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multiplicationdivision · 3 days ago

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A Marathon in His Shoes

Charles had come to him in a panic this morning, donned in a different body and personality. He’d gotten some pair of boots from a second-hand store and been transformed into a middle-aged man, complete with a dadly outfit and mindset. Amir had barely believed the crazy DILF until Charles had pulled on another pair of shoes from the store, transitioning into a tired looking college bro the second the dirty nikes hit his feet, the transformation complete with a bout of gen-z slang Amir could barely understand.

They’d spent the rest of the morning ferrying a number of pairs of shoes back to Amir’s place from the Goodwill. Whatever seemed like it would create an interesting outcome. Amir had gotten his flickering light fixed when a pair of work boots made Charles a well experienced electrician. Charles had been able to explain literal rocket science when a pair of very worn sneakers transformed him into some NASA scientist. Charles had even abided by the guy’s NDAs, seemingly unable to shrug off that ingrained level of discipline.

Charles had come to him because no matter what he tried, the guy couldn’t become himself again. Every pair of Charles’ collection of sneakers left him the man he’d been transformed into, nothing of his nerdy self-returning. It was a problem that had fortunately been readily forgotten with the slew of fun that the guy was having, trying on a slew of personalities like they were costumes. Egged on by Amir who was similarly having a blast, running around his house as Charles became a host of random men.

The problem arose again in the evening though. The fun dissipating from Charles’ mood as time went on, especially with the onset of the weirdly toxic gym bro mindset. That and how disgusting sweaty clothes felt when the sweat never seemed to evaporate. Each body was stuck in the state it had been when the shoes had last been worn and most of his bodies weren’t in the greatest state. Charles seemed uncomfortable in most of them, despite the excitement.

“Theres still one pair of shoes you haven’t tried, you know” Amir said, walking to his shoe rack in another room. Atop it sat his other pair of trainers, identical to the ones he’d wore currently. Neon yellow where his were orange.

“Wait really?” Came Charles’s currently testosterone deep reply, edging with the frustration that his current muscular body always seemed filled with. “Hell yeah man” Amir said, quickly slipping both on before taking them off again and returning to his orange pair. Refreshing their state.

He headed back to the sweaty man in his living room, handing Charles the trainers. “Put these on” he demanded.

Charles and Amir had known each other for years. They’d done everything together, seen every part of each other. High school to a college frat to working gigs, they were more comfortable with each other than they were with themselves.

Charles studied them against the natural instinct of his current body, forcing his steroid dulled gym bro personality to focus on the clean sneakers in his dirty muscular hands. The Charles in the guy cutting through the tense anger of his body, shooting a slightly surprised expression shot back at Amir. Amir was never one to share, especially something so deep as this.

Charles was stuck as someone else. That seemed to be the deal. Completely unable to return to a state that was just him, loving little shit as he was. Charles couldn’t go back to the man that was honest with every fraction of his life, laying himself bare to Amir. Amir wasn’t vulnerable like that, always anxious to expose the parts of himself that he was so terrified of.

He found himself giving his pair of prized trainers anyways. It made too much sense. Every other body that Charles wore fit awkwardly on him, the personalities fighting the stranger that slipped them on. Charles himself seemed wary of the ways they changed him, no matter how fun spouting facts and skills was. He couldn’t trust them, but he could trust Amir.

“Really?” Charles asked nervously, looking at his fidgeting best friend. Amir nodded despite his nerves, terrified yet oddly excited. This was an extreme way of bonding, baring his life and soul to a friend. It felt right though.

Charles shrugged off the dirty sneakers still saturated with sweat and slipped on Amir’s sneakers over the gym bro’s damp socks. The man shivering as his body shifted, his musculature decreasing as the sweaty clothes warped into a reflection of Amir’s outfit. The odor of BO becoming pleasant as Amir’s aftershave and cologne now wafted off of two bodies.

Charles’ nervousness at Amir’s gesture twisted into relaxation as Amir’s personality fit comfortably against his. The slump of his shoulders as the tension evaporated made Amir feel warm, his own anxious energy dissipating itself as Charles appeared to fully relax into his new body.

“Damn you feel good” Charles said and Amir couldn’t even muster a thanks, distracted as Charles felt out his new limbs with a smile. Amir had a slew of insecurities about his own body, anxious that he wasn’t smart enough, jack enough, attractive enough. Those worries seemed insane now, watching his friend truly enjoy it all, as if it was a comfy blanket.

“You all good Amir?” his own voice said to him, peering through Amir’s faltering insecurities. “You just wear my body well” he replied, voice low as his heart beat faster and faster. Charles got closer and Amir could see a uniquely Charles smile form on Amir’s lips.

“I think it fits me better than my original one” Charles admitted, his eyes traveling over every bit of Amir’s body that were now his. He had every bit of Amir’s life in his mind so he knew what Amir intended.

If Charles needed a new body that he could feel good in, Amir’s was his. Amir was willing for the man to have everything from him, because Amir wanted Charles to have everything. Amir had wanted that for so long, and it was overwhelming to hear the flirtation now focused on him.

“Always loved your arms you know” Charles said, tracing the lines of his hands. “Felt them around me in college and I never really wanted that to end”. Amir wanted nothing more than to tackle the man at that, fall together on his shitty couch.

“Was pretty wary about your new hair, honestly” Charles continued with a laugh as he felt the buzzed sides. “Thought your shaggy mess was cute, but I’ll admit that this has grown on me”, he said, breaking some boundary between the two of them as he compared the prickly sensation of his hair with Amir’s identical sides, his hand caressing Amir’s undercut. It should’ve felt the same as when Amir touched it, but there was too much of his best friend in this. It lit his nerve endings up like fire. “Liked it so much that I wanted a cut to match, but I think I like this more”

“What are you doing Charles?” Amir said, feeling something fundamentally shifting in how they would go forward. That was bound to happen when you gave your body and soul though.

“I used to be mad about being shorter than you, you know” Charles said as he pulled close to him, the scent of Amir’s toothpaste on his breath. “I was mad about how you were better at basketball and getting things from high shelves, sure.” He paused, like he was himself being honest for the first time.

“I think I was mostly mad that I couldn’t kiss you” he said with a final gentle move, pressing his lips into their twin. It felt like electricity, all the shock and want shooting from Amir into Charles. He didn’t kiss like Amir, all full of devouring need for more. Not held back at all by the hesitation of his current body, infecting Amir himself with an aspect of Charles.

Amir felt himself truly open up to this man. Let Charles take over as they fell to the couch. The man used his knowledge of Amir’s life against him, drawing from his fantasies with finesse, pressing down on his shoulders with a fervor that belied fucking years of mutual tension. Charles held both his and Amir’s collection of memories fantasizing about each other and Amir found himself stuffling a laugh as they tumbled across each other.

“You could have kiss me” he choked out, gasping as Charles wormed his way down past his boxers, hand already clasped around his cock like Amir liked it, just the right amount of pleasure. “Just cause I was taller than you didn’t mean it would’ve been that difficult” he joked, using his own weaknesses against Charles as he groped the guy’s own cock beneath his jeans, knowing how the sensation of his boxers against his cock would drive the man wild. As predicted, the man was caught between his own choked laugh, eyes widening as he tried to compose himself.

They played a game together. “You cannot judge me you mountain” Charles gasped as Amir pulled own his pair of Amir’s favorite jeans. “I have my own hangups too you know-“ he just about said, before Amir teased his hard dick with his lips.

“Get used to being a mountain ‘Amir’ ”, Amir said playfully, leaving Charles to look almost offended at his new strange pet name before the guy whimpered at the feeling of Amir’s full devotion to his cock, calling upon years of TMI from his best friend about what he liked in sex. Amir remembered right, Charles going limp as Amir blasted his neurons. It made him want to further blast the guy’s brain, feeling Charles’ moans rendered in his Amir’s husky voice.

Charles came in his mouth and on his shirt. It was exactly how his cum was from his curious years as a teenager, ropey salty fluid across his tongue. Charles seemed all the more desperate to get a taste himself, quick to return the favor. Pulled himself down to Amir’s precum wet jeans and tore down the boxers Charles likely remembered buying like he’d done so himself. They still both wore their trainers, the rubber soles knocking across each other as the two repositioned so Charles could get his fill.

“Hope you feel exactly what I felt fucker” Charles demanded, using Amir’s own technique against him. The rhythm and motion that he knew Charles loved was now turned on him, the feeling better than every fuck he’d had before. Charles seemed to use his own very recent experience in feeling it in Amir’s own body to perfect it on the man’s own cock, modifying it to strike at the right nerves at just the right time.

Hot tears flowed down Amir’s face when he came, feeling the cum spurt nearly identically across Charles’ shirt, making them a mirror again. Two men with their bodies a mess of sweat, identical pairs of jeans and boxers pushed to their ankles as they lay slumped on top each other on a truly shit couch.

“Holy fuck was that better than everything we’d both hoped for” Charles breathlessly exclaimed; his breath warm against Amir’s face. He likely knew, having Amir’s whole life at his fingertips. That large breach of privacy was becoming so much less terrifying at the sheer potential of it, letting this man know exactly how to play him.

“Can you stay?” Amir said without thinking, desperation in his voice. He didn’t even know what he meant by that. Stay as a copy of himself? Stay with him here? Forever?

“Well, my name is technically on the deed” Charles said, satisfaction in his voice despite the joke. It was something of an answer to both.

Realistically Charles wouldn’t always be Amir. It just was far too useful to abuse the collection of sneakers and boots they’d picked up. Amir would likely never need to hire a whole host of handymen in the future again, a suitable body for every job at their fingertips. Aside from that and whatever other fun could be had, Charles fit here. Fit as him, with him.

Their bodies together as Amir flipped on the TV. He knew himself well and they were both out in a minute, synchronized snores as the news murmured on.

#identical #copy #shapeshift #male shapeshift #clones #clothing tf #male tf #male transformation #personality change #my writing

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anonymousewrites · 8 hours ago

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A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Twenty

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twenty: Investigative Transfer

Summary: Akechi begins to investigate Saiki's "psychic-ness."

“You’re (Y/N) (L/N), right?” said Akechi, appearing behind (Y/N) in the hall. It was between classes, and (Y/N) jumped. Akechi didn’t give (Y/N) a chance to respond and barreled right into his next question. “You’re in my class. You sat with me at lunch. I just wanted to make sure you knew who I was. I noticed you and Kusuo seemed to be close.”

(Y/N) coughed, and they opened their mouth to speak, but Akechi continued.

“I have a few questions about Kusuo. What is he like? Has anything strange ever happened around you while he’s there?” said Akechi.

“Not really,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “Everything is fine with him. Sometimes we’re around weird, but fun, people, so there’s that, but Kusuo doesn’t do anything weird.”

They don’t think of my abilities as weird. From the floor above where he was listening to the conversation, Saiki smiled slightly.

“Anything unexplained? Sudden things appearing or disappearing? Things moving how they shouldn’t?” Akechi leaned in. “You’re obviously the closest to him. Are you just friends? Or are you dating?”

(Y/N)’s face turned completely red. “I—”

“Judging by your reaction, you’re either dating or at least have a crush on him,” said Akechi. “Do you have a crush on him because he’s a psychic? Is he impressive? Do you have proof of his powers?”

(Y/N) crossed their arms. “I like Kusuo—” I love Kusuo “—because he’s a good guy. He’s nice and helpful. Anything else doesn’t matter. Who cares about stuff like psychic powers?”

Oh, wow. I love (Y/N). Those words sent him head-over-heels for them again.

“So you don’t see him doing anything weird?” said Akechi.

“Nope. Everything he does is just Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling.

Akechi deflated slightly. “Thank you for your time.”

Saiki breathed a sigh of relief. He could really rely on (Y/N).

“Line up!” said Matsusaki, the sun beating down on the class. They stood in gardens, reading for their jobs. “We’re digging up potatoes, today.”

Our school does this every October, thought Saiki. Yare yare. We’re not little kids. Nobody gets excited—

“Let’s dig up potatoes!” said Hairo.

“Yeah!” cheered the other students.

I’m proved wrong.

“We’re fart after eating sweet potatoes,” laughed Nendou.

An idiot.

“You can’t hide from me,” declared Kaidou dramatically. “You can’t escape my Sweet Potato Radar.”

What a useless radar.

“A golden treasure lies in wait!” said Mera.

She’s insatiable.

“If I can get a few potatoes, I can make potato-based bread,” said (Y/N) thoughtfully. “That’s very good.”

“Let’s get to work, then,” said Saiki. A good pastry from (Y/N) was all the incentive he needed. He grimaced as soon as he stepped into the fields with (Y/N). His one weakness would be present, unfortunately. “Bugs…”

“What was that, Kusuo?” said (Y/N).

