#roll credits i reckon

[halechief]

honestly i think what bothered me the most about season six - and while i’m at it, season five, is how completely they subverted almost everything that we knew and understood about claire, in order to make her “more formidable” or “more dangerous,”  or “more compelling,” since i guess they felt the need to make up for the lack of francis. the thing about claire is that she has always been dangerous. and when they weren’t making her look stupid or insensitive in order to further the plot, i actually liked the way that they showed that in her. the intimidation she used with zoe, the way she tried the gentle approach with gillian cole and when that didn’t work, very very calmly and deliberately she revealed herself just enough to achieve the desired effect. am i really the sort of enemy you want to make? she was never, ever so heavy handed as francis. she used the soft touch in every situation right up until the moment that it no longer worked, and when the time came to move beyond that, the destruction was typically just as elegant as her mercy would have been. in seasons four five and six i really feel like so much of her characterisation just started getting... sloppy and awkward. and as far as the asides, i loved the first one, we make the terror. i even loved a couple of the ones after that because they were sparing, they were utilized at the appropriate moment. i loved the ones that might not have been asides at all, when she seems to respond to something francis has said, but the same words are used to the room at large, like when he says that she owes him and she says not true, and uses that to address the room, as well. season six simply took it way too far, and it’s obvious from the EVERYTHING ABOUT IT that they did it because they had simply decided that instead of writing us claire, they were going to write us Frank In Heels. let me bring us back to a little moment from season one for reference as to what i mean, and why i think it’s out of character.

it’s one of my favorite episodes,chapter 11, where claire leaves adam’s apartment in new york after the news about peter russo breaks. there’s a photograph that claire took in the park where she and adam had talked, where he’d asked her about fear and feelings and francis and what she had wanted from her life. he’d pointed out the young woman and said “if he’s looking for you, that’s where you are. over there. before you met frank. alone. curious. absorbing everything.” to which claire replies : you have no idea what i was like when i was a girl. she takes the photo after admitting to adam that what she’d wanted was not just to be seen, but significant. later, when they print out the pieces of the enlarged rendering, adam asks what they should name her :

claire: why does she need a name? adam: i never photograph anyone without knowing their name. claire: you didn’t take the photograph. i did. adam: i think . . . we should call her claire. claire: (laughs) she doesn’t even look like me. even a younger version, why do you keep saying that? adam: not her features, her .. expression. hey, we should mount it. you can hang her in your house. would francis object? claire: .... can we please .. not discuss francis?

from there it moves on, claire denies that frank’s presence is there between them even when she is visiting and ‘being with him’ ( although that is undoubtedly true, francis is always hanging between her and whatever person she tries to love. ) eventually by the end of the episode, claire and adam have had their massive argument, wherein adam says “that is what i find so frustrating about you claire. you chose not to be free.” and she says : no. what i chose is a man i could love for more than a week  ( . . . )  i have a life with francis, i have a future with him. and it’s bigger than a moment. 

HERE ARE THE EVEN FUCKING MORE IMPORTANT PARTS. 

claire rearranges the pieces of the photo laid out on the floor. she folds a swan into the centerpiece, and we don’t see this until adam wakes up after she’s left. the implication here is very clear : you don’t really know me. i am not this false image that you have of me. claire is disrupting this idea that he holds of her, of this caged person, of this person who chose not to be free, who is held captive by her marriage or her choices or whatever he thinks it is that binds her. he sees her as a persona, a painting he wants very desperately to save and keep for himself, and she knows that this is an image she has encouraged him to hold of her, the soft parts, the parts that she is not often given room to express, but i think after the argument that they had, she needed to show him that his view of the matter is wrong, and disingenuous, and reductive. that it is diminishing, though he holds it with affection, with desire, with longing. THEN, and this is why i will never, ever get behind the asides every episode bullshit that they did in s6 in order to replace the francis of it all : claire does this as she leaves:

she pauses, she pulls this subtle half turn -- i don’t know if this has been confirmed by any of the showrunners but to me, this is the first indication in the show that claire knows we are here. i can almost taste what she might have said. she turns, she thinks of addressing us, of explaining herself, why she’s rearranged the photo, why she stayed another night before leaving after the fight, why she came here at all or why she is going back despite us seeing what francis has done to her and how deeply the wound has run. then she doesn’t. why?

because she doesn’t have to. 

claire does not feel beholden to, or supported by the audience the way that frank does. she doesn’t need approval or fealty or admiration from us the way that he does... she does not long to share with us or to have us exalt in her actions, she does not wish to invite us into her thoughts and feelings, because they are hers. she is an incredibly private person ... it is not a performance, what she does with the photo, she doesn’t do it to hurt adam or to dig a finger into a wound so to address it, to call attention to it or explain as though it is any of our business would pervert the earnestness of the moment. the fact that she wanted to make a clean break, to end it without having to speak any more hurtful words or puncture his understanding of her in person. this is her life. not a scene, and it is not meant for us to understand or enjoy.

to go from this to what they did in season six, is just so ... wrong, to me. claire is not a person that gets off on making herself seem intelligent or cruel or wicked. she’s not as prideful as they made her seem, she’s not as detached or arrogant or cold. she is ruthless, she is calculating, she is capable of hurting herself and anyone else to get what she wants. one thing she is not, is ours to judge or decipher. she belongs to herself. and if i’m honest ... i don’t think she cares very much what we think of her choices.

[cherry-leclerc]

the set up ☆ ln4

genre: fluff, humor, parent trip vibes from oscahhh, strangers to lovers (bc of course it is), uni!reader

word count: 2.12k

Caught up in work, you find time to join your friends at the McLaren welcome dinner; meeting a certain British driver along the way. Whom you don't make the best first impression with.

req!...oscar+lily playing matchmakers? cute cute cuteeee. quick one for my lando lovers mwahhh

It takes a lot to convince you; like—a lot. Partial credit is due to your pride, but honestly, it drove your friends mad. 

Let's go out and celebrate! Just a good ‘ol round of drinks. I have to study. Maybe next time.

Oh! I heard of this new place down the street where you custom make your own jewelry. Fun, no? I have enough already, thank you.

Five minutes—let’s just go grab coffee! Too tired. Go on without me.

“It’s my welcome dinner, mate. You can’t do this to me now.” Oscar’s brown eyes flicker between you and his girlfriend, to which she apologetically shrugs. Deep down, it's like she can forehear your excuse. An essay is due, your internship, helping out at your local library. There's been too many times where you’ve flaked, and they were starting to worry. The pile of clothes makes her wince as you greedily type away. 

“I-I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Reckon you don’t have anything on your agenda that is as important as you make it out to seem,” he hums. Narrowed eyes burn down, flipping your screen towards him.

 Compile a series of current events…BLAH BLAH BLAH. He stops caring, already bored.

“I wish I could—seriously, Oscar—but I’m needed elsewhere.” A beat. “Lily will keep me updated! Go Mango!”

The Australian rolls his eyes, sharp brows expanding with desperation. “Papaya, mate, papaya.” You giggle, mimically apologizing. The clicks continue; round eyes laser focused. He tries getting your attention once more, but you don’t look up at him at all. The driver’s girlfriend purses her pink lips, crossing her legs gingerly against the couch.

“I can help you write your paper. All of it. Just please, come with us.” Blue eyes wink back as you come to a halt, temptation swirling. “We’re your friends and we want you there. Pretty please?”

The McLaren rookie thinks it has to do with his girlfriend's cute pout, but that is so far from it. It was well known that Lily Zneimer had a wicked talent for conducting a killer research essay. From her resources, to her dialogue. It’s astonishing how smoothly it gets done too. With her, it’s a guaranteed pass. Now that was what you needed. 

Berry lips twist back and forth for a second before stretching out. “Touch up on globalization effects in different cultures and we have ourselves a deal.”

-

The paper was coming along so perfectly that you almost wanted to cry. Your eyes buzz with excitement as you jot down a row of bullet points, conversing with Lily before settling on what to write. 

“This is not what I had in mind when you both made this stupid pact,” Oscar groans for the millionth time as he passes by, spotting you and his girlfriend crouched down on a table; computer, notebook, pencils, index cards, books—everything—in hand.  

“Mate, this is worth half of my grade,” you shriek, jotting a few more possible ideas. Finally, your dazy orbs connect back onto him. “As in fifty percent.” You gag. “Do you realize how terrifying that is?”

Lily shoos him. “We’re almost done anyway, darling. Go enjoy the party.” The Australian’s jaw drops and she huffs, raising her neat brows. “Go, go, goooo.”

Despite his girlfriend and his best friend ignoring him, he has a splendid time. He curses beneath his breath when a large hand sprawls against his back. Lando laughs. “Don’t worry, my date ditched me too,” he teases, blue eyes sparkling against the fuzzy lights. The rookie sighs plainly.

“I wasn’t ditched—'' He angles his head to face back to where you and the dirty blond hunch over, whispering, attention drawn onto the bright screen. A few people even go as far as to try and take a peek, probably thinking you were working on anything McLaren. “Yeah, uh, I guess you could say I was ditched.”

His teammate rubs his watch a couple or times, nothing but music lingering between them. No one really speaks up until Lily delicately makes her way. Oscar tilts his head politely. “Done?”

“No quite yet, but she has it all under control.” She faces the British driver with a sheepish line formed between her pink lips. “Hello, you must be Oscar’s new teammate.” A beat. “I’m Lily.”

“Lando,” he can feel himself proclaiming. “I thought she was Lily…” A lousy fingers points over to you. They both let out a weak chuckle. That’s my friend from back home, Oscar confirms. Her and Lily are super close, too. She beams, light blush feathering her full cheeks.

All of a sudden—the Australian sparks up. “Come, let me introduce you two.”

The twenty-four doesn't really have anything better to do; business convos that have him apologizing profusely, cameras being shoved straight into his face, girls who never get the hint. “Sure.” 

First thing he notices is the faded scar that hugs the bridge of your nose. It's almost completely gone—and he really shouldn’t even be able to spot it—but it's there, almost a glassy color that shines back at him. He notices how quick you are at typing, fingers flying at a constant speed. He’s impressed. Or the way you barely spare him a glance. 

“Don’t be rude, he’s talking to you,” Oscar hisses as he and Lily tower over you like a strict parent duo. You can distinguish the panic that laces through her when you didn’t first respond, too worried at making a bad impression, even if it wasn't her leaving it behind. 

“Of course, I…um, I’m sorry—shit!” The laptop blinks back at you as a warning before settling in its death. A groan slips by, hands pressing harshly against the keys, then the screen. Nervously, you look up at Lily, biting your bottom lip. “What do I do? What should I do? What should I do?”

“Charge it when we get back,” Oscar advises, still waiting for you to greet the older McLaren driver. Lando stands back amused. “As I was saying—”

“It’s due at midnight, dimwit!” It’s eleven-fifteen. “I need to find a charger.”

“O-okay, lets just all calm down.” Lily turns to her boyfriend. “You always carry one with you, let her borrow it.” He winces. Only during races, sweetheart, not an important event. She rubs her temples, curly hair running against the wind. “Let’s just calm down!” she screeches.

“Not helping,” you wail. “That’s it—I’m leaving.”

Oscar is quick on his feet, already tugging you to stay firm. “We haven't even gotten to the speech!” A familiar fire rushes through your orbs, burning him along the way. I don’t give a shit about that right now! I need to turn this in. 

“I’m sure Charlotte has one,” a friendly voice slides in, leaving you three to turn and face it. Lando awkwardly shrugs. “She’s really well organized, you know her. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I go with you?”

Blue eyes shift over, surprised to hear you speak. Anxiously, you bounce up and down against your heels. He gulps. “Of course.” He turns back to the Australian, who is busy comforting his girlfriend as if it was her grade on the line. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s a sort of tension that hangs steadily—or maybe he’s the only one who thinks so—but he tries his best to push past it. Of course, he was right, and Charlotte did have an extra charger, so that’s quite nice. As if this were the one and only resource of water in a hot desert night, you immediately take it from him, plugging it fiercely.

“You don’t know how grateful I am. You’re an absolute angel.” You’re quick to pick up where you left off. If you try hard enough, you can remember exactly what you need in order to have it done in a few minutes. 

“Glad I could help.”

He should probably leave, he thinks. He’s done all he could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a seat across from you, contently closing his eyes as the sound of your keys brings him to a deep sleep. The sound of a computer shutting gently is what nudges him awake. You grimace. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more quiet.”

Lando scrunches his eyes, rubs them for a couple of minutes. “It’s alright. You done?”

“Yes. Just in time—you really saved my ass, thank you again.”

A large hand waves you off, reclining against his comfortable spot. “You’re pretty dedicated to your work,” he mutters.

“I sort of have to be if I want to graduate on time and on top of my game. All those sleepless nights couldn’t have been for nothing.”

“Well, I don’t really know you that well…but I hope you pass,” he says. “Lando, by the way—you were probably too busy to catch it the first time.” He cocks his head to the side, a cheesy grin playing out. “And the second, as well.”

You giggle, shaking his humid hand. You don’t even seem to mind. “Third times a charm, no?”

“It appears it is.”

-

The objective was quite clear. Get you to leave your rotting bed. It was astounding how long you could go without getting up. You always blame it on the fact that—I’m finally done with my most important courses and I can sleep all I want—and—I never wake you up, now do I?

So, naturally, when they march into your room, flashing a phone—you curl a full brow. “What am I looking at?”

Oscar smiles. “Save his number. Right now.”

Lando Norris—winks back at you, digits causing a migraine to stir. You huff, reaching out for the blankets once again. “And why would I do that?”

Lily hums. “I tried to stop him, I really did.”

Beady eyes peek demandingly. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s really just one date—”

“What?”

“And if it doesn’t work out—”

You sit up straight and agitated. “What?”

“—then you won’t ever have to see him again?” The Australian flinches at your cold stare. “He thinks this was your idea…because I told him it was, but…” He winces harder. “Don’t make me look bad and please go!”

Lily squeals when you fling up, hunting him down your flat. “I am going to kill you!”

-

The Brit beams sweetly at you, pinching his hand a couple of times to pump his circulation that was suddenly lacking. “I’m a bit surprised you wanted to see—”

“This was all Oscar’s idea.” He blinks and you purse your lips. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I think he does it because the third-wheel act is starting to get to him. Asshole,” you hiss at the thought of the rookie.

Lando coughs, playing with his bracelets. “You’re not dragging me into anything. I want to be here.” Now it’s your turn to stare back at him, caught off guard. He chuckles. “I take it you haven’t gone on a proper date in a while?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah,” he yawns. “Oscar told me.”

Pounding your fist against the table, you yelp. “That little—he wants to ruin my life, I see.” You force a tight smile. “I’ve been busy with work…and…I’m—” A flash goes off from somewhere far away and you flinch. “A total catch. Like—total.”

