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Five more minutes!”

“Not your chambermaid, Aegon,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “Drink this. And no, yesterday wasn't a fever dream, you’re still in the future.”

Part of you had hoped yesterday's events were a weird dream of your own.

Aegon cracks his eyes open, taking in the sight of you slowly before he groans and presses his fists hard into his eye sockets. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “My head…”

“Yeah,” you say, picking the glass back up and holding it out to him. “Straight vodka will do that to you. Drink.”

He lowers his hands and eyes you suspiciously as he reaches for the glass, sniffing it. You roll your eyes. He’ll drink from a random bottle he finds in your home but not something you’re offering to him?

“It'll make you feel better,” you say. “It's orange flavoured.”

“Well, that makes it alright then,” he grumbles, taking a slow sip and moving to sit upright. “If I’m getting poisoned, at least the poison tastes like oranges.”

You make your way over to the kitchen and fish around your cupboards for instant coffee as Aegon makes a noise of confusion.

“Why is it-” he stops, brows furrowed as he looks for the word. “Bubbles?”

“Oh,” you say, looking back at him while you clutch the Garfield mug you found at the thrift a few months ago. You lean over to put the kettle on, sighing as you realise how much of modern life you’re going to have to explain to Aegon. You wonder how much of it can be avoided, skirted around so you don't have to explain the entire industrial revolution to him. “Yeah, it’s fizzy. It’s not poison, just science.”

Aegon stares at you indignantly. “Are you a witch?”

“Gods, it’s not a magic potion, Aegon. Why can’t you just accept that we’ve made a bit of progress in the last thousand years? Things are different, that doesn’t make it magic. Just drink it, it’ll help you feel better.”

Aegon takes a slow sip, lips turning down as he seems to decide he likes it well enough. You turn your back to him and scoop a spoonful of the coffee into your mug, wondering what you’re going to do with him. You’ll have to call out of work, at least for today. You don’t trust him to be left alone; Gods know where he’ll end up, if he’ll contract some disease his immune system isn’t ready for or get hit by a car as he so nearly did yesterday. You hear him groan softly and turn back to see him leaning back on the sofa and sipping slowly at the drink.

You suppose he probably wants your attention, but you withhold it until you’ve taken the first sip of your coffee. It tastes as shit as you expect instant coffee to taste. Gods, you need to buy a proper coffee machine. You make your way back over to him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

“Ready to talk yet?” You ask him.

Aegon grunts, rubbing at his temple. “Quietly,” he mumbles. “I had hoped yesterday might be a dream.”

“Me too,” you say, sipping slowly at your coffee. “I’ll be frank with you, Aegon, I don’t know what to do with you.”

Aegon scoffs, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. You’d tell him to take them down, but it’s not exactly a nice coffee table. You can see him staring at the plastic dragon figure on the TV unit. The bags under his eyes are so heavy. “That often seems to be the case,” he says, leaning forward slowly and picking up the dragon. It’s a small one, red and gold. “I wonder how this feels for Sunfyre…”

“Sunfyre was your dragon, right?” You ask, voice still quiet as he requested.

He nods, frowning as he moves the hard plastic wing of the toy. “He’s a fine beast,” he says. “Should he think me dead?”

“I wouldn't know,” you say. “Aegon, I think we need to get you home.”

Aegon goes quiet, almost as though he knows, somehow, that a grizzly fate awaits him in his own time. But he nods. “Yes,” he agrees. “How?”

“No idea. We’ll need to go to the library.”

He looks over at you, setting the dragon down and raising an eyebrow. “So you really can read?”

“Really really,” you say with a slight smile. “We peasants have been literate for centuries. I’ll make you some breakfast and then we can go.”

Aegon leans back again, watching you with wonder as you go back to the kitchen. “You know, I thought we might teach the smallfolk to read,” he says. “I think after the war I’ll bring it up.”

You glance over at him and smile. “Maybe you will.”

“They like me, I think,” Aegon says. “The smallfolk. Aegon the Magnanimous.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down a box of cereal. “Kind of lame.”

Aegon sighs. “Yes. We are working on it.”

Once Aegon has eaten his fill of your off brand cereal (which he decides he hates) you get him up and lead him out of the house. Aegon still seems fascinated with the world outside.

