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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy.

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?"

"You don't? You're the expert."

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question.

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test."

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums."

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–"

"Lovely?"

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him.

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully.

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done.

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did."

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up."

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't."

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down.

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you answer my texts?"

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you."

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…"

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope.

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth.

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose."

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine."

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather."

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing.

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress."

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years.

It only feels like years.

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern.

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath.

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault."

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone."

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this."

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain."

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly.

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you."

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips.

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips.

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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mywritersmind · 3 months ago

Text

CAT PARENTS - LN

pt.2

summary : A kitten is all it takes to get two strangers in the same bed for the night. Lando likes how she doesn’t know him, Olivia likes the cat that he’s trying to take from her.

warning : Just Lando, Olivia, and Juna being adorable (again) !

word count : 1459

⋆ ˚‧｡⋆

I’m in Landos clothes in the bathroom thirty minutes later. I had the best shower of my life, wiping away my club stink and snuggling into baggy sweats and a McLaren shirt.

I hype myself up in the mirror, there’s very few occasions where i’ve stayed over at a man’s house. All of those have been after sex. I am not going to have sex with Lando. It’s a weird learning curve but I was the one who wanted me to stay more.

He lets out a laugh when I walk out, slapping his hand back over his mouth he says, “I didn’t mean to laugh!”

I smile and spin around, “That’s fine. I mean… I do look sort of ridiculous.” his clothes do not fit me by any means…

He shakes his head, playing with Juna who is chasing a feather attached to a stick, “No, you look good.” His voice is a bit raspy, sounds tired.

This should not have an effect on me but the butterfly’s are definitely there.

“So Olivia.” he uses my real name, “If you don’t like F1, what sports do you like?”

I smile and sit next to him, “Soccer mostly.”

He side eyes me, “Football?”

I eye him right back, “Soccer.”

He smiles, happy with our disagreement, “Why not Formula?”

I sigh and shrug, “Sort of rough on an Americans sleep schedule. My dad loves it actually! But when I got to college I never got back into it.”

“That’s good.”

“What, that I never got back into it?” I look at him playing with Juna, a rouge curl falling into his face.

“No. You said your dad loves it. That’ll mean he likes me.” There go those damn butterfly’s, “Unless he doesn’t like McLaren.”

I smile to myself, “He’s a ferrari fan.”

He sighs, “Ah… might have to win his trust then.” I should not be thinking about how much my dad would like Lando.

I lean back against my arms, “And what makes you so sure you’re going to meet him?

He smiles softly back at me, “We have a child together now.” He grabs Juna and brings her close to his face. Something about him and this cat is just melting my heart.

“Right.” I smile and pet under her chin, “Lovely. We’re stuck together forever, I guess.”

His blue eyes meet mine, “I guess.”

____

“Oh my-” I take a bite of my burger that Lando and I ordered. The burger was the first thing ordered, followed by fries, two milkshakes, chicken tenders, more fries, chips, and onion rings.

Lando laughs at my groaning as he nibbles on his chicken, “Like it?”

“It even tastes rich.” I shake my head, “Wanna try?” I don’t know why I say it. I hate sharing my food, I won’t even share my water with my best friend.

He shakes his head, “Nah i’m sort of… picky.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrug and keep eating.

“Back to our game?” He asks, biting into a fry. I nod as he starts, “Favorite color?”

“Blue, Navy.” Although his eyes could be changing my mind on the navy part. “Favorite holiday?”

“Christmas. It’s always during winter break, obviously. So I get all the time I want with my family.”

“That’s really sweet.” I sip my milkshake, “Is it hard, being away all the time? Even if you do love it.”

“Not your turn yet.” He raises a brow, “What’s your favorite memory from your childhood?”

“Hm… I wasn’t exactly a child, But still. I was seventeen and had just got out of a horrible relationship.” he frowns at this, “Don’t worry I poured coffee on him- anyway my friends and I drove to the beach, absolutely blasting Taylor Swift, and we just swam in our clothes.” I shrug, “It was like midnight.”

He smiles as I tell the story, “It’s so cool you grew up by the beach.” thank you cali.

“Answer my question now, please.”

He sighs, “It’s hard. My sister has a kid so I wish I was with her a lot… but honestly my parents can make it to a lot of races and it’s not like I have a girlfriend to worry about.” I laugh at this.

I try to sound casual, “I’m assuming you have in the past?”

“Yes…” he says suspiciously, “but it’s tough. What about you, got anyone special?”

“Definitely not. Broke up with my college boyfriend a while ago…” Why am I telling him this?

He whistles, “How old are you?”

“Twenty three.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I’m twenty four.”

“That is good.” I laugh and he laughs with me, “You’re young.” I say.

He shakes his head, “So are you. I forget sometimes.”

“That you’re young?”

He shrugs and wipes his hands on a napkin, “Being a driver doesn’t exactly scream ‘first job!’”

“I never really thought about that. My first job was a wedding calligrapher though.” He laughs, “I’m serious!”

“I believe you! It’s just… random.”

“You’re random.” I roll my eyes as if that was any insult.

I hear scraping and see Juna join us on the bed the next second, I laugh at the tiny kitten climbing up the bed. She walks right on top of Lando, up his arm and on his neck.

“She likes me!” He whisper yells. I lay my head on the pillow, getting tired after my day.

“She has good reason to.” I say as I yawn, closing my eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, Livvy.”

“I’m not…”

____

LANDO NORRIS

She fell asleep. I look at the clock, 2:23am. I set Juna down but she keeps trying to get my attention as I clean up our food.

I’ve enjoyed this far too much. I like her company.

This girl i’ve just met. I barely know her!

Yet I feel like I've known her for years.

I shouldn’t get attached. I don’t easily. But with Olivia it feels like I've known her since I was in school.

That could be the late hours talking though. But still, we’ve been talking for hours. With this bloody cat who I've fallen completely in love with.

“Norris.” I hear her whisper.

“Yes, love?” I let it slip by accident.

“Juna peed on the couch.” she pats the bed, “Come on.”

I thank god because my back would be fucked if I slept on the floor and my trainer would not be happy. I switch the lights off and climb in next to her, Juna in between us.

“Night, love.” She whispers before promptly falling asleep.

____

OLIVIA WREN

I wake up to an arm around me and a man standing above me. I scream.

“Fuck!” Lando pulls his arm away immediately, opening his eyes quickly and looking at the man in screaming at, “Max!” he groans, “You didn’t have to scare her!”

“Sorry.” He crosses his arms, “I’m Max.”

“Hi?” I try to slow my heart rate, “God! You scared me!” I look back up at him, Lando mentioned the childhood friend but I didn’t think I’d meet him so soon.

“Sorry again. Lando scared me first! Bloke can’t figure out how to use his phone!” Max throws his phone at Lando who dodges it. I’m still trying to recall why I'm here and what is happening.

Juna reminds me when she trots over and plants herself on my lap. “I thought you’d been killed or something!” Max yells at Lando whose face is still in the pillow.

I’m suddenly very self conscious about being in this bed. Max seems to notice and shakes his head, “Well now that I know you’re alive… Plane takes off in an hour.”

____

He’s packed in fifteen minutes. Why couldn’t he be a slower packer?

We’re quiet up until the elevator exit, “Juna is still half mine.” He says suddenly, the blue skies coming into view as we walk outside.

“Okay?”

“So don’t forget me, or anything.” He says, looking away from me.

The corner of my mouth lifts, “No chance.” Putting his bags down, he slides my phone out of my pocket and into his hand.

“My number.” He says before handing me my phone back, “Use it all you want.”

“Oh I should be so greatful.” I say it sarcastically but honestly, I am.

He nods, a small smile still gracing his face, “Be safe, alright? Don’t go home with any more strangers.”

My grip on Juna’s carrier tightens, “We’ll see.”

He says goodbye to Juna, sticking his finger through the wire and petting her. He stands up straight, taking his things as the valet brings his car.

“Good luck.” I say quickly, he looks almost surprised. “In your race. Maybe I’ll watch.”

His surprise turns into kindness, leaning down a bit, he places his lips softly on my cheek, “Don’t scream my name too loud, love.”

I blush as he steps back, I wave. He gets into his car and looks back through the slight tint, smiling.

note : should i do a pt.3??

#fanfic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #formula 1 fanfic

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

04 — you are in love

summary: “you can hear it in the silence.”/”you can hear it on the way home.”/”you can see it with the lights out.” in other words; the four times spencer wants to kiss you, and the one time he wishes he did. pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, warnings: drug mention, alcohol (reader gets a little tipsy), vomit (not in detail) wc: 3.4k a/n: thank you again to the wonderful amazing @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH zara you're a real one <3 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Falling in love is something that Spencer thought he would never get the luxury of doing. It’s a fairytale. After all, his parents were supposed to be a perfect example of what love should be like and look how they ended up. Yet despite it all, he always seems to find himself going back to you. You, who makes it so easy to love but he doesn’t deserve it. He refuses to believe he deserves it. He feels so horribly broken that it doesn’t make sense why you would love him, or why he deserves to love you.

It takes Spencer another three months to actually properly come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. He’s spent most of his free time attending Narcotic Anonymous groups upon your insistence and he hates to admit that it helps. He didn’t think they would at first, despite the swirling statistics of their effectiveness but he figures that it wouldn’t hurt. The other times when he’s not doing something drug related, therapy related or work related, he’s with you. Your apartment is almost like a second home to him and you’d given him your spare key (he went home with a ridiculous grin on his face and had to chug several cups of water to calm himself down).

Since your leaving the BAU, he’s left a series of trinkets on his desk that remind him of you. A little ceramic blue bird beside the animal skull models. It’s no bigger than his pinky finger and when he asked you why you gifted it to him, you told him that it represents hope and renewal. He thinks he needs a lot of that.

In the first drawer of his desk is a framed picture of you and him at a Doctor Who convention with him dressed up as the Tenth Doctor and you in all blue in an attempt to dress up as TARDIS. It was a fun and silly day but it was enjoyable and that was what mattered. After a series of unfortunate events, Derek happened across the photo, claiming that there was no platonic explanation for it.

(“Care to explain this?” He had asked, holding the frame with a grin on his face. He was looking into Spencer’s desk for a specific file on the Benson murders, only to be met with a very familiar face.

Spencer immediately lunged for the photograph, grabbing it and securing it back in his desk with a heavy slam. “Don’t.”

Derek put his hands up in mock surrender, although his eyes were sympathetic. “There’s nothing platonic about that, kid.”

He huffed in response, rubbing at his eyes and taking a seat at his desk. “I know.”)

The first time he came to terms with the fact that he actually wanted to be with you was after a specific realisation. Some cases are harder than others. It’s a given; some cases are just more difficult to deal with and therefore harder to compartmentalise. Each person is different, especially when you factor in trauma. Derek struggles when pedophilia is involved, and JJ finds suicide cases the worst. Hotch can barely function properly when children are targeted, and Emily hides behind a mask so effortlessly that the most mundane things can get to her. After a period of thought, Spencer realises what he struggles to deal with: bullying.

“You should have– you should have heard what they were saying!” Spencer insists, pacing his living room floor while throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

He had just returned home from a case in West Bune, Texas, and it was probably one of the most difficult cases he had to go through. The UnSub was a teenager named Owen and after a very tense confrontation with him outside the police department, he was taken into custody. The entire nature of the case irked him. So many deaths could have been prevented if people just did something but now a boy is in custody with a body count nearing the double digits.

“They didn’t even try to deal with the bullying,” he continues, running his fingers through his now long hair. He can’t bring himself to get it cut; especially not after the incident with Hankel some moons ago.

You don’t say anything, sitting on his couch and sipping your tea, your eyes trained on the way he paces back and forth.

“People are dead because of them. I’m not saying that they didn’t deserve it because they did, but something should have changed.” His words are harsh as he continues to walk, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“You can’t change anything about it now,” You say gently, your gaze shifting from his hands to his arms to his face. “What’s done is done. All we can do is hope that the school board learns from their mistakes.”

“But they don’t!” He exclaims, turning to face you. He swallows thickly before sighing, slumping into the seat beside you and pressing himself into his side. “It’s just so… frustrating. They never learn.”

You nod, running your fingers through the knots in his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“That could have been me,” he says quietly, burying his face into the palms of his hands. He presses the pads of his fingers into the corners of his eyes, stars dotting his vision.

“But it’s not,” you say firmly. “You’re a good person, Spencer. You’re saving people and putting the bad guys away. That’s a far cry away from being an UnSub.”

You’re looking at him now and he tilts his head to meet your gaze. You’re so close to him and Spencer can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Kiss her.

The words that enter Spencer’s mind are enough to give him whiplash and he pulls away, pretending that he doesn’t see the hurt in your eyes when he does.

What?

“Are you okay?” You ask, frowning up at him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He offers a smile. “I’m okay.”

***

“Emily doesn’t blame you, you know.”

The words hang in the air as you sit on the floor of your bedroom, the thundering storm pounding against your windows. Spencer shrugs, sitting next to you. The power is out across Washington and the flickering of candles helps to light up the room. Spencer fiddles with the rug on the floor and your brows knit together.

“Walter.”

“I know.” He buries his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “I know, I know. It’s not my fault. It just feels like it, you know? We knew that it was a cult but we didn’t know that it was… that bad. God, angel, you should have seen her. She was beat up and everything and it feels like I could have done something.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you chastise, brushing your shoulder against his for a moment. “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

He doesn’t respond, simply moving so that he’s lying down on the rug in your room. It’s a soft tufted rug that goes from a dark purple in the middle to white around the edges. It’s one of his favourite rugs in the world. You’re sitting cross legged beside him, leaning against the bed. The soft glow of the candles illuminate your face and you truly look like an angel in this light.

He just came back from a case in La Plata County in Colorado and he was ordered to take a week off by Hotch to deal with the traumatics of the case. What started out as an undercover investigation in an underground cult led to a gun fight and a bombing, all while Spencer and Emily were inside the compound. The way Emily looked so in pain after the whole ordeal would haunt him forever; the black eye she suffered from, the bruising to her chest… he doesn’t even want to think about the rest of the things that could have happened.

“Stop.”

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts and he sucks in a breath.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says meekly, playing with the rug underneath him.

“It’s not your fault.” You smile at him before hitting him lightly with one of your pillows. “Stop that.”

He laughs loudly, grunting a little from the impact of the pillow colliding with his face. “Hey!”

You grin teasingly and hit him again with the pillow. He retaliates quickly, gripping the pillow and trying to tug it out of your hands. Your grip is a lot stronger than he thought it was and his tug sends you flying towards him, a shriek leaving your lips as your forehead bounces off his.

A hiss of pain leaves your lips but you’re laughing as you clutch your forehead. “Spencer what the hell?!”

“I’m sorry!” He says, not really meaning it, and rubbing at his head. He’s laughing along, his cheeks warm as he smiles up at you. His hands move to your face, one to your cheek and the other to brush the hair on your forehead to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You laugh again, smiling a brilliantly beautiful toothy smile. The candlelight dances in your eyes with a warm orange light as you do. “Are you?”

His gaze meets yours, watching the way you brush a strand of hair behind your ear and the way your eyes crinkles when you smile. He watches the way you lean against the side of the bed, tilting your head back with your eyes closed. God. He swears you’re trying to kill him.

“Spencer?” You ask with a soft chuckle, and the sound is so pretty that he doesn’t mind the fact that you find amusement at his expense. “Are you okay?”

He nods, his throat dry and his cheeks hot. He blames the candles.

***

The couch is never comfortable. You are well aware that the couch feels strangely lumpy and you’re pretty sure one of the springs is broken but for some reason you keep insisting to take it whenever you stay at Spencer’s apartment. The blanket he lets you use is thick and cosy to make up for it and the pillow is always fluffed.

“Good morning.”

Spencer’s voice is raspy with early morning vocal fry and it makes your heart lurch in your throat.

“Morning,” you murmur, eyes still closed in an attempt to calm yourself down. Maybe if you don’t see him you won’t embarrass yourself.

“Still tired?” He asks, and you hear him start the coffee machine. There’s the sound of rustling in the background along with the flicking of a switch. Too many sounds for too early of a day.

“Mm.”

He chuckles, deep and rumbling, before sipping some water. “Yesterday was fun.”

Yesterday involved fourteen hours of watching Doctor Who and passing half way through the nineteenth episode after stuffing yourself full of junk food. Yesterday involved passing out on Spencer, forcing him to move you to the couch and into a position that wasn’t going to destroy your neck. Yesterday involved the most platonic and innocent activities known to Earth, despite the way his words insinuated something entirely differently.

“You fell asleep before the best part,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“You could have watched without me.”

He shakes his head as he stirs the sugar. “That wouldn’t have been right.”

A hum leaves your lips as you get up from the couch, stretching your arms and making your way over to him from behind the kitchen island. You’re wearing one of his old Doctor Who t-shirts that he let you keep, the sleeves reaching just past your elbows. Your hair is a mess and your eyes are half closed but you look so…

Cute. Seeing you in his shirt drives him wild. There’s something possessive about it and for a second he feels gross. He feels like he’s taking advantage of you but he’s obviously not; you’re the one who stole that shirt from him many moons ago and you’re the one who chose to wear it that day. Regardless, he can’t help but be transfixed as you walk around his kitchen like it’s your own home. Spencer’s eyes follow your figure as you pull open one of his cupboards and grab your mug (a really stupid avocado mug that’s bright green with a lid) before pouring some coffee into it.

“You’ve been going to your NA meetings, right?” You ask him, sipping your drink.

He nods immediately, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah. Once a week.”

“That’s good!” You tell him, the caffeine slowly beginning to wake you up. “That’s really good, Walter.”

He smiles at you, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

For a few moments, all he can think about is you. Your hair smells like your special vanilla shampoo that Penelope got you hooked on and your skin smells like lavender and orange blossom. He remembers JJ giving you a sample in the office and you went and ordered a whole bottle during your lunch break right after. The compliments you got that day were like no other, and he remembers the way your eyes would light up every single time someone commented on the perfume, as well as the way you would excitedly talk about the different notes. Now, whenever he smells lavender or oranges he thinks of you. He doesn’t think it’s a problem in the slightest.

You sip your coffee again, the sound of the toaster dinging in the background, accompanied by the thick smell of char. In an instant, Spencer jolts from his place and places two very burnt slices of toast onto the plate, his nose scrunching up in frustration.

“I was gonna make you breakfast,” he tells you lamely. “I think we should get croissants.”

You laugh, dumping the pieces of toast into the bin and nod. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

***

The rare occasion when Spencer drives is when you’re not fit to. He picks you up at two in the morning at a bar and you’re sitting in his passenger seat. Your hair has a few tangles here and there and you’re wearing the prettiest purple dress.

“You really didn’t have to pick me up,” you tell him tiredly, rubbing at your eyes. “I could have gotten a taxi.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, leaning over the console to buckle in your seatbelt. “You called me, I’m here. I’m not going to let you get into a stranger’s car when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, your head leaning against the car door. “I had one drink.”

“Which can lead to a blood alcohol level of 0.01 to 0.03,” Spencer says, shooting you a smile. “I’d rather not risk it, angel.”

You groan and lean back on the chair. “I swear I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t your friends take you home?” He asks, starting the ignition. “Didn’t you say you were going to hitch a ride with them?”

A hum leaves your lips and you nod. “That was the plan. But one of the designated drivers couldn’t come last minute and the car wasn’t big enough.”

Spencer frowns, backing out of the driveway. “How long were you waiting outside of the bar?”

“Um…” your brows furrow as you think of the answer and you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. “Ten minutes?”

“(Y/N).”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would have been that long,” you huff, rubbing at your eyes. “I promise I was careful.”

Spencer shoots you a frustrated look, sipping at his lukewarm takeaway cup of filtered coffee but keeping his eyes on the road. “You should have called me sooner.”

“I felt bad,” you respond sheepishly, offering him a guilty smile.

Spencer hums, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t had the time to get it cut so for the time being it’s left slicked back and out of his eyes. He’s wearing his glasses now, too, because he didn’t have the time to put in his contacts. He looks a lot better than he did eight months ago, and he feels it, too. The white t-shirt he’s wearing is filled a little better now that he’s gained a little weight. Happy weight you had told him, pinching at his sides, it means you’re healing.

“Can you pull over?”

