#on that note the spelling of anything tonight...

[zafirosreverie]

A virgin's pray's plans, part 2:

This would have been like a "sequel" or part 2 of the fic.

note: this fic was planned waaaay before Multiverse of madness, so keep that in mind

You decide not to go with Agatha to Westview, knowing that if anything goes wrong, your bond would call you and you'd be there in a matter of minutes.

But you didn't count on Wanda's power and neither did Agatha. It took you both by surprise.

By the time you get to Westview, Wanda had already absorbed Agatha's powers and was locking her away as Agnes.

You both freeze as you feel the bond between you fade away, seconds later, she is Agnes.

Wanda walks away and Agnes returns home, leaving you alone.

Agatha laments in her mind, for she has lost her powers, her freedom, and the love of her life.

You try to do something, but your magic is too weak and only responds to a magic that no longer belongs to the woman in front of you.

As Wanda begins training to get her children back, the bond calls to you and you realize with horror, that by taking Agatha's magic, Wanda took the bond as well, so now you are HER virgin.

So you appear next to her, which confuses her. You explain everything to her.

You tell her that you are only her virgin by status, but your heart will always be Agatha's and you will never love her.

The redhead is not affected by this, because she doesn't even know you to begin with. And she doesn't need you to love her, as long as Agatha is locked away and she gets her children back, everything is fine.

You begin to help her with her spells, because the bond requires it and the redhead appreciates the company.

There are times when you think you could be friends, but then you remember Agatha, feeling a corrupted bond where there was only love before, and it passes.

More than once you beg Wanda to free her, promising to keep her at bay, but the woman never agrees.

Over time, Strange contacts Wanda and you both move into the sanctuary.

Wong finds himself fascinated with you, having read about virgins in covens. And you realize how badly history misinterpreted it, by saying that witches sacrificed them.

You spend time with Wong in the library, after your attempt to get Strange to help Agatha failed.

“If I free her, it will cause a negative reaction in Wanda, which could be dangerous. We’ve come a long way, I won’t throw that away for your ex-girlfriend” he says.

“She’s my wife, and I still love her,” you reply and leave.

You don’t talk to anyone for days, feeling like something is missing. Your soul screams but no one answers.

And there’s a problem with Wanda’s magic. You can help her, yes, but as time goes by, you realize that magic no longer obeys her and it’s because chaos magic can’t be purified.

And your help soon becomes a danger.

You try to convince Wanda to let you go, because the bond is becoming more and more corrupted and your magic is trying to get back to Agatha.

But the redhead investigates more and more. And wrongly, she and Strange conclude that in order for her to have more control, she needs to make you fall in love with her.

When Wanda starts to become kinder and sweeter, you are horrified to recognize the signs of courtship.

You try to tell them it doesn't work like that, that a virgin can only give her gift once, and you've already given it.

But they don't listen, and say that even if you can't purify her magic, it will help her control it better.

Plus, Wanda has already started to develop feelings for you. But all you want is your wife back.

One night, while you're trying to sleep, you feel something calling to you. You've been having a vaguely familiar feeling in your chest for days, but tonight it's stronger.

You concentrate and realize that, faintly, yes, but Agatha is calling to you.

That gives you hope that, maybe, there's still something to do. The next day you go to the library, in case there's something you DIDN'T know about virgins, and you find that it's magic that seals everything. And yours is sealed with Agatha's, because she's the person you chose.

So there's a chance you can reconnect with her.

Agatha has already weakened Wanda's spell, with the part of you that lives in her.

You search for a spell that can finish breaking it, and prepare to escape.

You wait for the night to do so, knowing that the moment she wakes, Wanda can sense you're gone, and you don't know if you'll be strong enough to fight the call of the corrupted bond.

You barely make it and ring Agnes's doorbell.

The woman doesn't seem to recognize you, but then, a spark of purple flashes across Agatha's eyes like the night she asked for your permission to court you, the night your soul chose hers.

You feel the bond calling to you louder, which means Wanda is close and furious.

You use the little magic you have left to free Agatha and kiss her. This is the second chance, the second time your soul chooses Agatha's and the wave of power that runs through the witch feels like the first kiss you shared more than 300 years ago.

Wanda arrives shortly after you part and feels betrayed to see you with her.

You try to calm her down and ask her to let you go again. She doesn't even have to give Agatha her magic back, she just has to let you two go.

But the redhead doesn't listen and launches a powerful attack on Agatha, saying that she is the one who truly deserves you.

You then remember the box of hearts that you still have at home and the necklace, where you keep the flower, still alive, that Agatha gave you the night you finally accepted her.

Gathering the last drop of magic in your blood, you call upon the power of hearts for the second time.

Just as Wanda attacks Agatha, they respond, and the moment the blow lands, just like in the trial, Agatha manages to absorb everything.

The brunette gets up and begins to absorb the power of chaos, using the bond that is slowly being purified, as it is uniting the right people again.

But you remember Wanda's fight to get her children back and you stop your wife.

You ask her not to be like her and let her be happy.

Agatha thinks about it for a moment, before sighing and accepting.

You take away only a fraction of power, enough to ensure that Agatha will remain superior in dueling, but leaving enough for Wanda to continue the search for her children.

The redhead looks at you with sadness and pleading and you approach her to tell her that in some other life, perhaps, you could have been good friends. But no matter how many universes and realities may exist, you will always be Agatha's.

The brunette and you leave her there and return home. Hearts are useless now, but they are a nice reminder that they would do anything for each other.

“Don’t you believe in love, Miss Y/L/N?” she asks, remembering their conversation from when you were young.

You smile. “There have only been a pair eyes that tried to teach me” you say.

“Would you let someone else try?…Would you let me try?”

“It would be an honor to be courted by you, Miss Harkness.”

[boxwinebaddie]

i regret to inform y’all that if you thought jersey’s favorite movie was something deep and complex…it’s actually mamma mia and mamma mia two: here we go again

[rosicheeks]

🤦🏽‍♀️

[spectorgram]

the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall. 

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly. 

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.” 

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him. 

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients. 

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says. 

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap. 

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy. 

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line. 

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip. 

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up. 

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation. 

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower. 

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies. 

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’” 

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak. 

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

[ohproserpine]

ii. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3

tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, unsettling & obsessive behavior, jealousy, possessiveness, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, unwanted advances (not by alastor), murder, graphic descriptions of injuries

As the days unfolded into weeks, Alastor remained true to his word. A routine soon formed between the two of you: he would make regular visits to the speakeasy, engage in polite conversations with Mimzy, and take his usual seat to enjoy your performance.

In time, Alastor's interactions with you grew more intimate. And one night, following the success of one of your busiest night and biggest show, he surprised you with a beautiful necklace. Pulling you into your dressing room, Alastor asked for permission to formally court you. Without hesitation, you agreed, and in a burst of affection, proceeded to kiss him within an inch of your life. 

Since then, Alastor had begun to take you on dates outside the speakeasy. He whisked you away to quaint diners, lively jazz joints, and even introduced you to his mother—a sweet woman who welcomed you with open arms.

Throughout your time together, not a single one of your performances escaped Alastor'. Why would they? For him, your shows were the very essence of color in his otherwise dull and monotonous existence. His devotion to you almost mirrored religious fervor as he attended each of your shows like an impassioned disciple in the dimly lit speakeasy pews.

Your voice became a spell, luring Alastor like a foolish sailor drawn to a siren's call. In those moments, the world faded away, and he followed the melody with an irresistible pull, captivated by thoughts of you, you, you.

Only you.

Tonight, however, was anything but ordinary.

Alastor, following his usual routine, occupied his customary spot at the pub, savoring his whiskey with slow sips from his glass. However, the comforting rhythm of the night, which he had grown used to, was broken when the band screeched to a halt, the shrill notes of the violin cutting through the air. Immediately, the pub erupted in a chorus of boos and shouts.

Alastor blinked, his smile turning strained as he noticed a man stumble onto the stage. It was clear that he was intoxicated, moving about as gracefully as a headless chicken, as he made his way towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

Noticing the commotion, Mimzy clicked her tongue, slammed her drink onto the counter, and swiftly rose to her feet. She rushed to the stage, the glitters on her vibrant dress catching the dim lights of the speakeasy.

“Why, I oughta—" she began to seethe, as she stomped towards the stage, finger wagging in the air. “That’s the fifth time this week, Giovanni!”

"Ah, Mimzy! Jus' wanted to surprise my sweetheart," Giovanni slurred, his thick accent muddled as he clumsily leaned into you, head tucking into your neck.

Snap.

Alastor felt a visceral reaction, something within him snapping as the glass in his hand cracked under the strain of his grip. The fractured crevices dug into his skin, and golden liquor seeped out, mixing with crimson red blood.

As a regular performer at this pub, your popularity was unquestionable, and Alastor was not entirely pleased with the attention you garnered from other men. If given the opportunity, he would have you whisked away from this place. In his eyes, your voice was too lovely for a place like this. Your talent deserved a grander stage than the confines of this tacky establishment.

“Ahah,” you smiled awkwardly, shuffling away and shrugging the man's arms off of you. “Not your sweetheart, Giovanni…”

"Are you not happy to see me, carina?" Giovanni’s voice dropped to a whisper, his hand dropping to grip you by the waist. He leaned his face in closer, and you cringed. The man's breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were a bloodshot red. “Come on~ I came all the way to see you.”

“Ya' can go see and do whatevah the fuck you want with her after the show!” Mimzy scowled, stomping her heels onto the wooden flooring. “Can't have a moment of peace in here. Someone get him off my stage!”

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" Giovanni retorted, his anger bubbling over as he lashed out, kicking the microphone stand in Mimzy's direction. She barely dodged in time, the crash of the mic hitting the floor drowned out by the screeching feedback.

"Please. Just go," you pleaded, your patience wearing thin. "Why? Why do you always have to make a scene?"

"Ay, carina, don't get bratty with me. Let's talk in the back," Giovanni insisted, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he attempted to pull you off the stage. But before he could, Mimzy's guards intervened, forcefully yanking him away.

"Hey! Get ya' hands off'a me!"

Turning around, you rushed to get off the stage, but Giovanni somehow managed to break free and extended his hand, trying to grab onto you. Panic welled up within you as his hand reached out, but relief followed when he was abruptly stopped by none other than Alastor.

"Now, now," Alastor's voice had a lilt as he held onto Giovanni's wrist, but the venom woven into each word was unmistakable. His ever-present smile stretched wide, serving as a clear warning. "Causing a commotion isn't the best way to impress a lady."

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wring his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled and adjusted his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wriggle his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"Ha ha! Kind sir, when someone disrupts a delightful performance, it becomes everyone's business," Alastor laughed, the sound of it tinged with sarcasm.

"But I must commend you. My, that impromptu performance of yours was quite remarkable; you truly made a wonderful spectacle of yourself!" Alastor's grin widened, his mocking tone drawing out laughter from the crowd.

Then, Alastor bent down to meet Giovanni face to face, his amusement fading. 

“Though I think you've overstayed your welcome, no?” Alastor's grip tightened around Giovanni's wrist, the pressure leaving bruises in its wake, hues of purple, green, and blue blossoming beneath the skin.

Alastor's grin turned sharp. "You will leave. Now."

"F-Fuck are you gonna do if I don’t, aye?" Giovanni spat, attempting to maintain a façade of bravado despite the pain. He tore his hand away from Alastor's grip, cradling his wrist. "Ya' think you can tell me what to fucking do?!"

"Hmm. I would at least advise you to salvage whatever dignity you have left and leave. If you had even a dust of intelligence in that hollow head of yours, that would have been the first thing you'd have done," Alastor chuckled.

“Damn right. Ya ain't got no fuckin place in my establishment,” Mimzy scowled, snapping her fingers and gesturing towards the men surrounding Giovanni. “Take him away, boys!”

As Mimzy’s goons surrounded him again, Giovanni sneered, "This ain't over."

"Oh, my dear pal, I assure you, it is very much over. The lady has made her wishes very clear," Alastor grinned.

With a final snarl, Giovanni was forcibly led away from the scene, his protests fading into the background as Mimzy's guards escorted him out. Mimzy wasted no time, bustling backstage and barking orders to her staff to clean up and prepare the stage once more.

Alastor's charismatic facade returned as he turned to you, though a glint of irritation lingered in his eyes. "Apologies you had to see that, cher. Let's hope the rest of the evening proceeds much more smoothly."

"I hope so." With a sigh, your gaze shifted downward, and you spotted his injured hands. The glass he had broken earlier had left wounds all over his calloused palms — not deep, but enough to draw blood.

Concern etched across your face, and you gently touched Alastor's hands. The radio host, accustomed to your touch by now, allowed you to inspect the damage.

"You're hurt," you pointed out, caressing his skin.

Alastor met your gaze with a reassuring smile. "Ah, this is just a trifle. A mere inconvenience, I assure you! My, I've endured far worse during hunting, darling! This is hardly worth mentioning."

"But—" you began, only to be interrupted by his finger pushing against your red lips.

"Worry not, cher. I'll take care of it. There's no need to play nurse," he spoke with finality, as if this was a matter not open to further argument.

"Alright," You managed a small smile. "I am really sorry things turned out this way, Al. I didn't know Giovanni was going to show up again. He's always been like that for as long as I can remember. I told him to stop but he never does."

"No need for apologies. None of this fault is on you, darling. Though it does add a touch of excitement to otherwise mundane affairs, doesn't it?" Alastor chuckled heartily, though you sensed there was a bitter undertone to his laugh.

"Excitement? That man is a shitshow just waiting to happen," Mimzy returned and walked up to both of you, rolling her eyes. "And I thought I got rid of him for good..."

Suddenly, she leaned in with cosmetics in hand, deftly swiping lipstick across your lips and delicately brushing blush on your face. "Now come on, dollface, let's get you back to that stage."

You realize you're still on shift, but the thought of performing feels nearly impossible at the moment, especially with all this lingering adrenaline in your system. Admittedly, you're a bit shaken up, and all you want is to curl up by Alastor's side and savor the night with a drink in hand. 

"Oh, Mimzy…I'm not sure I can really perform right now, love. I feel…" you slowly trailed off, faltering under the weight of Mimzy's hardened gaze.

The blonde cooed out your name, her fingers gently wrapping around your arm, soothingly rubbing it up and down. "Dollface, you're not here to question; you're here to perform! Alastor here has been so kind to get rid of your little problem. Now, let's get back up on that stage and do what you're good at."

"Pardon?" Alastor snapped with a raised brow, his usually jovial tone replaced by a sharper edge. "Well, I don't mind in the least. In fact, I rather enjoyed putting that simpleton in his place. I'm sure your patrons can afford to wait, can't they? This poor dear is still shaking in her heels!"

But you intervened, mustering a smile and smoothing down the wrinkles on your dress while nervously tending to your hair. "Oh no, Al, it's alright. Mimzy's right. I can't just let one man ruin my entire night."

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, taking a moment to compose before adding, "Besides, the show must go on, right?"

Alastor paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied your nervous tics. The radio host silently appraised your form for a few more seconds before eventually giving in. "Hmm, very well. If that's what you wish."

"Thank you, Al," you whispered with a smile, tilting your head up to press a kiss against his cheek. Your lipstick had left an imprint on his bronze skin, but he made no move to wipe it off.

With a chuckle, Alastor leaned back into you and returned the gesture warmly. 

"I'll take care of everything, doll," he whispered, voice low, before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "He won't ever bother you again."

Confused, you blinked up at him with those bright eyes he loved so much. "How do you plan to do that, Al?" you asked, but he ignored you, staring at you with that unsettling look in his eyes again.

Alastor suddenly raised your hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with gentle pecks, causing your mind to blank and cheeks to go aflame. 

Tapping her foot impatiently, Mimzy's irritation grew as the display of affection lingered longer than she deemed appropriate. With a swift swat of her hand against the man's shoulder, she hissed at him. "That's enough outta you!"

Alastor smirked to himself and began walking back, seemingly satisfied with the subtle disturbance he had caused. He was such a bastard, but he was yours.

With a shake of your head and a smitten blush gracing your cheeks, you returned to the stage. The blinding spotlight enveloped you as Mimzy tossed the microphone back into your waiting hands. 

Meanwhile, Alastor reclined in his seat at the booth, his gaze fixed intently on you as you resumed your performance. The audience, having brushed off the brief interruption, eagerly redirected their focus to you.

Rabbit, rabbit! Won't you run away? Don't give the farmer all his fun today~ He'll get by without his rabbit pie. So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

As you neared the end of the song, Alastor joined the crowd's applause, rhythmically snapping his fingers together.

Wonderful, as always.

.

Snap.

The sudden, jarring sound shattered the stillness of the forest, followed by a shrill scream that seemed to shake the trees. Giovanni's hands instinctively shot down to his ankle, where his bone had twisted in a gruesome sight that sent bile rushing to his throat. However, he had no time to inspect the damages as a rustling bush caught his attention. Desperately, the man began crawling on the ground, doing his best to move farther away, dragging mud and dirt all over his body.

