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red-doll-face · 19 hours ago

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Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,��

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

#red writes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption 2 x reader #high honor arthur morgan #high honor arthur morgan x reader #x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x fem reader

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neptuneiris · 14 hours ago

Text

Champion | (One-shot)

Everybody is a Ferrari Fan

pairing: driver!aemond (Formula One) x wag!reader

summary: runs in the family to get into the F1 fanaticism, where you not only learn about engines, racing teams, championships and drivers, but you also meet a certain driver who is currently getting a lot of recognition; Ferrari driver, the Sapphire Prince, Aemond Targaryen.

words: 12.5k

my masterlist

sé que prácticamente ya será Febrero, pero feliz año nuevo atrasado! espero que les guste esto, pero primero quiero agradecerle a mi bestie @silverdragonfly for giving me the idea to write this Formula One AU, she also writes amazing stories so go support her ❤

also, if you don't know anything about F1, don't worry, you can still read it since i didn't add so many terms and if there are, i made sure to put a simple and easy to understand explanation. still, the fic is more about the relationship between the driver and his wag. enjoy!

warnings: language, sexual content, smut.

The Formula One has won over thousands of fans all over the world with its incredible races where drivers compete and fight to be the world champion.

It is one of the most expensive, exclusive and prestigious sports in the world, where unforgettable experiences are lived in the world of motor racing with ten teams and two drivers belonging to each one, for a total of twenty drivers.

The sport has gained more popularity in recent years with its impressive and thrilling races. Not to mention the talented drivers. Your family, especially your dad, has always had an interest and fascination for the sport.

And who knew that you would also become a fan once you really paid attention and your dad would also explain the basics of understanding racing and how it works.

But not only that… the sport also literally took over your heart.

It was last year, at the Monaco Grand Prix near your home in France, that you went with your dad to experience it. Your dad, being a millionaire businessman, can afford such luxuries. And at that time you were on vacation from college, so why not?

Your dad got a paddock pass for him and for you. A whole VIP experience with a privileged location over the garages of the teams, with a view of the starting grid, the pits, access to the backstage area and also with the opportunity to see and meet the drivers.

You really only went to that Grand Prix knowing the basics. And being right there, watching the race live, helped you understand more concepts and moves, and it was a truly amazing experience.

Until, of course, your dad wanted to meet the drivers and take a look at the garage of his favorite team; Red Bull.

It was in that area that you saw him, Aemond Targaryen. Number 08, Scuderia Ferrari, the Sapphire Prince.

You already knew the drivers. And you weren't excited to meet any of them in particular. Until, well, you saw him and the urge to talk to him, get close to him, at least ask for a picture, was too much.

Seeing him in pictures and videos was one thing but now seeing him in person…it was breath taking.

Silver hair, pronounced jawline, pointed nose, sharp and very well detailed features, besides a charming smile making him look like some kind of Greek God… you fell for him.

Everyone is a Ferrari fan. And at that moment, you understood very well why. Not just because of the famous team, but because of the drivers who represent it. And Aemond Targaryen represents it just right.

His talent for motor racing keeps him as one of the best drivers of the last seasons. So far this year, in most Grand Prix he had stood on Podium as third or second place and in other races, he had already won four.

“Oh, it's that boy… Targaryen.”

Your dad had said next to you, pointing him out into the short distance.

Aemond was signing some T-shirts and hats with fans, so your father slowly approached and you followed him, watching him captivated and attentive, inevitably starting to feel quite nervous without knowing exactly why.

Roger, your dad's friend and also one of the many important workers in Formula One, leads you both in the direction of him to introduce you.

The fans suddenly disappear and the next thing you see, he's shaking hands with your dad.

“…businessman in France, big fan of Formula One and Red Bull,” Roger introduces them, ”And Aemond Targaryen.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Aemond tells him politely, with a small gentle smile on his lips.

“The pleasure is mine, lad. You are indeed incredibly talented.”

“Oh, thank you so much. That means a lot,” he holds a hand to his chest, ”Red Bull huh? But you're also a Ferrari fan,” he says amused, making the conversation more enjoyable.

“Well, it's inevitable,” your dad confesses with a shy little smile.

You both laugh and you're still like… watching him in slow motion.

You watch as he runs a hand through his silver hair, which shimmers in the sunlight, tossing it lightly with those long, pale fingers. And his captivating smile, his blue-gray eyes, the way he speaks, his tone of voice, how good he looks in the red sports suit, everything about him is truly captivating.

“This is my daughter, Y/N.”

Suddenly your dad's voice brings you out of your trance, also as the three of them and especially he watches you inside the small circle you are in.

You quickly compose yourself, about to have a nervous breakdown. Then you smile kindly and extend your hand to him, which he takes instantly.

And if it weren't for the fact that he's holding you and also because you're embarrassed, you would have already fainted the moment he smiles at you.

“Aemond, nice to meet you,” he says smiling at you.

“Nice to meet you.”

You let go of his hand and your dad watches you the whole time with a curious little smile.

“Still no scudder takes hold of her. But I'm slowly getting her to follow in her dad's footsteps.”

´Oh God.´

“Is that true?” Aemond asks you, amused, “Did you already join the Red Bull team after watching the race? Because we can still make a spot for you on the right team.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling your cheeks flush.

“If I join Ferrari, you'll have to teach me all the special moves,” you tell him, with a condescending smile.

“It will be my pleasure,” he tells you, without even hesitating.

And it was at that moment that you liked him the most and you were struck by Aemond Targaryen. You also understood why he has so many fans and the media is so interested in him.

His very genuine personality, his kindness and charisma makes so many people fall for him without even trying.

“Will I see you both again soon?” he asks you and your dad, “We're halfway through the calendar and I'd be happy to see you around again.”

“Sure, we'll try to make a space,” your dad nods.

Obviously the drivers' job is not only to race, but also to attend a lot of interviews, meet a lot of people, attend to their fans and a lot more on each qualifying and race day.

So you and your dad say goodbye to him and Aemond leaves, where instantly people surround him, like his assistant, manager and so on.

“It doesn't look like he had an accident.”

Your dad says suddenly and you watch him almost instantly, talking to Roger.

“Surgeries and rehab.”

“But he hadn't lost his eye?” your dad asks confused, ”That one he has isn't fake?”

“No, it's just rumors. He couldn't see out of that eye for a while, but he didn't lose it. The surgeries saved it. Also with surgery he was able to cover the ugly scar he was left with.”

“Oh,” your dad nods, thoughtfully, ”And how old was he when that happened?”

“Ten.”

This definitely gets your attention but you don't ask your dad any questions. At least, you don't until you're both on your way home, on the plane.

Apparently, in his early days and when he was just beginning to discover his talent for motorsport, Aemond was involved in an accident at the age of ten.

Aemond's dad, the late Viserys Targaryen, was a world champion in his time. He had impressive skill in his youth, being a driver for Williams, then Mercedes and finally Red Bull.

Yes, he was amazing, but only for a time. Still, he was a bad dad.

Scandals were known to surround him regarding his wives and children. Terms like negligence and lack of responsibility always haunted him, even to this day despite his passing.

And Aemond, in an attempt for him to appreciate him and prove to him that he would be a great driver someday, took his car unsupervised to practice and suffered the accident, where he almost lost the sight in his left eye when he was cut with metal from the car in the middle of his face.

You didn't notice anything strange about his face either. But Roger was right. Since he was a little boy he underwent surgeries to forget that accident that almost killed him and almost made him never drive again.

But not only did you keep this information about your dad, you also researched more online about his life and accident, suddenly captivated by Aemond Targaryen.

After the accident and his rehabilitation, at the age of eighteen, he signed a contract for the Hass team in Formula Two.

The difference between Formula One and Formula Two is that in Formula Two the cars are different in terms of engines and power, which are not as powerful as in Formula One. There is also a lower speed limit in the races.

And this is intended to demonstrate the true skill of the drivers at the wheel, rather than the ability of the teams to build superior cars as in Formula One.

Then, he ascended to Formula One to become a driver equally for Hass and finally, he ascended to Ferrari after demonstrating his incredible skills so young and scoring points for both the team and himself, where he has been racing for them for two years.

This and more is what the internet tells you about him and his family. You also learn of an affair he had with a woman, Alys Rivers, apparently older than him and a Formula One worker.

It was a scandal for a while, as the woman is too much older than him and it was supposed to be a secret, until they were discovered.

You also read apparently rumors of ´infidelity´, firing of that woman and that he didn't really claim to have a serious relationship with her or anyone else, so he's single.

You also stalk him a bit on Instagram and unable to help yourself, you follow him. But what you least expected is that he was going to follow you back.

As you get back to college and walk out of one of your classes, you look at your phone and the notification of Aemond Targaryen has started following you pops up.

It was silly to get excited about it as a little girl but you did it anyway. And soon after, the Italian Grand Prix is announced. Races always take place on weekends, so you and your dad again attend a race at Monza, the home of Ferrari.

The whole trip, knowing you'd probably see him again, kept you excited. Until it finally happened.

Walking through the paddock, you spot his silver hair in the distance, obviously with a lot of people around him, with half an hour to go before the start of the race. Your dad is walking next to you and when you are in the same area as him, you pretend not to see him and focus your eyes on everything around you except him.

Totally ridiculous but you want to play it cool.

“Mr. Y/L/N.”

You try to control your emotion and finally look at him, where he politely addresses your dad and you.

“Mr. Targaryen,“ your dad greets him, extending his hand towards him, “How nice to see you before the race.’”

“Aemond, please,” he shakes his hand, then looks at you with a small smile on his lips, ”Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile softly at him.

“How are you feeling, lad? Ready to win today?” your dad says to him, smiling.

“Oh, well, that's the plan,” he nods, letting out a long sigh as he looks around briefly, ”Lots of pressure today.”

“It's Monza, the home of your team. Last year you made it, today you can too, and with a teammate like Sainz, you'll make it.”

“Very kind of you, sir,” he says, holding a hand to his chest, ”Thank you.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you.”

Then, at that moment, you decide to speak.

“You'll come out in third,” you speak softly, your voice quiet but confident, ”You have a good chance.”

He places his small, soft smile in your direction again.

“So you saw the qualifying?” he asks you, his tone playful but curious.

“Yes, we were here,” you reply, without missing a beat.

“Really? I didn't see you around.”

Alert!

Your mind immediately tells you the moment he continues with his eyes so strikingly set on you and that fucking smile on his lips. The way he addresses you, so close, so direct. His smile, his stare, his posture, it's all too much.

“Well, you'll see us from over there…” your dad points to where your seats are, “on the last lap celebrating when you win.”

Aemond suddenly pauses, his eyes darting first to your dad and then to you.

“And you don't want to celebrate in our garage?”

The question hangs in the air, as you stand in shock and disbelief.

You know that those who are allowed in the garage are obviously the whole team and people who know someone within the team who can get them in. Sometimes, celebrities are also allowed access if the team invites them, also the family of the drivers.

And also their girlfriends, or also as they are known; wags.

“Can we?” your dad asks him a bit skeptically.

“Sure,” Aemond says immediately.

“We don't want to get you in trouble—

“It won't be any trouble, sir,” Aemond again assures, ”Besides, it's my chance to make you a Ferrari fan… and your daughter too.”

He adds, giving you a smile and a subtle look that makes it clear that he is playing with being in front of your dad, but he means it.

And you just stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him, where the moment seems to stand still in time. It is so intriguing, so striking, and it envelops you completely. When your dad's voice brings you out of your little trance.

“Well, it's not every day that a Ferrari driver invites someone to his garage,” your dad says, enthusiastically, ”We can't turn down the opportunity.”

Aemond, upon hearing the affirmative answer, smiles in a way that makes his face light up with a confidence that only a driver of his caliber could have.

“Great. It will be my pleasure. Follow me.”

After a few minutes, you and your dad find yourselves in the Ferrari garage, led by the Sapphire Prince.

The atmosphere is electric and striking. The air is charged with concentration, but also with an adrenaline rush that can be felt in every corner of the place.

The roar of the engines in the background, the bustle of engineers and technicians in their suits working on the single-seaters, and the sound of orders traveling through the red headphones with the Ferrari logo create a unique atmosphere.

Everything is perfectly organized in this little chaos that draws you in.

You are both fitted with a new collar with a new card that specifies the rest of your stay to watch the race through the screens right here in the garage. You are also given a complimentary cap and jacket, all in the team's representative color, red.

Aemond guides you through the restricted area, where he watches you over his shoulder as you walk, making sure you follow him without missing a beat.

“So this is the heart of the racing team,” your dad says, in awe, looking at everything around him.

“It's impressive,” you agree, looking around curiously.

You inspect every corner, letting the place envelop you. The red single-seaters, seeming to take on a life of their own under the intense lights.

The glow of the engine, the precise touch of the mechanics' hands, the engineers' strategy… all this is part of a whole that only true fans can understand.

Obviously it's a privilege to see how the whole team prepares for the race and you enjoy it, while Aemond talks to your dad and another man and they explain everything in the garage.

You, on the other hand, stand back a bit and head towards the screens where you can watch the race, which is no different than watching it from the comfort of your own home.

Still, the atmosphere here is totally different.

You stare at the screens, analyzing how they work and seeing that each screen shows a different shot, but they focus more on the two Ferraris. You receive several curious glances from some people who are here, but you don't give them importance.

You look at the clock and it's fifteen minutes before the race starts, so you go back to inspecting all the technical equipment.

“Impressed?”

Aemond's voice comes to you suddenly, causing you to turn to him. He stands next to you and looks at the screens with the same intensity you do.

“Yes,” you admit, with a small smile as you pull back a little so he can see what you're looking at, ”Everything here is so… different.”

“It's just the beginning,” he assures you, ”When the race starts, the whole place gets intense. Especially today.”

You nod, understanding, since they're at Monza and expectations are sky high.

“Nervous?”

“I'd be a fool not to be,” he tells you slightly friendly.

“Sure,” you let out a small laugh, ”With Russell and Norris in the lead and Verstappen right behind you, it's going to be tough.”

“I thought you said I had a chance,” he tells you, a slight smile playing on his lips, but not the typical arrogant one. It's more like a friendly challenge.

“You've got it,” you assure him without hesitation, feeling the rush of confidence wash over you, ”If you do it right.”

He lets out a small laugh.

“Okay… what would you do in my place?” he asks you suddenly.

“Oh n-no, no, I couldn't tell you any of that,” you say instantly, flustered and embarrassed, ”It's not like I—

“Please,” he interrupts you, taking a step closer to you, “I want to hear you.”

You think about it for a moment, watching the grid projected on one of the screens of the F1 TV channel, the perfect medium for those who follow every race from home.

And it's not as if you're an expert on the subject, obviously there are people who are in charge of analyzing all this for the team, the options and the possibilities, deciding which is best to win.

Still, it's not quantum physics, it's something that can be solved with strategy and reasoning.

“Someone of the two has to hold Verstappen off, your teammate or you,” you start to say, pointing at the screen, ”Although moving up from eighth to fourth for Sainz won't be easy either. As for the top positions, Norris is trickier than Russell. He definitely won't want to give way.”

Aemond nods, watching the screen as you do next to you.

“Yeah, it's a tough grid.”

“You could do an undercut,” you suggest, “Or gain even one more position on the grid and leave Norris to Verstappen. But holding those two off, it won't be easy. You'll have to be very fast,” you say, ”What has your team told you?”

He gives you a smile, watching you.

“The same thing you did. Only in different words.”

You let out a small laugh.

“You do know about this kind of stuff, after all,” he adds.

“You don't need to be Einstein to understand either,” you say amused.

“True,” he nods, “Although we'll need a miracle if I want to pass Norris and outrun Verstappen,” he points again to the screen showing the grid.

You take a second, deciding to change the atmosphere.

“What about your lucky charm?” you ask with a light smile, hoping the touch of levity will break the tension a little.

He hisses, bringing a hand to his chin, watching you in amusement.

“Actually… I don't have one.”

“What?” you say instantly, surprised, ”But everyone has one, don't they?”

“I know, I know,” he smiles softly, shrugging, “It's a sentimental thing,” he says nonchalantly, “And I haven't found that something that brings me luck, yet.”

That's unexpected, but it doesn't surprise you. Everything about him is always calculated, logical. And luck never seems to enter into his equations. But then, his gaze softens and he looks at you with a look that you don't quite understand, but still catches your attention.

“Although, maybe…” he says, his tone lower and more personal, “knowing that you'll be here, watching me at all times…” his finger points toward the screens, “that might bring me luck.”

Alert! I repeat, alert!

Your mind again screams as your cheeks flare like never before and you can't help but smile as you lower your gaze, completely flushed.

You can't believe this is really happening. Him flirting with you? You didn't expect that to happen. But it is happening and you don't want to make him see that you've already fallen at his feet since the first time you saw him and talked to him.

So you quickly pull yourself together and look at him with a knowing look and a genuine, subtle little smile.

“Then don't look bad.”

“I won't,” he replies, his tone full of determination.

He looks you up and down as that fucking grin appears on his lips that almost makes you faint. But before he or you can say anything else, at that moment a man calls out to him, announcing that the race will start soon.

“I'll see you when it's over, then,” he tells you before leaving.

��I'll be here,” you assure him, smiling softly.

“Hm…” he cocks his head thoughtfully, watching you, “yeah but you'll need one of these,” he says suddenly, picking up one of the red Ferrari headphones attached to the screens, “So you can listen to them announce my name when I win.”

