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#'he needs to love both sides of her!!' well yeah sure but i can sure as hell tell you which sides i'd rather see kiss

rafeandonlyrafe · 15 hours

Text

mexico

words: 1.2k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, soft!rafe, established relationship, overbearing/annoying parents, proposal, marriage talk

“and why would i not want to come?” rafe questions, a soft smile on his face as he looks over to you.

“my family can be… a lot sometimes. i wouldn't blame you if you couldn't be around them for a whole two weeks.” you explain softly.

“but then i would have to be away from you for two whole weeks.” rafe hums. “i can put up with them if it means being with you.”

“stop it.” you whine out. “you're gonna make me all blushy.”

“i love how easily i get you all flustered.” rafe laughs, pulling you onto his lap.

you've purposely only let rafe around your parents in small doses. they can be overwhelming, intense, and if they get on your nerves, they'll certainly get on rafes.

rafe holds you closer to his chest, his mouth finding yours. you allow him to kiss you for a minute before you pull away, much to rafes dismay as he frowns.

“okay, so to prepare you for them-”

“kiss first.” rafe interrupts. “prepare later.”

you can't argue with that logic.

“rafe, did you remember your socks and underwear?”

“mom!” you gasp. “he's a grown man, oh my god. you don't need to announce that in a crowded airport.” you hiss out the last part, a warning against any of her antics, not that it does anything to dull her.

“oh, relax sweetie.” she laughs. “i just don't want your boyfriend to have to get to mexico only to have to buy a pack of undies.”

“oh my god.” you grab rafe, pulling him a bit farther away from your parents, hopefully meaning they won't talk to either of you as much. “im so sorry about them.”

“hey, it's fine.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head. “just think about mexico. we're going to get there and lay out on the beach just the two of us. ill take you shopping and we'll spend all our money on tourist traps.”

“yeah, when my dad isn't forcing us to go to museums or cultural sites and my mom isn't snapping 1,000 pictures of us.” you look over at your parents only to realize your mom is taking a picture of you at this very moment.

your groan is drowned out by rafes laughter.

“mama, we are going out to the beach!” you call.

“oh, goodness!” she quickly rushes into the living room, the back patio opening up right onto the sand.

“be back in time for dinner, dears!” she says, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen and adding it to your bag.

“we'll be just outside, mom.” you say, allowing her to kiss both your cheeks. despite finding your parents overwhelming at times, you love them and know they love you too.

“rafe, she burns easily. make sure you reapply for her.” your mom says, pressing a kiss to his cheek as well.

“yes ma'am.” rafe nods.

you make your way outside before she can say anything else, walking until you're closer to shore.

“let me know when you need more sunscreen.” rafe smirks at you as you both lay out towels. “im always down to get my hands on your body.”

“perv.” you laugh, making rafe growl and reach over to tickle your sides, ending up lying on the same towel in a heap.

your hand in rafes is the biggest solace as your dad continues on about the history of the town, deigning himself an honorary tour guide.

“sorry about this.” you squeeze rafes hand. it was interesting at first, but now that you're on the third hour of explanation about the architecture of one building or how the streets were made, it's becoming boring and manatonis.

“no problem.” rafe hums. “seriously you gotta stop apologizing, baby. your parents aren't that bad, plus, they made you, so i kinda have to thank them for that.”

“oh you're so sweet.” you whine, leaning in to turn your voice into a whisper. “you are absolutely getting laid tonight.”

“and you are absolutely getting treated to a beautiful and private dinner. i already talked to your mom about it. she called me a little romantic.” rafe smirks.

“you are a little romantic.” you giggle, reaching across the table to hold rafes hand, the flame of the candle flickering in between the two of you, appetizers and entrees finished, waiting for a dessert to split to be brought out to you.

“have to tell your mom she was right.”

“hopefully they're asleep when we get back.” you can't help the smirk that stretches over your cheeks.

“oh, you are desperate for it, huh?” rafe laughs, sitting back as the waiter brings you out a chocolate cake dripping in fudge.

“it's been like four whole days, of course im desperate.”

“oh fuck.” you whisper, head tilted back against the sheets, rafe between your legs, thrusting mercilessly inside of you.

“god, you're so warm.” rafe hums out, burying his cock inside of you repeatedly.

“to-touch me.” you whine out, rafe instantly knowing what you're really asking for. “i need it.”

rafe drops his hand to your clit, rubbing it as he feels you pulsing around him as your high builds.

“nice and tight for me baby. and so wet.” rafe hums out, struggling to keep his voice low since your parents are asleep not far away.

“gonna cum- rafe!” you let out a gasp. “gonna cum, please.”

rafe moves as fast as his tired legs will allow, wishing he wasn't so worn out from the very long walk around the city with your father.

he makes up for his lack of pace with his thumb on your clit, rubbing and flicking over your bud until your high breaks.

your back arches off the bed with a moan as you cum probably a little too loud, rafe releasing inside of you only a moment later with a moan of his own.

“some mama and me time would be nice.” you smile, looking at the spa package your mom laid out in front of you.

“mhm. and your dad has something planned for him and rafe.” she says, looking over to your boyfriend.

“are you okay with that?” you ask, looking over at him as he eats his bacon.

“sure.” he nods. “would be nice to get to know him. one on one, ya know.”

“where are we going?” rafe questions, looking out the taxi window as it takes him further into the city.

“a shop.” your father just hums out, leaving it at that.

“okay.” rafe allows the silence to settle until they reach the store. he understands exactly why he's been brought here as he sees the storefront, advertising glittering bracelets and diamond rings.

“sir, i should let you know-” rafe clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to pull out the velvet box. “i already have what i think you brought me here to influence me to buy.”

your father's eyebrows raise in surprise as rafe continues.

“i haven't asked your permission yet, but i know i want to marry your daughter. i love her very much.”

“we would be honored to have you become part of our family, son.” your dad says, clearing his throat as tears well in his eyes.

“last night.” you hum, looking out onto the the water, the moonlight glittering over the waves.

“actually-” rafe smiles, tucking you further into his side. “we are extending our trip by a week. your parents are going home, though.”

“really?” your eyes widen.

“they insisted, actually.” he chuckles. “on one condition.”

“what's the condition?” you question as rafe sinks to his knees pulling out a box.

“that you say yes.”

642 notes · View notes

luveline · 7 months

Note

spencer one shot where he’s angry at somebody else [bc he so does look so kissable when he’s angry >:(] maybe someone at one of the precincts they’re working at said something rude about r and he defends u and maybe he gets a lil kiss <3

im thinking “this is calm and it’s doctor” vibes bc that scene does things to me 😭

ty for requesting ♡ fem, 1.1k

cw for sexual harassment

"Jesus," Spencer says, rushing to stand behind you as you bend over.

"Mm?" you hum. You're fishing for your dropped change unsuccessfully by the precinct vending machines. "They have your chips, did you see?"

"Your pants are ripped," Spencer says, hand ghosting your thigh.

"What?" you ask, shooting up. You turn on the spot to hide, hand leaping back. You feel at the seam. "Where?"

"Top of your thigh."

"Shit, really? Can you see my–"

"Yeah," he says, meeting your wide eyes while you locate the rip. "How did you do that?" He laughs.

"Don't laugh!" you demand, though you're giggling as you do, hand covering your thigh and the bottom of your butt inefficiently.

"Do you want my jacket?"

"Don't cover it up, toots."

You and Spencer both blink. There's a crowd of grinning beat cops by the door of the cafeteria who've obviously witnessed your misdemeanour. "Toots?" Spencer asks.

"Sorry, boys, that's the end of the show," you say with a grin. Not because you particularly enjoy having been oggled, but it's always been like this. Men will always make weird comments to you, and you've learned to play nice until they're out of your jurisdiction.

"Turn back around," one says bravely, though you aren't sure which one.

Spencer stands in front of you subtly. "Do you know that thirty eight percent of women experience sexual harassment in the workplace?" he asks, quick but measured. "Thirty eight percent, but I'm sure a much smaller number of those women are federal agents, and a smaller number again have the capacity to break your arm. I've seen her give serial killers radial fractures. I've seen her do worse."

"We were just messing around," one says.

"No need to get defensive," says another. "Don't get mad, boy."

"I am defensive, but I'm not mad."

His tone attracts the attention of a precinct sergeant who barks at them to stop messing around and get back to work. "Were they bothering you?" he asks after they've filtered out with their heads down.

"No," you say swiftly. "Everything's fine."

Spencer frowns, worse when the sergeant leaves, turning to you to take your hand. A few weeks ago at a company picnic, when the sun was high and your spirits comparatively lower, you'd apologised to him for flirting. You love to flirt and especially with him, puppy eyed Spencer with his head of brown hair and his big brain, but some of the team suggested you were taking it too far. You apologised, but Spencer didn't really get what you were saying sorry for and took your hand to lead you out of the sun. He protects you.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" His voice fries.

"I'm sure," you say. His hand is an interesting thing on yours. He has long, long fingers that seem to possess their own willpower, moving even as they're sewn through yours. "I don't know what to do about my pants."

Spencer's eyebrows pinch together. "Well, I'll take care of that. I'll find you something. I can't believe those as–"

"Oh," you interrupt, taking your hand back in want of a better thing to hold, his cheek a mix of soft and scratchy against your palm. "You're still mad."

"I'm not mad," he insists, though eventually he relents, "Alright, I'm angry that they'd think it was okay to objectify you."

"What else?" you ask, letting your voice drop in pitch, the sound smooth as angora silk.

"I'm thinking about if I hadn't been here."