"Don't give the farmer his fun. Fun. Fun," emerging from thick shrubs, Alastor sang lowly as he continued his slow advance, relishing in the fear that emanated from his prey. He raised his hand, fingers idly tracing over the red mark on your lips, and if he focused hard enough, he could still feel the burn of your affections. "He'll get by without his rabbit pie."

The dense forest around them seemed to close in, casting eerie shadows as Alastor's menacing silhouette moved closer. Giovanni, now gasping for breath, cast terrified glances over his shoulder, desperately searching for an escape route.

"So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run," Alastor continued to trail after the man, his axe slung over his strong shoulders, a sinister grin etched on his lips.

Ah, it had been so long since he last pursued larger prey, opting for smaller catches like rabbits and squirrels lately. This, however, was a different kind of pursuit, and the thrill was delicious.

“It's rather unsavory to disrupt a live performance,” Alastor mused, gripping his axe and running his bandaged palm along the side of the blade. "Oh, the misery! Each performance interrupted, a masterpiece marred!"

“Though I suppose you redeemed yourself with your own impromptu circus show,” Alastor snickered, reaching down and seizing Giovanni’s sprained ankle, dragging the screaming man back toward him.

"Good show!" The radio host grinned as he pressed his feet against Giovanni's back to prevent him from escaping. Alastor raised the axe high, the glint of the blade reflecting the crazed gleam in his eyes.

"Now, let's see how this act ends."

With a practiced swing, he brought the blade down, chunks of flesh and blood spraying onto his clothing and skin from the impact. Alastor laughed as the light gradually faded from the man's eyes, his once-struggling arms and legs now falling limp.

“What a show!”

[girlsworldillusion]

I'd let the world burn for you

•

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

[eph3merall]

. . . ( part 2 )

—

"nah, what the fuck is this— big bad wolf bullshit?" you can hear matt's voice falter for a second, your bare knees digging into the wood floor of his room. he decided to stream for a few hours tonight, both chris and nick away doing their own things.

for the first hour and a half matt just played some games until you got bored and snuck under his desk, his hand cupping your cheek to give it a light warning smack to whatever cheeky ideas that were brewing in your head.

deft hands slowly started tugging his sweatpants down, to which he just hummed and swiveled around gently in his chair for a second. settling back down, matt was leaning forwards a little to put some music on for the stream, shouting out names he was able to catch that were gifting.

he's fixing his headset and turning the music up a little, it's mainly just to hide any groans and sighs he lets out however. for a second, he steals a glance down at you to find you slowly lowering the hem of his boxers, and he responds by subtly lifting his hips.

matt didn't totally like this idea. one little mistake and the whole stream of.. fifteen thousand people would know what was going on, but he couldn't deny how painfully hard he was just by seeing you on your knees—a little cramped under the small space of his desk.

when you free his length to find pre already dribbling from his slit, your thumb reaches up to thumb at his tip and spread the bead of pre made lube down his shaft. you don't miss the way his thighs tense, hips twitching up a little as you listen to the way he scolds the chat for telling him to react to edits and read fanfiction.

one hand rests on his thigh while the other jerks up and down slowly, twisting your wrist up at the top as you lean forward. parting your lips, you let some saliva drip down the length of his dick and don't miss the heavy sigh he lets out.

soon you're hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing your head gently up and down matt's cock—one hand threading through your hair and digging blunt nails into the back of your head. you can't see his face—but you can hear the way his voice trembles once in awhile and how heavy he's breathing.

your nose presses into his skin, dick shoved all the way down your throat and you gag—only forcing matt to ball one of his hands up into a fist to pretened to cough because he was about this close to letting out a groan.

the noisy slurping and gagging noises of your mouth have him panicking for a second before he's quickly turning the volume of the music up, per chat's request and totally not because it put him just a little more at ease.

he keeps a hand casual over his mouth or on his face, pretending to cough or whatever. his other hand is leaving your head—fingers twitching to pull you off just so he can fuck your throat to his heart's content.

so far so good, right? the stream went pretty smoothly until you'd done something with your tongue and he felt his tip hit the back of your throat, and matt's head is tilting back against his gaming chair and a tortured groan is ripped from his lips.

oops?

notes. sorry if this has spelling mistakes / mistakes in general or anything doesn't make sense i am TIREDD... feel kinda insane w how good matt n chris looked on stream tho. anyways where the fuck did 75 followers come from? like? what??? thank u all i love u guys <3 know its not a lot but argghhb + i reached 100+ notes on a post like ugh <33

—

©eph3merall 2024

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.

masterlist.

You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.

You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.

Dear ________,

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.

I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.

Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.

Sincerely,

[First Name] [Last Name].

You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.

“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”

Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.

Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”

Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”

Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”

“It's Max.”

You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”

That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.

The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.

“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”

That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”

Oh.

He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.

“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.

You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.

It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.

What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.

You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.

You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.

“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”

You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.

Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”

Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.

“You're taking good care of me.”

His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.

“Aren't I always?”

You are paid to take good care of him after all.

“Always.”

You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.

You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophie!

You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.

Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.

“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”

“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.

“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.

“I don't know.”

“Okay.”

He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.

Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.

But then, she left. Now what?

“I want to tell you something.”

You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.

“It is in my will that if I die—”

“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.

“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”

“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”

“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”

You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.

Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?

Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.

“Have you told Max?”

The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.

“No.”

“He wouldn't be happy with this.”

You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.

While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.

Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.

"No, stay."

Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."

You did not know why you believed him.

2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.

2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.

2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.

“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."

"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"

It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.

"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."

“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”

Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.

“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”

Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.

“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”

Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.

You get a text from Max an hour later.

him: i feel like shit

him: thanks for the advil and the soup

him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me

Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.

[iiwontgiveuponmilkk]

I Hate You. | F.W.

summary: They had been friends since the moment they met, but what happens when she falls in love with him and he seems to blind to notice?

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: 5718

warning(s): ends in smut

notes: I have not posted in quite some time, nor have I wrote anything in a long time. I tried to avoid the use of y/n. Fred calls her 'little red' or 'red' ocassionally, this is explained in the writing.

masterlist

Six years of friendship. Six years of falling for Fred Weasley, really. If she were to be honest with herself, she knew she loved him two years ago. It was just easier to ignore as a 15 year old girl. She initially tried to write it off as just feeling that way because they were so close already, but she knew that wasn’t true. She was just as close with his twin brother, George, and she wasn’t in love with him. Fred was different. They knew each other on a different level. They could be overly affectionate with each other. When she saw him at the platform this year, she ran to him and jumped into his arms and stayed there despite George whining that he hadn’t seen her in just as long. On the train ride, she fell asleep with her head in his lap whilst he and George started scheming their first prank of the school year. He would hush George any time she would start to stir, then gently play with her hair until she settled again. She had fallen asleep on George’s shoulder once, and swore to never do it again. Whilst he was also one of her best friends, he did not hold the same kind of soft spot for her as his twin did. He had used a spell to turn her hair bright green. She was livid when she realised. Poor George was afraid to turn his back to her for the next four months. She had waited six months for her revenge, perfecting the same colour changing spell, but turning all of his clothes pink. 

Now at 17, her feelings were harder to hide. The pangs of jealousy at every Gryffindor party after a quidditch match when girls would shamelessly flirt with him. And he seemed to love it. Tonight was another one of those nights. Gryffindor had destroyed Slytherin on the quidditch pitch and were, of course, throwing their usual celebration. She sat next to George and Angelina on the couch, her eyes following Fred. Her gaze only left him as Julie came up to him and was heavily laying on the charm. She felt the jealousy bubbling in her like a failed potion about to go horribly wrong. She felt George shift and wrap an arm around her shoulder, giving her a slight squeeze. “Love, why don’t you talk to him?” Angelina asked, reaching over George to squeeze her hand. Her gaze moved from her knees to her two friends, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “I couldn’t possibly talk to him about this, Ang. I’d tell him everything and feel like an absolute git after.” She admitted, letting out another huff. George shook his head, opening his mouth to speak but quickly closing it. Ever since the start of the year, she had grown closer to George and his girlfriend, Angelina. Unfortunately, closer than she was with Fred. They were definitely still close, but something was different between them this year. And it wasn’t that she was head over heels in love with him. It was him that was keeping a distance between the two of them. Every year, she sat with them at the Gryffindor table. Her Ravenclaw robes made her stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of red, but Fred and George were her best friends. In fact, she only ever sat at her own houses’ table a handful of times. The sorting ceremony, the last day, and that couple of months last year when Fred had a girlfriend who absolutely hated her. She had friends in Ravenclaw, but she wasn’t as close to anyone as she was with Fred. George was a close second, but her and Fred always just clicked. They clicked from the first train ride to Hogwarts they ever had. They were nearly inseparable. If Fred wasn’t with George, he was with her, or they were all together. She spent a few weeks with the Weasley’s every summer. Molly was like her second mother at this point. She loved spending time with all of them. She loved answering all of Arthur’s questions about the muggle world. She loved hanging out with Ginny, the only other girl around her age in the Weasley household. It was usually the highlight of her summer.

A loud cheering pulled her attention away from her two friends as they all turned to the source of the noise. It felt like her heart shattered into dust. Don’t cry. Do not cry. Not here. “I-, I have to go.” She quickly stammered, slipping away from her friends and blinking back tears. There he was. Fingers tangled in Julie’s hair, kissing her passionately. She tried to keep her head down as she pushed towards the door. She knew better, but she looked up anyway. Another stab to the heart. Her tear-filled gaze met the eyes of Fred Weasley. Fred Weasley, best friend, heartbreaker. She tore her gaze from his and moved as quickly as she could without running. She pushed out of the door, finally letting a tear fall as the door shut behind her. She could’ve swore she heard George yelling at his twin as she stepped out, but she could be wrong. She stood in the hall for a moment, unsure of what to do. Her feet were moving before she registered that she was moving. She knew Fred, she knew he would try to come after her. He was her best friend, after all. Part of her wished he would push through the door, catch up to her and wrap her in his arms. The other part of her, the hurt, told her to stop hoping he would feel the same way. Though, he would ask George what happened first, which bought her some time, yet not enough to get to her common room before he caught up with her. Even if she ran, he could easily catch up to her. Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the hall, watching the door to the room of requirements take shape. She heard him calling her name, and heard his footsteps. She didn’t want him to see her like this, not right now. Not when it was so fresh. She shouldn’t be crying. They were only friends, she was the one hopelessly in love with him. She reached for the doorknob, sliding into the room and quickly shutting the door behind her. Merlin, please let the door disappear before he gets down here. She slid down the wall next to the door. How absolutely foolish could she be? Her and Fred would never happen. It was clear at this point. She was terrified that if she told him how she felt, it would ruin their friendship. Not only would she be heartbroken, but she would lose her best friend too. 

She had no idea how long she sat there for. Maybe an hour? Maybe two? It took nearly another hour before she gathered the courage to leave. Even if he had seen her, she doubted he would’ve waited for her. Maybe two years ago, but not now. Not with this weird distance between them. Definitely not after close to three hours of her hiding. She could still confidently say that Fred was her best friend, but it was different. It wasn’t like before. They weren’t joined at the hip anymore. This summer made that clear. She spent most of her time with Ginny and Molly. The few times they had spent together went from comfortable and playful to awkward. There were moments when it felt like he may also feel the same way about her, but he always seemed to pull away a little more after. She could’ve sworn he was going to kiss her one night, her heart felt like it was beating in her throat. But he just cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched the back of his head as he took a step back from her. Maybe she should’ve just kissed him then, and let whatever would happen just happen. At least she would’ve known how he felt. She might have lost her best friend, but she wouldn’t constantly feel this hurt and jealousy. 

 She pressed on the wall, waiting for the door to appear to make her exit. She slowly pushed the door open, only then realising she should have left from the other side of the room. There he was. That beautiful, heartbreaking idiot. His head leaned back against the wall, mouth slightly open as he slept. She realised she really had been in there for much longer than she thought and it was a miracle Fred hadn’t been found by Filch or Mrs. Norris. She kneeled in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. “Freddie.” She whispered lightly, pushing against his knees to hopefully wake him, but she knew he could sleep through the whole castle crumbling to the ground. “Freddie!” She whisper-yelled, shaking him harder, earning a groan from him. “Fred Gideon Weasley, get up before Filch comes and kills us both!” She whispered harshly, causing Fred to finally open his eyes. His sleepy gaze quickly turned to a soft look when he took her in. She knew her eyes had to be slightly puffy and her nose was red. It always turned red after she cried, and she hated it. She also hated that Fred always knew when she was upset or had been crying, and he always knew exactly how to make her feel better. Whether she needed a hug, or to be held, or if he needed to go to ridiculous measures just to make her laugh. Fred reached out and pulled her to him, stretching his legs out so she was in his lap. She fell forward against him as he hugged her. She let her head rest against his chest, feeling tears threaten to fill her eyes again. “C’mon little red.” He whispered, moving to get up. “I don’t have red hair.” She mumbled, she didn’t know where the nickname had come from. Fred had just started calling her it one day. The only answer for why she ever got was that she was now an honorary Weasley and she was tiny. It used to annoy her to no end, which is probably why it stuck. Fred loved getting reactions out of her, because even if something annoyed her when it came to him, she secretly loved it. It was like he knew it.

She walked next to him, keeping her head down. She watched her feet as she walked. She wasn’t paying attention, she just let him lead the way. She figured they would go to his dorm. It was the closest and safest bet. The chances of not getting caught on the way to her common room were slim to none. It was way too late to even consider being out of the common room, everyone was most likely asleep by now. She knew they were entering the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady had long ago stopped putting up a fight about her being snuck into the common room after hours. It happened so often that it wasn’t worth it. She didn’t bother to look up, just followed Fred to the stairs. The floor was a mess and she was afraid to look up. She didn’t want to relive her most recent memory in this room. She followed Fred into his dorm, noting that it was empty. He shared a room with George and Oliver Wood. Neither of the other two boys were here. She stood there silently as Fred moved around. He pulled out a jumper and handed it to her, turning around for her to change. The normalcy of this pained her. She knew Fred had seen her almost completely naked. He had stayed with her when she was sick last year. She had a fever that wouldn’t break and she had stripped out of her shirt and pyjama shorts in her sleep- with Fred sharing the same bed. She pulled the jumper over her head before pulling her jeans off. The jumper hung down to her knees, Fred was nearly a foot taller than her, if not more. She didn’t say anything as she climbed into his bed, only huffing as she rolled over to face away from him. 

She felt his weight as he slid into his bed, turning to face her back. “George told me what happened. She kissed me, and I didn’t…” He whispered so quietly she could barely hear him. Her whole body seemed to tense as she registered what he said. Of course George told him. Bloody hell. She felt Fred’s hand brush over her arm. He grabbed her shoulder, gently trying to turn her to him. She fought him on it, but it was no use. He was stronger than she was, no matter how determined she was to keep her back to him. “You know you can tell me anything. Hell, you’re my best friend.” Fred whispered, his eyes on her face. She stared at the ceiling, feeling tears well in her eyes again. “That’s the problem, Freddie. I’m your best friend.” Her whisper was soft, not trusting herself to speak without starting to cry again. “And I hate it.” She finished, closing her eyes tightly to press the tears back. She could still feel his eyes on her, but she knew she couldn’t look at him. She knew she would break. She knew he would hold her until she either calmed down or fell asleep. Merlin’s beard, they were more than just friends. Friends don’t do this. Friends don’t share a bed. Friends don’t sleep in nothing but the others jumper and their underwear and cuddle. Friends don’t wake up wrapped in each other's arms. Friends don’t cling to each other the way they usually do. She loved George like a brother, he was one of her closest friends. Her and George are not friends like she and Fred are. She felt a tear squeeze its way from her eye. She let out a shaky sigh as she felt Fred brush it away with his thumb. He pulled her into him and she hated him for it. She hated him at that moment. She hated that he made her hurt, but he was the only one that could make her feel better. A sob escaped her lips as the tears began to fall. “I hate you. I hate that you’re so damn oblivious to me. All I am is your best friend and I’ve been in love with you for two years, you idiot.” She cried into his chest. He cradled her head with one arm and pulled her closer with the other, holding her there as she cried. “I’m sorry, Red, I-i didn’t know.” He held her tighter, placing a kiss on the top of her head. His fingers drew circles on her back as her cries slowly stopped. He hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep until her grip on his shirt slowly loosened.