Your voice comes out small and Spencer snaps his head to look in your direction. “Yeah. Yeah, of course– hold on.”

He parks at a random McDonald’s on the side of the freeway and you immediately get out of the car and hurl in one of the bushes. He grimaces, getting out of the car to rub your back comfortingly.

“You okay?” He asks, continuing to rub circles on your back. He holds your hair away from your face, watches as your necklace dangles from your neck and catches the light from the 24/7 fast food place.

“... I might have had a little more than one drink.”

He can’t bring himself to get upset at you. Instead, Spencer just sighs and brandishes a bottle of water from the side pocket of his car. “Sip it slowly.”

You do as asked, taking small tentative sips of the cold water. He holds your hair in place, brushing a few strands away from your eyes and forehead.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you taking a taxi,” Spencer says with a hum, satisfied when you finish drinking half the bottle. “What if you threw up in their car?”

You groan, wiping a hand over your face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, angel,” he says sympathetically, lifting your chin with his index finger so that you’re looking at him. “I just worry. You should be able to rely on me, too, you know.”

“Okay,” you say through drunken stupor. “Didn’t mean to worry you, Walter.”

“I know,” he repeats softly, running his fingers through your hair. “Hey. Look up.”

You do, and you stare up at the sky. Stars dot and litter the navy sky, and if you squint you could see a faint blue star.

“That’s Venus,” he explains, gesturing to the little dot. He points to a smaller, redder light just below it. “That’s Mars.”

Even amidst the light pollution, the planets shine brightly. Your gaze is fixed upon the little planets and stars, enjoying the midsummer night’s breeze, the nausea you felt moments prior beginning to subside.

“Do you know what Venus represents?” Spencer asks softly, brushing his shoulder against yours, smiling when you shake your head. “Venus represents love and beauty in Roman mythology.”

You laugh, pressing your nose into his shoulder. “Do you believe that?”

“Scientifically? No,” he admits, “Venus is a planet. It doesn’t really represent anything but a giant ball of gas. But people place significance on insignificant things because it gives them meaning so I understand why they do it.”

It’s quiet for a little while, aside from the occasional sound of a car passing by and a cicada chirping. A cool breeze blows past but it’s more comforting than anything as the two of you sit on the hood of his car: an old 1965 Volvo Amazon in the colour blue horizon with paint chipping off at the inner fenders and bumper ends. He lets you sit on his jacket, your dress and legs protected from the dirty car bonnet. Your head is on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his and you’ve traded your heels for a pair of Spencer’s spare mis-matched socks.

“(Y/N),” he whispers, rubbing his hand on your arm. “We should get you home.”

You nod, wiggling your toes in the socks. “Yeah.”

Spencer pauses and looks at you, watching as you yawn and hop off the car. He says your name again, chuckling a little bit when you look up at him a little dazed. The words get caught in his chest as he takes a tentative step closer to you. You’re so close. Just one small move. That’s all it would take… he dismisses the thoughts when he can smell the liquor on your skin.

“You’re my best friend,” he says quietly after several moments of silence.

You smile at him. “You’re my best friend, too.”

He drives you home that day with more regret than necessary. He wishes he kissed you. It would have made his life so much easier.

← previous part || next part →

full work

reblogs are always appreciated!

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bitchfitch · 2 months ago

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My mother's bf had a fairly major surgery (he's fine and recovering well DW) and he's going to be housebound for his birthday this year, so I've been enlisted to come up with a fancy birthday meal for the special birthday boy that's primarily fruit and veg, sweeter than savory, and is something he's never had before.

Bc I'm making watermelington. It's beef Wellington, but watermelon. bc my mom only found out recently you can use watermelon as a tuna substitute. And I know that you can substitute most higher quality beef cuts with tuna or salmon.... usually. Anyways the idea fascinates her so I'm hoping to use that for bonus points.

Now he's off his ass on pain killers so I can't like. Ask him if he's ever had something before. so to meet my brief I've decided to just. commit a novel hate crime against the British I guess.

Anyways. I'm writing this because I need to walk myself through this process and think it'll be surreal enough to be worth taking y'all along for.

So, Beef Wellington. In its most basic bitch arrangement is a beef tenderloin wrapped in prosciutto/really thin bacon, with a layer of mushroom and onion mush, that has been further wrapped in mustard slathered puff pastry.

We will be ship of Theseusing this. bc beef Wellington is like. the opposite of what he wants. Which is why it's funny.

Puff pastry-> it's still just puff pastry

this one doesn't have to change (aka I can't be fucked to do pastry prep and I'm just gonna use store bought it's Fine.)

the prosciutto is also just going to be prosciutto.

Thin meat

Beef tenderloin-> watermelon,

Tbh this is a pretty 1 to 1 substitution. I'll bake the slices at like. 250-300 for an hour or so ahead of the rest of prep to dry it out a bit. bc you can't like. Sear watermelon to seal in the water like you can beef. By definition it's a very wet fruit (like me when I fall into the lake). Ill Add salt and chili and lime juice while baking maybe. this is the easy part

The mushroom mush-> salsa done bad style

As the word mush implies, this is meant to be a very soft mix. It adds a lot of nuttiness to the wellington that rounds out all of the salt from the meats. I'm replacing it with white person salsa(the birthday boy can't handle spice). Tomato, lime juice, parsley, avocado, cucumber, feta, and maybe mango so I can have an excuse to have a lil mango treat. I said I wasn't making it spicy. I'm still putting a bit of chili in it. bc it'll be better like that. This is also a ridiculously wet bit of mush, Even the original mushrooms have too much water. I'll figure something out.

Mustard -> jelly

He lives in a big city. those preserve sections are massive. I'll find a weird one. maybe apricot.

Prep:

We're in the mind palace kitchen, I have not attempted any of this. We're just thinking real hard about it and I'll edit as needed on the day and post results.

The watermelon

Preheat oven to eh. 300f? We want low and slow to dry things out without it taking a year. but idk what his oven is like. If it's gentle I'll bump it up another ten-twenty.

Slather some watermelon slices in salt chili powder and lime juice mixture.

bake for 30 min on a wire rack or directly on the oven racks (after cleaning thoroughly) if he doesn't have a wire rack. with a drip try underneath to catch the drippage. check frequently. Have one slice that's for being poked to see if it's approaching being meat. Bake longer if needed.

Salsa bad style

chop everything up and add it to a pan with some oil in it. Tbh I don't think the type of oil you use for cooking matters if you're not like, getting near any smoke points. Most people can't tell the difference unless you made your food bland as hell.

Anyways there's some wildly different moisture contents on the list so there has to be an Order to cook off as much water as possible without getting yucky.

Tomatoes and cucumbers go in together with some salt to get the cucs softening, then the mango chunks and lime juice. Once most of the water is gone the avocado feta and parsley can go in. There is a good amount of water in avocados but they're delicate and don't pan fry well, so we're just going to ignore their water crimes and hope for the best. They just need to be evenly mixed through the rest of the mush.

Putting it together

lay out the puff pastry, cut into sections to wrap each watermelon slice individually with.

Slather in jam

Take the prosciutto and lay it out on half of each section of the pastry,

spoon the salsa onto that

Melon

Another layer of salsa

another layer of thin meat

Fold the pastry over the top and pinch the edges bc watermelon slices are not a rollable shape and I don't want to carve a watermelon into a tube for this because that sounds irritating.

Brush with egg wash and more parsley

Cook in oven following the pastry's preferred temp and time. it's fucking watermelon, you're not getting ecoli from it.

watermelington :)

I'm serving it with baked sweet potatoes and spinach based salad with whatever toppings are left over from making the salsa.

anyways thank you for joing me on this thought experiment. I will post updates once the deed is done. I'm sorry to every British person ever.

#you can substitute tuna/salmon for beef in anything that isnt like. getting mixed.#so whole steaks and .... its basically just whole steaks. I guess substitute isnt the right word #You can fuck up a salmon or tuna cut by cooking it like beef instead of cooking it like fish

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onlymimiwastaken · 10 days ago

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Warrior Penelope stuff cause I've been listening to too many EPIC genderbent covers, and I wanted to give my take on it (also cuz I kinda want to draw it one day)

- Ares as Penelope's patron, absolutely! But Ares didn't have a huge cult in Sparta, although he wasn't hated. So my lore take version thing is that ATHENA wanted to be Penelope's patron (she had already an eye on Ody kinda) but Ares saw his chance, got to it first and became attached to Penelope without wanting to admit it, also because she saw the good and useful in him. Athena still watches over Penelope (especially after her and Ares platonically break up, which she finds really stupid) and is the one who does her best to protect Ithaca while she's gone. She's by Ody's side while he misses his wife and is mostly the reason why the Suitors hadn't taken over yet.

- To get Ares to realize his mistake, Athena tricks him into helping Telemachus defeat Antinous in Little Wolf because free bloodshed, only to end up sensitized by Telemachus because holy shit, my friend's son is here almost dying to this ASSHOLE who thinks he's so much stronger than MY friend the queen and even me like who tf does he think he is. Athena makes Ares fucking rational for once. And maybe even Aphrodite, as well, gets some damn sense in his mind like "they love each other like you and I and my girl is doing her best to get home you're going to apologize rn"

- ctimene holds a claymore double her height with no problems

- penelope is more "cold ruthless" than Odysseus, in a way that she's still poised (until the end or when she's really brought to her knees which is disturbing) while doing merciless stuff. She's emotionless a lot more (just on the surface)

- Ares was the one to give Penelope the idea of going to war instead of Odysseus, for obvious reasons. And Pen is really a mastermind among the Greeks ofc

- Ares and Pen fought in their My Goodbye version because she "held back her power while her friends got devoured" "she didn't even fight Polyphemus, didn't even TRY to kill him" "hid behind her wits to get things done". Because when fighting Polyphemus, she knew that if she tried to kill Polyphemus while he was asleep, they'd be stuck in that cave forever (like in the real Odyssey). And knew that fighting while her friends got killed would slow them down and probably get more people dead. And when they ran away, she didn't go back to kill the Cyclops even if she could've because of yes, mercy, but also because she would've awakened all the other Cyclops and sailing away was faster, better. Ares deemed this cowardice. Crazy thing, since one of the most important things to him is courage.

- Ares overstimates Penelope's power. Like, yes, she's exceptional, but still HUMAN. With her limits. He hasn't dealt with a human personally in years so he doesn't understand this, so his expectations are ridiculously high, which ends up breaking Penelope.

- During 600 strike, Penelope can actually breathe underwater and not hold her breath for such a long time and be fine because she's half naiad (yes, they are fresh water nymphs but still). Also this may make her even stronger around water (to a certain degree, she's still very mortal)

- calypso is pansexual

this is already a lot, ill add more when i think about it lol (also if i realize any of these ideas don't make sense)

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jolalibrary · 2 years ago

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had to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

summary: And then, he says, “It’s nice.” “You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.” “It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

an: eventual smut. angst with happy ending. will-they-won't-they, but they do. smut. he loves you 100%. word count: 5.7k || there’s a part two to this here

simon ghost riley masterlist

You love the rain.

Not so much when you’re away. When you’re strapped up, weighed down by all your gear. The additional weight of being wet makes for an uncomfortable experience, with hair clinging to foreheads and mud sticking to your skin. It also forces things to rub more, chaff. Your skin is often raw from where the buckles and belts sit.

But, at home, it’s refreshing.

It’s why you never hated your nickname, the one given to you in jest—to remind you that you are a female, soft, emotional. Only for it to grow more fitting. Because Rain comes from above, sharp, falling where needed—catching people by surprise, and leaving traces behind, but never enough to know where you’ll land next.

Rain is also one word. One syllable. Short, sharp and easy.

It can be spat, it can be sweetly said and affectionately called.

On good days, it reminds you of long car rides, staring out of windows at passing traffic as you watch beads of its travel down—racing. On bad days, it reminds you of more unpleasant memories, ones born in moments you’d sooner forget, an emptiness in your chest from betrayal, loss and bad choices.

At home, rain itself keeps you rooted. The scent, for one, not allowing your mind to whisk you off too old memories of war and enemy territories. The sound, for another, hits your windows and dulls the silence. All three senses are busied by it. It all blends perfectly together with the crackling of your candles and the low-light vibe you have going off in your flat.

Plus, there’s nothing more British than bad weather.

Each time you’re able to come home, you hope it’s raining. Landing back, greeted with cold and horrid rain. Preferably the kind which looks misty through windows and soaks you in seconds when you step into it. The kind which makes it hard to know which speed to put your car wipers on, and socks get drenched as puddles form quicker than people can account for.

You didn’t care that you looked like a drowned rat when you unlocked your flat door. Or that your wet clothes were difficult to remove as steam filled your bathroom because you were always going to have a shower. A routine—a tradition of sorts.

Hands desperate to wash the months away, let your expensive soaps and scents soak into neglected skin and smother old scars and newly gained ones. Plus, the water was hotter at home, almost scolding your skin as you stood under it, letting each droplet massage a part of your neck and upper back as your living room music drifted through the cracked door.

You dress before you really prune, sliding on silk PJs—the ones which you buy as a treat and wear once, maybe twice a year. Your skin sighs in relief, thankful to forget sand, bullets and bruises, the same as your mind. Busying your hands with preparing a lavish dinner, a large dish too ridiculous for one person—but again, you’d missed it. Home.

The scent of gravy, potatoes and meat.

When asked, you’d been quiet about your plans with the others. Them only having a slight idea of which city you call home. It’s not that you didn’t want to see them—not even sure you’d be able to fall asleep without Soap’s snores, Ghost’s huffs and Gaz’s odd bedtime stories. But, you’d gained new nightmares on the last job—ones which you needed to make peace with before they stole another fraction of your soul.

That’s what it did, eventually. Even to the best of them.

Bad choices, untested intel and wrong moves left little marks before they claimed a piece of innocence, kindness and happiness.

It’s a little different with the 141. Without realising it, you’re sure you all help smother each other's struggles away. But it’s only temporary. You know it, you can feel it in the muscles in your back and in the knots in your stomach. So, if you saw them now when you needed to heal—if you relied on them—you’d go back weaker than when you left. And they needed you; you needed them. A team where you could only trust one another—having been betrayed so often, you were all each other had.

It’s why you were taken back by a firm knock.

Short. Deliberate.

Pausing, allowing whoever they were to realise their mistake. Even if the sound didn’t appear as though they’d chosen the wrong flat or someone who was cherry-knocking. It was purposeful, direct, and your hands quickly dried on the kitchen towel as your feet crossed the tiles and laminate to your front door.

When you’d left, you’d asked a friend to check in on the flat—fix the peephole. Something having forced it to get stuck, leaving you blind to whoever was on the other side. Your friend is good, kind, and sweet but forgetful. Something which also reminds you of home as you snort, undoing the chain, and unlocking the door, half expecting them.

Only to see him.

“Ghost?”

He has a hood up, and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face.

His eyes fall over you, taking you in centimetre by centimetre, digging into you as if he’d not expected to see you.

You find it just as odd to see the skin around his eyes not tainted in grey or black and that his frame is still as ridiculously large, even in plain clothes, as he holds a duffel bag in his hand.

Suddenly aware of the thin layer covering your body from him. Especially as his eyes drop from your face to the silk shirt with its three buttons undone and then to your legs, where silk shorts did their best but were futile in hiding thighs, knees or legs from him.

“You lettin’ me in?”

Instinctively, you move, not even questioning it.

Even if he didn’t say it like an order, he was still your lieutenant. Even on home ground, you slipped into your sergeant role too quickly. Watching him pass you, turning to face the direction he moves in before pressing your back against the inside of your door. Fingers sliding to the side of you, turning the lock, the sound filling the small space as you watch him stop at your key hook, slowly sliding his feet from his boots—finding him wearing thick, bobbly socks.

He turns to face you, eyes washing over you again as his hood remains up as he undoes the scarf. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen his face a handful of times, each time, it still renders you silent, if only for a second.

Clearing your throat, you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t mean this to come out as rude, but why are you—“

“Someone broke into my place.”

You move, almost too quickly, from the door. Your hand brushing his shoulder, wanting—needing—to comfort him, soothe him like you would a friend. Before you remembered who this was.

Almost surprised he doesn’t flinch. Even if he does shoot you a surprised look before you wrench your hand back.

“S-sorry. Habit.” He frowns, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole. “Not with y—when I’m home, I’m… well, I—did they take anything?”

“Not sure.”

Right. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick away, the tell-tale signs of him processing and thinking. You’ve seen him do it often, especially when Price is talking and when he reads files. As if he’s choosing where to store it in the filing cabinet, he calls his brain.

“Please,” he says, the word almost coming out as a whisper.

As if it’s so rarely ever said.

You’re unsure what to say, even if there’s so much swirling around your brain. So many questions you want to pepper him with, but he’s not Soap, who’ll answer them all or Gaz, who’ll have already told you everything.

He’s Ghost.

Silent. Quiet, Ghost.

Your oven beeps, his head turning to the sound.

Sighing, you rub your arms, suddenly aware of how cold your hallway feels, as you cover your chest with your elbows. “You hungry?”

Silence.

A beat or two blossoming, your eyes unable to move from his face, even if you know you should, before he licks his lips, saying, “Starving.”

You smile, “Good. It's not a lot, just some chicken, potatoes… a bit of veg. Nothing huge. And, not quite a typical Sunday roast, but enough to ease me back in.”

He doesn’t laugh, not that you expect him to.

“Bathroom is there, to your right. If you need it,” you say quickly, almost stepping past him to answer your beeping oven. “I just need to dish up, and… yeah.”

You expect to feel calmer by the time he’s back. Especially with your dressing gown on, loosely knotted at your waist, covering more of you from him.

But you’re more nervous.

Doubting the food you’ve plated, the scent of the candles, whether the low lights make it romantic and whether you should turn up the acoustic songs playing or let the rain be the soundtrack of the evening. Suddenly aware of how fucking odd this is.

Him being here.

And yet, not that odd at all.

“Hope it’s okay…” you mumble nervously as you place the plate down.

He looks like he belongs at your table, even if your table is small and usually for one-person. He’d helped, in as much of a way as a stranger can in someone’s home, grabbing glasses from cupboards you direct him to, making squash for you and water for him.

His hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited for further instruction, catching sight of the hood still being up, having noticed he’d swapped jeans for dark joggers before you told him to sit.

“There’s more gravy… just wasn’t sure how you liked it,” you add.

Ghost doesn’t answer, not even as you slide into the chair opposite. Your hands have a slight tremble to them as you pick up your cutlery, trying not to watch him take a bite—suddenly feeling like a contestant on a judging show.

And then, he says, “It’s nice.”

“You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.”

“It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the occasional sound of a fork grazing the plate and the knife slicing through food. It’s almost normal—as though this happens regularly.

“Your place is nice, too,” he mumbles.

Lifting your head, you find he’s looking at you already. “You don’t have to lie, Simon. You can still stay even if you think my decor is odd.”

His eyes widen a fraction before it vanishes like it never existed. A brief moment of you wondering why, until you realise the slip—the way you used his name and not his alias. Making it feel personal. More so than the two of your knees occasionally butting under the table.

“It’s not what I expected.”

“You’ve thought about my place?”

Ghost says nothing, hovering his fork over his dinner as he keeps his eyes down.

You smile if only to yourself, pushing some meat and vegetables onto your fork, continuing—wondering if he’s hoping you would. That silence would settle over the two of you, the storm outside being enough background noise to keep it from being awkward.

“I have to ask,” you say suddenly, keeping your gaze down, trying to still your pulse as you manoeuvre food around the sauce. “Why me? I mean… I don’t mind you being here, but I thought, well, I assumed you’d pick Soap—if you needed a place to stay.”

You try not to look, even when you hear a faint snort, seeing his plate—empty, only traces of broccoli stalks remaining—slide closer as the chair creaks in his movement.

“You were closer.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking there could be any other reason.

Almost wanting to kick yourself for allowing yourself to consider another option, one which you’ve been stuffing down for weeks, months…

It isn’t as though you were meant to fall for him. The man who originally kept his face a higher guarded secret than his own name. But, it stemmed naturally and out of nowhere. He made you laugh as you moved into an enemy building—nerves humming in your bones. He made it worse when he flung himself in front of you before a car exploded, gripping you tightly against him, not letting go for minutes later before his hand cupped your cheek, mouthing words you couldn’t hear as ears rang and rang.

