#this was supposed to be 1k at max

[chigirisprincess]

im on the smut part of the wrio fic .... shud he eat the reader out from under their evening gown or should it be p in v no foreplay

[romanscool]

maxiel kith (kiss) prompt 27 on a place of insecurity if you want :))

#27: a kiss on a place of insecurity - maxiel: sfw

hi anon!! thanks sooo much for this prompt, I've actually giggled when seeing it cause I've been wanting to write it so bad haha

I hope this is what you had in mind when you asked for me this!

anyways, enjoy <33

->

Max had seemed down all morning. It’s not usual for him to be this way.

Actually, he’s generally pretty open about everything. Daniel likes to jokes that he literally wears his emotions on his face like his goddamn Red Pull polos and skinny jeans, to which Max always answers, in usual Max manor, ‘fuck off.’

Classy. And, open. 

But now, Max is weirdly backing up. He’s hiding and holding his own hands under said disgusting Red Pull polo merch, and his socked to ankle feet are together in a way to bend his knees and make him look like he’s those insects that roll up. Rounding up. He looks seventeen again with a little baby fat still hanging to his face, red round splotches of teenageness like constellations on his jaw. He looks young, Daniel realizes. 

Except not the right young version of Max. Young Max was brash. He was frank, and frankly blunt, and Daniel liked that about him. He doesn’t really like that weird dystopic version of young Max that has him belittling himself on his own sofa, cat on his lap burying his hidden hands under its little fur body. Daniel still can’t decipher Sassy from Jimmy, but right now it doesn’t seem like it matters. 

« Hey, Maxy what’s going on? » 

Max turns to him, chin propped on his chest. Daniel hears the familiar ‘ding!’ of the lunch that’s been cooking in the oven for the past hour signaling it’s done. He ignores it when he sees Max grimace. 

Daniel circles round the sofa and sits by Max’s feet. He takes one and puts it on his lap, silently asking Max if it’s fine with him. Max doesn’t answer. Daniel takes it as a yes, and holds Max’s other ankle just above the sock, which he accidentally pulls down a little as he sets Max’s left foot with the other one. Daniel has always liked that about Max, too. How pliable he always was. He’s a little tense, Daniel can see it in the twitch of the muscle in his shin, but he still lets Daniel in a little. 

Daniel pulls the sock back up and asks, « Wanna tell me what’s been on your mind this morning? ». He’s gentle with it, too, setting what he hopes to be a comforting hand on Max’s leg, where the peach fuzz sits so pretty and is the perfect amount of rough under Daniel’s hand scar. 

Daniel tries to find an answer in the way Max’s brows furrow, and usually he does, but apparently nothing about Max makes sense today. 

Max takes out his hand from his t-shirt in one quick motion, pulling the hem of it over his sleep-shorts over it as soon as he’s done. Daniel can’t even stop to stare at Max’s little trail of hair there. He doesn’t wonder why he’s a little disappointed at that, because he knows. He’s been with Max long enough to know he’s crazy about anything Max. Even the weird shit. 

« There’s nothing, Daniel. » Max answers, but. Daniel doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t. Not when Max gives him this awkward little smile that barely lifts the corner of his mouth, the one that doesn’t make his eye crinkle and soft, soft, soft. 

Daniel shakes his head. His hand goes up Max’s thigh on its own. « Nah, don’t believe you. » When it reaches the bottom of Max’s shorts, it stops and goes back down. Leaves little goosebumps in its trail. « Tell me what it is, » He sees Max opens his mouth, and can sense it in the air that Max is about to say one of those PR-friendly answers the team has taught him to say when he doesn’t want to comment on something but has to, so Daniel stops him, « also, yeah, no, none of that please. » He keeps his tone light, sing-song-y and all high pitched on the ‘please’ to drag the truth out of Max. It’s been a while since he’s had to do that. 

« No, it’s just-, » Max stops for a second, and Daniel relishes in the dutch accent peeking out during the ’s’s, making them sounds like little waves that never crash on Monaco’s shore. « It is stupid, really. »

« Nothing’s stupid. » Daniel says, and he sees Max kind of pouts and the expression on his face is back to very much translating ‘fuck off’ but Daniel brushes it off, though he’s glad Max is starting to open up a little. Crack like his voice used to do in the early years of his career. « No, nothing’s stupid, Maxy. ’Specially if you get all grumpy like that. » 

Max’s lips turns just the smallest turn upwards and Daniel wants to kiss them. « You always say I am grumpy in the mornings. » 

Daniel giggles, because it’s true, Max is always grumpy in the morning, and Daniel does have an habit of pointing it out. 

« Yeah, you are. » Daniel says it so fond he’s worried for a split second if maybe it’s too much, but Max doesn’t say anything about it, just has to weird downturn smile plastered on his face that makes his chin wrinkle slightly, and Daniel’s hand seems to think that’s enough of a reason to allow itself to go further up Max’s shorts. « It’s not that this morning, though. » 

Daniel hears Max take in a short breath more than he sees it, because he’s following his tattooed hand closely, gaze fixated on it, so much that he has to tear his eyes from it to see Max’s flush spreading just below this awful navy polo. 

« So, you gonna tell me what it is? » Daniel adds a small smile of his own, just for good measure, just to really relax Max. 

He sees his shoulder slump a little and Sassy-or-Jimmy stretches on his chest and claws at his collarbone slightly. Max goes to pet her-slash-him, but the cat gets frightened and runs away quickly. Jimmy, then. Daniel feels his hand bob up and down a few times as Max chuckle. Feels fucking amazing.

« It is stupid, Daniel. » Max says it like a warning, but it’s hard to find it convincing when his furrowed brows ease just slightly, and his bottom lip is a little tucked between two rows of perfect straight teeth. 

Daniel shakes his head and takes Max’s feet from his lap and sets them back on the sofa. He climbs slowly between them and sets his head on Max’s clothed thigh, just a little higher than he’s allowed his hand to roam up to. « Tell me, baby. » 

« It has been a while since the last race. » 

And, yeah, that’s true. Just a couple month ago, Abu Dhabi happened and Max got out of the car for the last time of 2024, fourth championship tucked away safely in his pocket and a big smile on his face. 

Daniel remembers it very clearly. Remembers the sweat pouring down Max’s forehead, meddling with the champagne that Lando showered him with, even though he was the one that had won the race. He remembers the white fabric of his fireproofs turned a little yellow and transparent during the podium, remembers the way he could almost do more than imagine Max’s pinkish nipple under them. Daniel wanted to lick then, and he wants to lick now, nipples under Red Bull merch that Max has been wearing for two days straight. Disgusting and sweaty, just as he had been then.

« Yeah, and? » 

Max flushes again, probably from the long time Daniel took to answer him, probably because he remembers that night too, the hotel and the morning. « It’s been a while since the last race, Daniel. » Max says, again, parrots, really, with that insisting look on his face that Max wears when he’s trying to Make Daniel understand something. 

Daniel doesn’t understand. « Yeah, I got that. Two months, it’s been Maxy. » He tries to think harder, to put the pieces together, and he suddenly gets an idea, « You miss it? Racing? » 

« No, this is not, » Max sighs, and intertwines his hand on his belly. The fabric of his t-shirt ruffles and Daniel can just see the skin above Max’s boxer’s waistband. « I mean, I have been in vacation for too long. There is, uh-, » Max closes his eyes and the back of his head hits the arm of the sofa, « Photos. On the internet. » 

What. « I don’t get it, Maxy. » Daniel picks up his hand from where it’s been staying on Max’s thigh and starts to trace that little band of skin. Pale and so so pretty. 

« Daniel, just, » Max sighs again, long and desperate. « I have been letting myself go a little. »

Daniel feels himself frowning. His cheeks smushing up against Max’s sleep-shorts. « Well, yeah. It’s winter break, Max, what the hell you gonna do? » 

« Train. » Max swallows and pulls down the t-shirt way more than it should be, « Control myself, maybe. »

And that’s such a weird thing to hear Max saying that, because he’s never been that way. Self-conscious. He’s never been the one to-, « Are you quoting the media, Max? ‘Cause if you are, and I mean it, what the fuck. » 

Max suddenly gets this strange look of impeding doom fall on his face, melting all his feature in the wrong way, « You have seen it, too, then. » 

Daniel lifts his head for Max’s lap and sits on his knees between Max’s legs. « No, no, I haven’t-, Max, you-, » He sighs and leans down to kiss him. Just a quick one, to make his brain stop screaming ‘what, when, why, who, why’, « The media all say shit. You know that, they don’t-, they don’t fucking speak the truth. Like, ever. » 

Because Daniel has seen the fucking articles, in a way. He’s seen shit talk about the way Max’s chest looks at the beach, or how his t-shirt hugs him tighter than it used to on his lower belly, on his shoulders, his arms. How there’s more of him. Daniel has seen this shit and thanked the fucking world that Max looks like this, that there is indeed more of Max, more to love, to fucking worship and touch, swallow, bite into.

He hadn’t thought for a fucking second that what those dumb reporters had said was true. He doesn’t understand how Max could, either. 

« I know, Daniel, I know that. » Max sighs, and Daniel tries to search for the smallest hint of something that isn’t shame in Max’s eyes but he can’t find it, so he has to listen to Max say, «  It is only that, I’m starting to see it. »

And Daniel wants to scream, throw middle fingers at all the fucking people who make a living on hating Max fucking Verstappen, four times F1 world champion, biggest dork on the planet, and perfect, perfect, perfect man. 

The only thing that Daniel can say is, « Maxy, » and Max doesn’t seem to understand, eyebrows together and bottom lip slightly jutting out, so Daniel makes him understand. Makes him see himself like Daniel sees him. 