Blue eyes flicker to the careful watchers surrounding the restaurant. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Good,” you respond, finally allowing yourself to rest easy. You raise a sharp brow. “Don’t you get tired of this?”

A few murmurs dance across the room, blinding lights continue. He sighs apologetically. “Right now I am. Let’s get out of here?”

You blush. “The bill…”

“My friend owns the place. I’ll pay him later.” He grabs your hand. “Let's go.”

The moment you slip into his car, panic rises fast. “I don’t hook up on first dates,” you spit out. “It’s not in my nature, I-I-I would rather get to know the person—”

“Then let’s get to know one another. I wasn’t looking for anything like…that,” he whispers, timidly. His blue eyes burn against yours. “I only wanted the chance to get to know you now that you don’t have your nose pressed up against a screen.”

A kind smile. “Okay.”

The more you two converse inside his crowded vehicle, the more you find yourself giggling against the rich seat. “You’re quite the charmer, Mr. Norris.”

“Thank God,” he jokes. “It’s working.”

Another giggle erupts when you nod. You’re sure that you're flustered, burning bright red from all his pick up lines, but you don’t have the strength to look away. “I’m glad we got the chance to talk. For real this time,” you add, sheepishly. 

“So am I.” 

And something inside of him tells him this isn’t the last.

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[charliemwrites]

Part 7

Content: sparring and injury

Sparring is one of your favorite activities. With your team, it’s a chance to learn and improve, to keep from falling into old habits. And yes, okay, it’s also become something of foreplay. Especially with your captain, who seems to delight in tossing you around and pinning you with his bulk.

(And Keegan, who came in his pants once when you had him in a chokehold, one your thighs between his. But no, no, now is not the time to think about that…)

You’re not the best hand-to-hand operator on the team, sure. That title belongs to Nikto, who hits so hard and fast you’re down before you even realize he’s swinging. But you’re certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Not this much though.

If you were in the mood to give them credit for anything — and you’re really not — they’re at least subtle. You don’t catch on during the first round with Soap. Your brain has completely transitioned into the comfortable rhythm of practice combat. Something to be taken seriously, but not the high-stress of victory or death in a mission.

No, Soap gets away with it in the moment. You only notice as you’re taking your water break, rotated out with the uneven numbers between your teams. You’re surveying the pairs and notice him sparring with Keegan.

There’s something decidedly more intense about it. Like… like he’s putting real effort into trying to beat Keegan. An effort he did not put into fighting you.

Rage burns through you, hot and thick, buzzing in your head.

Does he think you’re not worth any real effort? Does he think you can’t handle a proper fight, that this is just playtime? Is he really treating you like some fresh-faced recruit that needs to be babied after all this time?

When you captain finishes wiping the floor with Gaz, you go to his side. One look at your face and he knows.

“Whose head is rolling?” He asks, plucking your bottle from your hand for a sip.

“Soap threw our match.”

His eyes flare before he closes them, swallows the water in his mouth and sighs.

“How do you want to handle it?” He asks.

“Wait, wait,” Gaz interrupts. And the look your captain gives him… Christ. To his credit, he doesn’t back down though. “He probably just thought it would be good, yeah? To… let you get some anger out.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, a mean laugh slipping out. The captain arches his eyebrows in what could almost be sympathy. Or arousal, hard to tell when he’s got such a good poker face. (Mix of both, you figure)

“Oh, he wants me to get some anger out?” You roll your shoulders. “Sounds like a great idea.”

Ghost is your last match before reset — before you’ll get a chance to show Soap just how much steam you need to let off.

Except now that you’re looking for it, you recognize almost immediately that he’s throwing the match. Probably especially because it’s Ghost. You never stood a chance against him before leaving, even now you didn’t have optimistic expectations for a fight with him. So the fact that it doesn’t feel like you’re working for every inch you gain…

The final straw is when you try a move from before. Something he never fell for once and always reprimanded you for using. He “falls” for it this time. You don’t pull your punch when it goes directly into his face.

Know immediately that he’s feeling it, that wicked hook Keegan always whistles over. Blinking past his mask. And you don’t let up, pressing and pressing the advantage. Take him down to the ground using all your built strength, twisting into a vicious arm bar and pulling, pulling, pulling—

“Bloody hell, I yield!” He snarls, palm slamming against your thigh.

You release him, but not without one last nasty kick to the soft spot beneath his ribs.

The gym has gone silent. You don’t care, pushing to your feet with hands still balled into tight, angry fists.

“You ever throw a fight with me again, I’ll break your fucking jaw, Riley,” you snarl.

Price, expression stormy, takes a step forward.

“He threw the fight?” He asks.

You scoff, “Either that or the 141’s quality is lacking nowadays.”

You step off the mat to join the rest of your team, exchange a frustrated look with your captain. Nova comes to your side, curling a finger into your belt loop in solidarity.

“Gotta say, Price, I’m disappointed,” your captain says. “This is getting out of control. I won’t have my team put at risk because yours can’t keep it professional. I’d rather just tell Laswell to get you a different support team.”

You’re almost surprised to see how the 141 jolts, four pairs of eyes flicking to you in panic. What in the actual hell?

“Take it easy,” Price says, eyes flashing. “I’ll have a word with them.”

You glance up at your captain, see from the twitch in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes that his patience for this is wearing gossamer thin.

“See to it. In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”

He turns his back on the 141, and you’re all too happy to follow suit, pressing a kiss to Nova’s cheek when she sends you a worried look. Whatever weird issue the 141 is having, they need to stop making it your issue.

“Keegan, with me,” your captain says. “Nikto, you’re up against the girls.”

Nikto tilts his head in a nod, then jolts as you and Nova take either side of him.

“Gonna show us a good time, Nik?” You coo.

“Always love a tag-team,” Nova purrs.

The captain grins. “Have fun you three.”

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Masterlist

[becomingmina]

Favourite time and place to eat you out - SKZ maknae line. 18+only mdni

Filth lmao

Maknae line:

Han/Han Jisung: Before he goes on stage. Dressing room.

Idk Han just screams horny 24/7.

“Need my good luck charm,” he spins you around into the dressing room after kicking Felix and Seungmin out.

“You going to be good and cum for me before I go out?” He asks pulling your hand towards the couch. All you can do is skip in with him nodding.

He lies back on the couch then pull you to sit on his face, your skirt covering his features. He chuckles then flip your skirt up, moving your panties to the side.

“You’re always so good wearing a skirt to my music shows,” his tongue swipes up and down your folds. The contact making you shiver, you start to grind on his face, hands gripping his wavy brown locks in return.

“Y/n, you wanna be even more good for me next time and not wear panties at all?” He grips your thighs as he starts make out with your pussy, his nose nudging your little bundle of nerve. He loves the way you try to conceal your moans in a setting like this. And although it makes him very needy himself he has to toughen up to go on stage hard, because he knows you’ll return the favour when he comes back.

Felix/Lee Yongbok: After movie night on the couch.

“You reckon the girl should have picked the other guy?” Felix says as he starts to press kisses to your neck.

It’s always like this. When the credit scene starts rolling after a movie on Friday night, Felix would start to shower your body with kisses then his fingers would make their way into your panties, feeling how sticky and wet you are for him. You loved it though, and to be very honest when it’s your time to pick a movie, you would research for one that is erotic or has explicit sex scenes just to get the both of you riled up.

“So wet for me already baby,” he teases. “You must’ve been waiting such a long time for the movie to end hey?” Felix continues to spread your arousal around then pops his fingers in his mouth.

“Need to eat you, I won’t let you wait any longer,” he says before sucking your clit. Felix loves how tired and drained you are on a Friday night, love the way you’re perfectly still with your legs spread for him as you eats you out like it’s his last meal. This would go on for hours.

Kim Seungmin: Before sex. Only when you’re both in bed.

Kim Seungmin doesn’t like quickies. He only would eat you out before you guys have sex. Don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t like it. He loves to eat you. He becomes vicious and he just gets so horny from it which always leads to him dicking you down. And he wants to be in the comfort of his own room for that. You would have to cum atleast twice from it before he even thinks about letting you have his cum.

“Give me one more then I can give you my dick,” Seungmin prefers to suck your clit as he finds its makes you go a little bit more dumb for him.

“You haven’t cum enough for me to slide in,” he taunts knowing damn well you’re nearly at your limit and his dick is straining against his pants desperate to be taken care of.

“One more Y/n, you can do it,” all you do is groan at him as your hips lift off the bed into his face, your third orgasm builds up.

“Minnie, please,”

I.N/Yang Jeongin: After he cums in you, any where.

“Too- too much,” you whimper under Jeongin as he laps up the juices and his cum pouring out of your cunt.

“Stay still for me noona,” Jeongin murmured between his kitten licks and sucks.

Jeongin loves to eat you out after he cums in you. He finds it quite intimate to eat his cum out of you and he just thinks you’re super cute when you squirm for him to stop but your hands grip his hair to keep him in place.

If you’re both in bed, his large hands would keep your hips flat on the bed while his tongue dives deep wanting to collect all the semen he shot out just minutes before.

If you two had settle for a quickie, oh god he would have you pressed up against the wall as he kneels down with tongue out waiting patiently under your cunt for his cum to drip out.

Hyung line here.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Changing Seasons: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (1) A long journey with Thor, Steve and Loki ends in a ramshackle country cottage. But really, it's just begun. (w/c 3.8k) Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Ex-Loki. Smut references. Humour/Mild angst. Recommended Folklore Track: The 1

This is fine.

It’s just five days. In this...cottage. With your ex. You’ll barely see him.

The tiny two story building sat before you, twisting wisteria claiming rough stoned walls. Burnt orange leaves sparked against the morning chill, rooted into windowsills and crumbling brickwork.

It was small. Really small.

You stretched your legs, observing Thor waddle from the car, laden with suitcases.

One fell.

“Watch that!” Steve snapped, on his last nerve after the drive from the Essex compound. A hand flew to his neck, massaging the twinge caused by six hours squashed in the back of a hastily acquired hatchback. “Your collection of personal toys, Rogers?” Loki drawled, letting his mirth-filled eyes slide between the two men. “Yes, brother do be careful. We wouldn’t want the captain to be without an outlet.” Steve’s face flushed, while Thor staggered valiantly onward to the cottage door. “I still don’t understand why we didn’t take the train,” Loki muttered with a theatrical sigh, a single brush down the front of his suit making every well-worn crease evaporate. “The two of you on a train,” Steve spat incredulously, “wouldn’t be great for subtlety.”

Every syllable was laden with frustration as he heaved another case from the trunk. The god nodded. “Even I must admit, this is much more entertaining Rogers” he replied, motioning towards the cottage at the exact moment Thor’s forehead smacked against the low awning.

The suitcases fell in predictable succession. “Jeepers criminey-” Steve gasped, lunging forwards.

You rolled your eyes, smiling just Loki glanced backwards. A wolfish grin ignited. Shit. With narrowed eyes, he began to glide around the Fiat like a day-walker. His hair was slicked back, falling over the shoulders of a black suit more appropriate to fashion week than training in the wilds of the Lake District. You’d tried not to look at him much on the way here. For obvious reasons. He swaggered with resolute precision, infuriatingly erotic as he always was. It was sick, how he looked so good. Like he hadn’t been in the same car as the rest of you, gorging on jelly babies and squished krispy kremes foraged along the motorway. You had practised for this moment, and to your credit; your face remained perfectly straight. Your posture, casual. Unbothered, as Steve and Thor argued further up the path.

‘My slacks were perfectly folded in New York. If there is any rumplage Odinson- then I’ll know who to blame.’

‘Carry your own damn suitcases, then-’ ‘-I would’ve, if you hadn’t been such a dandy-show-off’

You spun away from your incoming ex, steadying your racing heart as you focused on the horizon. Mist hung over the rusted treeline, green and sienna twisting together and dipping down to a sprawling lake about a mile away, you reckoned, spread against the sunrise. Loki’s playful scathing broke the calm. “You haven’t said two words to me in almost twelve hours, Agent,” he purred. “I’m impressed.” There was a time that kind of talk would have brought you to your knees. But not anymore, you lied to yourself, clenching. With your eyes still lowered, you tilted your chin towards him. Defiantly, slowly, you raised them; catching his inscrutable stare like a rifle’s scope. You raised your eyebrows expectantly, lips sealed. Loki scoffed, looking into the distance. His breath was fog. “I don’t know what else I expected,” he muttered quietly.

You stood in silence, backs turned to the domestic carnage unfolding at the cottage door. Letting your gaze roll over the mountains. Early morning autumnal air stung the back of your throat. Fresh pine and wisps of smoke from unseen chimneys, far away. Amber hues spindled along the surface of the lake a mile below, rippling methodically. You fought the urge to look at him.

His eyes would look beautiful in this kind of light. Always had. “It reminds me of home,” he murmured wistfully. It sank into the crisp air, the softness of the tone you still dreamt about curling around your body like smoke. Loki’s scent mingled with the breeze, reminding you of nights spent wrapped around him as you slept in snatches. His hand never far from your own. His love draped over you like a cloak.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You felt him lean in, the warmth of his breath against your skin drawing closer before it retreated. “Asgard,” he added condescendingly. “Although, Asgard isn’t quite as...rustic.” He lifted a foot, making a show of wiping a sole on the wet grass.

You grit your teeth. It never ended. He couldn’t help himself, even after everything that had happened between you. The snake tightened inside your belly, unfurling and poised to strike; regrettable words bubbling behind your teeth. “Let’s just get through this week, shall we?” Loki snapped, before turning away. The crunch of twigs beneath his retreating footsteps was all you heard as the chill stung your eyes. Just the chill.

"I carry the paraphernalia so I shall be first across the threshold thank you very much,” Thor grumped, jostling Steve from his path and shuffling sideways through the frame. Steve grimaced, nodding at Loki to follow his brother. “Thank you,” Loki said curtly; noting the captain’s gaze flicker to where you stood overlooking the lake in a valiant attempt to remain mysterious. “She’s quite well,” he added presumptively.

Steve frowned. “She was quiet on the drive. Even let Thor play his music. Not like her” he said, leaning against the cottage wall before recoiling. “Urgh, it’s damp.” Loki chuckled. “Of course it is. Welcome to the northern hemisphere, Rogers. What you need, is some leather” he winked.

He watched the captain pat his shirt fruitlessly as a stain blossomed through the pale cotton, clearing his throat softly. “She’s still a little...put out... by our parting of ways. Can’t blame her, really. I mean-” He gestured to himself with a consillatory sigh. “She’ll warm up-”

Loki cast a glance around, realising he wasn’t sure if the hallway was colder than the exterior. “-metaphorically, anyway.”