Smiling, you nod, not sure what else to say as you take his plate and yours, turning your back to him as you hear him clear his throat.

“I had to see if you were okay.”

You don’t place the plates down, not immediately.

Eyes trying to peer at him through the corner of your vision, slowly lowering the porcelain to the counter—too afraid to break the moment with a single sound, even as your heart hammered in your ears, in your chest, and throat.

He had said it so softly, you have to wonder how long it’s been churning on his tongue.

Slowly turning, you face him, finding his eyes already on you with an awkwardness in his shoulders as he looks up at you.

“Well, I’m fine.”

“Had to be sure.”

You smile, pulling your dressing gown around you tighter. “Well, that’s because you’re a good lieutenant.”

His brows knit, lips spreading into a thin light before you notice the subtle shift in his nostrils as though he’s sighed before Ghost nods with his usual professionalism. That’s when your stomach drops, fluttering ridiculously near your feet as you feel you’ve made a mistake.

“Tea?” you ask.

Ghost’s face shifts and you’re almost sure there’s a faint smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it,” you add, pulling open a cupboard as you retrieve two mugs and flick the kettle on. “I’ve heard you berate Soap for his piss-poor tea skills.”

You make him snort.

And it does nothing to stifle the fluttering.

If anything, it adds to it.

Shit.

Even though it’ll be his bed for the night, Ghost refuses to sit on the sofa and doesn’t allow you to sit in the armchair. Practically insisting you sit how you would if he wasn’t here. Even if you’re worried he won’t be comfortable, the ridiculous chair was bought as a filler—an accessory, rather than something people actually used.

“Fine,” you mumbled, grabbing your blanket and curling up across both seats as he clutched the mug in his hand.

You put something crap on the TV, the volume low—just in case he doesn’t feel like talking. Your eyes flick to it occasionally, half-listening as you softly wiggle your toes under the blanket—needing something to focus on. Because you couldn’t keep looking at him.

Not with how your mind was running away from you, imagining ifs and buts and everything else in between.

He fits here. Your home rarely feels warm and comforting, but with his presence, it does. As though your place has always wanted to be enjoyed by two people, not one person who rarely ever visited it.

It doesn’t feel weird, even if it should. It makes you feel unsteady, and dizzy. Suddenly unable to stop focusing on the fact there’s a six-foot-something amount of feelings in your chest, twisting and tightening, trying to unlock everything you stuffed down.

That same instinct and set of emotions which made you try to rip yourself from Soap’s grip when Ghost had entered a blazing building just for a stupid USB; how you’d been so angry, feral—as Soap called it—not able to think, how it had filled you, consuming you. How you’d even told Price you needed benching, unable to even look at your lieutenant, never mind be in the same room.

He eventually cornered you on the base, pushing you, mixing between berating and taunting you until you slammed your small fist into his shoulder as you called him an idiot, a fucking cunt, a liability, a heartless cunt. How your tiny fist hammered into him with each array of insults until he grasped it tenderly, staring at you until tears bubbled in your eyes.

You cannot die.

Why?

But, he had to know. His eyes followed a single tear down your cheek as he released your wrist, allowing you to walk away from him and begin the process of stuffing everything down again.

Then you’d been shot. Through and through. Fire, gasp and fucking pain, your mind rendered uselessly, but he was still the person you called for. Not Soap, who was closer, not Gaz, who could actually stitch you. But Ghost.

Ghost who came in a flash, telling you what you needed to hear—ordering you to do things like look at him, gripping his arm.

“What?”

Blinking, you didn’t even realise you’d been looking at him. Your mind blanking excuses tumbling from your grasp as you offer the quickest smile and a ‘nothing’.

You forget how good he is at reading people.

Especially you. Almost sure you make it easy for him, even if everyone else says they struggle.

Ghost always knows, as though he’s in your head, digging his way through each time he stares at you. You wonder how much you let him in, whether he finds it easy before you want him in there—in your mind, in your heart.

Now, he’s giving you a stern look, one which makes the truth rattle in your chest and snakes up your throat.

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine, I was thinking about how weirdly normal it is that you’re here. That it doesn’t feel weird, alright? That was it.”

Anyone else, you’d think they’d smirk.

But with him, it’s the slightest movement of his lip which tells you he has heard you.

Ghost takes a sip, purposefully holding your gaze as he does so before filling the silence with, “You thought about it, then? Me being here.”

“Of course I have,” you answer too quickly, wanting to kick yourself as the words hit the air, his brows raising as he sips his tea. “Not… Not like that.”

“How then?”

Shit. Swallowing, you sigh, trying to buy yourself time. Shit, bollocks, shit.

“Should tell you, lying to your lieutenant isn’t smart.”

You give him a sharp look of your own, and he snorts—actually snorts. Your eyes are all set to roll until he says your name.

Your real name.

Not your nickname. Not sergeant or soldier.

“Fine. I’ve thought about it.”

“It?”

You groan, pulling the blanket up further—not that it’ll hide the obvious warming of your cheeks or embarrassment. You’re sure that’s painted across the room, likely even doing a jig at your expense.

“Us. You, me. In a bed,” you mumble. “Happy?”

Wanting to hide your face, almost about to when the sound of his mug meeting your coaster makes you freeze. Your armchair—the one his frame has somehow fit into comfortably—groans as he moves, and you let yourself see him from the corner of your eye. His forearms leaning on his knees, his hand sliding his hood down as he watches you.

He’s silent.

So silent it almost kills you. The adverts in the background do nothing to stop it; the rain, now hammering against the windows, was not stifling it.

Slowly breathing as you place your mug down, standing before you can even consider the options. “I didn’t realise how late it is,” you say, forcing a yawn. “I should… go to bed. Let you make your bed.”

You fold the blanket, throwing it over the arm as you try to shrug, and play it off, but he’s quicker at recognising you—he knows you better than that. His hand comes to touch your wrist, like he did months ago, eyes scanning yours.

For what you’re not sure.

Not wanting to get your hopes up. Not wanting to lose yourself in dreams and imagination.

So, you smile. As sweetly and as believable as you can as you point to the coffee table chest. “Blankets, pillows, the lot are in there,” you say, almost breathlessly, as he releases you. “Have a nice sleep, Gh—Simon.”

He swallows, his face remains unreadable as he chokes out, “You too.”

But you’re already moving, desperately seeking your room—throwing the door open and shutting it as you place your back against it. She’s closing, chest hammering so hard you’re sure it’s trying to escape.

Go back.

Go back to him.

Your eyes slowly open, catching sight of yourself in the mirror as the street lamps partially light your room.

He came to check on you. You.

Rolling your neck, your fingers flex at your side, twisting your wrists, wanting to shake it all from you. Trying, desperately to rid yourself of the tension and adrenaline. Almost doing so until you hear the floorboards outside your door creak.

It doubles your heart rate as a lump forms in your throat, suffocating you. You don’t want to give in, but wish to all at once. Your hand cupping your mouth, trying to hide the extra breaths the sound has forced you to make. Needing him. Wanting his calloused fingers to leave marks over your skin, his stubble to slice against your cheeks as his lips capture your breath, words and soul.

It’s that which makes you shift from the door. Not sure what you’re expecting, what you’re going to see, as your hand twists the doorknob, coming face to face with him all over again.

His hoodie is gone.

Expression torn—that same awkwardness in his shoulders.

Your hallway light touches his unreadable expression, highlighting all the lines and shading of his tattoo that stand out against his skin.

“Tell me to go back to your living room.”

Inhaling sharply, your hand drops from your mouth and falls limply to your side.

You are not thinking, thoughts all scattered, scrambled. Not even sure you can find words to tell him you want anything but. That you want him here, right in front of you; you want him to be rough and also kind, you want him to kiss you like he’ll never have the chance to again.

As though reading you, he moves closer, not even touching you, but your body yearns for him, muscles tensing and spasming at the endless thoughts of what could be—what he could do, what you already know he’d be good at. Suddenly wanting to rid yourself of your dressing gown, of your PJs, of the thin lace between your thighs you’ve already ruined.

“Words, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Your legs almost give way, a smile wanting to bloom and spread across your lips, up your cheeks until it's radiating from you.

“Tell me. Or I’ll kiss you.”

Speechless, your lips part.

Yes. Please, yes.

Not even sure you are even breathing as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth against yours, against your neck, descending down and down—

His hand cups your cheek, pulling your eyes to his as he examines you. He studies you like he’s capturing every fucking inch of you: the curve of your cheeks, the position of your brows, the way your lips are waiting for him. The clear crisis you’re going through is rendered and broken at the mere thought of this becoming a reality.

“Simon…” you manage to whisper.

Hoping it's enough. Needing it to be enough.

He blinks once more before he lowers his head, his lips planting against yours and you’re sure you explode. Your heart furiously beating, ears buzzing and burning all at once.

Barely focusing on the way his arm snakes around you as your mouth moves to meet each one of his movements. His lips are soft, even if his tongue is rough; his grip tight, purposeful—desperate, even if yours are gentle, nervous. The pads of your fingers slide past the healed scar on his cheek, moving into his hair, his groan vibrating against your lips.

Gh—Simon is almost lifting you, moving you back as his foot kicks your bedroom door shut behind him, blocking out the light from the hallway. Only the streetlights dance shadows across your room as kisses grow messier, fingers brushing over skin as he hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts, then sliding, freeing you, until you’re stepping out of them. Your robe next, falling with a thud as your hands slide under his t-shirt, feeling taut, hard muscle and silver scars which paint stories as your legs find your bed.

He smells different than usual.

Less sweat and fireworks, and more some combination of Ghost meeting sandalwood and amber as the two of you bend down onto your bed, the frame hissing at the weight and movement—not even aware of what’ll be expected to support soon enough.

“Shit, woman. Y’know how beautiful you are?”

His teeth nipping, sucking, leaving an answer to your prayer before you feel him unbuttoning your top, all slow and gentle, as if undoing a present he’s waited desperately for.

“Rip it,” you moan, his teeth grazing over the space between your breasts before he lifts up.

His eyes burn into yours, the smallest evidence of a smirk on his mouth as he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve waited too fuckin’ long to get here, I’m takin’ my damn time.”

If you weren’t already soaked for him, that did it.

All slick, swollen and hungry for him. Not sure if it’ll even take much, not with how precise you can imagine him being—how fucking thick his fingers are, how he’s staring at you like he wants to break you in all the ways he can before sunrise.

And you want it. Desperate for it. So much so that just the fan of his warm breath against your exposed nipples makes you rub your thighs together, needing friction—something he can tell, he must do.

“Wait.”

It’s sharp, authoritative, and he’s going to be the death of you.

Your body is so tense, you’re sure it’ll snap if you keep any more still as he undoes the last button and exposes your skin to the cool air and his breath. So focused on his eyes, you’ve forgotten all about his hand until you feel lace dig into your waist, tightening and tightening—snap.

And he smirks.

The devious bastard smirks.

Your lips part to make a remark—one you’re not even wholeheartedly sure will come out right—but it dies when he touches you, one finger, one thick calloused finger sliding between your thighs, brushing where you need him.

“Fuck…”

“Part them, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You do it like he’s said open-fucking-sésame. Two fingers sliding against you, diving between your folds. It’s intense, teasing and everything all at once. It’s making you burn and shiver, sweat building on your brow as you pant and whimper. His name falls freely, almost chanting it, like a song you’re the only one who can sing it. He captures what he can, tasting each syllable you say of his name until you’re tightening and clenching, and he whispers in your ear how good you are, how perfect you are, and you meet your orgasm with blinding lights and arched back.

The sight of him licking your want from his fingers brings you back, his mouth crashing against yours as you pull him down, knee bent against his hip as his hand comes to rest on your hip—the one you hope he’s bruising. Wanting, wishing for him to leave literal fingerprints as your hand slides between the two of you.

You knew before tonight Simon Riley would be big.

Almost too big.

The weight of him against your palm is something else, the thickness of his cock in between your fingers as you make him hiss, thumb swiping over the head as he groans.

He mixes kissing and nipping at your neck depending on what your hand does, the groans of your name making you desperate—needing him inside you, suddenly empty and desperate all over again, but not for his fingers.

You want him so deep in you you’ll forever feel empty without him. You want to feel every inch of him, want to rock against his hips as you press half-moons into his skin as nails dig into him.

The ache growing, worsening as his tongue draws a line from your neck to your earlobe, his fist clenching around your bed sheets at your side.

“Fuck… stop. Stop,” he groans, a hand smothering yours, halting you as he stares at you before pressing his forehead against yours.

Letting him go, touching his cheek—his eyes full of lust, searing into you.

“I want you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, his lips sliding up into a half-smirk—a Simon special. “I’ll go slow.”

“I hope you fucking don’t.”

His eyes harden. “I’m going slow. I’ll ruin you later,” he whispers darkly, before capturing your lips, a hand gripping the back of your thigh—shifting it just over his hip.

You're set to argue, and comment you can handle it until you feel him lineup, the head of his cock pushing against your folds.

You gasp as his hips move forward, slowly pushing himself in, your nails digging into his shoulder, into his waist as shivers run down your spine. The stretch being both too much and everything all at once, your toes curling, him slowly burying his cock all the way in as his fingers stroke your jaw.

“So fu—tight. Fuckin'-shit, sweetheart.”

“Simon…”

Your hips roll, moaning at the way it feels, having never felt so full. Never felt so stretched.

He’s slow, as he has been since he stepped over the threshold. His determination to take things slow, to take his time, not lessening now that he’s deep inside of you.

You’re sure you’ve left an array of welts and half-moon marks into his shoulders as he begins to roll his hips, his thrusts purposeful, desperately seeking that spot he already knows.

“Eyes on me,” he says, thumb against your jaw as your eyes lashes beg to flutter, but land on him all the same. “There’s my girl.”

It’s sinful the moan you let escape at his praise, your legs almost jelly as he steals it with a kiss—as though to taste it. Your mouth grasping for him when he pulls his head back, gripping your hip, helping you both to find a steady pace.

He does ruin you.

Not the first time, the second, but on the third.

Legs so sore, boneless and aching you can barely walk without his aid to the bathroom.

You’re not surprised he places you down on the side of the bath, taking a cloth you point him to as he cleans between your thighs as your hisses feel the space. You catch sight of yourself, an array of colours developing across your neck, collarbone and waist—just like you wanted.

A painting in colours of his own design.

You expect awkwardness once you shuffle back, giving him a moment. Finding underwear, sliding it over shaky legs before surrendering the idea of PJs as you slid between your duvet and sheets. When he returns, you brace for regret—for words you wish he’d swallow, face hidden in the scarf or behind a mask, but he’s in boxers and shuts your door with care.

Simon crosses the room, lifting the duvet as he slides in next to you, reaching out, tugging your back to his chest as he places a single kiss on the space below your earlobe.

You want to tell him everything. That you like him, could even love him by now. That you look for him too, that you worry, that you care. You'd tell him that he has pierced your heart, and you welcome the sting, that you'd be there, whenever he needed it. Even with knowing he likes space and distance and everything else in between.

"Stop thinkin' so loud," he grumbles against your skin.

Smiling, you fix your eyes across the darkness, finding the outline of your dresser as his hand finds your hip. Whether to soothe you or silence you, it makes your hands clammy.

Unsure if he knows that someone loves him. Someone wants him alive, wants him uninjured.

“I have feelings for you…” you whisper, fixing your eyes on your dresser as you swallow. “In case it wasn’t obvious.”

He doesn’t tense, doesn’t move.

Blinking, you try to trace the shapes of your handles, keeping your mind busy, the silence building and building.

"Say that again." You turn your head, meeting his stare, watching as he raises his knuckles before he traces your cheekbone. "Please."

His touch is so gentle, so soft that it makes your heart swell—your face relaxing as you repeat it again. "I have feelings for you.

"I care about you and...I like you alive, Simon."

You don't expect a reply, a declaration of his own. The fact he hasn't moved and hasn't pulled his knuckles from stroking your cheek, is enough of a declaration. Your lips turn, meeting them, pressing the softest kiss to them as if saying I know, I don't need to hear it. I know.

Letting your eyes ensure the message lands as you hold his gaze, ever-so-slightly nodding.

“I texted him. Johnny," he says. His fingers spread, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I had to see you. Had to be sure.”

Your eyes lower briefly, feeling your heart almost stammer at his words. “Because I’m your sergeant or because I’m your girl.”

You’re my girl. Mine. Fuck, you’re mine. Mine. All mine. You hear me, sweetheart?

His thumb pauses against your cheek, likely remembering the same words he chanted over and over as he fucked you senseless. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as his lips twitch, and yours try not to smile.

“The latter.”

You nod. Feeling your body flush with warmth, turning your head back away from him, grinning as he pulls you flush against him.

Your heart thumping mine, mine, mine. Hearing him get comfortable against the pillow, a soft sigh blowing past his lips and kissing your skin.

“You make shit tea, though.”

read part two

a huge thank you to @ghostaholics for this absolutely gorgeous graphic. I can’t believe how much it encapsulates the entire piece and is just so me, and so pretty. thank you so much, I appreciate it so much 💕!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost riley #cod ghost x reader smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley x you #cod ghost x reader #cod ghost angst #cod ghost smut #ghost smut

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captainuranium543 · 2 months ago

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Ft headcanons nobody wanted part 2

-natsu will occasionally get genuinely jealous over his friends owning appliances for heating. Why should they need those things when they have him, if they just call him over her do a way better job then any of those stupid gadgets. He finds out gray owns a hair dryer and immediately becomes a jealous ex girlfriend. He confronts Lucy in her apartment one night acting so serious he she doesn't even get mad that he broke in, then just goes "care to explain this?" And puts a lighter on the table.

- Wendy is very very quiet. Creepily so. Not elaborating but I think you can imagine the kinds of situations this leads to.

- Mira's eyes glow in the dark and it creeps everyone the fuck out

- erza has the worst hoarding problem. Her dorm room is entirely piled floor to ceiling with boxes of meticulously organized random items she refuses to throw out for some reason

young Mira: "alright this is ridiculous why do you even have this"

Young erza: "say what you want but when you need 746 packets of Mcnolias sweet and sour sauce and find your supply baron I'll be laughing"

- levy is one of the few members of the guild who actively sought it out to join. Before fairy tail she was an orphan and a student studying magic. She left to join fairy tail to learn more about magic in general from real world experience.

- laki will sometimes build creepily realistic wooden statues of her guild mates and leave them around in inconspicuous places so when you find them they scare the shit out of you. Sometimes she hides them too well and it takes years to discover them.

- Lucy has actually written several unpublished novels and the only other person who's ever seen them is levy. Lucy thinks their crap but levy carefully annotates every single one.

- laxus used to occasionally be forced to go on jobs with erza and Mira when they were young both to help and to make sure they didn't kill each other and he hated it.

- I think I might have said this before but I firmly believe levy, Lucy, freed and jellal later on all form a book club because they love reading, the problem is they all have vastly different tastes in book so they can never decide what to read each week and usually just end up playing Scrabble and talking shit about their various teammates

"please guys trust me this one's good"

"I am NOT reading Colleen Hoover Lucy and that's final"

- this one's based on city hero but I personally believe erza and Erik find a shocking common ground over motorcycles. Erza likes vehicles in general and Erik took up bike racing as a hobby, since discovering this is the longest they've been able to be in the same room together without someone throwing a punch.

- Wendy visits lamia scale regularly still to hang out with chelia. she usually brings romeo and they all go out to do whatever dumb kid stuff they want. (Tbh I just like her having friends her own age)

-lucy sometimes randomly lets her rich girl's heritage show in random conversation and it's always jarring. You'll be having a normal chill convo with her and then she'll look you dead in the eyes and ask you what colour your personal carriage was growing up.

- Natsu is genuinely a really good cook he just has a terrible taste so nobody wants to eat his food. For reference he only ever cooks his food because he enjoys doing it to him it tastes fine either way.

- if you had asked the fairy tail guild who the scariest guild member was in early season 1 the answers would have been erza, guildarts, laxus etc all the usual suspects. Once season 2 starts however the answer is unanimous. It's juvia. Juvia is fucking terrifying when she gets mad. You don't realize how scary water can be until it's filling your lungs and as your vision blurs until all you can see is her merciless stare.