She woke up pressed to Fred’s chest and her legs tangled in his. His fingers were drawing slow shapes on her side. God she was still so hurt. The image of him kissing Julie replaying in her head. She went to pull away from him, only to be pulled against him tighter. “Let me go.” She mumbled, pushing against him again. “No can do, doll.” He mumbled back. “I still hate you.” She bit back, trying her best to ignore the comfort she felt being pressed against. “You don’t mean that.” His voice was gentle. He was used to her little fits. She had told him multiple times over the years that she hated him. The first time when he accidentally broke her brand new quill that her father had sent her as a gift when she found a new hobby of writing. It was their second year. He had saved up anything he could get until Christmas that year to buy her the same one. She had cried then too, but those were happy tears. She had told him she hated him the day he told her that he couldn’t come see her that summer, that was year three. Then she wrote to his mother and asked if she could come there to see him and George. Of course, Molly said yes. She was so delighted to finally meet the twin’s best friend. She was glad they finally had someone to level out their antics, but that didn’t last long. They were always up to something. She had told him three times in year four that she hated him. Once was when he had her pinned down and was mercilessly tickling her. She gasped it out between laughs. She even used his full name. He couldn’t help but smile, only to stop tickling when she rushed out that she was going to pee her pants if he didn’t stop. But he kept jumping at her, pretending he was going to tickle her again. The second time was when he was dating Hannah. They had gotten into a fight, screaming at each other. She was sad because she felt like she was losing Fred as a friend because Hannah hated her. And he called her bitter and jealous that she had never had a boyfriend. It was then that she told him she hated him. He could see the hurt in her eyes. That was the first time it truly hurt when she said she hated him. It felt like she meant it that time. The third time was towards the end of the year. They had made up and were thicker than thieves once again. She had conned him into going to the library to study. He was messing around the whole time and trying to make her laugh. He took it a little too far, accidentally hitting her inkwell. It shot across the table, they both moved to catch it and they both missed. It had spilled all over her skirt. She said she hated him then and told him he was lucky he was her best friend, otherwise he’d have to buy her a new skirt. Last year, year five, there were odd bits of distance between them, but when he thought about it, they weren’t odd. They were distant every time he had a girlfriend or was chasing after some girl. He had been slightly jealous of George since last year. She seemed to latch on to him, but it all made sense. She was distancing herself to protect herself and George was there for her, probably to tell her that Fred was an idiot and he’d come around one day. 

“Look at me.” He said as he rolled on to his side, sliding her off his chest. She stared at his chest, not meeting his gaze. “I am.” She mumbled and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Her full name left his lips as he gently pushed her chin up to force her to look at him, but she kept her eyes trained on his chest. “I swear, you are so stubborn that I wonder how you weren't sorted into Gryffindor.” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “What Fred? What do you want? I don’t care if she kissed you. You didn’t have to kiss her back.” She bit out. He had to hide his smirk. If she wasn’t so upset with him, he knew she would’ve rolled her eyes and made a ridiculous comment on how she was surprised he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. He suddenly missed her jests, wishing he could rewind to before the party. George had told him that someone they knew was pining after him. He just didn’t think it would be his best friend. But then again, how could it not be? They spent most of their time together, either alone or with George. If he wasn’t with George, he was with her. People often commented on them acting like a couple. Fred would walk her to class, arm slung around her shoulder. “I’m an idiot-” He started, only to be cut off by her. “I know you are. You’re the biggest idiot I know.” She tried to hold her glare, fighting a small smile. “C’mon, little red, let me finish.” He raised his brow as she opened her mouth to talk then closed it. She let out a sigh, waiting for him to continue. “You say I’m the biggest idiot you know, which may be true. But I’m the most handsome idiot you know.” He paused as a small smile tugged at her lips. “I’m an idiot, I’m sorry. You could’ve just told me. Could’ve said ‘hey, you big, handsome, idiot, I love you’.” He paused again, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I would’ve said, ‘hey, little red, I love you too’.”

“Stop calling me that.” she mumbled and Fred let out an exasperated noise. He noticed the small smile playing on her lips. “I still hate you, at least for the next five minutes.” Her voice was much softer this time. “You’re so stubborn.” he mumbled, smiling when he felt her fingers grasp his shirt. “And you’re an idiot for not kissing me.” She mumbled, her gaze still locked with his. He slowly leaned in, his nose brushing hers as her eyes fluttered shut. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” She whispered as he leaned in. Her lips just barely brushing his as she spoke. He paused for a moment. He knew she had never dated anyone, but he didn’t think she had never kissed anyone before. He closed the gap, gently kissing her. The kiss was slow and soft, until she took him by surprise when she nipped his bottom lip. He groaned, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. “Never kissed anyone before, unbelievable.” He mumbled against her lips. She pulled on his shirt in a futile attempt to get closer than they already were. It was when she slid her hand up her chest and around his shoulder up to his hair that the door to his dorm opened. He reluctantly broke the kiss, looking up to see George standing in the doorway. “Well, I was coming to tell you that no one has seen our little friend here since last night, but I see you’re snogging her.” George grins. You roll over at his comment, turning to look at him. George winks at you and then turns his attention back to Fred. “I am now obligated to help her hide your body, doesn’t matter that you’re my brother.” George states, causing her to laugh.

“George, leave. Please.” Fred groans. “I think he should stay. This is fun. Hey, Georgie, isn’t Fred the biggest idiot you know?” She asks, smiling sweetly at Fred. “That’s likely!”

After George had left, they spent the entire morning in bed. Fred stealing kisses from her when she wasn’t dozing back off. “Freddie?” She whispered, curled into his side, her head laying on his chest. He hummed an acknowledgement. “Did you mean it?” She asked, her fingers grasping his shirt again. A small chuckle came from him as he squeezed her to him. “I love you, I have for some time. You’re also my best friend and I didn’t want to lose you.” He said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, you big, handsome idiot.” She said as she lifted her head to look at him. “Don’t think I won’t ask George to help hide your body.” She grinned as he laughed. 

The rest of the year seemed to breeze by. Two months of Fred pulling her into random broom closets between classes and sneaking into the room of requirements before curfew. Countless nights spent in there, hidden away among the mess. Before she knew it, everyone was packing and getting ready to leave for the summer. 

“Fred, I’m too tired, carry me.” She whined as he gently woke her when the train finally stopped at the station. He let out a sigh as George laughed at him, shaking his head. She was going to the Weasley’s for the summer as her parents were away until November. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking up at Fred. “After we get off the train, then I’ll think about it.” He reached a hand out to her, helping her up. The journey to the Weasley’s was rather quick. They travelled through the floo system. She dramatically collapsed into Fred’s arms when they got back. “So tired.” she mumbled. “You’re going to kill me.” He laughed, picking her up. This wasn’t entirely unusual for the two of them. Everyone was used to Fred and her clinging to each other. Molly would often give Fred a knowing look when she would walk into the den, finding her sleeping with her head in his lap or curled up against him. Molly also knew that, most nights, if she were to peek into Fred’s room, she would find the two of them together. She often heard them talking in loud whispers and trying to hide their laughter in the middle of the night. It didn’t dawn on her that only a handful of them knew they were together, not until George opened his mouth. “Hey ma, did you know that Freddie has a girlfriend?” A groan left Fred as he stared his twin down. She buried her face in his chest, trying to ignore the slew of reactions from the older Weasleys. Molly was utterly delighted, commenting on how she was surprised that it took this long.

The days seemed to fly by spending them in the Weasley household. Lots of stolen kisses and sneaking around. It wasn't until mid-July that her and Fred were alone in the house together. Everyone had gone out for one reason or another and it was just the two of them. They spent the morning in Fred’s bed, tangled together. She was constantly falling back asleep and Fred was just content to hold her. It wasn’t until she was the one to lean up and kiss him that the day seemed to take a slight turn. They had shared a bed countless times, kissing had almost turned into more countless times as well. But this kiss was needy and built a fire in the both of them. She started the kiss. It was soft, loving at first. Then she nipped his bottom lip and a groan left his lips. His fingers dug into her hips, the feeling giving her the courage she needed in the moment. She moved to straddle him. His hand pushed up the jumper she stole from him, revealing her bare thighs. She really would be the death of him. She never seemed to wear pants. Just his shirt and a pair of panties, she was a constant tease seemingly unknowing to the fact. The kiss was still innocent enough, until she ground her hips down on his. The almost whiny moan that left her lips had him flipping them over. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, most likely leaving marks in his wake. The sounds that left her lips were driving him wild. “You’re killing me.” He mumbled against her neck. His hands slid around her body. He gripped her hips before sliding a hand up her shirt. His fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, a lewd moan leaving her lips. 

“Freddie, please.” She whined, pushing her hips up against his for any sort of friction. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up until he reached up to pull it over his head. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his. She deepened the kiss, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. He still found it hard to believe she had never kissed anyone before him. Not when she kissed him like this. She continued to grind her hips against his, moaning into the kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers hooking under the waistband of his pyjamas pants. She started to push them down when Fred broke this. “Baby-” He started only to be cut off by her leaning up and kissing him again. He knew she was virgin, while he may not be, he didn’t want her to feel like she had to do this. He was content just being with her. “Freddie, please. I want you. I-,” She paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “I want you to be my first.” Her breathy proclamation almost made him groan, but it was her reaching down and palming him through his pants that made a groan fall from his lips. Fred reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor. His eyes dragged over her body. She was perfect. “So pretty, baby.” He groaned, she would’ve thought he was talking to himself until his eyes met hers. His hands slid from her hips and over her stomach before he leaned down, kissing down her neck to her navel. It was then that her nerves started to build up. His lips pressed to her hip as he looked up at her. “If you want to stop, we will. At any point, baby.” He nipped at her hip as he pulled her panties down. She felt her cheeks flush, suddenly feeling exposed. Fred’s hands sliding up her legs seemed to calm her nerves. He pressed a kiss to her knee first, then trailed kisses down her inner thigh. It was the kiss that he placed closest to her sex that had the first moan falling from her lips. She gasped when she felt his tongue against her clit. He slowly added more pressure as he worked her clit. She didn't know how much more she could take, every pass of his tongue on her was overwhelming. Her hips bucked into his face. She was sure if she wasn’t so consumed by the building warmth in her abdomen that she would have been embarrassed. His name fell from her lips as he slowly worked a finger into her. His pace was painfully slow but every move made her feel like he already knew her body better than she ever could. It wasn’t until he worked a second finger into her and sucked her clit between his lips that she felt like she was falling apart. His name left her lips in succession until all she could do was moan. She moved her hips against his fingers, riding out her orgasm. 

“Please, Freddie, I need you inside of me.” She let out a breathy whine. This girl would really be the death of him. He turned his head, leaving a hickey on the inside of her thigh. His lips were on hers in an instant. When she reached to push his pants down, this time he let her. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her bottom lip. He slipped his tongue against hers, taking his time kissing her. He ground into her, sliding his dick through her folds. He teased her with his tip before gently pushing into her. She gasped into his mouth, her body tensing at the intrusion. “Relax, baby, okay?” He whispered, kissing her jaw. He didn’t move his hips, but his hand snaked between them. His thumb pressed against her clit, causing another gasp to leave her lips. He continued to toy with her clit as she looked up at him. The look in her eyes as a quiet moan fell from her lips had his resolve wavering. It was when the next breathy moan fell from her lips that she took him by surprise. She pushed her hips up, taking more of him in. His ministrations continued as he tried to ease any of her discomfort with pleasure. She rolled her hips into his, fucking herself like she had done on his fingers. Fred moved his other hand to her hip, holding her hips in place. It was then that he pushed into her until she took all of him in. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, then her lips. The kiss was slow, gentle as he gave her time to adjust. She broke the kiss, brushing her nose against his. “Freddie.” His name left her lips in a breathy moan as she pushed against him. His thrusts were shallow at first, his forehead resting against hers. They moved slowly together, quiet moans falling from her lips. His name fell from her lips as he thrusted into her harder, faster. Her hands ran up his back, her nails digging into his skin as she gripped his shoulders. “O-oh, Freddie.” She gasped, tilting her head up to press her lips to his. She could feel her orgasm building again when he slid a hand between them, pressing his thumb to her clit. Fred could feel himself getting close to the edge. 

“Fuck, baby, cum for me.” He groaned against her skin. His thumb pressed into her clit harder, circling until she threw her head back. His name fell from her lips, her nails digging into his back. The feeling of her walls clenching and spasming around him as she came sent him over the edge. Her name fell from his lips as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Freddie.” Her voice was a whisper. She leaned up to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he could speak. “I love you.” He mumbled between kisses. 

They spent the next few hours tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, and her dozing off a few times. Fred woke her when he heard the first noises in the den below. Fred scrambled to find his clothes as she waltzed around his room to find hers. She pulled on a pair of leggings and his jumper. Her fingers slid across his sides as he pulled his shirt on. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against him. His arms snaked around her, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

[daisynik7]

Double the Fun

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader x Reiner Braun

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.9k

cw: next-door neighbors Eren and Reiner, modern day au, all characters are mid-twenties, explicit language, p*rn no plot, smut – threesome, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal play, spit play, nipple play, cunnilingus, face-riding, blowjob, hand job (M/M), double-penetration, multiple orgasms from the reader, sex toy use (anal plug), cream pies (in both holes), Reiner is a bit of a perv and sniffs panties (just like how he sniffed Historia’s letter in the finale LOL), pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweetie), slight degradation (use of slut, cock slut, whore, and cock sleeve to address the reader), slight breeding kink, sex without a condom (assuming reader is on some form of birth control)

Summary: You’ve been having a bit of a dry spell recently with how busy you’ve been at work. When you finally manage to snag a date with one of your online dating matches, you’re unfortunately stood up, leaving you in a worse mood than before. Lucky for you, your two hot neighbors are more than willing to cheer you up.  

Author’s Notes: Phew! This one is a doozy! Please make sure you read the content warnings before reading. This is filthy and shameless; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I LOVE Eren and Reiner together, idk, they just always scratch this everlasting itch I have. I’m still getting used to writing threesomes, so I hope this is okay! Also, this is my first foray into butt stuff and I may have awoken something inside me, LOL. MDNI divider by the loveliest @/cafekitsune. Thank you for reading! 

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @neverlandlostchild @bloompompom @dprkento @a-listaire @man-knees @slvt-for-smut @antique-remains @aiyaaayei

part 4 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sit, like, two tables away? What if this guy is sketch?” 

You can spot the obvious concern in Pieck’s voice through the speaker of your phone, which is currently face-up on top of your vanity as you get ready. You finish the last steps of your makeup, inspecting yourself in the mirror, satisfied. “Don’t worry, I’ve got pepper spray in my purse in case he tries anything funny,” you assure your best friend. It’s been a while since you last went on a proper date. Pieck’s always been a worry-wart about you meeting strangers from your online dating apps, constantly reminding you to stay vigilant. Tonight is no different. 

“You should at least let your hot neighbors know that you’re going out, so they can keep an eye out for you,” she suggests, throwing that in casually. Ever since you moved in a few months ago, she’s been rooting for you to hook up with either of the two men next door, Eren Jaeger and Reiner Braun. She’s met them plenty of times in passing and would much rather you date one of them instead of the countless of mysterious men on your current roster. 

There’s no denying that they’re attractive. Eren with his long, dark hair, striking eyes, and toned physique. Reiner with his sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and well-groomed goatee. They also happen to be incredibly friendly towards you, always greeting you in the hallway with a genuine smile, asking how your day went or what you’ll be up to. They’ve invited you for dinner on several occasions, which has always been pleasant, sometimes leaning towards the flirtatious side. You’re sure they’re just nice guys, cordial neighbors looking out for one another. There’s nothing more to it than that, even if a small part of you wants there to be. 

You step back from your reflection, checking yourself out once one more. “I’ll be fine, Pieck.”

“What if I can’t reach you? There should be at least one other person who’s aware of your whereabouts, right?” This is what binging too many true crime documentaries does. Still, you’re grateful for your friend’s concern, knowing it’s all out of love. You can tell she’s actually distressed about this, so you end up agreeing, mostly to appease her. She wishes you well before hanging up as you slip into heels by the door. 

You tug at the hem of your skimpy black dress, hand motionless on the doorknob. It’s your first date in over a month. Work has been so busy that you haven’t had time for romance or sex. The variety of sex toys tucked away in your drawer has been your only solace these past few weeks. To say you’re ready for some real action is an understatement. You’re also incredibly nervous, afraid you’ve lost your groove. That’s why you’ve taken extra measures to fully prepare yourself for anything tonight. 

With a deep breathe, you step out into the hallway, following Pieck’s advice. You knock on your neighbor’s door and Eren is the first to answer. His expression brightens when he realizes it’s you. “Hi,” he greets you, flashing that charming smile of his. He scans you up and down, taking in your appearance. “Wow.”

“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” you grin, twirling for him. 

He swallows hard, checking you out once more. “Definitely a good wow.”

It’s that extra boost of confidence you need for this date, so you’re appreciative of him. “Thank you, Eren. You’re always so sweet.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “So, hot date tonight?”

You decide to be honest with him. “Yeah. It’s been a minute, so I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be. Any guy would be lucky to date you.” His eyes twinkle at you kindly.

You imagine Pieck screaming at you from twenty miles away, begging you to date Eren instead of going out with this random swipe right. Eren is simply a sweet guy paying his neighbor a compliment. There’s nothing more to it than that. Before you get the chance to thank him, Reiner’s deeper voice calls out from inside the apartment. “Who is it?”