Steve nodded sagely. “To everything there is a season…” he mused. Loki frowned, turning away. He waved a dismissive hand. “You know I do not traffic in colloquialisms, Rogers” he scoffed with his back turned. Entering the kitchen, Loki immediately bumped his shin on a discarded suitcase. He wrinkled his nose.

A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, barely illuminating the cramped space. Ageing wallpaper clung valiantly to its charge, whimsical ducks and geese parading in an inexplicable march. Thor stood hunched over the sink, running spluttering water into the world’s smallest kettle. The ceiling was inches from his head. “Tea, brother?” he chirped. Loki nodded, wondering how the hell they’d ended up here. “Rogers?” he enquired innocently. Steve’s head popped round the doorframe.

“Howdy!” Loki closed his eyes and took a breath. “Rogers,” he repeated. “Remind me why this week is truly necessary?” Steve released a forced chuckle. “I’ll get to that. Hang tight.” He disappeared, shouting your name down the path. By the time the two of you returned, Loki had seidred the suitcases to their respective destinations. He had secured the largest room for himself, of course. Although that wasn’t saying much. Rogers and Thor would be sharing. Loki had the sneaking suspicion that was not the plan – but alas for them – it was their new reality.

Four mismatched mugs of steaming tea sat on the small square table in the corner. Loki sat in one chair, legs crossed. Thor in the other, looking decidedly squashed.

Steve closed the kitchen door while you leant against the counter-top, arms folded. “I made tea,” Thor smiled, pleased with himself as he held it forth like an offering. You accepted. Loki noted the shiver that shook your shoulders as the hot mug entered your cupped grasp. A fleeting smile of pleasure skating across your cheeks. He’d missed that, he found. “Please, take my s-” Loki started, beginning to rise. Habit. “I’ll stand,” you replied curtly. Loki nodded, sinking down. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as an oblivious Steve squinted suspiciously out the window while closing the blinds. “Alrighty then-” he said, turning. His enthusiastic glances bounced to each of them in turn. Thor adjusted himself, rewarded with the malevolent warning creak of a chair leg.

“As anyone who was listening during our meetings will know,” Steve paused, staring at Loki, “it’s come to my attention that our manual outdoor skills are somewhat lacking. Anything happens to our abilities or comms while we’re on a rugged mission and booyah,” he made a burst with his fingers, “pardon my french – but we’re up crud creek without a paddle.” Loki scoffed. “Hardly-” “This week we’ll be getting back to basics. You two-” Steve gestured between the gods seated at the withered dining set, “especially. It’s all magic and brawny shenanigans until you need to skin a rabbit.” He looked to you warily, “Metaphorically, of course. Our resident expert will give us instruction, and we’ll go from there-” Steve nodded to you, folding his arms. Loki rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you understand how magic-” “No weak links.” he continued, un-phased. He had his very serious face on. “And I count myself in this too. We need to be confident that if something happens, and we’re out in the wilds...we can handle ourselves. Survive, until help arrives.” “But why here?” Loki whined, “we have the facilities to simulate the environment back in-” Steve held up a hand. “No one can know earth’s mightiest heroes are out here learning outdoorsing 101, Laufeyson. Imagine the press. No.” He shook his head. “This is absurd,” Loki muttered into his tea.

“Let’s try and have fun. At the very least, it’s a week in the fresh air.” Loki’s eyes rose, your words and tone clearly rehearsed. There was a weak smile on your face, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He’d become intimately acquainted with that look in the final months of your relationship.

Silence hung in the kitchen. “And the two of you will be alright, will you?” Thor boomed, stretching a leg which reached halfway across the floor. He took a sip of tea as Steve’s face went pink.

“I mean, with the breakup. Although I suppose its better than being kept awake by the ooo’ing and ahhh’ing through the walls, isn’t it Rogers?” He began to chortle, “remember...remember in- where was it? Oh, Columbia. Norns, what a-”

“-Brother,” Loki snarled. Hair bristled on the back of his neck. You cleared your throat. “Loki and I have an understanding. There’s no animosity between us-” “Isn’t there? News to me,” Loki mumbled petulantly, running a finger across the plastic table cloth. He could almost hear the grind of your teeth as you spoke pointedly to Thor. “Well I intend on remaining professional. I’m sure your brother is the same.” Loki shook his head, snorting. “Professional?” he spat incredulously. “What need have I to be professional? I am a god.” “And there it is,” you began, temperature rising before Steve patted down the air.

“How about we go check out the bedrooms?” he said. Everyone murmured agreement. And somewhere between Loki cursing his temper, and the babble of his brother’s half-hearted apology- you were gone.

Ten minutes later, Loki found himself staring at the same spot on the wall he had been for the last eight. It was meditative almost. On the other side of the wall at the end of his bed, was your room. Small, rectangular. Barely space for more than the single bed. But Loki had a feeling you didn’t mind.

You had settled on the mattress around seven minutes ago after unpacking, the comforting creak of springs alerting him. What were you doing, he wondered. Thinking. Feeling? He shook the thought from his mind, reminding himself that was no longer his business. But the thought crawled back with the vengeance of a dying wasp. If we were together still, I’d have made her climax twice on this bed by now.

His clothing hung in a drab single wardrobe. When in Nilfheim, he’d surmised. The garments were simple, and perfunctory. All manner of base layers and fleece lined items in vapid shades which lacked even a morsel of style. Not a sniff of leather. And zips in the most unflattering places.

Loki shuddered.

His ears pricked as he heard a wooden board in your room creak, tracking the slow amble of five steps it took to cross the floor from end to end. She’s looking out the window, he mused.

‘Get your hands off my undergarments,’ Thor’s voice was crisp and menacing through the wall to Loki’s left. ‘Well, put them in a drawer like a gentleman.’ Steve snipped in response, barely muffled by the stone. ‘There are no drawers! Why must we reside in such a place, Rogers!?’ He has a point, Loki thought. ‘Because no one would expect it.’ Steve replied smugly.

There was a pause, but Loki could hear the thump of Thor’s boots as he rounded the twin beds, positioning himself for attack. His voice was low, and purposeful. ‘Just like you won’t expect...this.’ The inhuman sound of one of his brother’s legendary farts ripped through the wall.

Loki braced in the silence that followed, relishing the craft of his devious room organisation while Steve, he presumed, got some traction to exit through the window. ‘Jeepers,’ came the choked, disbelieving response of the captain through the wall. Jeepers indeed, Rogers, Loki smirked.

A sudden tinkle of restrained laughter perked his ears. It came from behind the wall in front of him. He froze, savouring each lilting rise and fall as you gave in to full-blown cackle. Wait for it.

He held his breath. You snorted. Loki grinned, letting himself bathe in the warmth of that laughter which used to lace his brightest moments. The nights, when you met after long days apart. He remembered when he would tickle you beneath his sheets in the Tower. When he would slide his hands over your squealing, curled form in apology, crawl on his knees beneath the covers and gently part your legs.

‘I just can’t help myself,’ he’d purr, kissing the smooth skin of your inner thigh. ‘Forgive me?’

And you always did. Until you hadn’t. You would rake your hand through his hair, lovingly humming his name as he ran his tongue up your plump slit; settling in to his long, languid worship. Loki sighed. He looked down in his lap, realising a thumb was digging into the palm of his clasped hands. He pushed it in harder, frowning. Fool.

Suddenly the door flew open. A red-faced Steve gripped the door-frame, breathing heavily. “Swap...with...me,” he gasped. Loki shook his head, heavy with feigned sympathy. “Afraid not, Rogers. Look, I unpacked and everything.” He pointed to the wardrobe. “Like a gentleman.”

Steve’s face flushed deeper, hanging his head in resignation. “Gosh-darnit,” he sighed under his breath. “Be downstairs and ready in five.”

A chorus of Blackcap birdsong fluttered and rolled over the bushes. Final frostings of morning clung to crisped leaves, slowly warming in the blast of breath-fog from three Avengers huddled around a large map. You watched with an amused smirk on your face, laughing inwardly that Steve thought a wardrobe full of Trepass could disguise their presence. Like three bears at a piglet’s tea party.

Thor held the compass, squinting. The rectangular instrument looked much like a stick of gum in his palm as he leant closer to the dial, searching for some unseen clue. You decided to have mercy.

“So you can see here,” you said gently, tracing your finger over the map, “to get to the lake we need to follow a bearing of 79 degrees….and we need to adjust for true North. Remember?” You moved the compass slightly. “Blast,” Thor growled. He was taking this very seriously. A bobble hat was pulled low on his brow, but even then, you could tell he was frowning. Loki chuckled derisively, smoothing a strand of inky hair from his jawline. You watched as it curled behind his ear. His beautiful, perfectly formed ear. “Volunteering for the next marker, Loki?” you asked calmly, watching his smug smirk fall. You switched back to Thor, now measuring points on the map diligently. Steve stood by his shoulder, taking notes on a small pad. “A-ha!” Thor shouted triumphantly. A dozen birds took off from the nearest tree, fleeing skyward.

Steve frowned. Stealth, it chided. The blonde god whipped his face to you in childish glee. “This way!” he pointed theatrically. You nodded, bathing in the pride spreading across the god of thunder’s face. It was Loki’s turn to frown. “Give me that,” he snipped, snatching the compass as Thor began to fold the map and lead the charge towards the next marker. “You’re just jealous brother. Clearly my skills of navigation are unmatched. Isn’t that so, Agent?” he postured loudly, clearing a branch from your path. It wasn’t often Thor truly had the upper hand. So you decided to push it a little higher. “Out of the three of you so far? Absolutely.” You beamed at him, seeing storm-clouds gather in Loki’s eyes out the corner of your own. His brows knitted together, chin pushing down into the thick roll of his scarf.

Thor hummed as you passed beneath his arm. “I always liked you, you know” he chuckled in hushed tones. Clearly, he’d seen the abject annoyance blossom on his brother’s face too.

You nodded conspiratorially, casting a glance back at your dejected ex as he picked his way over a patch of brambles, hands deep in his coat pockets. Steve followed behind, flicking through the pages of his pocketbook.

“Meh, it’s good for him,” you said diplomatically while shooting Thor a toothy grin.

He returned it.

Loki took each step carefully. He would be damned if a tangle of barbed shrubbery bested him the same day as his oaf of a brother.

He wouldn’t have gotten it without her help, he fumed; stepping quickly over a freshly steaming pile of suspicious pellets. His nose wrinkled, glancing up to where the two of you were sharing a moment. Blatant favouritism.

Gritting his teeth, his jaw nuzzled further beneath the coiled wool around his throat. A smile lit up your face as you shared some sort of inside jest with his brother. Loki remembered, all too well, how you used to look at him that way. How it was to bathe in the warm of your affection, the comfort of your hallowed inner circle.

He tried not to let his mind wander to your inner circle too much. The immediate twitch of his cock beneath the ghastly slacks was a timely reminder why. Steve’s shrill caw of warning came too late. “Watch your-” Loki froze, snarling as his eyes fell to the foot now wedged in a pile of shit. “How appropriate,” he sighed as he reluctantly pulled it free. He began to wipe it on the ground. “Just wipe it on the ground,” Rogers said. Loki's stare was daggers as he continued to do just that, cursing the Norns as you began to walk towards them. “What’s the hold up?” you said. Loki raised a hand to stop Steve from speaking, but alas.

“Laufeyson stepped in poop.” “Thank you, Rogers. I’m sure our ‘resident expert’ can see that.” Steve crouched down to his haunches, inspecting the boot-imprinted pile. “Looks like deer poop to me,” he observed diligently. “What do you think, Agent?” “Could be,” you said, matching his serious tone. “Nice spot.” Loki felt his jaw slacken.

What portal has opened and swallowed me to this unending nightmare.

He wiped the defiled heel of his clumpy, tan boot a final time, before marching up the ridge. He should be first. He had the compass, the ultimate instrument of inter-planetary survival, apparently. “Broth-” he started, before rocking back on his heels. “What is your problem?” he heard you hiss as you yanked the back of his jacket. Loki whipped round, every snippy retort that hovered on his lips evaporating as he saw your flushed face; wild with undisguised irritation. Steve was bumbling slowly up the hill, oblivious. “I…” Loki breathed, resisting the unfamiliar urge to tell the truth. You were still gripping a toggle that dangled from the back of his jacket. Loki looked at it, pausing a moment before refocusing with renewed vigour.

“I shouldn’t have to do this. It’s ridiculous, and you know it.” “Well why are you even here? Why don’t you just bugger off at a moment’s notice like you always do? Go whine to Heimdall or something?” Loki heard white noise bubble deep in his mind, rising to a roar as his vision tunnelled to the sight of your pupils blown wide with anger; lip trembling ever so slightly as you valiantly stood your ground. There she is, he thought with bizarre satisfaction. “Because I wouldn’t want to give the impression I’m not a team-player, would I?” he snarled through gritted teeth. You released your grip on his toggle with a scoff. “I’ll believe that when I see it. If you can last the whole trip, I’ll-”

“-You’ll what?” Loki heard himself say. The tone, he noted, was dangerously flirtatious.

You eyed him suspiciously.

“-I’ll be am-azed. The prim prince of Asgard, hacking it for a week out here. It might be good for you.” You see-sawed your palm. “But you know...low expectations.” Loki’s eyes narrowed as Steve emerged hovering over your shoulder. He suddenly reminded Loki very much of the geese parading on the kitchen walls. “I assure you, Agent, I shall pass your tests with flying colours.” He forced a smile. It hurt his cheeks in the cold. A little bow followed. A little flourish of his hand. He paused, baiting you. “I look forward to you proving me wrong, then,” you sniffed, re-adjusting the straps of your backpack.

Your eyes caught his a little longer than you’d intended.

Loki’s gaze fell to your lips, beginning to chap in the unforgiving English chill. How he wanted to capture them with his in that moment, moisten them with his breath and tongue and fiery adoration. To warm you, take care of you. As he should have when he had the chance, perhaps.

At the time, Loki wasn’t sure why - but nonetheless he held out the compass to Steve. “You take this one, Rogers.” “Alrighty then!” the captain quipped obliviously. His knees pumped up in a farcical jog down the ridge towards Thor, having an in-depth conversation with a passing sheep.

“Alrighty then,” you mimicked to yourself with quiet smile. Meeting Loki’s amused gaze, the smile fell. And without another word, you set off down the hill.

The god watched you pick your way gracefully over the autumnal landscape, breeze whipping your hair. He brushed his own from his eyes, pausing to reluctantly admire the rugged peaks and cliffs that curled in on their path. Burnt orange mingled with green, a rolling wave of seasons trickling through the vale. He could feel it all around him; through him – seeping beneath his skin, whether he willed it or no.

Change.