- Mira and freed can drink blood for demon reasons. gray can too after getting devil slayer but he thinks its gross. Surprisingly so can gajeel because of the high iron content.

- gray the type of guy who's bed has only the smallest thinnest blanket on his bed and usually it's on the ground cuz he gets too hot

- meanwhile erza is the type of girl to have so many pillows, blankets and plushies on her bed you wonder how she fucking sleeps in it. Mf has a NEST.

- Lucy isn't even surprised anymore when she finds people in her house, she doesn't know how they keep getting in and honestly she doesn't care anymore she's to tired to deal with it.

- freed plays a lot of really fucking weird instruments. Idk it just seems like something he would do.

- bixlow can speak most languages and it's always really surprising when he randomly says smth like "oh yea I can speak ancient nirvid no prob" like that's totally normal

- if laxus and freed ever did get together (in my heart it's cannon) evergreen and bixlow would be their biggest haters. Yea they love them and they're happy for them but also EW. GROSS. GET A ROOM.

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #gray fullbuster #mirajane strauss #laxus dreyar #jellal fernandes #levy mcgarden #gajeel redfox #erza scarlet #wendy marvell #freed justine #erik/cobra #laki olietta #headcannons

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steddiealltheway · 1 year ago

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"Steve! You've got to help me. I panicked, and I told my Tinder date that you and Eddie have been dating for two years!" Robin yells as she storms into their living room.

Luckily, Steve's gotten used to her entering their apartment in such a way over the past few years, but he barely registers what she says in her haste. He takes a moment to stare at her with his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, hoping the words will eventually make sense.

They don’t.

"What?"

Robin paces back and forth while gesturing wildly with her hands. "You know how I do the thing where I ramble around girls I find really really hot? Well, I was doing that, and I brought you up and kept going on about how annoying my roommate is-"

"Are you kidding m-"

Robin continues as if she didn't just insult him. "And she kind of stopped and look at me and said, 'Your roommate is a guy?' And I got confused and said yes because why would I lie? And she got all uncomfortable and started asking more questions like if you were gay or straight, and I told her you were bi, and she got even weirder! So, eventually I just straight up asked her what was wrong, and she said that she didn't want to go out with me if my roommate was potentially into me. So I told her that wasn't a problem because you've been dating Eddie for two years." She finishes with that awkward lip bite she does which can be oddly endearing sometimes. But it’s not this time.

Steve leans forward on the couch. "I'm sorry. You still want to go out with a girl who has no trust in my ability to keep things in my pants? As if she doesn't trust that you're a lesbian and if I ever made a move on you, you would absolutely punch me in the throat."

Robin sits next to him and grabs his hands. "She's so so hot, Steve. Please."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Fine, you can keep telling her that I’m dating Eddie, I guess."

Robin breaks eye contact and starts picking at her nail polish.

Well, that’s not a great sign. "What aren't you telling me?"

Robin slowly looks at him in the way a dog looks at their owner after destroying their favorite shoes. "Okay, so then I really got a bit crazy, and when she asked me to show me pictures of you two together, I dropped my phone in my glass of water." She slowly pulls out her phone, and sure enough, it won't even turn on.

Steve digs the heels of his hands into his eyes before grabbing her phone and stalking off to the kitchen to find rice and a bowl. Robin follows after him.

"So, all I need to do is take a few pictures of you guys looking really coupley on dates and whatnot and make it look like they range over the past two years. I also told Veronica that I would let her meet you two sometime soon,” She rushes in to add the second thing before Steve can really process the first one. She just smiles, trying to look all sweet and endearing.

Steve gives Robin the best bitchy glare he has, but she shoots him one back and counters by saying, "You owe me, and you know it."

"For what?" Steve asks as he pours rice over her phone.

Robin crosses her arms. "Three weeks ago, you kicked me out of the apartment without warning to have sex with some random girl, and I was left stranded for the night."

Steve scoffs, "You went to Nancy's and slept in her very nice guest bedroom!"

"You owe me!"

Steve puts the bag of rice down and sighs. "Fine, but if Eddie doesn't agree, then I'm out."

Robin smiles. "Deal."

Steve hates how confident she is about the whole thing, so he calls Eddie and puts him on speaker. When he answers, Steve immediately says, "Hey, Eddie, you're on speaker with me and Robin, and she has a very ridiculous request for you. I'll let her tell you the details."

After Robin recounts her night and Steve tries not to rant about how much of a bad vibe he gets from the girl, Eddie pauses for a bit to take it all in. Then, he says, "Robin, I really don't like this Veronica girl."

"She's hot!" Robin retorts.

Eddie snorts on the other line. "I'm in if Steve's in."

Steve's jaw drops. Robin shoots him a big smile. "Perfect! What if we started on pictures early tomorrow? I've got a lot of random dates to prepare you guys for."

Steve interrupts before Eddie can answer. "And why can't you show her like... three pictures of us cuddling on the couch?"

"We need to cover our tracks as much as we can and cuddling on the couch a few times won’t do. Oh, we should hang a few pictures of you two around the apartment!" Robin plots excitedly.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. He can't believe he's doing this. They don’t even have pictures hanging up.

"Tomorrow works for me," Eddie says, entirely oblivious to Steve’s internal struggle.

But Steve can't help but get a little excited at the thought of seeing Eddie and spending a whole day with him.

So, he sucks it up and says, "I'm free, too. And I'm excited to see you, Eddie. I've missed you."

"I saw you yesterday," Eddie laughs on the other line.

Steve blushes and argues, "Seeing you for a minute when I get my coffee doesn't count."

"Whatever you say, pumpkin bread."

Pumpkin bread? Steve scrunches up his nose in protest. “That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard.”

"Just practicing for when we meet this Veronica girl, my peach."

Steve can’t help but laugh. "We are not that kind of couple. But I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night. Sweet dreams, rubber ducky."

Eddie laughs loudly on the other line and muffles the sound probably with his hand.

Steve bites his lip, trying not to get too pleased at causing that reaction.

"Good night, sweetheart." The line beeps three times as the call ends, and Steve can't help the smile that grows on his face. Sweetheart... he kind of likes that one.

"Glad to see you two get into your roles," Robin says with a smirk.

Steve jumps back, having forgotten she was there. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight.” With that, he quickly rushes off to his room before Robin can say anything else about the interaction.

"Goodnight, dingus!" she calls after him joyously.

This all better be worth it.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next morning, Steve can't help but get a little nervous when Eddie sends him an "Almost there!" text. He has a feeling this whole thing is going to blow up in their faces or something.

He's always known that Eddie's been cute. Hell, the first time he saw him, Steve thought he was hot. But he had never thought of them together after that. Sure, there was definitely a certain chemistry between them, but for some reason, Steve always saw him as off-limits. Especially since Dustin would kill him if he ever broke Eddie's heart.

So, Steve learned to push down any feelings he's had for him over the years. And he's afraid that all those repressed feelings are going to come up today.

There's a knock on his and Robin's apartment door, and Steve freezes. Hopefully his and Eddie’s friendship will survive whatever happens next.

Here goes nothing.

He opens the door to find a curly head of hair in front of him that isn't Eddie's.

"Nancy?"

"Hi! I'm here to take pictures today," she explains as she walks through the door, wiggling her Canon camera in her hand. "I thought Robin told you."

"She certainly did not," Steve says and pinches his nose. He might kill her. He pushes the door shut, but it stops.

"Hey," Eddie says peaking his head out from behind the door and catching Steve’s eye quickly. "Sorry, I'm late," he apologizes as he pulls Steve into a tight hug.

Steve lingers in it, squeezing Eddie tightly, smelling the lavender shampoo he uses, and trying to make the moment last as long as he can.

The sound of a camera shutter snaps him out of the moment.

He pulls back and looks at Nancy.

"Taking some candid pictures," she says unapologetically.

But Steve doesn't care too much when he feels Eddie's hand linger on his back. "You're taking pictures for us? What happened to Robin?"

"Yes, what did happen to Robin?" Steve asks raising his voice so she'll hear him.

"Coming!" she yells then comes out of her room looking very strangely put together. Steve glances down at her wrist and notices her wearing her lucky black bracelet. When did she start wearing that again?

"You look nice," Nancy says with a soft smile.

"Thanks," Robin replies with a soft blush.

Steve is definitely missing something, but he can't pay attention when Eddie is gently rubbing his back. He's going to end up dying on the spot.

"Eddie!" Robin says, finally noticing him, "I see you brought the extra clothes."

Steve glances down to where Eddie's suitcase sits on the floor. He does not remember him bringing that in. Shit, he's so distracted by his presence. Wait. "Why did you bring extra clothes?" he asks Eddie then notices how close they're standing. Oh, hello, Eddie's very soft-looking lips.

"I told you we're covering two years. That means different seasons," Robin says as if the answer is obvious.

Hell no. "There's no way in hell I'm wearing cold clothes outside in the heat."

"Good thing I planned for us to stay in for those pictures," Nancy says with a smile on her face. "Now go change into one of your sweaters or something. Oh! Eddie, you should change with him so you two can color coordinate. It'll be so cute!"

Steve adds Nancy to the list of people he might murder.

Eddie's hand drops from his back as he wheels the suitcase into Steve's room. Steve follows and closes the door behind him.

"Sorry for all this," Steve says, glancing around to make sure nothing embarrassing is laying out.

Eddie shakes his head and brushes it off as if it's nothing, "Nah, it's all good. I think it could be fun if we let it. Color coordinating is a horrible idea though."

"Agreed," Steve replies, deciding that his room looks fine. He opens up his closet and pushes his short sleeve clothes to the side to try to get to his sweaters hanging in the back. "What are you thinking for clothes?"

"I don't care as long as you wear your yellow sweater for one of the pictures."

Steve snorts. For some reason, Eddie had such an attachment to the thing. One time, he mistakenly put it in his designated donation bin, and he thought Eddie was going to cry when he found it.

He had cradled the thing to his chest and dramatically said, "You don't understand, Steve. Some people's lives depend on you wearing this sweater. Their lives, Steve."

Steve had rolled his eyes, put it back on a hanger, and hung it with the other sweaters. "Better?" he asked.

"Much better."

And the whole thing had been worth it to see the smile on Eddie's face - especially when Steve decided to surprise him by wearing it to the coffee shop the next day.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Eddie asks with a smile, suddenly very close to him.

Steve shakes his head as if shaking away the memory. "Nothing."

Eddie raises an eyebrow but he doesn't push it before he goes back to his suitcase and starts laying out his clothes on Steve's bed.

Steve strips off his shirt and pulls the sweater over his head. He glances down at his jeans and decides that Veronica probably won't remember what pants he was wearing in each picture.

He turns to tell Eddie as much but freezes when he sees Eddie shirtless, sorting through the clothes to find the perfect assortment of layers. Steve swallows and adverts his eyes. He is not going to check him out while he's changing. He clears his throat and turns back to his closet. "I think we just need to change our shirts. Maybe outside, you can start with a base layer then add on top of that."

Steve doesn't think he can stand to see shirtless Eddie with all his tattoos out in the daylight or the moonlight - if it takes that long. And he certainly does not want to let anyone else see that either.

"That's smart, babe."

Steve's hand squeezes whatever poor shirt he was grabbing a little too tight at the nickname. He's never been one for nicknames, especially over-the-top ones, but knowing it's Eddie calling him that as if he really does love him... it really does something for Steve.

He doesn't reply as he grabs a few shirts and jackets and lays them out on the bed next to Eddie's stuff.

He glances up at Eddie and almost breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that he has a shirt on. And a flannel. And his leather jacket. Thank goodness for layers.

He looks back at Eddie's face and catches the exact moment that Eddie registers him wearing the yellow sweater. His eyes fill with unhinged excitement and joy. He walks right into Steve's space and leans down - oh my god - to talk to the sweater.

"I've missed you so much. You know, it's so unfair that Steve only gets to wear you for a small part of the year. And he doesn't own anything short-sleeved in your beautiful color it seems."

Steve puts his hands on his hips and stares up at the ceiling. He can't believe he's ever had trouble pushing down feelings for this man.

(But he makes a note to himself to buy more things in yellow just for him.)

There’s a loud knocking on the door, then Robin yells, “You two have been in there for a while! Everything okay?”

“Eddie is talking to my sweater again!” Steve calls back.

There’s a pause before Nancy says, “Sorry, we didn’t hear you right. What?”

“I’m talking to his sweater! Be out soon!” Eddie yells.

There’s some mumbling outside the door as Steve finally looks down at Eddie and asks, “Are you done?”

Eddie smiles up at him. “Never.”

But he straightens up and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s shoulder before he turns to leave the room. “That was for the sweater, not you,” Eddie clarifies.

“Right,” Steve replies. Because that makes so much sense.

Today is going to kill him.

Part two ;)

(This was meant to just be a ficlet for my dear friend @henderdads , and then it turned into a six-part fic. I hope you enjoy!! ((Especially you, Cass)) AO3 Link here!)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie fanfic #stranger things

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swallowtailcherry · 1 year ago

Text

Know Your Place {Apollo x Goddess!Reader} Smut

Summary: You eventually get tired of Apollo being himself so you decides to put him in his place.

Warning/s: 18+, femdom at the end (that part is a bit shorter😭)

I originally wrote this using an oc, but I changed it to a reader insert 😂

You watched as Apollo, god of music, poetry and many other things relaxed in a hot spring with multiple women playing and giggling.

You had a neutral relationship with the god. You never really liked him because of how egotistical and arrogant he can be. But you couldn't hate him fully. Not to mention, he'd often bother you (hit on you, as others put it) constantly because of your ethereal beauty, which pisses you off sometimes.

"Ladies, ladies! One at a time." Apollo said, laughing when a bunch of nymphs surrounded him. You frowned when some started gushing over him. You were near the hot springs, surprised he didn't notice you yet.

You were told to get Apollo because Artemis wanted him for something. You originally wanted to approach him while he was alone, but seeing the nymphs, you thought it was better to do it while they were there.

"I guess those nymphs are useful for something...." You thought, hopping on the rim of the hot springs.

"Hello, Apollo." You greeted the god. Apollo opened one eye and smirked, turning to face you.

"What brings you here, sweetheart? You never come here." Apollo asked playfully. You rolled your eyes and folded your arms.

"Your sister requires your presence. She sounded pretty peeved, so I suggest you go to her as soon as possible." You answered. Apollo sighed, getting up from the waters of the hot spring.

"Alright.... Ladies, you can go now." Apollo spoke to the nymphs, who immediately left while squealing.

"I can never get used to them squealing like that." You said, hopping off and walking away. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Did you lie so you can be alone with me?~" Apollo purred in your ear, resting his hands on your shoulders. You scoffed and brushed his hands off.

"No, I didn't. Your sister really needs you." You replied, trying to stay away from him, but he followed you.

"Aw, come on, (N/n)! Just let me have this!" Apollo exclaimed dramatically, leaning against your back.

"Why me? You have a lot of women chasing after you!" You asked with irritation.

"Why not? You're ridiculously beautiful." Apollo wrapped his arms around your waist, rubbing your hips. He rest his head on your left shoulder.

"Your body.... It's so... Beautiful~" Apollo whispered, his hands moving up and down your waist.

"You know... I've never seen any woman with an amazing body like yours~" Apollo purred again, his hands groping your breasts. You slipped from his touch and gave him an pissed off look.

"You're such a bastard. One day, someone will take you down a notch." You said, walking away and leaving Apollo standing in place. The god smirked and walked away to cover up and meet his sister, who scolded him for not arriving sooner once he did.

You, on the other hand....

"Holy shit, that felt fucking amazing!" You thought, leaning against a wall and rubbing your fingers against your clothed core. The more you rubbed, the more you thought about Apollo. The more you thought about him fucking you.

You felt yourself self heat up so you moved your clothes to properly finger yourself. The moment your fingers entered your pussy, you let out some quiet moans. You started to go faster, throwing your head back as you felt your own fingers thrust in and out. You let out one loud moan when you felt your juices leak out. You pulled your fingers out, looking down at the mess you made.

"Fucking dammit...." You muttered under your breath, cleaning yourself up and standing up, fixing your clothes up. You also fixed your hair and made your way to your home.

Once again, you were alone with Apollo, but this time, you wasted no time in getting in the hot springs. You took off all your clothes and steps in, hoping for some peace and quiet. You just wanted to enjoy the waters.

"Oh? Unusual to see you naked, (N/n)." You jumped up in surprise, seeing Apollo right next to you with his usual smirk.

"I can't just jump in with my clothes on. I'll ruin them." You said, trying to avoid his wandering gaze.

"Fair point. But still, never saw you naked before, and I'm not complaining at all." Apollo leaned against you, brushing his hand against your thigh. You jolted up, moving away from the god.

"What the hell?!" You exclaimed, using you r arm to cover your breasts, which were large and voluptuous. Apollo saw that and moved closer, moving your arm down and saw your erect nipples. He moved his hand to your breast, massaging it and pinching your nipple. You let out a shocked gasp.

"Such soft breasts...." Apollo mumbled, positioning himself behind yoo and took both of your breasts in his hands. You hissed out, trying to move away from the god, but you felt too weak in his hold.

"Let's go somewhere else." Apollo whispered, standing up and picked you up, walking to a more secluded area and positioned you back against the wall. You didn't know where to put your hands, so you put them on his shoulders.

"Here, let me move your legs." Apollo said, lifting you by the thighs and pinned you against the wall. His erect cock throbbed against your leaking pussy, sending shivers down your spine. The god notices and pressed his fingers against your labia.

"We haven't even started and you're already soaking wet. What a whore~" Apollo cooed playfully, inserting two of his fingers inside your wet cunt. Your eyes widen at the feeling of his fingers inside your. Unlike your own fingers, His were more bigger and rougher, which gave you more pleasure.

"Ah- oh~" You moaned out, watching as his fingers went in and out. You felt yourself cum within a minute of him fingering you, coating his fingers with your juices. Apollo looked slightly surprised by how fast you came, but he smiles mischievously, bringing his fingers to his lips and licked them.

"You didn't last a minute with just my fingers. So desperate of you~" Apollo said seductively, licking up all your juices. He pressed his erect member on your wet pussy.

"I wonder.... How fast will you cum when I do this?" As he finished his question, he thrusted his cock inside you, letting out a shuddering moan at the tightness of your cunt.

"Fuck!.... You're so tight..." Apollo hissed out, moving his hips slowly, his length hitting your g-spot every time. You rolled your eyes back, letting out countless moans. You even let out some yelps when your g-spot was hit.

"So voluminous~" Apollo moaned out, speeding up.

"You're going so fast...!" You gasped out, your eyes fluttering when he pulled her closer, giving her a hard kiss. You moaned into the kiss, your mind slowly being filled with nothing but clouds and the intense pleasure the god was giving you at this moment.

Apollo moved his hips at inhuman speeds, his hands now holding her wrists up above your head. You knew you was getting close from how you were seemingly sucking his cock in.

"Shit! I'm getting close-" you hissed out, wrapping your legs around his waist, which brought his cock further inside you.

"I am, too...." Apollo huffed out, leaning forward and pressing his lips against your own. Feeling his cock twitch continuously against her fleshy walls, you felt the urge to cum.

"Milk my cock. I know you want to~" Apollo purred in your ear. You were too caught up in the pleasure you couldn't reply to anything he said. After Apollo rubbed your clit roughly, you released all over his cock. A few seconds later, Apollo's seed shot out inside you. Both of them panted heavily, looking into each other's eyes.

"Good girl." Apollo said, tracing his fingers across your lips.

"I'll... I'll... I'll..." You slurred out.

"You'll what? Please, finish that." Apollo teased with a smirk.

"I'll get back at you..." You finished. A chuckle rumbled in Apollo's chest and he leaned in, giving your a soft kiss.

"I'd like to see you try~"

"Mmmph!~"

You grinned as more moans came out of Apollo's lips, only muffled by a white cloth you used to tie around his head.

"Let's get you nice and ready~" you said, kneeling down right in front of his throbbing cock. You put your hands on his thighs, poking your tongue out and gave it some long licks. The woman felt his body twitch from the licks. You stopped, making the twitching god look at you.

You pressed your lips against the tip, feeling some pre cum leak out.