"I can protect myself," you murmur, endeared by the heat in his gaze. "You said it yourself, handsome. Radial fractures."

"You shouldn't have to."

"We both already know that," you say, the side of your hand slipping down his cheek reverently. He squints gently, his lashes dark triangles, his irises a browned sugar. His jaw clenches under your touch. "You're handsome."

"Right now?" he asks dryly.

"Are you handsome right now?"

"Are you really flirting with me right now?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You draw a line under his ear whisper soft to curl a longer strand of his hair around the tip. "You look hot when you're winning."

"What did I win?" he asks, like he doesn't want to know.

You grin at him, stickying. "Would you like an itemised list?" you ask, rising on tiptoes to speak into the shell of his ear. "What do you think you deserve, handsome? For such a fearless defence?"

He's not immune to your whims, but he is used to them, planting his hands on your shoulders to ease you back on sure footing. "I don't want anything. I'll always defend you."

"Can I give you a small token of my gratitude, at least?"

His pinking cheeks practically emanate heat. "We don't have time for this," he says regretfully, "I still have to find you a coverup."

"Just a small token," you say.

He hums and haws. "Alright. Okay, whatever you want."

"You sure?"

He nods once, his jaw working with something unsaid. You touch his neck, fingertips trailing along the underside of his jaw until you're sure it's what he wants before you brace your hands behind his head and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, close enough that the corner of his lips align with yours but don't overlap. His neck is hot in your hands, his hair soft, his breath hooking as you lift your lips just a touch and your nose digs into his cheek. "Thank you, Spencer," you whisper.

He pulls you closer.

You shudder as his hand presses into the small of your back, wondering what it is he wants to do. His fingers spread. Your thoughts turn to white noise. Like he can sense it, he breathes out and steps away, but any sense of urgency is gone.

"As much as I might tease, I really do need some pants," you say. "I'm not very interested in anyone else seeing my panties today."

He rushes off to find you something and you press the backs of your fingers to your cheeks, feeling the heat there with a resigned embarrassment. He has no idea how much power he has over you, in his stony anger and his eager reception. The phantom of his hand warms your back until he returns, his sweater in hand. "Sorry, this is it."

"If you want me to wear your clothes, just say so."

"Hotch is pretty pissed at us."

"Ah," you sigh, tying his sweater around your waist, "another day in paradise, baby."

#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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daycourtofficial · 2 months

Text

Rejection

Summary: After some drinks, Azriel finds out you’ve been keeping a secret from him.

Author’s note: hehe what kinda crack was I given I hope yall feel fed these days

“Nothing stings quite like rejection,” you say, taking another sip from your class. A loud laugh fills the air.

“There’s no way you’ve ever been rejected,” Cassian tells you, popping open another bottle of wine.

You roll your eyes, “I’ve been rejected before, Cass.”

Cassian doesn’t look at you as he pries the cork out of the bottle, foregoing a glass and drinking straight from the bottle before he says, “by who? Someone blind who can’t smell?”

You’re taken aback, “by someone who can’t smell?”

He shrugs, “you smell really nice.”

You smile a little, “thank you?”

“Who was it?” Feyre asks from the other side of Cassian, moving her legs beneath her.

You, Cassian, Feyre, Nesta, and Azriel were lounging around the sitting room, each drinking from a bottle of wine, reminiscing on past love lives.

Azriel looks at you as your cheeks heat, telling her, “it’s too embarassing, you’ll laugh.”

“Were they out of your league?” Nesta asks, intrigued by the new topic.

You gulp down your wine, making eye contact with her steely gaze, “uh, yes, definitely.”

Cassian’s laugh is boisterous as he claps your back, “well tell us. Who could be out of your league?”

Feyre laughs, “yeah I think we need to know so we can go see this perfect specimen.”

Your face is even redder, at both the compliment and knowing who it was. You sigh, knowing they’ll never give up until they find out who it was.

“Okay fine,” you say, breathing in deeply. “A few decades ago, after a high lord’s meeting, I asked someone out, they agreed, and then they didn’t show up.”

“Ouuuuuuch,” Cassian drawls, “what an idiot. That hurts worse than being told no.”

“Yeah,” you respond, “it was embarrassing, but I don’t harbor any bad feelings about them.”

You turn to see Feyre thinking about something. “If it was at a high lords meeting, surely we know them then?” Feyre asks.

Your heart begins beating out of your chest, “oh, you definitely know him.”

“It’s a him! It’s a him!” Cassian shouts as you finish off your wine, opening a new bottle.

Rhys strolls into the room at all the commotion, looking as his family devours his wine collection.

“What’s the point in buying all this wine if you all drink it without me?” He strolls towards Feyre, kissing her on the head before sitting next to her.

“She was just about to tell us about when she got stood up for a date after a high lord’s meeting.”

“Ah,” Rhys says, “when you asked out Azriel.”

Everyone stills, and your eyes are glued on the drink in your hand. The blood is rushing through your ears, but you make out a soft what amongst the noise.

Cassian throws his head back laughing, “you asked out Az? And he stood you up?”

His laugh is booming through the room, but not for the reason you think. You fold into yourself a bit, shoulders sagging as Cassian says, “that’s cold, brother.”

Azriel does not address his brother’s taunts, eyes focused on you.

“You never asked me out.”

“Yes I did. I asked you out to this bar, you said yes, and I waited there for a bit before giving up.”

“No you didn’t,” he says, pouring through his memories of all the meetings he’s attended over the years.

“Az, it’s fine. There are no hard feelings. You changed your mind or didn’t want to hurt my feelings by saying no.”

“No it’s not fine. I would have been there.”

You finally, finally look up at him.

Az turns his attention from you to Rhys, “how did you know she asked me out but I didn’t? What high lord meeting even was this?”

Rhys waves his hand, “it was before Amarantha.”

Feyre tenses at the name, but Rhys goes on.

“During a break I heard her ask you out, but Beron began speaking to me about something, pulling my attention away. I assumed you two went out and there just wasn’t anything there.”

“Which meeting was this?” Azriel asks.

Rhys blows out a breath, “Tarquin’s father wanted to talk about Amarantha and the threat she posed. We were in Dawn for close to a week with discussions that led nowhere.”

You wanted the ground to open a riff and swallow you whole. You even sent Feyre some thoughts.

I’ll give you anything if you kill me right here.

Her melodic laugh fills your mind.

Az adores you, though. I’m shocked he didn’t show up.

She pauses, then her voice rings again.

Also you’re hot as hell, who would say no?

You give her an exasperated look and are about to resign yourself to leave and never, ever interact with any of your friends again when Azriel’s voice picks up.

“I left that meeting early,” Az says, remembering, “one of my spies needed out, I had to go extract them discreetly.”

He looks at you, “it took a few days because they got seriously injured and I wanted to ensure they were okay before coming back. By the time I was done, discussions were over and we were back home in Velaris.”

His face falls a bit, “I-I completely forgot. I am.. so sorry.”

“I appreciate the apology but it was ages ago, I figured you got caught up with something or said yes because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“I said yes because I wanted to go.”

The two of you look at each other, forgetting everyone else was there.

He stands, walking towards you, extending a hand.

“I’m quite late, but would you like to accompany me this evening?”

You put your hand in his as shadows envelop the both of you.

The last the inner circle hears from the two of you is a soft yes on the wind.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

1K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 9 months

Note

Could you do a smau where she’s max’s sister and dominating MotoGP the way max is f1. Maybe they have the typical annoying younger sister/protective big brother relationship and he finds out she’s dating one of the f1 drivers? Xx

cherry lip balm | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x motogp!verstappen!reader

the verstappen siblings run motorsport, but the youngest's f1 allegiances may belong elsewhere

f1 and motogp

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 1,405,466 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yourusername

f1 and motogp: happy international siblings day to max and y/n verstappen, these two have 60 wins between them 🏆

view all comments

user1: my faves i love them

user2: the way jos wasn't gonna let them kids do anything else lol

yourusername: + victoria verstappen the patron saint who puts up with both of us love you 🥰

maxverstappen: you mean putting up with you ? i'm a mature man of the world now

yourusername: girl you are fussier than all of our nephews put together mature MY ASS

maxverstappen1: i am mature and i have BOUNDARIES

yourusername: yeah you have boundaries between all your food you bland man

victoriaverstappen: i think you just proved y/n right

user3: they are the most unhinged people ever i feel so bad for victoria lol

user4: patiently waiting for y/n's championship

marcmarquez93: no marquez representation?

yourusername: you need to serve more

maxverstappen1: you guys don't have the verstappen sass

user5: someone needs to stop them 😭

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 832,771 others

yourusername: the two sides of a race week

view all comments

user6: the way she won this race and was like yeah i need that 0.5 of me drinking coffee actually

yourusername: it's a hot chocolate cause i'm a child

user7: are we all collectively ignoring the whole ass man on the last slide?

maxverstappen1: no we're not Y/N Y/M/N VERSTAPPEN CALL ME THIS INSTANT

yourusername: calm it on the all caps and maybe i'll call you

maxverstappen1: MAYBE?

yourusername: well that's not making it any better maxie

user8: i can't loose this parasocial relationship y/n get that man's hands off of you now

landonorris: y/n please pick up max's call he's threatening to throw my monza trophy PLEASE PICK UP I DON'T HAVE THAT MANY TROPHIES

yourusername: please refer to my previous comment about all caps and then come back

landonorris: y/n may you please call your beloved brother back so my very limited trophy collection does not get destroyed

yourusername: sure just for you lando ❤️

maxverstappen1: STOP FLIRTING PLEASE

yourusername: i just picked up ... and ur still commenting (plus that's not lando in the pic btw he's too skinny to be him)

landonorris: why am i getting bullied by both verstappens today, i'm just trying to help :(