Without taking his eyes off you, Eren answers with your name. Soon, the blonde joins him, jaw dropping when he notices you. “Fuck.”

Eren elbows him in the chest, to which Reiner mutters a strained apology. “Sorry. You just look amazing.”

The flattery is almost too much, cheeks warm with embarrassment, stomach fluttering. “Thank you.” Reiner is usually the more forward of the two, blurting out whatever is on his mind, though you’re not complaining. 

Grinning, Reiner asks, “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Someone I met online. My friend said I should let my wonderful neighbors know my whereabouts tonight, in case I end up missing,” you explain casually. 

“How morbid,” Eren chuckles. “We’ll keep an eye out for you later so that your friend doesn’t have to worry.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Reiner raises a brow at you. “Unless you’re planning on sleeping with him. We probably won’t see you if it does go well.” He hunches forward when Eren lands another blow to his chest, shutting his roommate up. 

You giggle, agreeing with him. “No, you’re totally right. I’m going to stay optimistic and say that if I don’t come home tonight, that’s a good thing.”

“We’ll hope for the best, then,” Eren replies, beaming. 

You turn to leave, waving farewell to them. Reiner yells out, “Have fun tonight! But not too much fun!”

~~~

You return to your apartment complex less than two hours later, heels clicking loudly on the tiled steps, feet heavy with disappointment. After taking a twenty-minute taxi ride to the restaurant you agreed to meet him at, you proceeded to wait an entire hour only to realize that you’ve been stood up. No text, no reply, no call. You’ve been made a fool, completely humiliated, the night and the rest of your weekend absolutely ruined by this asshole’s no-show.  

It takes you a while to dig through your purse for your keys, patience already worn thin. Frustrated, you groan out loud, staring up at the ceiling. “Why me?”

In the worst timing ever, the door to your left swings open. Eren pops his head out, saying your name curiously.

Reluctantly, you turn to face him. “Hey.”  

He comes out, dressed casually in sweats, hair wrapped in a messy bun with the few stray strands draping the back of his neck. “That was quick.”

With an unconvincing smile, trying to hide the shame that currently consumes you, you admit, “I got stood up.”

His demeanor changes instantly. The concern on his face is endearing, and when he drifts towards you, he reaches out, then drops his arm, unsure how best to console you without crossing any lines. “No way.”

You nod, sighing. “It’s true.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He steps closer to you, hesitantly placing his hand on your shoulder, testing the waters. 

You smile at him, enjoying this simple touch of comfort. “It’s fine. It is what it is.”

The two of you linger like this, Eren gazing into your eyes, holding you. His palm is hot on the fabric of your dress, and for a split second, you wonder how pleasant it’d be on your bare skin. And maybe it’s your wishful thinking or your desperation for human contact after being rejected tonight, but you can feel the heat of a spark between you now. Before you let your fantasies drive you to do something unprecedented, you search your bag again, finally retrieving your keys. He lets you go, watching you shove them into the keyhole, unlocking the door. “Are you okay?”

In all honestly, you’re not, but there’s nothing him or anyone else can do about it, right? “I’ll be okay. Sucks that I got all dressed up for this, though. What a waste.”

He doesn’t respond right away, choosing his words carefully. “Well,” he starts, the faintest blush tinged on his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be.” 

You stare at him, heart beating faster, making sure you’re understanding him correctly. “Really?”

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Yeah. Maybe we can get some use out of it.”

“We?”

As if on cue, Reiner emerges from inside their apartment, having heard everything. “Fuck that shitty asshole. You’ll have way more fun with us.” He stands next to his roommate, grinning at you.

This time, you do listen to Pieck’s voice in your head, yelling at you to go for it. To let these two alluring neighbors of yours take care of you the way you deserve. Already feeling better, you give them a coy smile, opening the door to let them in. “Okay, then. Come on in.”

~~~

It’s the first time they’ve ever been inside your apartment, though you save the formal tour for later. As soon as the three of you are inside, door shut, shoes off, they’re both kissing you fiercely. Eren faces you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, hot and heavy. He caresses your sides, squeezing the curves of your body through your dress. Reiner is behind you, grip just below Eren’s, firm on your hips. His lips brush delicately on the nape of your neck, groin pressed to your backside, the bulge protruding from his pants growing harder and harder between your ass cheeks. You moan into the kiss, pussy throbbing in your lingerie, eager to be touched by either man, by both of them. Why did you even bother trying to hook up with strangers online when the perfect matches were beside you all along?

Reiner chuckles, breath hot on your ear, voice low and rugged. “You’re really horny, aren’t you? All dolled up and ready to be fucked, huh?” There he goes again, blunt and straightforward and so fucking sexy, exactly what you need tonight. 

And here is Eren, soft and gentle, committed to kissing you, whispering sweet nothings any chance he gets. “You’re beautiful. Such a gorgeous girl. So pretty for us.” Also exactly what you need. 

You lead them into your bedroom, Eren flipping on the light switch, keeping his lips on you while Reiner strips out of his clothes, starting with his pants. Eren does the same, hoisting his shirt off, revealing his impressive figure. You attempt to slip out of your dress, but Reiner stops you. “Keep it on,” he rasps, down to his underwear now, boner more obvious, poking out from his briefs.  

Eren pinches your butt, snapping the tight fabric to your skin. “We’re not letting this go to waste, remember?”

You nod mindlessly, brain hazy with lust, too eager to be fucked. “Fuck me,” you beg, spit smeared all over your lips. 

They both laugh softly, walking you towards the bed. “So impatient, so needy,” Eren coos, positioning himself in front of you, toying with the hem of the skirt.

Reiner sits up against the headboard, propping you up on his lap, your back pressed to his muscular chest. “What’s the rush, baby?” he teases, licking a stripe behind your ear. “We’re going to take care of you. Right, Eren?”

Eren bites his lip as he works your dress up past your thighs until it’s bunched up at your hips, exposing your soaked thong on your wet cunt. “Oh fuck yeah,” he huffs, salivating. “Gonna make you feel so good. Make you come so fucking much.”

You spread your legs wider for him, a pathetic whine escaping your throat, more and more desperate by the second. He hooks his finger on the crotch of your panties, smirking at the string of arousal that stretches between the fabric and you. “So fucking wet, holy shit.” 

He tugs it all the way off your legs, tossing it over to Reiner, who brings it up to his nose, taking a big whiff. “Such a slut for wearing these on a first date. Our naughty girl.” He lets your lingerie fall from his grasp onto the floor, sliding to the plush of your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart. 

Eren dives in, spreading his wide tongue flat on your clit, moving it side-to-side, stimulating you into your first orgasm. Your knees twitch from the sensation, the pleasure rippling through you like waves of ecstasy. You turn your head towards Reiner’s, opening your mouth, pleading him for a kiss. He obliges, sticking his tongue inside you, slurping up your saliva, hungry for it. “You’re so fucking nasty,” he growls, reaching for the drawer beside the bed. “Bet you have toys hiding in here. Why don’t we have some more fun and play with them?” You whimper wantonly, keen on the idea of Reiner using whatever he wants on you to make you come again. 

He finds exactly what he’s looking for: your precious anal plug, tapered on one end, heart-shaped gem on the other. When he pulls it out, he barks out a laugh, almost like he can’t believe his luck. “You really are a whore,” he whispers in your ear, sinister and wicked, about to have too much fun with this. “Did you prep yourself to be fucked in the ass? Be honest.” Even Eren pauses, peering up at you, curious. 

“Yes,” you mewl, squirming with arousal, body tingling all over.

Eren’s chuckle reverberates against your clit, releasing you from his mouth to lap at your wet slit. “Good girl,” he muffles, collecting your cum on his tongue. “So perfect for us.”

The dynamic between them spurs you on, Eren playing the good guy, Reiner playing bad. Both of them work together with a common goal in mind: to cheer up their pretty neighbor from what would have been a bummer of a night. But already, you’re thankful that you were stood up; you’re certain now that this is the much better alternative. 

“Eren, switch spots with me,” Reiner demands. “And you,” he says, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “On your stomach.”

You both obey him without protest. Eren leans against the headboard with a dazed look in his eyes, licking his shiny, cum-coated lips. He smiles as you gaze up at him, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, stroking him. You open wide, tapping the tip of his dick on your tongue before sinking down on him until you’re too the hilt, swallowing him into the back of your throat. He cups yours cheeks, caressing you gently. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth. My gorgeous girl.” You accept the praise shamelessly, relishing the distinct taste of him.

From behind, Reiner worships you, squeezing your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to ogle at your fluttering hole. Without warning, he hocks a frothy wad of spit directly onto it, teasing his thumb on the rim. “Fuck, baby,” he utters as you moan on Eren’s cock. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”

You nod, taking Eren deeper, your nose pressed to his groin, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth, bracing yourself. The plug is slick with lube as Reiner pushes it in carefully until the heart-shaped jewel is flush to your hole. He swears under his breath, marveling at the sight before him, cock pulsating in his fist. You stay like this for a while, adjusting to the toy inside you. It really did help that you prepared for this earlier. 

“So sexy,” Eren murmurs from above you, staring on your backside. “You take it so good, sweetheart.”

“Like an obedient slut,” Reiner adds, using his thumb to push the plug the slightest bit deeper. He lifts your hips to position himself below you so that you’re straddling his face. “Can you come again, baby?”

“Of course she can. She’s our good girl,” Eren purrs, petting your head softly as you continue to blow him. 

Reiner eats you out sloppily, different from Eren, who’s intentional with his every move. It sends you into another frenzy, pushing you closer and closer over the edge, especially when he begins playing with the plug, pumping it in and out of you slowly. You’re overstimulated with Eren’s hot cock throbbing in your mouth, clit swollen on Reiner’s tongue, and asshole puckered around the smooth glass of the plug. You reach your climax easily, gushing all over Reiner’s face, riding out your orgasm until you’ve completely soaked him in your juices. He drinks it all up, messy and greedy for every drop of you he can scour. He really is as insatiable as you imagined he’d be. 

You release Eren to catch your breath, to which he tips your chin up to face him. “You’re incredible,” he says, the familiar twinkle in his eyes making your heart race. You paw at his chest, crawling up to meet him for a kiss. 

Reiner quickly joins the two of you, not wanting to be left out, rubbing his hard cock between your ass cheeks. You kiss the both of them at the same time, all of your saliva mingling together into a hot, wet mess that you’re currently intoxicated by. After a moment, Eren pulls back. “Does our pretty girl want to get fucked now?”

“Show us how big of a cock slut you are,” Reiner grunts, circling the jeweled end of the plug, teasing your hole. 

Eren helps remove the dress off you completely, hoisting it off your body. He stretches his arm towards the drawer. “Are the condoms in here too?”

You shake your head briskly, bringing his attention back to you. “I want it raw. Want you to fill me up.” 

They both moan, clearly fond of your request, kissing you feverishly. Eren nudges your breast into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. Reiner sucks the skin all along your neck, leaving his love marks, growling, “You want us to breed you, huh? Want all this cum inside these tight little holes of yours. Oh fuck.” His voice is rough and husky, gradually losing his composure. 

Eren’s remains tender, his breath soft on your bosom. “We’re going to breed you so good, sweetheart.” He shimmies down the bed, lying flat on his back, peering up at you with adoration. You straddle him, rubbing yourself on his shaft, needy for friction on your aching clit.

Reiner’s embraces you from behind, groping your chest, focusing on his roommate’s dick and your wet cunt gliding along it. He reaches between you and Eren, fisting his friend’s cock with fast strokes. “Look how hard he is for you. He’s going to fuck you so good. Make you cream all over the sheets.” Your pussy is sopping with arousal from the dirty talk alone, but watching Reiner touch Eren has you dizzy. 

“Fuck, Reiner,” Eren moans, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “That’s so fucking hot.” He lets his roommate jerk him off while you continue to grind yourself on him. Soon, he replaces Reiner’s fist with his own, cockhead glistening with precum. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Reiner moves to your swollen bud, tapping it with his thick fingers. “Oh yeah, she’s fucking ready. Come on, cock sleeve. Put it in.”

Without wasting another second, you line yourself up with him. Eren slides in smoothly, his entire length in you, pussy stretched around him perfectly. You whimper from the fullness, his cock to the hilt and the plug nestled in your backside. Reiner places his hand on your posterior, urging you to lean down so that your chest-to-chest with Eren, who kisses you passionately, remaining still inside you. “Eren,” you whimper his name, drooling into his mouth. He smiles against you, delighted at how fucked out you are for him.

Reiner adjusts his stance, hovering over you by planting one foot on the bed to prop his knee up, giving him enough leverage. He focuses on the plug, tugging it out just barely only to push it back in, repeating this several times, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Finally, he removes it completely, staring wide-eyed at your gaping hole, oh-so-inviting for his fat cock. “Look at that,” he croons, circling your rim with his finger, sensitive to his touch.

You want so badly to be stuffed full by both of them. In a trembling voice, you whine, “Please, Reiner.”

Laughing, he delivers a harsh smack to your ass, skin immediately stinging from it. He dribbles more of his spit onto you, teasing the tip of his dick on the rim. “Not yet, slut.” You can’t see him, too immersed in kissing Eren right now, but you can practically hear the wicked grin on his face, watching you squirm below him as he torments you.

Eren intervenes, annoyed with his friend’s behavior. “Come on, Reiner. Give her what she wants. She deserves it.” He nuzzles his nose to yours. “She’s been a very, very good girl.”

Eventually, Reiner relents. “You’re right. She’s a good girl. And good girls deserve to get fucked in both holes.” 

You shiver at his perverse words, bracing yourself. At last, he guides himself inside you, filling you to the brim. It’s better than any fantasy you could dream of, the sensation so intense, tears begin welling in your eyes.

They start thrusting simultaneously, Eren pummeling your cunt from below, Reiner pounding your ass from behind. It’s messy and raunchy, their hands slippery all over your body from lube, slick, and sweat. The air surrounding you is laden with lust and desire. The collective moans from all three of you echo off the walls of your small bedroom, along with the squeaks of your mattress creaking under the weight of your vigorous lovemaking. 

Reiner is rendered speechless now, totally concentrated on pumping his cock in and out of your fluttering hole, the only sound from his mouth being his ragged breaths. Eren slips one hand between you, his digits pressed to your puffy clit as he fucks up into your pussy. The other fondles your tit, thumb flicking your nipple until it’s perky. He continues to praise you, constantly musing about what a good girl you are, how perfect you are for them. 

At this point, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. You’re in a perpetual state of ecstasy, surrounded by the two hottest men in your life who are voracious for your orgasms. The sour memory from earlier has completely faded and all you can think about is the sweet bliss you’re currently indulging in. 

Eren is the first to come, no longer able to endure it. His even thrusts turn erratic. “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming inside you sweetheart, oh fuck.”

You kiss him languidly, drinking up his moans as he floods your cunt with his load. Soon, Reiner swears loudly, announcing his own climax. “Fuck, gonna breed this slutty hole.” His cock swells, spurting his warm seed inside you.

You relax on top of Eren, who’s equally as spent as you. Reiner pulls out slowly, fixated on his own cum dripping out of you. “Fuck. Let’s see the other one, baby.” You lift off Eren, who almost seems reluctant to let you go. Both of them watch with hazy expressions as his creamy load spills out of you and onto his lap. 

The room is musty with the scent of sex, the sheets messy and stained beneath you. Despite that, you’re on cloud nine, soaring high from having the nastiest ménage á trois with your next-door neighbors.

Maybe you should try getting stood up more often. 

[itneverendshere]

you said i have to trust more freely - r.c series (three)

requested here; (one); (two)

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (the duff inspired) word count: 5.4k

You hadn’t planned for that kiss to happen the other day.

It was supposed to be all part of the game, of the plan.

You just wanted to learn things properly. Right? But you knew, you had wanted it, and worse, you had liked it.

God, what the hell were you doing?

He was Rafe Cameron. Cocky, rich, your nightmare with a reputation that should have sent you running in the opposite direction. And yet, here you were, feeling the ghost of his lips against yours, wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t pulled back. If you hadn’t let the spell break.

"Focus," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head like you could shake him off too. You had bigger things to worry about—like Nate.

Remember Nate? The whole point of this was to get him to notice you, to finally realize that you were more than just the girl he studied with. You weren’t supposed to be getting caught up with Rafe Cameron’s sudden vulnerability or, God forbid, catching feelings for him.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair as you turned down the street toward your apartment. But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the thought of Rafe stayed with you for hours, sneaking its way back in every time you thought you’d pushed it out for good.

What was it about him, anyway? He was hot, sure. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you sometimes, like he was seeing something deeper. Like there was more to this than either of you were willing to admit. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe you were starting to want him to see more.

By the time you reached your door, you had spiraled enough to know you needed a distraction. So you did what any girl in your situation would do: you grabbed your phone and texted Harper back.