"You're really that close? We haven't even gone to the best part~" you laughed. The woman opens your mouth and puts his cock inside, slowly moving your head up and down. Apollo wanted to push your head further, but couldn't due to the cloth tied around his wrists. You increased the speed, gripping Apollo's thighs. Just as he thrusted his hips up, his seed shot out into your mouth. You moved your head up, your mouth hanging open as his seed leaked out from the corners of your lips.

"Suppose I can't blame you. You've came about four times now~" You purred, tracing your finger around his tip. Apollo's gold eyes were half shut and his chest was rising up and down slowly. You noticed how there was some tears in his eyes. You got up from between his legs and crawled beside him, smiling as his eyes moved to meet yours. As soon as you took off the cloth tied around his mouth, he took a deep breath.

"Fuck..." Apollo gasped out, poking his tongue out. You wiped your lips and leaned forward, giving him a kiss that lasted for a full minute.

"You seem to be enjoying this~" You said, rubbing your fingers against his chest. Apollo slowly nodded his head, the tears slowly sliding down the sides of his face. You got on top of him, adjusting yourself right above his cock. You only stopped when you felt the tip brush against your wet clit. A quiet whimper escaped Apollo's lips.

".... Yourself on me...." Apollo mumbled.

"What's that? Speak a bit louder~" You said.

"Lower yourself on me!" Apollo hissed out in frustration, trying to thrust his hips up. Your moved your hips up, giving him a teasing smirk.

"Uh uh uh. You must ask nicely~" You said, waving your finger. Apollo huffed and took a deep breath.

"Please ride me...." He mumbled, looking away. Satisfied with his words, you lowered yourself on his cock, feeling it enter your pussy. You slowly breathed in and out, bouncing up and down on his cock.

"Yes.... Just like that...." Apollo gasped out, wiggling his wrists, struggling to break free. You leaned forward, using your hands to support yourself on Apollo's chest.

"I missed your cock inside me..." You gasped out, laying on top of Apollo and leaving kisses on his bare chest. Apollo moved his head up, some deep moans escaping his lips.

"Your pussy... Feels so good~" Apollo slurred out, hissing through his clenched teeth as he feels your walls suck his cock in. He let out a loud moan when your walls clenched around his cock harder than before, your juices leaking out and coating his cock. You continued to bounce on his cock, letting out a gasp when you feel his member twitch inside and his hot seed painted your walls, filling you up. You breathed slowly, collapsing on top of the god with a tired but satisfied look on your face.

"Told you I'd get back at you~"

#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok smut #apollo x reader #wow i did a ff after for so long #i need to start this again

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emphistic · 3 months ago

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Teenage Dream

<- series m.list

“I honestly do not get why you’re so worked up on this. What’s so wrong about dating someone who does not like macaroni and cheese?” asked Sukuna, raising a brow as he popped a potato chip into his mouth.

“It’s not that. I just—I want to have a successful relationship with someone who likes mac and cheese as much as I do. Conflict of interests, I guess, but is that really so ridiculous?”

“Conflict of interests is more reasonable, now that you put it that way, but over macaroni and cheese? Seriously?”

Sukuna wasn’t wrong, you couldn’t deny that. It’s, without a doubt, a conclusion beyond silly. But, after so many hardships, you’ve finally come to realize that you’ll probably never be able to date a guy who likes macaroni and cheese. Every relationship you’ve had has always been with someone that either hated macaroni and cheese, or was lactose intolerant; no in between.

At first, it was just a mere coincidence. But after so many instances, you end up thinking you’re cursed, and find yourself consulting with your childhood best friend, Sukuna Ryomen.

You frowned, lowering your gaze. “My parents taught me how to make homemade macaroni and cheese, you should already know that. We always made it together at least once a year, and it’s one of my favorite memories. But, after moving out, I don’t have time to visit them anymore. I remember seeing how happy both my mom and dad were whenever they cooked together. So, my dream has always been to make macaroni and cheese with someone I love, as well. It’s all I’ve ever wanted in life.”

You fully expected Sukuna to laugh in your face, but he didn’t. When you looked up, you could even see a faint smile on his lips, before he turned his head to the side, avoiding your gaze.

“That’s kinda deep coming from you.”

“Is that really all you have to say? I just dumped out a part of my life that I’ve never told anyone else and you decide to—”

“Then again, you do realize Yuuji likes macaroni and cheese, right? Why don’t you just date him? I mean, we all grew up together, and you two are pretty close in age.” Sukuna shrugged, picking up his glass of water to take a sip.

You snorted, waving a hand to dismiss the impossible idea. “He’s like a brother to me. But . . . now that you mention it. . . What do you think about macaroni and cheese?”

Sukuna—understanding the second meaning of your question—spit out his drink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to you. You didn’t miss the faint blush on his cheeks. “I didn’t hear that last part,” he cleared his throat, “what did you say?”

“Do you like macaroni and cheese?” You repeated yourself.

“It’s okay—” said Sukuna, but you didn’t hear it.

“‘Cause if you did, I think I know a way to get rid of my curse! We can start dating, and after having a pretty successful relationship, we can go back to what we are now, and then, boom!—my curse is lifted, and I can finally date other people who like macaroni and cheese.”

With every sentence that you spoke, Sukuna’s jaw seemed to drop lower and lower. “How did you even think of that?”

“COVID-19, of course!” you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Natural immunity or something like that. Your immune system produces antibodies to fight off a germ, and if you’re exposed to that germ again in the future, your body’s defenses will be able to recognize it and fight it off with antibodies, making you less likely to get infected again.”

“And this correlates to your situation because?”

You paused, before looking back at Sukuna. “Not important, but anyway, do you like macaroni and cheese? Yes or no?”

Sukuna blinked, before looking as if he was considering the pros and cons of replying. As if he had anything to lose, you thought.

“Yeah. I love macaroni and cheese, actually. I used to have it all the time back then.”

Your eyes widened, and your smile grew. “That’s—that’s great! So, uhm,” you paused, “do you want to do this?”

“Do I want to date—I mean, get into a fake relationship with you? Let me think.” Sukuna put a pointer finger and thumb on his chin, pretending to weigh his options. “What’s in it for me?”

Now this is what had you stumped. You hadn’t thought of that yet; throughout your whole thought process, you were only thinking of yourself. And, there really was nothing about this arrangement that could benefit Sukuna. The relationship was for your sake, not his. But maybe. . .

“You’ll have a girlfriend?” you proposed. “I can, like, cheer for you at your basketball games, and stuff.”

“We go to the same school; you already do that.”

“Right. . . Oh! I can make you mac and cheese whenever you want?”

“Pass.”

You chewed your lip trying to come up with a good enough reason. “. . .I always have the best hors d’oeuvres?”

“Not important.”

“Err, you can just do this for me out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Kindness of my heart? I wouldn’t put it that way, but go on.”

“I mean, we’re friends and all, right? You can think of this as a mere favor; and I’ll repay you by inviting you to my wedding when I finally marry someone who loves macaroni and cheese.”

Sukuna furrowed his brows, looking conflicted at hearing that last part, before finally agreeing to your proposition. “Okay, this is just a favor. Sure, I’ll do it.”

It took you a second to fully register what Sukuna said, but when you did, you set your iced tea down on the table beside you, and, nearly jumping out of your seat, threw your arms around Sukuna, trapping him in the tightest hug you had ever given to anyone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

His voice came soon after, muffled, but you could still tell Sukuna said something along the lines of “you’re welcome” and “you’re crushing me, brat”. But you completely dismissed that last part.

You laughed at Sukuna as he continued to grumble unintelligible complaints about how he heard his bones crack under your embrace. “So grumpy. This is totally a time to celebrate.”

“It’s really not.”

“Don’t be silly. I mean, I’m gonna be able to finally date someone who likes macaroni and cheese. We should totally go out for drinks tonight!”

Sukuna shrugged, giving in. “Only if you’re paying.”

“I would agree, but is that really something a good boyfriend would say to his girlfriend? Making her pay?”

You could practically hear Sukuna’s eye roll from behind you as you turned around to grab your phone from your bag.

“What’re you doing now? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for our date?” Sukuna said the word with unfamiliarity. Yeah, you had a long way to go before you would get used to the fact that you were in a relationship with the man currently sitting in your apartment.

“In a sec. I’m just making sure I don’t lose my Duolingo streak.”

“Right now? Fuckin’ weirdo,” said Sukuna, as he sat up from his spot on the sofa. “Tell me when you’re ready; I’m gonna take a shit.”

Nodding, you said, “Roger that.”

“. . .Do not ever say that cringey shit to me ever again, or I’ll break up with you.”

You laughed at that last part. The threat seemed more humorous than it should’ve; perhaps it was the unconventional spirit of your relationship.

When you two were kids, you and Sukuna would frequently hang out at each other’s houses and play-fight until the sun would go down, and his grandpa would scold you both for making a mess of the house. It was a bright and colorful time of Sukuna’s life. And, after having known you since childhood, Sukuna grew pretty familiar with your outgoing personality and general craziness.

But, with that being said, Sukuna was beyond taken aback when you brought up the idea of being cursed. You? Cursed? In this decade? This was real life, not some dystopian book. Sukuna thought you were bordering the line between sane and insane when you further explained your current predicament to him.

So, just because you couldn’t find a suitable lover who liked macaroni and cheese, you thought you were doomed for life? Sukuna almost laughed out loud when you expressed how serious you were.

“It’s not funny!” you told him, but he couldn’t have thought you were being more ridiculous.

And when you brought up your idea on how to get rid of your “curse”, Sukuna was planning on telling you how silly you were being, but all thought of that immediately died down in his throat when you mentioned a possible relationship with him.

What do you mean Sukuna had an opportunity to get into a relationship with you? As in, he could be your boyfriend? It was like the gates of Heaven had opened up right before him, and were offering eternal paradise to him.

Then again, it was only an act. A fake relationship. But, nevertheless, Sukuna would take all that was given to him; he always did.

“You know, Sukuna, I’m really grateful for you for doing this. I mean, it might be a little weird to act like we’re dating and all, but it can’t be that bad, right? We’re already friends; dating couldn’t possibly be so different?” you suggested.

Sukuna took a sip of his drink, “Dunno. I’m not usually friends with my girlfriends.”

“Really?” you leaned in closer to the conversation. “So you mean you don’t, like. . . Never mind. How do you even get girlfriends, then? I usually meet people through a mutual friend, and then we get to know each other, become friends ourselves, and—”

Sukuna cut you off, “I don’t think you really get what I’m saying here. Besides, I’m not here for advice on how to meet potential girlfriends. I think I’m pretty experienced in that department.”

You laughed, “But, really, thanks for doing this for me.”

Smiling, you placed a hand over Sukuna’s, which was resting on the table. He looked a bit tense at the action, but he didn’t push you away.

“It’s what friends do, right?

You hummed, averting your gaze elsewhere. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure this counts as our first date.”

“Huh,” Sukuna agreed. “Kind of boring, I gotta say. I mean, going out for drinks at a bar? Not a very romantic scenario.”

“Still, isn’t this exciting either way—?”

“I think I know a way to make this evening more exciting,” a cool voice cut you off midway. “Mind if we join you?”

You knew that voice. When you turned around, you were met with the face of. . .

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #sukuna fluff

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dyns33 · 1 month ago

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Flufftober 2024 - 5 Alfie Solomons

There were accidents at the bakery, real accidents, not at all planned and which bothered Alfie a lot, because it disrupted production and some of his men could be injured.

Bur most of the time, it wasn't that serious. Y/N never heard about it if she wasn't there. Even if he didn't hide anything from her, her husband didn't see the point in worrying her unnecessarily.

It was obvious that there had been a small fire in the morning when Y/N arrived, but obviously nothing too serious, since the activity had not stopped.

However, she could read a certain fear in Ollie's eyes when she greeted him.

"Mrs. Solomons ! I didn't know you were coming today !"

"Normally I was not, but I was bored and Alfie forgot his scarf again."

"I… I can take it to him, Madam ! He wouldn't want you to bother over such a small thing !"

"I don't mind." Y/N said suspiciously. "I'm already here anyway."

"Yes, but… The boss is out !"

"Ismael told me he was here."

"I mean… He's here, but he's in a meeting, he said to say he wasn't here, that he shouldn't be disturbed, even by his lovely wife. I'm really sorry. He's very busy, he doesn't even know if he'll be able to come home tonight and… Madam Solomons, no, please !"

She didn't listen to him, walking past him without him really trying to stop her. The poor boy knew it was useless, and that Alfie wouldn't like him touching his wife.

Opening the door, she wasn't surprised to find that there was no appointment.

On the other hand, she stared at the man sitting at the desk with some perplexity.

The clothes were Alfie's. The posture, the face, the hair.

But something was missing, something essential.

"Treacle, I can explain."

"Why ?"

"I'll explain, wait."

"Alfie, why ?"

"There was a lil problem, I wanted to help put out the fire and… I know, everyone would prefer that half of my face was hidden, me the first. But it will grow back ! Don't panic, love."

In addition to his right hand covered in a bandage following a slight burn, Alfie's beard had caught fire, and despite his quick reaction to splash himself with water, the result was not enough to keep the hair that remained without looking ridiculous.

Plus, the stupid doctor who came for the others insisted on examining him, and for that he had to shave it all off.

"I look like a baby." he mumbled, touching his chin. "A big ugly baby."

"You're not ugly."

"A real monster. I saw your reaction, you hate it, and I don't blame you. I hate it too. How horrible."

"Oh, shut up, you big baby." Y/N sighed, coming to sit on his lap, fascinated by this new face. "I don't hate it, I was surprised. You're very handsome."

"Hmm. I won't stay like this, even if you beg me. Don't beg me, treacle."

"No. I prefer my husband the way I know him. I don't think I've ever imagined you without a beard. You look like another man, a disguise. Oh ! You could do the same haircut as my brothers, that would be fun ! Finn and the kids want to celebrate this holiday where everyone dresses up."

"If any of your brothers come near me with scissors, I'll rip them off and stab them in the eye."

No doubt he could have continued to threaten the Shelbys and growl, but when she kissed him, on the mouth and all the rest of that unfamiliar skin, he froze, enjoying the sensation.

No one touched his hair, but he agreed to come to the little party, both delighted and annoyed by his in-laws who stared at him with the same fascination as their sister. But it was hard to tell if it was because of the lack of a beard, or because he was wearing a tuxedo.

After Polly and Ada whispered to Y/N that her husband was quite handsome, he decided that the others were staring because they were jealous and he had a rather good night. He then spent the rest of the month waiting for his beard to grow back regardless.

________________________________

(Alfie at the party)

#kinktober 2024 #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader

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notafunkiller · 1 year ago

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treat you better

Summary: Caught between playing the girlfriend of Bucky's younger brother and the unexpected allure of Bucky's genuine affection, you don't know what to do.

Pairing: (fake) boyfriend's brother!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: age gap (r is 26, Bucky is 38/39), teasing, pet names, language, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.7K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: This story will have around 4 parts, so this is just the beginning. And I also want to thank @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967 for their support!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

It’s hard to ignore how loudly he chews or how some water drips down his chin as he drinks between bites. For someone educated well, he has no manners.

“Come on, eat faster. He’s gonna come any second.”

You drop your fork on the plate and give him a look. As if! “I am not gonna do anything like that.”

He is his brother, not the devil. And he actually seemed pretty nice when you met earlier. The fact that William is so scared is funny.

“You don’t ever listen to me.”

“I wonder why.” Your sarcastic answer gets a sigh out of him before he stands up, throwing a napkin on the plate.

“I’ll take a walk.”

“And? Do you want my approval?” You literally couldn’t care less what he does or doesn’t. He’s annoying.

“No, I told you in case he comes down...”

You can’t imagine dealing with this version of him for days, or however long The Devil decides to stay. You snort. “Go ahead, take a walk. Take three walks, I can handle myself.”

He leaves without saying anything else, and you smile, scrolling on your Instagram feed. Fucking finally!

You don’t know how your families considered this a good idea. You are close to hitting him every day, but it seems like things only become worse and worse. You just wish you could just run away and never come back.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

You look up, jumping. It must be ridiculous to be so shocked since he’s the only one who could come here since William left. You let the phone down and wave to the chair in front of you.

“Please, this is your house.”

The Devil gives you a polite smile. Manners... at least one brother has them. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You won’t eat me, right?”

He gives you a look you can’t exactly decode, and that bothers you. You are good at reading people usually.

“No, love, I won’t eat you.” He sits down amused, and you stare at his arms as he reaches for the chicken plate without realizing. He’s... big.

“Bon appetit!” You smile.

“I didn’t say I won’t bite, though.”

You freeze, thinking he is flirting with you for a second. But it’s ridiculous, there’s no way. Everyone spoke so highly of him: how he is always serious, how he’d be against this whole arrangement. No way he’d flirt with his little brother’s girlfriend. “Is the chicken not enough for you?”

He laughs softly, and you can’t help but stare at him a little more. He shaved and has a small cut right under his chin. Jesus, he is really hot! The little dimple, the eyes and that nose...

“Do what do you do?”

“As in for work?”

“Yep.” He empathizes the p in a very childlike way, which makes you wonder even more how old he is. You should totally ask William later.

“I work for my parents’ company,” you whisper ashamed. You always hate when you say that out loud, but, somehow, it feels even more embarrassing now. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t look at him.

“What do you do there?”

“Basic HR work.”

“Is the payment that low?”

You snort. “What?”

“You sounded, so I assumed...”

“It is a little low, not gonna lie. But I mean, no nepo baby judgement…?” You hesitate because you realize you don’t remember his name. Fuck! You and your bad memory.

“What? Why are you blushing?” He leans in, placing his elbows on the table to get closer to you.

How horrible can this situation get?

“I just... can I ask something?”

“I don’t know, love, can you?”

You roll your eyes. You know what? He deserves it.

“What was your name again?”

He doesn’t seem surprised or bothered by your question.

“Full name? James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. Should I write it down in case you forget?”

He gently takes out a pen out of his front pocket and grabs your hand. You tremble a little as he starts to actually write his name on your wrist. The letters get a little smudged, but they’re still clear.

Holy fuck...

He’s warm, but not too warm, so you wait for him to let you go.

“Do you always carry pens around?”

“Only on special occasions.” He winks and gets back to eating, letting the pen on the table.

“How old are you?” You ask before you can change your mind as you keep staring at your wrist. He looks in his early 30s, and since he’s the oldest one, it would make sense.

“Didn’t Will tell you?”

You blush again. “You can see my memory isn’t the best.”

He sighs, suddenly shy and reserved, and you wonder if this is somehow a weak spot. But how would age be a weak spot for a man like this?

“Old.” He smiles. “Thirty-eight.”

You try not to look affected as your eyes drop instantly on his left hand. No wedding band.

And he notices.

“He didn’t tell you I’m single, either?”

You take a few slices of cucumber and eat them fast. “Why would he?”

“I’m his brother.”

You throat feels dry as you nervously swallow. “And I am his girlfriend...”

Bucky nods and immediately starts eating.

“That’s all?” You ask. “No threat not to hurt your brother? No background questions?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“I would have guessed twenty-five.”

You snort. “Really? I was told I look younger than that.”

Bucky shrugs in response. “I assumed you’ve been working for a while, and my brother likes them his age or older.” He pours himself a glass of water, and you watch him drink without any shame, not even caring if he notices. You’re already flushed, and he’s a good view.

“I guess I fit the standard.”

He bites his lip while placing the glass down and shakes his head. “Nope, actually you don’t, this is why it’s really interesting.” He smiles. “How did you two meet?”

“The office. He came with his... your dad and we met at an event,” you answer instantly. Your parents have already made up the story for you, and you had to practice it a few times to make it sound genuine, which was a real struggle.

“Was it love at first sight?”

You snort. “That doesn’t exist.”

“Attraction?”

You try to subtly take a deep breath and pray you’ll sound as convincing as you could. “Look, he seemed like a nice guy, good looking and smart. And he asked me out-”

“He asked you out?” His eyes widen in sheer astonishment. “He always waits for girls to ask him out.”

This is when you snap. What is this? An interrogation?

“And? He asked me out. People make exceptions sometimes, Mr...” you pretend you forgot his name again before you look at your wrist. “Bucky.”

“I understand. My bad, didn’t want to make you mad.”

You puff because his tone in everything but apologetic. “I am not mad!”

“No, obviously. Just like you didn’t pretend you don’t remember my name a second ago.”