You're already blushing enough without him telling you this too. And as if that wasn't enough, he puts the headphones on you himself, while you allow it and watch him attentively at all times with your little soft smile, trying not to melt.

And when he's done, he watches you with that satisfied look.

“Much better.”

'Don't faint. Don't faint.'

“Thank you,” you say as you arrange them better in your ears, ”And good luck.”

He gives you a last grin to finally walk away, while you see him in the distance finishing his preparation, where like an expert racer, he puts on the red helmet with the Ferrari logo and finishes making some adjustments to his racing suit to finally get into the car.

As the hours go by, all the Tifosi in Monza go crazy. Red Bull, MacLaren, Mercedes and Ferrari put up a great fight. The race is very intense and exciting, where everyone in the garage is on the edge of their seat to see their two drivers in the lead.

You don't miss a single detail, while your dad next to you also watches the screens with his red headphones on.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't just watching Aemond, but that's what you're doing. You don't know if what he said, about you being his lucky charm, he's taking it seriously but you are, looking forward to seeing him on the podium and as the winner of the race.

Then, there comes that moment where they're in the final laps.

And finally, after an eternity, you hear through your headphones with a huge smile on your lips: Started third on the grid, the Sapphire Prince, is the man of Monza! The tifosi are roaring him home! And for the second time in his career Aemond Targaryen is the winner of the Italian Grand Prix!

Everyone in the garage applauds and hugs each other excitedly, while you watch through the screens as Aemond celebrates and runs towards all his people waiting for him at the starting line, while all the Tifosi out there are shouting and celebrating.

Your dad next to you shakes a few hands, while you continue to watch all the celebration, feeling very happy for him.

You don't expect him to come here. It's impossible. He has interviews to give and he also needs some rest. Then he has to go up to the podium and celebrate. You don't know if you will see him again, but you know it won't be possible on this day.

And even though the thought makes you feel disappointed, you accept it.

You take off your red headphones and together with your dad, you leave the garage to enjoy the podium. The screams and victories of the tifosi fill the air. From where you are you can't see much, so you walk a little further through the crowd, looking for a better place to witness the awards ceremony.

“Excuse me.”

You hear behind you and someone taps your shoulder, so you stop and turn around, seeing a blonde-haired girl with a tablet in her hands and formal attire.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes?” you say, somewhat confused.

You watch her carefully, as you get the impression you've seen her before, but you can't quite remember where.

“Mr. Targaryen apologizes for not saying goodbye personally,” she says, extending a small card to you, ”But he asked me to deliver this to you. It's the invitation to tonight's victory party. He says he hopes to see you there.”

You take it carefully, surprised. Your gaze rests on the card for a moment before returning to the girl, now remembering that she is his assistant.

And you nod to her gratefully, though your mind is still processing everything that's happening.

“Thank you,” you say, with a small smile.

She nods politely and disappears into the crowd, leaving you with the invitation in your hands. The tumult of tifosi, the shouts and general joy seem to fade for a moment, as if the whole world is focused solely on that card and what it implies.

You glance at your dad, who throws you a questioning look and you, for your part, hold up the card with a slight blush coloring your cheeks.

“That boy likes you, doesn't he?” your dad finally says.

“Dad,” you say embarrassed, not being able to help but grin like a fool.

“You could see it all over his face when you were talking in the garage.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Will you come with me?” you ask him to somehow avoid the subject.

“Me?” he inquires pointing to himself, ”The winner of the race has asked for you. Not for me.”

“Dad,” you reproach him softly.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, my love,” he smiles at you, ”I like that boy.”

'Oh God.'

The night in Monza is perfect.

The lights of the buildings and establishments near the ocean reflect on the water like glints of falling stars and in front of you, docked at one of the most exclusive piers, is the luxurious three-deck yacht where the Ferrari victory party is being held.

From this distance, you can already feel the atmosphere of celebration, laughter, music and the sound of glasses clinking.

You watch the walkway that connects the dock to the imposing yacht, uncertain. You also watch as people continue to arrive at the party, people who look important with their fine clothes and expensive accessories.

And seeing everything, as well as the people already aboard the yacht, you feel insecure.

You mean, you don't feel inferior, this is your world. It's nothing you're not used to. Besides, Aemond Targaryen himself has invited you. However, the feeling of being an outsider among all those people who already know each other is what makes you feel insecure.

You just hope that once you're up there, you won't be all alone.

Finally, you take a deep breath, adjust your dress, steel yourself and walk up there. You wait for the people in front of you to move forward, who are being held back by security men.

You wait patiently and step forward when it's your turn.

“Good evening, miss,” the big man says kindly and you nod with a small smile, ”Name?”

You tell him your name and he checks on the list he has in hand, then nods and gestures to the men behind him to let you in.

“Welcome. Enjoy the party.”

“Thank you.”

The second floor of the yacht is a spectacle in itself, with marble floors, crystal chandeliers hanging like cascades of light, and walls decorated in a modern but warm design.

All around you, animated conversations fill the air, interspersed with the soft clinking of glasses and background music. Guests are spread out on different levels, forming small groups of family, friends and team members.

As you advance, one of the waiters offers you a glass of champagne from a tray and you thank him kindly, taking it.

You continue on your way while looking around, looking for a corner where you won't be in the way. So you head to the small bar, while you pick up your phone, looking at the notifications on your screen and read some messages from your college friend.

You're already there?

Praying for something to finally happen with the sexy driver🙏🏽

Girl, you've got him totally crazy!

You let out a small chuckle under your breath and reply to her message, telling her that you doubt anything will happen because there are too many people. And she quickly replies to you not to be negative, fingers crossed.

You are about to respond when, suddenly, you feel a peculiar and intense gaze fixed on you. And as if you are used to it, you recognize him instantly. You know it's him. Excitement takes hold of you and you turn slowly, looking around you.

And there, a few meters away, next to a group of people, is Aemond.

Pants and a formal black shirt, highlighting his silver hair and the beautiful color of his eyes, as well as his expensive branded watch and a silver chain around his neck, he watches you with a discreet smile and his burning gaze on you.

He looks so handsome and so elegant, that your nerves completely overcome you. But you compose yourself, telling yourself that you just have to be yourself.

When your gazes meet, he says a brief goodbye to those around him and starts walking towards you with a confident stride, as you wait for him with a small soft smile on your lips.

“You came,” he says placing himself in front of you, smiling at you.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you tell him softly, “And congratulations on the victory. It was amazing to see you win, especially here in Italy. The people love you.”

“Thank you. The tifosi are unique. But today they made it special.”

His words, though simple, are loaded with meaning. There is a brief comfortable silence between you, broken by his gaze that seems to study you carefully.

“Also…” he says suddenly, leaning a little closer, his voice taking on a more serious and personal tone, ”I think I've found my lucky charm.”

This catches you off guard and instantly, heat rises to your cheeks before you can control it. Aemond smiles at your reaction, his lips curving into an expression that mixes amusement and tenderness.

“So you meant it,” you tell him softly.

“Of course I meant it,” he tells you, slightly confused, ”You didn't believe me?”

“Yes I did,” you confess, ”But I always had a suspicion that maybe that's what you always tell your conquests.”

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“No.”

Then he takes a step closer to you, the space between you reduced to almost nothing. And he speaks again, his voice low and soft, laden with a sincerity you feel in every word.

“Only to the pretty girl that I first saw in the paddock at Monaco.”

The way the words slip out so naturally, they disarm you and take your breath away. The intensity of his gaze, that mix of curiosity and as if he's making sure you understand what he really wants to tell you, creates a brief silence between you. Not awkward, but charged with a connection that seems to speak for itself.

“I-I—

“Darling.”

A voice comes toward you, breaking the moment and the silence, as you and Aemond turn your heads instantly, seeing a brown-haired woman with a tall black-haired man at her side.

“Mom,” Aemond says to her at your side.

“Sorry to interrupt but they need you to take some pictures,” she tells him in a soft voice.

Her name is Alicent. You saw her in pictures when you googled Aemond and in person, she is even more beautiful. Her elegant demeanor and intense gaze make it immediately clear that she is a woman accustomed to this kind of event.

And waiting for Aemond to speak, she watches you with a small warm smile and you return it, again feeling instantly nervous.

“Mom, this is Y/N,” Aemond introduces you, “Y/N, my mom Alicent and family friend, Criston,” he points to the man next to him.

“Pleasure to meet you, dear,” she says, extending a hand toward you.

“The pleasure is mine,” you reply, trying to sound as calm as she seems, shaking her hand.

You shake the man's hand as well, smiling kindly.

“She comes from France. She and her dad have come to the races,” Aemond tells her.

“Oh, nice,” she nods, “And your dad has come too?”

“No, he's resting,” you tell her softly, ”We fly back to France tomorrow.”

“Oh, then another time I will have the pleasure of meeting him. What is his name?”

You tell her his name and at that moment, you know what she is doing. In this world, it is of relevance to know what kind of people the driver is interacting with. It's obvious she wants to make sure her son isn't around just any girl and after Alys Rivers, you suppose all the more reason.

And honestly, you don't blame her. Your mom and dad are exactly the same. They want to see you next to a man who is on the same level as you or more, who can contribute. So it's no surprise but still, it makes you nervous.

“I'll be there in a moment,” Aemond tells her, over the photos, “I'll continue to introduce Y/N.”

“Don't be too long.”

She walks away along with that man and he starts directing you around the second floor of the yacht, pointing you out to his coworkers, telling you their names along with a few friends and distant relatives.

“She's my sister, Helaena,” he points out to you in the distance to a beautiful girl with silver hair, talking to a girl with black hair, “She comes with me on every race. She's in love with Oscar Piastri.”

You let out a small laugh, as you both slowly make your way over to her.

“I didn't see her in the garage.”

“She was in another section. She doesn't really like being in the garage,” he explains to you.

“And you have other siblings?”

As if you didn't know.

“Two brothers, Aegon and Daeron,” he nods, ”Aegon is the eldest and doesn't like to draw attention to himself. He decided to live his life quietly, away from all the press, social media and events, but he still supports me. Daeron is the one who wants to become a driver and for now he's practicing.”

“And he's the youngest?” you ask attentively.

“Yes,” he nods, “We have another sister, half sister actually. But we don't see her much, we're not very close to her and her own family. Still she supports us.”

The two approach towards Helaena and you are instantly captivated by her presence. She seems an absolute contrast to her mother, looking more like Aemond. Her silver hair falls in soft waves and her gaze has a dreamy gleam to it, as do her eyes.

“Hel,” her brother calls to her.

Helaena turns to you instantly, her lips curving into a sincere, warm smile.

“Oh, hi.”

“This is Y/N.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand to her.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking your hand.

“Targaryen,” speaks a fourth voice.

The three of you turn your heads and see a man dressed just as formally as the other men here. He says nothing, just watches Aemond and he seems to understand instantly, turning to his sister and you.

“I have to go talk to some people,” he says, then turns to Helaena, ”I'll leave her with you, okay?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I'll be back soon,” he tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Sure,” you nod, trying not to show how much that gesture affects you.

He leaves and you are left alone with Helaena, who smiles at you.

“Come,” she says kindly, leading you to the railing on the second floor of the yacht.

You follow her, enjoying your glass of champagne, as the soft clinking of glasses and distant laughter fills the air. Afterwards, the two of you lean against the railing, gazing at the lights of Monza reflecting off the water.

“Monza is beautiful, isn't it?” she asks you.

“Yes,” you nod, admiring the scenery, ”Really beautiful.”

She sighs.

“I wish it could all be like this,” she says delusionally, longingly, ”Just enjoying the world, without all these sophisticated people, the parties, the press and the constant pressure. Sometimes I feel like I'll never get used to it.”

“Really?” you look at her in surprise, ”But your family has always dominated this world.”

She laughs softly.

“Well… yes, of course, since my father's time,” she nods, “And now Aemond… in his early days, it wasn't easy. He just couldn't quite fit in with so much attention and so many eyes on him, until he did. Now he seems so flawless, so confident that even Daeron is following in his footsteps as well. But I…” she shrugs, “Despite growing up in all of this, I've never felt like I quite fit in.”

“You don't seem to,” you say, sincere, ”You have a very… calm presence. Like nothing can affect you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, ”Though I think that's more because I live in my own world most of the time.”

“It must be hard,” you murmur, admiring her honesty.

“It is,” she nods. “But it has its moments, too. When I'm traveling with Aemond, I feel like I can do something for him. Support him, be there when he needs it. That makes it all worthwhile.”

That makes you smile.

You thought about asking her why she didn't choose to walk away, just like her brother Aegon. But now that she has spoken to you like that about Aemond, you have an idea why she didn't.

You wish you could understand her better too, but you have no brothers or sisters. You're an only child and your dad's only heir.

“And speaking of my little brother… what's up with you and him?” she asks you interestedly, smiling softly.

This catches you off guard and again your cheeks burn, lowering your gaze for a moment.

“N-no, nothing,” you say nervously, ”We've barely met.”

“Still, he doesn't invite hardly anyone to these parties,” she points around, “He doesn't invite just anyone to watch the race in his garage either. Especially not anyone who isn't from the team or family.”

You take a sip of your champagne, nervous and blushing.

“Well… maybe he meant to be nice.”

“Maybe,” she cocks her head, ”But Aemond doesn't do anything just out of kindness. If you're here, it's because he wants you to be here.”

You watch her intently and curiously, that especially getting your attention.

“He's really not playing games with me?”

“No,” she smiles softly “Aemond can be… intense,” she confesses to you, “But he's a good man.”

The next few minutes, Helaena's company is delightful. You both talk about everything; the tifosi, Formula One circuits, some travel, anecdotes about her family, she asks you about yours too and you both get to know each other better. It's easy to chill out in her company and she doesn't make you feel lonely.

She also introduces you to a couple of people, making you feel more comfortable and included.

You see Aemond in different parts talking to different groups of people. He looks busy and also taking pictures, so you don't bother him. You continue touring the party with Helaena, even taking a couple of pictures and enjoying different cocktails.

Afterwards, Helaena is asked to take some pictures too, so she leaves you alone for a few moments. While she finishes, you decide to go up to the terrace on the third floor, where there are no people, to clear your head a little.

With a mojito in hand, you lean against the railing, admiring the view. The cool breeze caresses your face and, for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the party seems a distant echo.

You think the same as Helaena; you wish you could stay like this forever. But tomorrow you have to go back to France, to college and take care of your responsibilities.

“Running away from the party?”

Aemond's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, not expecting to hear him. Turning, you see him in front of you, his hands shoved in his front pockets and his gaze fixed on you.

“Not exactly,” you reply, smiling softly, ”I just needed some air.”

“Hm,” he says, then approaches you with nonchalant movements, placing himself next to you “You scared me for a moment,” he says as he admires the view, “I thought you were gone.”

You frown slightly, curious.

“Why?”

He shrugs.

“I don't know, it's too many people down there,” he points with his gaze, leaning against the railing, ”It can be overwhelming.”

You understand what he means and honestly… it surprises you.

There's something in his tone, in the way he's there with you, that makes you feel like this is the real Aemond, away from the cameras and the expectations. And you can't help but wonder; is he feeling this too?

This… whatever it is, so sudden, unexpected but intense and real.

You don't know what he's done to you. You're so interested in him. Too much. And not because of his job, his money, his importance and name recognition. But for just him and this side of him that he rarely shows to everyone.

You feel wanted for him. And you want him too.

“I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye,” you say, your tone soft but firm.

Aemond turns slightly to you, studying your face with that look that seems to disarm you every time.

“Tomorrow you return to France,” he says, his voice laden with something that sounds like resignation.

You nod slowly, averting your gaze to the water for a moment, trying to hide the mix of emotions boiling inside you.

“Yes,” you murmur, trying not to sound disappointed.

The thought of not knowing when you'll see him again, if ever, makes you feel more disappointed than you expected.

The schedule goes on. He has to keep working, keep racing in different parts of the world, attending interviews and races almost constantly, practicing and training. And you, you have to go home, focus on college and now update through social media about him and the results of each race.

And you can't be constantly traveling to the cities where the races will take place. You can't neglect your responsibilities.

“I have to go back to college,” you say later, forcing a smile that you hope will make the conversation lighter, ”Attend some of my dad's work events and all that.”

“What are you studying?” he asks you interestedly, cocking his head to the side.

“Business management.”

He nods, with that little sideways grin on his lips.

“Sure, how I didn't think of it.”

You let out a small laugh.

“It was obvious.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You both laugh softly, as the sound of conversations down there and the music slowly fades like a distant echo, making this little space of the two of you, alone and with this beautiful view, more enjoyable and comfortable.

“Well, that makes sense. But it sure can't be as bad as being on the road almost all the time, having to talk to a lot of people a day, attending events, taking pictures and having people recording everything you do either at work or on the street.”

You look at him, studying the contours of his face in the dim moonlight. There is something in his tone, a kind of hidden vulnerability, that he rarely allows himself to show.

“No, maybe not,” you murmur honestly, ”But still, it's exhausting to always maintain a good image at all these events and to be smiling all the time. You're seen as the most important, influential people with so much money and power that you simply can't make a single mistake.”

He is silent for a moment, as are you.

Equal worlds, different circumstances.

You both understand each other. There is nothing about each other's world that you are not used to. You understand all the attention that's on him, as well as the pressure and expectations, just as you are, in your business world.

“And yet, I can imagine you leading something important,” he says next, getting your attention.

His comment, as unexpected as it is sincere, warms your chest. And you smile softly, lowering your gaze. You are about to say something when he speaks again, leaning slightly toward you, watching you with renewed interest.