Chapter Two: Sticks and Stones A/N: Thank you so so much for reading this - if you did! I'm having so much fun with these bunch and I'm very excited to share this kind of ridiculous journey with you :) There won't be as many POV switches in subsequent chapters - we just needed it in this one. As always - love love to hear your thoughts. Gooooo Autumn!🍁

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[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Woes of Betrothals (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Part 2 about the wedding is out now! Read it here 

Synopsis: Recently betrothed, Prince Aemond is unsure on the virtues befitting that of a good husband. Ser Criston offers some surprisingly useful insight. 

Warnings: nothing explicit, just Aemond being emotionally constipated 

Word Count: 3k words. this was supposed to be a short one shot 😭

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out! 

A/N: In a fluff writing mood recently, so expect to see more fluffs coming your way (not just for aemond :)) 💗

lovely dividers once again credited to @firefly-graphics​ !

Heavy grunts and the clashing sound of steel on steel resonated through the training yard of the Red Keep. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, Prince Aemond, his forehead beaded with sweat, moved deftly to dodge a blow struck by Ser Criston Cole’s morningstar. 

It was nearly noon, and the Prince and Kingsguard had been training since the break of dawn. Ser Criston had a look of exhaustion on his face, the midday sun clearly taking a toll on him, but Prince Aemond continued sparring with a fierce determination, parrying Criston’s offensives with utmost precision or viciously swinging his sword to land a blow on the knight. 

Whilst the prince was fond of training for long hours, Ser Criston was familiar enough with Prince Aemond’s various moods to know that today, while he was there in person, he was not in spirit. Seeing a chance, Criston quickly moved to swing a blow at Prince Aemond, and succeeded in catching him off guard, knocking the sword from the Prince’s hand for the first time this morning. 

Criston expected the prince to get angry that he had been bested, but Aemond merely raised a brow and rolled his eye, “I yield. Let us cease training for this morning.” Applause broke out through the training yard, and Criston had to hide a grin. It had been a while since he managed to beat Aemond in training. 

As the crowd dispersed, Criston noticed Aemond polishing his sword at a corner, a brooding look on his face. Feeling particularly emboldened this morning at his victory, Criston walked towards the prince, setting down his morningstar as he questioned, “What troubles you, my prince?” 

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are insinuating, Cole,” came Aemond’s curt response, but Criston was undeterred. “You may pretend all is well, but you have been on edge for a few days now, aye?” Criston commented, observing how the prince’s jaw was clenched. Oddly enough, he noticed doubt shining in the prince’s lone violet eye., catching Criston off guard “You may have been sparring with me this morning, but your heart is elsewhere. Tell me what troubles you, my prince.” 

Criston expected the prince to scowl and tell him it was none of his business, but instead, Aemond let out a pensive sigh, before tentatively asking, “Ser Criston, how do you reckon one should please their betrothed?” 

Criston’s ears immediately stood up in attention. Gods be good, the One-Eyed Prince was asking him for advice? And about his betrothed no less. As a Kingsguard, Criston had to suppress a laugh at the irony. “Are you referring to the Lady Y/N Y/L/N, my prince?” 

“Well, it could hardly be anyone else, could it?” Aemond retorted, though his heart was not in it. Criston watched, amused, as Aemond hummed contemplatively, “As you know, she and I were betrothed less than a moon’s turn ago. I had not crossed paths with her often before that, but…” Aemond swallowed, thinking of how brilliantly she smiled at him every time he had the fortune of being graced with her presence. He had always knew that his marriage would be one of duty and political benefit to his house, but over the course of getting to know the lady over the past few weeks, he found her company pleasant, and her gentle charm and surprisingly humorous wit a welcome change in the usual dreadfully boring courtiers at the Red Keep. And with every passing moment he spent in her presence, he felt a small sliver of affection for her begin to blossom in his heart. “As I got to know her more, I soon began to wish to be the sole cause of her brilliant smiles, her beautiful laughter, and selfishly, the sole receiver of her love and affection.”

Aemond had to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. He was sounding like a lovesick fool, in front of Cole, of all people. Gods, he was an idiot, an utter idiot. Swords he could swing and books he could read, but when it came to affection, he found himself no better than an ignorant babe. “It sounds as though you harbour a great affection for the lady Y/L/N,” Criston smiled. “Yes,” Aemond said softly, his voice tinged a little with despair. “But I am unsure on how to best express my affections. She is akin to an ethereal maiden, and I’m naught but a crippled prince, who is stumped in my duties as a husband. I cannot seem to muster up the courage to proclaim my love for her, or shower her with praises and compliments.” 

‘Gods, what if she is unhappy with my performance of my duties as her husband because I am too much of a coward to even talk to her about my feelings?’ Aemond thought in alarm, mind racing. He did not want to be the reason why those lovely smiles of hers cease to exist. He wanted to make her feel like the most blissful woman in the realm. But he was completely clueless as to how. Words seemed completely inadequate to express the depth of his affection for her, and he had never been the best with his words anyway. 

Just then, Aemond felt a hand on his shoulder, grounding him to reality once more “Breathe, my prince,” Criston’s steady voice calmed Aemond down, making his racing thoughts come to a screeching halt. “I do believe you are overthinking things, my prince. Contrary to popular belief, I think that affection need not be expressed in elaborate gestures or through fervent declarations of love all the time.” 

Aemond’s eyebrows shot up, “Then how will she know how much I appreciate her? I can barely converse with her without looking like a stuttering fool.” Criston smiled, a sort of fatherly affection filling his eyes as he glanced down at the prince. “Though I am lacking in experience in matters of the heart, I believe that affection isn’t always just about grand gestures. Words are not the only outlet to express your admiration of her, my prince. You can start with the little actions: spending time with her, bringing her flowers, talking more with her about her interests, that sort of thing.” “And you think that that would be sufficient?”Aemond was a little sceptical. 

“Of course, that would not suffice in the long run. You are to be married, my prince, you will spend countless years with each other, you will have to do more than that.” Aemond’s face turned crestfallen, causing Criston to pat his shoulder, “However, given your trouble in expressing your feelings, these small gestures are a start. Build up from there, and you’ll find it easier to demonstrate your love for her over time.” Aemond’s gaze was still pensive, but his eye was sparkling a little with hope. “But what if I’m at a loss of words every time I’m with her? Won’t she find my company dreadfully dull then?” Criston couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him, though Aemond looked faintly offended at that. “Sometimes, your company is good enough, your Grace. Not all your time spent together need be filled with meaningful conversations. Basking in each other’s presence is bliss enough.” 

Satisfied with Criston’s response, Aemond stood up with a decisive look. “I am grateful for your advice, Cole. I shall depart to implement your advice at once.” Before leaving, however, Aemond tilted his head and smirked slightly, “You are rather good at giving romantic advice for a knight, Ser Criston. Your wisdom is wasted on being a Kingsguard.” 

Criston barked a laugh, thinking of that someone from so long ago. “Mayhaps, your grace. But I think I am rather content imparting my knowledge to you for now.” Aemond said nothing at that, only raising a hand in farewell as he strode off. Criston watched him depart, a slight grin on his face. ‘The Queen would be delighted to hear of this,’ he thought to himself with a degree of satisfaction. 

You were sitting in Princess Helaena’s apartments, forehead furrowed in concentration as you delicately weaved a needle through the handkerchief you were embroidering for your betrothed. The midday sun shone through the long windows, casting a light golden glow throughout Helaena’s chambers. 

“Here, what do you think of this?” Helaena leaned over to you, eyes shining with anticipation as you held up your work so far. “It’s beautiful,” Helaena complimented, “Is that a raven?” You nodded, tilting your head to inspect your work. “Do you think it is too unusual to embroider on a handkerchief?” Helaena laughed, “You should not be asking me. Given the fact that-” she held up her own embroidery, and you laughed when you caught sight of a large beetle on her handkerchief. 

“I have to ask, however, why a raven?” Helaena inquired. You bit your lip softly, remembering your last interaction with your betrothed, Aemond. Knowing your love for birds, Aemond had taken you to Grand Maester Orwyle’s rookery, to see the various birds he had fostered there. You had both taken a liking to the ravens, with their intelligent eyes and strangely silent demeanour, compared to the other noisier birds in the rookery. You thought to yourself that they reminded you much of Aemond, though you did not say it out loud, watching with fond eyes as Aemond fed a raven and stroked its feathers, with a gentleness you did not know he possessed. 

“Your brother seems to like them,” you answered, smiling. Helaena beamed, “I’m sure he would be pleased with your gift.” “I do hope so,” your voice trailed off hesitantly, causing Helaena to take your free hand and squeeze it lightly. You had been much enamoured with your betrothed ever since your arrival to King’s Landing several moon turns ago, and you have come to know and appreciate him for his silent, thoughtful aura. However, his comportment did spell some uncertainty in you. While you knew this was a political match, your heart couldn’t help but yearn that your future husband would love you as much as you did him. 

But it was nigh impossible to tell what the One-Eyed Prince was thinking whenever we spent time together. He seemed perfectly cordial to you…but you wished you could get a further glimpse into what he felt for you. Did he feel at least a fraction of the adoration you felt for him? Or were you doomed to spend a lifetime in a courteous, yet dispassionate and loveless marriage with a man you long admired? 

Your thoughts were cut off by a sudden knock on the door. Startled, you nearly dropped your embroidery, but Helaena caught it deftly just in time. Sheepishly murmuring your thanks, you watched as a serving girl came into the room and curtsied in front of the both of you. “Your Grace, my lady, Prince Aemond is requesting to see you.” 

Aemond? Your heart began pounding furiously, delight and anticipation filling you. Was he here to see you? You tried tamping down your excitement, thinking firmly to yourself that he could be equally as likely to be here for Helaena. “Did he say which of the two of us he wanted to see?” “He wished to see Lady Y/N, your Grace.”

Your heart was beating so fast it felt dangerously close to exploding. Your mind was spinning in a dizzying rush of emotions. Helaena dismissed the serving girl, and smiled at you, “Well, I should not keep my brother waiting any longer for his betrothed. Go.” 

“Thank you, your Grace. Will I see you at dinner with the Queen tonight?” “Of course. You must tell me everything that happens,” Helaena’s eyes twinkled merrily. “That is a given,” you stood up and curtsied, before exiting the room, clutching the handkerchief you just sewed like it was the last thing grounding you to reality. Your steps were light and airy, and your heart nearly stopped when you saw Aemond standing by a window, his back to you, looking as majestic as ever in his training gear and his long silver hair flowing down his back. Your betrothed. 

“My Prince,” a sweet voice broke through Aemond’s thoughts. He turned around, his eye widening as he beheld his fair lady. She was dressed beautifully as always, in a light pink gown with a square neckline and elbow length sleeves. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes, serving only to accentuate her lovely complexion. He strode to her as she curtsied, his hand reaching out to her shoulder. 

“At ease,” Aemond’s voice was like velvet. “You are my betrothed, there is no need for such formalities.” You nodded shyly, meeting Aemond’s eye, surprised that today, there was actually a flicker of emotion behind it. Noticing how he shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, your eyes widened slightly as you realised that Aemond Targaryen, the usually composed and unflinching prince, was nervous. And it was because of you. 

Aemond cleared his throat, finally revealing what he had been hiding behind his back. Just when you thought the day’s events could not get any stranger than seeing Aemond being anxious, you were caught even more off guard when you spotted an assortment of pink, blue and orange blooms in his hand. 

“These are for you, my lady,” he added, eye darting over her face to drink in all her beautiful features and most importantly, her reaction to his attempt at expressing his adoration for her. He was immensely relieved to find nothing but genuine delight on his betrothed’s face. 

“Oh, they’re wonderful,” you exclaimed happily, a flush going to your cheeks. “You are too kind, my prince. Thank you, I love them.” Aemond watched tenderly as she took the flowers and held them to her nose. She was simply angelic. 

You inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, feeling your heart flutter at his sudden, but welcome gesture of affection. Perhaps this was a sign he returned your feelings? 

Aemond took a deep breath, trying to recall all the advice Criston had told him in the training yard just now. He had stopped by the garden to pick out the prettiest wildflowers he could find, but he found that none could compare to the sheer radiance of his betrothed when she smiled. ‘Focus’, Aemond told himself sternly, trying to collect his thoughts. ‘This was about making her see how much I care for her, not waxing on and on internally about how utterly struck I am by her beauty. I cannot mess this up.’ 

‘I must make her see how she has come to become the sun in my life.’ 

But Aemond was cut off by your sudden ‘Oh!’ Aemond nearly jumped out of his skin, afraid that there was something wrong with the flowers. But he was puzzled when you extended a handkerchief to him, smiling brightly. “I embroidered this for you. Take this as a token of gratitude for the flowers.” Aemond turned over the handkerchief delicately, tracing over the raven and various flowers sewed at the corner of the handkerchief, along with his initials, ‘A.T’ He felt his breath catch in his throat, “This…this is…” 

You watched him nervously as he stammered before falling into silence. Did he not like it? Perhaps he thought the raven was too much? You gripped the flowers in your hand a little tighter, saying a prayer to the Seven in your mind. 

Your worries were immediately allayed when Aemond pressed a shaky kiss onto your forehead. Startled, yet utterly enchanted, you stared up at him, who looked almost as shocked as you were at the kiss. “I…I take it you like your gift then?” you asked softly. 

He let out a quiet chuckle, “I think ‘like’ is an understatement, my lady. It is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given to me. I shall cherish it forever. As I will with you.” 

Aemond nearly screamed when he realised he blurted out the last part. ‘Why did I say that, why did I say that, why did I say that!’ his mind flooded with panic. However, suddenly emboldened from the adrenaline of the moment, he finally found the courage to express what he had been feeling for his fair lady. “My lady, I would like to confess something, and I think there couldn’t be a more appropriate time than this. I am hopelessly besotted with you.” He watched her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he hurried to add, “Tis alright if you do not return those feelings! I understand, believe me. I do not wish to force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with. But it’s just that I loved you for so long, and I had no idea how to tell you, and I fear if I let this moment slip I will never muster up the bravery to tell you again and gods I-” the energy suddenly drained out of him as he found himself once again, at a loss of words. “I just…adore you beyond belief. Beyond what I can fathom. Please ignore my ramblings if you are uncomfortable with them, just take them as the words of a lovesick fool.” He averted her eyes, embarrassment and sadness filling him. How could he hope for someone as good and wonderful as her to love such a beast as him? The Gods should strike him down for his pride. 

A warm hand reached for Aemond’s, interlacing her fingers with his. Aemond looked up in disbelief at your next words, “You have no idea how thankful I am to hear those words…because I feel the same.” You smiled shyly at him, “I was hoping you had the same sentiments as I did, and now that you professed your feelings, I could not be happier.” 