“Nothing,” said Saiki, pulling on his gloves. At least he was working with (Y/N). I’ll just pretend to dig.

“Hi, there, Kusuo, (L/N),” said Akechi, appearing beside them. “Can I join you? We harvested potatoes once. It was October third in second grade when I was on the bus with you and peed my pants. I caused so much trouble then.” He crouched beside (Y/N) and Saiki. “Potato harvesting is fun, isn’t it? It makes me smile.”

“I hope it doesn’t make you pee.”

(Y/N) nudged Saiki in the side for that comment.

“Kusuo, watch your feet,” said Akechi. “You might step on a worm.”

Sure enough, Saiki looked down and saw a bug. He jerked back immediately. “Crap!”

“Are you okay?” said Akechi.

Saiki swallowed. I held it in. That was close. He had almost exploded all the potatoes up from the ground. If I did that in front of this guy, it’s all over.

“You don’t look well,” said Akechi.

“Don’t worry, Kusuo,” said (Y/N). They picked up the caterpillar and set it on a bush farther away so it could eat and grow. They smiled back at Saiki. “I’ll protect you from the bugs.”

“Are you an angel?” blurted out Saiki, and (Y/N) laughed.

“Hey, pal, pinky, look what I harvested!” called Nendou, holding up a dozen giant potatoes.

“Great job, Nendou,” said (Y/N).

“Those are impressive potatoes,” said Akechi, thankfully distracted.

“Right? His are even better, though,” said Nendou, gesturing to Kaidou. “Show them.”

“Shut up,” huffed Kaidou. “Here.” He held up a few shriveled potatoes.

“So tiny.”

“Impressive, little guy!” laughed Nendou. “The skinniest potatoes!”

“Shut up! It’s about how they taste! Not how they look,” said Kaidou defensively.

“Those will definitely taste bad,” said Saiki.

“Yeah,” agreed (Y/N), chuckling.

“Did you know that the purple color of these potatoes is due to a pigment called anthocyanin?” said Akechi.

“What’s that all about?” said Nendou.

“My character talks a lot, so I need to talk now or you’ll forget,” said Akechi.

“I don’t think we can forget you,” chirped (Y/N). “You leave an impression.”

“That’s not a good thing.” I should leave while Akechi is busy. He took (Y/N)’s hand and pulled them away with him a few steps.

They paused as they looked at Mera, who stared up at them tiredly. She had been harvesting so quickly she was already tiring. Saiki blinked. (Y/N) blinked. Mera blinked. Saiki patted her on the shoulder, and a light burst for a moment. An energized Mera jumped up and walked off for more potatoes, leaving a few for Saiki to pick up without having to face any bugs.

“Go and prosper,” said Saiki as Mera happily went searching for more food.

“Bye, Mera!” said (Y/N), waving.

“Did you already finish, Kusuo? When?” said Akechi, appearing behind them.

“When you were rambling about potato taste and color,” said Saiki.

“But your gloves are still clean,” observed Akechi. “Did someone help you? You can’t have someone else do it.”

“Kusuo and I were working together. He spotted the best plants, and I pulled them up,” said (Y/N), smiling and holding up their own dirty gloves.

“The whole point of this exercise is to serve the community, so he should pull at least one for it to be fair. Come on, Kusuo, let’s do this,” said Akechi. “Help me clear away these vines.” He tossed a vine to Saiki.

Instantly, Saiki’s eyes narrowed in on the worm about to crawl onto his hand. He sucked in a breath.

“Look at this one, it looks like a turd!” said Nendou, showing a strange potato to Kaidou.

Bam! It exploded.

“It blew up!” cried Kaidou.

“Oh, something happened,” said Akechi, looking back. He looked at Saiki with an evil look on his face. “Let’s continue.”

He figured out I hate bugs…

He knows Kusuo’s weakness.

Kusuo hates bugs! though Akechi. Enough to unconsciously use his psychic powers. I’ll find some more.

Saiki shivered and braced himself as best he could as Akechi approached. “Here, Kusuo,” said Akechi.

“Oh, Akechi, watch out,” said (Y/N), interceding with a smile. “There are still some bugs on the vine.” They took the bugs in their gloves and deposited them back on the ground. “You don’t want to disturb them from their habitat.”

“Oh. Right. They are good pollinators,” said Akechi, his plan interrupted once again by (Y/N).

Saiki stared at (Y/N) like they were a real angel in the flesh. Not only had them somehow been nice to the gross bugs, but they had saved him from Akechi.

“It’s no problem, just be careful. Leave them on the ground,” said (Y/N), smiling. “Kusuo, will you help me pull on these?”

Saiki nodded and knelt to help them. He knew no bugs were around if (Y/N) was asking him. So, he pulled out a potato, and (Y/N) grinned.

“There, Akechi. Now Kusuo has helped on both sides of our team-up,” said (Y/N). They gestured to their basket. “We have to head out, now. Bye.”

Akechi watched them go. They are definitely dating. But are they covering for Kusuo because of that or do they truly not know about his powers?

You will never find out, thought Saiki. It was bad enough that Akechi was figuring out they were dating and could blab to everyone, but he did not intend for Akechi to learn that his abilities were real.

“Thank you for dealing with the bugs.” Saiki shivered as he remembered them.

“It’s no problem,” said (Y/N), smiling and putting down a freshly baked loaf of potato bread. It had taken until the weekend to finish it up, but they had the loaf now. “Everyone has their fears.”

“You don’t,” remarked Saiki. They faced everything easily.

“I get scared of haunted houses and ghosts,” said (Y/N).

“That’s only because Toritsuka is a creep and makes everything creepier,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) laughed. “Fair enough. But I am scared of things.”

“I don’t believe that.” (Y/N) was one of the strongest and bravest people he knew—maybe the strongest and bravest.

“I’m scared of losing you,” teased (Y/N).

The sudden flirting made Saiki’s cheeks warm, and (Y/N) laughed. “I bring a lot of trouble. Your life would be calmer without me.”

“My life would be boring without you,” corrected (Y/N). “And I like my life with you in it.”

“Even when you have to deal with people like Akechi or Teruhashi or Kusuke?” said Saiki incredulously.

“Yeah,” said (Y/N), shrugging as if it was obvious. “Kokomi is my friend, and she is growing, maturing. She is so used to her identity being her looks that she’s still figuring out who she is beyond that. I think she’s going to find who she is and be happier for it. So she’s no bother.

“Kusuke is…eccentric, but I know you and I can handle his ridiculous games.” They laughed.

“And as for Akechi…I think he’s just looking for answers. Whatever happened between you two, he’s clearly been left with questions, and I can’t blame him for wanting to understand,” said (Y/N). “If you had just teleported away when I found you teleporting the hotel, I would be confused and try to get answers.” They shrugged. “So I don’t care about all that. I like having you in my life, Kusuo. You’re my boyfriend now, and you were my friend before. Nothing changes that I care about you.”

“You’re too nice.”

“And you’re too pessimistic, so we balance each other out,” laughed (Y/N).

“…Should I tell Akechi?” said Saiki. “Would that get him to leave us alone?”

(Y/N) looked at him. “Do you want my honest answer?” Saiki nodded. “Probably not. I think he wants to be your friend like you were in elementary school. And he seems like the type that becomes part of our friend group.” They laughed.

“I don’t know if he wants to be my friend about elementary school,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…did something I shouldn’t have,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) sat down across from Saiki and held out their hand. Saiki took their offer and held their hand. “You can tell me if you want.”

“I healed him after he was bullied. He was nice to me, and I wanted to help. I thought he was unconscious, but he had seen everything. He started calling me a psychic, a healer, the next few days, and the bullies started demanding I prove it.” Saiki paused. “I didn’t. I acted clueless. I thought that would stop everything, but—”

(Y/N) squeezed his hand encouragingly, gazing at him.

“I found Akechi beaten up again. I saw them standing over him, and I just snapped.” Saiki swallowed. “I destroyed the entire classroom and barely managed to wipe the memories of the bullies of what I’d done. But Akechi saw. And I had to leave schools. All because I lost control and hurt people.” He looked at (Y/N). “That’s why Akechi can’t find out it was real. Because I was a danger. He’ll tell everyone that I’m a danger. And I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you didn’t,” said (Y/N), squeezing his hand. “You were six years old, Kusuo. What six-year-old can control their emotions, let alone psychic powers? It was an accident, and it happened because you wanted to protect your friend. No one can fault you for that.” They smiled. “And you don’t know that Akechi thinks you’re a danger. Maybe he just wants to know if you really did help him. You two were friends. Maybe that’s what he wants back. His friend.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” said (Y/N). “But if you decide to do anything or just want to talk, I’m here, alright? I’m always here.”

“Even knowing I’m capable of harm?” said Saiki quickly.

“Everyone is capable of harm. Everyone is capable of good,” said (Y/N). “What’s important is that you choose to do good.” They smiled, lifted his hand, and kissed the back. “That’s why I like you so much.”

Saiki smiled slightly. “You always know what to say.”

“I just say what I think,” said (Y/N).

“I know.” And it meant the world to Saiki.

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#a not so disastrous romance #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusou no psi nan #kusuo saiki #saiki #saiki x reader #saiki k #saiki no psi nan #saiki kusuo #the disastrous life of saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k.#kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #saiki kusuo x reader

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raayllum · 3 days ago

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Was considering making this a ficlet (and I still might) but a tiny meta for day 3 of Snake Boi Callum week: Your Deepest Truth / Complicated.

But I really steadily appreciate how arc 2 builds up Callum's deepest truth, not only in regards to the Knowing motif or the full set up (explored in further detail here), but also in other indications throughout the season. Season 4 starts small, with Ezran's faith ultimately being what Callum 'sees' clearly in 6x06:

Then season 5 takes this same idea — of enduring love, of deep love, of love being knowing and presence in contrast to absence, uncertainty, and lack of / repressed love — and builds on it.

[To love is simply to] know this: the tides are true as the ocean is deep. It means I trust her. Unconditionally. (5x01)

Rayla. We've been through a lot, and a lot has changed. Well, some things have changed, but not everything. I would do anything for you. (5x04)

The Ocean arcanum is accepting there are depths you can't see, parts of yourself you can't understand, and things you can't control. (5x08)

So 5x01 and 5x08 take that idea of love having untold depths, and link it to the ocean arcanum (and Callum's understanding of the arcanum). Said arcanum is also scaffolded on Callum's experiences on Finnegrin's ship, specifically his choice to do dark magic again, which is also lampshaded by Finnegrin's dialogue throughout the episode referencing Callum's vow(s) to Rayla in 5x04 ("You'll do anything for them" / "I hope you know—" "I know" / "To love is simply to know this").

Then we get to season six, which uses other characters and dynamics to build up to Callum (and Rayla's) connection in 6x06.

Viren's "The path of freedom is the path of truth" in 6x01 sets in motion the — at the time — subtextual notion of Rayla being in opposition to Aaravos and the embodiment of Callum's freedom. Janai says to Amaya in 6x02 that "You are my heart and my truth. If I ever start to doubt you, I'll know that I am truly lost." When Terry encourages Claudia to make her own choices in 6x04, he cites, "Only you can see your own deep truth. Only you can decide the path you’re going to walk. [...] You have to choose the way. What do you need to find your truth?"

So in quick succession, we have truth associated with 1) something deep and inherent, 2) the subsequent path of / to freedom, 3) someone being your heart / that it can be someone in your life. All of these concepts are reaffirmed in Rayla's lullaby in 6x05 with the added bonus of identity:

RAYLA: "Though the sky is dark tonight, I still shine for you my dear. The moon is more than just her light, I am near; my love is here. Though you feel so much alone, oh, my darling, do not fear. Hold to what you've always known, I am near; my love is here. Though my face cannot be seen, the answer in your heart is clear. I am the moon, the silver queen. I am near; my love is here." I know who you are. Esmeray.

Callum goes into the darkness in 6x06, and it's all he can see. He's literally blindfolded and can't see Rayla's face. Yet he sees her — Rayla's love for him, and his love for her — as his Light. As his heart and path and truth. His deepest truth. What seemed so complicated in her absence and confusing upon her return is eclipsed by the sanctity and assuredness of what he knows down to his bones, and thereby knows himself through in his own sense of identity as well.

I would tell you that you all my choices were nothing and you were everything. (6x03) KOSMO: The truth is complicated. VIREN: Life is complicated. But if it's love, nothing else matters. (6x06)

(This is also reflected in Claudia's assertions in 6x08 that Viren "needs to show [her] the right path. You taught me who I am and how to love myself" though we'll see if those hold.)