Daniel climbs between Max’s legs again, and takes hold of Max’s waist. It’s such a perfect fit too, the curve of it allowing Daniel’s palm to slot just right, to hold and dig his fingertips in the flesh that has Daniel’s brain think crazy thoughts. Daniel leans down, rubbing soft circles on Max’s waist and starts to kiss over the fabric of his polo. Just soft pecks of fucking gentleness that Daniel wishes Max had for himself. He curses the world as he starts working up Max’s chest, landing on his neck. 

« Daniel, » He hears Max whisper, but Daniel acts like he didn’t hear it. He continues his way up, planting his lips on Max’s jaw, where pebbles of pimples used to sit, now replaced by awkward and unevenly shaved stubble, and Daniel is glad for it, glad for the slight itches he gets on his mouth as he kisses there and higher, on Max’s ears and cheekbones, going left to land on his eyebrows and eyes, which Max closes, bracing for Daniel’s lips on them. 

Daniel kisses there as he starts working his hands up Max’s t-shirt, whispering a small, « this okay? » centimeters away from Max’s lips, getting a silent nod and a hot breath on his own mouth that has his fingers dig on Max’s hips. He pulls away for a second and takes Max’s shirt off, Max’s back hitting the sofa again in a dull thud that has him giggling and Daniel wish he could record the sound and listen to it every fucking hour of the fucking day.

Daniel kisses Max a small kiss on the lips, one that has Max whining a little, a small sound in the back of the throat he always does to ask Daniel to do something again, whether it’s pass a hand through his hair of put toothpaste on his toothbrush, because Max is weird and has decided when he was a kid that using three times the amount of toothpaste required was a good idea. 

Daniel kisses and kisses down again, hands still rubbing soft circles on Max’s waist. He kisses between his pecs to his belly button. He finally gets to see the little trail of dark dirty blond hair that half-hides under Max’s boxers. He leaves it hidden but doesn’t forget to plant kisses on top of the weirdly smooth material of Max’s shorts. 

Max giggles, and Daniel feels it under his fingertips, feels it under his breath and in his ears, tingles all the way to his toes that are starting to cramp up. « I get it, Daniel, please I-, » 

« Ticklish? » Daniel teases, plants another kiss just under the bare skin he’s kissed countless times, just above what he doesn’t want to think about right now, because this isn’t about that.

« Kinda. » Max’s voice cracks and Daniel thinks he’s just heard the fucking world speak to him. « You’re so fucking weird, Daniel. » 

Yeah, Daniel thinks. So fucking weird. « Obsessed, too, maybe. » Daniel knows his voice is breathy, but he doesn’t really care. Max is open, bare skin all over the leather sofa, clammy hands far, far from his stomach, and Daniel’s been allowed to kiss him better. That’s like a fucking victory.

I've started to post those on ao3 so please check them out!

don't hesitate to leave a comment/ask/tag for other (kiss or non kiss) prompts! I always appreciate them a lot <33

lots of love, and see you in the next one!

[chthonicchromestudio]

A Punishment Game of Cards ft. Roy

Here's the IF-raffle winner's (@traaaaash) request:

The fireplace engulfs the room in a warm glow, painting Roy’s cheeks a more lively shade of pink. Your own tingle pleasantly from the fragrant mulled wine you’re sipping while playing— or rather, handing Roy’s ass to him in blackjack.

“Again!” he snaps, reaching for your winning cards to shuffle them all up. “I’m starting to think Kal wasn’t wrong about you. Maybe you are a witch.”

“I’m just that lucky.”

“You know what they say about people who are lucky at cards, don’t you?” Roy smirks as he sets up the table, revealing one of his cards - a ten. With your eight and two, it’s almost a sure win. “They’re not so lucky in love.”

“Then you must be a real heartbreaker yourself.” Seeing how he tanked yet another match. “Or is it the ‘one true love’ that’s the ideal in this equation?”

Roy curses under his breath, and you think he either didn’t hear you or is simply ignoring you until he finally replies, “Isn’t it always? Or did you not come here hoping to find a love match in Duke?”

“It wasn’t really my choice,” you shrug. “And I wasn’t hoping for anything.”

“And now?”

Roy pauses his shuffling to peek at you from under lowered lashes. He seems intent on knowing the answer, but just as you’re about to say it, he waves you off, almost pushing cards into your hands.

“I suppose if you were truly lucky, you wouldn’t be here right now.” The continuous streak of losses stripped him of manners, but also bared his more honest side to you, exposing the childish and less poised flank. “What? You can’t tell me you’re enjoying yourself here.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you chuckle, watching him take another card from the stack. For someone so proficient at chess, in the heat of the moment, he can’t control his expression to save his life. Or maybe it’s just the wine? “I’m feeling rather lucky in that regard as well.”

He looks up at that, his face a picture of disgruntled shock. “You can’t be serious. Who in their right mind would opt to be stranded in the middle of freezing nowhere.”

“I like snow. And the company isn’t half bad, either.”

Roy’s eyes are glued to his cards, but his lips curl up in obvious pleasure. He catches himself on that fast, though, donning a lofty grimace. “Naturally. The company and the wine, at least we have that, don’t we? We should enjoy it for as long as we can.”

There’s something melancholic in the way he says it, but you don’t wish to pry. Instead, you decide to cheer him up with an offer you know he won’t be able to resist. “Do you want to bet?”

“Pardon?”

“A bet, for our final round.” As much as you’re enjoying yourself tonight, the clock is ticking, and nightfall waits for no one. “The winner gets to make a wish.”

“Oh? What kind of wish?”

“How about... a punishment? Anything’s fair game, but no takesies backsies.”

Roy half-scoffs, half snickers, at your words. “Aren’t you afraid of what I might ask of you?”

“That’s assuming you’d win.”

Roy clicks his tongue. “What if I said I’m more... motivated now?”

“And your motivation changes the outcome of the bet?”

“Why? Is that fear I hear in your voice? It’s not too late to back off if you’re so afraid of losing to me.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“No? Then let’s leave it up to fate, shall we? I hear it favors the bold.”

“Bold, not overconfident.” 

“You’re stalling,” he taunts, tapping the deck of cards in a display of excited impatience. “Come, now, pick your cards. I’m curious to know if you’d [win] or [lose].”

[You won:]

Half expecting your luck to be overturned, you find it hard to suppress a grin when your two first cards turn out to be an instant win. It must be obvious because Roy preemptively blurts out a curse.

“Blackjack,” you announce gleefully, setting your cards face up on Roy’s to prove your victory. “So, is your curiosity sated?”

“That’s it. I’m summoning a paladin,” Roy mutters under his breath as he flicks the cards off the table. What a sore loser. “Ahem. Well. It’s rather late. I don’t suppose we—”

“Ah, ah, not so fast.” Not letting him escape, you latch onto his arm as he tries to stand up. “Your punishment first.”

“Being so vindictive is not attractive, my Lady,” he tuts, making only a token attempt at shrugging you off. “Besides, we could argue that I’ve already received my punishment when—”

“What happened to your bravado, Roy? You seemed so sure of yourself.”

Roy’s eyes flicker to the remaining cards that didn’t end up scattered on the floor. He quickly sends them flying, too, as one would when getting rid of evidence. “... It seems I’m simply more proficient at tactic-based games.”

“Mhm. Don’t worry, I won’t ask for anything terrible. Merely something... amusing.”

You sincerely doubt that Roy would have mercy on you, so you’re not planning to extend the courtesy, either. Still, you don’t want to humiliate him, only ruffle his feathers a little.

As you scan the room for inspiration, your gaze stops at Roy’s frilly jacket hanging from the back of his promptly vacated chair. The white collar reminds you starkly of the new uniform Cassandra showed you earlier, and thus, a marvelous idea dawns on you.

You’re a bit too eager when you share it, and so your words are rushed and garbled together, prompting Roy to raise a brow at you to accentuate his “Excuse me?”

“I said you’d be a terrible maid, but I’m sure you could make the uniform work, if nothing else.”

Roy’s lips part, but no sound escapes them. He blinks at you, as if unsure whether he should take the insult or refute it, but then the meaning of the entire sentence sinks in, and he’s left to gape at you soundlessly.

“My Lady,” he says after a while, clearing his throat two times before that. “Are you implying that you want me to...”

“Yes.”

“...wear the uniform. I see. Your tastes are truly unique.”

“You’re taking it better than I expected.”

“Are you disappointed?” Roy grins, immediately regaining his composure. “I live to defy expectations. Yours especially.”

“What an honor,” you huff, shy of rolling your eyes. “Well, then. Let’s fetch you a spare. And you’re coming with me.” 

Not allowing him to have even half a thought about getting away, you fix your hold on him, grabbing him securely by the wrist. At least, that’s what you attempt, but your hand finds his instead, warm to the touch and ungloved.

It startles you as much as it does Roy. He looks at it askance, with a peculiar expression, then slowly wraps his fingers around yours.

“How very forward of you,” he breathes out in a hushed, intimate whisper, as if sharing something forbidden. “Wise, too. You better hold me tight, lest I make my escape.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You don’t know just how much I would dare... But you’re right. I won’t flee. At least for now.”

His face is barely an inch from yours, and the newfound awareness of his proximity makes goosebumps break all over your skin.

“Right. Let’s go.”

You turn away first, wordlessly pulling Roy with you into the hallway, belatedly remembering to release his hand. Thankfully, you don’t encounter anyone on your way, but that doesn’t cause the strange feeling that overcame you to dissipate.

True to his word, Roy doesn’t attempt to evade his punishment, trailing after you to the staff room. It’s locked, but you know he carries the skeleton key, and you don’t let him bluff you into believing that he has forgotten to pocket it.

“After you,” he says, gallantly holding the door open. His smirk alleviates all charm that the gesture might have held, and so, you push him into the room before you, with a smile of your own.

“No, after you.”

“Oof!” Roy makes a scene of barely maintaining his balance with the help of a shelf, massaging his ‘injured’ arm with the other. “Not an ounce of gentleness in you, is there?”

“If you wanted me to be gentle, you should have asked beforehand.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roy huffs, returning to searching for the uniforms when you urge him to quit dilly-dallying.