Aemond reached out to grip her hand with both of his, cradling her soft hand in his hands, staring deep into her eyes, sparkling with so much devotion and adoration. They stood in silence for a while, before Aemond pulled her hand gently to his lips and planted a reverent kiss to her knuckles. 

“Would you…perhaps care to take a stroll with me, my lady? I believe we have a lot to discuss.” 

“I would love nothing more, your Grace.” 

let me know if you wish to be added to a taglist for general aemond works! if you enjoyed this fic, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) thank you for reading! 

[p0orbaby]

Hi, was wondering if you could write an Alessia Russo x fem reader where reader is a rugby player so Alessia for the first time is dating someone taller than her?

(A warning I did send this request to another page but that was six months ago so I’m assuming they are not gonna write it 😅. If it makes you uncomfortable let me know btw)

Different Perspectives

warnings: suggestive (who’d have guessed it)

a/n: rugby is not my bag but I hope you still like it!

word count: 780

-

Alessia is tall. That’s just a fact. Her presence on and off the football pitch isn’t just about skill; it’s accentuated by her stature. At five foot nine, she’s a force to be reckoned with, both in the competitive world of football and in the everyday challenges that come with being head and shoulders above the crowd.

Yet, amidst the cheers of the stadium and the victories on the pitch, she faces an unexpected challenge – a change in perspective that comes with falling in love. When she meets someone whose gaze meets hers without craning their neck, Alessia Russo, the formidable footballer, discovers the uncharted territory of being the small one in the relationship.

In the afterglow of another triumphant match, Alessia basks in the admiration of her teammates. As she catches her breath and revels in the crowd’s cheers, Katie leans against the stadium railing, grinning happily at their winning result. It doesn’t take her long to spot you, Katie nudges her playfully. “She’s tall,” Katie mentions, eyeing you from her spot. “Like, really tall”

Alessia glances at you, then smirks at Katie. “You’re the one stating the obvious, as always. Care to tell me why?”

Katie winks, “Just wondering what it’s like to have a partner who doesn’t need a step stool to reach the top shelf. Must be a nice change in direction for you”

Alessia laughs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, very funny. I’ll have you know that love isn’t measured in height”

Katie nudges her again, “I wonder if she’s brought binoculars. You know, just in case…”

Alessia sighs, shaking her head. “You’re enjoying this far too much for someone who’s about four inches shorter than me”

“That I am,” she admits. “What position does she play again?”

“Lock” Lessia answers readily.

“What are we talking about?” Another voice joins in on the conversation.

“Less’ talk drink of water over there” Katie informs, and Beth turns her head in the direction she’s pointing. “She's a lock, in case you were wondering”

“Ohh, tall and strong. You’re a very lucky girl Russo”

Alessia’s face inflames. Her cheeks turning red at her teammates teasing. “Thanks for that, you two. Really, just what I needed”

Katie smirks, “c’mon, don’t act like you’re not taking advantage of it! You were tall once, might as well cash in the credit you’ve banked over the years”

“Oh, yeah, because my life has obviously become one endless game of ‘can you reach that for me?’”

“Why not!” Beth exclaims. “I get Viv to do things for me all the time. ‘Hey babe, can you just grab this from the tippy top shelf? I can’t quite reach’”

“She gets validation, and you reap the rewards, if you get my gist” Katie winks.

“And that’s my cue to leave! I’m walking away now!” Alessia announces as she turns on her heels, heading towards you, more than ready to leave that conversation behind.

“There she is” you call when she’s close, “my talented girl”

She’s semi conscious of the way she has to tilt her neck upwards to kiss you. Imagining the girls teasing her behind her back. But when you grab the back of her neck to keep her right where you wanted her, all previous embarrassment fades away.

She loves the way you kiss the top of her head when you pull her in for a hug.

She melts at how your jacket swamps her shoulders when you wrap her up after games.

Hell, she’d even admit to how she secretly always wanted to be the little spoon.

There’s an ease to the way she fits into the curve of your embrace. A calm it brings to her that she didn’t realise she was missing out on.

“For the record, you wouldn’t be the only one benefiting from the rewards” you whisper into her mouth.

She pulls back, eyes wide as she looks up at you when you stand to your full height. “You heard that?”

You nod and hum, tucking some of her loose hairs behind her ear. “Your friends are painfully loud,” you laugh.

“I hate them,” she groans.

“No you don’t”. you say, the corners of your lips lifting in amusement. “Besides, you can’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about it”

She smirks, “Maybe a little, now they’ve mentioned it”

At her words you bend down and lift her up by the back of the legs. Her arms coming up to wrap around your neck. Whilst her legs sit on your waist.

“Me too,” you admit, letting the laughter settle into a comfortable silence as you hold her close, the gaggle of friends and fans fading into the background.

[mixtape-racha]

cw: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, mentioned seungmin, fem!reader

getting pounded by minho while the other members are in the next room over, his hand clamped over your mouth so tight your head is spinning and you adore it

all you can hear is the slapping of skin and minho's grunts, accompanied by your muffled whimpers and the way he pressed kisses against your shoulder has your eyes rolling back

he's so deep you swear you can feel him in your pelvis and you've been going at it so long your bodies are practically glued together with the sweat dripping off of both of you

soon enough, the boys will get concerned that it's been quiet for so long and come looking - there's only so much a stupid movie playing in the background can cover up

you clench at the thought of one of the members catching you like this, and you pray that minho won't notice, or care enough to question it

of course, he's smarter than you give him credit for and he chuckled against your skin, the lines of his smirk practically imprinted on you

"thinking about them coming to find us, hmm? seeing you like this, all spread out for mine like you should be?"

god, you hate that he knows you so well

"wouldn't that be a shame? probably traumatise poor felix. jeongin would move out. but what about seungmin, huh?"

your eyes rolled again, and you're just glad he can't see your face right now or you know he'd tease you forever

"now, seungminnie... i bet he'd like it. maybe a little too much, if you know what i mean?"

of course you did, but you weren't going to stop him talking now - not with the way your stomach was twisting and your chest pounding

his hips almost seemed to speed up as he continued talking, and it was then that you knew you had something to use against him

"maybe i'd let him watch. let him jerk his pathetic cock at me fucking you... or maybe we'd switch. maybe i'd let him take my place, and you could put on a show for me."

your thighs shook as you pushed your ass back against him to meet his thrusts, orgasm so close that you could almost taste it

"i reckon you could ruin him. have him whining and whimpering the way you usually do while you ride him. make him a complete bitch, yeah?"

you cried out into his hand, knowing he was close to his release too and wanting to finish together, but holding back was so, so hard

"you wanna make seungminnie a messy slut, yeah? put on a show for me, show me how much of a good girl you really are-- oh fuck, c'mon, baby, cum for me-"

your knees buckled as you came, the feeling overwhelming as minho's load shot inside of you

he took his hand away from your mouth, peppering you with kisses as he pulled out, but the silence couldn't be kept for long

"i'm gonna clean you up, and then we're gonna talk more about this, yeah?"

(a/n: scheduled post!)

-> don’t forget to reblog or comment if you like my works ♡ please refrain from modifying, translating, or copying my work. - © mixtape-racha

tags ✮⋆˙ : @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @queen-klarissa @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @skz-streamer @demetrisscarf @manj1ro @linocvpid @alextheweeb7 @chans-american-slave @unsweetenedpeatea @carpioassists @bangtancultsposts @reiheis @happilydeepestwonderland @leemidnightmoon @watariisbestboy @hwangrimi @weedforthoughtz @ivyisnotokay @yevene @puckmaidens @poody1608 @vampcharxter @ilcveyouu @yeetmehome @prettymiye0n @bratty-tingz @diorrxluvskz

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

Victorious

Written for Jilytoberfest 31 Prompts Day 30: "Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me."

——

She can hardly think over the roaring of the crowd. The buzz of it seems to vibrate in her very skull, pounding with a force that matches the thrum of her heart in her ribcage. All around her, the crowd of scarlet watches the Seekers dive towards the Snitch–Elton Ackerley versus Regulus Black, a battle that no longer matters. 

“What is Black doing?” cries a voice from beside Lily. Mary’s voice, positively baffled. Bless her. “Slytherin’s down by four hundred, for Merlin’s sake. Doesn’t that idiot know his team needs to score more before he ends the match?”

“Probably not,” snorts Sirius from behind them. “That fucking idiot can’t count to save his life.”

“Bet he knows there’s no hope, with the way Potter’s been playing,” counters Bridget, smugly. “Reckon he’s just trying to put an end to Slytherin’s humiliation, at this point.”

Lily feels a smile warm her cheeks. It’s true, and they all know it. Even if Black does manage to nab the Snitch for Slytherin, the one-hundred-and-fifty points wouldn’t even put a dent in Gryffindor’s lead. There’s only really one player who can be blamed for that lead—a certain dark-haired wonder with windswept hair and jaw-dropping speed and perfect bloody dexterous hands and—

“Another goal for Gryffindor!” booms the announcer, his voice rattling through Lily’s head. “That’s right, Potter! You show those scaly serpent twats—sorry, Professor McGonagall, I mean—another excellent play by Gryffindor’s captain! He’s really on a roll today, isn’t he?”

On a roll, indeed. Lily is screaming before she knows it, her voice growing hoarse with each ‘go, James!’ that rips itself from her throat. She’s spent so many years scoffing at Quidditch, denying herself this joy. And for what—for what? 

Merlin. 

It’s freeing to just bloody enjoy it. To lose herself in it. To jump with that crowd of scarlet around her. To laugh with each jeer that Sirius sends his brother’s way. To scream. To holler. To sing. To watch James dip and glide and roll. To feel her cheeks grow as red as his. To let her mind go fuzzy at that heart-stopping smile of his, that fierce determination on his face whenever he closes his hands around the Quaffle, the sweat that dampens his hair, the way his arm looks when he lifts it for a throw—

Fucking hell.

“Ackerley and Black are neck and neck now! The Snitch is within reach, it’s anyone’s catch now—come on Ackerley—sorry, Professor—”

A collective shout ripples through the crowd—a chorus of ‘come on Ackerley!’ that Lily doesn’t join. Her eyes stay fixed on the Chaser who sails above, putting his body between the Slytherin Beaters and his teammate. Daring them to try anything. Daring them to send a Bludger his way. And he’d bloody do it too, Lily knows without question. James Potter, in all his stupid, self-sacrificing recklessness, would take a Bludger to the head to spare his team’s Seeker without a lick of regret. The nerve of him. The stupid, reckless, admirable, noble, beautiful—

“Ackerley’s got it! He’s got the Snitch! And that’s it! Gryffindor wins five-hundred-and-sixty to ten!”

The crowd breaks into a whole new kind of roar. Lily is right there with them, throwing her arms around Mary and Bridget in turn. Jumping. Screaming. Kicking her feet when Sirius hoists her up and spins her around, hollering in her ear. 

James is a blur as he sails down to Ackerley, pulling the scrawny kid halfway off his broom in a jubilant hug. When they break apart, he’s hoisting Ackerley’s arm into the air in triumph, clapping him on the back and grinning widely enough to melt Lily’s heart into a puddle right bloody there.

The crowd is chanting. “Ackerley! Ackerley! Ackerley!” James, maddeningly content to let the Seeker take the credit for a victory that is really all his, waves his arms in an upward motion at the crowd—signaling them to shout louder, louder, louder.

The crowd in the stands begins to rush downwards—a sea of scarlet converging on the grass below to mob the team where some of them are beginning to land. It’s a big fucking deal, this victory—the first time Gryffindor has beaten Slytherin in ten years. Never mind that the leaves on the trees are just beginning to change and the Quidditch Final is still months away. Never mind that this is the first match of the season. This victory is a big fucking deal and Gryffindor will treat is as such. Lily would be right there with them, if she could bring herself to move a muscle. 

She stays rooted in the spot, her eyes locked on where James is now hovering mid-air, seemingly oblivious now to how his teammates are peeling away around him—swooping down to join the celebrations on the pitch below. He doesn’t seem to notice the trophy that Sirius has conjured (depicting a lion eating a snake, of course), or the chanting that’s somehow changed from ‘Ackerley! Ackerley! Ackerley!’ to ‘Potter! Potter! Potter!’ He’s looking directly at Lily instead—grinning at her— and she’s looking at him, giggling.

“Potter! Potter! Potter!”

James begins to move, but not in the direction anyone is expecting. His eyes never leaving Lily’s, he draws closer, closer, closer. Until he’s dismounting right there in the stands, tossing his broom down without a second glance and clambering over a bench.

“James!” Lily shouts, scrambling over the rows before her to meet him halfway. “James, you did it! You were amazing! You—”

He stops her words with a kiss—warm and desperate and bloody electric. The roar of the crowd grows impossibly louder, and Lily’s mind is wiped blank—blissfully, beautifully blank. Her fingers dig into his Quidditch robes, her heart exploding in her chest, and all those silly reasons they’d had for keeping their relationship secret are worlds away, dissolved into nothingness with the feel of his lips on hers. 

She feels him grin against her, feels the tickle of his voice when he whispers ‘Evans,’ before his lips are on hers again and his sturdy arms are sliding around her and the world is going topsy turvy because he’s fucking dipping her—right there in front of the whole bloody school.

The crowd is so loud now she can feel it in her veins. But all that matters is James—right here, right now, tangled up with Lily in this moment she hopes will last forever.

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 3

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 4k words, 3 of ? part one | part two a/n: if anyone's curious, the fics named after the song white room by cream, which was both relevant enough, and playing on spotify at the time, to be chosen for such reasons skskssk gif credit to @hausofmamadas mi amor

Friday, well, that one turns out to be a movie. Not in the romantic feeling kind of way, but in the real movie theatre with a bucket of popcorn and everything else kind of way, and you would’a never expected that from a guy like Johnny. 

Really surprised you at first, caught you so off guard that you made him say it twice when he picked you up, but then he said besides riding and racing, movies are his favourite way to spend an hour or two, which really warmed you up to the idea. And you know, he wasn’t lying, neither. Everyone likes movies in some sort of way, sure, but Johnny? He loves them. Really really. His eyes lit all the way up when he told you which one he’d picked out for you, and you didn’t mind anywhere near enough to complain or choose something else, so that’s what you ended up doing.

And on the way there, he asks what your favourite thing is, for passing time and stuff, and you tell him, well, you suppose that’d be writing. So he says, books? And you says, yeah, stories. Adventures. 

“You ever think about writing a movie script?” he asks.

And you shrug, cause you ain’t never thought about it really. “I could do.”

“Bout some guy who starts a bike club?”

“Yeah, and he thinks he’s the coolest guy around, til he meets someone cooler, that is.” 

He smiles. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, someone they call Lips.”