This also, as noted in the above metas, link to Aaravos' stances on truth. He never lies because he never needs to. Sol Regem accidentally killing his mate is a "deep, dark truth." The tagline for his S7 poster forewarns, "Lies hide in the shadows, but the darkest truths hide in the light."

While Rayla being Callum's deepest truth isn't complicated, the direction his love for her may steer his choices could be truly, temporarily awful, and I for one can't wait.

#rayllum #snake boi callum week #tdp #analysis series #analysis #mini meta #parallels

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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year ago

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we’ve all said it before but ill say it again, sam should have gotten lucifer pregnant and that should have been the jack origin. if she was jessifer at the time, even better <3

#lucifer mommy truthing again hi hii he needs this #it won’t fix him it will make him worse but it’ll be hot to see sam tormented by the pregnant devil #☺️ sam going to attack jessifer and she goes ‘don’t you care about our baby Sam? don’t you want to meet him?’#gets sam to touch her belly and talk to the baby and that’s when Jack does the whole ‘I’m The Perfect Paradise Baby Love Me 🥺🥺’ thing on sam #and now sam can’t kill her or their baby. he can’t. he loves jack too much. perhaps has also been hit with so many nephil happiness rays #that he looks up at lucifer and is like Oh. overwhelmed with sudden love for her. and his heads all mixed up. it’s like the vision where she #made him feel calm x1000 and. and. he loves her? he loves her doesn’t he? he gave her a baby and he loves her?#they’re going to raise their son together? and lucifer is so very pleased as sam presses his ear to her belly to hear jack’s heartbeat.#sam has quite literally been baby trapped. as in that baby set the trap and caught him in it before it was even sentient. mind control baby.#cue the rest of the pregnancy with lovestruck sam doing everything in his power to protect lucifer & jack #he’s like. fully aware he was scared of lucifer. that Lucifer is Bad this baby is Dangerous. but also. he loves them so much.#nothing else seems to matter when he loves them so much.#<3 I think Sam deserves to be mindfucked into being Lucifer’s little househusband for a bit.#oh. there are places this could go after Jack is born uhm uh. i uhm. that’s not the point I won’t say that.#the point is sam getting brainwashed to be happier and protective of pregnant!lucifer. and he IS happier. he’s just also high on good vibes.#😳 lucifer riding sam with his hand on her belly 😳😳😳😳#tw pregnancy #anyway. thoughts.#samifer #lucifer spn #Jess!lucifer #Jack kline #sam winchester

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tigerincahoots · 1 day ago

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HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING. The little display of his naked form past the building steam so that it would be the first thing Henry would see the moment he walked into the bathroom. Was this a good idea? Sleeping with his partner? Probably not but Kevin wasn’t really thinking about said consequences at all. Or he wasn’t thinking RATIONALLY. How was he supposed to focus on his job – to track, find and murder the werewolf responsible for those murders – when his fucking partner looked so damn attractive that even his head would occasionally spin out of its axis? Henry had that innocent look. That do-gooder vibe would make him roll his eyes more often than usual. To be perfectly honest, that sort of personality trait was one that the shifter tended to avoid. People who wanted to do good and help others, people who would put themselves in the line of fire for an innocent…. They never lived long to tell the tale. Maybe that was what would happen to Henry at some point.

A THOUGHT THAT SOMEHOW MADE KEVIN FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE.

LUCKILY, he didn’t need to be alone with his thoughts much longer. As the bathroom door opened and Henry stepped inside – his gaze was fully on the detective and nothing else in the world seemed to matter. Henry wanted him. He wanted Henry. Consequences be damned. They would deal with them at a later date and that was definitely not happening now. “You told me to START without you.” A cheeky grin dances on his lips as Kevin proceeds with his one-man show. Stroking every inch of his manhood as keeping a nearly predatory gaze on Henry. Give him something to crave. Something to look forward to. He wasn’t even going to pretend to be coy – he saw someone he wanted and he would claim that someone for himself. Playing safe was for losers and people with low self-esteem. Not him.

HIS EYES DON’T ABANDON HENRY. He watches with interest and curiosity as the other man undresses. Each part of his body revealed earns a smirk from the shifter –who loves how good-looking Henry is underneath all of his clothes. He already suspected the other man to be fit – he had to as a detective – but the reality was far more enticing than anything that his mind had come up with. And the fact that Henry was every bit as hung as he had imagined? A fucking BONUS. Perfection all around and all he had done so far was undress. If this were to continue past this night – Kevin would definitely want to see Henry lose his clothes like that more often in the future. It was almost a crime by itself to have that physique covered by clothes.

”HEY THERE.” There wasn’t much room for two in the shower but that was exactly the point. The distance between their bodies was null – both of them invading the other’s personal space in the most sensual and wanted of ways. The slightest movement would make their skin touch – slippery touches under the hot stream of water as they both took their time to fully admire the other. Hands on his chest – lips on his neck – a shiver rolling down his spine the moment their cocks brushed against one another in such a confined space. It was tantalizing. And it was forcing Kevin to hold himself back – to give his partner the necessary time to explore, to touch and to admire – when all he wanted was to DEVOUR him where he stood.

A GROWL ROLLED FROM HIS LIPS. Not a mere sound but a primal growl laced with lust as Henry’s fingers found his cock. A gentle yet possessive grip – making him throb against the detective’s hand as Kevin closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. That felt good. That felt very, very good. “Soap can wait.” Their lips meet. A ferocious and possessive kiss as Kevin cups Henry’s face with both of his hands – seeking to kiss the Detective until their lungs would force them to pull apart due to the lack of oxygen. Due to the limited space, it was easy to pin Henry against the wall. To used his own body weight to keep the detective grounded while the slightest movement of their slippery bodies urged Kevin to playfully thrust against the other man. “I’m going to cut to the chase here.” The tips of their noses brushed after Kevin pulled back from the kiss. One hand remained on Henry’s face – caressing his cheek, his jawbone, thumb gently brushing over the detective’s bottom lip… “I want to fuck you. All night long if you think you can ENDURE it.”

Kevin sure loved to fondle him, and Henry loved it right back. It had been a long time since he'd felt the warm, strong hands of a man on his body. And what a man! Kevin was gruff and surly most of the time, but he was also passionate, somehow needy, and offered a sense of stability. There was no room for error or confusion, he made it clear what he wanted, and what he wanted right now was Henry. The feeling was very much mutual.

Work was not on Henry's mind. Perhaps later he would think about what complications could arise since they worked together, but now wasn't the time. With those hands on his ass, how could he even think of anything else?

"Now who's telling who what to do?" Henry smiled, Max was tangling around his feet now, so he had to feed him. "I won't take long, I pinky promise." He gave Kevin another quick kiss, as he was quickly growing addicted to kissing him, and let him saunter off the the bathroom upstairs.

Once Henry cracked open a can of food for Max, he flopped it into his bowl with a plop. "You're a good guy." Henry chuckled, and gave Max and pat on his large head. Then he all but raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He heard the water going full blast and walked into the bathroom. "Oh," His eyebrows raised, "You're starting that without me?" His eyes were glued to his partner, finally seeing him naked after thinking about it all night. Henry's cock twitched, he was already aroused from being felt up, but now he was aching with want. "You're beautiful."

Henry kept his eyes on Kevin as he undressed as well, letting his clothes go wherever on the bathroom floor. Henry was both lean and built at the same time. His broad shoulders were always obvious, but not the body he was hiding underneath his clothes. He was muscled, skin like ivory, and fully smooth. His thighs were thick, and his cock hung heavily between them even when he was hard.

He stepped forward and pulled the shower door over slowly. "Wow," He spoke softly, his eyes going up and down the length of his partner's body. He was so gorgeous. Henry stepped inside and felt the hot spray of the water on his skin, it felt wonderful, everything about this felt wonderful.

"Looks like you kept warm for me." He pressed against Kevin's slick body and kissed him as his hands roamed over his chest. Their hard lengths touched, and Henry once again twitched. "Fuck."

There was barely enough room for two men, but that made things even better. He could slide against Kevin's body, it was impossible not to be so close to him. He was letting his hands and arms do what they wanted, groping and wrapping around his partner as he kissed his neck and collarbone.

"Do you want some help with this? Or are you gonna play with it by yourself?" His hand smoothed down Kevin's torso and wrapped around his hard cock, stroking him slowly, getting a feel for him, memorizing his shape.

"I think we need soap."

#dethenryquinn #( kevin x henry quinn )#➤ 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝘩𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 || ( main verse )#usfw

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acourtofquestions · 1 month ago

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Kingdom of Ash Chapter 24

"What is this place?" Manon asked Glennis as she found the crone polishing the handle of a gold-bound broom beside the fire. Two others lay on a cloak nearby. Menial work for the witch in charge of this camp.

"This is an ancient camp-one of the oldest we claim." Glennis's knobbed fingers flew over the broom handle. "Each of the seven Great Hearths has a fire here, as do many others." Indeed, there were far more than seven in the camp. "It was a gathering place for us after the war, and since then, it had become a place to usher in some of our younger witches to adulthood. It is a rite we've developed over the years—to send them into the deep wilds for a few weeks to hunt and survive with only their brooms and a knife. We remain here while they do so."

Manon asked quietly, "Do you know what our initiation rite is?"

Glennis's face tightened. "I do. We all do." Which hearth had the witch she'd killed at age sixteen belonged to?

"You're not a cold person."

He arched a brow. "Is that your professional opinion?"

Manon studied him. "You can descend to those levels when you are angry, when your friends are threatened. But you are not cold, not at heart. I've seen men who are, and you are not."

"Neither are you," he said a bit quietly.

The wrong thing to say.

Manon stiffened, her chin lifting. "I am one hundred seventeen years old," she said flatly. "I have spent the majority of that time killing. Don't convince yourself that the events of the past few months have erased that."

"Keep telling yourself that." He doubted anyone had ever spoken to her that baldly-relished that he now did, and kept his throat intact.

She snarled in his face. "You're a fool if you believe the fact that I am their queen wipes away the truth that I have killed scores of Crochans."

"That fact will always remain. It's how you make it count now that matters."

Make it count. Aelin had said as much back in those initial days after he'd been freed of the collar. He tried not to wonder whether the icy bite of Wyrdstone would soon clamp around his neck once more.

"I am not a softhearted Crochan. I will never be, even if I wear their crown of stars."

He'd heard the whispers about that crown amongst the Crochans this week-about whether it would be found at last. Rhiannon Crochan's crown of stars, stolen from her dying body by Baba Yellowlegs herself. Where it had gone after Aelin had killed the Matron, Dorian had not the faintest idea. If it had stayed with that strange carnival she'd traveled with, it could be anywhere. Could have been sold for quick coin.

Manon went on, "If that is what the Crochans expect me to become before they join in this war, then I will let them venture to Eyllwe tomorrow alone."

"Is it so bad, to care?" The gods knew he'd been struggling to do so himself.

"I don't know how to," she growled.

Ridiculous. An outright lie. Perhaps it was because of the high likelihood that he'd be collared again at Morath, perhaps it was because he was a king who'd left his kingdom in an enemy's grip, but Dorian found himself saying, "You do care. You know it, too. It's what makes you so damn scared of all this."

Her golden eyes raged, but she said nothing.

"Caring doesn't make you weak," he offered.

"Then why don't you heed your own advice?"

"I care." His temper rose to meet hers. And he decided to hell with it-decided to let go of that leash he'd put on himself. Let go of that restraint. "I care about more than I should. I even care about you."

Another wrong thing to say.

Manon stood—as high as the tent would allow. "Then you're a fool." She shoved on her boots and stomped into the frigid night.

I even care about you.

Manon scowled as she turned in her sleep, wedged between Asterin and Sorrel. Only hours remained until they were to move out—to head to Eyllwe and whatever force might be waiting to ally with the Crochans. And in need of help.

Caring doesn't make you weak.

The king was a fool. Little more than a boy.

What did he know of anything?

Still the words burrowed under her skin, her bones. Is it so bad, to care?

She didn't know. Didn't want to know.