The manor has more spare clothes than it does staff, and so there are plenty available in all sizes. Roy picks a set for himself from a wooden chest, pausing to look up at you with more of a challenge in his eyes than a plea.

“Dress and all?”

“Dress and all.”

“Fine.” With a defeated sigh, he straightens, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, starting from the bottom. “Do you mind? I don’t think this was a part of the punishment.”

Chastised, you turn to face the door, giving him some privacy while he changes. 

The momentary silence fills with on-and-off grunts and the swish-swash of fabric. It seems it takes longer for Roy to strip than to dress up, though given his elaborate attire, that doesn’t surprise you. 

When he’s done, he coughs pointedly to catch your attention. “Well?” 

The dress is slightly too short, barely covering his ankles, but he fills the upper parts of the uniform nicely. His posture is too relaxed to be taken as subservient, but his natural poise makes up for that.

“Not bad. Say, do you think Duke would let me appoint you as my personal maid?”

“Please, he’d let you appoint him as your personal maid if you only asked,” Roy scoffs, suddenly displeased. “He’d probably enjoy it, too.”

“You’re joking,” you laugh, quieting down when you notice that he doesn’t join you. His face is still twisted in that mocking grimace of his, though, so you assume he’s not entirely serious either. “What about you? You always complain that the work of an advisor is a thankless one.”

Roy barks out a laugh, his usual mirth recovered. “Why? Would you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Me, tending to you?” As he speaks, his eyes slowly slide up and down your body in a soft, intangible caress. “Dress you up in the morning, disrobe you, help you bathe.”

“Cassandra doesn’t bathe me.”  

“I’m not Cassandra, am I?”

“I—”

The door behind you rattles, startling you nearly to death.

“It’s occupied!” you yell, grasping at the knob, and from the look of it, scaring the poor maid shitless.

Roy, too, blanches, pulling the dress off himself with no regard for propriety. His stupefaction doesn’t last long, and in no time, he’s snickering again, highly amused. It’s only fortunate that the maid ran off before she could hear it.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m just wondering what sorts of rumors would be spread if you were caught in the staff room. With me. Naked.”

“Nothing flattering,” you mumble, watching the intricate knob with great interest. “I should leave first. Wait for a bit before you follow.”

“My, you make it sound naughty. It’s not like we’re having an affair.”

His comment is more barbed than jesting, but you pay it no mind, leaving it unanswered.

Still, his words are all you can think of, and you can’t seem to escape them - or Roy - even as you exit the room, quickening your pace.

[You lost:]

Though you’re usually mild-mannered, your competitiveness increases when stakes are high.

“Twenty!” you shout, smacking your cards down with vigor. “Hah! Try and top that!” The fire in you is promptly snuffed out when you see the total in Roy’s hand reaching twenty-one.

Blackjack.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that?” Roy smirk is ever-present, stretching further when he notices you grind your teeth. “My victory.”

“After so many losses?” you comment, crossing your arms with a huff. “What kind of luck is that, the moment I wager something?”

“Don’t pout. No one likes a sore loser.” And yet, here he is, fanning his two winning cards over his face, gloating.

You slap a hand down on the table. “I want a rematch—”

“Not so fast.” Roy frowns, showing his victory in your face. “You owe me a wish, remember? I want to collect it now.”

“What? You’ve already thought of something?”

“Several ‘something,’ in fact, I’ve come already prepared. You could say I was hoping for an opportunity to... discipline you,” Roy sighs, rolling his eyes at you. “Now, let’s see what punishment would be most befitting... Cleaning Duke’s office! No, you already insist on doing that. Hm, attending a mass with Kal everyday for a— No, no, you might even enjoy it. It has to be something you’d definitely abhor— Ah, yes. You’ll dance with me, that’s your punishment.”

“What?” you ask, and whatever bizarre expression you’re showing, makes Roy chuckle with delight.

“I said you’ll dance with me—”

“I just thought the punishment was supposed to be directed at me, not you.” Honestly, with how vengeful Roy is on a good day, dancing is the last thing you’d expect from him.

You’re not the only one whose expectations are proven wrong, however.

At your easy acceptance, Roy’s face morphs into a mix of surprise and an unknown emotion. His mouth parts, but he quickly shuts, preventing himself from saying whatever’s on his mind. His usual smirk returns by the time he finally speaks, though.

“Then let’s not dilly-dally any further, shall we?”

“Of all people, I’d think that you’d like to savor the moment.”

“Oh, I wholly intend to.”

He takes a step forward before stopping, remembering his manners. “How rude of me,” he offers you an arm, playfully chastising himself. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the ballroom?”

“Escort me or ensure that I won’t run away?” you joke, accepting his offer. It’s not often that you get to walk side by side, as he tends to rush ahead. This time, though, he makes sure to match your pace. “How nice.”

“What is?”

“Ah. You are, I suppose.”

Roy mumbles something, but it’s too quiet for you to hear. He doesn’t notice your questioning gaze, focused solely on walking forward.

As soon as you enter the ballroom, you notice a violinist. They don’t seem surprised by your arrival, settling into playing position, awaiting a starting signal.

Hm, that’s odd.

“Did you set this up knowing you’d win? Roy?” Eventually.

Faux-hurt by the accusation, Roy clutches his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “What are you insinuating? That I cheated at cards?”

Ah, there he goes again, talking in circles to catch you - and everyone else - in whatever conversational trap he’s laid out. Not today! You’ve been hanging around the advisor too long to fall for that. It’s just like him to arrange the whole debacle just so he doesn’t have to outright ask you for a dance.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just think the shy side of you is rather sweet. I mean, you must have looked forward to dancing with me so much that you’d prepare all of this in advance.”

This time, it’s your genuine tone that catches him off guard, causing him to momentarily freeze mid-step. A beat of silence passes as he struggles to shoo away/contain the wave of peculiar emotions that seem to overflow him once again.

“But of course. Who wouldn’t want to plan ahead when you could have the opportunity to dance with the future... Duchess?” Before you can analyze his momentary hesitation at the title, he bows, offering you his hand. “May I take this opportunity to ask you to dance with me, my Lady?”

You quirk an eyebrow at his gallantry. “I thought you said this was punishment?”

“And you clearly established that it wasn’t, so what harm would it do for me to go through the formalities?”

“You have a point. Then... Yes, you may.”

When you lay your bare hand in his, a surge of heady warmth spreads through you. It amplifies when he curls his fingers around yours, securing his grip on you.

He steps forward, ready to lead you into the dance

“Uh, Roy?”

“Hm?”

“What about the music?” You emphasize your question by pointing your gaze toward the musician. That’s why you brought them here, right?

“Oh.” Roy blinks, only now noticing the silence. And the company. “Right.”

A haphazard wave of his unoccupied hand is enough of a command. Soon, a slow melody fills the air.

With an encouraging tug, Roy eases you into the first steps, and in no time, you both fall into the rhythm.

“I wish dancing was a more common activity here. I miss the advantages it brings.” He sighs wistfully, mid-spin.

You’re almost certain that he’d be tempted to dip you regardless of the formal type of the dance. For now, he simply leads you through the familiar steps.

“Advantages?” you ask when you see that he’s actually waiting for your input, instead of just starting his monologues automatically.

“Of course. There’s nothing better than that when you want to share secrets inconspicuously.” Roy supplies with a conspiratorial smirk. His voice drops to a whisper, prompting you to get closer to hear. “Would you like to know mine?” “Which one? I'm sure you have many.” You wince at your no-thoughts-head-empty reply. You didn’t mean to call him out, but to be fair, Roy hasn’t made himself to be an entirely truthful person either.

He doesn’t seem offended, letting out a shallow half scoff, half chuckle that might as well be just a sign of overexertion. “This one,” Roy says.

As the tune reaches a crescendo, Roy tightens his grip on your waist, then lowers you into a sharp dip.

“Roy?!”

“Dancing, like many other things, has been nothing but a show to me,” Roy continues conversationally, unaware of the mini heart attack he just caused you. He pulls you back up when the song eases into a gentle flow, holding you even closer to his chest than before. “Until I met you.”

His candor distracts you enough to lose your footing. Roy uses your misstep to his advantage, lifting you into a spin, then ending the descent with another incline.

The song ends at some point, and the only noise in the air now is your mingled breath. You’re barely aware of it— Of anything, really, beside Roy and the galloping beat of his heart reverberating through your chest.

Slowly, he eases you even lower, bringing his face closer, and closer, until a loose strand of his hair brushes against your nose, forcing contained giggles to burst out of you uninvited.

“The, uh, blood— The blood is getting to my head,” you excuse your outburst, squeezing at Roy’s arms to let him know it’s time to waive the uneven fight against gravity. He doesn’t take the hint. “Roy? Do you mind pulling me back up?”

That does it. Roy blinks owlishly, as though waking from deep sleep. Then, he all but yanks you upwards, stepping away from you as if burned.

“Well, I— I’m honored to have shared this dance with you, my Lady.” The color of his cheeks surpasses the usual wine-induced flush, matching the redness of his hair. “But I must return to— I have missives in the office. That I need to sign.”

Belatedly, Roy remembers to bow, already backing away before you manage to curtsy back.

“Ah, right,” you mumble at his retreating back. Roy’s newfound awkwardness seems to be contagious. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“Don’t be,” Roy says, stopping by the door, though not daring to face you. “If anything, you could stand to demand more of it. More of me.”

Before you can reply, Roy flees with a hasty “Ah, goodnight, my Lady,” abandoning you to your stupefaction that he himself caused.

[samuelroukin]

ough i'm stopping mid-chapter at the worstest possible time to edit chapter 18 (tomorrow bc sleep time but u know) and i knowwww i'm gonna hate myself when i get back to it and still have to write that thing

[hershelchocolate]

Writing Monsters was SO MUCH FUN and also so so so effective in getting me to imagine scenes as comic panels, that I'm now finally writing my script for Whisper Court! In the form of a written narrative!