“I suppose it does still look like King’s Landing,” he says, staring up at the buildings around him. He refuses to look at the cars, and you can’t blame him. You can’t imagine they’d be an easy thing to process right off the bat. Still, he’s going to have to deal with it when you get onto the bus.

You stop at the bus stop with him, pulling out your phone to check when it’ll arrive. You can feel Aegon staring at you, you glance up, seeing that confused look on his face. You put the phone away. “Bus’ll be here in five minutes.”

He nods, but doesn’t ask what a bus is. “It is strange,” he says. “It looks so different, but much the same.”

You nod, offering him a small smile. “A lot of it is heritage protected, so it can’t be altered. We’ve expanded a lot, so all the outer city is newer, but this is the centre.”

“This is Flea Bottom, right?”

You smile, laughing a bit. “Yeah, it is. They called it Flea Bottom back then too?”

Aegon nods, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell so badly these days, but the buildings are the same.”

“Yeah, well, rent’s cheapest here. There was some government initiative to clean it up. Or gentrify it. The university bought out a bunch of the flats for student accommodation, it was the best I could afford.”

“This… university, it is like the Citadel?”

You nod. “Citadel’s a university too, but yes.”

“No, the Citadel is the Citadel,” he says, scoffing.

“Okay, it’s a university now. Certainly not one I can afford,” you huff, reminded of the rejected scholarship you’d applied for. You suppose it wouldn’t have helped– rent in Oldtown is something else entirely. You crane your neck to spot the bus, seeing it coming close enough to flag it down. Aegon immediately steps behind you, eyeing the huge vehicle warily. You reach back, gently taking his hand and squeezing it without thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Just trust me and follow me.”

You feel Aegon’s breath falter, and somehow you know he’s staring at your hand in his. You gently lead him up the step and ask the bus driver to tap on for two. The busdriver raises an eyebrow at Aegon, but nods and lets you on. You scan your card, leading Aegon up to a seat by the back.

Aegon sits down, frowning at the interior. “This is like a wheelhouse. But with no horse. And uglier.”

“They’re not really made for style,” you tell him.

He nods, looking at you again. He glances down at your hands, still intertwined. When you notice, you begin to pull away with the thought that he doesn’t like it. But Aegon only holds you tighter. You meet his eyes and find something desperate in them, a silent begging for you not to let go. Strange. But you oblige.

“So,” you say softly. “Can you tell me what you last remember?”

Aegon exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and glancing between you and the window. He settles on watching the world pass by, no doubt faster than any wheelhouse could carry him. He must decide he trusts you enough.

“It was nothing,” he tells you, leaning his forehead against the window. “I was with my favourites. Drinking, talking. Discussing my sobriquet. Everything after that is nothing. I didn’t even go to sleep. It is as though I blinked, and I was in the street. Then I met you.”

“Well that's…” You purse your lips, leaning back in the bus seat. “Nondescript. You weren't doing anything out of the ordinary? Not fucking with any ancient rocks? Weirwood trees?”

“No,” he says, sliding his gaze toward you. “I was on the throne, in the Keep.”

None of this helps. You scratch at your chin as you try to make sense of any of it. You pull your phone from your pocket, opening the browser and typing in – dreading the targeted ads you’re inadvertently signing yourself up to get – ‘accidental time travel firsthand account.’

Aegon peers over, watching the screen with fascination as you scroll past various untrustworthy conspiracy sites.

“Do you suppose perhaps Rhaenyra paid a witch to curse me?”

“Why would she do that?”

Aegon's lips pull down in a pouty frown. “Well, my brother did kill her son.”

“Yeah, well, that'll do it,” you sigh, closing your phone and leaning back in your seat. You glance out the window, watching the city go by. The people milling about the street go by so quickly you cannot see their faces. However strange a day anyone thinks they may be having, it cannot be more than yours.

“Witches. Woods witches. Weirwood, maybe,” you murmur, tilting your head this way and that. “Even if you weren't directly fucking with any, there's one in the Keep’s godswood. I went on a tour when I first moved here.”

“A tour…?”

“It's as good a place to start as any. Weirwood, woods witches, and rock formations. The library will have plenty on it.”