You: Movie night better include wine. Lots of wine.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Harper <3:  “Already taken care of, babe. See you soon.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling a little better. It was exactly what you needed. Maybe after a few glasses of wine and some cheesy rom-coms, you’d finally stop thinking about that stupid kiss.

As you closed the door behind you and flopped onto your bed, your phone buzzed again. Expecting it to be Harper, you lazily reached for it, but your heart nearly stopped when you saw Rafe’s name instead.

Rafe: got your notes ready for tomorrow? or should i just show up and charm my way through it?

You stared at the screen for a second, unsure whether to laugh or throw your phone across the room. Why did he always have to do this? Act like nothing had changed when everything felt different?

Not that you were any better.

Finally, you typed back.

You: “depends. can ur charm get you through an entire chapter on portuguese colonization?”

His reply came almost instantly. Like he’d been waiting for yours.

Rafe: “we both know my charm can get me through anything.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the stupid smile tugging at your lips.

You: “let’s not test that theory. see you tomorrow.”

You tossed your phone aside, willing yourself not to overthink the fact that just seeing his name pop up on your screen made your heart race.

You were going to get through this. Nate was your goal. This thing with Rafe was just a detour. A very distracting, very complicated detour that you’d handle... eventually.

But tonight? Tonight was for your girls, your movies, and drowning out the chaos in your head with as much wine as it took to stop thinking about blue eyes and stupid smirks.

Later that night, you found yourself sprawled out on Ava’s couch, surrounded by blankets and popcorn, watching some cheesy rom-com that Harper had picked out. The glow of the TV cast a soft light over the room, but your mind was still elsewhere. Even with your best friends beside you, laughing and making snide comments about the movie, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

It wasn’t just the kiss—although that had definitely been messing with your head lately—it was everything. The way he’d been acting, the things he’d said, the stupid nickname that you couldn’t seem to shake. Harper and Ava had a point, but they didn’t know Rafe like you did. Not anymore, at least. You’d seen sides of him recently that no one else had, and while you weren’t exactly sure what to make of it, there was something there. Something more than just the cocky rich boy everyone saw.

You sighed, reaching for another handful of popcorn, but Harper, ever the perceptive one, caught the look on your face before you could hide it.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, nudging your leg with her foot. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Yeah, you’ve barely roasted this movie,” Ava added, throwing a piece of popcorn at you. “That’s not like you.”

You didn't want to get into it, “Just tired, I guess. Long day.”

Harper wasn’t buying it, though. She turned the volume on the TV down and sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. “Okay, spill. This is about Rafe, isn’t it?”

You groaned, covering your face with a pillow. “Can we not talk about him ?”

“Nope,” Harper said, yanking the pillow away. “Not until you tell us what’s going on. I know a liar when I see one."

Busted.

“Did something happen?”

You hesitated, glancing between the two of them. They were your best friends, and you knew they only wanted what was best for you. But the whole thing with Rafe felt complicated, like more than just a stupid crush. Still, you couldn’t keep it all bottled up forever.

“Fine,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “There was... a kiss.”

Harper’s jaw practically dropped. “A kiss? With Rafe?”

“When did this happen?” Ava demanded, practically bouncing in her seat. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“I was scared!” You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again as you thought back to that moment in the library, “He knew I never kissed anyone and offered.”

“Wait, what? Your first kiss was with Rafe freaking Cameron?”

Ava gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “He offered? What the hell does that even mean? Did he just, like, present his lips to you like some weirdo?”

You groaned, wishing you could shrink into the couch and disappear.

“It wasn’t like that, okay? We were talking, and it came up. I told him I hadn’t kissed anyone, and then he was all, ‘I can fix that,’ or something. It just... happened a few days later.”

“So, what was it like? Was it good? Did he use tongue? I need details, girl.”

Harper elbowed her. “Ava! Let her breathe, she’s clearly still processing.”

You felt your cheeks heat up even more as you fidgeted with a loose string on your sweater. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, it was good, okay? Really good. But it’s Rafe, and now everything’s weird, and I don’t know what to do.”

Harper’s expression softened,  “Okay, I’m trying to wrap my head around this. You’ve hated Rafe for, like, ever, right? And now, all of a sudden, you’re kissing him? What about Nate?”

“I know!” you groaned again, throwing your head back against the couch.

Ava looked like she was about to explode. “So... do you like him? Because it sounds like you’re starting to like him.”

“No! Maybe? I don’t know.” You buried your face in your hands. “I wasn’t supposed to like him. It wasn’t part of the plan. But then he had to go and be all... different. Like, he’s still Rafe, but sometimes he’s—I don’t know, sweet? Ugh, that sounds ridiculous.”

Harper sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Babe, if you’re getting all messed up over a guy like Rafe, this could be a problem.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered. You didn’t want to like Rafe. He was the last person you should be catching feelings for. 

“Guys like him? They’ll pull you in, mess with your head, and leave you confused as hell.”

“I know,” you said, hating how true that sounded. “But it’s not just that. There’s something else. Like, when we’re alone, he’s— I don’t know. He lets his guard down, and I see a side of him that I don’t think anyone else does. He's weirdly honest."

Harper raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not catching feelings?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, flopping back against the couch. “I don’t even know anymore. I thought this was just a stupid kiss, but now it feels like everything’s different. And it’s so dumb because I should be focused on Nate!"

Ava and Harper exchanged a glance, both of them looking concerned. Harper was the first to speak.

“Okay, maybe this is a sign you need to figure out what you really want. Do you want to keep chasing Nate, or... do you want to see where things go with Rafe?”

You blinked, the question hitting you harder than you expected. What did you want? Nate had always been the plan—nice, safe, uncomplicated Nate. 

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was how you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His stupid grin, the way he’d tease you but also get serious for like, two seconds, just long enough to make you question everything.

You sighed, pushing your hair out of your face, “This was a terrible mistake.”

Harper crossed her arms, studying you. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Call him.”

“What?!” You sat up, heart racing. “No way. I can’t just call him out of nowhere.”

“Yes, you can,” Ava chimed in, nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Here’s the test—if he picks up right away, it means he’s been thinking about you too. If he doesn’t? Then maybe he’s just playing games.”

You stared at them like they’d just suggested jumping off a cliff. “Are you guys serious? There’s no way I’m doing that. You're not serious."

Harper smirked, grabbing your phone off the table and holding it out to you. “Do it. Right now. Trust me, if he cares, he’ll pick up.”

What kind of fucked up science was that? Rafe? Liking you? It was ridiculous. There was no way. Not when he'd been with so many girls, kissed even more, and never gave you a second glance. You were just...there.

Your stomach twisted in knots. “What if he doesn’t answer? What if he thinks I’m weird for calling at night? What if I just— explode from embarrassment?”

Ava waved her hand dismissively. “If he doesn’t answer, then you know where you stand. But if he does... well, that’s another story. And I highly doubt you’ll explode. Just call him and see.”

You took a deep breath, staring at your phone like it was about to bite you. It felt reckless, terrifying even. But you were curious too—what would happen if you actually did it? Would he care? Would he answer?

“Fine,” you muttered, grabbing the phone from Harper and quickly finding Rafe’s name in your contacts before you could change your mind.

Ava grinned, leaning in. “Ooh, this is gonna be good.”

“I thought you hated him—"

“Call him!”

You hit call, holding your breath as the phone rang once, twice—

And then, to your absolute horror, it stopped. He picked up.

“Hey,” Rafe’s voice came through, “Everything okay?”

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You glanced at Harper and Ava, who were both staring at you like this was the most exciting thing to ever happen. You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal, like you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes freaking out about calling him.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, cringing at how awkward you sounded. “I just... wanted to see if you were ready for tomorrow’s study session.”

Lame. So, so lame.

Rafe chuckled softly. “You called me at night to ask about studying? I didn’t know I was that irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cameron.”

He laughed again, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Too late. Anyway, I’m ready for tomorrow. Was studying really the reason you called?”

You glanced at Harper and Ava, who were both nodding furiously, encouraging you to say something—anything that wasn’t study-related.

“Well... maybe not just that,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up again.

There was a pause on the other end, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, more serious. “I’m glad you called.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

There was another moment of silence, like you were both trying to figure out what to say next.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Rafe said, his voice a little lower, almost... warmer? “Night.”

“Night,” you replied, and then the call ended.

You dropped your phone onto the couch, staring at it like it had just turned into a bomb.

Harper squealed. “He picked up right away! And he was flirty! Oh my God, he likes you!”

Ava clapped her hands, bouncing on the couch. “I knew it! He’s totally into you. Nevermind what we said earlier. Rafe Cameron is into you. We were wrong. Scratch the whole 'he’s just messing with your head' thing. He’s definitely catching feelings.”

You scowled, “Where’s your backbone? Five minutes ago, you were all, ‘Rafe’s trouble, don’t fall for it,’ and now you’re practically shipping us?”

Harper shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, but that was before he picked up right away and sounded all soft. That’s different, babe.”

“Exactly!” Ava chimed in. “Nate who?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. He’s... safe. And uncomplicated. Why am I even entertaining this idea of Rafe?”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Because safe doesn’t make your heart race. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you stay up all night overthinking. If you were so into Nate, you wouldn’t be calling Rafe at night. Or letting him kiss you!”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. They had a point, as annoying as it was. Nate might’ve been the goal, but Rafe was what had your head spinning. You groaned again, flopping back against the couch.

Sure, maybe he’d been acting a little off lately. Like, sometimes he’d actually ask you how your day was or show up when he knew you’d be around. You didn’t think much of it, though. That’s just how it was with guys like Rafe—he probably wanted something, or maybe he was just bored.

You huffed, feeling your cheeks heat up. “It’s just so stupid. He’s Rafe. He’s... ugh, he’s complicated, and I don’t even know if he’s serious, or if he’s just bored, or what. And now I’ve kissed him, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and—”

“And now you’re realizing that maybe Nate isn’t what you really want after all,” Harper finished.

You sighed, hugging a pillow to your chest. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He’d flirt, he’d flash that stupid grin, and then he’d move on like nothing ever happened. Why would you be different? 

“Easy. You figure out what you want. Not what Nate wants, not what Rafe wants. You. And until then, just... enjoy. No one said you had to decide everything right now.”

Harper nodded in agreement, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah. Take it slow. And for tonight, let’s just not overthinking every little thing, okay?”

Yet, you thought about him all night. You’d seen the way he treated other girls. He’d throw them those lazy smiles, the ones that practically screamed I’ll forget your name by tomorrow, and it always seemed to work.

They all fell for it—why wouldn’t they? Rafe was good at getting what he wanted, and he never stuck around long enough for things to get messy. You? You were invisible up until recently. He only paid attention when he felt like pissing you off. Your friends had to be reading too much into things.

This was Rafe. The same Rafe who was impossible to figure out, who never took anything seriously—least of all you. There was no way he liked you. 

But the next day came way too fast, and you were paying for it. Hard.

You groaned as you dragged yourself into the library, sunglasses on like they were going to somehow shield you from the pounding headache.

Harper and Ava had insisted on one more glass of wine, which of course, turned into two. And now, you were here, praying Rafe wouldn’t notice that you felt like death.

As you slumped into the chair across from him, he immediately raised an eyebrow, “Rough night?”

You gave him a look, your head already throbbing too much for his sarcasm. “Don’t even start, Cameron.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your state. “Wow, I can smell the regret from here. You look like you partied with a bottle of tequila and lost.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “It was wine, thank you very much. And yeah, it was a little too much.”

He chuckled softly, flipping open his notebook. “A little? You look like you just survived a war zone. Was the study session that boring to look forward to?”

“Ha ha, so funny,” you muttered, wincing as you reached for your bag. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Barely.” He tilted his head, clearly enjoying every second of it. “I’m impressed you made it at all. Should I have brought a bucket? You know, just in case?”

You glared at him from behind your sunglasses. “I hate you so much right now.”

Rafe just grinned, unfazed. “Trust me, it’s mutual. But seriously, you need water or something? You’re about two seconds away from face-planting on that table.”

You bit your lip, knowing he was right but not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Still, your mouth felt like a desert, and the thought of anything cold and hydrating sounded like heaven.

“Maybe… a coffee?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Huh? No?”

“You’re not drinking coffee before you eat.”

You squinted at him, thoroughly annoyed. “Rafe, I’m hungover, not five years old.”

He just raised an eyebrow, clearly not swayed.

“Hungover means your brain’s working even worse than normal, so yeah, I’m pulling the adult card here. You need food before coffee.”

You rolled your eyes, regretting it instantly as your head throbbed harder. “Fine. I’ll get food after the coffee.”

He shook his head, already getting up. “Nope. I’m grabbing you a bagel or something.”

“Rafe, seriously—” you started, but he was already walking away, not even bothering to let you finish.

You slumped back in your chair, groaning under your breath. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You hadn’t eaten anything since last night, and your stomach was twisting in a way that wasn’t just from the hangover. But it was so typical of him to boss you around, like he knew what was best for you. He seemed almost too serious about all this, like it wasn’t just about breakfast or caffeine. Was he actually… worried?              

He was being so over-the-top about something so simple. Maybe he noticed things you didn’t even realize were slipping—how little you’d been eating, how tired you always seemed. You didn’t want him to worry, to get so wrapped up in how you were doing. But the fact that he did… 

Rafe returned, dropping a bagel in front of you. “Eat. Then you can have your coffee.”

You blinked at the bagel, caught off guard. “You actually got me food?”

He gave you a look. “You really thought I wouldn’t? What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A pain in my ass?” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it. You unwrapped the bagel, taking a cautious bite, and, annoyingly, it actually helped. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. Now, once you finish that, we’ll get started on actual studying. You might wanna take those sunglasses off too. It’s not that bright in here.”

“Stop being so smug about it,” you grumbled, but you took another bite of the bagel, your headache easing just a little.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he owned the place.

“Hey, if you’re gonna drink like that, you should at least have someone who can take care of you after.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat. “Is this your way of saying you care?”

“Eat your bagel.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the flutter in your chest. Why was he always like this? One minute he was the biggest pain, and the next, he was sweet? You took another bite of the bagel, trying to ignore the way his comment made your stomach do a weird little flip.

Rafe just watched you, arms crossed, looking smug as ever. "I'm not saying anything," he teased, leaning forward slightly. "But you did call me last night."

You nearly choked on your bagel. "That was for studying!"

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling into a grin. "Oh, right. You totally call guys at night to talk about history."

You threw a balled-up napkin at him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Don't start with me, Cameron. You texted me first!"

"Fair enough," He caught the napkin effortlessly, still grinning, like teasing you was the highlight of his day. He was holding his hands up in surrender, but there was no hiding the amusement in his eyes. "Don’t know if it’s the kiss or maybe you’re just starting to realize I'm not all bad."

You scoffed, trying to brush off how much that actually hit home.

"Please. You're still an entitled jerk, Rafe. One kiss doesn’t change that."

But the truth was, maybe it did change something. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since. And now, sitting here with him being all unexpectedly considerate, it was getting harder to pretend like there wasn’t something going on.

“So it hasn’t been keeping you up at night?”

“Why would it? It was just a kiss. Happens all the time, right?”

His smirk widen, “So I didn’t get your panties in a twist?”

You were going to throw a book at his face.

"You’re so full of yourself," you muttered, trying to act unbothered, but your pulse quickened.

Rafe leaned in a little closer, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. “I’m just saying, it seemed like more than ‘just a kiss’ with the way you keep getting flustered. You sure it didn’t mean anything?”

You narrowed your eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

“What do you want me to say, Rafe? That I’m totally falling for you? That I can’t stop thinking about the kiss? Because that’s not happening.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back again, but something shifted in his expression. He was still teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity now, almost like he was testing the waters.

“Good to know. Guess I’ll just keep doing my thing then.”

“Your thing? What, being an annoying, arrogant jerk?” you shot back, though there was less bite in your tone than usual.

Rafe’s lips twitched, “I’d hate to think I’m keeping you up at night.”

Ugh. Why was he like this? Why was this working on you?

You rolled your eyes, trying to stay focused on the whole reason you were here in the first place: studying, Nate, anything but this. But the way Rafe was looking at you right now, like he could see through all the walls you put up... yeah, it was messing with your head again.

"Can we just study now?" you grumbled, flipping open your textbook, praying the conversation would shift before your cheeks got any redder. "I didn’t drag myself here to talk about your ridiculous fantasies."

His grin softened into something more genuine, and he shook his head, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. I’ll be good. Let’s get started before your brain melts from that hangover.”

But as you pulled out your notes, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered just a little too long. And worse, you knew your heart was doing the same—stupid fluttering and all.

There was something about this back-and-forth with him that was starting to feel... different. And maybe, just maybe, that scared you more than you were willing to admit.

As the two of you dove into the study session, you tried—really tried—to focus on the material in front of you. But every time he leaned in a little closer or cracked a joke that made you roll your eyes, your mind wandered back to that kiss. To the way he looked at you when no one else was around. To the fact that, as much as you hated to admit it, Rafe Cameron was making you feel something you hadn’t expected.