I've always found this more engaging and interesting to make comics from anyway, rather than a standard script. I can't believe it took me so long to try it!

[zaskiaz]

me: *thinks this silly little drabble i’m writing to get my head outta my ass will stay silly and short*

drabble:

me: huh.

disappointed but not surprised

[waugh-bao]

Ronnie's pretty sure it's all over, when Patti catches her new boyfriend and the drummer doing 'that.'

But, then, they never did give the girls enough credit.

(A tie in with the story 'Between the Lines', but it's 100% stand alone from that).

[gobspeaks]

*writes 5k words in one day* tee hee :3c

[maxivstappen]

hi! i saw that you have a 1k event so i was wondering can i request, the lyrics “open up the door,can you open up the door?”- chihiro, billie eilish. “I want you to stay”-birds of a feather, billie eilish. with max verstappen?

OPEN UP THE DOOR ! MV1

[ 1k event / masterlist ]

☽｡⋆ max seems to be in a terrible condition, so you really need him to open the door now — max verstappen x reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, fluff? 𝄞 0.8k words (blurb)

He had been down for days now, a breakdown as foreseeable as the weather.

He was at his breaking point, but made sure nobody knew. Of course, he knew that showing emotion isn’t something to be ashamed of regardless of one’s gender, but there was still something so humiliating about having to give in, about having to speak about his - what the formula one fans called it - “downfall”.

He didn’t want to give in because he hadn’t lost yet. He was still leading, still the one with better chances to win the championship, but all praise towards Norris, someone who’s supposed to be his friend first and rival second, hurt like hell.

So after yet another pole for Norris, even though the rest of the day went incredibly well for Max, he really needed to let it out. Finally.

He hurried off into his driver’s room, face all red and hands shaking. He didn’t even know himself if he felt anger or sadness right this moment, all he knew was that one more stupid question by a reckless reporter would give him the rest, and a scandal like that would only make things worse. Couldn’t people just let him do his damn sport and drive? Who gives a fuck about his relationship to his fellow drivers, who cares about who he thinks should be McLaren’s first driver? Was his opinion really that important?

As if that wasn’t enough already, he had to put up with insults and doubts from fans and even his own team as well. They want him to be flawless yet only ever remind him of his flaws.

Max paced around his room, droplets of sweat running down his cheek. He was fucking done with this shit. Why couldn’t they just let him do his damn job? All he signed up for was driving, and now he had to meet random celebrities he doesn’t even know the names of, he has to put with drama fueled up for nothing and the fia now also wants him to stop swearing as if he was some little kid. It was absolute bullshit to him.

His hands clenched into fists and the familiar taste of blood in his mouth was the only thing keeping him from biting down onto his lip even harder.

But then he heard a knock.

“Max? Can you open up the door?”

He recognized you immediately. Your voice was soft and tender like the one of an angel, making his heart flutter, yet he didn’t want you to see him like that.

You were one of Max’s new engineers, and he had never been so happy to see a new face in the Red Bull garage. It was unusual at first, but you two got along as if you’d known each other for forever already, making the separation of the private life and the work life harder than Max usually knows it to be.

You had noticed that Max has been on edge for a while now, especially today. Seeing him run off to his driver’s room only worried you more.

“Sorry, y/n. Can’t at the moment”

Maybe this wasn’t professional of you, and maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of his door waiting for him to welcome you in, but maybe you were good enough friends for you to know that he shouldn’t be alone right now, even if he thinks differently.

And maybe you wanted nothing more than to finally be there for him like he was for you when you explained to him how weird it felt to work at a place you’ve never even known or seen from outside the tv before.

“Max, can you open up the door? Please? I’m worried”

And that was all he needed to hear. The last thing he wanted was to worry you over what is supposed to be meaningless stuff like this.

He knew you were the right person for him to see right now, and he also knew you wouldn’t judge him.

And so he finally opened the door, the familiar scent of your perfume immediately filling up his nose making him practically fall into your embrace. You slightly pushed the door with your foot so it would close by itself before burying your fingers in his hair while he breathed down your neck.

With your hands cradling his scalp and his arms tight around your waist, Max knew one thing for sure; he wanted you to stay.

guys ik this is very short & bad but i cannot do better atm because of school! very sorry :( but i’m working on some other stuff already!!

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind. 

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?” 

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground. 

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along. 

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend. 

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed. 

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children. 

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose. 

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance. 

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb. 

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother. 

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything. 

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you. 

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror. 

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell. 

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end. 

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys. 

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak. 

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them. 

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd. 

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them. 

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod. 

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once. 

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story. 

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you. 

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril. 

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods. 

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

 The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder. 

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow. 

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak. 

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon. 

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them. 

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off. 

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted. 

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?” Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm. 

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied. 

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look. 

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters. 

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.” 

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror. 

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done? 

“I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more. 

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances. 

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs. 

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.” 

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.” 

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage? 

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected. 

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air. 

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me. 

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants. 

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father. 

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little. 

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that. 

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever. 

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye. 

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago. 

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well. 

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

 He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered. 

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally. 

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words. 

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper. 

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

[23victoria]

Bottass Calendar or Bottass Naked?!

f1 grid x fem!reader

warnings: cussing, talks of naked bodies

authors note: i so wish it was christmas so this could fit the theme more but i still had so much fun writing this!! anon🤍 thank you so much for the request!!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! 🤍

want to be tagged in my works?! CLICK HERE!

1k celebration f1 masterlist

Lewis

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Lewis: laughs "Maybe I'll make one just for you."

Y/N: "Omg, I would love that! Just make it funny."

Lewis: grinning "I'll make sure it's a masterpiece. Maybe I'll pose with Roscoe."

Y/N: "That sounds perfect! Can you imagine Roscoe in a tiny Santa hat?"

Lewis: "That would be hilarious. I'll get creative. Maybe some racing gear too."

Y/N: "I would fucking love that! I can't wait to see it!"

Max

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Max: frowns "I don't know if I feel happy about you liking another man being naked."

Y/N: teasingly "Don't worry, Max. You're still my favorite."

Max: sighs "I suppose it's just a calendar, but I might need to make my own to compete."

Y/N: laughs "You? Posing for a calendar? That would be something!"

Max: "Why not? I could show off my muscles. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Y/N: "I definitely wouldn't complain. It would be fun to see you out of your racing suit."

Max: smirking "Challenge accepted, then."

Charles

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Charles: smiles awkwardly "I guess it's... nice? But I'd prefer if you admired my photos instead."

Y/N: "Oh, Charles, you know I do!"

Charles: teasing "Maybe I should do a calendar too. What do you think?"

Y/N: "I'd be your biggest fan! You could do something artistic, like in the style of Monaco."

Charles: "With the beautiful scenery and classic cars? I like that idea."

Y/N: "And you in stylish outfits, of course. It would be perfect."

Charles: chuckling "You've got my creative juices flowing now."

Lando

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Lando: pouts playfully "No, you're only supposed to like me naked!"

Y/N: laughs "Lando, you're too funny."

Lando: "I'm serious! What if I made my own calendar? Would you like that better?"

Y/N: "Of course I would! You'd have to make it super goofy, though."

Lando: "Goofy? I can do that. Maybe some funny costumes and silly poses."

Y/N: "That sounds amazing. I'd love to see you having fun with it."

Lando: "Alright, challenge accepted. I'll make sure it's the best calendar ever."

Oscar

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Oscar: bursts out laughing "I can't believe you got that as a gift!"

Y/N: grinning "It's definitely a memorable present!"

Oscar: "I don't think I could ever pose like that. Too embarrassing."

Y/N: "I bet you'd look great, though. Maybe a tasteful one?"

Oscar: "Maybe if I had a few drinks first. But seriously, it's hilarious."

Y/N: "It is! Imagine if we all made one. It would be a hit."

Oscar: "That would be something. We'd have the best-selling calendar of all time."

Y/N: "With you in it, definitely!"

Carlos

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Carlos: smirking "I don't know if I should be happy or jealous."

Y/N: teasing "Why, Carlos? Feeling a bit competitive?"

Carlos: "Well, if you like those photos so much, maybe I should make my own calendar."

Y/N: "I'd love that! You could do something adventurous, like your travels."

Carlos: "With my car and some dramatic landscapes? That would be cool."

Y/N: "Yes! And some action shots. You'd look amazing."

Carlos: grinning "Alright, I'll think about it. You always have the best ideas."

Jenson

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Jenson: raises an eyebrow "Well, this is unexpected."

Y/N: laughs "It's quite a surprise, isn't it?"

Jenson: "I don't know if I should be amused or concerned."

Y/N: "Oh, Jenson, it's just for fun. You know you're my favorite."

Jenson: "Maybe I should make a comeback with a calendar of my own."

Y/N: "I'd love to see that. You could do something classy, like a vintage theme."

Jenson: "Vintage racing? That could be interesting. Alright, you've convinced me."

Sebastian

Y/N: opens the gift and sees Valtteri's naked calendar "Oh wow, this is amazing! He looks incredible in these pictures!"

Sebastian: chill "I like it. He looks good."

Y/N: "Really? You're not jealous?"

Sebastian: laughs "No, I'm secure enough to appreciate good photography."

Y/N: "You're the best, Seb. Always so supportive."

Sebastian: "Maybe I should make one too. Something environmentally themed."

Y/N: "That would be perfect! You could use it to raise awareness."

Sebastian: "Exactly. A fun project with a purpose. I'm in."

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[multifandomgirl08]

Change [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: It's the end of the F1 season. Some things are changing for the Verstappen's.

Warning(s): Make out session (Non graphic), Time jump from Part 1, Google Translated Dutch, mention(s) of Christian Horner in passing, Mixed Media (Story + Social Media)

A/N: It's not August, but since Part 1 got 1k notes I figured this deserved to be posted early. It wasn't supposed to be this long, I got a little carried away in the end... Should have the next (mini) part up after Belgium. Please don't be afraid to fill my ask box with ideas for this series.