You bite your cheek annoyed. “Do you not have something more important to do than this?” You gesture between you two.

Not a smart move, but you are exposed anyway.

“But this,” he copies your hands moves. “is fun. And I am just getting to know my little brother’s girl. Since we’ll live together and stuff.”

What?

“You plan on staying?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Of course.” He smiles. “Where is William? I want to know more about how he asked you out.”

You can’t say you’ve been avoiding William, but you’re not necessarily enjoying his company. Since Bucky came, he’s been like a bomb, scared, annoyed, always suggesting you to move in his room because his brother will notice, but you brushed him off constantly.

Unfortunately, you can’t tell him to go away now, too, as he drinks coffee in his gazebo.

“Do you want to go out? For a walk or lunch,” he asks, his voice carrying a hopeful note

“No, thanks.” You don’t intend to sound rude, but it comes out like this anyway.

His face falls, a subtle disappointment etched across his features, but he tries to hide it by taking a sip of his coffee. Instantly, a pang of guilt hits you.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just... I just don’t feel like going out.” With you.

“Well, you should at least try to make an effort, we should be seen together, you know?” he remarks, his tone slightly reproachful. You nod, realizing he must be also pressured by his family the same way yours pressures you.

“I understand. I assume they put pressure on you.”

He sighs. “Of course they do, but like I think it’s a good idea.”

“What’s a good idea?”

You know it’s Bucky not only by the way William stiffens, but you can also easily recognize his voice, and it’s hard to ignore how attractive you find it.

“To go out more often,” you quickly say, avoiding his eyes. “I told him he should have fun since work has been stressful.”

“What about you?” He casually drops on the chair between you two and takes a bite from his sandwich.

“What about her?” William asks, , his tension evident in his voice.

“Don’t you need some stress relief?”

“I’m alright.” You finally look properly at him as you speak. He’s wearing a white tank top and his disheveled hair adds to the casual allure. He’s so well-proportioned...

“Good.” He smiles and turns to William. “What’s wrong, punk?”

“Just work, you know? Business, you wouldn’t understand.”

You and Bucky snort.

“Sure, buddy, I wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you having siblings time? Should I leave?” you ask, hoping for a positive response.

“Babe, no need.”

You try not to cringe at the way the word babe sounds coming from him and force yourself to give him a polite smile.

“Please, babe, no problem.” You stand up waving, toward Bucky. “Bye.”

Their brotherly time didn’t last long, though. You take a short shower, and as you finish dressing up, you hear a knock on your door.

“You can come in.”

You expect to see William's face when the door cracks, but no, it's not him at all.

“Hi.”

You freeze.

“H-hi.”

Fuck, what will you tell him now?

“Trouble in paradise?”

“What? No. Uhm...” you look around. “What happened?”

“You sleep here, right?”

“Yep.”

He leans his back against the wall, and you can't help but notice how good he looks in those shorts. Jesus, it's like you haven't seen a man in your life.

“Interesting.” He laughs.

“What’s so funny?” You cross your arms, annoyed. He thinks he’s superior or what?

“You are telling me you two have been together for less than six months and you sleep here?”

The judgement and amusement in his voice piss you off even more, as if the situation you are in isn’t bad enough.

“Yes, and?”

“And?” Bucky comes suddenly closer to you. “Are you seriously asking that?”

“Yes! I don’t see what’s your fucking problem. How does where we sleep concern you?”

“Can’t a man be curious?”

Fuck your curiosity!

“What if we didn’t wanna sleep together now and wait... does that make us less of a couple?” You let out your anger by screaming at him. You don’t think you’ve said anything more ridiculous than that because, sure, you respect everyone who wants to wait, but that’s not you. There's no way you'd get engaged or marry a guy without knowing what your sex life would be like. No way!

“I didn’t say that, but I know my brother, and he is not this type of person.”

You let a deep breath, finding it hard to take your eyes off his lips.

“What if I am?”

He doesn't answer you, simply moving his right hand to his back pocket and taking out a small perfume, then handing it to you. "I think this belongs to you."

Shit!

“Yes, thank you!”

“So you slept in my bed.”

The way he says it makes it sound like you had sex with him or something. But it still leaves you breathless.

You take the perfume from his hand. “Don’t worry, I changed the sheets.”

“See you at dinner, love.” He snorts, turning a little more toward you before opening the door. “You got taste, though. It smells wonderful.”

Maybe it’s the hunger or the lack of sleep. Otherwise, why would this make you angry?

“You look very well.” You roll your eyes as you imitate him before taking a sip of your water. Fuck him for coming here and disturbing you. It was enough you see him every morning and after work.

You hear a knock, then the door opens as soon as you put your bottle down. He didn’t even wait.

“Hi, love. How are you?” A few heads turn toward him and then you, and you groan.

“I’m well, thanks. Why are you here?”

Bucky shakes his head. “This is not a nice welcome.” And then he notices everyone. “Hello.”

You hear a few ‘hi’s, but he only focuses on you.

“Who are you waiting for?” You ask, and your thoughts immediately dart to Dana. He complimented her earlier, after all.

“My dad.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, keep it a secret. I don’t care.”

“I’m serious.” He snorts. “What has gotten you so worked up? Did you eat your chocolate bar today?”

You puff, trying to keep your annoyance under control. “What’s this question? Are you my mom?”

You can't lie, though. The fact that he noticed your daily chocolate bar ritual makes you happy. Today, however, you didn't have time.

“I can be your dad.”

That makes you gasp.

“Bucky!” you whisper, and he leans in. “We are working here.”

“And?”

“And go away, you disturb us.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and gets behind your back, dragging your chair away from the desk.

“Barnes!”

Jessica laughs behind you. “Such an older brother behavior.” she says casually, and you frown. You don’t want people to consider him your older brother. Well, it’s obvious why they do, but it still bothers you.

“I need you to come with me.”

You sigh. “Don’t you see I am busy?”

“Come onnn!”

You tell Jessica you’ll be right back and manage to take your phone with you before Bucky drags you by the arm to the hallway. Dana looks up, surprised, but this time he doesn’t even turn his head toward her, guiding you to his dad’s office. Dana looks up, surprised, but this time he doesn't even turn his head toward her, guiding you to his dad's office.

“You brought me here to be your babysitter? You are 38, not 8. I am sure you can wait patiently for your daddy.”

He closes the door, and you try to control your breathing. Why does he make you blush so much? It’s been one month since you two met, and he still has this power over you.

“You have a big sassy mouth, love, that is for sure.”

You cross your hands. “And?”

“And what?”

“You won’t even deny you brought me here cause you were bored?”

“Nope. Why would I?”

And there he is, getting closer to you little by little. You have to fight the urge to step back.

“Instead you talk about how big my mouth is...” you murmur and he snorts.

“Quite a big mouth for someone with thin lips.”

Well, that is a low blow. You don’t even have thin-thin lips.

“You’re an asshole.” You try to leave quickly, but he stops you instantly, realizing that made you mad.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way at all. You have a spark.”

“I am working. I do actually work, Bucky. It doesn’t matter this is my family’s company.” You try not to yell, but it’s hard. “I get you’re bored, but-”

“I am sorry.”

“For what?” You voice is a whisper, as you’re still trying to calm down. You’re surprised he apologized so fast.

“For being like a douche. It’s the opposite, I wanted your company because you are really nice and smart. I love our conversations. And you having a big mouth means to me you have an opinion and limits.” He takes your hand and squeezes it.

As he speaks, you can't help but feel a mixture of warmth and confusion. His sincerity catches you off guard, and the tension between you begins to shift. Maybe, just maybe, there's more beneath the surface of his teasing and provocation.

You nod. Maybe you overreacted, he never said anything offensive to you. And you appreciate his company in that house.

“It’s okay, I understand. I am surprised you are here, though.”

He doesn’t let go of you hand, so you don’t either.

“He said he has an offer for the office renovation.” He shrugs. “I cannot refuse without talking first. It wouldn’t be fair.”

You want to answer him, tease and maybe fish for more, but you hear the voices right outside the office and you let go of his hand immediately. As if it burned you, as if you were doing something forbidden.

William steps inside first, followed by his dad and your dad, surprisingly.

Bucky immediately gives you a look and takes a step back.

“You came!” His father welcomed him before turning to you. “Thanks for bringing him to my office.”

You realize this is your clue to go and you slowly walk to the door, intentionally ignoring your father. What shocks you is William grabbing your hand, the same hand Bucky touched before, and kissing your cheek.You realize this is your cue to go, and you slowly walk to the door, intentionally ignoring your father. What shocks you is William grabbing your hand, the same hand Bucky touched before, and then kissing your cheek.

“Thanks, babe.”

You have to clench both of your fists not to punch him in the face, refusing to answer him. You don’t know what bothers you more: the fact that he touched you so casually and called you babe again or that he did this shit in front of your families, and more important his brother.

You feel Bucky’s eyes all over your back and face and you can’t help but turn to look at him. He’s expressionless.

You shake your head. What did you expect?

You get back to your office a little grumpy and upset. Jessica immediately asks you if you’re okay, and you brush it off. Fuck your family, fuck Bucky, and fuck his brother.

But the meeting is surprisingly short since you have Bucky back at your desk fifteen minutes later.

You just can’t take a break, can you?

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you have lunch?” He looks around to emphasize his words, and you roll your eyes. You know everyone left but you.

“I have to finish a few tasks. Why?”

“Your boyfriend left the meeting halfway through cause he was hungry.”

You almost gag. You’ve never hated that word more in your life, but you can’t let him know that.

“And?”

“What do you mean and? Why are you not having lunch with him?”

“Because I have tasks to do!” You snap, irritate, while looking him in the eye. You obviously don’t want to talk about it, but he continues, seemingly unfazed.

“Is he gonna bring you some food?”

“No, we didn’t even talk about it. Can you leave me alone now?”

You are so close to crying for no fucking reason. You can’t let anyone see you like this.

“Prick! He should have waited for you.” He strokes his chin as he speaks, clearly annoyed with his brother. “Want to come with-”

“I’m fine. Had my chocolate bar.” You interrupt him, your voice steady despite the emotional storm within. Finally, he takes the hint.

“Okay, love, I understand. I’ll leave you alone. See you home.” He smiles politely and leaves, giving you the space you need.

Alone in your office, you let out a shaky breath, your hands covering your face as you start sobbing. It’s really touching how understanding Bucky is, even if he’s teasing you. It’s a precious reminder that, amidst the chaos, there's someone who actually cares about your well-being.

You wait for William to return from his lunch break, and as soon as you see him, you drag him to his office quickly

“Easy! It hurts.”

“Good, it’s supposed to hurt!”

“What did I do?” He genuinely asks.

“You fucking touched me. You kissed my cheek. Did I allow you?”

“What?” He raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t remember seeing you so angry before.

“I asked you when I gave you permission to put your hands on me!”

“I’m supposed to be your boy-”

“But you are not my fucking boyfriend! You don’t have the option to touch me unless I let you by telling you that you can. And you don’t even have to display a shitty facade because guess what? He doesn’t care.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to...”

“You didn’t mean to what? Get in my space? Take advantage of the situation?” The bitterness in your tone echoes your frustration. “You’re just a man, that’s what you do.”

“Not all-”

You laugh humorlessly, not even a little surprised. “Not all men, right? Well, I heard that one before. But you are officially in all-men category.”

You leave like a storm, letting the door open, and before you can get back to your desk, Dana calls your name.

“Hi, what happened?” You try to sound calm.

“You got a delivery and a note.” She hands them both to you and you can’t help but ask:

“A note?”

Who writes notes anymore?

“Yes.”

You take them from her desk, but you don’t enter your office. You want to read the note first, without Jessica’s eyes on you.

If you don’t eat, I’m gonna punish you... with my presence. So think twice before refusing :)

You almost cry again right there in the middle of the hallway. Fuck him! Just fuck him!

How are you supposed to stop thinking about him when he does this?

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #boyfriend's brother!bucky barnes #fake dating #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #my stories #my fanfics #sebastian stan

792 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

Note

can i request a tav x astarion where tav is mute? i wonder how they would be communicating

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I really struggled with this request, but I decided to try again on a whim and whoooo boy it's a doozy. I also did not make Tav mute, but I played with a Paladin oath I have had on my mind for a looong time so they are effectively mute

Warnings: fear of death, blood, mentions of death/dead bodies, religion, anxiety, fear, being trapped, crying, swearing, angst, hurt/little comfort, possibly OOC

Word Count: 3,624

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You huff in annoyance for the fifth- no, sixth, time. Perhaps more. The vendor stares at you as though you’re insane, even though you couldn’t possibly be clearer! You exaggerate further, pointing at the potion, yourself, and your coin purse. If he would just mark how much the damn thing cost, you wouldn’t have to keep going through this!

Astarion sighs sharply. “They want to buy the potion,” he bemoans. “Now, please, tell them the price so we can move on.”

The vendor starts with wide eyes and realization on his face. He flushes from his cheeks, down his neck, and to the tips of his ears as he stutters out the price. You shove the money into his chest and grab what you’ve paid for, before stomping off. And if Astarion slipped an extra something in his pocket while the vendor was dying of his stupidity, who would really care?

He caught up in a few long strides. “We must find a better way for you to communicate, darling. I can’t keep translating for you.”

You made a few sharp gestures.

“I don’t see the big deal in carrying a paper and pencil around,” he answered with a scoff. “Or, you know, you could just speak. I know you can.”

You glared at him. That, he didn’t need a translator for.

This had been an ongoing argument from the very moment you ran into each other on the beach. When he had you pinned to the ground and you didn’t speak, he originally thought you were just being stubborn. When he finally let you go, you’d explained to him (in writing) that you’d made an oath of silence, and that you had nothing to do with the Illithid kidnappings.

Fortunately, you discovered early on that some hand signs were shared with the Theive’s Cant, which he understood quite well. When Gale and Wyll came along, one who’d learned some sign through books and the other who learned by helping people as the Blade of Frontiers, Astarion was relieved he wouldn’t have to translate for you. Except, you continued to drag him along to act as the middle man anyway.

His solution, proposed frequently both seriously and in jest, was to break your oath. An oath of silence was a ridiculous thing to promise anyway, especially now that you needed to communicate so frequently, but any time the suggestion was posed, you’d just level him with a hard stare.

“You know I can’t do that,” you signed, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Paladins. So dedicated to the chains that bind them.”

“To break my oath would be to lose my powers. Do you want me to keep reviving your ass during battle or not?”

He sneered. “You couldn’t make an oath of vengeance or something? It would certainly be a lot easier to follow through on.”

You rolled your eyes and walked faster. You hated arguing about your oath. Wyll and Gale wouldn’t behoove you for it - so why did you bring him along, he wonders.

Astarion heaved, pressing against a stitch in his side that tightened with each breath. The fight was brutal. Everyone was bloody and exhausted. Shadowheart turned from the dead beast before them to help Wyll who lay prone on the ground. Karlach pulled her mighty axe from its head with a squelch and a crunch, cheering at the victory.

He chuckled breathlessly at her antics. Almost stumbling, he turned in a circle, eyes scanning the battlefield. The beast’s cronies lay still, scattered everywhere. Blood overwhelmed his senses. How did that saying go? Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

He frowned. He looked around again. “Where’s Tav?”

Karlach’s whoops quieted immediately. She looked around as well. “They didn’t get crushed under this,” she kicked the creature in the eye, “did they?”

He shook his head. “They weren’t close enough…” He growled, frustrated, and turned to the magic-users. “Did you see where Tav went?”

Shadowheart supported Wyll as he sat up, groaning. They both shook their heads. “Last I saw them, they were over there,” the warlock croaked, nodding over to the side. “But I don’t know how long I’ve been down for.”

Astarion winced as he jogged over to where he said, stepping over and on top of dead bodies. He took another step. His foot did not collide with floor nor flesh. His heart lurched as the world fell out from under him. A hand grabbed the neck his armor and pulled him back, falling on his ass onto solid ground.

“Careful, Fangs!” Karlach chastised worriedly. She let him go, pulling them both to their feet and brushing him off. “You alright?”

His mind was still reeling. He nodded in a daze. All he could do was stare at the nearly-invisible chasm he’d almost fallen down into… And then his mind caught up.

He raced forward again, dopping to his knees right before the tear in the earth, and leaned over it. Even his darkvision couldn’t help him see what was below; it was so dark, like all light that fell into it was swallowed up. A heavy weight settled in his chest.

“Tav?!” he shouted down into the darkness. His voice echoed. He had no idea how deep it went.

The realization set in for Karlach as well. “Oh fuck…”

“Tav, are you down there?!” He waited a moment, but he was met with only silence.

Shadowheart and Wyll rushed over. They peered into the deep with concern. Astarion shifted so he sat on the ground, legs dangling over the edge. He remembered the feeling of falling. Fortunately, he couldn’t see how deep it was, so at least vertigo did not make it seem deeper; the shadow was doing a perfect job of that on its own.

Wyll grabbed his shoulder before he could slide forward. “Astarion, we have no idea how deep it goes, or what’s down there! You could be impaled on a spike before you ever make it to the bottom. We don’t know if they’re even alive!”

“And if they are?” he growled. “They could be trapped down there with no way of telling us.”

“And you’ll be trapped down there if you go after them!”

He couldn’t argue with anything logical. So what if he got stuck down there? He needed to know you were okay. His blunt nails dig into the stone edge, knocking loose flecks of rock and sediment. How could he just leave you down there?

Shadowheart looked around at the bodies. “We could make some rope. Lower it down, see if they grab on.”

He snorted mirthlessly, sneering at the cleric. “And if they’re too injured to?”

She glared back at him. “I don’t see you proposing any better ideas.”

Karlach and Wyll shared a look. It seems they’d have to be the level-headed ones here… “We can strip the bodies. Tie their clothes together until it’s long enough.” To hopefully reach the bottom, was left unsaid.

Karlach and Shadowheart got to work immediately, working to remove the clothes of their fallen enemies, scrunching their noses in disgust all the while. Wyll squeezed Astarion’s shoulder and joined them, trying to decide what clothes were in good enough condition to hold weight. Astarion stared into the pit for a while longer.

Your head spun. Everything ached. Each breath was like fire in your lungs. You bit your lip to silence your whimpers, biting down so hard you could taste iron in your mouth.

As the pain ebbs to a manageable level, you try to figure out where you were. It was dark. You couldn’t make out your hand right in front of your face. You couldn’t even be sure your eyes were open. You only knew they were when you looked up and saw light coming from far above you. It was dim and flickering - the flames of the braziers that lined the battlefield.

You blinked into the darkness, willing your eyes to adjust. Cautiously, you reached out your hands and felt around. The ground beneath you was covered in fine gravel, almost like sand. The finer sediment stuck to your hands when you pulled away. There was a wall behind you, possibly made from slate. It would be impossible to climb. With a muffled groan, you’re able to reach your foot out and touch the opposite wall. The effort leaves you panting.

You lay still on the floor for a minute. Clearly, you fell from quite high up. How far was still a mystery, but the fact was you did fall. When you’ve caught your breath, you feel for any injuries. Your armor restricts you, but it seems to have protected you for the most part. You’ll be bruised as hell, but you can’t find any open wounds. At least you were fortunate there.

You look up again. You can’t hear anything coming from above, but you’re unsure if it’s from the depth of the chasm or because the battle is over. You hope they are able to win the fight without you. All your companions are strong in their own right, you know they can pull through this.

You squint at the opening above. You think you see something moving at the top, but it’s merely a speck. Using the wall and gathering your waning strength, you push yourself to your feet. You heave as you lean against the slate. The silhouette is still too far away to make out.

T..av….

A distant cry, distorted heavily by the chasm. It takes a moment for you to recognize it as your name. Your heart leaps in your chest.

… av….. Ar… d..wn… the..re…

You can’t tell who’s calling down to you, but you take faith in the knowledge it must be one of your companions. The beasts wouldn’t know your name. Now you just have to signal them somehow…

You feel around your body for your sword, but the sheath is empty. It must have fallen elsewhere, perhaps only feet away, but you can’t see worth a damn. You try instead to cast a ball of light. It should be easy - it’s a spell you’ve cast a hundred times before. But as you strain to conjure even a spark, you become lightheaded. Your knees buckle, collapsing you back to the gritty floor. You try again, but you can feel your energy being sapped away. Your hand falls weakly to the ground.