“Will I see you again?” he asks, his tone lower and more attentive.

Your lips part, but the words don't come out right away. You don't know what to say to him because, honestly, you don't know.

“I don't know,” you murmur, watching him intently.

“You don't know?” he repeats, his voice almost a whisper.

There's something about his tone, softer, sensual and almost hypnotic, that makes the air feel heavier. You can't help but swallow, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

He takes a small step toward you, and though you could back away, you don't. The little distance between the two of you begins to shorten imperceptibly, as if something larger and you don't understand is pulling you toward each other.

“Remember, you're my lucky charm,” he says, leaning toward you, ”And I need it.”

The confession takes your breath away, but you don't have time to process it. And before you can say anything, with alarms in your head going off to keep you from passing out, you don't know who closes the distance first, him or you.

But the next thing you know and you feel, it's his lips on yours.

A slow kiss that starts soft and exploratory, with Aemond testing the waters, trying to know if it's what you want too. And you lean closer to him, lifting your hands and placing your arms around his neck, being signal enough.

Time seems to stand still. The sound of the sea, the distant music of the party, everything dissolves. The only thing that matters is the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hands wrap around your waist in a firm and demanding way, drawing you even closer to him.

Your fingers, stroking his silver hair, and you cling to him as if you fear this moment could vanish at any moment.

You completely forget where you are, you completely forget about the party and you both simply focus on that moment. That moment… where it all began.

The next day, you had to return home, but the distance was not an obstacle. Communication with Aemond was not lacking.

He had to keep racing and you followed him at all times through the social media, you also talked to him by text or FaceTime, where you not only talked about work, but also about seeing each other again.

The break time between races varied. Sometimes it was a week, sometimes two, or even a month, and during those times, you both took the opportunity to see each other. Whether it was him visiting you in France or you traveling to London.

Soon, you started attending some of his races. You were excited to watch him compete, but you weren't prepared for the attention that began to surround you.

The media noticed your presence in the Ferrari garage, where you were always with your red headphones on, following Aemond's every move. Cameras caught more than once moments of you talking, laughing or sharing glances at post-race parties.

Ferrari fans and especially Aemond's followers began to speculate who you were. The interwebs were filled with questions, theories and pictures of you in the paddock.

At first, the photos were just captures of the two of you talking or walking together. They never took a video or a compromising photo of you with him, but everything changed the day someone captured the moment you kissed him before a race.

The video was posted almost instantly and social media exploded.

Then, there was no longer any doubt that you weren't the new girl he was dating. People had already found your Instagram and you decided to make it official, posting a picture with Aemond.

It didn't take long for the attention to intensify. People not only wanted to know who you were, but they started digging into every aspect of your life: your age, your country of origin, what you studied, your parents' jobs and their names.

Messages of support started pouring in, as well as messages of hate and criticism. It was something Aemond told you about from the beginning.

It was no surprise and eventually you stopped caring if people accepted you or not, nor what they might think and say about you because you both know what you are worth, not just for being his girlfriend, but for yourself.

And so people not only started to recognize you, but also to call you wag.

At every race, when they saw you in the Ferrari garage with the red headphones, the cameras would focus on you. On the giant screen, your name would appear next to his: Aemond Targaryen's Partner.

At first, you were uncomfortable with the attention, but gradually you realized that it didn't matter what others thought.

The only thing that mattered was what you shared with him, that bond that had begun on a magical night and that, against all odds, grew stronger with each passing day.

The British Grand Prix.

Every Formula One fan in the world is looking forward to the next big race at Silverstone, which starts in less than five hours.

You stretch as you yawn and immediately feel your boyfriend's strong arms around you holding you close to his body, still in his sleep.

You smile softly and turn your body towards him. His face is inches from yours, his eyes closed and breathing softly. You leave a soft kiss on his lips and then bury your face between his chest and neck, inhaling his clean, masculine scent, so characteristic of him and completely comforting.

You know today is a great day. He knows too. So there will be a lot of pressure today, both on him and on the whole team.

“You have to get up, my love,” you say finally, knowing he's not awake but not fully asleep either.

“Mgh,” he says reproachfully and sleepily, locking you more firmly in his arms.

You let out a small laugh.

“Come on. Today's a big day.”

“I don't want to,” he says in his hoarse voice, “Five more minutes.”

“Frederic will kill you,” you warn him amused, “And I don't want to be left single.”

He doesn't say anything. In fact he doesn't even move anymore, because he's trying to go back to his sleep. And you sit up a little, lying on top of his body, starting to run your lips all over his face, leaving resounding kisses.

“Hm,” he murmurs, his eyes closed.

“Come on,” you croon.

“No,” he says like a little boy, pouting.

You repeatedly kiss his cheek, then his forehead, his eyelids, his nose and finally his lips, not stopping and more in a way to tease him.

“That feels good,” he murmurs afterwards.

You let out a small laugh.

“Should work.”

Your next target is his neck and the moment your lips brush the skin of that area, you instantly feel his skin bristle and he cocks his head, giving you more access.

“You're not exactly making me want to get up with this, Y/N.”

You raise your gaze to him, with a smile.

“I'm not?”

“Hm…” he murmurs, placing his hands on your waist, ”No.”

“I have my ways.”

You sit up and swing one of your legs over his hip, sitting on top of him. You place both of your hands on his bare chest and this particular action gets his attention, finally getting him to open his sleepy eyes.

You smile like an angel and lean into him. As he watches you curiously and suddenly interested.

“This is supposed to make me want to get up?” he inquires you, now slightly amused.

“Did it work?”

“Well, I'm awake now. But for me to want to get up, having you on my lap like this, of course not.”

You let out a laugh, bringing your lips close to his, nuzzling his nose with yours.

“And how do you have me, exactly?” you murmur.

“So beautiful completely naked,” he says hoarsely.

“But you've woken up, haven't you?”

“You reminded me of what we did last night.”

He tells you in a completely different tone, and as you watch his eyes, you see that glint in his gaze.

You smile softly, looking him straight in the eye, not taking your gaze from his, to again sit up, still sitting on top of him, allowing him to have a perfect view of your bare breasts, right in front of him.

You push your hair aside so it doesn't get in the way of the view and he immediately groans. His burning, intense, desire-filled gaze makes you feel completely sexy and desired.

He purses his lips, his pupil dilated in desire, watching you completely, as if it's the first time he's seen you like this.

“We don't have much time,” you tell him later, leaning into him again.

“Five minutes seems enough to me,” he says, taking you by the waist, ”The perfect time to repeat last night.”

You don't reproach, you don't refuse, and you immediately accept his kiss.

He leans into you too, where one of his large, firm hands takes you by the nape of your neck to hold you exactly where he wants you, kissing you deeply and slowly.

You gasp softly into his mouth and bring both hands to his neck, clinging to him completely, moving your lips in rhythm with his. Then his tongue makes its way inside your mouth, making you feel a curious sensation in your lower belly.

It doesn't help that you're naked, completely. And the only thing he's wearing at the moment are his boxers.

You feel how your desire increases every second for wanting to feel his closeness, also that little tingle in your between your legs. You kiss him with more need, enjoying his warm, consuming lips, not wanting to stop and needing more.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps into your mouth.

You settle better into his lap, specifically just above his friend, where you instantly feel the hardness beneath the fabric of his boxers.

“Someone's already awake too,” you croon against his lips.

Aemond moans into your lips, feeling that heat expand in his chest again, just as he feels a fire begin to grow inside him. Not wanting to waste any more time, he holds you more firmly by the waist, wanting to lift you up and place you under him.

But noticing his intentions, you stop him instantly, placing your hand on your chest and pushing him back, leaving him right where he is, him against the mattress and you on top of him.

“Stop right there.”

“What?” he looks at you confused.

“Stay like this,” you tell him softly, ”Just this once.”

He doesn't understand at first, since he's usually the one who always takes control, because that's how he likes it and that's what he's used to. It's not like you weren't in control before either, but only for a few moments and then he does all the work.

Although… now, the idea of you being in complete control, he doesn't dislike.

“Now do you want to lead the race?” he asks you with a smile, placing both hands back on your waist.

“I want to take care of the winner of the race,” you tell him with the same tone he is using, amused and mischievous, ”Give him his trophy. Because he deserves it.”

Without wiping away his smile, he begins to trace small circles on the skin of your waist with both hands, moving down your thighs and the cheeks of your ass from time to time.

“The race hasn't happened yet.”

“But we already know who will win,” you say condescendingly.

“So we're celebrating in advance?”

You let out a small laugh.

“Yes.”

“And if I lose?”

You lean toward him, watching his lips.

“You're still the champion to me.”

With your hand around the edge of his jaw, you pull his face close to yours to kiss him again. His warm, moist mouth welcomes you back, kissing you needily and deeply with wet sounds.

His hands gently caress your curves as you again settle on top of him, with purpose. And both he and you moan as your naked pussy rubs against his covered cock, demanding to be released so it can be properly serviced.

You slide one of your hands down his neck, inhaling deeply to reciprocate his demanding kisses, as he continues with his hands on your hips, squeezing and rubbing you against him, letting you feel what's happening inside his boxers.

You let out a moan as you feel his stiff, hard, hot cock beneath you rub against you, where instantly your juices begin to flow and you feel your pussy begin to throb, sending waves of aching pleasure throughout your body, needing something inside you, soon.

“Hm,” Aemond gasps into your mouth.

Then he pulls his lips away from yours and begins to leave soft, wet kisses down your neck, starting a trail, making you gasp loudly and tilt your head to the side to give him more accessibility.

You begin to roll your hips on top of him and he grunts into your neck, then squeezes both cheeks of your ass and move harder on top of him back and forth, needing that friction for his relief.

You bite your bottom lip and moan, closing your eyes, feeling your desire coursing through you.

“So pretty, so fucking sexy,” he murmurs hoarsely, his warm breath hitting your bare skin.

You lower your gaze to him with your parted lips and breathing hard, still moving, watching as he focuses on your breasts and brings both of his hands to cup each one, kneading them in gentle motions, making you moan and arch your back towards him.

“I love my trophy,” he says to then take a nipple into his mouth.

He knows exactly how you like it when he licks and kisses your nipples with need, grunting in between his licks.

“Yes, like that, p-please,” you whimper, arching your back more and bringing one of your hands to his hair to push his face further against your breasts.

“Yeah? Like this, baby?” he says sensuously against your skin, to again draw your nipple into his mouth as he kneads your other breast with possessive, demanding motions.

“Yes, like this,” you say in gasps.

At the same time, you stop your movements and raise your hips a little, bringing one of your hands to touch his cock above his boxers.

Aemond's breath catches and he stops licking your nipple, continuing to knead your breasts as he watches you with his lust-filled eyes and parted lips.

Finally, you free his huge, hard, hot cock from his underwear and immediately wrap one of your hands around it from the base, caressing it with deep, long strokes.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts, watching you all the while with pleasure and utter voraciousness, especially feeling that pleasure every time your thumb brushes his sensitive, red tip.

Aemond bites his lower lip as he watches your entire naked body. He shamelessly watches your pussy glistening with your juices, then your face and finally your perfect breasts with the two hard nipples that make his cock throb in a painful but delicious way at the same time.

At least he's getting relief and friction from how you're touching him, but he needs more.

“I can't take it anymore,” he tells you, breathing hard, ”I need to be inside you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod immediately.

He sits up a little, his face right in front of your breasts, reaching out and sneaking one of his hands straight to your exposed pussy, stroking his long, pale fingers up and down your entrance, checking how wet you are.

“Oh, fuck,” he says with recognition, pleased, “You're dripping, baby. All this for me, right?” he lifts his gaze to you, still touching you.

He brushes his lips against yours, as he curves his fingers and they enter you, making you gasp into his mouth as you feel the ease in which they have entered you, so slick they make you close your eyes in pleasure, moaning.

“My pretty girl,” he murmurs fondly, “So good for me, ready to squeeze my cock in your pretty pussy, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you moan, then he kisses you deeply.

You wiggle your hips against his hand, needing that and more from him, but for now settling. No sooner does your boyfriend break the kiss, however, than he also stops inserting his fingers into you and instead brings them to his cock, soaking its red tip with your juices.

You bring his hand also to the base of his cock, stroking its tip with the lips of your pussy, moving your hips back and forth without taking it inside you yet, biting your lip.

“Fuck,” Aemond says in a whisper.

He bites his lower lip as he watches the way you play with him. Then he places both hands on either side of your body, watching you expectantly and in pleasure.

The feeling of relief makes a pleasure run through his whole body, accompanying the fact of seeing you like this; your slightly sweaty body, your perfect breasts with both hard nipples and your expressions of pleasure that only he causes in you.

Then, slowly, still holding the base of his cock against your pussy, you begin to descend, entering all of him in you.

“Oh m-my god, Aemond,” you moan loudly, feeling him open all of you as you close your eyes in complete delight.

You both moan and grunt deliciously. The sensation is too delicious and makes you feel wetter and wetter.

Aemond grunts and holds you tightly by the waist, letting out shuddering sighs, watching the way your pussy squeezes him all over.

“Squeezing me so fucking good," Aemond moans, "Fuck, baby."

“So good,” you praise, completely drunk with pleasure, ”So fucking good.”

Only he fills you like this, being exactly what you need. And without waiting any longer, you begin to move your hips against him.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he growls, ”Just like that.”

He lifts both hands and fondles your breasts, giving your hard buds attention with his tongue as you begin to bounce on his cock.

You gasp and moan at the sensation of his cock thrusting in and out of you and his hands caressing and kneading your breasts with possessive movements that send shivers down your spine.

You continue to move back and forth, moaning his name, feeling his warm breath against your breasts. You lower your gaze to him and watch as he releases your nipple with a wet pop and looks down at you with that twinkle in his eyes, still kneading them.

“Do you like it, baby?”

“Yes,” you murmur, rocking your hips on his cock, ”I love it.”

He takes the other nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as the last, as you moan at the delicious sensation.

Then he releases it with a wet pop and kisses you, as he moves his hands down to your ass, kneading both cheeks and squeezing the skin appreciatively, while you this time move your hips harder.

He grunts again and lets out a curse in your ear, hugging you tightly around the waist as you bounce on top of his cock.

You feel only more surges of pleasure that his cock calms as you watch his gorgeous face smooth but slightly contracted from intense pleasure, with a few strands of his short hair sticking to his forehead from his light sweat, looking so sexy.

Each drag of the head of his cock sends electricity throughout your body and a feeling of euphoria. His breathing is just as fast as yours, also hearing the slapping of your ass against his thighs each time you push him deep inside you again.

“That's it, baby. Just like that, fuck,” Aemond's voice cracks with a growl, from the intense sensations.

“Yes, yes,” you moan in his ear.

You rock against him, tightening around his big cock every time your skins meet.

“Fuck, you're so fucking tight,” he moans, moving slightly to get a better angle, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

And the next thing he does as he feels your walls contract around him, he wraps his arms around you and clasps his warm hands around you from the small of your back, grunts and begins to accompany your movements as he too thrusts his hips upward in hard, fast thrusts.

The air completely disappears from your lungs again and you moan louder.

“Fuck!” you whimper, closing your eyes in complete pleasure, ”Oh my-”

“I'm not going to last long the way you're squeezing me, baby,” he growls.

Your pussy squeezes him harder, making him grunt and curse with his brows furrowed in concentration, his cheeks flushed with heat and his lips half-open, breathing hard.

“Fuck, fuck,” you say quickly, clinging to him tighter in desperation.

He is driving you to the edge of the abyss, as he continues to ram your G-spot repeatedly and at the same time you feel one of his hands descend between your legs and begin to stroke his thumb over your bud with just enough pressure to make you moan and feel more pleasure on the verge of exploding.

“You've fucking ruined me,” he tells you between grunts and gasps, ”This is all I'm going to think about the whole race. You, my perfect girl,” he croons in your ear, ‘And my tight, little, perfect pussy."

As if the situation itself couldn't affect you more, his words do and you move with more fervor on top of his cock.

“D-don't say that,” you speak as best you can, “The team needs his driver. Especially to win on his own house. Oh fuck.”

“Believe me, I'm feeling pretty victorious right now.”

You bite your bottom lip and kiss him.

You feel like you're on fire, the sensation engulfing you completely. His hard cock hitting your exact spot is too much and makes you roll your eyes behind your skull.

And with three more strokes of his thumb over your clit, you get goose bumps and collapse on top of him.

You moan his name and every muscle in your body tenses at once, you tingle and your mind goes blank as you let out a high pitched moan louder than the previous ones and you see stars behind your eyes as a wave rolls all over your insides.

You feel the euphoria all over your head and you shake for a moment, almost aching from it all, feeling too much as Aemond continues to fuck you during your orgasm, reaching his own peak.

“Oh, fuck,” you hear him moan and with one last hard lunge, the hot, liquid stream of his cum filling you from the inside.

You watch as he drops his head back, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed, his cheeks flushed, his skin burning and the light sweat all over his body and forehead. Truly a sight that steals your breath away.

Pleasure burns all over you, it courses through your body and you gasp, breathing hard. Time seems to stop completely, as you both slowly begin to come down from the high, even with him inside you.

Then, you feel him leave a loving kiss on your shoulder, then move up your neck, your face and finally your lips. You laugh softly against his lips as he smiles at you and you kiss him deeply, loosened and weak, just as he does.

But you both know you can't be late for his work today. So once you are both recovered, you get out of bed and get ready for the day.