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,034,661 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: there's no party like a verstappen party and a verstappen-only party with no BOYFRIENDS because they don't exist :)

view all comments

user14: ahaha passive aggressive max is my fave

yourusername: just cause you're too much of a pussy to ask charles out so i can't have a boy friend?

maxverstappen1: what?

yourusername: what?

user15: max as overprotective brother is my new favourite thing

danielricciardo: i fear y/n is 22 years old and her own woman

yourusername: awwww thanks danny at least one man here has SENSE

maxverstappen1: how much did she pay you to comment that?

danielricciardo: she didn't pay me but my house plant currently at hers was being held at gun point

yourusername: i would never

danielricciardo: so i can delete my comment

yourusername: do that and sheila gets it

user16: i know we should be more concerned with max going insane, but daniel's choice of name for his house plant is the most pressing issue

user17: hear me out but for comedic purposes ... i need y/n's bf to be a driver

maxverstappen1: do not speak that into the universe

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 808,943 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: i like the taste of her cherry lip balm

view all comments

user22: what 😭 the 😭 fuck 😭

yourusername: you don't taste half bad either ;)

oscarpiastri: come back to bed

maxverstappen1: NO NO NO STOP RIGHT THERE OSCAR JACK PIASTRI WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON'T SAY THAT ABOUT MY SISTER

oscarpiastri: how do you know my middle name?

maxverstappen1: i called your mum, anyhow YOU ARE A DEAD MAN

oscarpiastri: how did you get my mum's number?

maxverstappen1: i'm trying to threaten you please stop asking questions

yourusername: maxy please stop trying to be scary i know you still wear footy pjamas at christmas

maxverstappen1: well i hope oscar is terrified by my christmas spirit

user23: i feel like i lose brain cells watching y/n and max talk to each other

user24: we ignoring the fact that max managed to get oscar's mum's number just to ask for his middle name PETTY KING

maxverstappen1: it was more than a middle name, i needed a character witness

yourusername: CHARACTER WITNESS? YOU WORK WITH HIM? YOUR BEST FRIEND IS HIS TEAMMATE?

maxverstappen1: i understand you are making points and no one has a bad word to say about him ... but i've got to stick to the bit now

oscarpiastri: so i'm not going to die in hungary?

maxverstappen1: no. but keep all your business to yourself, i don't need to know what lip balm my sister uses and that you own a bed

oscarpiastri: got it 🫡

user25: well that was dramatic

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,203,788 others

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

maxverstappen1: congrats on your first podium in f1 oscar, welcome to the family i guess ... don't take photos on my phone every again

view all comments

user28: so we can all say oscar has max's approval now?

user29: mans was like wow he challenged me in the race he has the stamp of approval now

yourusername: jokes on you we look great @oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: and what the people don't know is that max was also doing face masks with us

maxverstappen1: not the serve you think it is i am very secure in my masculinity

yourusername: i'm glad you've gotten over your weird older brother act ... does this mean you'll both come to my next race?

oscarpiastri: i'll be there :)

maxverstappen1: i guess

yourusername: whooooooooop finally

user30: the way i am so happy for oscar i feel like i've been on this journey with him

user31: honestly rookie of the year and it's not even close

user30: i was talking about him and max... but yeah he's doing great !!!

landonorris: can i also get a pass for your next race y/n for keeping it a secret?

maxverstappen1: WHAT

yourusername: ur so dumb i actually can't

oscarpiastri: i'm not helping you here dude i just got approval

landonorris: well now i regret helping you guys

maxverstappen1: open your door lando

user32: is he dead?

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 1,348,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri

yourusername: fifth win of the season, my family and the love of my life, what could be better

view all comments

user33: i feel like the shit storm of max and oscar has defo distracted us from the fact that f1 and motogp fans are suffering through a verstappen winning nearly every race

maxverstappen1: i want everyone to appreciate my character growth as i took that gross ass last photo

yourusername: thank you maxy, what a sacrifice

oscarpiastri: thanks dude, you did push me in the water right after though

maxverstappen1: uh you snooze you lose, a verstappen rule of life, you had no phone on you so fair game, i thought you wanted to be part of this family

oscarpiastri: I DO ... does this mean i can push you in next time?

maxverstappen1: absolutely not.

yourusername: do it anyway osc i'll protect you babe

oscarpiastri: idk i'm scared

yourusername: he's ticklish he's so easy to beat

maxverstappen1: THAT WAS A SECRET Y/N

user34: if you told me last season that i'd see max go from wanting to kill piastri to being brothers with him and that i'd know he wears footy pjs and is ticklish i'd laugh in ur face

maxverstappen1: ONLY AT CHRISTMAS

oscarpiastri: don't worry mate i think it's cute

maxverstappen1: okay now i prefer you over y/n

yourusername: who? what? where? when? why?

oscarpiastri: soz babe you snooze you lose

note: ahhhhh i really enjoyed writing this so i hope you enjoy i love writing comment domestics if you couldn't tell lol xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri instagram au #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri

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deadsetobsessions · 2 months

Text

Gothic mushroom shaped candles. Danny picked one up, grinning. Sam would have love these on her alters. Very Sam, very Gotham.

It a bit bittersweet, now that he could think of her without being paralyzed by crushing grief. Her and Tucker both. Danny turned, keeping an eye on Tim as he glared into the case of used cameras.

Danny walked over and tried not to feel guilty about practically mooching off of a child. Even if the money he was using was actually the Drakes’.

“Like anything you see?”

Tim shook his head. Danny pondered over what little he knew of photography- all of which he learned from documentaries that were more focused on nature.

“I think there might be a camera store a couple of blocks down. We could get the ones that takes photos of animals, like the really big ones that takes photos of wildlife?”

“I guess. I mean, I don’t need it since we can…” Tim glanced around suspiciously. Danny willed his mouth to not smile at Tim’s antics. “Fly close,” the kid finished in a whisper.

“Okay, but what about when I’m not there?”

Tim hunched up on himself and Danny despaired inwardly. Uh oh, what did he say now?”

“Are you going somewhere?” Tim quietly asked, sounding hurt and upset.

“No,” Danny soothed, patting Tim on the head. I mean, what if I’m busy with stuff but you want to go take pictures without me?”

“You said to go get you whenever I wanna go out to take pictures.”

“Okay, yeah, I- well, we might as well get you a quality camera, right? To take really really good pictures of the… local wildlife. Like… the birds and the bats, and all that.” Danny winked exaggeratedly.

Tim blinked and giggled when he got the joke. “Okay, as long as you’re staying!”

Danny grinned, fangs and all. “Of course.”

——

At the end of their shopping spree, generously provided and sponsored by the Drake family and their heavy black card, Danny got a phone and Tim got a wild life camera that was a whopping $4,000 but was compact enough to not look absolutely ridiculous.

“It’s heavy!” Tim whined, as he grinned like a loon.

“It’s quality,” Danny plopped the shopping bags on the island in one of the giant kitchens Drake manor had. “I’ll make dinner. You figure out those settings and you can tell me about it when we eat.”

“Okay!” Tim hummed excited, quick fingers and laser focus already aimed at his new device.

Danny picked up his new phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. As it rung, Danny held it up to his ear and began prepping the ingredients. At least

“Hello?” His sister’s cautious voice came through the phone. Danny’s shoulders relaxed.

“Heya, Jazz.” He could see Tim’s ears all but perk up in order to eavesdrop. His mouth quirked up in amusement and Danny turned away. He probably shouldn’t be encouraging that kind of behavior… but it was funny.

“Danny! Are you okay? I- I heard that they chased after you and I was worried sick! Are you safe? Any injuries? Do I need to pick you up?”

“I’m good. Promise. Not bleeding out or dying. It’s actually pretty nice right now,” Danny paused before turning back a little more so he could watch Tim’s reaction peripherally. “Hey, listen, can I adopt a little brother?”

He watched Tim sit up straighter eyed flickering up to him and back down again, a secretly pleased look on his face as he figured out that Danny was in fact talking about him.

“Danny, what the hell?” Jazz huffed, audibly relieved to know that Danny wasn’t on his merry way to becoming a full on ghost. “Who, why, and what kind of trouble did you get into now?”

“Hey, this was me getting out of trouble. Those people don’t even know where I escaped to. Tim helped me out a lot,” Danny said in the tone that meant ‘and there’s more to it but I can’t tell you right now.’

“His name’s Tim?”

“Yeah, you wanna say hi?”

Tim looked terrified as he heard Danny’s side of the conversation. Danny could relate.

“Alright. But you’re explaining everything later, got it?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Danny turned to Tim, abandoning the peas he was shelling and rinsing off his hand to hold the phone.

“Tim, my sister, Jazz, wants to say hi. Are you cool with that?”

“Uhm! Yeah! Yeah, sure.” Tim, honest to ancients, squeaked. Danny’s enhanced hearing could pick up Jazz’s already melting heart. He taped a button.

“Jazz, you’re on speaker.”

“Hey, Tim. I’m Jazz. Thanks for taking care of my little brother!”

“Uh, hi, Jazz! I’m Timothy Drake! And, uh, you’re welcome! Anytime!”

Tim glanced at Danny for reassurance, relaxing a bit when the halfa threw him a double thumbs up.

Jazz went quiet.

“Jazz, you good?” Danny asked.

“We’re adopting him. Danny, you better make sure knows about everyone. Hi, Tim, I’m Jazz, your new big sister.”