You rest your head back against the wall and think. You can’t use your sword to hit the rock and make a sound, or defend yourself if something lurks within the darkness. You can’t cast a light, nor any other spell, lest you fall completely unconscious and make your chances worse. The more options you run out of, the more desperate you become. You try reaching out to their tadpoles, but they must be too far away.

You’re stuck.

A sob chokes you as it forces its way up your throat. Even that is muffled by you, by pure habit at this point. You’ve held your oath for years; you’ve learned how to stay silent even under the worst situations. Now it’s come to bite you in the ass.

You look up at the dim light, blurred through tears. They burn as they just keep coming. Your lip quivers as you quietly gasp for air. You’re going to die down here.

Your last option, you’ve already dismissed before it fully forms. You could break your oath, call up to them, cry out for help with the last of your strength. But to do that would leave you even more helpless than before. To speak was to lose your powers. Your god would rip them away in a heartbeat, until you plead for forgiveness; pray for hours and hours to swear your allegiance and dedication once more.

A slave to the chains that bind you.

But what choice do you have?

You try to catch your breath, slow the hiccups and sobs down until you can fill your lungs with air. You open your mouth, try to form the words, but it comes out as a weak sound, almost a poor facsimile of a donkey’s bray. You haven’t spoken for years, to do so now was an astronomical feat. You feel the burn of your god’s eyes as they watch you actively work to break your oath.

You try to speak again. You form an h sound, but it’s so quiet, it’s hardly enough to be considered speaking. You need to shout. You need to let your friends know you are alive down here. Anxiety grips your heart as you imagine being left down here alone, left to starve to death, or worse.

You swallow. You have to do this. You can do this.

“H..e..lp,” you croak out, a mere whisper. It’s raspy and breathy, but it’s a word. You feel your power being sapped away. You nearly sob again. Your god would abandon you down here. An unfeeling master who only craves loyalty. Astarion was right.

You take another deep breath and try harder. “H-elp..!” It’s still a strained rasp, but you hear it begin to echo off the walls. Louder. It needs to be louder. You cup your hands around your mouth. “Help!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the burning in your throat. “HELP!”

Astarion’s hands are raw from tying knots. Karlach will bring him big piles at a time, plopping them down beside him, and he’d add them all onto the already-quite-long rope. It was perhaps 30 feet long by now, but he wasn’t confident it would reach.

Wyll sighed, exhausted. “We’re almost out of clothes, my friend.”

Astarion doesn’t look up, barely paying attention to the warlock enough to tell him to keep working. Calluses on his hands open and turn into blisters. He winces with each knot he pulls tight. But he won’t stop. How can he?

Shadowheart sighs as she pulls the pants off another corpse. She’s seen far more anatomy in one hour than she ever wished to again. Karlach sits down by the pile and pulls the other end of the rope into her lap. She begins working to tie more on.

They work silently, but rather efficiently. In another minute, the rope has grown considerably longer. Blood begins to stain Astarion’s end.

“Fangs, maybe you should take a break.” He shakes his head, frowning as he grabs a robe off the pile. Karlach is about to insist, get Wyll or Shadowheart to take over, when a sound comes from the pit. Astarion drops everything and scrambles over as fast as he can.

He tilts his head, facing his ear down into the depths. And he listens…

H..E..LP!

He immediately shouts down into the hole. “We’re going to get you out!” He rushes back to his feet and to the rope. The others drop their half-naked corpses, and Karlach finishes tying one last knot. They help Astarion drag it over to the pit, all lining up to hold onto the end, though, to be honest, Karlach will be doing most of the heavy lifting. He guides the end over the edge, and hurriedly lowers it down. He wants to throw it in, but he’d rather not throw somebody else over the edge with the sudden weight.

He’s knelt right on the edge, wide eyes staring, searching into the dark. He has no idea how close they are to you, or even if it’s long enough. He hopes your god is merciful enough to play with fate.

“Find the rope!” He shouts down. He hopes his voice is reaching you. “We’ll lift you up!”

It’s too quiet for too long. If his heart still beat, it would be racing faster than a rabbit’s on the run. Dread builds up, heavy and unpleasant, in his chest instead. Did you pass out? Was the rope long enough? Would he have to slide down and carry you back up? What was taking you so damn long?!

He’s a second away from removing his armor to climb down when the rope shifts, being tugged by something down in the darkness. He can only hope it’s you. He scrambles to his feet and gets in front of Karlach, grabs hold of the rope with bloody fingers, and begins pulling you from the pit.

Somehow they manage to work as a unit. He’s scrambling to pull you out as fast as possible, but Karlach manages to get him to slow down. If they could do long pulls, they could drag you out faster with less work. He worries his lip between his teeth. Each knot that slips over the edge adds to his anxiety. He’s waiting for the moment it reaches the end and nothing is there. He can only take solace in the fact he can feel your weight holding on. Gods, he thinks desperately, just keep holding on.

After an eternity of pulling, a hand reaches over the ledge. Karlach makes up for his absence when he lets go and falls to his knees at the edge. He reaches in and wraps his hands under your arms, heaving you up and, finally, back on solid ground. He pulls you solidly into his arms, sliding back away from the edge. He’s sick and tired of chasms.

You’re no longer wearing your armor, and your weapons belt is gone, too. Fine, black dirt sticks to your clothes and hands, and even smears across your face, washed away by a stream of tears. He wipes them away with one hand; he can’t give a damn about the blood he leaves in its place.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. You sob as fall forward, your head landing solidly against his shoulder. Your whole body trembles and shudders with each cry. He’s disconcerted by the sound of your voice, no longer purposefully muffled. He threads his fingers into your hair, holding you to him. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

If your body ached at the bottom of the pit, now you couldn’t even think about moving. Astarion had carried you as far as he could and then some, until Karlach had to take you from his arms before he dropped you. Even then, he stayed right by her side, watching you anxiously.

Back at camp, Shadowheart healed what she could, but most of her energy was spent during the fight. Haslin took over, but even the best he could do would have you bruised and in pain for the next few days. He went into the woods for ingredients to make a soothing balm.

Wyll helped you drink water, and Gale helped you drink some broth, to hold you over until he could make dinner proper. Lae’zel rifled through your veritable hoard of supplies to find you some suitable armor and weapons, and worked to sharpen and polish them.

When you were finally given the chance to rest, Astarion carried you from your bedroll into his tent, laying you down on his own bedroll. He provided as many pillows as you wished, as many blankets as you could ever ask for. He gathered a bowl of water and a fresh cloth and worked to clean the grime off your face.

You watched blankly, too emotionally and physically exhausted to process much. He passed the cloth over your forehead. It was blessedly cool, but the flash of red that crossed your vision could not be ignored.

Arms like lead, you willed a hand to grab his, stopping him mid-swipe. He winced as you pried the cloth from his hand, where it dropped wetly onto your neck, and ran your thumb along his palm. Blisters and blood covered every inch, skin torn and peeling in places. Without even thinking, you try casting a spell to heal him.

Whereas before, when you tried to cast a spell, you could feel it draining your energy from you, now you just felt nothing. It was like dipping a bucket into a well and coming up empty. There is no more magic within you to fuel a spell. Tears prick at your eyes again.

Astarion sighs, long and low. “You don’t have your magic.”

It takes far too much effort to even shake your head. You take a breath, and through the rasping pain, you speak. “They… took it away when… I called for help…” You swallow thickly. Your voice was foreign to you.

It was foreign to Astarion, too. He could recognize the way you signed, the slight variations of years of experience against Gale’s book-perfect signing or even Wyll’s slower, more purposeful movements. He associated it with you so strongly. To hear you speak was like watching a ventriloquist put on a show.

A bitter feeling took hold within him. Just like all gods, all masters, all people with power to laud over another, you were abandoned in your darkest hour, by someone you spent so long dedicated to. Prayers, offerings at alters, your faithful silence - it would never be enough, not to a god who always craved more.

But now isn’t the time to say I told you so. Gently, he removes his hand from your grasp. Your hand flops back to your side. He takes the cloth from where it rested at your neck, re-wets it, and continues cleaning your face.

He doesn’t say anything as he wipes away your tears, catching them before they have a chance to slide down to your ears. When the sobs choke you, he helps you drink some water. When your sorrow lulls you to sleep, he tucks you in and stays by your side, a faithful argus.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

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corpsebasil · 2 years ago

Note

well hello! Hope you're having a great sunday darling! Since you asked so nicely for Nikolai requests, here's one: I have this feeling that dear ol' Nik's love language is touch. Could we get a very smutty smut where we also also explore how much he is a sucker for always touching the reader? I'm also a sucker for Paddy's hands so it would be lovely if they feature somewhere. ^^ Thank you and lots of love!

Why yes I can, but Ima need at least two parts

Second in Command 18+ Part 1

Nikolai, your captain and fellow privateer, was discussing terms of passage with Alina Starkov and her…whatever his name was…friend. Nikolai was dramatic. He’d always been a drama queen, so when he told her how much she was worth, dead or alive, you’d almost snorted.

You sat at his desk chair, lounging with one leg crossed over the other. He had appointed you as second in command, trusting you the handle the…private affairs that involved weaponry and taking care of rumors. Now he was standing beside his chair as he spoke, and he would not. Stop. Touching you.

You pushed his arm off as casually as you could when he wrapped it around your shoulders. You gritted your teeth in annoyance when his fingers played with your braid as he spoke, his hand out of sight from the two guests. And Saints save you, when he put a hand on your shoulder and rubbed his thumb against your skin, massaging away a knot in your muscle that he’d found with maddening efficiency, you barely stifled a groan and simply knocked him away.

The worst part was this: he didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it. The man was the touchiest person you’d ever met, and it made you feel all sorts of things when you further realized he wasn’t this way with anyone else. But he was flirty, and he was something like a friend, and you could handle unnecessary physical contact if you stayed second in command.

Later, he found you leaning against the rail of the ship, your eyes scanning the water for any signs of life. You tossed a piece of bread down to the waves, hoping in vain to see a fish or a dolphin or something pop out and get it.

“If you toss some meat over we might see a shark.” Your captain said, approaching you, and you smirked over your shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll toss you in. That’d be a show.”

He chuckled as he leaned against the rail beside you, his arm touching yours. Saints, this man had absolutely zero concept of personal space. He ran a hand across the smooth rail, testing it for blemishes, and you tracked the movement. You hated to admit it, but the man had nice hands. Your eyes lingered on the rather large ring on his hand, then immediately looked away when he bumped your hip with his and let out a soft laugh.

“Imagining things, Second?” He teased, but took his ring off, holding it towards you. “Here. Try it on for size.”

“No.” You scoffed. Imagining things. As if.

“Come on.”

“No. I don’t want your ridiculous ring.”

“Suit yourself.” He sighed, tugging it back onto his finger. “What do you think of our new summoner friend?”

“I don’t think anything I don’t care.”

“You’ll care when twenty million Kruger is in your pocket, I bet.”

“All for me?” You asked sweetly, glancing over. He was closer than you’d originally realized and you startled a bit, his blue eyed stare watching you with sleepy amusement.

“All yours, if you want it.” He said, voice soft, and your gaze darted to his mouth, then his eyes. A slow, wicked smile began to spread across his face when you looked away, glaring out at the ocean. What the hell was wrong with you? “But truly. If Alina is as powerful and useful as they say, we’re in for a lot more than just money.”

You blinked, still staring at the water. Money. Think about the money. Not the way his hands look when he’s running them across a rail. Not the way his lips move when he speaks, the curve of his upper lip and—

“Y/N?”

You almost jumped.

“What?” You asked, heartbeat quickening. He was staring at you with a confused, almost curious expression, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“I asked if you’re going to the tavern tomorrow. When we dock?”

“Oh.” Your brain scrambled, trying to remember at what point in the conversation did docking even become a thing? “We’re…docking?”

“Yes.” He was still looking at you, eyes narrowed slightly as if with suspicion. “To get supplies? Were you listening to me just now?”

“Yes. Yes I was. I was um—” you swallowed, cursing yourself for being so fucking awkward. You were confident as hell, and he was annoying, for Saints sakes. And now you were thinking about your captain’s hands? “Considering tossing you over again. For fun.”

“Ah,” he said, and it was so obvious you were lying that you almost hit him when amusement lit up in those eyes. “and I was thinking about kissing you. But maybe we’re both liars.”

Your stomach turned and you glanced away, then back, unsure of how to even begin to respond. So when he moved towards you and slipped a hand around your waist, dipping his head down to yours, you had a millisecond to register the whisper of his mouth against your own before you lurched away, stumbling back.

“No. No. What the hell, Nik?”

“You were staring at me like you wanted me to kiss you. So I did.” His expression was innocent. Too innocent.

“I did not want you to kiss me. I don’t.”

“Alright.” He said, calmly, and held his hands up as if in surrender. “No kissing, then.”

“Absolutely no kissing.”

“We’ve—that’s been established. Thank you for the unnecessary and slightly offensive emphasis.”

You scoffed and whirled around, practically stomping as you made your way towards your cabin, the only one on the ship besides your captain’s that you didn’t have to share. He followed you wordlessly, hands in his jacket pockets, whistling lowly under his breath.

You felt warm. Annoying warm as you moved into your room and shut the door, leaning against the wood as you breathed in and out heavier than you’d like. You swallowed. Then you drank a glass of water and sat on your bed. You changed into pajamas. You sat some more.

And then, suddenly annoyed into action, you picked up the nearest coat and pulled it over your nightgown, realizing only after you’d already knocked on his door that it was his own stupid coat. When had he even put it in your room? You—

The door opened, and a sleepy looking Nikolai poked his head out.

“Hello, lovely.” He said, eyeing what you were wearing. “I see you found my missing coat.”

“I was just returning it.” You gave him an annoyed look and shrugged it off, ignoring the appreciative glance he gave your nightgown. All your nightclothes were skimpy, but you hadn’t thought he’d ever see you in them. “Goodnight.”

“What is that—a napkin? Saints you women have interesting choices in clothing.”

“If think this is small you should see my lingerie, you judgmental bastard.” You regretted the words the second they left your mouth, watching as color rose on his cheeks and his eyes glittered with mischief.

“That can be arranged.” He purred, opening the door wider and leaning against the side. “But only if you’re wearing it when I see it.”

“Oh my—you’re such an asshole.” You whipped around to storm back to your room—really, it was only about ten feet away from his so the effect was lost—but were halted when Nikolai reached you in a few strides and grabbed your hand.

You turned to tell him off, annoyed and almost at your wits end, when his arm looped around your waist and he crushed you against him, mouth against yours.

You gasped when his fingers dug roughly into your skin, his tongue slipping between your lips, and damn you if he wasn’t the best kisser you’d ever had in your life. He backed you against the wall, hips to your own, and you almost whined against him when you realized absolutely anyone could see you right now.

“Stop it.” You whispered, pushing at his chest, but he only gave you an inch of space as he raised a brow. “Literally anyone could walk by.”

“Then we should go inside your room.”

“You are not going in my—”

“You could come to mine, if you prefer—”

But then footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby, voices of crew mates talking quietly, and you panicked, opening your door and practically throwing your captain inside before locking it behind you.

“Saints, be careful I almost fell over your—”

This time it was you who lunged for him, almost knocking him over when you seized him by his shirt and kissed him as hard as you dared. He groaned and your heart dropped into your stomach, his hands grasping your waist as he kissed you back. You moved when he stepped backwards, sitting on the edge of the bed and tugging you up onto his lap. You groaned, then, when he ground you down against him and moved his mouth to your neck.

“Is this the moment I see your lingerie?” He teased, and you could only sigh when his tongue and mouth trailed a searing path down your throat to your collarbone.

“Nikolai—” you gasped when he ground up against you again, evidence of his arousal digging into your pelvis.

“Yes, love?” His teeth nipped at your skin as his hands slid your nightgown up, fingers brushing the lace of your underwear.

“Nik, I want you to—”

A knock hit your door and you both jumped, turning to stare in absolute horror at the entrance to your bedroom.

“Miss Y/L/N, do you know where the captain is? We need to ask him about some maps we’re looking over.”

“He uh—" your voice sounded strained and you cringed. “Im not sure where he is, sorry.” Nikolai’s fingers tightened on your hips when you moved to get off him and you shot him a glare.

“Do you think you could look at them, then? Your opinion is just as good.”

“I—” you tried not to squeak when Nikolai leaned into you and began sucking a bruise onto your neck, completely unbothered by the current situation. “I can’t right now. Sorry.” You smacked your captain on the arm, ignoring his grin when he finally let you off him. “Give me like, three minutes.”

“Oh, alright.” A pause from outside. “Do you want us to wait here or—”

“No no. Conference room is fine.” You swallowed roughly and listening to the footsteps fading away, headed off to likely prepare the discussion you were about to have. You sighed dramatically and turned, giving Nikolai a look that promised violence. “Don’t do that when I’m trying to talk I almost—oh don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” He asked innocently, tilting his head to examine your flushed and rumpled features, his lips swollen and hair messed up. “What ever will the crew say if they heard you moaning my name when they think we’ve gone to bed?”

“Nikolai.”

“See, just like that, only with more emphasis.”

“I can’t stand you sometimes.” You groaned, moving to your vanity to grab a robe. “If you’re coming to the meeting, try not to act too suspicious.”

“What ever do you mean?” He teased, coming up behind you as you tied your hair back to pull your ass against his front. “Is this suspicious? What if I—”

You smacked his hand when it slipped beneath your dress and he let out a startled ow.

“Fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes, but took your hand before you could move away and slipped his ring onto your finger. “But wear this. Just so I know how this night’s going to end.”

“I’m not wearing—Saints save me fine.” This man was a pain.

He was a pain and an annoyance and you were a bloody pushover when you looked down at your finger and admired the jewelry instead of cringing at it. It was a bit big for you, though, so you took it off and threaded it onto your necklace’s chain instead. He smile grew when he watched your actions, nodding in approval.

“Never thought I’d be jealous of a necklace before.” He mused, eyeing your chest, and you whacked his arm lightly, trying not to grin at him. “See, I’m funny. You almost laughed.”

“I did not.” You argued, and walked ahead of him as you left the room and went down to meet up with the crew.

No one said anything, but it was obvious to everyone that the captain had been with you the night before when they couldn’t find him. It was a ship, not a castle, and there were limited places a man like him could be hiding without being found.

Plus, to your chagrin, there was the whole matter of Nikolai was being so damn annoying about it. The man was practically strutting around the ship the next morning, his smile wide, and at breakfast, where you sat sipping a coffee and nibbling a bowl of fruit, your nose in a book, he embarrassed you by kissing the top of your head and squeezing your shoulder as he passed.

“Nice necklace, Y/N. New purchase?”

Bastard. Cheeky bastard.

But he continued on like nothing unusual had just occurred, moving to discuss navigation with Mal, as you looked up at Tamar and Alina who were watching you with curious, amused expressions.

“When did that happen?” Tamar demanded, eyes darting from the captain to you.

“It was nothing. He’s just messing with me, I suppose.”

“Liar. Your heartbeat increased.”

“He’s just flirtatious you know that.”

“I think you’d be cute together.” Alina piped up, smiling as she watched the exchange. “You seem well matched. To be honest I thought you already were together when we met.”

“We’re not together, gods above.” You groaned, raising your book to cover your face.

“Basically. That man’s been obsessed with her since they met.” Tamar told Alina, furthering your embarrassment. “Everyone knows. It’s just funny watching them act like we don’t.”

“They do not know.” You insisted, mortified, and Tamar’s laugh was genuine.

“Come on, Y/N. When the guys went to Sturmhond’s room last night to find him, they had already placed a bet on whether he’d be there, or in yours.”

“No.” You protested, momentarily thrown when you remembered that no one else on the ship knew his true name but you. “No they did not.”

“Yes they did. And Wesley won forty Kruger when he was in yours.”

“Scandalous.” Alina giggled, then covered her mouth with a hand when you shot her a dirty look. “Sorry. It’s just funny, them betting over something like that.”

“Plus,” Tamar said, pointing a fork at your neck. “you’ve got a hickey the size of Ravka on your neck. You look like he tried to eat you.”

“Oh my—” you shot up out of your seat, snatching up your book and shooting Tamar a look that would scare almost anyone but her. “That’s it. Dish duty for you for the rest of your life.”