The time for the race finally starts.

There are cameras everywhere. All the people around the circuit with direct views of all the cars are excited. Fans are dressed in the merch of their favorite teams and holding big banners or flags while shouting the names of their favorite drivers in support.

All the people in charge of projecting the race live make the whole moment more exciting. The entire team of mechanics is ready. All the equipment is ready and the race will start in less than ten minutes.

You are in the garage, as usual, with Helaena at your side. She prefers to be in another section, but considering that you are in her and Aemond's country, she wants to bring all the good luck for her brother to win at home.

Not only she is here, there is also Aemond's mother Alicent with her two brothers, Aegon, who you finally have the pleasure to meet personally, Daeron and his grandfather Otto.

Even Aemond was surprised when they let him know that his older brother would be coming to support him.

That only added to the stress of knowing the great expectations that are upon him on this day, but it also made him happy to know that he will have his whole family supporting him from here.

You watch the screen in front of you, focusing on Aemond inside his red car, positioning himself on the grid just like the other drivers, ready to start the race.

Helaena places a hand on your shoulder in support mode and you smile softly, placing your hand on top of hers, as you both watch the screen that focuses entirely on Aemond.

You are both positive today, even if he doesn't win, everyone knows what a great job he has done and will still be very proud of him.

Aemond's dream has always been to win at Ferrari's home as well as his own in the same year. He has not managed to win at home, this would be the first time if at all.

Starting from fifth place, it's not too bad and you have to hope he can do it.

Then finally all the cars are perfectly positioned on the starting grid. Everyone in the place is attentive and ready. The countdown to the start of the race ends and the lights start to show their colors at the same time you hear through the headphones the voice of the presenters.

“We all set for the start of the British Grand Prix halfway through the 2025 season and… lights out!”

The driver speaks through your headphones and all the people out there scream in excitement as they watch all the cars start, beginning the race.

You watch Aemond intently and hopefully, watching as he takes advantage of passing the drivers in front of him on the starting grid, going from starting fifth, to second.

The applause and cheers are not long in coming, as is everyone in the Ferrari garage and Aemond's family. But they are not singing victory yet. It's only the first lap, fifty-one to go and anything can happen.

You don't know if he's thinking about what you both did this morning even though he said he would. You certainly are as you follow his footsteps across the screen. You can't see his face but when he takes off his helmet and you see him in his sports suit, it sets off all your alarms in you.

But… you know he was thinking about his prize you gave him this morning, when after two hours, you see and hear: “He is about to head to victory as he comes into the final corners here at Silverstone, the crowds are going crazy! Aemond Targaryen wins the British Grand Prix!”

The deafening roar of the crowd fills the air, mingling with the thunderous sound of the engines. The commentator continues to narrate with excitement as your eyes remain fixed on the screen.

Your heart is pounding, watching every movement of the red car representing Ferrari, representing Aemond.

The moment is surreal. You watch as it crosses the finish line, the car glistening in the Silverstone sun as the checkered flag waves. You can barely hear the commentator's voice amidst all the shouting and cheering from the crowd out there.

“Aemond Targaryen takes his first-ever victory at home! The Sapphire Prince has done it!”

The garage erupts in celebration. Everyone hugs, jumps and shouts as if they were the ones behind the wheel. You can't help but smile, eyes shining with pride.

You hug Helaena, Alicent, Aegon, Daeron and shake hands with Otto, as everyone smiles and is congratulated by more team members, proud of Aemond completely, as are you.

Finally the first three places arrive on the grid, Piastri, Verstappen and Targaryen. Photographers pile up, capturing every second, and you can barely contain yourself. You want to run to him, hug him, kiss him, but you hold back… for now.

Finally, you see him get out of the car, strike a pose, strike a pose, celebrate and run to his entire team, launching himself at all of them, as they all scream, celebrate and hug him.

You watch still from the garage, knowing full well that he has to take a drink of water, rest a bit in the middle of all the celebration and do a little interview. Afterwards, he has to wait with the other two winners for the awards ceremony to be ready.

Certainly, you can't get close to him until it's all over. But you see him at all times. Proud, attentive and completely happy.

You watch as he takes off his helmet and his silver hair, now damp from the effort, falls messily over his forehead and the smile he wears makes the air around you become unreal.

Then, you watch with pride as they place the gold medal around his neck, he holds his trophy above his head as he waves and smiles at everyone, finally culminating the award ceremony by opening the bottle of champagne and throwing the foam to his coworkers, at the same time that they also soak him.

And when it's all over… you finally go to him.

You hug him tightly, feeling his heartbeat still racing from the adrenaline of the race. You don't care that they're probably filming you, you just want to kiss him, hug him, celebrate with him, let him know how proud you are of him.

And that's what you do, you kiss him deeply and hold back your tears of emotion.

“You did it,” you say with your contained emotion, placing your forehead against his.

“No, we did,” he tells you, clinging to you with both hands on your waist.

You laugh softly and again kiss him, unable to get enough of him.

After all, he will always be the champion for you and you will always be his lucky charm.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #hotd aemond #modern hotd #au modern #modern aemond #aemond one shot #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut

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sheepispink · 9 hours ago

Text

FIX IT SIMON! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

Pairings: Lieutenant!Ghost x civilian, baker! reader

Part 5 of Sweet As Sugar Series ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Simon’s been put on leave, much to his annoyance, and due to the Christmas period your shop isn’t even open. So he has to wait painstakingly for two days for it to reopen once more, and when it does, he doesn’t plan to leave.

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Finally, he’s been pushed on holiday, by force no less, and his first feeling is that he’s bored— extremely so. The initial plan was to sleep through the entire first day, but he could barely get more than a few hours in before he was awake in a cold sweat. At least back at base he could work it off in the gym, or with a few laps around the muddy track. Here in this apartment, he couldnt nearly do as much as he’d like to, especially with the eerie quietness about it. Usually he could hear Soap snoring next door, or at least Price’s quiet murmurs as he reads over another mission plan. It didnt help that he got let off right on Christmas Eve, which meant today and tomorrow he could barely do anything around town since nothing would be open, especially your cafe.

He could never relate to the other soldiers about the joy of returning home though. They’d groan on and on about how they missed the smell of home cooked food, plush pillows in their beds, being warm on the coldest nights and most of all being fussed over by their parents, siblings or well.. their lover. He can hardly remember where he left the spare toilet paper let alone find comfort in the scent of his ‘home’, nor actually find comfort in his bed. The sheets move around too much, pulling off the corners of his bed every time he tosses, and they're rough against his bruises, not doing anything to soothe his aches.

A few years back, he moved out of Manchester to stay in Cardiff. It didn't affect him much anyway, considering he was barely at his own apartment throughout the year, but it did make it particularly easier on the odd chance he was kicked out of base— part of the rules for the Christmas holidays. He really had tried to argue with Price, but he wouldn't have it, telling him to ‘just take a damn break’. Soap had even joked a few times about dragging him over to Scotland with him, but Ghost wasn't too sure if he could handle another Mactavish let alone just Soap. Plus, any type of family gathering was really not his thing.

So, after surviving his second restless night, he makes the impulsive decision to drive down to your town at seven am, arriving there in half an hour. The bell jingles, early regulars already filtering in and out the cafe for their coffee before their jobs start. He usually either went now or near closing time, trying his best to avoid the busiest hours— otherwise he’d never get to see you.

“Cardamom tea.” He grunts at you before placing a five pound note on the counter, eyes catching onto the mess behind the counter before he raises a brow at you.

“What the hell happened back there?”

You sigh, glancing back at the wet floor sign and the spices hastily swept underneath the cupboards. “The front sink suddenly burst this morning. I've been using bottled water but it’s starting to become an issue.”

You ring in his order though, turning around to dispense the premade tea, the large airpot keeping it warm. It was way better than any teabag, the fresh spices balancing out in his mouth in a way that makes some part of him melt.

“Have you called a plumber yet?” He watches as you strain the spices out before pouring into a cup for him, placing the lid on and grabbing your pen for your signature doodle. It’s not like he wanted to admit he liked them, but you’ve been getting increasingly creative with the mini-version of him who's been up to all kinds of things.

“Ah.. well, the closer it gets to Christmas the harder it is to find anyone. It’ll have to be fixed in the new year.” You give him a shrug as you hand over the cup, obviously looking a little down about having to deal with a dodgy sink on top of running the shop each day. It’d certainly makes your tea products a struggle to produce and he doesn't even need to ask to see you contemplating shutting it down. “Let me ‘ave a look.” There’s not much he could do to make it worse anyway, so you unlock the small swing gate, letting him walk around the corner. Usually , you would’ve helped him inspect it, but a group of regulars returned for their usual meeting and you knew this would be an order you had to handle now. Though, when you finally complete it, he’s disappeared off again.

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” Just like the first day you met, your music is blaring in the background, considering it’s half an hour till closing and many don't hang around till now. Finally you lift your head, meet with Simon’s familiar black mask and you smile, though slightly tilting your head in confusion.

“Oh— what are you doing back here? Wait- did I forget a plan?”

Your face grows into one of panic and he quickly quells it with a firm shake of his head. A soft thud rings out and you look down to see a toolkit he had just placed on the table, what looks to be plumbing supplies.

“We’ll have that sink workin’ by the end of today.”

He had gotten to work immediately, muttering to himself about how bad the previous owners had been to let it get to this state as he crouched in front of the sink cabinet. “Simon, you really don’t have to—“ He shakes his head,reaching into a carrier bag to pull out a flexi hose and other things you don't recognise. “You got a customer waitin’ for you.” You squeak, having not even realised and quickly apologise before taking the order. In no time, your sink is working again, although Simon did get a little drenched when he tested it and the water pressure was a bit too high. The sight had you in fits of laughter as you quickly searched for a towel. Besides that, you marvelled at how he had restored the sink with a bit of diy, cringing at the dirty state of the old pipes and the like.

“Thank you for everything today. I’m thinking about getting a filter attachment for the water so it’s better quality. You’ll be the first to try the new teas, of course.”

That’s accompanied by your usual emoji, that of which is a little smiley with its tongue sticking out. He has no idea why you’re so enthralled by the mini pictures but he’s made no effort to stop you, just replying back in his own usual tone.

“You’re welcome. Filtered water sounds good, tea will taste better too.”

Okay, so maybe he didnt text as nicely as you and had a bad habit of getting straight to the point— you didn't seem to mind too much though, and it’s better than leaving you on read like he’s heard some men have done. A sigh puffs out his chest as his head hits the pillows, looking at the speckles on his ceiling as he thinks over the day. It felt good to be occupied, and not in the usual ‘planning something that could end up killing people if done wrong’ way. His job helped people of course, damn every mission was always for a better cause but something was different with the way you had lit up, grinning at his handiwork. Families had thanked him before— nervously because of his heavy armour but thanked him nonetheless. Yet still he didn't get that rush, the one that made his teeth grit, eyes avert awkwardly and his fists to clench a little. One that made him a little uncomfortable, though sent him reeling all the same. ‘If i didnt fix it, I'd never get my tea for a long while..’ He concludes that must be why he ran out to the nearest home diy store, and definitely not the frown on your lips. it must be.

Despite that, he was seemingly having an internal battle with himself the longer the days continued with little sleep. He just had no excuses for what he was doing anymore, nothing was making sense. Most of all was when the next day he made his way to your shop again, muttering something about ‘The fridge made a loud noise when i was here. It’s annoying.’ before he was stalking around the counter and pulling it away from the wall. He checks all the vents, and clears the dust buildup from many years of use. You confess your parents planned for a new one but you haven't been able to afford it yet.

“I don't need it.” He shrugs as he hands you the military discount card he keeps spare, supposed to be for family members but now he’s giving it to you. It’s still early when he's done with the fridge, and decides to check out the lights in the main kitchen, where all the bakes are made. He’s been here before, when you needed to clean it at closing time and he stayed late again. One of them needs to be replaced, obviously and so he takes it upon himself to do that. Somehow he finds another problem, fixing the squeakiness of the back door.

This carries on until a third day, he had come by after munching down some dinner, and he somehow migrated his problem fixing to your small apartment upstairs. You didn't mind of course, and he hadn't pushed, in fact he sounded more awkward than you when he spoke up. “If your pipes were this rusty downstairs, I think the ones upstairs can only be worse. You should.. get that checked out.” He mutters, his arms crossed over as he crouches before the kitchen water pipes. You have to stifle a smirk, nodding along with his words instead. Whilst he worked, he’d ask the odd question and you had explained that the previous owners barely used the apartment themselves— explaining his assumption.

“Ah.. I really should get someone to check it out…”

It feels fun to act like this— you almost feel like you��re saying no to a kid about buying a toy. He’s sitting there silently but you know he wants to go up and sort it out for you. The reason? You’re not sure, but you have a few suspicions. “You’re on holiday now, right?” You glance at him as he stands from his crouched position, and he nods. “Are you doing anything for it?”

“No.” He grunts almost a little too quickly, the boredom practically agitating his soul now as he shifts, fidgeting with the tools as he places them back in the boxes. “Oh.. well, would you mind checking my pipes out upstairs then? I mean… as long as you're not too busy. You can just tell me what’s wrong and i’ll hire a plumber later—“

“I’ll fix tha’ by tonight.” So, you close up the shop, since it’s late now already, and walk up the small staircase up to your apartment. It looked far smaller on the outside, but you had planned your space well. There was a kitchenette, looking a lot more modern than the bakery downstairs. Rather than the dark mahogany, it was a lighter brown and off white walls, matching the plush leather couch before your tv. It was clear you had done some work on it yourself, or hired someone at least, to renovate the place. He takes his shoes off by the door and you take his jacket from his hands to rest it on a little hook. It was cute to him, to see how you’ve cosied up this space to be one of your own. The first thing he notices is how warm it is, not a sweaty hot but like sitting infront of a fire on a freezing day. It’s welcoming, the warm light rather than the sterile white he’s accustomed to, as well as the little picture frames among the walls of artwork you’ve grown fond of over the years. He even smiles at your key holder, the way a cat pops out as you place the key down.

He’d describe it as a home, a real one. From the small clutter of dishes that you shyly hurry him past, or the blanket still splayed over the couch from a late night movie— hell even the bin full to the brim. It’s full of life, something his apartment has never known. “Alrigh’ let’s see the damage here.”

“Will you be fine here on your own? I still need to clean up downstairs..”

He nods quickly, even going as far as to shoo you away and you laugh hurrying down again.

You come up at eight, wanting to deliver him a cup of the leftover tea from today whilst you washed out the large airpots you kept them in. “Simon?” You call out, looking around until you see him standing before the sink, finally repaired and looking a little.. dazed. “I’ll be finished in a bit, why dont you take a seat on my couch and watch some tv?”

“I should go home—“

“No! ..I mean, I can't just force you to go now after all your hard work. Stay and drink the tea please?” He cant say no to those eyes and so he grunts, letting you tug him over to the couch and sit him down. Then you hurry over to the cabinet, rummaging out a pack of nachos and some salsa. “Help yourself, okay? I’ll be done soon. Promise.”

Then he’s left alone again, sitting there quietly as he sips on the mug of tea you gave him. It’s in a mug that has prints of skulls all over it, and a ghost on the centre with a little ‘boo!’ next to it. He finds it awfully fitting, a bit curious on when you even bought this and when you planned to show him it. Like he said before, your tea is just perfect. The right mixture of sugar, spice and everything else nice. It breaks down a part of him he hadn't known existed, muscles relaxing into the plushness of the couch. He’s got a large cushion behind his back, something you must love since there’s a few more littering the couch too. The tv is quiet, on one those stupid adult cartoons that he’s never found quite funny but the ambience of this is too cosy to deny, too comforting. Has it really been that long since he’s slept? He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he’d been avoiding sleep recently just to escape those nightmares for a bit. This was comfy though, almost too comfy, but you said you’d be back soon— he’s sure the military trained him to wait that long anyway. So he sits there quietly, waiting.

When you return, you call out again, only to recieve silence in response. Confused, you walk further in, seeing him sitting upright. “Lt! Simon! …Ghost?” Still no reply, that is until you hear quiet breathing, and you step closer to see his head is slumped back a little. Carefully tiptoeing around the couch, his blonde eyelashes are pressed against the black cut outs of his mask, lips gently parted as his chest rises and falls. You can see his chin properly for once, the small curves of his lips and the pin prick of a scar near his neck. That makes you swallow sharply, only images of him being near death coming to your mind. For now, you shake it out and try to figure out what to do with the sleeping hunk of a man on your couch. Of course, you’re far from being annoyed but you’d feel extremely guilty if you didn't at least try to wake him.

What if he feels uncomfortable when he wakes?

“Si..” You whisper, the nickname unintentionally slipping out as you gently rub his shoulder. No response is heard, only a deep breath leaving his chest as he relaxes into your couch. “Si, you fell asleep.” This time, you think he’s woken but he just shifts his body, head leaning back further to press into the back of the couch. You sigh, not sure what else to do than to just leave him here until he wakes. There’s no point attempting more drastic measures, knowing damn well you likely cant even lift his arm just from the sheer muscle on it. “You gonna lie down at least? That’s gonna hurt your neck in the morning.”