You get off the bus at the campus library soon after. The university sits upon Visenya’s hill behind the sept, which you’ve never really bothered to enter. It’s a strange thing, living in such a city rather than visiting it. Apart from your dead boring tour of the Red Keep, you've never visited the tourist traps. Growing up in the Riverlands, you never once visited any of the old castles. You always thought you might see more of King’s Landing when you came. Perhaps you would if you could, but you find you rarely have the time between study and work.

As you ascend the steps with Aegon in tow, he stops and turns, gazing across the city. You glance back at him, following his gaze up Aegon’s High Hill, where the Red Keep sits. You stop in your footsteps, coming back down toward him.

“You okay?” You venture.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just odd, I suppose. It looks the same.”

“Lots of it still does, I guess. The dragonpit is still there too.”

You nod your head to the other end of the city, pointing him to the ruins of the building.

Aegon pales. “It's… what happened to it?”

“Time,” you murmur. In part because it's true, but also because you don't know why it's in ruins. You’ve never been that far up the hill. You’ve never had it in you to wonder.

“I don't believe you.”

You look over at him, and an intense purple gaze meets yours. You scoff. “I think I’m getting used to you not believing me,” you say. “Come on.”

You continue up the stairs and Aegon follows after a moment. “You really won't tell me what happened to the dragonpit?”

“No. Because I don't know. It's been like that for centuries, as far as I’m aware. And even if I did know, I feel like there has to be some sort of rule against it.”

“Against what?”

“Against telling you about the future!”

“What? But I’m already here! If the Gods didn't want me to know about the future I wouldn't be here!”

You purse your lips. He makes a good point, but still. “Well all the movies say it's bad. What if I send you back and you change things, and make it so I cease to exist? And I can’t tell you anyway because I don't know, so don't worry about it.”

“You know, I don't understand half the things you say,” Aegon says as you push the door to the library open, gesturing for him to enter first.

“Likewise.”

Once inside, you make your way up to the librarian’s desk, the older woman immediately perking up with your presence. You smile at her.

“Hi, um, I’m after pretty much anything you have on weirwood trees, woods witches, and, uh, like rock formations–”

“And any scrolls you have on Aegon the Second, thank you.”

“No.”

You look back at Aegon, who pouts at being denied. You imagine he’s not used to that.

“Don't worry yourself with the Aegon stuff,” you say, looking back at the librarian sheepishly. “He's uh… easily distracted.”

The librarian smiles anyway, putting her glasses on the end of her nose and leaning into her computer. “Let me see what I can find you.”

A few minutes later, Aegon and yourself are seated at a secluded table surrounded by soft chairs and lit by dusty sunlight, tucked away between bookshelves only matched in age by Aegon. Old books and new are scattered across the table, and Aegon marvels at the shining pages of a new textbook, thumbing at the photographs of Harrenhal.

“Can I see that one?” You ask, holding your hands out for it. Aegon slides it across. He folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and resting his chin on his arms.

“Do you do this often?” He asks. “Seems dreadfully dull.”

You shake your head. “Not as often as I ought to.”

“I assume this is what my father did all day,” he grumbles, thumbing at the worn cover of a book on the Old Gods. “Before he, you know.”

“Died?”

“No,” he says. “Well, yes. But I think his soul left long before his body gave out.”

You nod, unsure what to say. From what you can gather, Aegon didn't have much of a relationship with his father. You’re not sure if it's wise to pry. You’re not sure what you’d say if you did.

Aegon begins to make a clicking sound with his mouth as you flick through the pages.

“You could help,” you say after a moment.

“You want me to read?” He scoffs. “Your magical little drink didn't work that well. I just wish we had a bard or something.”

“A bard,” you repeat, voice flat. You roll your eyes, fishing into your pocket for your phone. He watches you with curiosity as you set the phone down and begin playing something at low volume. As soon as the song begins, he jolts upright and leans forward. He snatches up the phone, turning it over in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. It’s some old synth song, something you remember watching your parents dance to when they’d have their friends over on the weekend and drink late into the night.

“Incredible,” Aegon murmurs. “How do you look at dusty books when you have this thing? Bards and scrolls at your fingertips.”

“I’m actually trying to get my screentime down,” you say sheepishly. “It’s uh… it’s pretty rough.”