#Chapter 24 #Kingdom of Ash #Sarah J. Maas #Manon Blackbeak #no spoilers please #first read #read with me #read along #more notes and annotations in the tags spoilers for the chapter & priors #anyone else getting Ramaelle vibes #we fly with you. — the significance of that line #Dorian and Vesta dynamics lol I love it #It'd be a boon for his friends. If they could survive it would be enough.#the heart mothers and fire and witch queen + just manon being manon at her best allowed proving even to her like Asterin said etc #It was now a matter of convincing his magic to become like that shifter's power.#Be what you wish Cyrene had told him. Nothing. He wished to be nothing.#Your wyvern seems like more of a dog than anything. It was not an insult Manon reminded herself. The Crochans kept dogs as pets.#Adored them as humans did. His name is Abraxos Manon said. He is ... different. He and the blue one are mates.#her mom mode and then her and Asterin realizing lol #“For love. These beasts despite their dark master are capable of love.#Nonsense yet some kernel in her realized it to be true.#Hurry northward the wind sang day and night. Hurry Blackbeak.#say It took you long enough to figure it out.#Gods above she was beautiful. He wondered when it would stop feeling like a betrayal to think so.#but Dorian kept peering inward a kind of therapy I guess and ignoring the whisper presence which is also good #None of this could end well. For either of them.#I am not a softhearted Crochan. I will never be even if I wear their crown of stars.#I like the ice best… Narene and Abraxos sitting in a tree… so much foreshadowing… change and liar… damaris is real or not real… many things #When they awoke something sharp in his chest had dulled-just a fraction #What he'd opened up revealed to her. A sort of freedom that letting go.

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waywardsalt · 8 months ago

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#some tag rambles bc im having a bunch of loz thoughts to hey why not do a short lived tag ramble #starting with the bad i have thought more on how i feel totk fucked up its characters and its like. yeah any arcs that are there are bad #zeldas is dogshit all of the sages are just. VERY tell no show and it really doesnt matter and otherwise idk #nothing wrong with a static character but imo with a static character you then have to show more of them #reveal some things. also doesnt really happen. the main speaking cast are also kinda weak in relation to link #they dont really work off of him very well bc hes… not treated like a character. hes just some virtuous everyman in the story #so theres no actual chemistry between him or the other characters bc he isnt treated a character so like. he has almost no chemistry #its all mostly one sided and none of the sages but zelda have any real chemistry with other major characters either #and the major characters zelda has chemistry with barely matter so fuck it. like when ppl talk abt like. loz stories #and ppl talk abt how yeah they arent the best but totk is rlly bad. i dont feel like any other loz stories are baaaaad #not in the same way. but they dont feel as egregiously fumbled. imo its bc of the characters most of them time #ofc story can be strong enough and im not discounting stuff like mm and oots themes and atmosphere and stuff #it seeeems to me the most popular non zelda sage is tulin? but mostly bc hes a sweet kid and thats fine and all but there doesnt seem to #be much else to him hes otherwise kinda unremarkable bc he just doesnt do much else and seems to exists mostly to serve gameplay and plot #botw did it better bc the champions actively had a dynamic and a relationship with link they arent the deepest but they have more substance #botw zelda is arguably the strongest character in botw with a unique personality and genuine relationship to link even if we just see it #in the memories and seeing her warm up to link is cool but imp they fumble it in the ending of her arc and how it kinda contradicts stuff #and in totk they doubled the fuck down on her unlocking her powers for reasons related to link and decided ig shed figure she needs to be #links forever bestie and hypeman and she kinda just revolves around him in a really superficial way and this is the negative extreme #of a character being bolstered by being connected to link. but anyways in loz its the characters that tend to be the strongest points #and the characters with a clear dynamic and relationship to link shine the most. think groose ghirahim ravio midna fi marin linebeck sheik #the list could go on but the characters who get a chance to shine by interacting with the Player Character are the ones who stick out #and ofc they get more screen time but they cant avoid that character development or general character fleshing out bc they are in some way #tied to link and in a sort of way link himself is more fleshed out through how those other characters react to him if that makes sense #i think loz is at its best when a good bit of emphasis and effort is placed on characters and character relationships #and when thise relationships and character are written well ofc this fucking matters too #anyways thats why ph is one of the best we love our character heavy black sheep them ds characters carry so hard and so fucking well mwah

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risuola · 6 months ago

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ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

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scinglives · 2 days ago

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Callum felt relieved when he could talk about Claire openly, most people just looked at him with sad eyes whenever he mentioned her. They would talk about things in such a way that made it feel as though her life was forgotten, that he couldn't enjoy what they had. But with Sarah she always asked the right questions, always seemed interested. "She was a nurse, so work wise it was always a lot of long hours with us but -- it worked some how." He smiled, it was never easy, doing opposite shifts once they had Izzy so someone could be at home. "Maybe not reserved once I was older but definitely as a kid. Growing up in foster care you don't always want to be the loud kid, I just wanted to be in my own little world most of the time. Once i was a teenager though and found alcohol and parties and girls, not as much reservation." He confessed with a bashful smile, watching how Sarah was with Izzy, talking to her so kindly and acknowledging her feelings and what she said. He thought in that moment he could a) learn a lot from her and b) just how perfectly she fit in to this little mad family. He chuckled as Izzy started dancing away with her bears whilst she waited for breakfast. "You're really good with her." Callum said softly as he got everything ready, leaning down to kiss his girlfriends cheek. "With Izzy, you're amazing. She loves you, I don't think she's going to let you leave today." He teased, lifting up Izzy and dancing her along to the music, her little giggles filling the room. This was what he always dreamt of, happy Sunday's as a family, not a care in the world. Right now nothing else mattered to him other than the three of them spending time together, even if it was the most mundane of days.To him this was perfect.

Sarah was proud of him for letting out his emotions even though it was new to him, that was a good step. She knew all about grief and how it could creep up on someone without any warning and while their grief was very different and she hadn’t felt hers in awhile - she knew how hard it must have been for Callum. She knew that Izzy would grow up to be a wonderful and fully feeling person and she was already so proud of her. Listening intently to him talk about his late wife, she hopes that she’s not making him feel sad or that grief is slowly popping up to get him. “Good for her, I’m glad that she took life by the reins and just had the fun that she deserved when she was younger. What did she want to do for a career?” Curiosity was a weakness of hers so to speak and sometimes she stuck her foot in her mouth but luckily she didn’t think of this as one of those times. Just a girlfriend wanting to know more about her boyfriend and the life he led before her, wanting to know about the woman who meant so much to him. “Nothing wrong with just playing hard.” She replies, thinking back to her own teenage years and everything she had experienced and perhaps she was like him in the way that all she had done was play hard as a teenager. She hadn’t really viewed it as anything else with everything that had been going on when she was a teen. Sipping at her coffee and continuing to make the pancakes, she’s focused and attentive to everything that’s going on in this kitchen. Izzy talking to her and the bears, Callum talking, this peaceful and loving feeling that was coming over her as this was truly the life. “I never would have taken you for being reserved, but being lost in your own head isn’t surprising to me.” Words are said kindly and lovingly, shooting him a warm smile over her coffee mug. “Guess so, yeah. Oh my goodness, of course she’d want to take her bears to school…” A pause. “She really is but that’s part of what I love about her.” When the little monkey starts shouting for Alexa to play music, she stops what she’s doing and comes over to her - taking her little hands in her own and soothingly talking to her. “Hey sweet girl, it’s alright. I know it can be frustrating when someone or something doesn’t listen to you but I promise that you’ll always be listened to here, with me and your daddy.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, she lets go of her hands before telling Alexa to play some old music and going back to making breakfast. “Okay, pancakes are almost done. Just a few more minutes.”

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kyseya · 1 month ago

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Yandere beast

This inspired by Beauty & the Beast.

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Yandere prince who has everything one could desire. He is royalty after all. There is nothing he cannot have and he is used to it being that way; the king and queen had spoilt him to no end.

Yandere prince who is mean and selfish. He treats everyone at the palace like dirt. He doesn’t even seem to carry much respect for his own parents. No, they’re used to give into his whims. The servants are all laughed at by him, he does not care when he sees the tears running down their faces at the cruel comments. His biggest talent may just be wickedness.

Yandere prince who does have one person he actually likes: you. You are the one exception. As the child of a servant, you too, were subjected to his bullying in the beginning. The people always had one of two reactions to him, either they stayed down and wept, or they started fuming. Both options were equally funny to the spoiled prince. However you surprised him, because you did neither. Whenever he was mean to you, you took it in silence before asking about his day. This bewildered him to no end. Why would you ask such things? It didn’t make sense. The more he bullied you though, the more intrigued he became. You were always kind, no matter the person; even to him. It was after that he decided he loved that about you.

Yandere prince who opened the door to a stranger. It was a heavy storm that night. If anyone were to be caught in it they would surely not survive. The stranger asked for shelter, and as payment the prince would receive a single rose. This made him scoff. The audacity some had. He turned them away as fast as they had come. Unfortunately for him this was no ordinary human. The stranger revealed themselves to be a magician. They told him they saw no love in his heart and therefore he should be punished for his cruelty.

That night his life changed for ever; now he was a monster. He sprouted fur all over his body, his nose grew into a long snout and a tail with spikes protruded from his lower back.

Yandere beast who has lost all his beauty. He was nothing other than hideous. Such a creature should surely be hidden out of sight. Not only did he lose his appearance that night, he also lost his status. The king and queen were horrified at his new form. This turn of event was not what they prepared for. Disgusted with him they sent him to a dreary little castle on the country side where no one would ever lay eyes on him.

Filled with despair he wallowed in shame; for his appearance and his situation. The only thing that could break the curse was if he learned to love someone and earn their love in return. Clearly, his parents did not believe the curse could be lifted, which was the reason they sent him away. They couldn’t have him at court anymore after all. Perhaps they were also glad to be rid of him once and for all.

Yandere beast who was all alone in his castle. He was left without servant or any gold. He was not used to a life without luxury. He thought he’d be alone forever and waste into nothingness, but he was surprised by you once more. You had come to the castle and chose to work there. When you’d told the king and queen of your decision they could not fathom why you would do such a thing when you were under no obligation to do it. You knew how horrible the prince was to all your colleagues, but you saw that underneath all that pride was an insecure young boy who wanted attention. It was not an excuse for his behaviour though. Still, your kindhearted nature made you want to help him.

Yandere beast who is elated with your presence. Now that he has company he is not as pessimistic. He always had a soft spot for you but now the fondness has turned into a full blown obsession. He loves you so much! When no one else was there for him and his life got turned into shamble, you stood by his side- willingly too! You weren’t frightened by his hideous form, no, you held his hand and stroked his snout without a care in the world. You were clearly the one to break the curse!

Yandere beast who does everything to make you fall for him and love him just as much as he loves you. Are you hungry? Good, because his transformation made him a great hunter! Are you in the mood for deer or rabbits? This monstrous prince can offer you a lot more than any normal prince or commoner human. No one can protect you as well as he can; his strength and sharp senses is the one upside to the curse. When the two of you marry, he’ll get back his title and whisk you away to a new castle. This one will be filled with the luxuries he bathed in before, and you’ll be forced to swim in them too whether you want to or not.

Could you ever love this beast?

#yandere imagines #kyseya oc #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #kyseya’s dungeon #yandere #possesive #yandere beast #monster yandere #Yandere prince #yandere beauty and the beast #monster prince #beauty and the beast inspired #yandere cursed prince

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randomdragonfires · 8 months ago

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I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife.

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age.

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved.

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love.

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens.

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did.

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to.

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride.

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought.

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband?

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance…

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him.

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them.

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was.

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her.

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get. Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately.

How she wished it was her.

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals. Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?” she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?”

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now.

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut.

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger, it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face.

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him.

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these, he needed a champion too.

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife.

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor.

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit.

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.

Oh yes, their marriage had grown.

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.”

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

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paradiseprincesss · 3 months ago

Text

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝑻𝒐 𝑩𝒆 𝑬𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 | Jonathan Crane

NOTES -> Hello hello! im gonna be in uni full time again starting first week of september so uploads will be much slowerrrr im sorry. I’ll try to write as much as i can for u my little loves!

REQUEST -> Based off the prompt 15 from this list here

SUMMARY -> Your boss, Jonathan Crane, plans on isolating you away from your old life, consuming you whole until you become nothing but devoted to him...and you're too naive to see the mind games that the expert psychiatrist is playing.

WORD COUNT -> 3.3k

WARNINGS -> Smut, p in v, soft!dark Jonathan, doctor/nurse relationship, boss/employee relationship, creampie

MASTERLIST

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jonathan felt his chest tighten as he narrowed his blue eyes behind his glasses. His focus was locked on you and only you, along with the orderly speaking to you for the last few minutes.

You were a nurse at Arkham, young and bright-eyed, so full of energy — and that caught Jonathan’s attention. Your unusually cheerful demeanour and sweet aura drew him in, whether he liked it or not. Maybe it was how you’d always give him a cute little wave every time he’d pass by you, or maybe it was how you’d smile at him when everyone else seemed to cower away from the stoic doctor.