It had been a murmur to yourself but he had seemed to have the same idea, head sinking a little more in search for a comfortable place to rest. He grunts in his sleep, mask crinkling near his eyes as they squeeze. You tug his arm gently to lead him, and he subconsciously follows, adjusting himself until his head rests on a cushion you placed on the armrest. His arm lazes over his stomach as he gets comfortable on his side, cheek pressing in to the pillow just slightly. Smiling to yourself, you grab the thick throw blanket from the back of the couch and tuck it around him before reaching out towards his face. Your fingers tangle on the fabric of his mask, his nose twitching until you slowly drag down the bunched fabric to his chin. “Sleep well, Si.” The couch creaks as he sinks in further, the light ahead flickering off with the touch of your fingers.

It’s late in the morning when he grunts, though today it’s not the light from the curtains annoying him, nor does he wake up to silence neither. Infact, a soft hum is heard not too far away and he’s almost positive he’s dreaming now. Quickly perking up at the unfamiliar surroundings, he whips his head around only to see you standing in an apron, teeth biting your lip as you concentrate on scooping an egg perfectly in the plate. You practically beam at your own work, finally looking up to see him stare back at you, throw blanket sliding off his shoulders. “What the–” His voice is cold, instantly reverting to his military instincts before you chuckle, the sound easing something in him. “You fell asleep on my couch, silly. Looked exhausted too– have you been sleeping well recently?” He sits up properly now, glad for the mask to cover his warming face, before walking over to the counter you stand at.

“Not my fault your couch is comfy.” He takes the plate you slide towards him, lifting his mask to his nose as he takes a bite of the sausage.

“You’re avoiding my question, Si.” His eyes flicker up, caught off guard by the nickname but any challenge he wanted to give you for having the audacity quickly dies in his throat. He’s not the man for you, but you’re so damn tempting to him. Never has he hesitated to set a boundary, yet here he is letting you call him Si. “Fine, I havent been sleeping well. Just adjusting, tha’s all.”

You don't believe him, but there’s not much you can do, not when he’s being stubborn as it is right now. Despite that, you still couldn't just let him deal with it on his own either, not after everything he’s been doing for you. So you shuffle through your cupboards, grabbing a packet of Chamomile tea and offering it to him. “Take it. It might not be perfect, but it helped me relax when I had insomnia.” Then you’re grabbing a diffuser too, and a few candles, placing everything into a small carrier bag. “If it doesn't work, then I guess you’ll just have to sleep on my couch forever.” He rolls his eyes at your cheeky words, and grabs your empty plate to stack atop his.

“Alrigh’ fine. But I'll hold you to that promise.”

He might have to start praying they dont work.

—————————————————————-

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Taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #call of duty fic

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qqueenofhades · 2 hours ago

Note

do you have any advice for those in the very early stages of thesis-writing? currently desperately clinging to the mantra of "shitty first drafts," et al

Unfortunately, there is no place where you will more whole-assedly have to embrace the "shitty first draft" mantra than in academic writing, especially in thesis writing, especially if this is your first-ish crack at an advanced and major piece of original research. I'm not sure if this is for an undergraduate senior thesis, a MA-level thesis, or (my true and heartfelt sympathies) a PhD dissertation, but the basic principles of it will remain the same. So there is that, at least. This means that yes, you will write something, you may even feel slightly proud of it, and then you will hand it into your supervisor and they will more or less kindly dismantle it. You have to train yourself to have a thick skin about this and not take it as a personal insult, and if your supervisor is remotely good at their job (not all of them are, alas) they will know how to be tactful about it and not make it feel like a direct and extensive commentary on your private worth as a person. But you will have to swallow it and do what you can, which can include -- if you're the one who has done the research and know that's how you want to present it and/or you are correct about it -- pushing back and having a conversation with them about how you think your original approach does work best. But that will come later. The first step is, yes, to mentally gird yourself to receive critical feedback on something that you have worked hard on, and to understand that no matter how much you grump and grumble and deservedly vent to your friends and so on, implementing the feedback will usually make your piece better and stronger. That is the benefit of working with a trained expert who knows what makes a good piece of research in your particular academic field, and while it doesn't get easier, per se, at least it gets familiar. Be not afraid, etc.

If you're in the writing stage, I assume that you've moved past the topic-selection and general-research stage, but allow me to plump once more the services of your friendly local university library. You can (or at least you can at mine and probably in any decently well-equipped research university) schedule a personal consultation with an expert librarian, who can give you tips on how to find relevant subject databases, create individual research guides (these might already be available on the university library website for classes/general topics), and otherwise level you up to Shockingly Competent Research Superhero. So if you're still looking for a few extra sources, or for someone else who might be reading this and is still in the "how the heck do I find appropriate and extensive scholarly literature for my thesis??" stage, please. Go become a Research Ninja. It's much easier when you have a minion doing half the work for you, but please do appreciate and make use of your university librarian. It's much more effective than haphazard Google Scholar or JSTOR searches hoping to turn up something vaguely relevant (though to be fair, we all do that too), and it's what your tuition dollars are paying for.

Next, please do remind yourself that you are not writing the whole thesis in one go, and to break it down into manageable chunks. It usually does make sense to write the whole thing semi-chronologically (i.e. introduction, lit review, chapter 1, chapter 2/3/4 etc, conclusion), because that allows you to develop your thoughts and make logical connections, and to build on one piece to develop the next. If you're constantly scrambling between chapters and zig-zagging back and forth as things occur to you, it will be harder to focus on any one thought or thread of research, and while you might get more raw output, it will not be as good and will require more correction and revision, so you're not actually hacking yourself into increased productivity. You should also internally structure your chapters in addition to organizing your overall thesis, so it makes sense to draw up a rough outline for section A, section B, section C within the body of a single chapter. This will make you think about why the segues are going in that order and what a reasonably intelligent reader, who nonetheless may not have the specialized knowledge that you are demonstrating for them, needs to move understandably from one section to the next.

Some academics I know like to do an extensive outline, dumping all their material into separate documents for each chapter/paper and kneading and massaging and poking it into a more refined shape, and if that works for you -- great! I'm more of the type that doesn't bother with a ton of secondary outlines or non-writing activity, since that can lead you away from actually writing, but if you need to see the fruit of your research all together in one place before you can start thinking about how it goes together, that is also absolutely the way that some people do it. Either way, to be a successful academic writer, you have to train yourself to approach academic writing in a very different way from fun writing. You do fun writing when you have free time and feel inspired and can glop a lot of words down at once, or at least some words. You do it electively and for distraction and when you want to, not to a set timeline or schedule, and alas, you can't do this for academic writing. You will have to sit your ass down and write even when you do not feel like writing, do not feel Magically Inspired, don't even want to look at the fucking thing, etc. I have had enough practice that I can turn on Academic Writing Brain, sit down, bang something out, sit down the next day and turn on Academic Editing Brain, go over it again, and send it off, but I have been in academia for uh, quite a while. The good news is that you can also automate yourself to be the same way, but the bad news is that it will take practice and genuine time invested in it.

As such, this means developing a writing schedule and sticking to it, and figuring out whether you work best going for several hours without an interruption, or if you set a timer, write for a certain time, then allow yourself to look at the internet/answer texts/fuck around on Tumblr, and then make yourself put down the distraction and go back to work for another set period of time. (I am admittedly horrible at putting my phone away when I should be doing something else, but learn ye from your wizened elders, etc.) You will have to figure out in which physical space you work best, which may not be a public coffee shop where you can likewise get distracted with doing other things/chatting to friends/screwing around on the internet/doomscrolling/peeking at AO3, and to try to be there as often as possible. It might be your carrel in the library, it might be your desk at home, it might be somewhere else on campus, but if you can place yourself in a setting that tells your brain it's time to work and not look at WhatsApp for the 1000th time in a row, that is also beneficial.

Finally, remember that you do not have to produce an absolutely world-beating, stunningly original, totally flawless and perfect piece, even in its final form. Lots of us write very shitty things when we're starting out (and some of us, uh, still write very shitty things as established academics), and you do not have to totally redefine your entire field of study or propose a groundbreaking theory that nobody has heard of or anything like that. A lot of academic work is small-scale and nuanced, filling in spaces on the margins of other things or responding or offering a new perspective on existing work, and it's best to think of it as a conversation between yourself and other scholars. They have said something and now you're saying something back. You don't need to be so brilliant that everyone goes ZOMGZ I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THAT BEFORE; by its nature that happens very rarely and is usually way out on a limb (extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, etc); you just need to continue the dialogue with a reasonably well-constructed and internally plausible piece. So if you think of it that way, and understand that a shitty first draft will usually develop into something that is good and valuable but not SHOCKING NEW REVELATION clickbait hype, you will take some of the pressure off yourself and be more able to shut up that perfectionist voice in your head. However, all of us have some degree of imposter syndrome and it never entirely goes away, so you'll have to manage that too. Etc etc as before, it doesn't vanish altogether, but it gets easier.

And last but not least, though I'm sure I don't have to say this: for the love of fuckin' god, do not use ChatGPT. Even the genuinely shittiest paper in the world that you still worked on researching, organizing, and writing with your own brain is better than that. Trust me.

#babeydoll #ask #school stuff #academia: not even once

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dinogoofymutated · 2 days ago

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Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

#goofyspeaks #x men #x men comics #x men 97 #x men headcannons #x men 97 x reader #x men x reader #scott summers x reader #scott summers #cyclops x reader #x men cyclops #cyclops #x men headcanons

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fanfiction-obsession · 3 days ago

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I’ve read a lot of fics that have Perry the Platypus as being super good at taking care of people (Heinz) but you know what? I actually think he would suck at it, at least at first. Hear me out:

Taking care of somebody is at least 70% just expressing your emotions, it’s a way of saying hey, I love you, I care about you, I’m here for you. You’re sick, so I’m gonna make you some grilled cheese and then I’m gonna sit gently on your bed and make sure you eat it and then I’m gonna refill your water glass and yell (affectionately) at you when you say you could’ve gotten it yourself. The comforting thing about that is the person being there, the presence, the way they nod while you eat.

Perry is 100% the kind of character that would hurl the grilled cheese at your (Heinz’s) chest and vanish. He excels at the other 30% of care, the doing, the making, the fetching, but man he sucks at the actual comfort-giving. He will watch from a distance, anxiously, but he won’t let anyone know. He’s trained not to show emotions, to care in secret, and so when it comes time for him to actually openly take care of someone, he’s god-awful at it and Heinz is left sitting in the bed wondering why his water cup keeps getting filled up when he swears he’s drinking it.

And then Heinz takes care of Perry once. Picture it, Perry comes down with the flu but monogram makes him go to work anyway (it’s a cliche, done and done, I know) but think about it. Think about Heinz taking care of him, Heinz making the grilled cheese and staying, with no shame, no fear, singing a soft lullaby and rubbing gently up and down his back. Think about that, and think about Perry losing his shit. He gets it. He understands why people crave this.

And then the next time Heinz gets sick Perry brings him a grilled cheese and stands there awkwardly, shuffling on his feet because he knows now, that there’s more to this than providing service and running away, but he still isn’t totally sure what to do. And Heinz just pats the bed and Perry gets up and lays down next to him and they lay together, just like that, and for the first time ever, Perry understands.

#phineas and ferb #perry the platypus #agent p #heinz doofenshmirtz #perryshmirtz #taking care of someone #look I know Phineas and Ferb take care of him #but honestly I headcanon that he doesn’t really let himself accept that either #he’s spent so long running away from care #that he has exactly zero idea how it works #good thing he’s got an evil scientist with plenty of experience

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stackslip · 2 days ago

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I thought Scar was supposed to be Ainu and not middle-eastern? My only knowledge of the series is watching it once seven years ago.

yeah don't think so, really. arakawa has said that she partially based the conflict "between the state and scar" (what a way to put it) on her own background in hokkaido, where japanese settlers stole ainu land, but she also makes it clear in that same interview that this isn't the sole influence. besides it wouldn't fit 1:1, as the ainu went through a cultural genocide but were never round up and suffered large scale massacres in the same way--from what i've found it seems to be closer to a slow burn genocide that favoured "assimilation" above all. and searching any images of the ainu, researching their clothings and practices, very little seems to fit even visually with ishbalans. i'm sure they WERE a source of inspiration for arakawa writing the war, and i'm sure her own admission that her ancestors and family are descendents of settlers on ainu land, and some of her relatives have ainu blood (she never claims herself directly as ainu, despite what i've seen being said online) also informs the way she wrote the soldiers and settlers who help destroy ishbal. she calls that war an "allegory" and she kinda seems to have thrown a lot of different groups and tropes in to make up ishbal

obviously some stuff is directly inspired by ww2, she herself said she interviewed ww2 veterans (only veterans.... would have loved to hear the pov of the victims) to write about the war. considering the history of japan during ww2, and how the torture and experiments in ishbal obviously parallel japanese human experimentation on the people they deemed as sub-human (and possibly nazi experimentation) then these populations under japanese occupations can also be an inspiration

but really, ishbalans themselves seem to be a melting pot of different orientalist tropes, some inspired by real life groups--the basics about how ishbalans themselves are depicted in the manga are these: they are a desert-based indigenous people with dark skin, who worship a single god (something that is apparently pretty mock worthy for hugues and others tbh; one could see some mixing up of jews and muslims in there too with the talk of ishbal as the "holy land") and who see alchemy and a lot of what amestrians bring as "blasphemy"; furthermore their women (from the little we see of them) wear hoods or veils that cover their hair, and wear golden bracelets and jewelry. despite arakawa's utter refusal to give ishbalans much of a spotlight on their culture and life altogether, it's kinda hard to not read ishbalans' visual appearance as being "inspired" by SWANA muslims from their appearance and dark skin, the little we see of their religious values, and their clothing. all in a very orientalist way tbh

most importantly, fma ran from 2001 to 2010 and the iraq war WAS very present in japanese political consciousness. (fma 03 makes that parallel a lot more evident, but arakawa wrote/drew the bulk of her version of the genocide after 03 aired and it's p obvious that the iraq war is also a direct inspiration.) the japanese public was aware enough of the iraq war that when the then prime minister decided, for the first time since ww2, to send SDF troops to iraq to aid the USA his approval rates dropped dramatically. this was part of a larger political debate around japan's remilitarization. it would be very hard to imagine that arakawa, writing about war as she was, was not at the very least influenced by these concurrent events.

so: by her own admission, the situation of the ainu is one of several inspirations for ishbalans and scar. but that does not make ishbalans or scar ainu (and for the billionth time, arakawa is not ainu or indigenous herself! she has never claimed to be!), and it is very obvious that their culture is far more visually coded through orientalist depictions of SWANA people and muslims than the ainu themselves.

#eli talks #fma

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jaempanini · 6 hours ago

Text

☆ I fucking hate pasta

Jeno x Reader

Notes: established relationship and stuff whatever whatever I made this in like an hour please don't execute me from tumblr

Synopsis: You make pasta often, because you know that it's one of Jeno's favourite foods. Jeno never complains when you make him pasta, because he knows you love it. Plot twist: you both hate that shit 😔

Word count: 1.2k

You gently cut up the basil for the pasta sauce as a pot with water slowly begins to boil. You aren't sure when exactly you'd started cooking for Jeno, but what you do know is that you absolutely adore doing it. Jeno is always super appreciative, and nothing makes you happier than seeing his excitement whenever you place a plate of food down in front of him.

In fact, cooking for Jeno might be one of your favourite activities.

The only part that you can confidently say you despise about it, is that Jeno loves pasta. Not only does he love it, he is obsessed with it. Now, any other food would be okay, you aren't that picky. But pasta? Oh, you hate pasta. And it's heartbreaking, because you want to like it, you want to enjoy it with Jeno, but you just can't. You've tried, oh you've fucking tried alright, and you've concluded that pasta might be the worst food to ever grace this earth.

So almost every other evening you have to sit across from Jeno and miserably stuff your mouth with pasta and pretend that you aren't on the verge of tears. Romantic!

The water starts to boil, and your heart sits heavy in your chest as you salt it and then pour the pasta in, mixing it so that it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pot.

Just as you put the spoon down, you hear your front door unlock, and your brain reminds you that Jeno just came back from the gym, so it's most likely that he'll be extra hungry.

You turn around just as he stops in front of the kitchen entrance. He smiles at you and then his eyes briefly flit to the pot behind you. An unreadable expression settles on his face. "Pasta again?" he asks, looking at you curiously.

You nod, giggle and walk over to him, throwing your arms around his neck, leaning up to kiss him. Jeno's hands instinctively find your waist, and he gently presses you closer to him. As you break apart, you move one of your hands to cup his cheek. Then, with all the sweetness in the world, you say, "You smell terrible. Please take a shower."

Jeno gasps in mock-offense and pulls you closer to him, to which you whine and playfully hit his chest. "Come oooon, you know damn well you don't smell like fresh flowers after the gym, go and shower!"

Jeno finally lets go of you and steps away. You immediately miss his touch, but you decide that this is for the greater good. The gym scent lowkey gives you toxic gas vibes.

"Fine," Jeno sulks, "but don't start eating dinner without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it." You reply, and you know it's true, because if you were alone there'd be no way you would ever even think of putting pasta in your mouth.

Jeno kisses you on the cheek, before finally leaving to go take a shower.

You sigh, look back at the pot of pasta, and understand that you have to face your biggest enemy once again. For the sake of Jeno.

Jeno stands in the bathroom, leaning against the sink. The mirror is fogged up from the steam, and Jeno fights the urge to wipe it with his hand. He knows you hate the marks it leaves.

His phone is laying on the counter and his messages with Renjun are on the screen. Jeno reads over them at least ten times, particularly over Renjuns last text. "Jeno, you KNOW you don't like pasta, and you KNOW that Yn loves you. She would drop the pasta in a second if you told her you don't like it. Communication is important in these situations."