“Do you remember that bonfire when we were sixteen?” he asked all of a sudden.

You raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment. “Which one? There were like, a million bonfires.”

“The one where you dumped your drink in my face.”

Your hand froze halfway to your mouth. Oh. That bonfire. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the memory came rushing back, clear as day.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, it’s not exactly something you forget. One minute I was talking to you, and the next, I was soaking wet with a face full of—what was it? Lemonade?”

“Spiked lemonade,” you corrected, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “You deserved it.”

“Deserved it?” he echoed, leaning forward, clearly enjoying this trip down memory lane. “I asked if you wanted to hang out by the water. How’s that deserving a drink to the face?”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the old annoyance bubble up again. “You asked me to hang out after you and your friends had spent the whole night making fun of me."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, maybe we were a little rough back then. But I swear, I wasn’t trying to be a dick that night.”

“You were always a dick,” you muttered, but there was no real heat behind your words. Sixteen-year-old you had despised him and his cocky attitude. 

He smirked, “You were so pissed off. Your face was all red, and you were shaking with anger, like you couldn’t believe I’d even dared to speak to you.”

“You had it coming.”

“I probably did,” he agreed, a softer look crossing his face. “But I remember thinking, even back then, you were different. You didn’t take shit from anyone.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. “Wait, are you actually complimenting me right now? What is happening?”

Rafe just grinned, leaning back again, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. “I’m just saying, you’ve always had more fight in you.”

Your stomach did that weird little flip again, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the crumbs left on the table. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such an ass, I wouldn’t have had to.”

“I think that’s why I liked messing with you so much.” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “You always pushed back.”

You bit your lip, not sure how to respond to that. The Rafe you remembered from back then was all arrogance and teasing, but this... this was different. It was like he was admitting that he’d seen you in a way no one else had back then. 

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching cut your conversation short. You glanced up, thinking it might just be another student passing by, but your heart nearly stopped when you saw Nate walking toward you and Rafe.

Rafe’s smirk faded instantly when he spotted him approaching.

“Hey,” Nate greeted with a casual smile, though his eyes flicked quickly between you and Rafe, “Didn’t know you guys studied here too.”

You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal even though your brain was racing. “Yeah, uh, just catching up on some work.”

Nate’s smile wavered slightly as his gaze lingered on Rafe, then back to you. “Mind if I join? I was just gonna find a spot to get some work done, but...” His voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

For a second, you were torn. Nate was here, right in front of you—the guy you’d been chasing for months, the one who was supposed to be the plan. But Rafe was sitting across from you.

He leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms with that signature smirk creeping back onto his face. “Yeah, sure, the more, the merrier.”

You shot him a look, silently pleading with him not to make this worse, but he just raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the situation.

Nate pulled out a chair, setting his bag down, “What’re you working on?” he asked, glancing between you and Rafe.

Before you could answer, Rafe spoke up, again, “Just a little review. Nothing too complicated, right?” His eyes flicked to you, daring you to answer.

You swallowed hard, feeling both their gazes on you. “Yeah, just going over some notes. We’re almost done, actually.”

Nate’s eyes lingered on Rafe for a beat longer than necessary, like he was sizing him up. “Right. Cool. I guess I’ll just... grab a spot over there.” 

“You do that.”

“Rafe.” you grumbled under your breath, kicking him under the table.

"You wanna grab lunch after? I was gonna head to that new sandwich place, and figured you might want to come."

For a split second, you hesitated. Lunch with Nate was the safe, easy option—exactly what you’d been trying to hold onto. But the way Rafe was watching you now... Nate’s invitation wasn’t just about lunch. It was a claim, a reminder that he was the one you were supposed to be into.

"I, um—” you started, but the words were stuck in your throat.

You’d just spent the last half hour trying to convince yourself that Rafe didn’t matter. That this whole thing with him wasn’t a big deal. But now, with Nate standing right here, it felt like your brain was short-circuiting.

Rafe stood up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Well, looks like you’ve got plans," he said, his voice flat. He glanced at you, before grabbing his notebook. "Catch you later, I guess."

Before you could say anything, he walked away, his footsteps heavy as he left the library. You stared after him, your heart doing this weird thing where it felt like it was both racing and sinking at the same time.

Nate raised an eyebrow, watching Rafe go. "That guy’s... intense," he said, his tone light, but you could tell he was fishing for something.

You forced a smile, "Yeah, that’s Rafe for you."

But even as you said it, your mind wasn’t on Nate. It was still stuck on Rafe—on the way he’d looked at you before he left, like maybe he’d been hoping you wouldn’t just go along with Nate’s plan. Like maybe he’d wanted you to choose something different.

"So, lunch?" Nate asked again, his smile back in place, but it didn’t feel the same. Not anymore.

You swallowed hard, nodding automatically. “Sure, lunch sounds good.”

But as you followed him out of the library, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you’d just walked away from something important. 

[marlenesluv]

Lessons (LN) - Part 2

Summary: Madelyn takes Lando up on his offer to party, hoping to find some single guys...

Pairing: Madelyn Fewtrell x Lando Norris

Warnings for this part: Language, Mentions of lose of virginity, Not spell-checked

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Note: Taglist is at the bottom of the post, if you were not tagged and would like to be in future parts, please comment to let me know. Once I see your comment, you will be added! :)

At eight pm, Madelyn was freshly showered, exfoliated, shaved, and moisturized. She wasn't exactly expecting to sleep with someone tonight, but the thought lingered.

She wanted her first time to be perfect...well, not perfect. Just decent would do. She wanted to feel confident, smell nice, and hopefully have a decent time.

Taking a deep breath, she finalized her curls. Her long brown hair was cascading down her back. Which she hoped looked good. She wasn't just hopefully meeting a cute guy; she was also meeting all of Lando's fellow drivers and friends.

Madelyn knew a lot about Formula 1, but very little about the current drivers on the grid. Of course, she followed after Max retired, but not closely. Her knowledge was slim, all she knew was that Max was winning, and poor Charles couldn't catch a break.

She jumped at the knock on her bedroom door. "Mads? Are you almost ready? I told Daniel that we'd meet him and a few others at a restaurant before so we can catch up."

"Shit." Madelyn whispered to herself, spraying her perfume on haphazardly. "Yeah! Sorry, I'm coming out!"

Lando sighed, looking at his shoes as he heard Madelyn rummage around her suitcase.

He was happy she was there. Happy to be the one to be able to show her around Monaco, to be the one she ate meals with, to be the one to make sure she was comfortable. He never had a crush on Madelyn, but he knew she was beautiful. Anyone could see that.

Everything about her made him slightly nervous now. She was grown up. He could only imagine how many guys had thrown themselves at her, how many guys she had kissed, and possibly let fu-

"Lando! Did you not hear me?" Madelyn asked, confused by the far off look on his face.

"What?" He asked, clearing his throat and cracking his knuckles, still not making eye contact with her.

"Do I look okay? I don't want to look stupid in front of your friends." Madelyn shifted from one foot to the other as she waited for him to look at her and answer.

Lando finally looked up, his breath getting caught in his throat, all he could do was nod.

He didn't think he had ever seen anyone so beautiful. The way her hair framed her face and the dress she wore hug her curves perfectly. He noticed that she opted for flats instead of heels, probably to be more comfortable during the night.

The perfume she had just sprayed did not go unnoticed by Lando. What also didn't go unnoticed was the way she clenched her thighs and sniffed when he glanced at her chest and bit his lip.

Clearing his throat again, he nodded, "Yeah, um...you look fine." Madelyn's shoulders sagged a bit, "Fine? Should I go change?"

"Wha-what? No!! I mean, no, you look good- great! Sorry...Mads, you look beautiful." Lando smiled, being more genuine now, really admiring her pouty lips.

"Okay. Well, then yeah, I'm ready. Are we walking?"

"Walking? Are you crazy? I have a car, you know? Multiple actually." Lando said, adding a little sass to his comment, making her laugh.

"Right, sorry, Mr. Big, what car did you want to take then?" Madelyn laughed, thanking Lando as he opened the door to his garage for her.

"Mr. Big? Did you just 'Sex and the City' reference me?" It was Lando's turn to laugh now, making Madelyn smile and nod, "Yeah, you're acting like you're Mr. Big, so..." she shrugged earning a scoff.

"Whatever, let's take the McLaren 720s." He said, opening the passenger door for Madelyn as she widened her eyes.

"Um, thanks." She sat down, careful to not touch anything in the car that was worth more than her life. The interior and exterior of this car made her want to cry. It was absolutely stunning. She knew this had to cost hundreds of thousands, but probably not much for Lando.

Lando noticed her shift in mood. He knew the car was a lot, and that this was a big change. And maybe he shouldn't have flirted with her by her room like that. He didn't want to scare her off all the way back to her brother.

Putting the car into drive, Lando drove off with the music on as Madelyn pulled at her fingers and toyed with her necklace. Her nerves were taking over. Meeting new people that she had nothing in common with, living in a new country, being with Lando in his expensive car in this expensive country with people that made millions.

She felt a bit out of place. That didn't mean that she wanted to move. She was just not use to the luxuries of Monaco yet. Monaco was always fascinating to Madelyn in her younger years, but she never expected to be here.

Her thoughts were halted to a stop as Lando opened his door handed his keys to the valet and went to the other side of his McLaren. As he opened Madelyn's door, he smiled and took her hand and whispered to her, "There's not as many people in Monaco, so don't worry too much about them taking pictures."

Madelyn nodded as she took his hand and walked away from the car, following him into the restaurant. The restaurant, she noticed, was beautiful. It looked spotless and rich.

"Do you two have a reservation?" The man asked from the hostess stand, Lando nodding. "Yeah. We're meeting a party here. Should be under 'Ric'." Madelyn's brows furrowed, "Ric?" She whispered to Lando.

He didn't answer, instead, he shook his head to her, a silent way of telling her to wait a moment.

She nodded, using this time to take a few deep breaths. "Alright, if you two will follow me?" Lando nodded and started walking with Madelyn close behind.

"Your table requested the private room, it's near the back." The man said, opening the door to the private room. As it opened, she noticed the amount of people at the table.

Once the door closed behind them, Lando ushered her toward the table, "I have to introduce you to everyone, yeah?" Madelyn bit her tongue, but gave Lando a quiet "Yea" in response.

Lando led her around the table, introducing her to Carlos and his girlfriend Rebecca first. Rebecca seemed nice enough, each of them ending up talking about their outfits as Lando sighed and Carlos laughed.

"Rebecca is a talker, Lando. She might insist on Madelyn siting by her." Carlos said, putting his arm on the back of his girlfriend's chair. "No, we need to continue. Mads? Mads? Come on."

"Oh! I'll be back!" Madelyn said, Rebecca smiling and laughing as she noticed the way Lando grabbed her hand.

"Are they dating?" Rebecca asked Carlos, earning an eye roll, "No, but I'm sure they will be soon..."

"Mads, this is Daniel and his girlfriend Heidi- No! No talking, save the chit chat, I want to eat." Lando rushed, stopping Heidi when she went to say hi.

"Lando. You're being rude!" Madelyn said, in a quiet shout.

"Nah, he's just being Lando. We can talk after he drags you around here." Daniel said, taking a sip of his drink and laughing.

Lando then introduced her to Oscar and his girlfriend Lily. Followed by Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, and Pierre's girlfriend Kika.

Both Max and Charles' girlfriends were apparently out of Monaco but gave you their girlfriends contact info.

"You studied...?" Charles asked, curious.

"Journalism! I had a minor in art history. They don't really go together but...I love art and its history." Madelyn shrugged, taking the seat beside Charles as Lando took the one next to her and next to Carlos.

"Ah! My girlfriend was an Art History major! I'm sure you two could have a lot to talk about." Charles seemed excited.

"Yeah! I'd love to get together with her." Madelyn said sincerely as Charles nodded and texted Alex. "Can you text her your number?"

"Hm? Yeah, of course." Madelyn typed on Charles' phone and handed it back, soon after receiving a message from Alex introducing herself.

After another thirty minutes of talking, she noticed her phone light up, making Lando turn his head from his conversation with Carlos.

"Someone's texting you, Madelyn." He knocked her shoulder, interrupting her chat with Heidi from across the table. "Okay? Anyways, Heidi-"

"You should check it." Lando commented, shrugging and sipping his coke. Madelyn sighed, putting her phone under her thigh and going back to her conversation.

He didn't care who was texting her. He wasn't her boyfriend, even if he was it wouldn't matter- no! Why was he having these thoughts? Lando shook his head and had another bite of his pasta as he felt his pants pocket vibrate with a text notification.

Pulling out his phone he read a notification that said, "I can sense the horny from across the table." It was from Daniel. But the nut sent it to the driver group chat...

"Daniel?" Max asked, furrowing his brows.

Carlos just sighed as Pierre sent laughing emojis and Charles' face went red. Oscar just ignored it and continued talking to Lily. Drivers in the chat that were confused just sent question marks.

Daniel coughed, everyone but the guys were confused, and no one shared the message sent.

"Sorry guys! Didn't mean to send my nuts to the gc! Ignore that for me." Daniel smiled, laughing as Heidi's head snapped toward her boyfriend and yelled at him in a hushed whisper.

"He sent a nude to your group chat?" Madelyn asked, turning to Lando.

"What? Oh, yeah. Nasty one, isn't he?" Lando sighed, thankful for no one saying anything. Even though, he knew, everyone knew what that text was about.

Madelyn made a face and went to eating her pasta, occasionally sipping her red wine.

The rest of the dinner went quick, quiet conversations between everyone and talks about the races between the drivers.

Soon enough it was 11:30 and the girls wanted to go to the nearest club.

"Carlos, you love this club! Don't be boring!" Rebecca said as they all stood on the sidewalk waiting for their cars. Rebecca already a little tipsy. "Erm, Becca I have training...if you want to go you might have to go home with someone else?" Carlos said, cringing as she slapped him on the arm.

"Never mind, I'll just bug you tonight. Goodnight, Guys!" Rebecca called stumbling into Carlos' Ferrari as he said bye to everyone and the two drove off.

The only people ending up going to the club were Lando, Madelyn, Max, Daniel, and Heidi. Charles and Pierre opting out to go to Charles' and relax, whilst Oscar and Lily needed to fly to Australia for break.

"I like Lily, she's sweet." Madelyn said, Lando taking a quick glance at her as he shut his car door to follow the others to the club.

"Yeah? If you come to the races this year, you'll be able to spend more time with her. She usually always comes to support Oscar." Madelyn nodded, "Yeah, if you don't mind. I'd love to come with."

"Of course I don't mind. you came to all my Formula 4 races after all." Lando winked, Madelyn laughing.

"Oh my gosh! I remember those! God, you were so tiny."

"Hey! You're younger than me! You were much smaller." Lando grumbled, turning into the valet spot behind Max as he saw Daniel and Heidi waiting outside the club door.

"Sure, but you were small for a boy your age." Madelyn laughed again, the noise bringing a weird feeling to Lando's stomach that he decided to shake off.

"Let's just go in, you Muppet." Lando said, sighing as he got out and opened her door, Madelyn still laughing as they walked up to the other three.

"You alright there, Fewtrell?" Max asked the girl, noticing her flushed face from laughing, "Yeah, 'm good. Let's go in?"

Heidi nodded, grabbing Madelyn's hand as they walked in, the three others in tow.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"You might have a problem on your hands Lando." Daniel spoke, sipping his soda as he watched Heidi drag Madelyn to the dance floor with a Gin & Tonic in her hand and Heidi's hand in the other.

"What do you mean?" He asked, leaning back in the booth they reserved.

"Mate, she's drunk and we've been here for one hour. And she's on top of that guy!" Max noted, making Lando's head snap up and search for the brunette.

"Where?!" He asked, his head snapping in every direction possible.

Daniel started cackling as Max shook his head and laughed, "You are so into her, mate." Max commented.

Lando groaned, "You guys' suck. She's right there with Heidi. No guy- oh..."

Maybe Lando needed that wake-up call. He needed to realize that his best friend's little sister was off limits. Not to mention how mad Max would be.

And Lando tried, he really did try. He tried to keep his eyes off of her and the way she danced. He tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach when she downed another three shots. He also tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that coursed through him when he saw some guy come up behind Madelyn and put his hands on her.

How the guy rested his hands over her ass, dancing with her and she was oblivious. Okay...not oblivious, but he wasn't comfortable.

Sure, she was not drunk, and maybe she did know about the guy behind her, but Lando really couldn't stop himself when he rose from the booth. Ignoring Daniel and Max's comments, asking him where he was going.

Lando truly saw nothing but red as he pushed his way through the crowd dancing. He shoved some people left and right to get to her. And oh, how that made it worse for him.

From this closeness, he could see the boner the guy sported. It seemed as though he was running on default when he dragged Madelyn away as she whined, Heidi not far behind as she knew the night was over.

"Landoooo, what's going on?" Madelyn asked once they had made it back to the booth.