Then he’s laughing, and not looking at all where he’s going, eyes all sticky to yours, but the road's straight, so you figure it’s alright for a little while. “It’s good,” he says, “but, ah, I don’t think it’ll make it. Won’t get the audience, you know?”

“Sucks,” you tell him, “I had a real good feeling bout that one.”

Oh, and he picked you up in his car this time too, which you ain’t never seen before. With the bikes and the trucks, you thought you had his wheels all covered, but then he pulls up in this thing—real neat looking, all black and low to the ground, but not too showy, like something he could still put his girls in, when it’s his turn or something. And you know as much about cars as you do about bikes, which is nearly fuckin’ nothin, so you couldn’t tell him anything about it, other than it looks nice, and that he was in a real surprising mood today. Keeping you on your toes, you said. 

His reason was something about not wanting to leave his bike someplace he can’t get to in a pinch, and apparently that’s the movie theatre. So, you’re sitting next to him this time, instead of clinging on like a second jacket, and talking all that crap about movie scripts while he drives you there.

You figured you’d be feeling a sort of way about the car thing, cause you were getting real used to having him in front of you, really enjoying it, you know, but side by side? Well, that’s a whole other drug. Spent the whole ride so far just looking at him. At his face, his hands. His thighs in those washed out jeans of his—cause he sits the same in a car as he does on a bike, would you believe it, his knees all spread out like that. And sure, maybe it’s not polite to eat him up so much with your eyes, but you’re listening too, and talking when he needs something from you. 

Plus, you only caught him a couple times, but he’s been looking at you as much as you’re looking at him. At your jeans and thighs as well, you reckon. Between the both of you, you’ve made the car feel like one of those Swedish sauna things on wheels, or maybe it’s just you thinking that way, but your neck is hot, real world hot, and even your brow’s a little damp too. God, if he notices the sweat on you, you’ll be opening that door and rolling out onto the road before he can shout at you to stop. 

At one point, he says, “You like the bike or the car more?”

And you say back, “Well, whichever one you like driving, Johnny,” cause the real answer is that one makes you dizzy and the other makes you act like you ain’t never seen a man before. You’re not precious neither, about what he thinks of you, but you’re not gonna go and say something that’ll make you sound like that now, are you?

By the time you’re finally getting out of that thing, you’re thinking thank God, cause you don’t know how much longer you could’ve survived without taking one of his hands off that steering wheel just to feel some part of him. Not in a freaky way, you know, just something to stop you thinking all crazy like. Some little bit of him to hold on to, like you have on the bike. 

Who would’a known that was the lesser evil of the two, right? At least when you’re pressed up against him like that he can’t look at you, all hungry and curious like he has been doing—and you can’t look at him neither, but you can feel him. All big and strong and warm. Then you don’t gotta sit and wonder like you were just then, going all crazy thinking about how it would be, how it would, well, you know. With his hands and his face and his lips and stuff. Thinking bout that, you know. 

So you get out the car, and for a few minutes you’re free, feeling normal, and he buys the tickets and the candy, and the soda that you need dowsing with, and you think, yeah, sure, you can play nice. You’re chatting and laughing just like last time. And he’s letting you go in first, cause he’s a gentleman with things like that, so it’s easy to feel like you’re a respectable person still. 

But then you’re sitting next to him again, and this time it’s in the dark, and his knees are touching yours, actually touching, cause your seats are closer in the theatre and he’s still spread out like he’s got a damn engine under him. 

Like, fuck, you feel altogether insane by the time the movie’s going. 

No other man’s ever got you like this, right? Sure feels that way at least, like you’re fifteen again, and letting the kid next door take you out for the very first time. All heart hammering and sweating like you ain’t never kept a guy’s company before. 

Johnny don’t notice of course. He’s watching the movie with both hands on his lil’ pouch of M&Ms, and every time he laughs, he’s no idea that his knee’s rubbing up on yours or that his elbow’s bouncing right into your arm. You don’t tell him though, cause these are perfectly normal things to happen on a date, right, and you wouldn’t want him to stop, you only want your brain to quit thinking all these things you ain’t got the right to know yet. 

Like how his lips are so big and pretty looking. Like they’re made for kissing, carved out just for that one thing, but they don’t make his face any less handsome, right, and you certainly wouldn’t call him pretty allover. Just, rugged, you know. Good to look at. And, Jeez, you can’t even go five minutes without something like that. Wondering what his lips are really like to kiss, or whether he’s got any more tattoos any place you can’t see. 

It’s a good thing you ain’t supposed to talk in here, cause the way this is going, something might slip out that you really shouldn’t say. So you just keep looking forward and watching the movie that you’re already losing track of. 

_____

Turns out, biting your tongue is worth it sometimes, cause about half way in you get the answer to one of those crazy questions of yours.

Only a little something, but it gets your heart going all over again. Out of nowhere, his hand goes right there on the arm rest between you, and it’s not just resting, it’s inviting, cause the palms up, you know, waiting for you. And when you don’t move, like you might not’ve seen him do it, he reaches and puts his fingers through yours until, yeah, you’re holding hands, and he’s sitting them both in the middle right where he wanted them.

Before, you’d been wondering if his hands were as rough as they looked like, and well, now you know. And they are. But that bird tattoo, that swallow by his thumb? That’s smooth as anything, and once you start feeling it, you can’t stop. Running your own thumb all over it like you’re in love or something. But his hands are a little cool, you know, compared to yours, and you guess you got some habit you can’t help, about warming things up by rubbing them all sweet like that. 

You guess you’re also feeling like he’s sort of familiar already, and that’s what you do when you hold a hand and it’s one you’re used to, right?

But how’s he got you feeling that way after doing so little? Like he’s got you holding hands and tracing swallows and thinking about his thigh against yours, when really, you’ve seen him three times and that’s it. Which is next to nothing, you know? You haven’t even kissed him properly yet. The other night, when he dropped you home, you got a peck on the cheek and a mouthful of cologne and that was that. Which you’re not complaining about, course not, it sent your heart scattering like a mouse across the kitchen floor, but normally you got a real hold of yourself at a point like this. 

Instead, here you are, acting like you know who he is and what he looks like under all the layers. Acting like maybe you wouldn’t mind so much to one day marry a sort of guy like him—if you were to marry anyone at all, that is. You figure one like Johnny wouldn’t be too bad. Quiet when he needs to be, rough looking, but nice still. Someone you couldn’t bring to your mother but would bring to an office party. It could work, you know, if you were ever really wanting something like that to work. 

Boy, you’re almost making yourself sick thinking about it. You barely know the guy and you got no interest in marrying, not any time soon, and God knows Johnny ain’t wanting that either, so what does it matter to you? You’re just thinking all sorts of things for the sake of thinking them—just to avoid thinking about all the other things that you’re trying not to think about and, yeah, you’re really going round in circles about it. If he could hear you now, he’d be leaving you right there in the dark. 

Then he breathes by your ear, and he’s whispering about the girl on screen looking like his Aunt Tina in a hair piece, and you laugh so loud the people in front turn round to shoot you with their eyes—until they see Johnny, that is. Cause then it’s right back to the screen again like they didn’t see nothing. Even in the dark, when all you can make out is what the light off the screen gives you, that jacket of his means something. One look at the leather and the patches and, whoosh. Suddenly nobody’s got the guts to say anything about it.

And the worst part? That all makes you feel even more like you’d marry him. Or someone like him, if it came up, of course. You’re even squeezing his hand a little afterwards, like you’re thanking him for it even though he didn’t do nothin. Just sat there looking mean, you know. 

But maybe you want someone sitting there looking mean. Maybe you don’t wanna be doing it for yourself no more, and are perfectly happy to let someone like Johnny do it for you.

Who knows, but you really should be watching the movie now anyhow, cause he’s gonna ask you all about it, you’re sure, and you don’t even know any of their names yet.  

_____

“So you like it?” he says after, just like you knew he would, when you’re walking back over the lot to that four wheel surprise of his. 

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What, you only think you like it?” He throws you one of them big, crumply, frowns, with a cigarette bouncing in his mouth already. “How can you not know if you liked it or not?”

“I’m still deciding,” you tell him, cause you are, cause you were distracted for most of it. But that part you’re not telling. “I know I prefer things where I can talk to you, though. Face to face and stuff.”

He don’t smile but his eyes do, and you know before he says anything, that he’s gonna say something in a real sort of a way, just to get a rise outta you. “There I was,” he says, “thinking I was doing something good, you know. Giving you a break from all that talking, Lips.”

“No way.” There it is. “That’s not stickin, Johnny.”

“Yeah…” He nods in a sorry looking way. “I kinda think it already has.” 

“And I kinda think three dates is enough. How’s that for thinkin?”

“Oh, calling it then, are you?”

“Yeah, I am.” But neither of you are pretending like you believe it, not even for a bit of a game to play; like it’s a given that you’re lying, you know, three dates and he and you both know you’re sticking around for more. No question. “You ever gonna light that thing?” you ask, pointing to the long smoke dangling over his chin. You’re at the car now and he still ain’t touched it, acting like he’s not even thought about it since he put it there.

“Was getting round to it,” he says, making no move to do anything other than standing there looking at you.   

And you’re looking right back. 

It’s dark out already, cause that movie was longer than you thought it’d be, but there’s enough street lights round here that nothin’s really hurting by it. He’s just got a little orange on him, shoulders glowing like you’re sitting with a campfire or something. 

So you lean back against his car, right on the driver’s side, and ask him what he thought of the movie, cause you can tell he’s thinking a lot on something or other, so you figure it’s probably that. And he sets off talking like you’re right, going on about one of them cowboys in particular, but you gotta admit, you're not listening to a word of it.

Real bad manners it is, really awful of you to get a guy talking and not even hear one thing he says, but Jeez, you’re just watching those lips and that cigarette and not helping yourself in any sort of way at all. You just agree and shake your head when it feels like the right thing to do—and you know you’re making it obvious, may as well be screaming kiss me, Johnny, kiss me, but he just keeps going. Talking more than you ever heard him talk about anything. 

And right when you think he might ask you something, or call you up on that look you’re giving him, he takes the smoke from his mouth and tosses it. Never even lit, clean as the day they made it, and he throws it right into that grimy little puddle there with no warning at all. He could’a kept it you know, put it back in the box and had it later, if he didn’t want it no more.

“What d’you do that for?” you ask him.

He says, “You wanna go?” 

It’s the way his voice sounds when he asks, it makes you frown a little. Like he’s upset or something. Or maybe, and most likely, he saw how rude you were being and got worked up about it, instead of going the other way. And you wanna tell him it’s not that at all, and you’re sorry, yeah, you’ll listen better now, but all you can do is shake your head at him. 

No, you don’t wanna go. What you want is—well, you’re trying to be good about it, cause he said before that you’re the first person he’s looked at in any real sort of way since Betty left, and that’s a whole load of weird, every step of the way for him, you know—but, God, what you really wanna do is kiss him. You want to kiss him. 

Guess he’s used to you by now, cause you’ve been so quiet that he notices something off about it. Then he don’t look upset, or mad, he just looks confused when he asks, “You okay?”

 Well, then you figure, screw being nice, just for a little bit. 

“I’m thinking it’s getting real hard to look and not touch,” you say.

Slips right out of you, gone without stopping, but you said it in a dazed kind of way, so it came out sort of nice, you guess. Honest without being crazy about it. And he says nothin, no surprise right, but you do catch something—yeah, right there, he goes and does it again—his eyes drop from looking at yours, to looking down at your mouth. Bingo. He’s thinking about it too. All you can do is wait it out.

After a second that feels like a minute that feels like an hour, his head shakes halfway and he says, “I don’t,” but that’s all he says, I don’t. Then he goes and pulls you into him. 

Just like that.

Two hands, either side of your face, scratchy on your cheek and cool feeling cause you got hot real fast, and then he’s kissing you. Not quick like some other guy might, but slow and careful like a man really thinking about it. Kissing you like. Well. Like nobody’s ever been kissing you before. 

You feel yourself curling in, right up close to him, and grabbing onto the edges of his jacket a little. Letting him kiss you, not the other way around, but doing all you can to keep it going, you know, cause you can tell by his lips, by the way he’s moving, he’s still sort of worrying about it. Like he knows how to but can’t remember yet, or doesn’t know if he likes your mouth enough to forget about the last one he was used to. 

And you’re not caring about anything to do with any of that, you’re just making sure you remember every bit of this, incase he decides he don’t like it after all.

But he keeps going still, and your mouth starts tasting like his mouth, which is like a load of ash and candy, cause he’s a sweet tooth, you know, who knew, and he was tossing them back like water in there. Which you’re glad of, cause somehow it’s all adding up to taste like the best sort of thing you’ve ever had, and you don’t think he’d get that title if it was just the cigarettes on his tongue.

When he pulls back—and God, you fight him on it—you make a noise like he hurt you. Embarrassing, right? A little whimper like an animal, or something, and that makes him keep you real close for a sec, just to be sure he didn’t actually hurt you somehow. Then you’re both saying “sorry” at the same time, for some reason. Sorry, you know, over nothin. 

And that’s dumb enough that you laugh right up against his lips, and he breathes in a lazy sort of way, all heavy like he’s not had his fill yet. 

Well, you’re already standing straight again and letting go of his jacket, cause it seems impolite to be tugging on him like that now he’s waiting a little, and one of his hands moves to your neck like he’s trying to leave but can’t make his body listen to his head. 

Course, you don’t mind either way. He could have another, or he could shove his hands in his pockets and rush you into the car, and you wouldn’t complain one bit because now you know. You know what it’s like. 

You’re smiling still too, while he looks at you all hungry like, and you know it’s in your mouth and your eyes and the way you find yourself saying to him,

“Take me home?”

Which is the wrong fuckin’ thing to say apparently, because his hands drop off you so quick it almost stings. Like you were never hot, he was, and now he ain’t there holding you the cold is real sharp feeling. Then he steps back a bit, and he’s clearing his throat and rubbing his nose with his knuckles, and you figure you’ve scared all of that right back out of him again.

“You know,” he says, like it really hurts him to say it, “I—I can’t. I mean. I don’t wanna rush into nothin with us, you know?” 

“I know,” you tell him. “Who’s rushing anything?”

You watch him scratch the back of his neck—always itching when he’s trying to get outta something, yeah, you seen him do it enough times already—and he’s screwing his face up like you ain’t getting it, and he can’t think of any way to put it that'll help. “We should probably, I mean.”

“You gonna tell me you don’t wanna date me no more?” you ask him.

Which is funny, cause you said that before he kissed you, and neither of you meant it then, but now there’s a little sour guy in your gut saying maybe, just maybe, you know. 

“No, no.” He shakes his head, voice all whiny like it actually is hurting. 

“Well what is it then?”