Words: 3.2k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

In the year that you had met Nico, a lot of things changed. Most of them were changes for you. A change of job, a change of address, and a lifestyle change.

After two years of dating Max and spending time with Nico, you realized that you didn't want to be half in half out. It took a bit of time, but you had found a job that let you work from home, so if Max needed anything you were only a phone call away. Moving to Monaco was a little tougher given that you were on a work visa, but it meant that you got to spend more time with Max when he wasn't working.

It was easier to pack a small duffle bag and go to his apartment than it was to get on a flight to see him for a few hours. And spending time with Nico was a joy.

He was quiet, but he had a way of expressing his emotions with his eyes. If you put food he didn’t like in front of him, he would pout and then he would scrunch his brows together in disgust.

It was nice though, Max would be stuck on his driving sim for a while, so you would take Nico and play with his trains or read him a book until he had to take a nap. Once Max was off the sim, it gave you a chance to answer emails and get through the tasks that you had to do that day. Then, in the evening, you would make dinner together and then eat before putting Nico to bed.

"Mimi," Nico had taken to calling you. You stood in the doorway of his room waiting for him to get into bed so that Max could tuck him in while you packed up your things to take home.

"Yeah, Neeks?" You asked.

"Can you and Papa tuck me in?" He asked. You were surprised that Nico wanted you and Max to tuck him in. He and Max had a routine, and you didn't try to make yourself a part of it. You would normally watch as the father-son pair went about their nighttime routine.

Max would go and do the dishes while Nico went to brush his teeth and change for bed. It gave you and Max a few minutes to yourselves. A few quick stolen kisses before little feet started to run on the hardwood floor. Max would give you another quick kiss before picking up Nico in his arms and taking him into his room before tucking him in for the night.

You looked on into Nico's room to see him in the middle of his bed under the sheets waiting to be tucked in.

"Let me ask him. Okay?" You told Nico seeing the little boy nod his head.

You did need to tell Max; you didn’t want to insert yourself into a routine that wasn’t yours. You had only spent the night at Max’s apartment a few times, and it was mostly when you were too tired to go home. Those few times had been happening more often given that Max was back to traveling for work and the sitter that Max had hired was also moving back home at the end of the year.

You had made your way back into the kitchen to see Max closing the dishwasher before wiping his hands.

“Is he ready for bed?” He asked you.

“Yeah, he asked if… if we could both tuck him in.” You slowly said. You could see his smile growing wide. He already knew that Nico had asked that you both tuck him in.

“Why wouldn’t he, you tuck me in pretty well when you stay over.” You knew exactly what Max meant. So, you just shook your head at him, you couldn’t help but laugh that he would be thinking about that now.

“Max!” You couldn’t believe him. You gave him a light shove before he started laughing. “Please come tuck in your son.” You jokingly pleaded before kissing Max on the cheek and feeling his hands move down to your waist. You moved to hold Max’s hand as you walked to Nico’s room.

“Ready for bed, kleine man,” Max said as you both walked through the doorway.

Nico gave a nod, “Ready, Papa.”

You helped Max turn down Nico’s sheets before tucking the covers around the little boy’s feet.

“Vergeet het haar niet te vragen.” Nico muttered before snuggling into his bedsheets.

Max spoke Dutch to Nico every once in a while. It was mostly simple phrases, but Nico seemed to grasp the language rather well.

“Ik zal het niet doen.” You looked at Max and saw him lean over and kiss Nico’s forehead.

Both you and Max walked out of Nico’s room, “Night, Nico.” You said.

“Sleep well,” Max said before turning the lights off in Nico’s room and closing his bedroom door.

You knew that Nico would be out like a light once Max closed the door. You walked into Max’s living room and put your computer back into your bag. Once Nico was asleep you would stay until right before Max needed to head to bed. He did have a race the next day, so he wouldn’t stay up too late.

“Movie?” You asked him.

Max gave a slight nod; you wouldn’t finish the movie. You would get just over halfway through before Max would need to get some sleep.

You picked up the remote to hand to him before getting  comfortable on his couch settling yourself in his lap. It was easy to snuggle up to Max. You both started looking through all of the options he had on Netflix, he stopped clicking at the remote, “I was wondering if you would want to come to the race next week.”

You were surprised. You had never gone to one of Max’s races, mostly because he had never offered so you never asked. You were okay with just being with him without all of the extra things that came with dating him.

“Are you asking for-” You knew that Nico was going to the race. He had been excited to see Max race in person. Max tried to keep Nico away from the track as much as he could, but that boy loved it just as much as Max did.

“No.” So he wasn’t asking just so someone would be there to watch over Nico. “We’ve been together for two years, and I’ve never asked you to come because I don’t want to pressure you into dealing with the fans and the media.”

In that regard, you were glad that Max understood that all of those things weren’t for you.

“But it’s the last race of the season and I would like both my son and my girlfriend there.” Max did have a point. It was the second season that you were together, and it would be nice to actually go to one of his races and be there to support him instead of sitting at home with Nico watching the race.

Flying to Abu Dhabi for Max’s race would be interesting, you knew that Nico had a passport, but you have never spent more than a day or two with the little boy without Max present.

“Yeah, I would love that.” You would probably have to work from your laptop that Friday while Max was at practice, but Nico would love watching qualifying and then the race the next day if he didn’t fall asleep halfway through.

Max looked at you and smiled wide, it was so genuine that you couldn’t help but reach over and kiss him. As your lips met, Max was quick to pull you under him on the couch, letting the tips of his fingers trace the bare skin that was just under the hem of your shirt. Your head met one of the pillows on the couch as he slowly laid you down moving between your legs. Your hands moved over the plains of his back which was covered with a thin black shirt that hugged his arms. It was unfair how good he looked.

It wasn’t long before Max turned off the TV and pulled you with him into his room to get some sleep. You wouldn’t be going back to your apartment tonight.

One Week Later - Sunday

Before going to where you would be sitting during the race, you and Nico were on your way to Red Bull hospitality. Max had made sure to drop off your passes on Friday when you had gotten in after he was done at the track on your first day in Abu Dhabi.

“Well, if it isn’t the next generation of Red Bull racing,” You heard from the one and only Daniel Ricciardo as you and Nico walked around the paddock before the race.

“Dan!” Nico said letting go of your hand and then ran to Daniel, throwing his arms around the older man’s shoulders as Daniel kneeled on the ground.

You had come to learn from Max that Daniel was with him the day that he found out about Nico. He had gone with him to see Max’s agent and offered to be there the first time that Max had met his son. Max was lucky to have a friend like him.

“Look at you, all ready to go.” He pulled Nico back a little to see his replica racing suit. “If your dad wasn’t in the car, I would think that you were after his job.” Nico had insisted on wearing the replica Red Bull racing suit that Christian had gotten him for his birthday a few weeks ago. Christian treated Nico like the grandson he didn’t have, which included getting him gifts that Max didn’t know about. He wanted to hide it from Max until this weekend, not wanting to jinx a third-world championship win for him.

Given that Max made Pole during qualifying you had unpacked the racing suit from your bag that was hidden in one of your sweaters in case Max ended up looking in your bag.

“Maybe I am.” Nico muttered at Daniel. You couldn’t help but slightly raise your brow at Nico before you saw Daniel shake his head.

“Nico.” You warned.

“It’s okay Y/N. If he were any more like Max, he would be Max.” Daniel was used to it by now. He knew that Nico was just like his dad in so many ways. It wasn’t just that they looked alike.

“Very true.” You agreed with him.

“So, you here for the whole race?” Daniel asked. Nico walked back to you before he started messing with your paddock passes.

“Yeah, hopefully, someone doesn’t fall asleep until it’s over.” You brushed your fingers through Nico’s hair.

You hoped that Nico would be able to stay awake long enough to see Max by the time the race was over. You knew when you got back to the hotel Nico would be dead tired and would go straight to bed.

“Well, I’m sure him sleeping through one race won’t hurt too bad. Max’s been winning championships almost as long as this one’s been alive.” That was true, Max had won his first championship just after Nico had turned 1. “Maybe, you’re his good luck charm. Ay, Nico.”

Nico gave a small shrug of his shoulders before pulling at your shirt.

“I should take him back to hospitality before the race starts.” Nico hadn’t eaten lunch earlier claiming that he wasn’t hungry. “Don’t want to get hounded by cameras.” You knew that it was going to be harder after the race.

“You and Max still haven’t…” Daniel didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was talking about. Both you and Max had agreed that you didn’t want the media to know about Nico yet. It was still too soon. Maybe once the season was over.

“Not yet.” Daniel just nodded in understanding.

“Alright, guess I’ll let you go hide Mini Max from the vultures,” Daniel said with a smile.

“Okay,” You lightly chuckled. “Have a good race.”

Nico quickly walked over to Daniel to give him a hug and a big wave before reaching to take your hand again.

It was a short walk over to where you and Nico would be sitting during the race.

It wasn’t long before the race started when Nico pointed down at Max’s car and muttered, “Papa.” while holding food in his little hands. Nico kept watch of the cars zooming around the track and made sure to pay attention when there was an announcement about something that happened.

Halfway through the race, Nico moved to rest his head against your arm, his eyes would close every once in a while. You leaned down to kiss the top of his head feeling him snuggle closer to your side.

The race seemed to pass by rather fast. Max made the next 20 or so laps around the track in record time. Nico had woken up with 10 laps left for Max to complete. Hamilton had tried to overtake at the start of the last lap but never managed to pass Max. It wasn’t long after that you saw everyone from the Red Bull garage walking out to the track watching as Max’s car crossed the finish line as the checkered flag was waved.

Just after you heard it over the speakers. “Max Verstappen wins the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix and is a 3-time Champion of the World!”