"Max, hand me her bag, please." Lando said, putting his jacket over Madelyn's shoulders and taking the bag once Max handed it over.

"So, you're leaving?" Daniel asked, putting his arm around Heidi as she down.

Lando didn't respond, instead taking Madelyn's hand and leading her to the exit of the club. Soon, they stood in the chilly night, waiting once again for the valet to bring Lando's car.

Madelyn couldn't keep her head on straight on the drive home. She nestled into the seat with Lando's jacket around her as she dozed off.

Lando didn't realize how upset Madelyn would truly be the next morning. She was in Monaco for work and breaking her dry spell, not for a bodyguard.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

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[disneyprincemuke]

you can't spell lonesome without me * fem!driver

everyone and everything she's ever loved seems to be slipping away from her grasp and she doesn't know how to stop it

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, mick schumacher x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, liam lawson x fem!driver

notes: hi! matt and rocky angst comes after this so hehe gl with this guyz hope u enjoy it because it actually took 20 years of my life tryna write this LOL

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

sebastian keeps telling her that it’s not her fault; to look at the bigger picture to get some perspective. but she doesn’t quite understand why the bigger picture has to have liam in it — frankly, who cares if liam’s qualified 15th and she ended up behind him? that’s not the point.

the point is she finds herself at another weekend where she couldn’t deliver results.

she hasn’t spoken much since she crawled out of her car after getting knocked out in the first round of qualifying. and she appreciates that matt hasn’t forced anything out of her just yet.

she’d stormed out of her garage and tried to get through all her interviews as gracefully as she could. but how could she ignore her results when, week after week, the questions and criticisms are the same?

it’s slowly getting harder and harder to keep her feet on the ground when things are slowly coming undone around her.

and she can’t thank matt enough for letting her cancel their plans without another word. she’d simply uttered that she just wanted to be locked away in their hotel room and he agreed without prodding too much.

she steps out of her racing home, taken aback by the 4 other bodies of her friends that are riddled by the porch, all on their phones. she tilts her head as she holds the door in her hands. “what are you guys doing here?”

logan is the first to look up, furrowed eyebrows and lips pursed in what she can only assume to be out of annoyance. “what do you mean? we’re heading out for ice cream tonight.”

she glances at matt next to her, who’s already looking at her as he awaits her response. she sighs as she looks back at her friends. “i’m sorry, mate,” she apologises, shaking her head. she weaves herself out of matt’s grasp and takes a step forward. “i’m not feeling great tonight.”

“what?” oscar whines, lifting his head from his phone with a slight frown. “is it a fever? are you alright?”

“i’m alright.” she smiles very slightly, picking on her arm as she forces another lie to her lips. “we can go tomorrow after the race, but just not tonight, i think. i’m sorry.”

liam furrows his eyebrows with a loud sigh. “is it because of qualifying?” he grins when she looks over at him. “if it’s any consolation, i’m not happy about it either, mate.”

she laughs softly. “yeah, it sucks.”

“i can’t do tomorrow. my flight’s right after the race,” mick frowns with a sigh. “i’m meeting laila for a bit before the next race weekend.”

“oh,” logan hums, turning away from mick to look at her. “we can go just us, right?”

“i can’t either,” oscar hisses, his frown growing. “i’m flying back home for an event that lily has. she needs me there.”

“ah,” she grins with a nod. she looks at logan. “we don’t have to get ice cream this weekend. it’s okay.”

logan raises an eyebrow. “you’re sure?”

she nods. “i’m sure.”

“it feels like it’s been so difficult to get a grasp of you lately. have you gotten too famous for me?”

she turns around with her head tilted, lips puckered as she takes a sip out of the pepsi can in her arms. “oh, hi max!”

“hi!” max perks up at her smile. “i’ve barely spoken to you since the second race. how are you?”

she sucks in a deep breath as she looks around the busy paddocks, people turning their heads at her and max, and some cowering away immediately when she catches their eye. she looks back at max with a frank smile. “good.”

he lifts an eyebrow. “really?”

she knows that talking to someone would probably ease her mind with all her thoughts. it might even calm her down to a certain degree.

and she almost does.

but she doesn’t. instead, she says, “of course. i feel great, even.”

“well,” max puts a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to snap her head up to look at him, “take my advice, mate. don’t be too hard on yourself.”

but the question still begs: how exactly does she not do that?

there’s a slight scowl on her face as she looks up at the podium. her arms are folded over her chest as the australian national anthem blasts from the speakers.

her best friends have made it on the podium this season — without her. while it’s not totally unheard of that she misses out on the share of glory, it’s never usually her on the receiving end of this torment.

at least not as of late.

to oscar’s left is logan clad in blue, and to his right is mick in the mercedes suit. it’s almost annoying.

there’s an itch in her brain and a smidge of resentment starting to grow in her chest. it’s wrong to feel this way — she knows it is — because these are her friends achieving big things in their sport. but is it so wrong that she’s starting to feel a little jealous?

just a little bit. just a little. just a touch.

maybe if she sleeps this off and wakes up tomorrow, all remnants of resentment would somehow no longer exist.

she shouldn’t feel this way, no. it’s not right. she forces a smile to her face, waving halfheartedly at oscar when he catches her eye. he pumps his fist into the air and waves his trophy in the air.

next to her is lily with her phone up, pictures and videos taken. and of course, ylona’s next to her, waving excitedly at logan as she points at her phone to get him to pose for a picture.

she presses her lips together, annoyance growing in her gut as her airways start to close in on itself. it’s just so hard to breathe especially with everyone pressed up against her. she’s still sweaty from the race, her hair is sticking against her forehead and her race suit starts to feel just slightly restricting.

she huffs softly, hooking a finger into the neckline of her fireproofs.

but everything feels like it’s burning.

“excuse me,” she mutters, dropping her head low as she pushes herself through the crowd. she ignores the way lily and ylona call after her in confusion.

she heaves when she manages to rid herself of the crowd, hands on her knees as she struggles to catch her breath. she catches max’s eye right by parc ferme, engaged in a conversation with charles.

she sees the way he perks up in concern at her but chooses to ignore it. she just picks herself up and heads to the media pen to do her interviews.

the feeling will eventually leave.

she looks around the ice cream parlour, slouched slightly with her hands pressed between the cushion of the seat and her thighs. in retrospect, it felt like coming out after media day would have been the ideal time to come out and indulge in ice cream.

but now that she’s sat here, stuck between liam and mick in a booth, it seems that she has made a mistake.

“what are you having, rocky?” logan asks, tapping the table in front of her to catch her attention. “rocky road with extra marshmallows still? or do you feel like vanilla ice cream today?”

with the way her stomach has been churning recently, any form of chocolate makes her feel sick. she shakes her head. “maybe just a lemon sorbet if they have that available.”

an audible gasp comes from either side of her. she throws her head back and looks between them. liam has the back of his hand pressed up against her forehead, mick’s tilted his head with furrowed eyebrows and logan’s staring down at her with parted lips.

“what are you guys doing?” she asks mellowly, swatting their hands away from her. “don’t touch me.”

“sorbet?” liam scowls, pointing a finger at her. “is everything okay? you’re like sorbets’ number one hater.”

she raises her eyebrows and chews on the inside of her cheeks. “am i?”

“yes,” logan emphasises. “you literally told me off one time for having sorbet during our ice cream dates. you and oscar wouldn’t let me live it down for weeks!”

she blinks at him. “you got a raspberry sorbet, so you had that coming.”

“no!” logan shrieks. “sorbet? really? what’s wrong with you? is everything okay? you always say sorbets are inferior to ice cream.”

she nods hesitantly. she vaguely remembers the one time that she’d gone on a drunk tangent about sorbet not being ice cream. to which she can say that she understands logan’s argument. “well, i’m not really feeling ice cream today.”

mick hums, making her turn her head to look at him. “if it’s just this one time, i guess we can excuse the behaviour.”

she hears logan humming, eyes still narrowed down into a glare. “just this one time, rocky. i’ll give you a chance.”

“great, thanks. i was worried you’d bully me into having ice cream tonight.”

“keep up the sarcasm and i’ll actually force you.”

she flinches when she opens the door to her driver’s room, only to find it occupied. she blinks. “seriously, you’ve got to stop taking advantage of seb.”

“we missed you,” oscar grins, comfortably lying in her bean bag, tapping away on his phone. “and you weren’t answering our texts in the group chat.”

she looks over at matt and points at her friends. “really? you let them in?”

the green-eyed boy shrugs, lips pressed together. “4 versus 1 argument — remember that.”

there’s nothing that she wanted all day but to come back to a peaceful and silent driver’s room. she’d wanted to simply sit with matt in silence before she had to get up and drag her feet to a conference room and come up with diplomatic answers on the spot.

she just needed a couple of hours to herself to think and recuperate. to get herself in a better headspace after these past couple of races.

“where are we heading for ice cream tonight?” logan raises an eyebrow, not sparing her a look as he continues to tap away on his phone.

“ice cream,” she mutters, trailing off as she blinks. “oh, my god.”

she shakes her head, her palm pressed against her forehead. amidst everything that’s been in her head, she’d completely forgotten to research an ice cream parlour for them to visit tonight.

oscar chuckles. “you’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

“yes,” she answers, somewhat apologetically. “i’m so sorry. and i’m busy today, i don’t have the time. can either of you find a place?”

but there’s a different answer that she hopes they would choose instead of the standard answer that they’d give her.

she finds them wanting to say nevermind; that they’ll just not grab ice cream together.

to her dismay, that’s not what mick says. “oo, can i choose?”

“give it a while, kid.”

“i don’t have a while!” she shrieks, looking around at her mobile car, cars passing her from the track. she can practically hear the comments and see the headlines once she steps out of the car when the race finishes. “tell them to fucking get it together! what the fuck is going on?”

she’s looking around wide-eyed, desperate to meet anyone’s eye for an explanation. the longer she stays parked in the pit, for what was supposed to be a pit stop, the less threshold she has to stay in the race.

“this is absolutely insane, seb. i was in p5 before this shit show.”

“rocky,” he hears her sigh into her ears, “just be patient.”

she dug her foot into the acceleration when the sign flipped to the bright green colour. adrenaline pumps through her veins as she convinces herself that her car will be good enough to put her back into a good spot.

that she’s good enough to put herself in a position where she’s no longer on the receiving end of harsh words this weekend.

above all else, she needs to prove to herself that she hasn’t lost her touch as a driver.

“you’re currently in p9.”

“what the hell happened during that pit?” she complains, the urge to roll her eyes growing stronger. “that was so fucked up, seb! you know what– it isn’t. it’s absolutely fucking unacceptable.”

“i know, rocky,” seb answers calmly, clearing his intonation to ensure that the young girl hears him. and actually listens because it doesn’t seem like she’s absorbing much of what he says. “we’ll debrief later after the race, okay? just focus on making the most out of the weekend.”

she grunts. “fine, whatever.”

“ice cream tonight?” logan pops up next to her, grinning when she lifts her head from her intense gaze on her shoe. “found a spot?”

she sighs, blinking. “no. i forgot.”

logan takes a spot next to her on the couch, furrowing his eyebrows. “you forgot again?”

“yeah,” she huffs as she looks away to avoid his gaze. “sorry.”

truth is that she didn’t look for one on purpose. she just simply doesn’t feel like heading out with them tonight.

she just waits for the time that oscar and logan will let her be. perhaps the stupid ice cream tradition needed to be abolished altogether. just seems like a waste of time.

“no worries,” logan grins, patting her head gently. “you’ve had a long couple of race weekends past you. i’ll look for one, okay?”

she breathes out shakily, smiling halfheartedly. “okay, thank you.”

she finds herself dreading the ice cream date with her friends. she trails behind the group with small steps, watching her feet with every step as she formulates a way to escape her obligations.

she clears her throat and lifts her head. “um.”

“she’s spoken,” oscar jokes, grabbing logan’s arms — previously hitting him — and turns back to grin at her. “the curse must have been broken.”

“someone found the unmute button on the remote!” logan giggles, scrunching his nose. “what’s up, rocky?”

liam hums with a smile. “your girlfriend remembered she has friends!” he looks over at matt and nods. “good for her.”

“i’m like,” she trails off, biting down on her lip as she forces another lie out, “totally not feeling great. i’m on my period and i’m kind of lightheaded. is it alright if i sit this one out?”

“aw, bub,” matt coos, shoving liam off of him, arms extended as he approaches her. he tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. “you’re on your period?”

she looks up at matt, wide-eyed as she slowly nods. “just got it before we left my room.”

which is a lie.

“aw, does that mean matt’s not coming with us?” mick frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. “i haven’t spent time with him forever, that’s so unfair.”

she shakes her head, flashing mick a small grin. “no, it totally doesn’t mean that. he can go with you guys — i just wanna head back to the hotel and take a nap, really. i’ll be okay on my own.”

matt hums. “i’ll go with you.”

“you should go with them,” she laughs, grabbing his arm with a small nod. “i’ll text you when i’m back, i promise. i’ll be okay — i just need to take a nap, i reckon.”

logan furrows his eyebrows and his smile drops at her insistence. “i can walk you back to the hotel if you want.”

she shakes her head. “i’ll be okay. you guys have fun, okay?”

she kneels on her beanbag, lips pressed together as she looks out of the tiny window of her driver’s room. right by the porch of her racing home are her friends gathered, laughing and having a good time as they awaited her arrival.

“bub,” matt sighs. “are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?”

she turns around with a small smile, scrunching her nose. “i’ll be okay, bub. i’m just not really feeling like heading to the club tonight.”

he walks over to her, slumping his shoulders as she leans into his body for a hug. “at least let me stay with you? i don’t like you being alone when i’m around. i’m sure we can come up with some silly excuse that they won’t giggle at like 12-year-olds.”

“you have to go,” she hums, pulling her head back to look up at him, “it’s logan’s race win — just go in my place, please? tell him i’m really sorry i can’t be there.”

he hums, cupping her cheek. she leans into his touch with a soft sigh and her eyes fluttering close. “you should tell him that yourself. you owe him that much; he’s your best friend.”

she shakes her head, her hand coming up to rest above the hand that’s on her face. “i can’t,” she chokes, tears filling her eyes, “you know how i feel about this. just do this one for me, bub.”

“fine,” he sighs, hunching over to press his lips to her forehead. “but you can’t keep avoiding logan and oscar and throwing me out there to face them. they miss you, you know?”

she can hear logan’s laugh in the air mixed with ylona’s. she grins slightly, “i’m sure they’ve got better things to care about other than me.”

“don’t even say that,” he pulls away, “text me when you get back to the hotel, okay? i love you.”

she scratches the back of her head roughly, nails digging into her scalp as she holds her helmet in her hands.

she mutters under her breath as she tears everything off from her body: her balaclava, her gloves, the earpiece. everything’s not right, everything’s not going her way and that’s unfair.

nobody’s worked as hard as she has to be where she is right now is all that goes in her head. it’s unfair that she’s getting the brunt of the criticism when it came to andretti’s performance on the grid this year.

she doesn’t see liam getting decimated by the masses, and she clearly doesn’t see it on sebastian or her team principal or mechanics for not producing a car to get results in a weekend.

she’s qualified at the very back of the grid this time — p19. just imagine what everyone will have to say; what everyone will zoom into just to have something to say about her driving.

it’s always her skills, never the fact that the car is simply shit.

“rocky,” she hears sebastian sigh behind her. “let’s talk.”

she shakes her head, clenching her jaw as she heads towards the exit of her garage. she doesn’t bother turning around to look at him. “just fuck off.”

the one thing she wishes to stop coming by is sebastian’s excuses for the team. it’s the same thing over and over again. it’s unfair that she’s the one getting fucked over by the media.

it’s not fair.

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[myboipotterimagines]

Golden Pt. 2 - Weasley Twins x Reader

Thank you for all the love on part one. I genuinely love this AU and hope you all do too. <3

Other Parts: Part One

Your eyes flickered between the two Weasley boys, refusing to accept that you could have two soulmates - even though they were looking you straight in the face. "This is a joke, right?" you finally ask. "I don't think anyone could pull off a joke like this," Fred spoke, gently placing his palm back to the matching spot on your cheekbone. "Even us," George laughed. "And why would we? No one dreams of half a soulmate." You don't know why, but your heart aches at his words. "I didn't dream of having you as my soulmate, either," you retort, pulling away from both Weasleys. "Is that so, sweetheart?" He takes a step closer, smirking. "Because the rouge of your cheeks says otherwise."

"Back off her, George," Fred commands, pulling the two of you apart. "We have to get out of here now or Umbridge will kill us. Like actually kill us." "Alright, soulmate. You coming with us or not?" George asks. "Like she's going to go anywhere with us now, George," Fred scoffs. "You're a total-" "I'm in," you say, cutting him off.

Fred pulled you out of the broom closet before you could change your mind. He held onto your hand as the three of you ran through the halls, avoiding the blasts of light above you. Suddenly, curses mixed into the light of the fireworks. You risked a quick look back and saw Umbridge and the rest of her cult following you. "Shit!" you yelled, ducking from a bright red ray of light.