“I know how you get, yeah…you, when it gets like that. Taking you home, staying over. I mean," and then he says, "I can’t give you a life, you know?”

You stare at him real hard. “Did I ask you to?”

“Not yet, but,” he shrugs, “I’ve done all that before.”

A part of you is thinking, God, worrying about all that already? This guy’s a real piece of work. But the sensible part thinks, yeah, you too, even if you weren’t really thinking in any serious kinda way—plus he’s got a divorce two steps behind him, so why wouldn’t he be worrying about it? He’s figuring all this out like it’s brand fuckin’ new, and all the while trying to make sure you’re not getting cut up in the process. A little early on, sure, but that’s what you gotta do, right? Clear the gutter out before the rain comes.

So you tell him, “I only wanna spend time with you, Johnny.”

And he thinks on that, looking like he don’t believe anyone could ever say it and mean it, then he says, “S’pose that’s alright then, if that’s what it is.”

And you say, “Yeah, that’s what it is.” 

And when he drives you home, he’s got one hand on the wheel, and the other on his thigh, and you put your pinky round his like you’re scared of holding it proper. Scared of touching him like you’re used to doing it, and scared of him dropping you off without saying nothing else at all. Just your pinky and his pinky, and the radio on quiet like you’re dreaming, or something. 

But then it comes to it, and you get another taste of candy and ash right under your porch light.

It’s short and a little polite, like Mrs Saccone might be watching, but that don’t matter, cause you figure it means he’s decided you’re alright spending time with him still. Not rushing into nothing, yeah? 

He’s half-way down the steps again when he says, “See you tomorrow, Lips,” and he don’t even know if you’re free for him or not. Which you guess means you haven't scared him off at all, if that’s what it is. 

_________________

part four >>>>>>>

taglist: @garbinge @drabbles-mc @ashlingiswriting @raven-black102 @lyralu91 @hoodeddreams13 @businesscalamity

[f4iry-bell]

WHO AM I? | 1

pairing: nerd grayson hawthorne x popular reader

warning: slightly angsty?? judgey grayson, dialogue heavy.

tagging: @unnoodles @nqds @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @never-enough-novels @elysianwayy77 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @cassie6392

word count: 1.8k

a/n: ik i said pathetic grayson but I'll give you all pathetic grayson frfr in the next part where their romance start of catch up???? maybe a three part series!!!!

akso will make non linear parts of this series in the future!!!!

masterlist | part 2 | blurbs of this series

Grayson Hawthorne is not introverted or has social anxiety, he just hates people. He goes to college, takes notes, interacts with people if he must, study, ace the test, repeat. That was his routine, and he was not intending to change that. But today was quite different because his brothers called him a loser for being in Harvard and yet has not participated in anything fun, they made him sign a paper which says he will participate in at least one fun event which doesn't involve him getting extra credits. In his defense he was drunk when he signed the paper.

He was debating whether or not to go in and participate in the scavenger hunt, it is something that he would enjoy as well. So he decided to join the group. There were a few comments like ‘Woah, is that Grayson Hawthorne? Outside his books?’ but he ignored them and started to play the game.

He noticed someone who focused more on filming the whole thing with her phone than trying and okay the game. He sort of recognised her, she is in his business class. She is barely there in class, both physically and mentally but they do share a class together. She is one of those people who thinks college is just fun and time to live like you're in the movies kind of girl. He can tell with her flawless skin and hair that too long he wonders how she manages. She has this charismatic aura around her as she filmed herself and her friends. 

Grayson darted his eyes away from her and focused on solving the hints and moving to the next level.

He finished the scavenger hunt within 15 minutes and thought how stupid it was, a bunch of silly clues and silky hints that even a 4th grader can win this.

“Seriously, dude? You couldn't let others at least try and solve hints?” The girl asked.

Grayson’s heart skipped a beat which he ignored. “Try what? I reckon you were doing nothing but filming.”

“So?”

“Isn't the point of this game is to play and win?”

“No. It's fun and okay with friends which I  assume is a strange concept for you.” The girl rolled her eyes and went back to her phone texting someone.

“It is rude to be on your phone when you're talking to someone.” He pointed out.

“The conversation is over. Or are you not that smart enough to take a hint?” She spoke without looking up from her phone which only pissed him off.

“This attitude of yours will not get you anywhere.” He said.

The girl chuckled genuinely, finding it funny. “Good luck surviving college.” With that she walked away from him.

_

Grayson took it quite personal, it affected him a lot, she affected him a lot. What did she mean by “Good luck surviving college”? He has the perfect grades, the professors like him, the students are not up to his standards so he prefers to stay away from them, unless there's a group project. He will survive it better than her, with all that filming she's barely graduating.

During his business class the professor gave everyone a chit with a number in it, two people have the same number so they can pair up and work on a project. Grayson didn't open his chit yet. The girl from scavenger hunt stood up from her seat and adjusted her hair before she spoke out loud like social anxiety fears her.

“Alright, who is number 12?” She asked, looking around. Grayson shook his head and opened his chit and sighed. It says number 12.

He didn't want to raise his hand or tell her at all. He is going to have a talk with the professor to change his partner because he was sure that she won't be a good project partner.

“I would like to change my partner.” He told the professor as the class dismissed slowly.

“Why?”

“I don't think my partner will cooperate with me.” He told him.

“Well, you should try. Because there is changing here, Mr. Hawthorne.” The professor said. Grayson turned to see that she had already gone. It has only been a minute since the class ended.

It was not hard for him to find her in the crowd, he found her in the cafeteria during lunch. She was with other people who were just like her. On the phone 24/7, couldn't care about academics, rich, or popular. 

He stood behind her and spoke. “Excuse me.”

She looked back to him from her seat. “What?” She gave him a disgusting look.

He frowned in offense. “I’m number 12”

“Huh?”

“Your project partner.”

“Oh.” She slowly remembered what happened in business class and why he is here. “Oh…” The last oh sounded like disappointment and disgust.

“I would appreciate it if you start working your part soon and hand it to me by this weekend. I'll look over it. Then I'll finish the rest.” He told her.

“Excuse me?” 

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes. Its a group project, right? We should do it together.”

“We can split the work. It'll save time.” He prefer it that way.

“No.”

“What?”

“We shouldn't split the work.”

“Why not?” He asked.

Her friend chuckled and said “because she doesn't know what to do.”

“Shut up, Lily.” The girl scolded her friend.

“Do you or do you not know?” Grayson asked.

“I know, I just need someone to tell me what exactly we should do…and some notes of the previous classes.” She confessed.

Grayson sighed. “I'll give you my notes, meet me in the library after college.”

“Wait, I have a party to attend after college.” Her eyes widened.

“It's either this way or we split it. The choice is yours.”

She groaned. “Fine”

“Don't be late.”

_

“You're late.” Grayson pointed out.

“Whatever, let's start.” She said as she dragged a chair back and sat on it. She noticed the two files sitting on the desk and two notebooks. “Which one is business?” She asked.

“All.”

“What? I'm pretty sure the professor didn't take this many lessons!”

“He did, you would know if you paid attention in class.”

“I do pay attention.”

“What were we discussing in last class?” He asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.”

“Stop, just tell the important stuff.”

“Everything is important.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

She put her head on the table and groaned. She raised her head up and scanned his face.

“You have nice eyes.”

Grayson tried hard not to blush. “Thank you.”

“And hair. You're smart too. Aren't you a package?” She said,

“Are you…flirting with me?” He asked.

“Maybe? Is it working?”

“No. And no.”

“What is the other no for?”

“Im not doing your part of the project as well.”

“Please? I'll set you up with one of my friends.” She begged, almost.

“No thank you.”

She groaned again. “You're insufferable.”

“And you're a brat.”

“What are you, 50?”

“Can we look into the project, I'll try my best to explain what you should be doing.” He sighed.

“That would be great actually!”

_

While he was explaining her part and some lessons in the syllabus her phone was constantly ringing or a notification kept popping up, she kept answering them too. Grayson was getting tired.

“Look, if you're not taking this seriously then I'll just give your part, and leave.”

“No! I'm sorry. I'll turn my phone off, okay?”

_

They worked on the project and Grayson sort of tutored her a little for a while in the library everyday. Grayson realised she's a quick learner unlike most people. He was worried that he would have to explain things more than once to her but she understood everything quickly.

“Okay…so I worked on my part. Um, it's probably not as good as yours but it's all I can do, okay?” She hesitantly gave it to him.

Grayson read through and wasn't shocked, he was with for a week and saw that she's not really dumb. Just lazy.

“Well?” She asked.

“Well what?”

“What do you think?” 

“Think? You care about what I think?” He asked.

“Well, you're the genius here. And, um I'm not really sure about my work.” 

“You shouldn't. Its a good piece. Plus, you shouldn't be worried about what I think of your work.”

“I don't know, you're kind of judgemental.” Sge said.

“I am, aren't I?” 

“Uh huh.”

“Well, you don't have to interact with me any further. Since our work here is done. Hope I didn't ruin your reputation by making you study all week.” It was his way of cracking a joke which she picked up.

She chuckled. “No, it's all good. I mean my friends were making fun but I sort of had fun studying and catching up on lessons.”

“You had fun?” Grayson was surprised.

“Yeah. You're judgey and cold but tolerable. I mean who isn't judgey?” 

“I agree. But I only judged for two days. When I realised I misjudged you, I stopped.” He told her.

“Oh? What do you think of me now?”

“I think you're a nice person. You're smart even if you try. But your ‘friends’ are a bad influence.”

“Why would you emphasise ‘friends'” She asked, slightly offended.

“They always degrade you, and make fun of you for studying which you seem to think ‘fun’. Only idiots make fun of people for having fun.”

She was quiet. She knew he was right.

“But they're my friends.”

“Really? All they care about is when you'll post them on your Instagram because you have thousands of followers.” 

“No! They do care more.”

“You're not as smart as I thought you were then.”

“You think everyone is below you.”

“I don't.”

“Grayson, you said you know more about business than our professor.”

“Because I do. I have experience.”

She shook her head. 

“I don't think I'm above everyone.”

“Sure, name one person whom you think is above you.” She scoffed.

“You.”

“What?”

“You're not judgemental, despite this popular girl facade you're a really kind person, I've seen the way you treat the staff and waiters when we were in the cafe. You treat them with respect and kindness. The only flaw you have is self doubt and letting your so-called friends walk you over.”

“I don't let my friends walk all over me.” She looked down. “You don't even know me, stop acting like you do!”

“I know it has only been a week, but trust me. I know you.” 

“No, you're just a jerk!” She grabbed her bag and left the library.

He wanted to run after her and apologise though he didn't do anything, he just wanted to apologise to her to make her stay. He liked talking to her, teaching her, and she was curious during their tutoring sessions. She was funny too. But he didn't go after her, he just sat and put both their parts together to do the final draft.

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Appearing in an upcoming episode of WrapWomen’s “UnWrapped” podcast, Ferguson explained that her exit was “collaborative,” in that it was her choice to leave, but the exact means of her exit came down to cowriter-director Christopher McQuarrie and his team.

Of course, Ferguson totally understands the resulting emotions that hit fans with her fictional death, because she felt them, too. But, she wasn’t sure the character could go where she’d hoped it would.

To speak very clearly — because I know a lot of people are sad about it, I’m sad about it — I had filmed three films. My deal was done,” Ferguson said. “And I love her beyond words. Beyond words. I think she’s the most awesome, fantastic character.”

The actress expressed, though, that with the fourth film about to be written and the offer on the table, it seemed to her that there wasn’t “enough space” for Ilsa to be the character she was.

“Ilsa was becoming a team player. And we all can want different things, but for me, Ilsa was rogue,” she explained. “Ilsa was naughty. Ilsa was unpredictable. There was a lot of characters coming in, not leaving enough space for what she had been.”

Beyond the character elements, Ferguson admitted she also considered how much of her time she would have to give up in order to keep going with the physically demanding franchise.

“Selfishly, that’s a lot of time to make a ‘Mission’ film. And unless you’re going to have a lot of screen time, that’s a lot of time sitting around waiting to film a huge movie that could take over a year to film,” she said. “It’s dedication.”

“There’s a moment where you think it needs to be worth it, not just to love the character and to embrace Tom and [McQuarrie] and the story. I want to work, man. I want to work. I don’t want to sit in a trailer and know that there’s maybe coming a scene in credits.”

Ferguson went on to explain that, because McQuarrie’s “Mission” films are notorious for working out scripts on the fly and the production is “so extravagant,” there ends up being a lot of downtime for many on the cast.

“You have to literally jump when they say jump, and that’s why it’s amazing. You’re highly trained, highly skilled. It is so intoxicatingly exciting when you’re rolling, but there’s a lot of waiting,” she said. “And the more characters that are brought in, the more waiting.”

Ferguson was quick to point out that, since she wrapped “Dead Reckoning: Part One,” she’s filmed two “Dune” movies and two seasons of her Apple TV+ series “Silo.”

[jmscornerlibrary]

Optimistic Snape with Glasses.

Concept: Snape with glasses. Square.

Another concept: He's generally pleasant, polite and polished and all the girls have a crush on the bespectacled, Slytherin Potions Master who still, by the by, dresses in black, green and purple:

"Oh. Good morning Minerva. May I offer you a cup of tea?"

And:

"I'd just thought I'd inform you that the Slytherin team is going to obliterate Gryffindor on the pitch tonight, Fred... Ah. George, isn't it? My apologies. Anyhow, good luck. Oh, and do remember to wear your scarf. It's November. Quite cold out."

And:

"Good answer, Miss Lovegood... though perhaps not quite the standard one. If you drop me a copy of Quibbler later, I'd be delighted to read up on what a wrackspurt is."

(Luna beams) "Of course, professor. I'd love to, actually. By the way, I'd think you'd be better off with these glasses..."

(Shows him some crazy, enchanted ones with night vision and insect repellent)

or:

(softly, whilst squinting) "Oh, dear. I can't see a thing without my blasted spectacles."

(looks up)

"Yes, Miss... sorry, I can't see a thing... Miss Granger? You know how to fix them? Well, that's just brilliant. Thank you, I do appreciate it. Ah, you've written that extra-credit essay already? Humph, Slytherin will never win the house cup at this rate... Ten points to Gryffindor it is."

(Hermione blushes and immediately gets an eye-roll from Ron)

And:

"Don't worry, Mister Longbottom. I knew a wizard who couldn't make a peppercup potion and he turned out to be quite the expert with plenty of practise and a positive outlook. No, don't touch it, please, you'll end up getting... *sigh*"

lastly:

"Ah, Potter." (looks conflicted, then sighs) "I would appreciate it if you started to write after I finished talking."

"Sorry, professor."

"Don't worry. I knew your father and mother. Brilliant people. Very good at Quidditch. Talented. I reckon you'll do well, too."