She was still laughing, ignoring your words completely, when you gathered up your breakfast and decided you’d have it in your room instead of bothering with being teased all day.

Whewwww the way Nik gets sassier and sassier every time I post is sending me

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #smut #nikolai lantsov smut

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years ago

Text

Maroon (part one)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me

And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)

themes: fluff, Aemond and the reader being friends first, shy reader, red wine antics, language + Aemond does not have his disability/lost eye in this one (but I plan to write it in for a potential part two)

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader has always admired Aemond Targaryen from afar, the brother of her best friend Helaena. Little does she know, she has caught his eye as well. Something is revealed one night, encouraged by a sudden splash of maroon.

"You've been awfully silent tonight," Aemond says, "and more so after Helaena went to bed. Is something wrong, y/n?"

Your fingers tighten around your wine glass, unsure of what to say. Perhaps you have withdrawn back into your shell when your best friend Helaena decided she was going to bed early. She is quite the lightweight, after all. A few sips of wine and she was out.

You didn't mind. But she left you here with Aemond, sprawled out on the expensive carpet in their living room. He gracefully leans against the couch, remaining poised. One thing you admire about him is the way he carries himself, almost with a sense of regal austerity that makes him intimidating to most people. Add that to the fact that Aemond is one of the heirs to the Targaryen business empire, the richest family in the city.

But for some reason, he is gentle with you. Treating you differently than he does anyone else. Almost with reverence. Helaena once joked that he shouldn't go easy on you too much, with you being tougher than you look. Aemond just laughed it off, but you stood there awkwardly, unable to hide the way your face grew flushed all over.

Your crush on Aemond Targaryen has only gotten worse since then.

"I'm not silent," you find yourself blurting out in a defensive tone, "I'm... just... nursing my wine, that's all."

Get your shit together, y/n.

A small smile appears on Aemond's lips, as he notices your increasingly flustered state, "Okay, I believe you."

"Good," you look down at your glass, swirling it around. What should I say next? What should I say next?

Aemond interrupts your nervous train of thought, continuing his sentiment slowly, "Because, you know, I would hate to think if there's anything wrong, or if you feel uncomfortable in any way. We are friends, y/n. I want you to feel that you can be free around me, as you are around Helaena."

He just knows the right words to say, doesn't he?

"I know," you respond, in a calmer tone that even surprises you, "and I appreciate that, Aemond. I apologize if I come off as aloof sometimes - "

"Don't apologize," he laughs dryly, "if there's anyone who knows what it's like to come off as aloof, it's me."

"True enough," you smile, taking a sip of your wine. You don't notice Aemond’s eyes follow your movement, fixating at last on the way your lips curve against the glass.

"Tell you what," he says, "how about we play a game? Break the ice even more and all that."

"A game?"

"Yeah, like, I haven't a clue... truth or dare?"

You gulp, your mind racing with the possibilities of what that game usually entails when played out, "I don't think that works with just two people, Aemond."

"Why not?" he slides a bit closer to you on the carpet, and your heart races ever faster.

"It just... it just doesn't!" you shrug, breathing out in a slight huff. He's so close. So close.

"I say it can work, y/n."

"Really, now?" you raise your eyebrows, "I'm not built for doing dares."

"We'll keep it simple. Nothing too ridiculous. And if we don't want to tell the truth, or do a dare, we just have to take three sips of wine."

"Hmm..."

"Or even soda, or water. If you prefer. I don't want to feel like I'm making you drink. Helaena would murder me if you get too drunk whilst in my company." Ah, Aemond. Always so considerate.

"I'm okay," you smile, "I'll stick with wine."

"So you accept my offer?"

You take a deep breath, in an attempt to steel your nerves. Before you can chicken out, and change your mind, you say, "Fine. Let's play."

"Wonderful," he smirks, "So, darling... truth or dare?"

"Truth," you croak, the way he addressed you as darling still echoing in your ears. There's no way you'll jump right into a dare.

"Okay. What was your first impression of me?"

"Oh," you rack your brain for an appropriate answer. One that can be said out loud in front of Aemond anyway.

"I, uhm, I thought you were polite."

"Polite?" he laughs freely, "glad to know I make that much of a lasting impression."

"I mean, not just that," you lean forward, "you were well put together, I guess. Quiet, but not shy. I got the sense that you know exactly who you are. You've got a strong sense of self, and as a result, you know how to take care of yourself, and your family. It's admirable, really." You also thought of running your fingers through his astonishingly silver hair, craving to know what it felt like, but he doesn't need to know that now.

"Hmm," he smiles softly, looking down, almost wistfully, "there was a time when I was quite different, you know. I was so insecure, and so angry. It's a miracle that I've grown into who I am now, but I am proud of myself for it."

Aemond is opening up to me? You get a sense of innocence with the way he spoke, and a sincerity, with all pretenses put away. Here, he is just Aemond, not this great heir or this renowned scholar. “That truly is something to be proud of,” you profess, “I, for one, am proud of the person that you are.”

His eyes light up as he looks at you, “That means a lot coming from you, y/n.”

“Does it?” you ask. Why would it? Since the first time you met, over a year ago, you have not had many lengthy interactions. The handful of times you were brought together, with only the two of you, were purely coincidental. Like this very moment. You did not expect to be drinking wine with him on the carpet tonight. You had actually considered heading home after Helaena went to bed, but Aemond took your hand, pulling you back down to sit with him, imploring you to please stay. Just a while longer.

And you are glad that you had.

“It does,” is the only thing that Aemond says in response, and as much as you want to press on, you decide to let it go.

“Okay, Aemond. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he takes a sip of wine. You think of how pointless the whole condition of only having to take a drink when refusing the challenge has become. You two continue to drink, either way.

“I dare you to… uhm, tell me something in High Valyrian.” You’ve always been fascinated by the Targaryens’ native language, them being originally from the faraway country of Valyria. It is truly a place on top of your bucket list, and you secretly wish that Aemond would take you there one day.

“That’s easy,” he smiles, then pauses, looking at you directly in your eyes. He takes a deep breath, as if mulling over what to say. Then you hear it.

“Iksā gevie.”

You swallow nervously. The way his voice deepened went straight to your head, making you feel slightly faint. You whisper, “That sounds… lovely. What does it mean?”

“I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder, your confidence gaining a significant boost from the wine, “Come on. Just tell me. What did you say again? Ikse gevya... gevy?”

He beams, amused by your pronunciation, “Iksā gevie,” he repeats, “Eek-sah gev-yeh.”

“Right, right,” you nod, taking another sip of wine, “Just you wait until I type that in Google Translate. It better not have been anything rude.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” he promises. “Truth or dare?”

“Eh… dare,” you say, but you immediately change your mind. “No, wait, truth! I choose truth.”

“Are you absolutely sure, darling?” Aemond croons, tilting his head.

“Truth.”

“Alright, then. Are you seeing… uh…” he pauses, clearing his throat, “are you seeing any… any chance of you working for our company in the future?”

Are you seeing anyone? He had wanted to ask instead. Aemond internally kicks himself for pulling back.

You notice how weirdly he phrased that question. You choose your answer carefully, “Well, it’s definitely something I would consider. You know how much I admire your family. But, I don’t want anything handed to me on a plate. If I were to get a job there, I want it to be on my own merit. I don’t want you or Helaena or anyone to vouch for me, or put in a good word for me, just because I’m your friend.”

“I understand, darling.” He smiles at the determined way with which you spoke. His stubborn girl. “But if you ever need any help, I’m here.”

You reach out to squeeze his hand gently, as a sign of your appreciation, “Thank you, Aemond. You’ve always been kind to me.”

He looks down at your hand around his, and he clutches yours in return. When your eyes meet, you see that his gaze is so warm, so gentle. You feel as if you are being held. Like you’re safe.

You finally let go of his hand, “So, truth or dare?”

And so, the game continues for another half hour, the two of you growing increasingly inebriated by the minute. The wine glasses have been put to the side, the two of you opting to take turns with drinking out of the bottle instead. You answer all sorts of questions from Aemond, such as “Which of the Targaryen siblings do you think should run the company?”, “Who’s your preferred drinking partner, Aegon or Daeron?”, and “Do you like my hair better short or long?”

You ask him your fair share, but one thing that sticks to your mind is what he answers to “Are you interested in anyone at the moment?”

“Yes. I think so.” He says, and you can tell that he is being honest. Your heart sinks at that. Of course, there would be someone who already caught Aemond’s eye. He is one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, after all. Women everywhere are vying for his attention. It only makes sense that he would eventually meet someone he truly liked.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and Aemond astutely picks up on what you may have assumed.

“Darling, I - ”

You cut him off bluntly, not remembering that it’s his turn to ask, “Truth or dare, Aemond?”

“Hmm,” he stands, your question hanging in the air, with his hand outstretched for you to take, “come with me. I want to show you something.”

Taking the wine bottle, you stand and interlace your fingers with his. “Where are we going?”

He guides you out of the expansive living room, turning right at the end of a long hallway. He pries open a glass pivot door, revealing the private stairwell of their penthouse. Without a word shared, you climb up the flight of stairs together. One floor, two floors, three. Until you reach what can only be the roof of the high-rise building they live in.

The cool, midnight air is a refreshing assault to your senses. Immediately, you feel more awake, less drowsy from the wine. The rooftop is spacious and has been outfitted with a seating area, plenty of potted plants, dainty lighting fixtures that hang from the posts, as well as an exposed room littered with bust sculptures. The balcony stretches all around its perimeter, made out of ornately carved bronze.

“Wow,” you say, after taking it all in. “I’ve never been up here before.” You turn to look at him, and he seems pleased at your reaction. You add, “And you live here? Imagine. My entire apartment must only be a quarter of this rooftop, if not less.”

“Hmm,” he smiles, looking around, “I like to come up here to think. This rooftop is rarely ever in use, since my family all prefer to huddle downstairs. And well, Aegon’s afraid of heights.” He sneers at the end.

“Is he now?” you hand him the bottle of wine, “Remind me to bring that up the next time we see him.”

“Last time he was up here, he threw up over the balcony.”

“Oh, god,” Aemond laughs at the way your face scrunches up in disgust. “That’s quite a long drop. I hope he didn’t hit anyone on the sidewalk with it.”

“What a shame, really. That would have been the most interesting lawsuit.” Aemond remarks, before motioning with his head for you to follow him.

He reaches a plush seat facing the balcony, and the two of you sit in relative silence for a while. The whole city seems to be sprawled out below you, and the stars above also gleam much closer, like they are just within reach. Your wandering eyes take everything in with awe, but Aemond only watches you.

Instead of the stars, he thinks of how you are within reach. If only he would just let you know how he feels.

When you turn to finally look at him, you are surprised to see that he has been watching you. “Aemond,” you say, “why are you so nice to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you so nice to me? From what I’ve seen, you are indifferent to most people. It can’t just be because I am Helaena’s friend, is it? You don’t have to treat me like I’m some fragile doll, you know. I won’t break, I swear.” Your voice takes on a sarcastic tone, and the corner of his lips lift in a smile.

He looks away, facing the tops of the buildings in the sprawling city that his family empire practically owns. Prince of the city, some people call him.

“I know that, darling.” He tilts his head partially towards you. “I like that you’re… different. I mean, trust me when I say, the crowd that the lot of us are exposed to tends to be entitled, shallow sycophants.”

“Bit harsh, Aemond.”

“Perhaps,” he smiles sardonically, “but anyway. I’m used to people only being interested in me because of my last name, or the family legacy. No one’s ever bothered to see me for who I truly am, save for only a handful of people. Because of this, I get quite protective of Helaena, since she can be overly trusting. She only chooses to see the good in others.”

“That’s what I love the most about her,” you say sincerely.

“Hmm, yes. But it also makes her more vulnerable. She’s had friends before, who were only clearly hanging around her so they might leech off of her higher status.”

“Aemond, I’m sorry to hear - ”

“But not you. I am aware that Helaena tried to help you before. Tried to get you a better apartment, or get you a high-ranking job with us. It would be easy, just like that. But you refuse, time and time again. You don’t mock us either, simply for being who we are, and having this much privilege. You see us as people, and unfortunately that’s a rare thing. I can tell that you truly care for Helaena, otherwise I wouldn’t let you hang around her at all,” Aemond smiles, nudging your shoulder, then drapes his arm on the back of the seat behind you.

“Overprotective brother much?” you taunt lightly.

“It’s an affliction I choose to bear,” you notice how he has leaned closer, his breath warm on your face.

You swallow nervously, “So, I guess you answered my question.”

“Partially,” he shakes his head slightly, “darling, I’ve got a long list of reasons why I like you, and that’s only scratching the surface.”

“Oh.” If you thought you felt faint before, then you were just about ready to pass out now. Panicking, you raise the wine bottle to your lips, taking a long drag. But when you pull the bottle away, you must have done it in a nervous rush, causing it to tilt in a way that wine spills out and splashes on your shoulder.

“Steady, y/n.” Aemond takes the bottle from you, setting it down on the stone floor.

“Fuck.” You look down and see the wine stain on your shirt, seeping wider, a shade of scarlet so deep it could be mistaken for maroon.

Suddenly, Aemond laughs. You want to act incredulous, or annoyed, but the sound of his laughter is so hearty and genuine. And so rare, that you find yourself smiling at the sight of his dimples deepening, and the faint lines around his eyes bursting free.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “It’s just, at the rate you’re going with the wine, you could be giving Aegon a run for his money.”

“Ha-ha,” you dab at your shirt with your hand, but it doesn’t do much good.

“Come, I can lend you something to wear.” He takes your hand, leading you out of the rooftop.

“It’s alright, Aemond. I can just borrow one from Helaena.”

“She’s already asleep,” the two of you descend down the stairwell, stopping at the first floor below.

“I’m sure she won’t mind.” Where is he taking me? Must be the laundry room, or a guest room?

“I insist,” he declares, dropping your qualms altogether.

You come to a halt in front of a wooden door, painted a brushed forest green. Before you could ask anything, he holds the door open for you, “This is my room.”

You look at him expectantly, unsure of whether you should enter. He only smiles, “After you, darling.”

With your heart pounding in your chest, and the maroon patch still vivid by your shoulder, you step inside Aemond’s bedroom. It’s massive, predictably, just like every other room in this penthouse. The walls are a comforting, deep shade of forest green, just like the door. There are also accented panels of dark gray, to avoid a monotony of colour. The furniture is simple, clean, modern. Yet each one possesses intricate detailing. His bookshelf covers the entire eastern wall. His bed… well. You compose yourself, trying not to let your mind wander.

You feel him standing behind you, waiting.

“Nice room,” you say.

“Hmm,” you can practically hear the smile in his voice, “thank you. I don’t really bring anyone in here.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to impose - ”

“Stop. I asked you to come in here, y/n.” He walks over to a sliding door to the left, revealing a large walk-in wardrobe. Of course he would have one of those.

He disappears inside for a moment, before returning to you, a dark green sweater in his hand. The same shade as his bedroom walls. Hmm. Aemond seems to have an affinity for green.

“Here, put this on.” He hands the sweater to you. “This should be comfortable enough to sleep in.”

“Thanks,” you take it, feeling the material in your hands.

“No problem,” he continues to look at you, and you have to ask, pointing to the walk-in wardrobe, “Could I maybe change in there?”

“Right, sorry, I should have offered,” Aemond smiles, looking down.

“One second.”

When you gently slide the door shut, you lean back against it, taking the deep calming breath you’ve been holding in. Being around Aemond makes you feel as if your very skin is on fire. The attraction you feel for him becomes so palpable, making you somewhat a nervous wreck. There’s no need. Like he said, he is your friend, y/n.

You sit on the bench in the middle of the room, taking your shirt off. Hurriedly, you put on his green sweater, and he’s right. It is so damn comfortable. And it smells exactly like him.

“Everything alright in there?” you hear him from behind the sliding door.

“Y-yeah,” you say. Taking your stained shirt in one hand, you stand, and meet him outside.

He studies you, admiring the way his sweater hangs off your torso. “Hmm,” he remarks, as he always does, “you look better in it than I do, y/n.”

“Well, thank you,” you say sincerely, before adding, “but I have to disagree.”

“You look beautiful.” He suddenly says, the words immediately taking root in your heart, “You are beautiful.”

“What?” you croak, your voice coming out in an astonished whisper.

“That is what I said earlier,” he continues, “That is what iksā gevie means.”

“Oh.”

Aemond crosses the few steps needed to erase the distance between the two of you, plucks the shirt from your hand, and deftly tosses it to a nearby chair. Then, he takes your hands in his. He gazes into your eyes, and his expression is a mixture of longing and reluctance. He then traces your cheekbone with his fingers, delicately, as if you will crumble under his touch. And you just might.

“Aemond - ”

“Iksan jāre naejot vūjigon ao sir.”

You feel the urge to ask him what those words mean, instead you choose to simply let it be, and just bask in the sincerity in his tone. In the way he does not drop your gaze when he spoke them. In the way his hands slowly find themselves on your waist, pulling you close.

He leans in, slowly. And the whole world ceases to exist around you. The ringing in your ears becomes silenced, and there is only Aemond. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like, his lips pressed against yours. His devotion reserved only for you. It seemed like a dream, but now, it is well within reach.

But the dream is shattered when a heavy knock echoes throughout the room. Three, brief, raps on the forest green surface. That was all it took to break the spell.

Aemond’s brows furrow in frustration, his hands still on your waist. There is an anger in his voice when he calls loudly over his shoulder, “Yes?”

“It’s me, sir.” You recognize the intruder to be Criston Cole, the head of their family’s security team.

“Wait here, darling,” Aemond says, running his finger over your lips, over what he could have taken if you had not been interrupted.

Aemond opens the door, and you briefly meet Criston’s eyes from across the room.

Your presence in Aemond’s room seems to catch him off guard, but he straightens quickly, “Aemond, there is someone here for you.”

“At this fucking hour?”

Looking at you once more, Criston lowers his voice when he replies, but you hear it anyway. “It’s Alys Rivers. She’s waiting for you downstairs as usual.”

As usual. Alys Rivers. The famous model and socialite. You knew of her from the magazines, the internet. There have been tabloid articles of her and Aemond, but you knew better than to pay any attention to them, not believing that there could be any truth to such lowly forms of media. Or at least, that was what you assumed. But if she’s here, in this ungodly hour, then…

“I think I should get to bed,” you walk towards the doorway, “to Helaena’s room, that is.”

“No,” Aemond stops you in your tracks, grabbing your arm, “wait. We aren’t finished yet. I just - ”

“Your guest is waiting, Aemond.” You cut him off, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, while he tries to get you to look at him, but to no avail. You’re worried that if you do, you might not be able to leave.

Criston shuffles out of the way to let you through, greeting you with a cordial, “Good night, y/n.” You notice how there might even be a hint of regret in his eyes.

Each step feels heavy as you make your way down the hallway to Helaena’s room. Compared to how you felt, mere moments ago, as though you were floating on air.

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night, your thoughts racing on what might be happening down the hall. Who is Alys Rivers to you, Aemond? Why did she have to ruin what would have been a perfect night? Are you just stringing me along?

When you finally succumb to slumber, you fall into a dream.

Of who else but Aemond? Of who else but the one whom your heart desires?

Ok ok ok. This will be the last thing posted before part 5 of Heart on Fire. I think. 🤞

“Iksan jāre naejot vūjigon ao sir.” - "I'm going to kiss you now." - Aemond 🖤

Maroon just had to be multi-chaptered. It might be my favourite track from midnights.

Apologies to those who have sent requests. I do see them, but I'm just a bit bogged with uni/life at the moment. Hopefully will write a lot more soon!

Also, thank you thank you for all the kind remarks/messages. You guys are amazing. Any suggestions for part 2? Let me know in the comments 🖤🖤🖤

Aemond/HotD taglist: @aemcndtargaryen @cryztalline @fairaardirascenarios @blackravena @vensidia @xinyourdreamsx @mrswhitethornbelikov @mikariell95 @thermiting @witchofthenorthstar @m00n5t0n3 @booknerd2004 @throughgoeshamilton @xcallmetaniax @wrendermeuseless @m-indkiller @graykageyama @nsainmoonchild @milemarianne @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @caspianobsessed @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @random-human02 @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @angel6776 @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @huntycola

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #midnights

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