“Uh- I have parents.”

“That can be fixed,” Jazz casually brushed off. Tim looked like a deer in headlights, so Danny took his sister off speaker and went back to cooking. He made sure to smile at Tim.

“Don’t worry, we won’t adopt you if you don’t want to. But it wasn’t a joke, we’re very serious.”

“I’ll think about it?”

Danny shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

“So, where are you?” Jazz asked him, rustling coming through on the phone.

“Gotham.”

“You are so fucking lucky I love you, dumbass. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon.”

“Playing hooky, are you?”

“Fuck off, little brother, before I show Tim your toddler pictures.”

“Thanks, Jazz.”

“Bye, Danny. Don’t get killed again when I’m not there, got it?”

“Sure, sure.”

Danny smiled and returned to his agenda of stuffing as many vegetables into one meal as he can. At least the food isn’t trying to tear out his face.

——

Robin hasn’t heard the eerie giggles around lately, but he’s been practicing his own. It’s weird though, because there’s always a glint of something in the corner of his eyes.

“Robin, muggers.”

“On it, B. Shall we, Batgirl?”

“Let’s go, Boy Wonder.”

#Jazz Fenton #jazz fenton casually suggesting murder #danny phantom #batman #tim drake #dc x dp #dcxdp #bamf danny phantom #Danny phantom and the weird experience of being the youngest and the oldest sibling #squatter! Danny Fenton #danny: well I don’t wanna go home so I’ll just stay here #this was in my drafts for so long lmfao #inspired by that one post where Tim had to have those expensive and giant wildlife cameras #but I think they’d get the compact one #dick Grayson #barbara gordon #Robin #batgirl

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dumpywrites · 1 month

Text

Cat-astrophe - Min Yoongi / Suga

Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem.

Genre/tags: Fluff-ish, strangers to ???, minor mention of anxiety.

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

a/n: cus we're all soft for long haired Yoongi, right? hehe

It had been officially a month since you had moved to a new apartment place. You loved the new place honestly. It was cozy and the neighborhood looked nice. There were many convenience store nearby and the street was always still busy until late at night, making you feel a little bit of secure when coming home late.

While the place was nice it had one tiny downside. It was rather on the far side from your workplace. It took you an hour of bus ride just to get home from the office, so some days could be more tiring than others. And today was one of those tiring days.

It was around nine at night on a Monday. Having to work overtime for the deadline and missed the bus, really dreaded you out. You were both tired and hungry, arriving home only to find that your pet cat was missing. It really just was not your day.

To say you were panicking would be a bit of an understatement. Cookie was barely a four month-old cat and had a very tiny body. All the negative possibilities start filling your head and you were horrified by all of them. Not to mention how it was basically forbidden to bring pets in the apartment complex. It was one of the policies but you couldn't help it since Cookie was a rescue.

When you arrived at your apartment lobby with a cat snack on your hand, there wasn’t that many people there. You walked past a guy by the front desk, who had medium-length black locks and fair skin, with headphones dangling on his neck. You began to call your pet’s name as soon as you were outside the lobby, but suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

“Are you looking for a small black Bombay cat?” It was the same guy who just walked past you.

“Oh my god, I am! Have you seen him???” You said, your voice was a little bit shaky.

“He’s in my place, I’m on the seventh.”

“Oh, me too!”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised at how stoic he sounded saying that, but didn’t further question him on it. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, can I go get him now?”

“Sure, I was just gonna go up as well.”

When you both entered the elevator, you made a mental note to ask his name or at least introduce yourself. He was a neighbor after all. It was pretty silent inside the lift and you just hoped he didn’t hear your stomach rumbling ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, bearing the hunger for a little while.

When the elevator door opened you followed him from behind as he led you to his door. When he stopped at his front door, your eyes were widened in shock.

“You live next to me?!”

“Yeah.” He said casually and unlocked the door. "I've seen you multiple times."

You chose to not further question and followed him but stopped when you had only took two steps in, because technically, the homeowner had not really officially permit you to come in. The guy seemed to notice how you just stood awkwardly and looked back.

“You can sit down for a sec, I’ll go get him.”

“Oh, right… yeah. Thank you.” You said awkwardly and walked to sit on his couch.

A few seconds later the man came back with your cat in his embrace. Cookie was clinging on his tshirt before he tugged him and gave him onto your lap.

“Cookie!” You called, almost teary.

“I think he jumped from your balcony to mine. Make sure to close your balcony door next time.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you… uh…”

“Yoongi.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You repeated and introduced yourself in return. “I’m Y/N, and if you ever need anything please let me now.” You said as you stood up, already making your way out.

“Also, thank you for not reporting it…”

“No problem.” Was all the guy said and by this point you figured he was not much of a talker.

You bid your goodbye to your neighbor, which only gained a small nod before he closed the door on you. You walked to your door and let Cookie down as soon as you got inside. Sighing deeply, you began to feel your stomach rumble again, this time it rumbled quite loudly. Your feet were aching from standing on the bus and now your body finally got on how tired you were.

Cookie meowed and immediately went to his cat bed and laid down. You sighed and smiled at the small creature.

“You little rascal… you’re lucky I love you.”

You then went to your kitchen to cook yourself some instant ramen.

The next day you went to work and had to take another overtime. Unfortunately you had to for the rest of the week until your current project was done. It was exhausting but you had to make it and mostly thinking about the bonus pay from it helped quite a bit. You spent the next few days the same, repeating the schedules, and the tiring work.

It was almost ten at night that you arrived home and found out Cookie had gone missing again. For some reason your first instinct was to knock on your next door, in hope the neighbor who once helped you, could lend you a hand again, and hoping maybe Cookie just ran to his place again instead of being gone somewhere where it wasn't safe for him.

You knocked on the door and didn’t get immediate answer. You waited for what felt like five minutes, before the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of your neighbor with wet hair. He had a small white towel around his neck and the hoop earring that you saw him with before was absent. His skin looked glowing, you probably needed to ask about his skin care routine later.

“So sorry to interrupt you, I was wondering if Cookie might have gone to your place again?”

“He’s right there on the couch.” He casually pointed. His expression was straight and had you wondering if he did not mind it, bothered, or simply didn’t care.

You slowly walked to approach your cat and bent down to its level. “Cookie, you need to stop this…” You tapped the cat's nose, as if scolding the poor cat would do anything.

“He jumped to my balcony again, did you forget to close the door?”

“But I made sure to close it this morning…” You looked at your neighbor, who walked closer to inspect the cat.

“I think he knows how to turn door knobs, since he’s quite a jumper. You need to lock the door.”

“I can’t believe this little demon…” You sighed, fingers still stroking the purring cat.

“He’s… alright.”

You were slightly taken aback by the response and looked up to him, but much to your disappointment, his expression still looked the same. You were about to get up and excuse yourself, but you notice a small steel bowl under his dining table, half full with what you assumed to be cat milk (I mean, it would be weird if it was his, duh!).

“You also have a cat?”

His eyes followed yours. “Oh, that. I got it the first time Cookie came here, I figured he must be thirsty since he came in around noon time.”

“That’s… that’s very nice of you.” You looked at him and smiled. Somehow him addressing your cat by his name sounded lovely.

“You can have the rest of the milk if you want, since you’ve figured out how he escaped and all…”

“It’s okay, you can keep it! Just in case he ran into you again…” You chuckled but then stopped after realizing how that just sounded like you did not mind troubling him with your cat continuously. “I mean… I’m sorry, I’ll make sure he’ll never escape again.”

“It’s alright, I’ll keep the milk for now.” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just in case.”

You looked at your neighbor and couldn’t help but to feel all warm inside. He seemed like a nice person and from the looks of it he also liked your cat.

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. I’ll be taking this little guy here then...” You smiled at him and stood up with Cookie in your arms.

“I got some dim sum…”

You looked at the guy questioningly.

“Do you maybe want some?”

“That’d be too much, it’s okay, you go ahead and eat.” You politely declined. Although you were hungry, you could bring yourself to bother your neighbor any more than what you had done.

“Have you eaten?”

“Y-yeah?” You asked, afraid you heard it wrong.

“Have you eaten?” He repeated. “If not, then I insist you take some.”

“I…” You wanted to lie, but at this point it would come off as rude if you refuse him again. “I actually haven’t. Thank you very much though, I feel so bad that you’re being this nice to me.”

“You can just eat them here.”

“I don’t wanna disturb—“ You were awkwardly cut by the sound of your stomach rumbling.

“You’re not disturbing me.” He cleared his throat and looked away.

That was embarrassing.

And that was how you ended up sitting down on your neighbor’s dining table, eating dim sums.

In silence.

This Yoongi guy really did not like conversation it seemed. He was sitting down on his couch and had turned the TV on. The volume was on but not quite loudly, and Cookie was on his lap, sleeping as he occasionally stroked the cat’s head softly. Funny that somehow you could see some resemblance of Yoongi with your cat.

“So… how long have you lived here?” You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. You kind of regretted asking as soon as the words came out from your mouth, afraid it would be awkward.

“Around ten months or so.” He paused. “No, I think it’s been almost a year cause I spent two months overseas.”

“Really? What were you doing overseas?” You regretted asking again. Looking at how quiet Yoongi was, you didn’t want to ask too much or indulge into too much conversation, afraid it would be too much for him.

But much to your surprise, he answered. “I’m a producer. I was working for this artist and all the work had to be done in America.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” You said. At this point you no longer were sitting facing the table, but to him. “Who was the artist?”