Jeno thinks about it. He's never really liked pasta. In fact, if he had to choose his least favourite food, it would probably be pasta. But he'd also hate seeing your upset expression if he told you he doesn't like it.

But Renjun is right. Communication is important, and Jeno knows you love him. Plus, if you get upset, he can always just say that it's a joke. Even if that'd mean eating pasta for the rest of his life.

When Jeno comes back to the kitchen, you've already set the table. Both of you sit down.

You nervously start to pick at your food, occasionally picking a piece of pasta up and putting it in your mouth. Every time you do, it feels like you're somehow demeaning yourself.

Jeno, across from you, also slowly starts to eat the pasta, washing each bite down with water.

Approximately five minutes pass before Jeno clears his throat. You look up at him, and he starts rambling.

"Yn... I- listen, I know that you really, really like pasta, and I'm grateful that you cook it for me so much, but I have to be honest... I don't really like it? By it I mean the pasta— I'm sorry, I didn't want to lie, but I knew how much you liked it, and I just didn't want you to be sad, because I know that you really like sharing your favourite things with me, and what sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn't like it too? A terrible one! Yn, I'm sorry, please don't break up with me, I love you, and I love your cooking— it's not you, it's the pasta. The pasta is torturing me every evening. I love being with you so much, but then I look down at my plate, and the fucking pasta is looking back at me."

You stare at him. Jeno visibly panics.

"I swear, you're the best thing to happen to me, but that pasta is the worst thing to happen to me. Every time I put pasta in my mouth an angel loses its wings. Every time it enters my digestive tract I feel my soul die a little. Also, pasta causes constipation!" Jeno finishes his ramble loudly.

You slowly put your fork down and sit up straight. Jeno prepares for the worst.

"So you're telling me..." You start, "... that you don't even like pasta?"

"I-I'm sorry... I... I don't..." Jeno hangs his head in shame.

"So you're telling me..." You continue, "... that I've been cooking pasta for nothing?"

Jeno immediately looks up at you and furrows his eyebrows. "What? No! You like pasta. You cook it because it's your favourite dish!"

You shake your head at him. "Nuh uh it's not! I cook it because it's YOUR favourite dish!"

Jeno stands up. "No! You LOVE pasta!"

You point at him and also stand up. "No, YOU love pasta!"

You both stare at each other before realisation dawns on you. Oh, fuck.

"Jeno... did you think I was making pasta because I like it?"

Jeno slowly shrugs and then asks, "Did... did you think I was eating it because I like it?"

"Yeah... I thought you loved pasta..."

"I don't really like pasta at all... Do you love pasta?"

"I fucking hate pasta."

"So, you're telling me that we've been eating pasta this whole time, thinking that the other one likes it?"

You sit down and whine, covering your face with your hands. "We are such dumbasses." You groan.

You hear Jeno giggle, and all of a sudden he's giving the top of your head a kiss. As you look up, you see him leaning back and also sitting down. "Do you wanna order Chinese?" He asks, looking up at you expectedly. You nod, and give a sigh of relief.

Pasta may have won the battle, but you've won the war.

Notes: I pooped this outta my ass😍 if it sucks dont come for me im a poor village boy trying to feed my 15 siblings by selling hay at the farmers market and cleaning shoes... writing is just this poor village boys hobby 😔 LISTEN IM FALLING OFF MY GAME I DONT EVEN KNOW ENGLISH!!!! THIS POOR VILLAGE BOY LIVES IN AN ABANDONED SHACK IN SIBERA!!!! I MINE COAL EVERY OTHER DAY AND SELL IT FOR PENNIES!!!!!!!!

#nct dream #jeno #lee jeno #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #nct x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #nct dream x reader

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nanaooyoo · 3 days ago

Text

nct jisung smut

request for anon: “Can I get uhh, Jisung shy sub smut x fem cute teasing dom! reader?” This is the first actual real smut I’ve ever written so please give me any feedback on how it was so I can get better going forward. This was super fun to write mainly because I’m super into sub!male dom!fem dynamics. Anyways enjoy ✨

warnings/headsup: swearing • kinda perv!jisung • reader is also a freak • dirty talk • teasing • fingering • unprotected sex • tiny bit of aftercare • roommates to lovers • dacryphilia • light proofread • 7.5k words • nipple play • making out • depraved horniness • self-indulgent prose • red haired Jisung appreciation hours • fem reader • female anatomy

Avalanche: Jisung x Reader pt.I/I

Jisung laid horizontally on the living room couch, his head propped up with one elbow as he watched some edgy series that was currently popular on streaming. He swallowed hard, struggling to focus on whatever was going on plot-wise. Jisung eyed the glass of water you had placed on the coffee table in front of him. He desperately wanted a drink but feared that you’d come back any minute and clock the way his hands trembled trying to grab the ice cold cup. The dryness in his throat and nervousness that was bubbling up in the pit of his stomach made it nearly impossible for him to utter any words, and when he did try, his voice was so hoarse and muffled you couldn’t even hear him from the bathroom if he screamed.

He had convinced himself that you could hop out of the shower at any moment and be sitting right there next to him again. Normally, his roommate coming home from work and letting him know they wanted to “freshen up” before watching TV would be no big deal, but you weren’t just a normal roommate… at least not to Jisung.

You were always so comfortable with him. He thought of you as the contemplative and mature type… which was coincidentally his type. You were critically teasing yet subtly caring. You were perceptive and attentive while still maintaining an aura of aloofness. Ever since you had moved in together, you and Jisung had learned to live in harmony and had even become decent friends. However, your roommate felt a little more for you than just the feelings associated with platonic friendship. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling but he knew damn well what he wanted to do about it! His mind (and eyes) wandered places they probably shouldn’t have when you walked into the living room of the apartment earlier tonight. They travelled up and down just like they usually did, but this time they lingered just a fraction of a second longer. He may not have realized it, but you did.

On this particular evening, you had your usual relieved expression from clocking out of a long day at work. Jisung watched as you walked over to the fridge and thanked him for replenishing the water filter. You poured him a glass before getting one for yourself and put it on the coffee table for him without even asking. How you knew he was thirsty he had no clue but the wordless gesture (though small) still gave him butterflies.

“You look cute today. Did you do something with your hair?” You said unassumingly. He remembered the way you had complemented him when he had first gotten his hair dyed. The deep reddish mauve color reminded you of cherry cola and the way you called him cute made him feel like this kind of cute was different than all the others, like maybe you were seeing him as he saw you.

“I just retouched it this morning” he croaked out, realizing that he must have done so subconsciously because he knew you liked how he looked this way.

You hummed in response and gave him a silent once over, a smirk started to form on one side of your face as if you could read his mind. Your expression was subtle, cocky, and a little bit possessive but Jisung wondered if that was just his own brain filling in the gaps of what he wanted to see.

He was reminded of just how at ease you felt with him now when you spun around, went to grab your drink from the kitchen, and casually unbuttoned your blouse as you walked. His cheeks felt hot and the tips of his ears tingled in light embarrassment as his eyes trailed behind you, focusing on the light muscle definition of your back beneath your shirt. He thanked whatever higher power was out there for you not looking in his direction in this exact moment.

“I think I’m gonna shower first, then I’ll come join you.” You said.

“Oh- Alright!” Jisung answered, averting his gaze once he saw you fully slipping your top off and heading to the bathroom.

Should he sit up? Should he keep lying down? Should he just go in his room and hide? Jisung wasn’t sure what would be the best move rigrht now. Every time there was a lull in the show or a quiet moment with the audio he’d listen to the sound of the water hitting the shower tiles… and your skin. His throat (and his jeans) felt tight as he couldn’t help but imagine the way the hot steam would collect around you, and how each dewy droplet must have run down your body and accentuated every contour and curve of your figure. He imagined the way every sudsy bubble got to cleanse and caress you in ways he probably never would. He was too chicken to even joke about wanting to be in there with you, mostly because he really did want to be in there with you! When he was alone he had no problem relieving himself to the thought of you in the shower, or on the couch, or in his bed, on the kitchen counter, the desk in his room… just about anywhere in the apartment you would have him. But the problem was that you wouldn’t have him. You were way out of his league in his eyes, and just as vividly as he could imagine you and him in the shower together, he could imagine the much more realistic scenario of him being way to nervous to even get it up.

If he went to his room now, all he would do is end up with his pants around his ankles, boxers down, left hand firmly clasped over his mouth to stop any of the feeble whining moans from escaping as drool pooled at the corners of his lips and tears collected in the corners of his eyes. He’d end up a shaking and shivering mess desperate for your intimate hold, right hand and most of his stomach sticky with tacky, half-dried cum and saliva…

All he could do was lay there in wait; wondering what was taking you so long…

𖦹

“This show is absolutely ridiculous” you said, sneering and pointing at the television. “Who in their right mind would let that happen?”

With every small move you made the fresh and airy scent of your floral body wash took over Jisung’s nostrils and made his head spin. The nude lace trim of your nighttime slip dress peaked out from your fluffy white bathrobe and accentuated your cleavage. He felt like he was holding his breath around you and he couldn’t figure out how to stop. You pretended not to notice how nervous your friend was in your company. Out of the corner of his eye Jisung could see the shine of your freshly blow-dried hair resting on your shoulders leading his peripheral gaze down to your exposed collarbone; and then right back down to your chest. Your scent was intoxicating. It was mesmerizing. The hypnotic way your hands raised up to push your hair out of your face made him wonder what it would feel like to have those delicate fingers and beautifully polished nails gripping his own burgundy locks.

The sound of your voice cut through the dreaming, making him remember where he was. Jisung’s imaginative brain was brought back to reality when he sensed you were trying to grab his attention. “Let what happen?” He asked.

“Let someone perv on them through the doorway without even saying anything, I’d at least invite them in…” you joked.

“What?” Your roommate’s head whipped around to glare at the TV trying to piece together whatever the hell it was you were talking about. Sure enough, there was a shot of one character leering at another through a small crack in the doorway as they undressed. “I guess that’s just their dynamic…” He said, only remembering bits and pieces of the mature series so far.

“Well it’s a dumb dynamic, if they wanna get closer they should just say that. You’d just reach over and grab me if you wanted to.” You said.

“No I wouldn’t!” He protested.

“Why not?” You raised an eyebrow. “Am I that repulsive?’

“No- I just mean that I would never touch you without asking. Not that I wouldn’t want to touch you, I just wouldn’t- I wouldn’t-“

“Wouldn’t what? Touch me?”

“I would if you wanted me to-“ He said.

“-but not if you wanted to…” You chimed.

Jisung didn’t say anything to confirm nor deny, but his silence spoke volumes. “You’re so mean” he pouted, biting the inside of his lip once he saw the way your eyes twinkled in delight the more he worried about what he had said.

“I’m not mean… that hurts my feeling Jisungie.” You said kicking his shoulder in jest.

“Fine” Jisung tried to hide his smile. “You’re not mean, you’re just a tease.” His voice was sarcastic and a little afraid of the line he was toeing but you both knew it was partially true.

“What do you know about me being a tease? You listening in on my hookups?”

Jisung’s face went red and his eyes bugged out as you cackled evilly, delighting in every microscopic instance of his un-comfortability.

Your roommate shifted his weight uneasily from his side of the couch, clearing his throat and reaching for his now lukewarm glass of water. Just as he had previously feared, your eyes followed his trembling hand as he clutched the glass and took a long hard sip. He looked over at you with quick darting eyes avoiding looking at your freshly cleaned face. “No, just from what you’ve told me about your dates and stuff it seems like you’re… you know…”

“I’m what?”

Why you decided to pick this day to continuously push his boundaries he had no clue. “You’re just you. It’s not a bad thing, you just have a strong personality.”

Jisung spoke sincerely and you could see that there was a softness in his expression like he was thinking of you in a way you had a hard time thinking about yourself. “Yeah well… most guys don’t like a strong personality, at least not one like mine.” You joked bitterly.

Jisung could tell even through your smile that you were a bit unhappy. “What do you mean?” He asked carefully, moving slightly closer to you on the couch while still keeping a considerable amount of space. He had a hard time understanding how anyone couldn’t or wouldn’t instantly want to be yours. He fell for you by the end of the first day he had met you.

“I just mean that a lot of guys want a girl who will get on her knees if they tell her to, and I’m more… into the opposite.” You looked at him coyly but still with a hint of disappointment in your voice.

His mind was running wild. He wanted to tell you that whoever made you think that was wrong. He wanted to tell you how all you had to do was ask and he’d be on his knees in seconds. He wanted to tell you how it seemed impossible for him to find a girl who could balance out his docility the same way you could. He wanted to tell you all that and more, but all he could get out was “Ah, I see”.

You brushed off the conversation and went back to watching the show like nothing had happened, but Jisung could feel that the mood in the room had changed.

You turned your head back to look at Jisung who was eyeing you pitifully. “Stop looking at me like that” you laughed, as you scanned his face in an attempt to gauge what he was thinking.

What was Jisung thinking? Well he was thinking about how much he wanted you… and not being able to have you when he wanted you, made him want you even more. The idea that he could spend even another millisecond passively observing you without making a move was eating away at him. “Looking at you like what?” He said; pupils blown wide and mouth ever so slightly agape. He moved another inch or so closer to you waiting to see what you would say or do next.

Instead of immediately responding, you watched and waited to see what he would do next. You wondered if this is what it would finally take for Jisung to be bold. “Like how you always look at me Ji…” you said, reminiscing on the many instances you had caught your roommate staring at you with yearning need.

Jisung’s face flushed again but he didn’t back away. His voice was quiet and pitchy but his gaze was piercing, almost stern, and utterly unchanging. “Sorry…” he replied flatly.

The deep and rich tambour of Jisung’s voice always stuck with you when looking at his cute and boyish appearance. The way he bit the inside of lip to stop his instinctual nervous pout made you want to stop your own smile from forming. You relished in the innumerable amount of pride that came to you in making him sweat, but you also cared for him enough to not want to push him too far.

He looked at you with shining brown eyes; twinkling in anticipation as if even he was unsure of what he was about to do. The gentle pink hue that danced across the apples of his cheeks made his curt apology seem unintentional… reflexive maybe. Jisung didn’t want to admit that when looking at you he felt this overarching sense of romantic wanton, pathetic desire, and unadulterated lust, but without realizing it, he sort of just did.

“Are you… sorry?” You asked, chiding him.

He didn’t know what to say.

You cocked your head to the side expectantly. “Are you sorry?”

Jisung’s eyes were transfixed on you as you shot him a playful smile, he couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him again or being genuine, but the lilt in you voice suggested the former rather than the latter. He paused, mulling over the words stuck to the tip of his tongue like a piece of tart hard sour-candy rolling around in his mouth. Jisung puffed his cheeks and let out a quick breath through his nose while looking down into his lap. The living room was quiet except for the indiscernible audio from the television. The air in the room felt suffocating and stale. The primitive, animalistic, part of his brain that yearned for care and affection seemed only to activate when he was around you. It told him that the only respite that could and would be found, would occur only in submitting to you. It told him to submit wholeheartedly so that you may lift the veil of his pathetic cloying shame.

The way Jisung’s head turned to look at you was slow and deliberate, as if to give you a moment to stop him. You put both your feet up onto the couch and faced him, watching as he crawled tepidly towards you like a cat towards its prey. You laid your head on the cushiony headrest and looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Your face was calm and relaxed while his was hesitant and uncertain. Your breaths were slow and soothing while his were broken and belabored. You adjusted your form under him, laying comfortably, as he came closer and hovered over you, using one shaky hand to cradle the back of your head. You could feel the trembling of his fingers and the unevenness of his breath as he cast his shadow across your body.

Jisung’s voice sputtered like an old tape that had been played far too many times, and he leaned down with half parted lips to place upon yours. All his words just transformed into more hot nervous breaths that hit your unflinching face and neck. His head turned ever so slightly more the moment your two noses touched, but he was stopped in his tracks when you raised your chin just enough to avoid his embrace and look up at the ceiling.

He thought he knew what you wanted but he dreaded having to humiliate himself further. The only thing he hated more than being denied the thing he felt he needed, was the butterflies in his stomach and the fact that he could feel himself about to get hard as the blood rushed away from his head and down to his crotch. “Pl-“ he tried to speak but his throat was dry and his vocal cords were near useless in your presence.

The feeble gust of oxygen that hit your chin as you pretended to find more interest in the caulk and drywall on the living room ceiling rather than in him, fueled you. You knew that you could sit around and wait forever but you also knew Jisung was desperate. You were only testing to see just how desperate he actually was.

“Please… Y/N” he croaked out, and looked at you with pleading eyes as you assumed your previous position.

Jisung’s wanting turned hungry as a few hairs from his bangs stuck to the light film of sweat that was beginning to form on his brow. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his whole body closer to yours. You could feel the rousing chaotic beating of his heart as his chest landed on you, and the soft fabric of his t-shirt trailed across the exposed skin above your breasts. Though his mind was racing and excited, his movements remained slow and deliberate. He ran his thumb through the back of your hair and inadvertently tickled the side of your neck with his pinky. One hand gripped the top of the couch with strained white knuckles as he placed his lips upon yours in uncomplaining wait for any sort of guiding motion.