You were quick to collect Nico into your arms kissing him on the cheek, “Papa won.” The little boy threw his arms around your neck at the words. Max’s car was making donuts not far from where you and Nico were. Fireworks were going off as you moved out of your seat.

You were quick to grab your bag and take Nico down with you to the garage where you saw people hugging. It didn’t take long for you to see Max; who was out of the car, still in his helmet. You let go of Nico’s hand so he could run up to his dad and hug him. You watched on as the father and son pair embraced in their matching fireproofs.

You had caught Max’s eyes which were normally hidden by his visor and could tell that he was smiling. Max was holding Nico with one arm and stretched his other hand out for you. You walked closer to him and clasped your hand in his before he gave you Nico moving to take off his helmet. He pulled it off and you could see the lines from the inside padding of his helmet. You reached up passionately kissing him on the lips.

“Congratulations!” You had to yell over all of the other noise that surrounded the three of you. You could see a few tears falling from Max’s eyes as he took in you holding Nico.

“Mijn familie.” You had a pretty clear idea of what he just said, letting a stray tear fall from your eyes. Nico tried to curl up into Max’s chest but somehow ended up squashing between the two of you in a cocoon-like hug.

“Go, enjoy your podium. We’ll wait for you after.” You said into his ear.

“You sure?”

You nodded at his question. Nico had taken a nap during the race; you could wait to take him back to the hotel later. He should get to see his father achieve his dream in person. Nico gave Max another hug, and the older Verstappen kissed you quickly on the forehead before being dragged away by the men in navy blue.

Charles found you not long after a small celebration with the guys in Ferrari having finished P2.

You watched from the crowd as Max got sprayed with champagne and then proceeded to cover Christian in it as well. You watched on as Max celebrated. You had to wonder. How often did someone get to achieve their dream three times over?

Max was on the podium with Christian for a little longer before being pulled off to go and answer some questions.

Christian had come over to you and taken Nico to get a few pictures with Max’s trophy. Geri assured you that she would bring Nico back. You trusted her, how could you not trust a Spice Girl?

You didn’t have to wait a long time after that to see Max again. The top of his racesuit had come off and now he was just in the fireproof shirt that was underneath it. He was standing there covered in sweat and champagne with a dopey grin on his face.

You walked over to him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down to meet your lips. You ran your fingers through his short hair feeling how sticky the sweet liquid was and wanted him as close as possible.

“Move in with me.” he said as he pulled back from the kiss.

“What?” You questioned letting your eyes drop to his lips.

“Move in with me, Y/N. Help me take Nico to school, and be there every day to see him grow up.” You knew that it wasn’t a marriage proposal. It was Max asking you to move in with him and help raise Nico. He wanted Nico to see you as more than just his papa’s girlfriend.

You met his eyes, seeing as he searched yours before nodding. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes again, and your lips met his, savoring the taste of champagne from his lips. You knew that you would be covered in it by the time you left the track.

“I love you.” You felt him mumble against your lips.

“I love you too.” You let your fingers sink into the fabric of Max’s racesuit.

“Where’s Nico?” Max’s eyes looked around to see if he would find him anywhere.

“With Christian. Geri said that she would bring him back.” As the words left your mouth you saw the redhead out of the corner of your eyes holding your little boy.

Nico saw the two of you and started to squirm in Geri’s arms before running to both you and Max.

You couldn’t help but slightly stumble back into Max as Nico crashed into both of you, Max’s arms now around your waist holding you so you didn’t fall. Nico gripped you around your knees, his light brown hair brushed against the fabric of your jeans.

You leaned back a little to kiss Max, gripping the side of his neck. You couldn’t wait to have this every day.

wagsoff1

3,543 likes

wagsoff1 Max Verstappen and his girlfriend Y/N L/N seen leaving a private party in Belgium for New Year's

fan40 Is she wearing Alexis Mabille?

fan34 Who is that man? And what had Y/N done to Max Verstappen?

fan80 It's official! She's met Sophie.

fan58 Is Mad Max gone?

fan29 Doesn't seem like it. He's still competitive when he's driving. Just because he cares about his girlfriend doesn't mean it's going to affect the way he performs in the car.

Jan 2, 2024

Translations:

kleine man - little man

Vergeet het haar niet te vragen. - Don't forget to ask her.

Ik zal het niet doen. - I won't.

Mijn familie - My family.

[alotofpockets]

Travel day | Arsenal WFC

Pairing: Arsenal x Teen!Reader & Kyra Cooney-Cross x Best friend!Reader

Summary: A travel day with Arsenal, where you and Kyra can't seem to sit still. [requested]

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

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Ever since you had joined Arsenal at seventeen, you were deemed the child of the group. All of your teammates were immensely protective over you. Leah was the most protective, she had let you move into her apartment, the captain not wanting you to stay somewhere on your own. At first the overly protectiveness was a bit annoying but once you realised that they all meant it well, you started to enjoy the way the team had taken you in as their family member. 

When Kyra had joined the team a year later, you were grateful for another youngling on the team. The girl had quickly gotten the “annoying little sister” status, and it was to no surprise to the team that the two of you got along great right away. 

Today was a travelling day for the team, you were heading overseas for a day of training, and a match the day after. You walk into the living room with your suitcase, kit bag, and your backpack, plopping them all down next to where Leah had put hers. “Hey kiddo, got everything packed?” You nod and sit down on the couch. “Socks, pyjamas, and a charger too?” You get up and walk towards her, handing her the checked off packing list. “I packed everything you wrote down for me.” She looks over the list, and is pleased with all the check marks she sees on the paper. “Alright then, Lia will be here shortly to pick us up. Oh, before I forget. I made you some sandwiches, you can put them in your backpack.” 

You take the sandwiches from Leah, “Lee, what am I supposed to do with this many ham sandwiches? It’s like a two hour flight max.” You laugh at the girl but put them in your backpack anyways. “You can share with Kyra, as I am guessing that the two of you will use up enough energy to need those later.” 

A couple minutes later, Lia arrives to pick the both of you up. “Hey kid, ready for today?” Lia asks as she gives you a quick hug. “Yeah, I’m excited.” With your luggage in the car, Lia drives the three of you to Colney where the team would meet up to head to the airport together. 

When you arrive at the airport, and have checked in your baggage and gone through costumes, you arrive at the gate. You drop your backpack to the floor where Leah sits down, and rush off to find Kyra again. When the girl notices you, she dropped her own bag next to Katie, and started running away from you. You sprint after her, chasing her around the gate.

The team watches the two of you run around amused, wincing when you’d nearly miss other airport goers. “Should we stop them?” Katie says to Leah, when you finally manage to catch up to Kyra, and tackle her to the ground. “I say let them tire themselves out, so we have a peaceful flight.” She said the last part as a joke, but seeing the amount of energy the two of you had at the moment, it was best to let some of it out now. 

They let you run around, and go back to their own conversations. Occasionally someone films the two of you, many of the clips either ending up on their Instagram stories or on their Tiktok’s. You had no clue about any of it though, as you were having the time of your life running with Kyra. 

You were grateful for the sandwiches that Leah made for you, when your stomach started growling. Grabbing both yours and Kyra’s backpack, you head back to her. She was sitting by the window, watching the planes move around in the distance. Like Leah had suggested, you shared the sandwiches with Kyra, getting through quite a few of them until Kyra pulled a ball from her backpack, with a sly smile on her face. 

The two of you start kicking the ball back and forth for a bit, before you start to do keep ups together, trying to not let the ball hit the ground. That’s when Katie steps in, and grabs the ball from midair, “Where did you even get a ball?” The older woman asks. “From Kyra’s backpack.” You say in defence, raising your hands up in surrender. Kyra rolls her eyes at how quickly you threw her under the bus, but she would’ve done the same thing if it would have been Leah that stepped in. Katie takes the ball with her, as she sits back down next to Caitlin. “Kids.” She shakes her head, but looks in your direction with a smile.

Once the plane had taken off, it didn’t take long for both you and Kyra to fall asleep.

-----

leahwilliamsonn just posted to their story

-----

Only to be full of energy again as the both of you woke up when the plane landed. You were bouncing your legs up and down, waiting to be able to get off the plane. There was no time for you to let out your energy now, as you went straight to baggage claim and onto the bus that was waiting to get you to the stadium you would be playing in a couple of days. 

However, the moment that you set foot onto the field, you were back to running around on the field with Kyra in tow. Occasionally either one of you would be taken aside to take a picture with some of your teammates, but you always found each other again. 

Once Kyra was taken aside by Alessia for a picture, you ran over to Leah. The girl welcomed you with open arms, “Hi kiddo, having fun so far?” You step into her arms, and hug her tight. “Yes, I can’t wait to play here.” You stay in her arms with your head leaned against her chest.

Kyra walked back up to you with a ball in hand. You look up to Leah, “Yeah, go on. Have fun.” And with that you made your way onto the field with Kyra, finishing the game of keep ups that was interrupted in the airport.

-----

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[norizz-nation]

Can you please do, dark max and he kidnaps her and she gets Stockholm syndrome?

Whispers In The Dark | M.V1

Summary: You fell in love with someone you weren't supposed to.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, TW, Dark Fic, Stockholm Syndrome, Max Kidnaps Reader, Stalker Max, Max Is A Kidnapper So If You Don't Like It Don't Read It

"Please... let me go... please," you whispered to him but he just simply ignored you. As if you just whispered in the dark where no one could hear it.

He saw how terrified you were released the firm grip from the back of your neck and pulled away. He then picked the mug up and removed the rope that was tightly wrapped around you.

You whined out as you saw how bruised your wrists got. He then handed you the mug and stood up, "Drink it. Dont make me fucking say it again or I swear to God,"

You looked down and lightly nodded. You knew if you defended yourself more then you'll be more fucked now.

Read the whole 1k fic only on my Patreon!

A/N: Requests are open. Feel free to ask what you want me to write. I love you.

[jimxnslight]

Hey. Love your works. How are you?