Or maybe it was because once he saw you leaving work in your everyday clothes instead of your usual scrubs, and when you seemingly bent over to pick up your keys which you dropped on the ground, he could see the lace of your pink panties poking out of your low-rise sweatpants — but I guess we’ll never know.

See, that was the problem. You were so sweet, but you were like that with everyone you worked with; which made Jonathan feel inferior in many ways, but he promised himself that he’d have you eventually.

He didn’t want to hurt you by any means — oh god, no. He’d rather torture himself than watch you suffer through any anguish. However, he did want everyone around you to fall victim to a rather sinister fate if it meant they stayed away from you.

Jonathan didn’t really consider himself a sadist, but watching those around you seemingly go missing and suddenly quit their jobs at Arkham (unwillingly, of course), derived an innate sense of pleasure within him.

That was one of the perks of being the chief psychiatrist — he had all the power in the world to do whatever he pleased within the walls of Arkham, no matter who he hurt in the process. Jonathan would quietly fire many employees who he felt were “too friendly” with you, but he’d always tell you that they’d mysteriously quit or that they had changed jobs.

“Perhaps they just didn’t have it in them to help the…unique patients we house here,” he’d say to you. “Not everyone is as dedicated and as kind as you are, you know?”

Foolishly, you let his flattery get into your head; you let yourself fall for him without even realizing it.

You believed that the universe divinely guided you to him. You were sure of it — he was just so kind and understanding. You couldn’t believe the other staff of Arkham didn’t see him the way you did! How could they dislike him? Fear him?

To Jonathan, you were like an angel that fell from above, capturing his cold, dead heart within your warm, beating, and very alive one. You were so kind to the patients, so gentle with them — and your patients only ever had good things to say about you.

As you spoke to the orderly in front of you about what you did over the weekend, you noticed your boss looking rather tense from the corner of your eye. His jaw was clenched slightly, and his expression unforgiving. He exhaled sharply before ushering you over toward him, causing you to excuse yourself from your current conversation.

“Doctor Crane,” you greeted sweetly, “how are you?”

“I’m rather stressed today,” he answered softly, taking on that same gentle tone that he always seemed to take with you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, but I'm worried about you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently, cocking your head to the side slightly as if to emphasize your confusion.

“I think perhaps we should speak in my office about this,” he offered. “Come with me, please.”

Your smile suddenly faltered slightly as anxiety and paranoia ran rampant through your veins.

Your paranoid thoughts had to be put on the back burner as you took a seat across from him in his office, watching him as he sat down at his desk. His suit was pristine as always — and today, he opted for a brown sweater vest underneath it.

You’d count every thread and stitch on his suit for him if he asked you to.

“Doctor Crane—”

“Just Jonathan is fine,” he interrupted before clearing his throat. “I wanted to speak to you in private about a certain concern of mine.”

“What is it?”

He sighed before he took off his glasses and meticulously placed them on his desk. He leaned forward slightly, and you stayed quiet as he hesitated for a moment before his smooth voice finally cut through the silence in his office between the two of you.

“I’m worried that you may be overworking yourself,” he explained, looking at you with his tantalizing eyes. “I notice you pick up shifts and work overtime frequently, and I worry that you may be taking on more than you can handle. As your boss, I just want to make sure that you’re not burning yourself out as that can’t be good for you, and I believe in a healthy work-life balance.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth, unsure as to what you could say to him — that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say to you. Perhaps you had been overworking yourself, but that was just a part of you. Having a strong work ethic was something you strongly believed in, but maybe he was right. You couldn’t care for your patients if you were too exhausted to, right?

Now that he mentioned it, you were quite tired today. You started to think about it — as of recently, you’d been slamming coffees left right and center to stay awake at work, hadn’t you? You just wanted to help out since you were fairly new around here, but maybe it was doing you more damage than good.

Jonathan saw your usually cheerful demeanour deflate in his office, and he looked at you sympathetically, “I know this is not something you’d want to hear, especially from your boss of all people — but I just want to ensure that all my staff are doing well, you know?”

You bit your lip for a mere second, hesitating to speak before you let the words fall from your lips, “You know, Jonathan, sometimes I feel like you’re the only person here who actually…cares about me.”

He internally applauded himself — in a moment of vulnerability, you sought out comfort in him. Just like he had planned. Just like he wanted.

“I think you’re an exceptional nurse,” he mused, “and truthfully, I do enjoy working alongside you. So yes, of course, I care about you. I remember when I first started working after finishing my residency, I would exhaust myself constantly. I’ve learned through many years that it’s just not good for you.”

Jonathan’s plan was being executed perfectly — he wanted to isolate you. He wanted you to come running into his arms, far away from everyone else around you. He was on his worst behaviour today, but he believed you brought out the best in him.

You weren’t overworking yourself, but with Jonathan’s quick wit, years of training in psychology, and exceptional gaslighting skills, you thought perhaps he was right. Maybe you should take some time off of work, you thought.

“Tell you what,” he said softly, “how about you and I have drinks tonight instead? Forget about work and such. I think you need it.”

His words caused your cheeks to heat up. He was your boss, and this was way out of line for a boss to ask an employee. However, it didn’t help that you were very attracted to him.

“Drinks?”

“My place at eight. I have a bottle of cabernet I think you’d enjoy — If I remember correctly, you said it was your favourite?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “It is.”

“So I'll see you tonight at eight, then,” he smiled softly, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “I’ll text you my address.”

You nodded, slightly starstruck.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Once you’d parked your car on the side of the neighbourhood street, you stepped out into the chilly night, your high heels clicking against the pavement of the ground loudly as you made your way onto his porch.

You gave three soft raps to his front door before you heard shuffling coming from inside the house. After a few moments, the front door swung open gently, and Jonathan stood there with a small smile on his face.

“Come inside,” he ushered you, “make yourself at home, darling.”

And so you did.

You two talked over a few glasses of cabernet, bringing up the topic of work a few times here and there, but he mostly attempted to get to know the real you. What you did in your spare time, what your hobbies were, if you were seeing anyone…

“Out of curiosity, are you seeing anyone?” Jonathan asked you casually, but his voice dropped an octave as he looked directly at you, resting his hand on your thigh rather boldly. “I’m asking because I've seen the way you look at me…”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stammered, your cheeks feeling warmer and warmer by the second with the way his hand was now resting on your leg. You couldn’t deny it now. “I didn’t mean…um, I just — you’re always so kind to me…and I–”

He shushed you softly, creeping his hand up a little further. “I’m quite flattered, darling. Not to worry,” he purred. “I figured it wouldn’t be very appropriate of me to tell you how hard it is for me to not look at you when you’re at work, but after today, I just don’t think I can help myself anymore…”

Suddenly, his lips brushed up against yours, and as if it was instinct, your hands came to wrap around his shoulders. He let you pull him in even closer, his hands now coming to rest on your hips as you two kissed feverishly on his couch.

You and him were like a chemical reaction — explosive, unpredictable, and potentially fatal.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips in between kisses.

A shiver ran down your spine as his hold on your hips tightened slightly, his words causing your brain to short-circuit for a moment before you could think clearly again.

“Jonathan, I–”

“Don’t speak, just give into it, my darling.”

You let yourself get lost in the constellation that was Jonathan Crane, letting him run his hands all over your body and kiss you with an insatiable hunger. Soft moans left your mouth as he peppered kisses down your jawline and neck, nipping at the delicate skin gently.

You would’ve been worried about him leaving marks because you wouldn’t want your boss to see the next day at work — but you had to remind yourself that he was your boss.

But none of that mattered when it felt so right; when his lips felt so good against your skin.

“Can I take this off?” he rasped, toying with the strap of your dress.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Please, Jonathan…”

Slowly, he took the dress off of your body, gently tossing the garment to the side as he looked at you in absolute awe. It was like looking at a priceless piece of art in a museum exhibit to him — nothing could compare. Even a picture wouldn’t do the sight in front of him justice.

“Should we go upstairs?” you suddenly asked.

Maybe it was the handful of wine you’d shared that evening, or maybe it was just sheer arousal; you weren’t sure which one, but all you knew was that you needed him to have his way with you.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed, taking your hand in his. “Just up the stairs to the left — I think I'll let you lead the way, darling…”

The two of you got up from the couch, hand in hand, and Jonathan’s eyes roamed your body from behind as you made your way up the stairs together.

Of course, you came prepared — you know, just in case things were to happen. Before you left, you threw on your sexiest, laciest, lingerie underneath your dress, and it was a good thing you did because that investment certainly paid off.

He watched your hips sway in your lingerie, along with the heels you were still wearing (because we simply can’t forget about those), and he could feel his cock straining against his pants. “Pretty girl,” he mumbled from behind you. “Your body is heavenly.”

“Shush,” you giggled, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him close once you reached the bedroom.

He looked down at you in the dim lighting of his bedroom, noticing the way your skin was glowing under it. Your hair was slightly messy from making out on the couch earlier, and you had a small smile tugging at your lips — you were perfection if he’d ever seen it.

Jonathan kissed you rougher this time, his hands finding their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently against your scalp. He backed you up onto the bed, pushing you down onto it as he undid his tie, looming over your delicate body which was sprawled out on his king-sized bed.

After taking his tie off, he threw off his suit jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. You hummed softly, running your heel against his leg as he rushed to get himself out of his clothes. The tent in his pants made it all the more obvious how desperate he truly was for you, but you stayed patient.

Once he was on the bed with you, he helped you out of your bra and panties, causing your cheeks to heat up from how exposed you felt. “You’re cute when you blush,” he commented when he noticed your blush, making you all the more flustered while he undid his belt.

After freeing himself, his thick, veiny cock caught your attention, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. He was big — you weren’t sure how that was supposed to fit, but right now you were so wet, you were almost certain your walls would stretch out around him with ease.

He lined himself up with your dripping entrance, giving himself a few strokes before looking at you with his lip caught between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and you nodded feverishly.

“Please,” you whimpered.

Your back was arched and you let out a filthy moan as he slid himself into your warm, sticky cunt with little resistance. The sheer size of him alone had you feeling so full, and he stilled as he bottomed out in you so that you could adjust to him. “Tell me when,” he said softly, his hand coming to brush up against your hips softly.

“You can move now,” you breathlessly said, giving him the green light. Your breath got caught in your throat as he started to set a gentle but deep pace, the tip of his cock brushing against that spongy spot inside of you with every thrust.

“O-oh–” you moaned.

His hands found purchase on your hips, and his eyes trailed over your face as he fucked you sensually, but slowly, eventually going harder and faster as you got accumulated to him. “So fucking tight, Jesus—” he choked out. You’d never heard him curse before, and his smooth voice had you clenching around him, to which he let out another moan. “Fuck, darling — you feel so good.”

“Mm-hmm!” you squeaked, taking his cock deeper and deeper into your soaked cunt with every stroke. “Jonathan, fuck—!”

“Right there, darling?” he cooed softly, slamming his cock into your hole much rougher now, causing you to see stars as he stretched you open on his thickness. “Feels good, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes — oh my god!” you chanted, grabbing onto his biceps as you felt his fat cock drilling you. You were letting out feverish moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you became increasingly more cock-drunk by the minute.

Your moans were like music to Jonathan. Like the sound he would hear being played once he died and went to heaven — because to him, this was heaven. You’d come running into the arms of the man who was slowly isolating you, breaking you; cornering you into his heart.

But there’s always something so right about something so inherently wrong, isn’t there?

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, watching you with furrowed brows as he concentrated on your pleasure. “Are you close, darling? Fuck, you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered breathlessly, moans being forced out of you with every delicious thrust he gave your cunt. “Gonna– oh, I’m gonna cum!”

Jonathan watched in a mixture of pure bliss, awe, and satisfaction as you fell apart in his very hands. Yes — this is where he wanted you. He just wanted to love you, to show you how perfect he was for you, to take care of you and make you see that everyone else around you was just a waste of time.

No more talking to orderlies who’d flirt with you, no more going out for after-work drinks with the other nurses. No, none of that. He was going to make sure that you’d work under him only, figuratively and literally.

“Gon’ cum,” he groaned, feeling his cock spurting ropes of cum into your warm, tight hole as he gave you a few more lazy thrusts, not bothering to pull out. Your mind went blank as he filled you up wholly, stuffing you with his sticky, warm seed as you lay there fucked out from what just happened moments prior. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?”

You looked up at him groggily, mind still foggy from your orgasm. “What? I work tomorrow–”

“Take a paid day off,” he shrugged, pulling his softening cock out from your worn-out hole. “Use as many as you’d like darling, I won’t tell.”