Feeling his sigh of relief, you finally gave into him. You grazed his bottom lip with your tongue and sucked it in ever so slightly. Your hands seemingly traveled on their own as you reached under his shirt and ran the smooth rounded tips of your fingernails from his chest down to his stomach, purposefully tracing around the sensitive bud of his nipples just enough to make him twitch. With every minor nod of your head, and exhale through your nose Jisung followed suit, letting you slip your tongue past his plush swollen lips and into his salivating mouth. He couldn’t describe the feeling he felt when kissing you, it wasn’t quite pain, but rather something that bordered on the very precipice of pleasure. The way you made his jaw work to keep up with you filled him with anticipation. Your hands soon found their way to Jisung’s hips as the cold pads of your fingers rested gently on his sides.

You lifted your chin again to catch your breath and giggle a bit as you looked up at your roommates glassy almost tearful looking eyes. His lips were somehow even pinker than before, marked with the faintest little red indentations from where your teeth had been. They shined with a mixture of yours and his spit as a single trail of saliva connected your two mouths before disappearing. You tightened your grip on his hips digging your nails into his skinny back as gently as you could while still giving him a little shock to the system. “Your waist is almost smaller than mine.” You said, taking in his lean sprawling form “It’s no fair…” you said mockingly, guiding his hips lower and lower so that they were closer to yours. Jisung’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked down at you. He dared not kiss you again without permission, but secretly also craved an idea of what the repercussion might be. The baggy yet somehow constricting denim of his jeans felt rough against the soft satiny finish of your nightgown. You untied the loose bow of your robe, letting him take a moment to look you up and down. The thin pink fabric draped across your body like water, leaving little to the imagination. Jisung took slight pride in the fact that he could see the faint outline of your hardening nipples, he coveted the idea that he too could make you feel desire. Jisung let out an almost mouse like whine when you lowered his hips unto yours, using your hands to show him how to grind against you. You turned your head to the side exposing your neck as you watched the TV. “Just don’t leave a mark…”

Small, quick, and innocent little pecks transformed into generous, slow, and sensual kisses along the path of your trachea. He had lost your attention before but he was determined to keep it now. The tip of Jisung’s tongue swiped at the edge of your collarbone as he exhaled a deep and warm swath of air that kindled a fire in your ribcage and made the space between your thighs long for their sexual appetite to be satiated.

Jisung’s voice was low and raspy, the words he spoke traveled slowly, rumbling their way into your eardrums. “C- can I?” He said, in a way that was so polite it took you a minute to register what he was asking. He brought one trembling hand down from the top of the couch and looked at you with wide brown eyes as his hand softly landed on your upper thigh. His fingers were rough and his palms were clammy. His thumb drew small restrained circles on the inner corner of your leg, dangerously close to the light pulse developing at your core.

You smiled, trying your best to not look smug. “Go ahead”. You said with an encouraging nod.

Jisung led with a small kiss on your jawline before slipping his hand under your dress. He took his time enjoying the soft velvety feeling of your stomach under your lacy outfit before slipping his fingers past the delicate hem of your equally lacy underwear. His pointer finger gently pressed the skin above your clitoris before he began rubbing it carefully. His movements were tentative and soft as his middle finger slipped between your ever-dampening folds. With every slow clockwise rotation of his finger, you writhed against him, feeling your clit harden and his hot breaths in your ear.

Your breath was picking up, as was his, as every movement of your hips was a signal to him to keep going. He continued to kiss and suckle at the skin on your neck, heeding your warning to avoid leaving any marks. His middle quickly followed by his index finger, coated in the slippery juices of your pleasure; slid inside of you easily. You sang a symphony of drawn out breathy moans as he worked his way inside of you, curling his fingers in and out with a precision you didn’t know he was capable of. His face was unusually serious and focused as it seemed all his attention was fixated on pleasing you. The way he took your satisfaction so seriously was endearing, to the point where you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his cheeks and kissing him once again. This time, your kisses were sloppier and a tiny bit faster as you both had found comfortable refuge in each other’s bodies. Gone was the nervous tension, the unspoken sexual attraction, the awkwardness… All that was left was the sounds of two wet mouths melding together in horny abject cohesion. Jisung whined and groaned as he kissed you. Your fingers ran through his silky dark red hair and his fingers pumped in and out of you with fervor. Every low guttural moan that threatened to escape your lips was immediately swallowed up by him, as you both spent mere milliseconds seconds coming up for air before kissing each other again.

You could feel the slow, warm, bubbling sensation creeping its way up from your pelvis and into your stomach. Your grip tightened on the back of Jisung’s head the more you could feel your core building up to a release. His slow drawn-out circles on your clit made it feel like a hearty fire was burning within you. Your breathless broken sentences hit his ears between each kiss. “Jisung. Don’t. Stop”.

He wasn’t planning to, but now he knew for sure what was keeping you going. The tight grip you had on his scalp made his dick rock solid as he couldn’t quite decide on if he’d rather taste you, or be inside of you. “Okay” he said shyly. He was totally winded but refused to stop making out with you for fear that you would get turned off and push him away.

His fingers still moved slowly but now he circled your area with more pressure as the feeling within you reached a point at which it could no longer build. It started like a single insignificant pebble on the side of a mountain that sets off the the other stones at the beginning of an avalanche. There was a plateau and your fingers relaxed and let go of his hair, such that Jisung thought he might have done something wrong. He stopped his ministrations and just pressed a single digit on the spot, and soon the cascading wave of pleasure hit you. Like a Rube Goldberg machine your body was set in motion; a series of flexes and relaxations. First your knees, then your hips, next your chest, then your hands and feet, and finally the slightly high pitched feathery moan that ended in a deeper diaphragm-based huff that came from your throat. Jisung pulled back just enough to hover over you without leaving enough space for the heat between your bodies to travel elsewhere. He looked closely at the snail’s pace rising and falling of your bosom. There were light particles of sweat on your neck and the sigh of relief you let out as you grabbed his wrist made him feel nervous and excited. “Close your eyes” you instructed, and he did so swiftly. You gripped his wrist and lifted it up without any sense of restraint from him. You took Jisung’s two soaked fingers and pressed them to his bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”

He once again did as told; opening his mouth, and letting you use his own fingers that were inside you not so long ago to press down on his taste buds. His eyes squeezed shut even tighter as he struggled to stay sane. Your motions mimicked his previous ones as you pushed his hand forward and backwards. Jisung sucked on his knuckles, feeling the rough pads of his two fingers sliding across his tongue savoring this moment of you on his palate. Every slight press towards the back of his mouth made him let out a sound you had never had the pleasure of hearing from him before. It was soft, and submissive, and utterly delightful to the ear. His long fluttery eyelashes weighing down his sharply pointed and heavily lidded eyes, his blotchy white and red knuckles going in and out past his puckering salmon-colored lips, his rosy hollowing cheeks that seemed to instinctually understand what you wanted to see.

“How’s it taste?” You teased, and his face continued to redden. As you pulled his hand from his mouth Jisung’s head followed a bit like a dog with a bone being taken directly from it’s jowls, and you could see the look of embarrassment he bore as you spoke. You couldn’t stop the sarcastic tone in your voice when addressing him “That good huh?”

Jisung smiled with a tinge of shame. Logically he knew there was no reason to feel vindicated when you were simply pointing out the obvious, but illogically his brain told him there was nothing but shame in unabashedly showing just how much he liked you. “Yes.” He said avoiding your gaze like you’d turn him to stone if he addressed you directly.

You sat up on the couch and Jisung did the same. “You’re a good boy” you chuckled, patting his head like a little golden retriever. You scratched his chin and gave him a little peck on the nose you had thought about sitting on so many times before. You jutted out your bottom lip tauntingly and pouted just to see his reaction.

He was still quite nervous but your playful teasing did actually help. “I’m not a dog.” He said swatting your hand away as you tried to reach behind his ear.

“Well then stop acting like a scared puppy.”

“I’m not scared…” he replied.

You leaned forward to push a strand of hair away from his face “If you’re not scared, then what are you?”

He kept his head down but looked up at you with an expression just north of concern. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” He mumbled, clasping his hands together and placing them over the bulge in his jeans.

“You at least have to let me see what I’m working with…” You adjusted your posture and gently pushed Jisung’s shoulders until he was lying comfortably on his side of the couch. You watched as he swallowed harshly but layed back without much hesitation. You shimmied out of your bathrobe and let it drop onto the living room carpet. Jisung admired your beautifully confident face and your well proportioned body as you began to straddle his lap. You smiled warmly at him and placed a hand on the center of his chest using the other to make fluid pendulum like motions to steady his breathing. “It’s okay to be nervous” you said as genuinely as possible “there’s just no need to be scared.” He sucked in one cheek but looked at you happily with much less internal anguish. “I wouldn’t be sitting on your lap if I didn’t like you right.” You laughed.

“Right…”He said.

You lowered yourself onto Jisung’s lap, cupping his cheeks and leaning down to kiss him once again. He raised his head more confidently this time, stringing one arm around your waist and using the other to steady himself a bit. He tried his best to suppress the giddy feeling within him as you began to pepper kisses all across his face. With every peck you giggled right into his skin and he had to bite his lip to stop it from curling into a sheepish smile. Your hands trailed with a ghost like gentility over his biceps and forearms causing him to chuckle in a mix of general amusement and uncomfortable pleasure.

Jisung’s voice was phlegmy and gruff from holding back so many words and practically chocking on stifled moans. “That tickles.”

“Oh does it?” You teased. Running your fingers over different parts of his body for only seconds at a time, while watching him squirm made it that much easier to satisfy yourself while grinding against him.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the slight friction between textured cloth and smooth skin. It sent a current through each of your bodies that made it feel like a bubble of warmth had lodged itself into the base of your pelvis. The invisible tether that had pulled you towards him and bound you together in ecstasy made every heavy breath and drawn out nasal exhale synchronize itself in time. Like the steady rhythmic ticking of a metronome being replaced by the fluid human passion of a conductor waving their wand, your light riding motions transformed into an orchestra of sloppy kisses and rough manhandling. Slipping your hands under the hem of his shirt, you lifted it up with ease. Jisung straitened out his back for a moment, and helped you pull the white cotton garment off of his body. He had never looked more attractive to you. His hair was a mess in the front, his bangs sticking up in various directions. You followed the outline of each vein and muscle in his pale and tensed arm. His figure was lean and muscular in a way that you wouldn’t have known it was, had he not undressed himself in front of you. You couldn’t help but run your fingers down the deep-set curves of his shoulder blades and the angular divots of his collarbone. His chest was soft yet firm and you swore you could see his heart beating through his ribcage. You trailed a single finger down to his stomach, admiring the slight definition in the abs he made sure to never show off. His thighs were similarly lean and muscular and he seemed to have no trouble holding you up for an extended period of time. He unintentionally bucked his hips and bit his lip as you let your finger travel down to his belly button and stop just at the elastic hem of his checkered boxers. He threw his head back and inhaled sharply, doing his beast to contain himself. His eyes were squeezed shut as you placed a few kisses upon his pectoral muscles and caressed his arms. You knew it would only embarrass him further to come right out and shower him with all the compliments about his body you felt he deserved, so you opted to show how much you liked it through action instead…

The crescendo of sounds that spilled past Jisung’s lips was music to your ears. You licked your thumbs quickly like two postage stamps and wasted no time in teasing his nipples. The chorus of darling whines and pleading whimpers that erupted from him every time you so much as swiped your finger across them made your insides throb in anticipation. Your pussy ached, but Jisung was struggling harder (no pun intended), writhing under you like he was in sexual agony. Rocking your hips back and forth over his erection had him gripping the sides of the couch with such force that you thought he might tear them from the sheer amount of physical chastisement. He balled up a fist and placed a hand over his face for any kind of grounding contact that would stop him from arriving early. You could see and feel the ever-widening patch of wetness over the closure of his jeans from a mixture of your soaked panties and the precum leaking from his tip.

You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand under your dress. His fingers trembled once they made contact with the underwire of your bra, inching slowly to touch the supple flesh underneath. It wasn’t a hard fight but he did fight a little, restraining his arm a bit in slight hesitation, a bid to stall the inevitable.

Jisung felt almost as if you were too beautiful, too good to touch. Almost… His hand cupped and kneaded your breast as you pressed it flush against you, allowing him to divulge himself in a small instance of selfish pleasure. Just as he was starting to enjoy himself a little too much you got up off of the couch to stand up and slip off your underwear. “Take your pants off.” You spoke flatly; stepping out of the lace material and leaving the physical evidence of your arousal on the floor.

Jisung cleared his throat and adjusted his posture. “Okay-“ He began slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling at the metal tab of his zipper. “-but why am I the only one taking all my clothes off…” He gulped fearfully.

You cocked your head to the side and laughed as he looked at you wide-eyed and innocent, a slight air of confusion around him. “Because…” you said, swatting his hands away in a hurry and pulling his pants down yourself, (not even bothering to get them off past his ankles). “I’m horny and I don’t feel like it…”

The cold air hit Jisung’s legs all at once as the change in temperature made all the hairs on his body stand on edge. Unlike his snails-paced movements, you took little care in getting what you wanted. You had spoken so matter of factly and moved so quickly that he hadn’t even had time to fully register what you had said before you were already licking your pointer finger and swirling it over the wet slit of his penis. His dick was just about as pink and veiny and tensed up as his face and his chest began to rapidly rise and fall, heaving with restraint. He let out a dry desperate moan the was less sound than it was just air. He looked up at the ceiling with a dizzying sort of blankness in his eyes as he had to focus on the bright yellow lightbulb attached to the ceiling fan. His brain short-circuited like it had forgotten how to control his eyelids. He couldn’t decide whether to keep his eyes open or closed so they just blinked intermittently, tears starting to form in them. His retinas burned with the watery gooey film collecting in his tear ducts; the only protection against the ingrained halo of light he couldn’t help but stare into. “Please…” he chocked, a single tear streaming down his cheek “please…”

“Please what?” You said cluelessly. Smirking and rubbing small circles against the head of his throbbing cock.

His mind went black and he had forgotten how to speak. He didn’t even really know what he wanted anymore, he just knew he wanted you…

“Please what?” You repeated raising an eyebrow incredulously.

“Anything…” he whispered hoarsely (more out of necessity than intentionality).

“Hmm…” you pursed your lips and toyed with him for a few more seconds until you were content with the amount of salty tears streaming down his face.

He sniffled and scrunched his sleek alabaster nose as the whole of him shivered in response to your touch. He could feel the mucus building in his nostrils and throat as his body went into crises mode and his brain could no longer make the distinction between unwanted danger and welcomed dominance. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… fuck… fu-“ was all he could really say.

The warm, wet, slick entrance of your cunt made every nerve that had the random misfortune yet veritable luck to be situated below the belt, spark up like frayed wires ready to electrocute anyone who dared touch them. A slew of incomprehensible gibberish and curse words dribbled out of his mouth spilling into the room like warm sun-soaked sand on a beach. The tip of his dick coated in your juices, slipped inside of you like it had always been made to fit there. Surrounded entirely by your warmth it twitched within you as you lowered yourself onto his lap again. Moving back and forth, and up and down with precision, your eyebrows knitted together as you felt his length enter you like a piston. Like a steel rod is hammered and welded into place he filled you; hot, and hard, and piercing. “Sit up.” You said curtly and out of breath.

Jisung being the obedient boy he was, sat up with perfect posture, rolling his shoulders back and eliminating his usual casual slouch. He wrapped his arms around your waist and looked at you like you were the only two people in existence. His eyelids were glassy from crying, and little streaks of dried tears adorned the sides of his face. His lips were lightly bruised with color and his face was sweaty. Overall he looked quite disheveled but his eyes… His eyes were shining and round. They twinkled like a galaxy full of stars, a look of adoration swirling within them. Dark brown and reflective, two round doe eyes stared back at you with a look that you could only describe as just so goddamn cute. His sweet pleading gaze was absolutely adorable. It was so innocent and pure seeming compared to the image of your swollen excited clit rubbing against his sizable veiny shaft.

Jisung pulled you close, letting the silky chiffon fabric of your slip dress collide with his chest. He thrusted into you slowly but surely, letting you take the lead and ride him. You wrapped your legs around him and plunged your lower half forward arching your back and running a hand through your hair. Jisung could barely handle the feeling of your bare ass rubbing against him as a mixture of various arousal fluids dripped down his cock and onto his aching balls. The space between his inner thighs felt hot and sticky and his toes practically curled as you used him like a tool to fuck yourself. “You feel so fucking good!” He whined shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut as if to try and convince himself that it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t so fucking turned on right now. In a voice that was so forlorn it almost made you feel bad for him… (almost) he cried “I can’t! Y/N I can’t!”

You rested your hands on his shoulders and kissed away a few tears before licking your lips. “Just a little bit longer, a few more seconds okay…” you spoke softly “you’re doing so good Ji. I know you can get me there too.”

He tried to nod in response but instead Jisung just buried his head into your shoulder, placing sniveling tearful kisses into the crook of your neck. You were so close. You could feel the fire bubbling up inside, stoking the flames with every movement as you two held eachother. Jisung gripped your ass, his large hands dwarfing every part of your body they clasped. You could feel your hole getting tighter and tighter and Jisung could feel your pussy tensing up and squeezing his cock. Again you felt it, you sensed it, the little pebble at the top of the mountain that threatens to break it all… It rolled and rolled before colliding with the boulder. You cradled Jisung’s head against your shoulder and whispered in his ear. “I want you to cum inside me.” You said, and now came the avalanche.