Aegon gives you a quizzical glance before he’s distracted by your screen lighting up. He seems quite entertained by your lock screen and is silent for a few moments. You turn your gaze back to the books, resting your temple on your fist.

Your phone buzzes after a moment, and you glance at it only momentarily before you school yourself back toward the books. You’ve been trying to stop being so trained by your phone.

“Messages. Jeyne– and there’s a little drawing of what I suppose is a seashell –” You bolt upright as Aegon begins reading out the message. You try to snatch it from him, but he moves it out of your reach. “I just got YiTish dick – Seven Hells, then there’s more of these drawings, they look to be peaches? – freaky as everyone says.”

You stare, stunned into silence, at Aegon as he processes what he’s just read, looking at you with a wicked sort of grin. He sets the phone down, now playing some modern house music you barely remember adding to your playlist.

“I’m to understand this is some sort of raven, yes?”

“Yes,” you say. Gods, what else could you even say to that? Your former roommate was never the most couth person, and you were never her biggest fan. But even though she’s disappeared to the other side of the world, you’re still subject to her unprompted oversharing.

“This Jeyne is quite something.”

“Yep,” you mumble, managing to grab your phone back. “How about we wrap this up for today? I’m suddenly craving YiTish food.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aegon snickers. You realise that this may be the first time you’ve seen him smile, however wry and mocking it may be. It’s a lovely expression, but one you suspect he doesn’t wear very often.

“Come on,” you say, picking up several of the books. “Grab a few. We’re taking them back. But I’m borrowing this weirwood tree one.”

Aegon groans in protest, but gathers up the remaining books to balance in his arms. Once you’ve borrowed the book and created a list of the others, you escape the dusty library into the waning sunlight.

Aegon is a chatterbox when you’re on the bus again, and as you order the both of you some YiTish food. Clearly his hangover’s worn off. You smile apologetically at the young girl behind the counter as you take the bags of food. You shoot Aegon a look in hopes of shutting him up, but you have no such luck. The walk back up to your flat is accompanied by the sound of Aegon's voice.

When you get inside, he finally stops. Now that you’re in private, he wishes no longer to speak? You glance back at him with a raised eyebrow, but he's watching you unpack the food.

“I got you sweet and sour pork,” you tell him, handing him the little box and a fork. “Should be free enough of any major allergens… if not, Jeyne left behind an epipen.”

“I’m growing quite tired of asking you what things mean,” he says, opening up the box and sniffing at it. He pulls his lips down but doesn't look to actually be frowning.

You grab your own food, moving to sit down on your worn sofa and beckoning for Aegon to join you. “I’m guessing your time doesn't have YiTish food,” you say.

He huffs, nodding as he sits down and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. You’d tell him to knock that off if you had a nicer coffee table, but as it is – a piece of shit wooden box with shaky wheels on the bottom – you don't bother. “Not by far.”

“I’m not sure how authentic this is,” you say, poking your chopsticks into the box and searching for a nice crunchy bit of cabbage. “But it's cheap, and has never done me wrong.”

Aegon takes a tentative bite, and you watch as his face twists in curious acceptance of the new flavours. It’s… Gods, well, it's sort of cute.

“I like it. I think,” he remarks, taking another bite and leaning back comfortably. “Much has changed.”

You nod, glancing out of the window at the city lights. How had it looked all those years ago? How has the skylike changed? Brightened?

“You say you can't tell me what you know about my life,” Aegon says slowly. You nod, opening your mouth to sigh and tell him again that you won't budge, only he stops you. “I’m not going to ask. I only want to make sense of your world. And what remains of mine.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Okay. Well, I’ll try.”

Aegon nods, looking down contemplatively. “Hm… the Dothraki?”

Not… exactly where you expected him to start. “Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “They're still around. They're kind of baller, actually. Like they gained all the modern stuff but still live nomadically.”

“Are they still so… brutal?”

“Oh, no,” you say. “Really kind of a peaceful state now. Jeyne reckons she'll be heading to the Sea after YiTi.”

Aegon nods slowly. “This Jeyne girl is quite something. She used to live with you?”

You nod. “Yeah. We were assigned the same flat… I can’t say I ever really liked her much, but she was tolerable.”