“Uh… Halsey.” He replied while looking at the TV screen, seemingly to avoid your stare.

“Oh my god???” You gasped. “That’s incredible! So you’re like crazy talented?!”

“I’m alright…”

“You should show me some of your work someday!” You said enthusiastically. When Yoongi did not reply to it and stayed silent, you cursed yourself internally. “I mean compared to what I do that’s like really amazing.” You chuckled nervously.

“I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” He looked at you, a small smile was on his lips.

You realized it was the first time you saw him smile and it made your heart raced rather faster than usual. It was the first time you saw him with facial expression other than his usual poker face.

“I’m just a normal product designer at a very normal company.” You shrugged.

“Don’t downplay yourself like that. You work very hard.”

“Thanks…” You replied shyly.

After finishing your food, you got up and went to wash the dishes, which immediately got stopped by the homeowner. He politely told you to go back home and rest. Which again, you could not thank him more for.

You took your pet in your arms and said your goodbyes to your neighbor. Right when you arrived back in your place you came to realize something. Yoongi did not eat with you and there was only one portion of the food. While it could just meant he had already eaten beforehand, you felt giddy, thinking about another possibility. Was this a crush you sense forming? Frankly speaking, you could not care less. You were welcoming the possibility with open arms.

—

Friday finally came and you were ready to take it in. The days of working with your company project was going to an end, which meant you no longer need to work overtime after this. The thought of it put you in a very good mood.

This time right after arriving home, you walked to a nearby chicken restaurant and grab some not only for you, but also for your neighbor. You wanted to repay his kindness the past few days. After changing into some comfortable clothes, not to mention the multiple times you had to re-check the outfit in the mirror for some reason, you took your cat in your left hand and the food in the other. You knocked on your neighbor’s door hoping he was home.

And he was. You were greeted with his silence but he opened the door wider as soon as he saw your face without question. One thing that caught your eyes though was how he was dressed up like he was ready for a night out. He wasn’t in his usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, but instead in a ripped wide legged jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white tee underneath. He looked handsome. And here you were, in your so-called comfy outfit that you were starting to regret.

“Before you ask, no, Cookie’s right here.” You smiled awkwardly as you raised the small cat in your hand for him to see. “I’m just here to drop by some chicken I got for you… as a thanks for your help these past few days.” You handed the plastic of food to him. “Alright, that’s all…”

He took the food from you hesitantly. “You don’t wanna come in?”

“Aren’t you going out or something?”

“I was… but you are here.” He said, sounding unsure.

“That’s ridiculous, why would I stop you from going out?”

“I was gonna go to your place…”

Your mouth formed a small O shape, unable to form a word. He was going to your place? But what for??? The butterflies in your stomach were having a blast.

“But you’re all dressed up…”

“I was gonna change back.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, which made you gulped at the sight. “I knew this was a bad idea I shouldn't have listened to Hoseok—”

You stopped his rambling. “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go eat together at that one Chicken restaurant nearby…”

“Oh.” You widened your eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked at you, biting his cheek in annoyance.

“This is awkward.” You chuckled.

“Whatever, just… just come in first.”

You saw Yoongi putting the plastic of food on his table. You offered help after putting down your cat on his couch and walked to his direction. Both of you plated the food in comfortable silence, it felt oddly domestic and you liked it. At this point you were used to him being not talkative and see it as his charm.

After you took the plates to the living room, Yoongi suddenly came back with cans of beers and soju in his hands.

“We’re drinking?” You said with an amused grin.

“You can drink, right?”

“Sure, but can you?” You playfully eyed him.

“Don’t challenge me.”

You could see how he was trying to hide his smile, and it brought colors to your cheeks.

—

You did not know how you got in this situation. Five episodes in randomly rewatching Avatar The Last Airbender and you both were drunk. You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the screen. It seemed like the booze gave you confidence, or made you shameless, or both, but the guy didn’t complain so it could be a sign of a good thing. While you could see Yoongi holding his alcohol better than you, he was not completely sober either.

It was at this very moment where you saw things through a pink tinted lense. Had Yoongi’s hair always looked that soft? Had he always looked this handsome? You began to question things you should not be questioning.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” You randomly asked.

“Do I look bad?” He replied, eyes still on the screen, hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap.

"Of course not, I just feel severely underdressed now..." You chuckled.

He eyed you from top to bottom, which made you nervous, but he shrugged, seemingly to not have any problem with your clothes.

“You look… handsome.”

“You think I look handsome?” He suddenly moved to face you, making you move to look at him as well. The tone of his voice sounded like he was teasing more than asking a question.

You nodded and bit your lips. “And you kinda look like Cookie.” You giggled.

He raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with your answer.

“Your eyes…” You began to ramble. “They look just like Cookie’s, and when you look annoyed, or just your plain expression… you look like a cute cat.”

“Really…” Yoongi hummed.

“Yup!” You giggled like an idiot.

You failed to notice how at this point, Yoongi has put Cookie down from his lap to the floor. His face only inches away from you as you kept rambling.

“Your hair look so soft… like a cat’s fur.” You reached your hands closer to his hair, but stopped mid-way, scared he’d get uncomfortable.

Yoongi surprised you again by grabbing both of your wrist and putting your hands on his hair, letting you stroke his head slowly. You saw his expression softened and as you kept playing with his hair, he closed his eyes. You swore you heard him purr.

“Pretty.” You said with a drunk smile.

“Hmm. Pretty.” He mirrored.

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense.

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.”

—

To be frank, you could not recall what happened after. You recalled some bits of karakoe-ing? Singing random PSY songs in your broken Korean using a bottle of whiskey as your mic. That was probably all? You couldn’t think while the throbbing headache was present in the room with you.

So why were you now in a bed that was not yours, wearing a t-shirt that was too big for you and was clearly not yours, also for heaven’s sake, WHY IS YOONGI SLEEPING NEXT TO ME???

You froze. Did you??? There was no way. Sure you found him attractive and all, and you definitely had this huge crush on him, but you couldn’t just sleep with a guy you barely knew. Besides your headache, your body didn’t feel any pain, so that was probably a good sign. What if he was just that gentle? Okay, you need to stop thinking at once before you started a whole fiction about you and Yoongi in your head.

When you turned your back, you felt the other side of the bed shifted as well.

“You’re up?” He asked with a raspy voice.

“Yeah.” You said, still back-facing him. “We didn’t… you know…”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, okay good.”

Yoongi did not answered to that, but instead you felt him scooting closer.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you’d wanna spend your weekend.” You chuckled.

Your breath hitched when you felt a hand over your waist. “Is this okay?” He suddenly stopped when your body tensed at his touch.

You nodded, heart beating too loudly for you to form any sentence.

“This is nice.” He said, resting his forehead on your back.

When you stayed silent, he took your hand and turned you over to face him. Heat immediately took over your body as soon as your eyes meet. You noticed he was back in his usual home attire, oversized tee and sweatpants. His hair was messy, but it seemed like universe had its favorite cause he still looked good.

“You know, I haven’t had good sleep in… weeks.”

You were surprised by his sudden confession.

“It’s half past eleven now, and it’s not even ten minutes after I woke up…” He tittered. “My anxiety has been getting worse the past month and out of nowhere a black cat suddenly jumped to my balcony, meowing non-stop while I was working.”

You looked at him, letting him finish his talk. This was the most words you had ever heard coming out of Yoongi’s mouth and it made your heart flutter.

“I haven’t been caring. I’ve stopped caring, for a while now. Seeing you care so much for such a small creature… I don’t know, it feels good. It makes me wanna care.”

“Yoongi…” You cooed, caressing his cheek. "It's not true, all you have been since I first met you until this moment, was caring."

"I'm sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere but I feel at home with you and I don’t know why...” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yet, at least.”

“I… like this too. A lot actually.” You said shyly.

“I would like to get to know you more if you’d like.” He was being honest and exactly to the point, no flirty bullshit to spice his sentences.

“I’d love that...”

Suddenly you heard a low meow from under the bed and Cookie jumped into the bed, joining you two. Apparently his bedroom door was left opened and none of you noticed how Cookie had entered. You giggled and he smiled as well, the widest smile and the most genuine you had ever seen from him, as he took the cat and cuddled both of you close.

"I think it's about time you give me your number..." You squinted at him playfully. "You know, so we don't repeat the whole chicken restaurant accident again?"

“Okay, but promise me first you won’t apologize again after kissing me.” He chuckled.

“EXCUSE ME WHAT???”

—

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense.

Yoongi laughed. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.”

“I can be crazier if you open that whiskey.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Yoongi just shook his head, smiling at your silliness. He stood up and went to grab his Hibiki anyway, which earned a shout of celebration from you.

Things escalated quickly after opening the bottle. Somehow you were starting a drunk karaoke session which followed by many dance breaks. You ended up crying when a sad song randomly came up in the playlist and when Yoongi asked why, you replied. You replied with your lips on his.

In your head it just made sense. It was his lips’ fault for looking so juicy. Yeah, totally his fault for looking so hot that it was driving you insane.

None of you moved and it only lasted seconds before your mood turned sour again.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…” You pushed him gently. “Oh my god, you’re so gonna hate me!!!”

“Hey, calm down…“

You started to panic, tears now forming in your eyes again. “Please don’t hate me, I just wanted to kiss you…” You cried.

“Okay, I think that’s enough drinking—“

And you puked.

Yes, Yoongi did see your lilac colored bra when he helped you change into his t-shirt. But that’s a secret between him and little Cookie.

Thank you for reading! 💎

part 2 is here!