The rush that was building inside of you had finally reached its breaking point. Your body temperature started to rise enough to make a thermometer explode. You could feel Jisung’s gravelly moans and harsh grunts accompanying the white hot liquid he shot into you that threatened to spill out like sweet jarred honey. Trembling and weak he tried his best to keep himself inside of you, thrusting upwards as his mind went blank and he twitched and shivered just enough to make you drown in absolute satisfaction. You dug your nails into his shoulders and trapped him against the hold of your thighs as you moaned, feeling your body release a worlds worth of tension.

Though you were exasperated and panting you took the time to kiss Jisung’s shoulder and stroke the back of his head affectionately. “You did good.” Carefully, you lifted yourself off of him and stood up to stretch a bit.

Jisung laid back, one arm splayed over the side of the couch like a cadaver, naked body and empty mind unable to properly function. He couldn’t really bring himself to move so he just turned his head to the side lazily and then back up to look at you. “TV’s still on…” he mumbled.

How he managed to make you laugh so often you had no idea but his totally fucked out expression was priceless. “I’ll be right back.” You said laughing and exiting the room.

You returned a few minutes later with a warm damp wash cloth and a fresh change of his clothes. You knelt down beside the couch where Jisung lay his head and planted a small kiss on his lips before using the cloth to wipe away his tears. You cleaned up his thighs of any sticky cum leftover on his body and placed a small stack of a neatly folded sweatsuit and a pair of boxers on his stomach. “Get changed”.

“Okay.”

It took him a minute to get his bearings but Jisung eventually stood up and got changed. You snickered to yourself watching him clumsily step into his sweatpants you had grabbed for him, trying to sus out of this was his regular amount of clumsiness or a post nut induced sort of clumsiness.

“I’m making myself a cup of tea you want one?” You asked standing on your tiptoes to grab your roommate’s favorite mug off of one of the kitchen shelves (you were going to make him the tea anyways).

“Uhh sure.” He said. “Hey how do you know where I keep my underwear?” He asked. Scooping up all the discarded clothes on the floor and taking them to the hamper before joining you in the kitchen.

Jisung took a step back when he saw the devilish grin on your face and heard the sweet innocent giggle laced with mischief in your voice…

#nct dream #nct dream fic #nct dream x reader #park jisung #jisung oneshot #jisung smut #jisung nct #nct dream smut #nct jisung smut #jisung x reader #nct x reader #nct x y/n

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keelt9 · 3 days ago

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Episode 1

Masterlist

A/N: I’ll take back an old way I used to write why? It just came out and I like it, so I’ll see if it works out, if I don't, I’ll go back to the normal post.

Two POV in two diffent post. :p

I will keep an eye this week. 👀

I must have a lot of credit for this, come on. I have a bag on my back, another across my body and the half of a sandwich on my right hand as I keep talking with my dad going upstairs for 6 floors.

“Dad, I'm pretty sure I packed everything, calm down!” It’s the end of the long weekend and after spending all the time in the country state of my parents, my duties set my time to go back.

“Sure? There is a white bag, I’m pretty sure you don’t.” I picture my dad lifting that bag with suspicious eyes.

Finally, 26, my door is in front of me. “That’s Ford’s bag.” I stay standing on the door trying to find a way to take out my keys but it’s impossible. “Listen dad, I have to go or I will be standing out of my house until I, useless try to convince you.”

“All right, I’m glad you’re at home.” I take the last bite of my sandwich. “I love you.”

I replied with the same 3 words when the door opened, not magical, on the other side Nash is holding the door choke head looking at me with a funny face.

“Oh, I love you too.” I pushed him to enter the apartment, tired with sore shoulders, and an increasing pain on my ribs.

Nash giggles helping me to take my bags from my body, looking at my sandwich scrunching his face.

“Don’t do that, it’s the only thing I found open.” I took the last bite before he could do something evil.

Our apartment is quite big, with huge crystal windows, soft yellow walls and creamy furniture.

“I told you I don't mind going and picking you up.” Nash walks back to the kitchen where you can smell the scent of coffee, butter and other scents I couldn't distinguish.

I followed him after taking out my present for him.

“Happy late birthday.” I extended a special package of cacao and chocolate from my father’s personal collection.

Nash smiles, taking the box of my hands giving me a big hug.

“This from…” I sat in the stoll massage my wrists, as I nod. “Can I?

Nash asked if that box could be mine. “Nash, it’s all yours, make worthy I carried with this all the way here.”

Nash giggles opening the box, the smell of cocoa and chocolate quickly flowing all over our apartment, as he takes one bar as if it's a gold one. He takes the cover, the smell intensifies and by the time he bites it I bet his mind is cloudy with the taste of it.

“OMG! This is, this is great!” He searched inside of the box for the cocoa powder. “In the mood for a dessert?”

One and a half hours later and after unpacking most of my things Nash knocked on my door telling me he already made chocolate cake, my favorite.

“I almost forgot.” Nash stands from the living room and brings back mail.

The logotype speaks for itself, the sketch of a spine as a soft green line mix between every vertebra.

“Yeah, I got this one at home.” I just see it immediately putting it aside for throwing in the trash as soon as I get up.

“At least you try to open it.” Nash claims with a decided tone.

I shake my head, standing to leave my plate in the washdisher. “It’s on my email, too.” I see the mail before closing the trash bin.

“That’s… There isn't any guarantee you’ll read it.” Nash reminds sit playing with his spoon. “Maybe it’s a…”

“I have been heartbroken once, twice will tear me apart.” Even though I fight to keep a cheerful tone, Nash turns around ready to say something else but he stops it. “I’m fine, Nash.”

The atmosphere is tense like every time he tries to speak with me about the same, I appreciate the effort to change my mind, even both of us know the smile on my face is 99.9% fake.

“I’ll go to sleep.” Nash fakes a smile in a press lips before I go right to my room. “Goodnight.”

Every tear that threatened to come out as always I wiped away from my eyes, focusing on the happy memories.

College, when winter vacation is closer, turns into a massive crowd of people walking side to side of the campus, stressed and with barely two hours of sleep due the finals but hoping winter holidays came fast, in a blink of an eye if we can choose.

“So?” Nash asked me for the third time, he’s expecting the most impartial judge.

“I’m not a fish fan, you know?” The dish with a carpaccio in front of me is giving me chills.

“I know, but come on Y/N my exam is tomorrow and this must be nearly perfect.” He laid back his head. “Please.”

The fact that Nash it’s in the last semesters before becoming a graduate chef is a blessing but at the same time with such peculiar dishes….a curse.

I glup, taking the fork. “All for the friendship.”

Nash smiles while waiting with big eyes. I take a bite praying my mind doesn't bring the smell of fish right away.

And it won’t after I swallow it, the taste is good, if I’ll be impartial, I probably said it’s delicious.

“Tasty.” Nash bumps his fist with me, both of us know it’s like he just got an out loud yummy.

The doorbell saves me from what he could said, I must have to take a second bite; Nash runs to open the door. “OMG, I see double.”

Ford just arrived, he is my twin brother. Even though we love each other till death, we both know living together while we’re in college would be a mess. So my parents searched for two apartments for us just a couple of blocks away.

Far but close for we can be with each other at any minute.

Our best friends moving with us fit us perfectly, after all it’s like they just paid for one apartment.

“Just in time for the carpaccio.” Ford hates the fish too.

He appears with his backpack on one shoulder and a twisted smile. “I just ate a hamburger, that will be a mess.”

Nash clicked his tongue, at least he tried; Ford smiled and hugged me before sitting in the stool at my left.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” I said joking with him; it’s been a couple of weeks he’s been dating a girl, the same couple of weeks I just knew about him through texts and phone calls.

“Ha ha ha, I just came for matching outfits.” He leaned down to the plate smelling and immediately took it away.

“This weekend is the day, huh?” Nash said, taking the dish. “I’ll let you talk, I have notes to take.”

It’s nothing that Nash didn’t know but we know he prefers to keep distance with family disagreements.

I walk to the fridge to get a soda for him. “I’m quivering between a <This is the most stupid decision> dress or <Please wake me from the nightmare>” Ford giggles opening the can. “You?”

He drinks a long sip. “All black code.”

We arrived at the country state in the first hours of Saturday morning, with a lot of movement around; big trunks taking things out, as the usual day is taking its course.

“There are my twins.” Aunt Gina appears with a casual outfit and a pile of files on her hand.

Dad didn’t have siblings but our grandfather has a lifetime friendship with Mr. Thompson, the lawyer of the family, who has a daughter, aunt Gina. As time passed they expected some kind of relationship to develop between both of them; I bet they hoped for love but they always looked like brother and sister.

Years passed, things haven't changed at all.

“How are the ribs?” She always asked before hugging me.

“Almost like new.” I said hugging her.

It’s been 8 months since the surgery, even the first weeks of recovery were a pain literally and metaphorically, as months passed the recovery went pretty well.

“These are the cursing contracts.” Ford asked, pointing to the black folders, as he rolled his eyes.

“Yes.” She sighs saying just three letters, it seems like she said a full two hour trial. As us, aunt Gina warned dad about how bad this decision was.

Our trash talking was interrump with mom walking to us, clearly she is coming from the stables, her brown waistcoat speaks for itself.

“You’re coming earlier.” Mom kisses our cheeks, as always, our face between her hands.

“Need time to get ready.” I point my head. “Mentally.”

Mom smirks, shaking her head. “Well, do it quickly.”

Aunt Gina scoffs walking to her car. “I’ll better go, see you at night.”

“Why?” Both of us asked, looking suspiciously at our mom.

“They’re already here.” She points out where one of the big trucks are leaving, a couple of fancy cars and suvs parking under the shadow of the big trees.

After an endless hour of complaining in the kitchen with Nanny hearing us all the time as we perk in the corridor hearing strange voices and by the windows seeing people struggling for walking in grass with expensive shoes, we finish our breakfast.

“Any pressure huh?” Ford said, taking the last drops of his apple juice. “Bulls…”

Nanny tilts her head; she’s seen us since we were a bump on our mother's body, she knows every little thing, so once Ford starts cursing to shut him down it’s practically impossible.

“Some of them are…nice.” Nanny tried useless to defend something that is indefensible.

I scoff laid back on the chair of the kitchen. “This sponsorship is stupid Nanny and you know that, better than us.”

Years ago, they left my grandfather hanging out after cutting the sponsorship; it were dark years for the family, and the only glimpse of light were coming from them; until one day in the middle of the day a lawyer came to the house announcing they will took in charge of the money but family business is out of the game.

“I’ll go to the stables, if I stay here and keep seeing this kind of thing I’ll go crazy.”

Nanny kisses my head before I stand. “Don’t forget the gloves.” Ford shouted as I walked to my bedroom. “It's cold!”

I grab my jacket, finding dad going upstairs with a smile on his face. “I heard you already here.”

He grabs my hand, it’s visible his emotions. “We heard that you’re busy.”

Dad giggles. “It’s been years, and they come early, I became a tour guide for a day.” He sees me with my boots on. “To the stables?”

I nod. “Mom said Azabache it’s been kind of grumpy these days.”

“These horses are ready for a bigger challenge, you know?” Dad recognized my negation in my eyes. “We’re still on time, just think about it.”

I kiss his cheek as we hear political laughs under the stairs. “I'd better go before I do something weird” Dad giggles, squeezing my hand.

The house states it’s huge; my dad's family made sure to conserve and expand the fields, after he got married with mom more space became a necessity. Equine therapy needs a lot of space combined with the farming of cacao and the growth of the small business turning a time of crisis into, now, full prosperity.

The stables have 8 horses, 5 for equine therapy and 3 for equestrian, like mom said for my own, or at least she used to say that.

“Y/N, we were expecting you.” Rachel, the vet of the horses said as I got in. She’s in the last steps of their daily checks up.

I walk closer to Cotton, a 12 year old stud, his name due to his white fur. He lands his head down for I grab his face. “Everything all right?”

Rachel stands patting the back of Feather, daughter of Cotton and Koa, a light brown mare. “Perfect, just…” She points to the last shed, Azabache room.

“Can I?” Rachel bluffs, making me shy.

“It’s all yours, literally. I’ll be with Pharaoh, if you need anything and I’ll reach you outside?” I nod as she opens the door of Pharaoh, a 8 year old stud, father of Azabache.

“Y/N, morning.” James her auxiliar get in running with a few supplies. “The little boy, I bet, is waiting for you.”

I smile walking to the last shed where Azabache, the youngest of all of them, is drinking from his water pot until he hears the click of his door, immediately turning around so he can see me.

“Troublemaker, hi.” Azabache breathes while walking closer to me, his dark fur shines with the reflects of the sun. “Let’s take a few minutes for us before everyone joins us.”

I put on all he needs before taking him out. The other horses looked at us, expecting their time to go out too.

Ford is right, it’s cold and with the winter a couple of weeks away, the nights and mornings used to be colder. We walk to the arena, fence for a combination with wood fences and osier.

At a distance you can see the cultivation of cacao; if the wind is strong it will give you a soft smell of it. This is where I used to spend hours and hours.

I let Azabache free so he could walk, run or just enjoy the sunlight and the warm day, but he just stuck to my side, so I started to walk around for him to follow me, just hearing each other breathing.

“I got the mail.” I said to him standing next to the osier. “Again.”

Azabache pushed me softly with his head. “You know, what happened should teach us a big lesson.” I laid down my head on his, the knot on my throat grew in a blink.

Azabache sighs. “I took her away from you, I’m so sorry.”

I let a tear run down as Azabazhe stayed still, the grief still fresh like the first day.

The strong smell of the cacao came so strong with the wind, as it tried to say to us, Cocoa, my lifetime mare, is still with us. Calming us, our troubled hearts.

“What about a small warm up?” I saw an oxer, a couple of bars one behind the other that it’s used for equestrian training. “I knew by dad you’re pretty good with the cross ones, what about getting a level up?”

I grab his reins so we can walk before starting to jump going through the easiest obstacles, slowly. You can see his excitement increase for the way he starts to run leaving me behind.

15 minutes later he turned around his head before going for the first oxer. I nod, he took his time before finally making a not so clean jump above the oxer, he hit two bars that fell.

Azabache sighs walking slowly to me. “It’s ok, better than your father, for sure.”

Azabache apparently hears something for the way, immediately taps his legs on the arena just like his mother used to do it when she protected me.

I pat Azabache back, as he relaxes, but he only relaxes when the strange voice comes with a face up in the small hill.

A boy with honey hair appears mumbling some words as keeps looking at his phone. He’s lost.

By the time he raises his eyes in front Azabache is a few inches away for him.

“Shit!” The boy cursed jumping backwards, phone stuck at his chest.

“Peek a boo.” I whisper, grabbing Azabache and walking back. “Are you lost?”

The boy nods, spinning around trying to find a path. “Very.” He sighs. “Do you know how I can get back to the main house?”

“You’re kind of far away.” He pressed his lips together. “Am…”

I was thinking the easiest way of coming back is, when Bill, one of the boys who is incharge of the therapies with mom; appears for the same path we take from the stables.

“Oh, Bill, can you do me a favor?” He nods walking close to the arena and pat Azabache's head. “He’s lost, do you mind taking him to the house through the stables?”

I look at his white shirt. “I’m afraid another way, he will get a stain.” Bill scoffs understanding the irony of the situation. White the worst color to wear around this place.

“No problem.” The neigh of the other horses prepared us for 7 big horses coming.

The honey boy stares at Azabache who is excited for the arrival of the other horses.

“It’s beautiful, so… deep brown?” I tilt my head, confused for the compliment while Azabache neigh, his head backward walking around me, offended by the mistake and making me laugh.

“Deep black.” I walk to open the fence of the arena for Azabache walks and follow the rest of the drove of horses to go to the open field.

A place where they can walk, run and enjoy the weather far away from the noise, their relaxed place.

But the moment Pharaon appears and see Azabache so close of the honey boy; I could swear if he extends his hand Azabache would let him touch his face; but Pharaon went crazy, start to pull from the rein that one of the boys has to take them out tight for try to calm him; Azabache runs to his side just barely get he calm down, but enough for they walk to the open field.

Rachel said following the horses. “Azabache has learned something from his mother after all.” She means to calm down Pharaon.

“Azabache?” The honey boy asked before leaving with Bill. “It's a curious name for a horse.”

“It’s latin.” I close the fence hearing Bill give the honey boy an informative fact.

He nods and observes me. “It’s a mineral, a black mineral, it said the royalty used like a precious stone.” I take my gloves out. “And others said it’s mineral for protection.”

“I’ll keep the first one.” The honey boy said with a soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, me too.” I nod.

Bill cleared his throat. “Let’s go, otherwise, your mother will kill me if I leave her alone for so long.”

They must be doing the schedule for the coming week for the therapies, before I could introduce myself, Kaila, a little girl, daughter of one Marcus, one of the men in charge of the horse, screamed following her father.

“HE WILL LET ME RIDE ONE! CAN BE OBSIDIAN?” Obsidian it’s a 5 year old horse, like his name said, black but with a peculiar white dot in the front of his head.

Marcus rolls his eyes regretting right away the decision, time for a team back girl. “I’ll see you later.” I said to the boys before jogging carefully, seeing their smile for the last time.

I grab Kaila's tiny hand. “I bet Vanilla will be dying to have that honor.” I knew for a good person, she spent an insane amount of time with the young mare, the color of her fur as a vanilla milkshake.

“I almost forgot her! Ok, I’ll go with her, just for today.” I laughed seeing Marcus more relaxed by the fact his little girl won’t ride a 1.74 meter horse for the first time.

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Thank you for reading! 🍒

#f1 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri

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