His teasing words caused you to throw your head back into the pillows blissfully with a sigh, genuinely believing that he only had your best interest at heart — he just didn’t want you to overwork yourself. It’s not like he was planning on totally locking you away from every living being in Gotham besides him or anything…

“I feel bad though,” you murmured sleepily. “I feel like I’m – I dunno – abusing my privileges.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty girl,” Jonathan assured you softly, turning off the lights so that only the moonlight was dimly shining into his bedroom. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as he pulled the covers over you both, cradling you in his arms like you were made of fine china. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“You’re so lovely, Jon. You truly have such a kind soul.”

“Surely nothing compared to yours, my darling,” he whispered against your hair as you closed your eyes. “Now, get some rest. We can talk about moving your things in here in the morning…”

Unfortunately, you had already dozed off in his embrace; too busy being washed away by sleep to hear his words. Jonathan smiled to himself — he’d never let you go now. You’d lost all control the moment you stepped into his house, unknowingly making yourself a hostage of some sort.

In the end, as you clung to him, believing he was the saviour from your exhaustion, you failed to see that it was his “love” that had slowly consumed you whole, leaving you nothing but a hollow shell, devoured by the very hands that promised refuge.

Sometimes, the most dangerous traps are the ones we walk into willingly, thinking they’re the key to our freedom, as they say. But the cruel irony of it all is that we think we’re being saved from the jaws of this terrible world, only to be eaten alive by those who we call our saviours.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Taglist -> @girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones

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@abprill @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura @fiona-my-love @cranecat

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insolentmedico · 3 days ago

Text

Alex didn't trust easily. He was someone who had been hurt, and who have been left behind. But Jo, she was different and she was someone he seen himself with and making plans about the future with. Their beginning was really rough and he knew that it took time, because also his reputation at the beginning wasn't the best either and he knew that. Alex just had to break through all those walls and make sure that it was right. But she finally said she loved him and he loved her and it was just about complimenting one another. The soft looks and the touches and that is something that Alex hasn't done in so long, and it was easy with her. Better then with anyone in his life and he knew that Jo didn't know that either. All that was shattered because decided to leave.

Alex knew he messed up. He knew that Jo didn't trust easily and she didn't give into anything easily. He was the one she let her guard down for, and him her and things were thrown away. At least that is what he has told himself because he knew Jo, once that trust was gone, it was hard to gain it back, because he was the same way. Jo had been through a lot and he knew that. Took him a while to realize just how she felt because she hid it well, and now, he knew he did that. He did the one thing he told her he would never do. The one thing she was scared of and he had told her not think like that. So whatever happens was on him and he did it. Alex had no one to blame but himself.

He had a wild hair up his ass, and they kept writing back and forth. The type of thing only people who wanted answers and closures with. But he knew right then and there he made a mistake and that Jo was the person he should have been with Izzie and him, they don't get along, it is more for the kids, and he just needed something more. He needed to be able to make things right because Kansas was not the place for him. But being pen pals with her, it was hard because he knew no one could find out. But then the call happened. He wasn't expecting it, he knew she was mad, and he knew she wanted answers, but he made a mistake and was kind of glad the papers weren't signed. He knew he couldn't live with himself if she signed them. With the phone to his ear, it felt new but also familiar with her.

Shaking his head, he knew this was going to happen. He knew no matter what he said, it would be taken wrong. "No that is not what I am saying Jo. Not at all. That is not what this is. It was more, I wanted to meet my kids, and Izzie and I, we were never a thing anymore. She is not who I wanted, and I don't trust her as far as I can throw her. You were the person I kept thinking about as soon as I got here, and even now, you're all I am thinking about and how much my kids would love you." He heard loved and that stung, he knew he couldn't blame her though. "Loved me? So, there is nothing else there Jo?" he felt his heart breaking a little bit and it wasn't fun, now he knows what it feels like for her when he did what he did, maybe he deserved that. He wasn't going to push it. "I won't push, but I am here and you are the one in charge of everything. I am just trying to show you it wasn't what you think and it wasn't what I made it seem to be."

@InsolentMedico

Hurt; Jo was built for the hurt. She’s experienced the let down her whole life. From hoping for a family to take her in, from the disappointment she felt realizing she was on her own. She experienced feeling not enough, unwanted. It was her childhood. But at this age and how far she’s grown Jo realized what true undeniable love was about. Alex Karev showed her what it felt like to be loved and how hard you could love someone. He made her happy, smiling from ear to ear. He made her feel safe. He loved her despite all her history and flaws. It was an unconditional love Jo never experienced before him.

And even when he left; she felt as if she couldn’t breathe without him. It took weeks to understand; to know the why. Man she was so angry so mad at him for being a coward. His letter was the words she never thought he’d say. He broke every promise he ever said to her. A vow he made to never hurt her, to never abandon her. But he did. And at the time she took the time to process to accept he was gone. Once Meredith, and Bailey got their letters and the word for a new peds surgeon broke the whispers were like wildflies. The stares and talk of Alex Karev leaving her. Jo tired to pretend to focus on her work. But each night she came home to an empty loft; until she found a friend in Levi; he was the intern she slept with. But a good friend now that he wasn’t out to beat her; or flirt with her. Jo even hid the letters from her roommate here. She wanted to keep her litter conversations with Alex a secret. At the time when she wrote that first letter it was a way of grieving the life she wanted. The future she thought she had. And now she was forced to pick up her own pieces. One letter led to Alex responding. It was a shock each time she received a letter. It was supposed to be therapeutic for the brunette; easier to let go. But instead it only made her keep writing; his words. His mind on why he left; on what was going through that head of his now.

It captivated her forward. Jo kept telling herself no. He left you. He picked a new family; the family you never gave him. It was a pep talk to convince herself that it was in her best interest to let him go. But now; as she stared down at his letter. The words he spoke; the love drawn onto the page it made Jo be impulsive. It made her call. But did she believe he’d answer? No not after all the times he dogged her call. Even when she was that pathetic girl on the phone begging to hear his voice. Begging for him to answer; to give answers as to why he lied; why he disappeared. If he was okay. All she got was silence; so yeah color her surprised when the dial broke; his breathing was heard followed by his voice.

The voice she longed to hear. The voice that always made her smile; always made her miss him more. Jo never held back; it made her angry to feel love but also feel his abandonment. So it was no surprise to hear herself speak back to him. To call him out for his crap. It was a trait Jo was aware he always adored about her.

“ Sure it doesn’t.. Alex there was like a billion other ways you could’ve gone about this. About handling the news you had kids. You don’t just abandon the life you were building..” Angry and hurt shown in her voice. Holding the phone tightly in her grasp the brunette let her eyes close taking in the memory of his voice. Even if it hurt to have this conversation.

She missed him; he still knew how to make her heart skip a beat. Rolling her eyes at his words. “ Because I’m the one not afraid to tell you when you’ve messed up Alex.” Pausing briefly before she geared herself to say her next words. “ If you really think I wouldn’t of supported you when you found out then maybe all these years were a waste of time. I would’ve wanted the kids because they were yours. I would’ve supported you. I’m not angry because of the situation. I’m angry because of the little respect and credit you’ve given me..” Words hurt; and yeah her intention was to hurt him. He ripped her apart; and basically wrecked her.

And now Jo hung on by a thread.

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certaimromance · 2 months ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 Cherry Picking.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: After your first night with Spencer, you wake up and see that he's left you two dollars and a thank-you note on your bedside table.

Words: 2,3k.

TW: lots of mentions and references to sex, but nothing completely explicit. the reader is quite dramatic and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This idea just came to me out of the blue, and I have to say that Sex and the City has had a bit of an influence. I love the chaos, the conversations between friends, and Spencer being the best man in the world (I'm picturing him kind of like in his season four version).

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Saturday afternoon

“Two dollars?!”

Penelope's and JJ's simultaneous exclamations and surprised faces when you finished speaking were pretty much to be expected. They noticed a change in your expression and took a moment to compose themselves, as did the rest of the people in the room, who glanced curiously at your table from time to time. It was certainly a fascinating sight, three women having an animated conversation about their lives over milkshakes as if they were drinks, especially considering that one of them was pregnant and her belly looked like it was about to explode.

You didn't blame anyone for reacting that way, especially not your friends. You were still pretty shocked by what happened, especially by how thoughtless the man you'd developed feelings for and worked closely with over the past few years was. It was a unsettling to find a tip on your nightstand after one of the most memorable nights you'd ever had. You still remembered the excitement you felt when you went to Spencer's apartment yesterday to watch a movie as part of your fourth or fifth date. He seemed nervous when you started kissing more intensely, and the couch wasn't the best setting. The sensation of your body on his bed and his lips on your skin was incredible.

It was a good memory, extremely good if you took away the embarrassment of waking up the next day in his empty bed with money waiting for you, as if you had performed a service.

“Maybe there was a misunderstanding and the money was left on the table by mistake.” Jennifer spoke again in a reassuring tone after turning the matter over. “Spencer can be a little clumsy sometimes.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line as you listened to her attempt to provide an explanation for his actions. But given their friendship, this was to be expected.

“And he was in a hurry to catch his plane and go to his mother.” Garcia added with a forced smile, trying to lift your spirits. “It all makes sense.”

Yes, it was understandable that he was leaving in a hurry because he had to catch a flight to spend his weekend off with his mother. That didn't worry you, but there was something else that was curious.

“How do you explain the thank-you note?” You asked, taking out the paper and the two dollars you'd pulled out to show them as proof from your purse.

“It was a thank you for hanging out with him, a sweet gesture.” JJ said, taking a sip of her milkshake and patting her belly.

It seemed more like a sour gesture to you, that you had been left with your dignity on the floor. As you left his apartment, you didn't know whether to cry or laugh because it sounded like a bad joke that the only man you thought was decent and for whom you allowed yourself to have feelings would do such a thing.

“My love life is going downhill.” You said.

Just then, the restaurant door opens and Emily appears. After greeting her and apologizing for her late arrival, she asks about the cause of your apparent distress. As a profiler, she was astute enough to know something was wrong just by looking at you.

“What's wrong, honey?” She started talking as soon as she sat down next to you and took a quick look at the table. “Those milkshakes look good, I want one.”

“Spencer thinks I'm a prostitute.” You spoke up without thinking, which surprised Emily and caused her to briefly lose her grip on the menu.

There was a long, awkward silence.

Perhaps you were too direct in saying something that you had been trying to ignore for your own mental health.

“Just a heads-up, we've got a baby in the room. No need to say that word!” Penelope was the first to speak, gently covering JJ's belly with her hands. “He can hear you.”

At that moment, Reid and his comments about pregnancy data at every stage came to mind. You felt a little uncomfortable because you knew it was a little unrealistic to focus on the positives at a time like this.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, baby.” You looked regretfully at your friends and spoke to Jennifer's belly, giving it a gentle caress. “Don't listen.”

“I need context, please.” Emily said confusedly, trying to understand what was going on and why you had said what you had said.

You let out a deep breath, preparing yourself to recount the story once more.

“Okay, Spencer and I made...milkshakes. Very good milkshakes, really good if you know what I mean.” You tried to explain slowly, watching your words and your friends' expressions. “I woke up when he was leaving, he gave me a kiss on my forehead and said to keep sleeping, that he had to catch his flight.”

“That's sweet, but weird to know.” Emily commented quizzically, looking at the menu intently again. “What's the part...you know?”

“Oh, when he thought I was-” You stop yourself as you see how JJ looks at you. “A pie maker.”

You could tell from their expressions that they were about to laugh at your attempts to keep the conversation friendly.

“I woke up hours later to find two dollars on the nightstand with a thank-you note.” You finished the story. “To him, I'm worth two fu...sugary dollars.”

Prentiss stared at you for several seconds, waiting for me to tell her it was a joke. Only when that didn't happen did she speak. “That sounds weird and awful, but I don't think he would do something like that on purpose. Especially you, he really likes you.”

“He likes me enough to give me two dollars.”

When you finished speaking, you experienced a moment of discomfort in your stomach as your own words took effect. You were surprised to find that on a deeper level, what had happened was causing you more pain than you had anticipated.

“That doesn't sound like Reid at all. I've known him for years, and he's not that kind of man.” Penelope said with a frown, trying to reassure you. “I'm sure it's a mix-up.”

You were looking for the same thing and hoping it was just a misunderstanding, but your previous bad experiences made you think otherwise. You'd met enough men to know that they could always be worse. What was different now was that you really liked this particular man. You really longed for him to be different from everyone else.

However, things weren't always as you'd hoped. You'd invested a lot of hope in making your fairy tale come true, and it was starting to take its toll.

“Have you had a chance to speak with him?” JJ inquired.