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagine #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #min yoongi #bts suga #suga scenarios #suga imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n

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arieslost · 2 months

Note

you have pushed me to ask so here I go

I present my idea of motorcyclist!oscar and his gf who is afraid of motorcycles. He convinces her to try it onc3 and BOOM hands around him holding on the dear life.

I want to hold on to him

I can't stop thinking about that tiktok

here's a ss I took from the tiktok edit

what a yummy man

the entire time i wrote this i kept coming back to look at this picture because oh my goodness gracious. i hope this lives up to ur expectations <33 definitely wanna write more biker!osc after this

hold on tight | op81

“Just one time?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No way.”

“Do you even love me at all?” Oscar asks dramatically, jutting his lower lip out for extra effect.

“That’s not going to work on me, Piastri.” You shake your head vehemently. “I refuse to get on that death machine. It’s bad enough that you ride it all the time.”

“Come onnnn,” he whines, tugging you up off of the bed and into his arms.

The two of you look like polar opposites— him with his leather jacket and riding gloves still on, smelling faintly of exhaust, and you in plaid pajama pants and one of his worn out t-shirts. You suppose that’s what makes your relationship work so well, opposites attract and whatever. All relationships take compromise though, and this is one “compromise” that, thus far, you’ve refused to make.

In your eyes, it’s not a compromise. But Oscar has been asking you to be his “backpack” practically since the two of you met.

“What do I have to do to convince you?” He’s asking, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Hmm, nothing.” You smile up at him, and it fades just as fast when you see the excitement in his eyes. “Because it’s never going to happen. I like being alive, thank you very much.”

“Baby, you know you’ll be safe with me. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” He says sincerely, his pleading tone now gone. “I’ve been riding my entire life. I did all the crashing before I got my license. Haven’t crashed since.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better.” You mutter, hiding your face in his chest so he can’t see your resolve slowly starting to crumble.

“It would be so fun,” he continues, arms tightening around your frame as he starts to sway you both side to side a little. “All you’d have to do is hold on to me. I’ll do all the work. You trust me, don’t you?”

“With all things except the death machine,” you say, voice muffled by the material of his jacket.

“I love you, but I’m gonna need you to stop calling her ‘the death machine,’ honey.”

“Her?” You look up at him, affronted. “I’m definitely not doing it now. Wouldn’t want to get between you and the other woman in your life.”

Oscar laughs. His laugh has always been more of a giggle around you, which is such a contrast to his outward appearance that it never fails to make you melt.

“You’re the only woman for me, which is why you’re the only woman I’ve ever asked to be my backpack.” He says.

“Don’t try to butter me up with the whole backpack thing again.” You roll your eyes and try to pull away from him, but he somehow manages to twirl you and bring you right back into him.

“It’s not me buttering you up, I’m just telling the truth. Come on, baby.” he leans in and gives you a long kiss that leaves your head spinning a little. “One time. And if you don’t like it, I promise I won’t ask again.”

You let out a frustrated groan, because he has to know that he’s won at this point. That kiss was nothing but tactical. “Fine. Fine. But you can’t just kiss me like that every time you want something from me, it’s unfair.”

“Yes, yes!” He squeezes you into him, kissing the top of your head over and over. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already am a little bit.” You grumble.

That’s how you find yourself standing on the sidewalk with Oscar in front of you adjusting a helmet on your head.

“This is making me claustrophobic,” you complain as he flips the visor up so he can see your face.

“I’m just making sure you’re safe, baby.” When you furrow your eyebrows, he sighs and drops his hands to his sides. “If you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, okay?”

This makes you relent a little bit. “Osc, I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I don’t like motorcycles, like, at all.” You smile as best you can with the helmet on, hoping it goes to your eyes so he can see it. “I want to do this. You just… you really have to help me.”

He nods, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “Of course, honey. C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to his motorcycle. While you’re terrified just looking at it, you can’t deny that it’s absolutely beautiful. Streamlined and sleek, like he literally just bought it, even though you know he’d already had it for a year when you first met him.

He looks almost the same as he did when you first met— all black getup, signature leather jacket, riding gloves, and of course, his strangely colorful helmet that doesn’t match the rest of him. His hair was long when you met him, and you still remember being absolutely starstruck when you saw his face for the first time. It had felt like everything went into slow motion when he took his helmet off, pushed his hair back, and instantly made eye contact with you from where you were just exiting the bookstore.

Needless to say, you were done for. And now here you are, a year later, letting him help you onto the death machine.

He never said you had to stop calling it (sorry, her) that if you were thinking it to yourself.

“You okay? Comfy?” Oscar asks, reaching to adjust your helmet one more time.

“Yup. Mhmm. Totally.” You nod, not even trying to sound convincing considering your heart is in your throat and he hasn’t even started the engine yet.

“Great,” he kisses the top of your helmet and smiles at you cutely before climbing onto the bike so he’s seated in front of you. “Just hold on tight, okay baby? Like this.”

He reaches behind him, grabbing your hands that had been anxiously scratching at the material of your jeans and pulling you forward so your arms are wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t have to say anything else– you’re quick to tighten your hold around him, fingers clutching at the material of his open jacket. You immediately feel your anxieties begin to dissipate as soon as you’re holding onto him, and you shift your whole body forward on the seat so your front is pressed as close as it can be to his back. When he lets out a quiet grunt, you release your grip a little.

“I’m sorry! Am I holding you too tight?” “No, no,” he huffs out a laugh, patting your thigh. “Do whatever you need to do. Just warn me if you’re planning to suffocate me at all.”

“Listen, Piastri–” you begin, and he cuts you off by twisting around to look at you.

“Okay, I get it, I’m sorry.” He’s giggling now, and you let go of him to smack his helmet. “I’m done, I promise. As long as you feel safe, honey.”

“Come on, let’s go before I chicken out.” You say, quickly reassuming your hold.

It’s times like these where you appreciate just how buff your boyfriend is. He has something of a sleeper build, so one quick glance at him wouldn’t really reveal much, but when you’re pressed up against him like this, you can feel the muscles in his back and shoulders and his abs through his shirt when your hand slips past his jacket. He’s warm and solid against you, and that in itself is comforting enough that you don’t go flying off the seat when he starts up the engine and you instantly feel your whole body start to vibrate from the force of it.

“I’ll check in with you, okay?” He says over the loud rumbling. “Hit me in the head or something and I’ll pull over. Sound good?” Having him to hold on to is nice, but your throat is still dry thinking about all the dastardly possibilities that could occur when the bike starts moving, so you have to swallow a couple times in order for him to hear you over the engine. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Your heart falls out of your ass and lands on the pavement when he pulls out onto the road, the engine roaring as he accelerates.

“God, please spare me,” you say out loud, grateful that Oscar can’t hear you over the engine.

As soon as he gets onto the freeway, that’s when you realize just how much fun you’ve been missing out on.

It’s never been a secret to you that Oscar loves going fast. There have been plenty of occasions where you’ll drive somewhere, do whatever it is you have planned, and then you’ll turn to him and ask if he wants to drive home just to give him some peace of mind knowing that the journey back will be cut down by a few minutes at least. Being in the car is fun enough, but being on the back of his motorcycle is different.

You thought you’d be more scared. You’re terrified, sure, but even though you can feel the wind whipping against your clothes and you’re flying past cars on either side of the freeway, you’re holding on to Oscar, and you could easily do that forever. You’re quickly warming up to the concept of being his backpack, and you can feel yourself relaxing your death grip around him. This is actually kind of fun. Okay, really fun. You actually can’t believe you were so adamantly refusing to do this this whole time.

Every so often, he reaches back with one hand and rubs your thigh, or holds one of your hands that is now tucked comfortably into his jacket pocket. You thought you’d be freaking out about him taking a hand off the handlebars, but he exudes confidence on the bike, and he never wavers no matter what he’s doing with his hands.

He doesn’t go very far; the whole ride lasts maybe 20 minutes, but it feels like half that with how quick the bike is. Your arms ache from all the muscles in them working the whole time, and when he helps you off the back of the bike your legs feel like jello.

“How was it?” He asks, helping you pull the bulky helmet off your head.

Your hair falls in your face and he brushes it away for you before you can even lift your hands. He cups your cheeks, a small smile on his face as he admires you.

“We are definitely doing that again.”

His smile grows, and he places a sweet, adoring kiss on your lips. “I knew I finally found my backpack.”

word count: 1,787

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: writing this has me thinking up a whole biker au for multiple drivers... thank you for this gold mine of a request <33

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings

#aries answers #venus <3 #op81 week #full fic #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #op81 x you #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fluff

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ellecdc · 3 months

Note

Darling, the possessive!Remus fic was sooo good!! 🩵😫

Could i request another part please?? Hwere reader is hiding something, maybe an injury or illness or scent or something stupid she did with James... idk what but something. Anyway, reader sees Siri and Rem, stops, makes eye contact, then bolts in the opposite direction 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

I feel like both (especially Rem) would instinvtively chase, maybe they find her begging Jamie to hide her 😭

Love you lots!! And remember to get enough rest 🩵

Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ? Sir? Don't run from the lord!!!! No, you're so right babes.

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: slight injury, nothing major, fluff

“Okay, well the wound is closed but there’s not much I can do about the bruising or the blood on your shirt.” James said as he gently pulled your uniform shirt back down from where he’d been inspecting your ribs.

“That’s fine – I’ll ice it later; I’ve gotta meet the girls like five minutes ago.” You said as you pulled a jumper over yourself to hide the blood staining your shirt.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go to Madame Pomfrey?” James asked with a grimace.

You rolled your eyes. “If it hurts terribly, I’ll go later.”