For the prompts: 19. If you are okay with it, reading struggling after SA and finding it hard to tell taehyung about it ( only if you are ok with it)

Why Won’t You Let Me Help You? | KTH

Pairing: lawyer boyfriend!Taehyung x reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sexual Assault (i.e. slapping, groping), accidental minor injury, some blood

A/N: so um did I say max 1k for the drabbles? I didn't, right? I don’t remember saying that at all, nope, not at all… okay so maybe I went a little overboard with this but in my defence this is a pretty heavy topic and I didn’t wanna just breeze over it like it was nothing. So I present to you this supersized drabble

You never think it will happen to you. 

Sure, you’ve heard gruesomely detailed cases about women getting assaulted all the time on the news. You’ve read horrifying stories on Reddit of men committing atrocities against the opposite gender. You’ve even witnessed your own friend be catcalled on the bus during one of your girls' nights out. But you never think it will happen to you. 

Until one day it does. 

Until one day a man double your age grabs you while you're walking down the familiar hallway of your workplace. Until one day you’re being dragged into an empty meeting room before you can even think of screaming and shoved against the wall while your arms are restrained by hands that feel like they were made of iron. Until one day you have this man telling you how long he’s been waiting to get you alone, how annoying it has been to have had to hold back because of your “stupid boyfriend.”

You remember struggling at first, desperate to get away from a distant nightmare that had become reality, desperate to get this man as far away from you as humanly possible, but his next action had stopped you in your tracks. 

“Shut up,” he had snapped, and a sharp crack had sounded as his palm came in contact with your cheek. It shocked your senses, the fact that you’d been slapped in the building you had felt so comfortable working in for years, the fact that you had been so easily overcome. 

The realisation of how helpless you truly were in that moment seemed to strike you harder than any slap, the thought so jarring that you slowly felt the fight begin to drain from your limbs, fear settling to lock them in place instead. You couldn’t move, could barely even breathe, and you knew it had nothing to do with the steely grip the man had on you to keep you from running. Your strength was nothing in the face of his, and he seemed so angry and determined that you feared he might actually break your arms in a fit of rage if you tried to oppose him. 

You think that was when the numbness had begun to set in, because you couldn't remember feeling a stinging sensation on your cheek, the one you’re supposed to feel when a person is struck. In fact, you couldn’t remember feeling anything at all, even when you had watched the man’s hands roam over your chest and back greedily. Why hadn’t you screamed? Or cried? Or felt anything that wasn’t nothing at all?

That dazed state hadn’t dissipated even when the door to the meeting room had burst open to reveal your boyfriend’s friend and your co-worker, Jungkook, who had only taken a moment to process the situation before he had shoved the guy off of you and landed a harsh punch against his cheek.

You couldn’t remember what happened next. One second you were watching Jungkook angrily ask the man what he thought he was doing and then the next second you were standing here, staring blankly at the door to Taehyung’s familiar apartment. You felt like you were in a dream, everything surrounding you hazy and intangible as you watched your shaking fingers pull your keys from your pocket and unlock the door just like you always did. 

You were immediately greeted with the sound of the living room TV, and then the sight of your boyfriend stretched over the couch, two case files strewn out on the wooden coffee table before him as his attention jumped from the files to the series playing on the TV. 

At the sound of the door he turned to glance at you, a boxy smile overtaking his features.

“Hey, you’re back early,” he noted, his attention returning to the files, “how was work?”

It took a second for you to process the question, partly because the sight of his refined eyes and dark brown hair felt grounding and partly because that grounding effect seemed to tug at your hazy mind, attempting to pull you out of this thick fog you found yourself swimming in. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like that every time you felt yourself drifting away from the fog you could start to feel that man’s hands back on your body, as if they had been dipped in permanent ink and he had smeared it all over your skin. It made you feel dirty. It made you feel desperate to scrub it all off in the shower. 

But you couldn’t seem to get yourself to move towards the bathroom, too stuck in this autopilot mode that your mind seemed to cling to desperately to feign some form of ignorance. You watched yourself, as if you were some kind of spectator in your own body, walk into the kitchen just as you always did when you got back from work. As if following your daily routine would erase any remnant of the last hour from your memory. 

“It was fine,” you answered, your monotonous tone catching Taehyung’s attention. This time he gave you a sympathetic look as you mindlessly began pulling things out of the cabinets and fridge, his own hand moving to grab the remote and turn off the television. 

“Ah, I guess night shift isn’t exactly what you were expecting it to be…” he shook his head, misinterpreting the situation. He pushed himself off the sofa and began walking towards your form, “but it was only your first day, I’m sure it’ll get better as time passes.”

You quietly placed a head of lettuce - you don’t remember how it got in your hand - on a cutting board, while your other hand grabbed a knife. You had no clue what you were doing, no idea why you were cutting a head of lettuce right now, but you did know that you couldn’t look at Taehyung. Every time you did you could feel yourself slipping out of the daze that seemed to be keeping you together in front of him, could feel those hands groping at your body again.

Taehyung stepped beside you as he leaned against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and an encouraging look on his face, “and even if it does end up sucking, your manager did say the switch was temporary. You’ll be back on the dayshift in no time, trust me.”

Your silence continued, Taehyung’s words flying over your head as you focused on keeping your erratic breathing levelled and your hands steady. You felt like a bomb, the pressure building and building and building until it could no longer be contained by the numbing of your mind and explode all over the place. You didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. 

“Hey,” he said, shifting so that he wasn’t leaning against the counter anymore and instead facing you with one hand against the counter, “did something happen? You don’t need my help with suing anyone, do you?”

He’d added that last sentence to lighten the mood, but when you didn’t answer him he couldn't hide his worry. His tone dipped as he tried to get your attention, which was still on that head of lettuce. You tightened your grip on it, trying to hide the evident tremor in your fingers. 

“Y/N? Come on, say something. Was it really that stressful today?”

You took a shaky breath, “no, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, you’re clearly stressed over something. We can go out somewhere if you want? Or we can order takeout and watch movies here… Just ask me anything and we’ll do it.”

The pressure was nipping away at your composure, so much so that the feeling of your throat closing up barred you from answering him. You could feel a hand on your chest, another at your hip; there was one sliding up your back, one closing around your neck. He was everywhere. You closed your eyes. It was too much. You just wanted it all to stop. 

You just wanted it all to stop. 

“Y/N!”

Taehyung suddenly lunged for the knife just as a sharp pain shot from your hand, his fingers wrapping around the handle to pull it out of your grasp. There was a small trail of blood dripping from the new cut on your palm.

“You’re bleeding,” he announced, dropping the knife back onto the cutting board before quickly opening the medicine cabinet to bring out some band-aids, “it’s not too deep thank god, but try to staunch the bleeding with those paper towels just in case.”

But when Taehyung turned around he found you frozen in place, gaze hazily fixed on your bleeding palm. You tried to focus on that pain instead, hoping it could help you balance your breathing and stabilise your shaky arms and stop the hands. Those hands, that wouldn’t stop grabbing at your skin over and over and over. 

Taehyung, more confused than ever, walked over to where you were standing and grabbed a couple of paper towels, “please say something, Y/N, you’re worrying me.”

He reached over to wet the paper towel before cleaning your palm, and it was only then that he felt you trembling. His brows furrowed as he reached over once again, this time to place a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“God, you’re shaking-”

But the moment his fingers connected with your shoulder you flinched. It wasn’t a small reaction either. It was the kind that had you snapping backwards, your hand smacking against a pan that went crashing to the floor while your head bumped against an overhead cabinet. Taehyung’s eyes were wide, his entire body freezing as he watched you cave in on yourself. 

“Please…” you said, unable to produce anything more than a whisper, “please, don’t touch me.”

A look of hurt flashed on his face, and you felt awful for causing it. But, up until now, the touches of that man’s hand had been ghostly, merely whisps brushing against your skin, until Taehyung’s hand had made contact with you and suddenly they felt too real. It was as if you couldn’t differentiate his touch from that man’s, and that thought only pained you further, so much so that you felt your eyes begin to water.

Taehyung tried to take a step towards you, but you moved backwards further, causing him to pause. 

“Y/N, what’s going on?” He pleaded now, begging you to shed some light on the situation. You looked so pained, he couldn’t bear to see you like this, “please baby, why won’t you let me help you?”

You didn’t want to break down in front of him, didn’t want him to see you like this: so weak, so vulnerable, so incapable of pulling yourself together. 

And yet, at the soft tone of his voice, that’s exactly what Taehyung witnessed.

The tears came first, heavy as they slid down your cheeks before sobs began to rack your frame. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, causing you to drop to your knees as you began to cry into your hands. You’d tried so hard to keep yourself together, and yet here you were now, unravelling entirely at Taehyung’s feet. 

Silently, he walked to where you were bent over, slowly crouching so that he was on the same level as you. His hands were itching to pull you into his arms and hold you while you sobbed, his heart aching to lessen even a sliver of whatever you were going through in that moment, but after your earlier reaction to his touch he decided not to push it. Instead, he stayed crouched before you, dropping soft words of comfort to let you know that you weren’t alone, he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Eventually the story began to drop from your lips. You started from the very beginning, mentioning every detail of the experience as Taehyung struggled to keep his anger at bay the longer he listened. You went farther than that too, admitting to just how helpless and vulnerable you had felt in that moment and wondering how you were ever going to feel comfortable in your workplace again.

By the time you’d finished the anger and pain he felt was straining his chest, the urge to pull you closer reaching an unbearable level.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked instead, knowing that getting angry and emotional now wouldn’t help you in any way. Right now it was his turn to stay strong, so that he could be that pillar of support for you during a time like this. 

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, sniffling while your hands tried to dry your cheeks. Taehyung’s gaze softened at how defeated you sounded. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he said, causing your damp eyes to meet his, “none of this is your fault, you understand me? What that man did to you was wrong, and he deserves to rot in hell for it. I’ll make sure of that if you’ll let me.”