“He's with his mother, I won't bother him.” You replied with a strange simplicity that made your friends suspicious. “I'm fine, I've calmed down.” You added as you saw their worried faces.

“I love you, but sometimes you scare me.” Emily said, watching you drink from your smoothie as if it contained a painkiller. “It's not okay to pretend that everything's fine.”

“It's understandable to feel a bit discouraged about this. Things may seem challenging at the moment, but I believe things will improve when you discuss this with him.” Jennifer's hand gently touched yours, offering a comforting gesture.

“I'm sure everything will be fine. You have our support if you need it.” Penelope joined in with the motivational words and gave you a reassuring smile.

You took the last sip of your milkshake and leaned back in your seat for a moment before replying. “I'm fine, girls. I don't plan to lose my head over a man, I promised myself.”

They looked at you with some skepticism, but you didn't flinch. You were confident that if you were mentally prepared not to be defeated, or at least not to look defeated, you would be well prepared for the day of the meeting.

You weren't going to lose your mind over this.

Monday morning

You were definitely losing your mind, and no cup of tea or internet video that promised to do so had been able to relax you one bit. You had been cooped up in the office you shared with Penelope for several minutes, pacing in your chair while everyone in the conference room waited for information about a new case and your presence. The mere thought of having to face Reid again was making you feel pretty uneasy.

All weekend, you had been trying to reassure yourself that you were doing well, that you were not hurt or affected by what happened, that it was just one more disappointment to add to the long list you had written since you were a teenager, and that it was normal for someone with your luck. You were not a princess, you were not going to meet a prince, and you were old enough to know that.

But being in the same building as your prince turned toad was not as easy as you had hoped. You prayed that your presence would not be necessary and that the jet would soon take off to take them all away, especially him.

A few sudden knocks on the door startled you. You automatically thought it was your boss coming to scold you for being late, and your blood froze.

“I apologize for the delay, Hotch. I assure...” You spoke promptly as soon as the door opened and a male figure appeared.

But obviously, it wasn't him.

“Oh, sorry, I'm not Hotch. But hey, how are you?” Spencer smiled at you and walked toward you, looking a little nervous.

“Fine.” You replied dryly, getting up from your seat to grab your tablet and some folders to carry into the conference room.

In your mind, you had planned to make a scene as soon as you saw him and make it clear that you didn't cost just two dollars. But after thinking about it a lot, the fear of losing your job over it was greater. And now it was a mixture of that reasoning with your feeling of paralysis at actually having him in front of you.

“I...I missed you over the weekend.” He stopped you before you could walk away, gently holding your hand. The feeling alone made you stop and look at him angrily. “I thought about you a lot, too much, and I bought you something.” He let go of your hand to pull a small box out of his pocket.

“How dare you?” You blurt out, taking a step back.

He looked a little uncomfortable and seemed to be in pain. “I'm sorry if I overstepped. I didn't mean to impose. Did I cross a line? I'm so sorry, I just thought-”

“What? That you could embarrass me even more? Didn't I already go through enough?”

That's when you took out two dollars from your purse and gave it to him.

“Could I ask why this is?” Spencer was still frowning and looked just as hurt as you.

His apparent lack of understanding of the situation made you much angrier. You had thought he was probably the smartest man you had ever met in your entire life, but suddenly, in your eyes, he was an idiot.

“I'm refunding your payment, Reid.” You replied firmly, without hiding your frustration.

The confusion on his face seemed to multiply as he tried to understand. “What are you talking about? I gave you your money back.”

You tilted your head slightly to one side.

“Saturday morning, I left on the nightstand the two dollars you lent me a week ago when we bought coffee. You know I don't like being in debt.” Spencer began to explain calmly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and present the facts in a clear and concise manner.

Oh, you do remember lending him money at some point, or rather, inviting him for coffee that he said he'd pay you back. That day when his hair was perfect in the wind, when he smiled at you and told you some interesting facts about coffee beans.

“I mentioned it when I said goodbye, but you looked so tired that I left you a thank you note in case you forgot.” He went on to explain. “A lot of studies say that you wake up to full strength at least 20 to 30 minutes after you actually open your eyes. And you still had them closed when I said goodbye.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I...I thought you-” You fell silent as you saw the stunned look on his face. You didn't want to look crazy, so you quickly added. “I just thought wrong.”

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.” He said, a little embarrassed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, no, I just...did you bring me a gift?” You changed the subject, taking the box he had previously offered you. Inside was a necklace with a cherry blossom charm.

“Your computer wallpaper is a picture of cherry blossoms. And I saw this necklace in a store when I was walking with my mom, and I thought you might like it. But it's okay if you don't want it-” He spoke fast until you interrupted him.

“I love it, thank you.” You smiled at him and took the necklace out of the box. “Could you help me with this?”

With some trepidation and uncertainty still present, Spencer positioned himself behind you with the jewel in his hands, carefully brushed your hair aside and fastened the necklace around your neck. The sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin made you feel a slight shiver.

“Thanks.” You said as you turned around to face him. You gave him a hug, though you were a little unsure.

He returned your embrace, feeling a sense of relief that things between you were okay. “You don't have to thank me.”

“It's not about the gift. It's just a way to say thanks for being you.”

Perhaps he was your prince after all.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #matthew gray gubler

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imaginaryf1shots · 3 months ago

Text

Soulmate | Charles Leclerc Ver.

WC: 4.8K

Summery: Once you hit puberty, a red string ties both you and your soulmate together until the moment you meet.

Warning: Not edited, nothing else?

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

Max Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Lewis Ver.

You live in a world where when a person hits puberty they see a red string. The string is tied to your ring finger on your left hand, and only you get to see the string, well… you and the person on the other side of the string anyway. Your soulmate. It’s like a delicate myth, but it’s real life. There’s a delicate, ethereal thread that connects two souls that are destined to find each other.

The soulmate string gets tighter and more taught the closer you are to meeting your soulmate, and if you’re one of the lucky ones, the moment you touch your string it sends a ting to your soulmate. Not all soulmates can feel it and not both of them have to.

And just your luck it seems like you’re one of the ‘lucky’ soulmates who get to feel it, you believe 99% that your soulmate doesn’t share that ability. Because no matter how many times you played with the string your soulmate didn’t touch his. But, he plays with it all the time. Sometimes, too much. Especially when you were younger and couldn’t focus on anything but the tingling going down your body.

One thing about the string is it points in the direction of your soulmate. If you follow the string it’ll lead you straight to your soulmate. It seemed like your soulmate loved travelling, because there’s no way he can be in almost every direction during a week or two, so finding him seemed almost impossible to you.

You’ve been aware of the string for it seemed like as long as you could remember, life before it seemed to not exist. From when you hit puberty, you could feel the subtle presence that seemed to come and go. A reminder that somewhere out there, someone was connected to you.

Your life in many ways was ordinary. You had a steady job, lived in a comfortable apartment. Spend your free time indulging in your hobbies, going out, meeting friends. Yet there always seemed to be something missing.

It wasn’t that you were unhappy; you simply felt incomplete, like a puzzle with one piece missing. And no matter how much you tried to focus on other things, the string was always there, a quiet reminder that your other half was still out there somewhere.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

You woke up with a holt, your heart racing as if you just ran a marathon. You sat up in bed, breathing heavily, and instinctively placing your hand on your ring finger, where the string was tied. It pulsed with energy, stringer than you’ve ever felt before. The sensation was overwhelming, almost like the string itself was calling you out, urging you to pay attention.

You pulled up your laptop as if you were on autopilot and opened a web page you’ve never opened before, and did something you’ve never done before, all following what the string was urging you to do.

After you’re done and you lean back on the headboard do you think about what you did, you just booked a ticket to a Formula 1 race.

Why? You’ve never seen a race before, never been interested. Just watched the trailer for Drive to Survive on Netflix. But the idea is planted firmly in your head. It wasn’t just a passing thought, and you don’t feel like changing your mind, it was a compulsion, a pull so strong that it felt as if the string itself was guiding you.

This didn’t make sense and yet it felt completely right. The string was humming in approva, telling you that this is the right thing, the right path.

Now you have to book a flight and accommodation to Italy, Monza. It was all happening in a few weeks, everything was super expensive, but you didn’t think about your budget and all the things that you no longer will be able to do. Within minutes, you had booked everything you needed, your heart pounding in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. It was as if you no longer had control and just a passenger being guided by the string.

Over the next few weeks, it was like fate was playing something on you, your social media was filled with everything Formula 1, you kept dreaming of red cars, loud engines and the thrill of speed. You gravitated towards the colour more than any other time in your life. It was as if the universe was conspiring to ensure you followed the string’s guidance, and you found herself surrendering to it completely.

As the day of the race approached, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something monumental was about to happen. The string was more active than ever, pulling you toward a future you could only imagine. It was different from the tingling you got whenever your soulmate touched the string. However you found yourself doubting it all, what had once seemed like a brilliant and fated decision a few weeks ago now felt reckless and impulsive. You had never been one to do things on a whim, especially to the point of travelling and spending a lot of money on a trip you’ll be on alone.

The strong tugged insistently, refusing to let you back out, every time you opened up to cancel your plans, the tug grew stronger, like a gentle and firm reminder that this was where you were meant to be. The undeniable force, propelling you toward Monza.

Despite this, the anxiety gnawed at you. What if you were making a mistake? What if you got there and nothing happened, no grand revelation, no destined encounter? The string might have been real, but it didn’t come with guarantees or explanations.

And so, with your bags packed and your heart full of anticipation, you set off for Monza, ready to embrace whatever the string had in store for you.

You didn’t know what to expect, but one thing was certain: the string had never led you wrong before. And now, as it pulled you toward the Italian Grand Prix, you knew that you were about to find out just how powerful the invisible thread could be.

You spent the days leading up to your departure preparing as best you could, though no amount of packing or planning could ease the nervous tension that coiled in your stomach. You packed your bags carefully, choosing outfits that would suit the late summer Italian weather, making sure to include a few pieces that could be considered stylish yet practical, you had no idea what the atmosphere at an F1 race would be like, after all.

Your friends, while supportive, didn’t quite understand what had driven you to make this decision.

“An F1 race? I didn’t know you were into that.” One of your closest friends had said, a curious smile on her face when you had mentioned the trip.

“I’m not, really.” You had replied, the words sounding strange even to your own ears. “I just… I don’t know. I feel like I need to be there. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe your string is leading you to someone important.” Your friend had teased, though her eyes had softened with understanding.

“Maybe.” You had echoed, your hand instinctively moving to the spot on your finger where you felt the string the strongest. But you hadn’t told anyone just how intense the pull had become, how the string seemed almost alive with energy, vibrating with anticipation.

The day of your departure arrived, and with it, a wave of nervous excitement. You boarded the plane with your heart pounding, each breath feeling like a step closer to something inevitable. As the plane took off, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the rhythm of the string, letting it soothe your nerves. It pulsed steadily, a reassuring presence that reminded you weren’t alone in this, someone was on the other end, and they were getting closer with every passing minute.

The day had begun like any other for Charles, but there was a subtle shift in the air that he couldn’t quite place. As he went through his morning routine, something felt different, a lingering sense of anticipation that made his pulse quicken. The sensation wasn’t entirely unfamiliar; he had felt it before, at various points in his life. But today, it was stronger, more insistent, as if something monumental was coming.

He absently tugged at the invisible string that had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. The string was always there, a quiet reminder that somewhere out in the world, his soulmate was waiting for him. It had been with him through every high and low, through victories on the track and moments of doubt, always steady, always present. It has always brought him comfort.

But today, the string was different. It thrummed with an intensity he had never felt before, like a live wire humming with electricity. Each gentle tug he gave it seemed to amplify the feeling, sending a wave of warmth through his chest. It was almost distracting, pulling his thoughts away from the upcoming race and toward the person on the other end of the string. Whoever they were, they were close. Closer than they had ever been before.

The pull felt urgent, almost impatient, as if it was trying to tell him something. He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on his training, his strategy, but the string wouldn’t be ignored.

Between meetings with the team and media obligations, Charles found himself reaching for the string, giving it a gentle tug as if testing the waters. Each time, he felt an answering pull, faint but unmistakable. It was as if the string was alive, responding to his touch like never before, and with each interaction, the sensation grew stronger. The closer the race day came, the more the string seemed to tighten, almost pulling him off balance.

Charles had heard stories from other drivers about the moment they met their soulmates—how the string had led them, sometimes in the most unexpected ways. He had always believed his time would come, but he hadn’t expected it to be now, in the middle of one of the most important weekends of his career. And yet, the string had never been wrong before. If it was this insistent, it could only mean one thing: his soulmate was near.