“And you think you’ll be able to avoid Remus and Sirius until then?” James asked somewhat doubtfully. You grimaced in response. “This close to the moon, Remus will be able to smell that blood on you from across the castle.”

“I can’t worry about that right now; I need to go.” You said simply as the two of you rounded the corner.

You halted suddenly as you spotted Remus and Sirius down the hall – they quickly noticed your tense demeanor which caused them to slowly cease their movements too, mirroring you as you stared them down and they you from across the corridor.

“James.” You murmured without moving a muscle.

“Yeah?”

“Do you see them too?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you hide me?”

James groaned. “Y/N…”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me to the wolves.”

“I love you, you’re the sister I never had...but I’ve got a Regulus to think about, you know?”

“It’s been an honour knowing you.” You responded solemnly, nodding in understanding.

“God speed.” He whispered back before you took off in a sprint.

You could hear a shout and heavy footfalls behind you alerting you to the fact that you were indeed being followed.

You rounded corners and climbed flights of stairs, lungs and legs burning from the effort as you very much regretted your choice to bolt. Maybe you could have talked about it? Maybe you could have convinced Remus you were fine and did not need medical attention? Maybe Sirius would have sided with you?

But no, you chose to run when Remus was at his most possessive, territorial, and protective, and he was with accompanied by Sirius who rivaled Remus’ full moon possessiveness all month round. And also, why the hell does this school have so many stairs!?

Suddenly, refuge came in the form of the third-floor girls’ lavatory. You barrelled your way through the door, clamoring into a stall and locking the door behind you. You sat on the toilet seat and pulled your knees to your chest, though it was all for naught, because even if no one could see your feet, they’d surely hear your laboured breathing.

You heard the door open again and the scuffling of feet followed by deep sighs. You pointed your face to the ceiling as you listened to the footsteps growing closer and closer before Sirius’ head and arms flung over the top of the stall beside you where he beamed goofily at you.

“Hey gorgeous! What’re you doing?” He sung casually.

“What are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” You hissed at him as your face heated in embarrassment – both from being caught hiding from your boyfriends and of your boyfriend for following you to the loo.

“Where you go, I go.” He said simply with a shrug as if talking to his girlfriend over a bathroom stall was common practice.

“Do you really think there’s anywhere in this castle that you can hide that I won’t find you?” Remus deadpanned from your opposite side, and you spooked (nearly slipping into the damned toilet) as you noticed he too was standing on the toilet of the stall beside you in order to look down on you.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” You muttered as you stood from your toilet hideout and exited the stall.

“Not that I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life chasing you, darling but-” Sirius started teasingly before he was cut off by Remus.

“What happened!?” He rasped as he reached for you gently.

“I’m fine, Rem.” You tried, but he swatted your hands away.

Slowly, so slowly – as if he was afraid the fabric of your clothes would somehow bruise your skin – lifted your jumper to expose the bloody button up below it.

“Baby!” Sirius cooed in sympathy.

“I’m fine.” You reiterated.

Remus shot you an unimpressed look. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Can you take this off, please?” He said as he gently lifted you to sit on the edge of the bathroom counter, motioning to the jumper currently shielding his view.

You acquiesced and also began lifting the side of your blouse up unprompted. Both boys hissed as they saw the bruising on your ribs.

“What happened?” Remus asked again, gently prodding the area.

“Some first years got a little too rowdy in the hallway – running around and not watching where they were going. I bumped into a suit of armour, but James healed it up.” Remus’ head snapped up to yours as Sirius’ gaze darkened.

“Prongs healed you? On your side? With your shirt up?” Sirius asked expressionlessly.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, for goodness – yes! What’s the big deal?”

He continued his interrogation as if you hadn't said anything at all. “He saw your shirt pulled up like this? He touched you here?”

You sputtered, turning your attention to Remus. “He heals you every month!”

He grimaced in sympathy but clearly agreed with Sirius. “I guess...just seems a little...intimate.” He conceded.

“Well, do I have to get all worried about you guys on the full moons? Or that he gets to share a dorm room with you?” You asked sarcastically. Sirius smirked at you.

“Awe babes, you don’t have to be jealous – we’re all yours!” He said in a sultry tone as he moved to stand between your legs.

“You’re not funny.” You deadpanned.

“You should go to Madame Pomfrey, love.” Remus stated after completing whatever diagnostic inspection he was doing on your side.

“Wha- no! Rem, I’m fine. Nothing is broken, it’s not bleeding. I’ll ice it when I get back to my dorm tonight, but I’m supposed to meet the girls. Please don’t make a big deal of this.” You were embarrassed that you’d been reduced to begging, but you could not bail on Lily and Marlene again.

Remus grimaced. “Love, I’d feel better if you had it looked at...”

But Sirius Black – equally as likely to be your saviour and your damnation – opted to take pity on you. “Oh, come on Moons. We can fuss over her all night; let her spend time with the girls.”

Remus groaned and looked between the two of you before rolling his eyes in surrender. “Fine. But I will fuss over you tonight, got it?” He muttered sternly, but the love and affection that pooled in his eyes as he said it diminished his chiding greatly.

“Of course. I’d not have it any other way.” You sang back to him as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips.

“Okay. Let’s get out of the girl’s loo.” Sirius said as he turned and bent down in front of you, still seated on the bathroom counter.

“What are you doing?” You asked incredulously. Sirius scoffed as if you were being intentionally difficult.

“Giving you a ride, obviously. Can’t let our poor injured dolly walk these corridors on her own.” He backed up further into you and tapped your thighs with his hands impatiently.

“I very well can, thank you very much. I’ll have you know that your poor injured dolly just outran her two boyfriends.” You scoffed indignantly.

“You know Moons, perhaps she should go to Madame Pomfrey after all.”

“Okay, okay!” You shrilled as you clamored up onto Sirius’ back.

Remus chuckled and pecked a sweet kiss to your temple – now almost at eye level with him as he placed a gentle hand on your back, protectively close to your sore ribs.

“Thank you for appeasing us, sweetheart.” He murmured into your hairline.

You feigned annoyance, but you’d do so happily for as long as these two men would let you.

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f1girliefics · 6 months

Text

F1 Drivers when Someone is Flirting With Them - Preferences

Max Verstappen, Danniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz x Reader

Warning: Smut

Scenario: You were out with your boyfriend, having an amazing time at a club when suddenly a girl came up and started flirting with him, right in front of you.

She was clearly a bit drunk, so you tried to be nice and tell her you are his girlfriend, but she didn't listen.

She kept on flirting no matter what he said, suddenly, she turned to you and complimented your dress.

"I also love your make-up. Is your lipgloss Fenty?"

"No. It's his cum." you replied with the most serious expression.

Max Verstappen

He was in the middle of a sip from his drink and he spat all of it out on the floor.

Both of them were too speechless to say anything, so you took the opportunity.

"This is the part where you leave." you said and the girl quickly nodded and left.

Max watched you as your eyes followed her before you turned back to him and he still couldn't believe what you just said.

"You are something else." he said as he finally laughed along with you.

"You know I was half joking, you can make it true." you suggested and Max didn't need to be told twice as he dragged you back to your hotel room.

Daniel Ricciardo

He would laugh so loud everyone could hear it even with the loud music playing in the club.

He would laugh for so long, that the girl had to leave due to her embarrassment.

"Lipgloss? Really?" he asked as he still laughed, it made you smile.

"Well, she wouldn't leave." you shrugged your shoulders as Daniel finally stopped and gave you a big kiss.

"She left now." he whispered into your ear.

"Looks like we are wearing the same brand." you said as you ran your thumb over his lips and laughed.

He soon followed with a roll of laughter.

Lando Norris

Lando was about to say something when you spoke up.

What you said shocked him.

You were always so innocent and cute around him and everyone, so this was completely unexpected.

But he loved this side of you as well.

Completely unexpected, but he liked it very much.

You smiled at him so innocently and he wondered how could you just say that and then go back to being so nice?

"She annoyed me." you admitted and Lando nodded.

"She was annoying. Thank you for making her leave, I tried to push her but-"

"I saw, she just didn't get it... stupid bitch." you whispered the last part and Lando looked at you surprised.

"You have quite the mouth on you."

"Yeah, well I don't want anyone stealing my boyfriend..."

"Is that why you would wear my... hmm on your lips."

"I think we have done more... interesting things before."

"We have... we for sure have." he laughed as you smiled.

He knew you were no innocent little girl, but something about you talking like that really got his imagination flowing.

Oscar Piastri

Speechless.

Absolutely stunned.

Doesn't know what to do or say.

Zero clue.

The girl just awkwardly left as you smirked, making her finally leave.

You looked back at Oscar who was probably having a mental breakdown in complete silence right about now.

"So, I was thinking we could go to my parents for the summer." you said as you took a sip from your cocktail.

He finally came back and shook his head with a smile.

"How do you come up with this stuff?"

"What? Plans for the summer?"

"No... your lipgloss."

"Well, she was about to put your head straight into her boobs, so I had to say something."

"I love you."

"Love you too, Oscar."

Carlos Sainz

It actually took him a moment to fully process what you just said.

The girl was long gone, you drank another cocktail when he realized what just happened.

"Why would you use it as lipgloss?" he asked and you almost laughed at how late he was to the party.

"Well... why not?" you shrugged and laughed as he smiled, eyes still filled with confusion.

You had to explain to him later that you only said that so she would leave, you didn't actually have any lipgloss on.

He still wouldn't fully get it. But now the image of his cum on your lips couldn't leave his mind.