“And she… left? Escaped? “

“Mhm. Decided she was unfulfilled by higher education and fucked of to YiTi to ‘find herself.’ Alright for some, I guess.”

Aegon stares at you in silence for a moment, smiling ever so slightly. “You speak in such a strange and wonderful way,” he murmurs.

You can't help but smile. He has a nice smile about him. You suspect it's not an expression he uses much, at least not in a real, involuntary way.

“So do you,” you say softly. He’s… goodness, he’s beautiful in this light. You know you shouldn't think that.

(But then, why shouldn't you? He's a grown man, he’s sober, what’s stopping you? Responsibility? Expectation? You’re not certain.)

He must see the budding conflict on your face because he reaches out to touch your cheek. He lifts his thumb up, pressing it between your eyebrows to smooth out the crease there. “Why the frown?”

You smile wryly at him. “Just thinking,” you tell him as he sets his food down.

“Of course. You do a lot of that, don't you?”

You huff a soft laugh. “Too much.”

He shifts closer, and you find yourself less and less willing to stop him with every second. “Take a break from thinking,” he says, leaning forward and catching your lips in a kiss before you can respond.

There's a moment of hesitation, the briefest second where you contemplate pulling away. You should. The last thing you should be doing is letting Aegon entangle himself with you. He's misplaced in time, practically a stranger. Not to mention married.

(Unhappily, and to his sister, but all the same.)

But the moment passes. And you let him. And you lean into him and return the favour. Encouraged by your response, Aegon shifts closer and grabs at your waist, trying to pull you closer.

It happens fast, he doesn't seem to want to waste time building up to a point before he's shoving his tongue into your mouth and crashing his teeth against yours.

“Aegon,” you murmur. He only grunts in protest, continuing his advances. “Aegon, slow down.”

Aegon huffs as he pulls away just a fraction, hands groping a little too harshly at your hips. “What for?”

You frown at him, gently pushing him away. He relents, but begins to scowl. You place your hands firmly on his shoulders. “There's no need to rush,” you say quietly.

You realise then that Aegon is used to taking. He is used to taking what he needs and not bothering with any sort of lead-up beyond unrefined kissing. He surges forward to kiss you again but you place your hand in his face and shove him away.

He cries your name indignantly, unused to being denied either.

“Sit down,” you say firmly, shoving him back onto the sofa cushion. “And stay.”

Aegon looks stunned, but readily obeys. He leans back against the cushions and watches you warily as you shift closer to him, throwing your leg over his lap so you straddle him. Aegon seems almost afraid to touch you all of a sudden, so you take his hands and place them gently on your hips.

Should you be encouraging this? Absolutely not. But some touch starved little sect of your brain has staged a coup on your good sense, so here you are.

“Have you never done this before?” You ask him softly.

“Been ridden?” He scoffs. “Of course I have.”

“No,” you say. “I’m not riding you. Have you ever just made out with someone for a little while?”

Averting his eyes, Aegon shakes his head.

“That’s okay,” you murmur, catching his lips in a gentle kiss that seems to startle him. You place your hands on his chest, closing your eyes as you kiss him again. He’s hesitant now, unsure. But you press on, sucking gently at his lip before slowly, gently, sliding your tongue into his mouth and dragging it over the flat of his. Aegon makes a soft noise of shock, hands grasping a little harder at the soft of your hips.

Before, he hadn’t seemed to know what to do with his tongue in your mouth except to have it shoved in there, desperate to have some sort of dominance over your mouth. You can tell he’s still fighting the urge to take over, but he sits nicely for you, only gently pushing back against your tongue. He seems to rather enjoy the feeling of not being in charge, of simply being guided. Not told what to do, not commanded, just… treated gently.

After a while, you gently pull away, your thumb brushing over his wet bottom lip. “Do you want to keep going?” You ask, though you know you shouldn’t.

Aegon looks up at you with dilated eyes, pupils almost sparkling as he blinks slowly. Almost dazed. “I’d like to keep doing this. It’s nice.”

You smile, gently pecking his lips and nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. “We can keep doing this.”

You decide your research can wait. It’ll still be there tomorrow.

#my work #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #fic: you're out of touch i'm out of time #DONT EVER THINK ITS OVER #IM ALWAYS COMING #WATCH UR BACK

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