The thought filled him with a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. What if they were right here, in Monza? What if he was about to meet the person who was connected to him by this invisible thread, the person who was meant to complete him?

That night, after a long day of preparations, Charles lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room. The hum of the city outside was a comforting backdrop, but his thoughts were miles away. The string was taut now, almost vibrating with energy, and he could feel it deep in his chest. There was no mistaking it anymore, something life-changing was about to happen, and it was coming fast.

He closed his eyes, letting his hand rest over his ring finger, where the string was most palpable. The connection was strong, almost as if the person on the other end was reaching out to him, trying to bridge the gap between them. He tugged on the string once more, feeling the now familiar warmth spread through him, and this time, the pull was even stronger, almost desperate.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought about the possibilities. Whoever they were, wherever they were, they were close, so close that he could almost feel their presence. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it was a good kind of tension, the kind that made his heart race in the best way possible.

Charles drifted off to sleep with the string still humming in his chest, the last thought on his mind being the image of meeting his soulmate, finally seeing the person who had been connected to him all these years. The person who, in some inexplicable way, had always been a part of his life.

By the time you arrived in Italy, the string was humming with energy. The warm, late summer air greeted you as you stepped out of the airport, a stark contrast to the cool anxiety that clung to your skin. Monza was just a short train ride away, and the closer you got, the more the string seemed to tighten, as if your soulmate was moving as well, drawing closer.

When you finally arrived at the race venue, you were overwhelmed by the sheer size and scale of everything. The roar of engines, the excited chatter of thousands of fans, it was all a sensory overload. The red of Ferrari catching your eye. The same shade of red you’ve been dreaming of.

You moved through the mass of people, clutching your pass around your neck, trying to steady your racing heart. The string was in control now, pulling you, almost guiding your steps as you navigated through the chaos. It was a strange sensation, like being led by an invisible hand, and you found yourself trusting it completely. You followed the pull without question, weaving through the crowded as if you new exactly what you were doing, and where you’re going.

The closer you got to the paddock area, the stronger the pull became. It was no longer just a gentle tug but a firm and insistent force that you could never ignore. Your pace quickened, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what you were looking for, but you knew you were close, closer than you had ever been before.

And then, suddenly, you felt it. A strong, unmistakable tug on the string, as if someone on the other end was pulling you forward. You stopped dead in your tracks, startled by the intensity of the sensation. It was as if the world around you had shifted, the noise and chaos of the race fading into the background as the string took centre stage.

And then you weren’t moving of your own merit, it was literally as if someone got a hold of the soulmate string and was pulling on it, your hand in the air and you were walking, so you wouldn’t fall straight onto your face. Each step felt heavy with anticipation of what will meet you on the other end of the string.

And then, just as you rounded a corner, you were stopped by security. A large, stern-faced guard held up a hand, barring your path. “I’m sorry, miss, this area is restricted.” He said, his tone firm but polite.

Your heart sank, and it took everything in you to not take a step forward when the next tug came. You could feel your soulmate, just out of reach. Panic began to set in, as you tried to explain, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

“Please, you don't understand.” You pleaded. “ I have to get through, My soulmate is inside, and the string is pulling me.”

The guard frowned, clearly sceptical. “I can’t let you in without the proper pass. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to turn back.”

But you didn’t turn around, you couldn’t. The next pull had you walking a few steps forwards.

“Please, please, just let me through, I need to find my soulmate.”

“Look, we get that a lot, the fans always come trying to act as if one of the drivers is their soulmates when it’s clearly not.” The guard said and another one came to see what was going on, both blocked your path completely.

“I’m not a-” You’re cut off but a hard tug, the guards hold your biceps to stop you from moving.

“What the…” The second guard trails off, your legs aren’t moving but your upper body is being pushed by an invisible force. The guards share a look, this is real, your soulmate is inside. “Go with her, I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You told them and followed the string. The guard walked by your side, your heart skipped a beat in thought that you’ll finally meet your soulmate.

The paddock was a flurry of activity, with team members rushing about, media personnel setting up cameras, and the roar of engines echoing through the area. For most, it was just another thrilling race day at Monza, but for Charles, today felt different. The string tugged at him with a force that was nearly overwhelming, its intensity far beyond anything he had ever felt before.

It was like a constant thrum in his chest, an insistent reminder that something, someone, was close. Every nerve in his body was attuned to it, and he couldn’t focus on anything else. He had tried to go through the usual pre-race motions, but his concentration kept slipping. His thoughts were consumed by the string and the strange sense of anticipation that had been building for days.

Charles wandered through the paddock most of the day, pretending to be busy, but his mind was elsewhere. He kept glancing around, searching for something he couldn’t name. He tugged at the string absently, the familiar gesture now charged with an electric energy. Each pull was met with an answering force, stronger than ever, as if the person on the other end was tugging back, trying to reach him.

Carlos and his team noticed his distracted state, but none of them said anything. They knew Charles well enough to understand that something significant was going on, though they couldn’t begin to guess what it might be.

Charles paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He needed to get a grip on himself, he had a race to focus on. But no matter how hard he tried, the string wouldn’t let him go. Charles allowed himself to follow the tugging of the string, he got out of the garage and into the pitlane, the string wasn’t loose on the ground anymore, it was taught, touching it softly, Charles just followed his heart and started pulling. It looked strange to those standing around him but he just pulled, he didn’t care.

The tugging grew worse the more you walked. You definitely gained more than a few weirded out looks from people standing and walking around. You came out onto the pitlane and followed the string through a few people standing around, and then you saw it. Right there is your soulmate, he’s pulling on the sting with a cute but confused look on his face.

“You can stop pulling now.” You say once you were close enough so he could hear you. Charles looks up at the sound of your voice, his heart skipping a beat, there you stood. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the sun was coming up from behind you, making you shine.

You weren’t prepared for the sight of the man standing before you, the man who was connected to you by the same string that had been with you for so many years.

The world seemed to fade away, the noise of the paddock reduced to a distant hum as the two of you stared at each other in disbelief. The string shimmered between you, a tangible symbol of the connection that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to bring them together.

Charles followed the string on your finger to his, making sure that you’re his actual soulmate, even though the fact that he can see the string in the first place is an indication of your connection.

Charles took a tentative step forward, the string tugging at him with a gentle insistence. The tension in the string eased slightly, as if satisfied that its work was nearly done.

Finally, Charles found his voice. “It’s you.” He said softly, the words coming out almost as a whisper. “You’re the one.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. You could feel the truth of his words in every part of your being. The sting is shorter than it’s ever been, brighter than it’s ever been.

As his fingers brushed the glowing thread, it dissolved into a soft light, disappearing from view but leaving behind a deep, unbreakable bond. The moment your hands touched, a surge of warmth flooded through both of you, a sensation of completeness that neither had ever felt before. It was as if a missing piece had finally clicked into place, and you were whole for the first time in your lives. When did he even get this close?

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, gazing at each other, the reality of what happened sinking in. The noise of the paddock fading even further into the background until it was just the two of you. Looking at your hands, you see the last of the string dissolve into nothing, and in its place a tattoo-like line wrap around your finger where the string once was, the mark on your finger an exact replica to the one that made itself at home on Charles’ finger.

For a brief moment, it was as though time had stopped. But soon, reality began to seep back in. The sounds of the paddock returned to normal, the chatter of people, the hum of engines, and the distant roar of the crowd became more prominent. Yet even as the world resumed its usual pace, you and Charles remained locked in the orbit of their newfound connection.

"Would you like to... go somewhere quieter?" Charles finally asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant. Despite his fame and confidence on the track, this moment felt far more significant, and he was suddenly unsure of himself in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.

You nodded, grateful for the suggestion. “Yes, that would be nice.” You replied softly, your voice still trembling with emotion. It’s then that you notice the amount of people standing around you that saw what had just happened. You have no idea why they were all watching the two of you with intensity.

Charles led you through the busiest parts of the garage, with practised steps. Once you were alone in his driver’s room, Charles turned to face you, his expression a mixture of awe and uncertainty.

“I don’t even know where to start.” He admitted with a slight chuckle. “This is… well, it’s a lot.”

“It is.” You smiled feeling a little more at ease now that you were away from the chaos. “I’ve imagined this moment so many times, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s a bit much.” Charles takes your hand in his as if he’s been doing it for years, it all felt familiar, yet new and warm. “Have you always liked Formula 1?”

“No, I was never interested until a couple months ago when I woke up and booked the tickets.” You confess suddenly feeling shy. “All I know is from the few videos I watched since booking the tickets.”

“So… Do you know who I am?... That sounded a bit like I'm arrogant." Charles' face went red, he rubbed the back of his neck feeling embarrassed by how the words came out.

"No, no, not at all." You tell him with a soft smile. "I feel a bit embarrassed that I don't."

"Don't be, that means we'll get to know each other from... well, each other." Charles squeezes your hand and you smile and nod.

"I guess we will." Your smile was blinding, Charles can't believe he's spent all his life without having you in it, now that he met you it feels like he just started living, this is a feeling unlike any he felt before. You look around and realise something. "You know red has been such a big colour in my life for so long, but recently the presence of red has been overly so."

"I guess it's because I bleed Ferrari." Charles said.

"What exactly do you do?" You asked him, looking at his clothes, he was just wearing a Ferrari team shirt and jeans.

"I uh, I drive for Scuderia Ferrari." Your mouth makes an 'O' shape and you nod to yourself.

"You're one of the 20 drivers?" Charles lets out a yeah, his smile didn't drop from his face. "We'll have to sit down so you can explain everything to me."

"We will, after I win for you today." Charles promised you, your eyes went wide.

“Do you have to go? You don't have to stay with me, I have tickets for the FIA hospitality." You say pointing at the pass around your neck.

“Not happening, you'll stay in Ferrari, I'll get you a pass before I have to go in a bit." Charles didn't want to let you go and it was obvious. "Give me your phone, just in case."

“Want to get my number already." You tease him before you unlock your phone and give it to him, he puts in his number and calls himself. Charles takes you out of his room, his hand in yours, gaining smiles from everyone he meets. Charles is loved by anyone that has ever come in contact with him, so seeing him with his soulmate makes everyone happy for him. You're given a soulmate pass, teams always had those on hand just in case something like this happens.

Charles leaves you with Rebecca, Carlos' girlfriend, before he has to go. You admit to her your ignorance when it comes to Formula one, she takes it on herself to explain the basics. Charles comes over before he has to get onto the track for the start of the race, and pulls you in for a hug. You sigh in content and return his hug, feeling warm and happy.

"Good luck." You say smiling up at him, your eyes taking his in.

"Thank you." He says, kisses your cheek before he leaves, your face goes red. Rebeca bumps her shoulder with yours and gives you a teasing smile.

“Wait, he's first.” It takes you longer than those around you to realise what has happened.

“Yes! Oh my god!” Rebeca is excited, this is a big win for the Tifosi, currently Ferrari is 1 and 3 and there's 3 more laps to go. “This is Ferrari's home race, this means so much to the team and fans.”

You all watch the last few laps with baited breath, when Charles crosses the line, the garage erupts in cheers, jumping, clapping, and patting on backs. It's chaotic.

“Come on, we get to meet them in Parc Ferme.” Rebeca takes your hand in hers and pulls you with her through the crowd, leading you to the front of the barriers, Lewis in second place is the first to come back followed by Carlos. Carlos jumps from his car and runs to the team, they shout and pull him up so he's part crowd surfing before they place him down, he then goes to Rebeca for a hug and kiss. Meanwhile Charles comes back, he stands in the car with his arms up in celebration, the whole crowd cheers, the team cheers, you clap and smile at your soulmate, you feel his happiness from where you stood, you don't know if it's because of the mate bond or whatever but you feel it. Charles jumps from his car and launches himself into the arms of the team, they pull him up and higher than Carlos, cheering and screaming, they place him down before too long and pat his back in congratulations, Charles looks around until his eyes fall on you, his eyes are scrunched under the helmet no doubt he's smiling. He takes it off while he walks toward you, with determent steps. Charles only hesitates for a second when he's stood in front of you before he puts his hands on your cheeks; they're so big, his fingers are in your hair. You lean in and up and Charles meets you halfway. You've known each other for barely any time, but you're soulmates, you're meant to be. The feeling you get once your lips touch is unlike any you've ever felt before, it was like you were connected, like you could feel his emotions and he could feel yours in that moment. Everything was amplified.

"My lucky charm." Charles says once he pulls back and places his forehead on yours.

"Good thing you're stuck with me then." You say breathless and smile, Charles returns the smile, another kiss and he's pulled away from you for the weighting, interviews and then the podiums, before more interviews and ending with debrief.

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@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn .

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