Taehyung shifted forward, taking care not to touch you as he placed his hand on the floor in front of you, “and you’re going to get through this. I know it hurts right now. I know you feel helpless and vulnerable, it’s normal to feel that way. But I know how strong you are, I know you will get through this. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way, that you can count on. I promise.”

Even though you felt embarrassed, letting it all out to Taehyung and knowing he would still be by your side no matter what felt like a huge relief. Perhaps a part of you had been afraid of what his reaction would be, which was stupid considering how many sexual assault victims you knew he’d defended before in court. But there had still been that little “what if…” taunting you in the back of your mind. You were glad that thought had been shot down now entirely. 

You sniffed as your gaze dropped to his hand, still placed on the floor in front of your knees. You lifted your own, extending it until you hesitantly brushed your fingers over the back of his palm. You were relieved when your body didn’t recoil or flinch, relieved that you could lace your fingers in between his without any bad feelings.

Perhaps there still was hope for you. Perhaps you weren’t entirely broken. 

“Y/N?” Taehyung whispered, squeezing your hand reassuringly in his. You looked up at him in question. 

“Can I hug you?”

Even though your nod was quick, because just the thought of him was comforting, you appreciated it when he slowly pulled you towards him, making sure that if you needed to back out at any time it was okay. But by the time he had pulled you halfway towards himself, it was you who threw your arms around his torso and buried your face in his shirt, Taehyung’s arms immediately encircling your form. His hands stroked your back softly, nothing like that man’s hands in the slightest. 

The two of you stayed like that for so long that by the time Taehyung spoke, you could feel your leg start to cramp from the hard floor and awkward position. 

“So,” he said, stroking your hair gently, “what do you want to do now?”

He wanted you to say the words so badly, to tell him to help you sue every last penny out of that man before throwing him in the worst jail Taehyung had heard of. He was more than ready to, the anger from before slithering back into his chest like an enraged snake. He wasn’t a lawyer for nothing, and he’d show that man exactly what he was capable of. 

But you surprised him when you said none of that and instead said, “I want to take a shower.”

He chuckled, although it was more bittersweet knowing that a lot of women tended to feel “dirty” after being assaulted; he’d seen a lot of that in his line of work, and the thought of you feeling that way hurt his heart. 

“Do you want me to join you?” He asked, pulling the two of you from the ground, though his arms stayed fixed around your waist. 

You shook your head slowly, hoping he wouldn’t take any offence. You just felt like you needed a moment to yourself to sort some things out in your head, but Taehyung was quick to nod, instead placing a light kiss on your forehead. 

“Alright, just call if you need me, okay? In the meantime I’ll order some takeout,” he smiled, showcasing that beautifully boxy grin that you could stare at for hours if he let you. Taehyung was glad to see you give him a small smile of your own before you turned around and disappeared behind the doors to your shared bedroom. 

The moment he heard the shower turn on, the sound of his phone going off made him flinch. He walked over to the coffee table and picked it up, brows furrowing when he saw Jungkook’s name displayed on the screen before immediately pressing the answer button. 

“Hyung!” Jungkook yelled into the phone, his worry apparent, “is Y/N at your place?! I’ve been trying to find her for the last 30 minutes, but I think she left the building. There was this guy and I caught him trying to force himself on her, but after I shoved him away I turned around and she just disappeared. I-”

“Relax Jungkook,” Taehyung calmed him down, quickly explaining that you were at his place and everything was fine. But Jungkook being involved relieved Taehyung, because that meant he could trust him to be a credible witness and to send him some extra information. 

“I need you to send me the details of the guy that hurt her,” Taehyung said, noticing the malice in his voice but not finding it in himself to care. His gaze dropped to the abandoned case files thrown across the coffee table, knowing that he’ll have to give most of his cases away if he wanted to spend as much time on yours as he wanted to. 

Thankfully, Jungkook’s reply was immediate, “of course, anything you need.”

Taehyung smiled, not only because Jungkook was ready to help him defend you, but also for protecting you when he wasn’t there. If Jungkook hadn’t been there… well Taehyung didn’t want to think about it. A part of him thinks he might have actually been capable of committing murder. 

He took a breath trying to steady himself, focusing instead on what was within his limits at the moment. 

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

“I’ll need your help if I want to make that man regret ever being born.”

[witchxxjpg]

lestappen hogwarts au dedicated to my harry potter marathon (1k words)

+ seeker Charles and chaser Max (definitely not dating you know👀)

(i know that the age gaps are incorrect and that 11 years-old Max never raced international but for the sake of this au i change these things))

******

Max sat in his compartment alone.

When he looked outside all he could see was children and their parents running around Platform 3/4 with huge trolleys filled with bags and suitcases. But Max himself had only a mediocre case with shabby textbooks and some clothes to wear during his first school year.

Honestly speaking, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to stand out, even though he was well aware that he wasn't quite like all the others.

When he passed by the other compartments, all the children were chatting and, Max guessed, they were just happy to see or meet each other, while some of the older students were discussing their summer breaks.

Max didn't know anyone here. He didn't even have anyone to say goodbye to.

His mother was too busy in Belgium to fly just for him to London. And his father was still furious at him for the decision to take a year off karting to study in this school for wizards. He had just dropped him off three hour ago near King's Cross Station and left without any goodbye.

Standing on the platform, Max'd thought about what to do.

After a failure of trying to ask an officer about platform 3/4 that was written on his boarding ticket Max'd sat on a nearby bench, hopping that soon he'd see someone who looked like a wizard.

And he was lucky enough that after only an hour of waiting he saw a girl, pulling a trolley of suitcases and a cage with a huge brown owl.

When Max had visited Diagon Alley last week with a big disheveled guy named Hagrid to buy all the necessary equipment for his first year, he'd been told that he's allowed to have a pet like a cat or an owl in Hogwarts. But his father didn't even want to give him money to purchase a wand, so Max knew better than to ask for an animal, even though he really wanted to have a cat.

He got into the train well earlier than all the other students, because almost all sofas were empty. He took one of the farthest compartments and put his case on the bench near him. He was too short to throw it on the top shelf and he didn't know any lifting charms. Then started looking at other wizards.

After an hour of observing the almost empty platform, Max finally started seeing more people.

They were all different: some of them wearing usual clothes, that Max's seen people in, while some others were in ridiculous outfits that he decided was sort of wizard style.

But there were a lot of children, of course. Most of them were in the same usual clothes. However, Max was relieved to see that others wore black robes that Max himself was dressed it.

Later he noticed that some of the robes of other students were with colorful elements, unlike his own that was fully grey.

The departure time of the Hogwarts Express was close, so Max sat there and waited, listening to dulled noises on the platform.

Until the door of his compartment was wide open.

"Hey, sorry, all the others are full," said a young boy, who looked around Max's age. "Do you mind if we sit with you?"

Max didn't mind at all, so he shaked his head and offered the seats.

Behind the boy who asked were two older guys who entered the room.

"Need help with your luggage?" asked one of them, pointing at Max's miserable suitcase, and Max, nodding, pointed out in his head that they're not from England, judging from the accent of these two of them.

While he put Max's case on the top shelf, the other one asked, seeing his stiffness, "First time, right?"

Max smiled awkwardly and nodded.

"Don't worry, we don't bite," cheered up the guy who helped with the luggage, chuckling.

"But Charlie can, though!" said the other, ruffling the hair of the younger boy who entered first and laughing.

Max assumed that they were all brothers, considering how well they knew each other.

The younger boy, Charlie, looked scandalous, "Hey, it only happened once!" pointing at the guy who accused him. "And you totally deserved that!"

"Okay," chuckled again the older guy. "We'll go buy us some food".

"Yeah, let the kids bond together," said the other when they exited the compartment, still giggling.

As soon as they left the younger guy jumped on the seat, opposite Max, with a huge smile and stretched out his right hand, "Hello, I'm Charles".

Shaking Charles' hand, Max mumbled, "I'm Max".

"Oh, by the way, that were Jules and Lorenzo," said Charles, pointing at the direction where the older boys had left. "They can be very annoying, I know. But still cool".

Max hesitated, "Are they your brothers?"

"Lo is," Charles smiled. "Jules is my godfather, but he's more like a brother. Do you have siblings?"

With that question Max realized that he actually missed Vic. He last saw her two months ago, while video chatting with their mother. He hoped he'd be able to go visit them on winter holidays.

"Yes, I have a sister," Max mentioned. "But she lives with my mother, and I live with my father".

He saw that Charles liked talking. "Oh, are you parents wizards?"

"No, they are both -" Max remembered that Hagrid had called them somehow, people who can't do magic. But he didn't remember. "Well, you know, not wizards".

"Muggles?" helped Charles. "That's so cool! Mine are from Monaco. Both wizards, but it's a boring story".

That explained the accent, even though Max'd thought they were French.

Max thought if he could share more about himself, "Oh, I raced in Monaco once", he said before realizing that maybe wizards didn't even know what karting was.

Until he saw how Charles' eyes went comically wide.

"Really?!" he jumped off the seat opposite Max and sat right near him. "You do karting? I also do karting. Not like anything professional but we do it every holiday".

Time passed and Max didn't even realize that. Soon returned Lorenzo and Jules with their hands full of sweets and chocolatebars. That's when Max tried his first chocolate frog and got his first card.

Then when Charles was very emotional to discuss Max's karting championships with his brothers, deep red Max was awkward to hear all this excitement (he'd never admit that he liked it). And he didn't know what to say when the older guys invited him to Monaco for winter holidays to show off the skills.

During boat trip to Hogwars Max listened to Charles speaking about four houses and how he was sure he would be in Gryffindor, because all his family was Gryffindor. Max decided that he also wanted to be brave and be in Gryffindor.

Of course, they didn't get to the same house, none of them didn't even get to the house that they'd wanted, but it wouldn't stop them from becoming best friends and probably something more.

But that's a story for later.

Now Max was just excited for his first year in the magic world.