(Harry smiles)

"I'll try, professor."

Fanfiction writers: please commence :)

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

Ghostober - Day 3 [Cirrus]

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to come with me for a minute” - 2.3k

CW: None, this is actually super wholesome. Not proofread and another one thats late (there will be a few late ones while I catch up)

⊹ Ghostober Masterlist ⊹

Everyone had been meticulously planning this day for a while. Copia helped out with the legality of everything, but the credit for the idea was almost completely Cirrus.

She was a force to be reckoned with when she was in such a good mood. She wanted everything to be perfect and she always got what she wanted. This was going to be the most perfect surprise Rain had ever gotten.

She was watching as everyone hurried to put the finishing touches. Mountain was making sure that the biggest present was wrapped correctly, in a way that it didn’t give away what it was.

Cirrus had seen people wrapping things in shapes that were nothing like what was inside them, and knew Mounty was up to the challenge. And the longer she looked at it, she had to admit he did an amazing job. She couldn’t even tell which side was which. Whether it was up, down or sideways.

“Great job, Mountain! It looks amazing, he’s going to have no idea!” She complimented.

“Thanks, Cir. It took me four tries, and a little ingenuity,” he proudly explained as he pushed a little branch back inside with his index finger, “but we got it done! Doesn’t look anything like it either! And I made a little box out of vines so it’ll stay like this when he rips into it.”

She smiled wide and gave him an excited shoulder squeeze as she made her rounds to check on the rest of the pack.

“Cirrus, I can’t find the tape!” Phantom shouted frantically.

Her head whipped around to find where the little quint ran off to. If it wasn’t for his abnormally long and hyperactive tail swaying all over the place, she wouldn’t have noticed him crouched down behind the couch.

Walking over, she had to take a second to stop and appreciate the view of Phantom; ass in the air, his claws tried to grip the thin material without puncturing it while he searched under the furniture. The longer she watched, the more it became increasingly obvious the baby bat had somehow gotten himself stuck halfway under the couch sometime during his search.

“You’re stuck aren’t you?” She said, hands on her hips as she looked down at him.

His tail froze it’s uncontrolled swaying. “No!” He said a little too quickly. “I just… was making sure it wasn’t under here.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed and bent down to help unstick the poor child. As she moved to his side she couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped once she noticed.

Once she started to pull him out, Phantom let out a wail that caught everyone's attention.

“What? What was that for?!” She asked, voice laced with concern and confusion.

“My horn got stuck on the wood bar thingy, sorry.” He said sheepishly, re-adjusting his neck. “Okay, try again?”

Now that the little ghoul was unstuck, they both went flying backwards as she pulled with a little too much aggression.

Phantom shook his head much like a dog and sat cross legged in front of her, his tail back to its normal excited swaying over the hardwood floor.

“I still need the tape though,” he said with zero shame, to which Cirrus just chuckled and reached behind him. Phantom immediately wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her into a hug with a purr before feeling her pull something off the back of his shirt.

She pushed him off and knelt in front of him. “I wasn’t trying to give you a hug, Bug. I was grabbing this.” She twirled the roll of tape around her middle finger in front of his face, finding the sight of his eyes following it round and round in circles much too amusing.

“Where did you find it?! I knew it was under the couch!” He exclaimed and held his hands out for her to hand it to him.

“The only reason it was under the couch was because you were.”

He clearly didn’t understand, but Swiss started snickering from a few feet away.

“Swiss taped the tape to you.” She said with the most deadpan tone, clearly not finding it as amusing as the multi-ghoul.

Phantom's face lit up as he realized but then quickly turned to scowl at Swiss.

“I hate you.” He said in fake anger before getting up to finish wrapping his present.

Cirrus also stood, walking over to the troublemaker and giving Swiss an unamused look. “I suppose all your tasks are finished?” She raised a brow.

Swiss just gave her his signature smile and held his gift in his hand. It was horribly wrapped but at least he tried. “See? Signed, sealed, and soon delivered.” He said smugly, to which Cirrus could only roll her eyes.

“And the balloons?”

“Done, I think? I did six, I put Aurora in charge of the rest.” He shrugged.

As if on cue, the world's highest pitched voice called out from the back of the room as a balloon flew right past Cirrus and Swiss, deflating and chaotically whipping around the room followed by Aurora chasing after it.

“Noo! Come back! Haha, my voice sounds so funny. MOUNTY CATCH IT!”

The little ghoulette tried to jump and catch the balloon but its wild reign of terror came to an abrupt end as the helium ran out and the sad deflated latex drooped over one of Mountain's antlers. Much to his annoyance.

“Heh, sorry Mounty.” She stepped behind him and plucked the balloon off his horns and started to skip back to the corner she was working in before being stopped by Cirrus, who was looking less than amused.

“How many balloons have you actually made?”

Aurora’s fluffy ears drooped as her tail tucked. “Two.”

Cirrus couldn’t help the expression her face involuntarily made. “So we have eight?”

The little ghuleh nodded.

“Better than nothing I guess.” She sighed. “And stop sucking helium, you’re gonna damage something.”

Aurora just giggled and hopped back to the balloons, gathering them up and bringing them out to the main room.

“Guys, I’m going to go and get Rain from Copia’s office. Let’s make sure everything’s where it needs to be. Make sure you have your little gifts ready to go. We’ll do the big one together at the end, okay?” Cirrus instructed and everyone excitedly got into position to wait to give Rain his big surprise.

Rain wasn’t really sure why Copia needed so much help reorganizing his files. They were all pretty organized to start with. But being the helpful ghoul he is, he took them without question and reorganized them anyway. Sure some were a little out of place, but definitely not enough to warrant extra help.

“I think I’m done Papa, are they the way you wanted them?” Rain asked softly.

Copia took a quick look over what he had done, not even bothered if they were better or worse than before and nodded with a smile. “Oh that looks wonderful, thank you so much Rain.”

The water ghoul half smiled and bashfully looked to the floor. He was never good at receiving praise, especially from Papa.

There was a little knock on the office door before it opened, revealing Cirrus excitedly striding into the room. “Hi Papa, I was just wondering if I could borrow Rain for a moment? We’ve got a surprise waiting for him back in the den.”

Copia smiled, “Of course! He’s all done for today. Enjoy your surprise!”

Cirrus returned the smile and directed her attention to Rain, who at this moment looked absolutely horrified, but followed her out of Copia’s office anyway.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to come with me for a minute”

The two walked down the corridor back to the den mostly in silence, but Cirrus knew Rain well enough by now to know his mind was racing with all kinds of possibilities. His anxiety trying to protect him from anything they had planned.

“Relax, you’re not going to die. It’s just us.” She chuckled, giving him a reassuring pat on the back as they walked into the den.

“You know I don’t like surprises.” He mumbled, voice laced with apprehension. The den looked normal enough?

As they turned the corner he noticed the balloons over the ground before he noticed everyone standing holding little gifts. To say he was confused would be a major understatement. It wasn’t a special day or anything? Did he forget? He had been forgetting things lately. Maybe it was someone’s birthday?

“Surprise!” Cirrus said, squeezing him excitedly. “We know how hard you’ve been beating yourself up over what happened last week and we all wanted to pitch in and do something nice for you.”

Rain smiled softly, looking around at his pack all nodding in agreement (except for Dew, who decided to shrug in indifference before being elbowed in the stomach by Cumulus).

“You guys didn’t have to do anything. It was my fa–”

“It was not your fault, Tesoro.” Copia cut in, appearing behind the two of them. “It was an accident, sweet one. It happens.” His Papa’s face was as kind and caring as ever, but he still felt bad that he broke his bass right before Respite. 

In Rain’s defence, it was slowly breaking throughout the whole concert. But it decided to officially fall apart right before the finale, forcing him to have to use Dewdrop’s old one they kept around for emergencies, since he liked to keep his black one in the alternate tuning at all times. After the incident, Rain didn’t trust himself to retune between songs and possibly get it wrong again. Swiss’s wailing cries during their first week of practice scared him off from continuing that practice and Copia had suggested he have two bass guitars instead.

Swiss was the first to walk up with his gift and held it out for their resident water ghoul.

“Here, these might help eventually.”

Cirrus had to look away whenever Rain unwrapped things. He did it so carefully and slowly, making sure not to rip it. He basically unwrapped it the same way the person wrapped it and it drove everyone nuts except for Copia, who found it quite endearing that the ghoul was so careful with something as silly as wrapping paper.

Inside Swiss’s present was a couple packs of new bass strings.

“I didn’t really know which ones you liked. I know you’ve been trying out a few different weights, so I got a variety for you to try.”

Rain started to tear up, courtesy of his water ghoul emotions. They were always the more emotionally sensitive of the elements.

“This is amazing, Swiss. Thank you.”

Rain was too busy reading the info on the string packets to notice Dewdrop was the next to come and hand him a little square box. One by one, each of the members gave him a little something:

Dew got him some new pickups, because apparently the ones that his bass has now are awful - he wanted to say it was because the stock pickups are awful but that would give away the big surprise. Phantom had gotten him a year's worth of picks, to which Copia had to bite his tongue not to tell the little ghoul that they had ones specially made for tour so they could throw them to the crowd. 

Aurora and Cumulus had gotten him a couple of new guitar straps. Cumulus focused on some plain black ones for tour while Aurora got him some with sea creatures on it for at home and practice. Mountain had gotten him a new guitar case since the one he had was getting a little beat up. The roadies did a great job looking after their equipment, but even they can’t stop the general wear and tear of touring. 

Last but not least, Cirrus had gotten him some new cables and a bottle of guitar polish, knowing how much Rain loved having his bass shine when he was out on stage.

By the end of the gift presentations, he was sure his arms were as full as his heart felt. He fought back tears every time he opened up something, the love from his pack right now felt almost overwhelming.

“We’ve got one more surprise for you,” Copia said quietly, gesturing to where Mountain and Swiss had been suspiciously still. Like a giant wall.

As soon as Rain looked up, they had moved aside to reveal a giant circular like structure wrapped in the same paper. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what on Earth it was. Everything else he had been given so far followed a clear theme, but this was an outlier for sure.

Walking slowly over to it, he set the bundle of gifts down on the couch and looked to Mountain. “Can I open it?”

Mountain just chuckled and helped get him started. “You better, I won’t know what in Hell to do with it.”

Rain just giggled and ripped through the paper. He would’ve taken his time with this one too but it was round and there really was no place to start or stop. 

Once it was fully unwrapped, the ghoul’s confusion returned. It was just a giant ball of vines. But before he could get one word out to question it, Mountain’s faint touch had them all unravel to reveal his true present sitting inside.

As soon as his brain registered what they had done, he couldn’t stop the waterworks as he cried into Mountain’s chest.

“I hope these are happy tears?” Copia asked hesitantly as he walked up beside Rain, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

All he could do to reply was nod as he wiped his tears and moved to study the brand new bass they had all picked out for him.

“It’s perfect you guys. This is too much, thank you. Thank you.”

[zosonils]

phineas and ferb episode pieced together from a dream i had: that ducky momo game that candace played obsessively in one episode shuts down, because it’s an mmo for children and the year is no longer 2009. obviously candace is end of club penguin level devastated so phineas and ferb try to cheer her up by making their own version of the game, which because they’re phineas and ferb is like this massive hyper immersive augmented reality construct that spans the entirety of danville, and i guess there’s like a message in there about how their big extravagant approach to everything isn’t always the answer because while it’s sweet that they’re trying to make her feel better candace doesn’t want a new better ducky momo game, she just wants her crappy browser based ducky momo game back because it’s special to her. i didn’t dream the doof and perry b plot but i can see doofenshmirtz having a thematically relevant heartbreaking backstory about the mmo [Medieval MethOd acting] he used to play as a child for a fleeting moment of happiness being unceremoniously shut down when the drusselstinian government dropped flash compatibility [blinding each other with bright lights was a central mechanic that the game simply didn’t function without]. maybe he makes an inator to delete everyone else’s beloved mmos [perry the platypus can you please help me troubleshoot my inator all it does is shut down online roleplaying games for some reason] and that’s what wipes phineas and ferb’s elaborate ducky momo fan project out of existence. i also didn’t get an ending but i reckon it should end on like it turns out that baljeet backs up the entire internet every couple months just to be safe or something, so they actually have the source files for candace’s comfort baby game right there, so they set up a sort of ‘ducky momo rewritten’ server so that candace and people like her can come back to the game whenever they want. linda gets home and is like so what’s this about phineas and ferb remaking that computer game of yours and candace is too happy to even really care that she can’t bust them for turning danville into a virtual reality exhibit she’s just like look phineas and ferb got ducky MMOmo back on my computer post server shutdown see :) and turns her laptop to her and linda says well wasn’t that nice of them good on you boys. oh there you are perry, roll credits. they should be paying me for this

[flatlinerburning]

ode to the stars while thinking of my first beer, deceased

blood is thicker than water and mine's runnin into yours fast as anything. orion's watching over us and im drunk for the first time and you ain't bleeding half as much as i am. i know you're gonna make it even cuz the world ain't fair and that's what we're runnin from— bruised bloodied burned and running someplace blood can't find us. highway 17 wont get us there but if we bleed enough maybe something'll change in the mirror. just wait until i'm dead honey, then you'll see. theres shards of glass in my soul and jim morrison's reflects off em from where it's scattered in orion's concho belt. i think about us being tangled in the red string of fate and how jim wanted to live to a hundred n twenty. he died two years after brian jones did and the thought's enough to make me sick. two years to the day. jim wrote a poem about brian after they found him in that pool, and sometimes i wonder if he knew that brian played on let it bleed, cuz he isn't listed in the credits and he died before he could tell anyone. sometimes i wonder if i'll die like that— facedown and fading and forgotten. gimme some shelter honey, before i fade away. i feel sick again and when i look up from all the blood to feel that graveyard air on my face, there's a cigarette-burned feather floating down. there's a mostly gone newport where it lands and i've never smoked before but i stick it in my mouth n light up anyway. thank you dixiana angel. newports taste like savannah and if you've never been to savannah i hope you never find yourself there, but fate's a cruel bitch ain't it? stay in savannah too long and you'll start seeing things. desperate boys with lying mouths and too-big souls tangled up in that cruel red string, ghosts that got more to do with mirrors than they ever did with the dead, blood on blood on blood on blood. stay any longer and savannah she'll get her claws in you. turn you into what you're running from before you get off highway 17. wrap you n someone else all up in it and take a piece of your souls before you notice they've been gone. savannah doesnt let go of her dead and rock n roll doesnt either. you're already on the list of martyrs and i reckon i'll follow you down. i ain't no jim morrison but i'll be there two years after. to the day n all. your bloods in my blood. highway 17's our red string anyway.