"Accio!" both twins yelled, and after a moment a broom hit each of their hands. They mounted the brooms, Fred pulling you right behind him. You clutch him closely while shooting a string of spells behind you at Umbridge. With a final toss of fireworks, you're gone - Hogwarts far behind.

It was no time before you landed down in Diagon Alley. "What are we doing here?" you ask. The town was a graveyard - each shop having been closed for what seemed to be months.

"Alohamora," George whispered, cracking open a door to a building near the end of the lot. "You are looking at the start of our joke shop - name still pending." "And our home for the next month. If we told our mum we were leaving Hogwarts she would drag us straight back. So we have to wait her out here," Fred adds.

After spelling on the lights, George leads you in. The place was nowhere near finished, but you could see the bones of the operation. Half-finished products were strewn over the ground, haphazard notes that only they could read near each one. "This is really cool," you smile.

"I would advise you not to touch anything. There's a method to our madness and I really don't want you to accidentally blow yourself up," George says. You nod. "No touching. Got it." "Come on, bedroom's this way," Fred leads. You wish you could stop the heat from rising to your face, but George sees it immediately, smirking to himself. You ignore him, following Fred closely up the stairs.

"We didn't really prepare for guests," he admits, rubbing the nape of his neck. You enter the bedroom to find two beds on either side of the wall, an simple dresser by each one. And that was it. Not even a couch. The room was just sad. You laughed, "I can tell. If you can spare a pillow I'll sleep in the corner. It'll be cozy." "You are not sleeping on the floor," both twins immediately protested. "No way we're letting any guest sleep on the ground, let alone our soulmate," George scoffs.

"You'll have my bed tonight. We'll figure something else out by tomorrow," Fred adds.

You protested, of course, but the two fought back harder. You finally just gave in, heading towards the bed. You finally take off your cloak, aching to get out of your whole uniform, but knowing you would have to wait until tomorrow to get anything remotely comfortable to wear.

Fred immediately picks up on your discomfort. "You can wear these tonight," he says, pulling a sweater out of his dresser, then a pair of joggers. You retreat to the bathroom to pull on the clothes, and as you do you notice the golden F stitched into the sweater. You smile as the rub the end of the sleeve between your fingers.

The twins had changed out of their robes by the time you returned. George had already gone to bed, and Fred was waiting for you on his. You sat down beside him, finally taking a moment to rest after the insanity of the day. "Thank you for this," you said, nodding down to your sweater. "And for bringing me with you, and letting me sleep on your bed, and for not meeting me in the way I always feared you would."

Fred brings his hand to your face, holding you from your jaw to your ear, just as he had when you fell. "I don't think my hands could ever hurt you." He spoke the words quietly, but they filled your entire head. When you looked at him, you felt dizzy. It was all too much - his kindness, his brother's apprehension, the fact that they were both your soulmates. Was that even possible? In all your years you'd never heard of a person having two soulmates, let alone at the same time. But there they were. There he was, staring down at you with the kindest eyes you'd ever seen on a man.

"Can I kiss you?" Fred asked. His cheeks rouged as he asked, and yours followed. You couldn't speak, so you just nodded. And then the hand that had settled onto your skin, like it belonged there, pulled you into him. His lips were soft against yours, moving as slowly as a person possibly could. Still, his touch was electric and the shockwaves surged through you.

Your heart lurched in it's chest when he pulled away from you. "Goodnight," he smiled, pushing himself off of his bed. You quickly grabbed his hand, halting him. "Stay." Fortunately, he didn't require much convincing. He let you become comfortable before sliding into bed behind you, wrapping one hand around your waist.

"Merlin," George huffed, causing both of you to jump. "The two of you cannot fit comfortably on that bed. With a quick flick of his hand, his bed pushed against his brothers, the sheets melding together. You yelped as strong hands pulled you up from the outside of the bed and plopped you back down right in the middle. "I will not be cuddled by Fred in my sleep again. I trust you to keep your distance."

"With all due respect, Georgie. You are the last person I would want to cuddle in this room," Fred shot back, wrapping a protective arm around you. "I would sure hope so," he rolled his eyes, finally lowering himself into bed beside you. He didn't bother to face the other direction, instead studying your face. Against your will, you blushed once more - which only caused him to smirk. "Sweet dreams, princess," he teased.

"Sweet dreams, Georgie," you smiled back, finally causing his cheeks to burn.

***

Author's Note: I'm thinking about making this a series. Let me know what you all think. And if I do make it a series - would y'all want smut or no?

Next in the series: Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

[bambi-slxt]

🤍𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠🤍

𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕨 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠

word count: 1.5k

genres: n/a

warnings: mentions of depression medication and mental health, male masturbation

notes from bambi: here you go!

Matt did see everything. He liked to lurk in the triplet’s fandom spaces, and when his mental health was good, he even found it kinda fun, though he would never reveal this aloud. He definitely enjoyed watching those same spaces work themselves into a tizzy at his knowledge admittance–these kids were so funny. So it came as no surprise to him when the Tumblr TikTok video showed up on his feed.

Matt hadn’t had a good night. He’d tried to jerk off earlier, all to no avail. His antidepressants were helpful for his mood and overall outlook on life but goddamn did they make it hard to masturbate. With a snarl, he had pulled up his boxers and opened TikTok. That was over an hour ago, and now Matt scrolled aimlessly on his private account. He was quite proud of it actually. He disguised it as some random fanpage and had made it a personal mission that week to reblog a few videos about himself. No one would know, and he was nothing if not a Matt girl. 

The video on his Following page was formatted simply–a girl in her room, as most of them were, and he saw it was one of his favorite fan accounts. She always had good takes and the drama in her comment section kept him incredibly entertained. She was expressing her fear at his now-infamous “I see everything” line, and with a chuckle, he pressed the heart icon, preparing to scroll away. In his sleepy haze, he missed, hitting the comment bubble instead. What he saw made his head tilt.

user

   oh ik the tumblr girlies shakin rn

      user

         LMAOOOO REAL

      user

         i’m so lost 😭😭😭

      user

         tumblr can’t be worse than here

      user

         wait what’s on tumbler?

           see all 63 replies៴

user

   bro does NOT see everything, he’d be traumatized

     see all 12 replies៴

user

   @ user WHEN I SAW THAT I SCREAMED

user

   you guys are gonna make them quit if you keep doing ts

     see all 241 replies៴

Matt rolled his eyes at that one. He knew it was a valid concern, but he also knew that there were prices to be paid for being famous, and he would take a few weird stories in exchange for the life of his literal dreams. And besides, he reasoned to himself, they were always so off-the-mark anyway that it didn’t even feel like he was reading about himself.

But back to the matter at hand. Matt had never even heard of Tumblr, so there couldn’t be that many triplet fan accounts on there, and he figured that after everything he’d seen on Twitter, he was ready for anything.

“Well this is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbled to himself, scrolling to the end of the “headcanon”, as it was called. Matt read the name of the “blogger” (he was learning so many new terms tonight) that posted it - some strange amalgamation of letters and numbers, with, of course, “sturniolo” tacked on to the end. Matt elected to keep his thoughts on the spelling to himself. “You’re weird for that. All of it.” He swiped out of the app, fully prepared to roll over, go to sleep, and forget all about it.

…

But what else did they get wrong about him? What did the rest of them think he did when he had sex? Matt figured he should check that “sturniolo triplet” hashtag one more time. 

He sat up properly for this, sighing as he flicked on his bedside lamp. It illuminated his room, its soft light showcasing the woodsy decorations he’d furnished months ago. With a grimace, he opened the accursed app once more and began a deep dive.

It seemed the entire community centered around “smut” of him and Chris. He saw a few for Nick, a handful for Nate, all of which he scrolled past quickly, blinking them away. He wasn’t trying to dive that deep.

The first thing Matt noticed was that almost every story had a line of photos at the top, like a faux header. None of the images contained anything amiss–all were photos posted by him and his brothers throughout the years, pictures taken by fans at shows, and the like. No, the real stuff lay in the words. This was a community–he could tell that much from the amount of reposting–of very good writers. Many of their stories spanned thousands of words with multiple parts and real plots woven throughout. And there were a lot. It was dizzying. He adjusted himself. 

There were stories for almost every situation, some even making him a drug dealer (though most writers seemed to think that out of anyone, it would be Chris, which he found hilarious due to the fact that Chris couldn’t tell a convincing lie if his life depended on it), a mafia boss, a father, a mechanic, or simply just a doting boyfriend. Some wrote him as a harsh, domineering man, quick to take his bratty girlfriend to task. Some wrote him as a needy submissive individual, and the words they used made his head spin. Matt adjusted himself again. His dick didn’t normally bother him this much. Maybe he needed new boxers. 

Matt himself only had a bit of experience in the wide world of sex. He knew there were some wild kinks out there, but he found he was never much interested in watching that kind of porn, and he’d only been with a few girls his entire life, none of whom had ever asked him to perform such tasks on them, so he really didn’t know what he liked and didn’t like. As he lay in his bed, his lamp casting fuzzy shadows over his room, Matt couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen.

They think I’m capable of actually…spanking someone? Am I? If she wanted it, I guess…Apparently I’m some sort of sex god, super posessive, I have a breeding kink, whatever the fuck that means, and Chris and I fight over girls a lot. To him, that was the most unrealistic–he and Chris had wildly different types. 

The sheer amount of stories depicting him absolutely rearranging the guts of the reader or y/n (he still had no idea what that meant) made his brain short-circuit, and he tried to tap out of the one currently pulled up. But alas, Matt still had no idea how Tumblr worked–the images below every story just took him deeper, and it was one of those images that he misguidedly clicked on, an innocuous lilac purple, covered in sparkles. Seems harmless enough.

As Matt tapped around, trying to get back, he found himself on another account and thoroughly lost. An underlined word in the first post caught his attention–concepts. Subtitled below were the words, “short headcanons about the triplets! both sfw and nsfw”. He tilted his head. ‘Sfw’? What does that mean? A quick Google search quieted his questioning. Surely a “safe-for-work” headcanon would be fine to read. He tapped the link, and it directed him to a simpler page, one organized using just his name and Chris’s, each one with links below them. His thumb hovered over one near the top, its title mildly intriguing–“soft!dom!matt”.

Then he paused. Was he really doing this? His dick began to throb. He should have just left the whole thing alone, but now…well, now he had to know. 

Five words in and he was pumping his rock-hard cock in his hand. Matt’s neck strained, his left thumb shaking as he tried to scroll to read more. Such a short piece of fiction and yet…

His stomach began to tie itself into knots. The more he read, the more he panted. His whole pelvic region felt tingly and his cock was so warm in his hand, and getting warmer by the second. This was different than anything he’d ever jerked off to before–this wasn’t a video, or even a naughty selfie from a girlfriend. This was pure porn, about him bringing some unnamed girl to completion over and over again. Matt didn’t even know that was possible. The unnamed girl couldn’t even handle his cock, that’s how tight she was-

The moment he realized this fact, his nuts clenched and he spurted cum all the way up to his chest. Pumping furiously, even raising his hips into his hand, he continued his explosive orgasm, letting out breathy groans as he did so. His chest heaved with heavy breath, and Matt felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes from how hard he’d just finished. He collapsed on his bed, sheets askew, pillows rearranged, staring blankly at the ceiling.

And then Matt realized which head had been doing all his thinking for him this entire time. Letting his now-limp dick flop to the side, he let out one more gasp of air. “That was weird,” he said aloud into the empty room. “Never doing that again.”

notes from bambi: i referenced my own work because it didn’t feel right to use anyone else’s without their consent, and i wanted to put this out today, not because i think my writing is better than anyone else's or because i think matt would prefer mine over yours. remember that it’s all just fiction and we write for fun. i hope you all enjoyed!

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[chairofchaos]

Stormy Night in the Library

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Cozy, stormy Night Court reading night

Vibe: fluffy fluffy fluffy (Apparently I’m in an Azriel mood so enjoy!)

Warnings: None? If there should be any, let me know!

The book was… incredible. Emerie was right, the gentle adventure was exactly what you wanted for a night like tonight. With the thunder cracking outside and rain pelting against the window, there was nothing better than the roaring fire, a warm blanket, and a good book.

The only improvement that could be made would be having your mate sprawled in your lap on the couch, but he hadn’t made it home before the storm hit. Despite his promise he would be home for dinner, there wasn’t anything he could do about the weather. You had asked the House to keep his plate warm when he hadn’t arrived for dinner with you, Nesta, and Cassian, and you were sure it was still waiting for him, along with a note telling him exactly where you would be waiting.

A few chapters later, you heard the door swing open, and then shut again.

“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, bending down to kiss your forehead.

“Welcome home,” you said, reaching up to brush his wet hair out of his face. “You made it okay?”

He grumbled. “I need to warm up, but I’m fine.” 

“Please tell me you ate your dinner.”

“Of course I ate dinner. That stew is my favorite, and if I hadn’t you would have dragged me back out there where it is cold. May I?” He holds the corner of your blanket up with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Yes,” you laugh, “but no funny business- I’m in the last chapters of this book and I want to know what happens.”

Before you’re even finished speaking, Azriel has knelt between your knees and then stretched out, his legs sprawling off the end of the couch and his head in the crook of your neck. His wings stretch over the back of the couch on one side, and to the floor on the other, creating a little tent of warmth for you both. 

“Hmm,” he kisses you gently. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You kiss the top of his head. “You’re welcome, love.”

The storm slows, and for a while, the only sounds are the gentle exhales of Azriel’s breath, the turning of pages, and the roar of the fire. The main character has made a dumb decision- she’s trusting the character with the most dubious intentions instead of her best companion, and she doesn’t even recognize any of the tells which the author spells out. Your quick gasp draws a flutter from Azriel’s dozing eyelids, so you poke him in the cheek.

“Az.”

“Hmm…” he responds.

“Should we go to bed?”

“Bed?” he slurs sleepily. 

“Yes, Az. Bed. Sleep.”

He jolts suddenly, causing you to drop your book.

“I’m sorry,” he reaches to the ground, picking up your book where it fell. “Here.”

You chuckle. “You’re so tired, Az. Why don’t we go to bed?”

“It’s just so cozy right-” he kisses your chin, your jaw, the hollow of your throat- “here. What do you say we make a night out of it?”

“How?”

“I’ll go grab my book and some snacks. We’ll make a whole night out of this storm.”

“Perfect,” you smile at him, his eyes filled with light and the slightest hint of joyous mischief.

“I’ll be right back,” he leaps up, making sure to tuck your blanket back around you before jogging out of the room. You shake your head, laughing under your breath at your handsome mate. He quickly returns, bounding into the room and kicking the door shut again behind him. His arms overflow with two books, one from your bedside table and one from his, and a couple pastries and treats from the kitchen.

“Here we are. Brought you your next book, since you’re almost done with that one,” he smiles, settling it all on the coffee table. He offers you a pastry, and your next book. You take them, tucking the book between your body and the couch back, and biting into the snack. 

The chocolate filling of the flaky pastry fills your mouth, and you hum, letting your eyes slip closed.

He snorts, lifting the blanket again to rejoin you in its warmth. “Should I leave?” he quips. 

“Ha-ha,” you snark in return. “Only if you want to keep your hair intact.”

Azriel mocks offense, his low laughter quickly following to join with yours. “You love my hair too much to do anything to it.”

“Of course I do. Just like I love all of you,” you kiss him gently, slipping the hand which doesn’t have chocolate on it around the back of his neck. 

He chuckles into your lips, kissing you back gently before sighing contentedly. 

“How’s your book?”

You smile, showing him how far you’ve gotten, even since he had gotten home. “I’m nearly finished. It’s good- but I think the author’s left it on a cliffhanger, and the next one won’t come out for a while which will be a hard wait.” 

“Oh no. Well, at least you have a whole library to choose from.”

“The only thing to mend my broken heart,” you tease. 

He presses another kiss to your lips, grinning. “The only thing.”

“The best thing,” you giggle. His grin widens to a full smile.

“Well, at least I know where your priorities lie. When you’ve finished with the only real remedy for your heart, come home to me?”

“Always,” you smile, bending to kiss him again.

As you both return to your books, the storm picks up once again, rumbling with thunder. You finish the first book, which Az takes from you and places on the table, hardly looking away from his own book. Instead of grabbing your next book, you take a few moments to admire him. These are your favorite moments- together, and yet in your own little worlds. His face twists with obvious reactions, the only time he’s unguarded when he’s engaged in the escapism of a good book. You admire the way the firelight’s flickering reflects in his dark hair, twining the ends between your fingers. 

Eventually you both slip into sleep, Az’s hair twined between your fingers, his arms around your waist, and an open book on the floor beside the couch. The fire crackles on, a complement to the thunder and pelting rain. Cozy against the cold, you and Azriel sleep peacefully, the joy of simple togetherness being entirely unmatched, content in each other's arms.