Charles Leclerc

His eyes went wide as he held his laughter in, but he failed.

He actually turned to the girl and said, "This is your sign to move."

And she did, fast.

Charles smiled at you as you watched the woman leave.

"I love you so much." he said and you smiled at him. "You and your dirty mouth."

You laughed as he leaned in for a kiss.

A/N: Shoutout to CupcakKe's Squidward Nose lyrics when she said "So can I wear your cum as clear lipgloss?" for the inspo.

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lcriedlastnight · 1 month

Text

down in the grumps | lando norris

fem!reader. reader getting talked about behind her back :( and oblivious reader.

w/c: 2.1k

it’s not that you were being grumpy on purpose. most of the time you didn’t even realise that your replies to simple questions were short and snappy. or that your face seemed to screw up with or without your permission at something you had heard one of your friends say.

they were all used to it by now, after having dealt with it the whole friendship. and you of course, couldn’t help it if your first reaction to mostly anything you were told, was a blunt, sarcastic answer. your face always unapproachable, looking like someone had just told you the most annoying news of your life.

lando knew this when he met you. he even thought the same as everyone else, at first. seeing you chat with your friend, will, as he talks with his hands, excitedly over something. your face pinched in what looked like annoyance. it made him frown at first as he thought it was quiet rude of you to look pissed off when your friend seemed to speak so animatedly. of course as soon as will introduced you both and he got to know you he realised, that you were just unintentionally like that. you were interested in what he was saying, and yeah sometimes you did start pointless, petty arguments but lando had the ability to brush off your silly comments and instead tried to find a way to cheer you up. he had gotten so used to finding ways to make you feel less uptight that it completed skipped his mind that others might not be quite as unbothered by it all as him.

bringing you to the paddock for the australian grand prix had always been the plan. deciding that this weekend would be a great time to hard launch your relationship.

“do i look alright?” you ask, staring at your outfit in the hotel mirror, with a razor sharp gaze, analysing your outfit. lando’s eyes trail down your figure, analysing your outfit too, but with much more love and kindness than you were giving yourself. your face still set hard with the usual furrow of your brows and deep frown, making you look, for a lack of a better word, pissed.

lando leaves the bathroom and pulls your hand straight in the air. before you can question it though, he’s spinning you around lightly. this does ease your worries and makes a small smile appear on your lips for a minute. his silent reassurance spoken loudly through his eyes are they crease with his bright smile, hints of adoration shine through.

“you could’ve just said i looked nice, no need for the theatrics” you grumble out as you straighten up in the mirror and move to place a small kiss on the side of his smile.

lando cries out dramatically. “you missed!”. you roll your eyes and make your way towards the door. your way of telling lando you’re ready to leave. of course he knows this and is hot on your tail, his laugh echoing through the corridors of your floor as he pulls you close by your hand.

the paddock buzzed with cameras and fans and somewhere between them all you were sure there was drivers. you were actually really excited as this was your first time in the paddock.

lando could tell how excited you were just by looking at you. the way your eyes darted around, trying to take in everything at once, they didn’t move quickly though (that was how he knew you were nervous). the way you walked an inch ahead of him. your hand squeezing his as you recognise someone he knows, a driver or a team principal or even a mclaren engineer he knows well, excited to get to know this part of him too. none of this even noticeable to anyone except him, your face still showing your usual expression. lando thinks he likes it better this way, he likes having to read you to know what your feeling.

the first person you meet is oscar. he's sitting in the mclaren motorhome, with his own girlfriend. you fall a little behind lando, as he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“hey mate, andrea wants to speak to you before you leave today at some point” oscar says, finding himself looking at you in confusion. he knew lando had a girlfriend, but he didn’t expect to see her. and for her to be so… mad? for seemingly no reason, lando was smiling wildly, which confused him more.

“cool.” lando replies as he pulls you closer to his side. he introduces you with a proud smile and oscar throws him a weary one back.

“hey, nice to finally meet you.” oscar says simply. this did not seem like the girl lando ranted and raved about. you hadn’t even said a word yet.

you shoot him a tight lipped smile and return the pleasantry, to him and to lily beside him, who responds kindly. lando pulls you tighter as he and oscar discuss something about the race. you listen intently, and interrupt when lando accidently gets mixed up with what he’s talking about.

instead of seeing it as you helping lando, the couple see it as rude, as you don’t apologise for butting in when you weren’t really even a part of the conversation. lando just sends you an appreciative smile, and returns to what he was talking about, which worried oscar. as he thinks he’s completely ignoring your red flags. he decides he’ll talk to him about it later, when you aren’t standing beside him looking like your about to kick off.

they chat for a bit, you chirping in, when you feel like it. none of it going unnoticed by the australian and his girlfriend. lando mentions something about dropping around the ferrari and red bull garages later on and you feel yourself getting excited again.

you and lando take turns at pulling each other around the paddock all day. lando only leaving your side for a few hours when he has media to do. afterwards he takes you to meet max, who tries to find checo for you but cannot seem to sus him out anywhere. he takes you to meet his old karting rivals, george and alex and then finally decides to take you to the ferrari garage, where carlos and charles stand with an engineer, discussing something about exhausts or something.

“lando!” carlos cheers as he sees you both arrive in front of him. he kindly abandons whatever it is he’s supposed to be listening to, charles following suit. they hug then separate, lando’s hands immediately returning to you.

lando introduces you for the millionth time today as you repeat your actions of a tight smile and a sharp ‘nice to meet you’ , something everyone who you met today noticed. carlos couldn’t help being surprised at your actions, also thinking that you couldn’t be the girl he had heard about from his former teammate.

charles smiles kindly at you and asks how you have been finding today, to which you reply a little less sharply, your excitement seeping through. lando watches on in awe of you opening up to his friends.

after a while of chatting to the boys in red, andrea comes running over, shouting about something no one can quite make out.

“i’ve been searching for you lando!” he huffs as he pulls lando to the side to discuss, something to do with the strategy for the weekend. you take this time to jump on your phone and update your mother on your day, her knowing about how excited you were about today.

carlos looks to charles as he loudly whispers “what’s up with her man?”. he wasn’t far away from you, and it seemed like he wasn’t even trying to be slick with it.

“what? what do you mean?” charles questions, a little confused. carlos just huffs.

“i mean, she’s so grumpy. she seems like she would rather be anywhere but here and lando is just standing next to her with a stupid smile on his face.” carlos frowns, only concerned about his friend, but hurting you in the process. charles hums a reply, not entirely agreeing but not disagreeing either.

carlos’s words make you freeze though. you didn’t realise you were being grumpy? you were just being yourself, so did that mean you were grumpy all the time? your thoughts tornado around your head as the self-consciousness sinks into your veins. did lando think this too?

speaking of lando, he finishes his conversation with andrea and makes his way back to you with a smile, his smile seemed to be never-ending today. his hand links with yours as soon as he is close enough. you immediately smile, forcing your lips upward as you try your best to not be ‘grumpy’.

lando notices this but decides to leave it until you were alone. “hope you guys weren’t listening”. lando jokes. it was a bad joke. no one laughed. charles just stared at him, almost disappointed and carlos just shook his head.

lando frowns and says “alright we’re leaving” and pulls you away. you make sure to smile at the two ferrari boys and wish them good luck for tomorrow, not a trace of sarasm in your words, which confused lando even more. he looks at you quizzically but you ignore it.

somehow you end up back with at the hotel within the next hour, after spending a good few hours at the paddock.

“alright, what’s wrong?” lando asks, almost as soon as you are both in your hotel room. you don’t hesitate before you ask, “am i grumpy?”.

lando looks at you, his face laced with confusion. he opens his mouth to reply but closes it again. he takes his time to gather his words, not wanting to upset you more than what you clearly already were.

“you are grumpy,” he says “but that’s how you’ve been since we met, i’m sure you were like that before, from what will tells me”. your usual frown deepens.

“i didn’t know i was grumpy. how do you put up with me?” you ask, feeling embarrassed at your unknown behaviour.

lando lets the confusion deepen on his face. “how do i- how do i put up with you? i don’t put up with you, baby. you’re my girlfriend.” he says like it’s obvious.

“i do support you. i did want to be there today.” you feel the need to prove yourself to him. to prove carlos wrong.

“i know, you were so excited.” he replies, with a faint smile.

“your friends think i’m grumpy and unsupportive” you tell him, not wanting to expose his friends but feeling hurt by his words. lando looks upset at your words.

“who? who said that? i know you wanted to be there today, baby. just because other people don’t see you the way i do doesn’t mean you aren’t supportive.” lando slowly makes his way towards you, his hands slowly making their way up your arms.

it was weird seeing anything different to your usual expression on your face but he couldn’t help but feel he peeled back a layer of you. it made it him feel happy for a second. his eyes bore into yours, making you feel intimidated.

“i like knowing things about you no one else does. i like knowing how you’re feeling just by looking at you, who cares if everyone else thinks you are grumpy. just makes you my grumpy girl, doesn’t it?” he smiles, trying to cheer you up a little.

a smile graces your lips. mission acomplished, he thinks. he lets his hands gently hold the sides of your face as he lets himself take in your face, looking at it like he’ll never get the chance again. you feel your breath hitch as he moves closer.

lando smiled at the sound before he lets his lips press against you. it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t passionate. it was reassuring. it told you everything was okay. he pulls away before you would like. you chase his lips as he laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says. “what do you say to an early night?”. you nod, the busy day and the unusual mix of emotions, exhausted you.

you both get unready next to each other, doing your nightly routines in sync. lando trying to make you laugh as you both brush your teeth in front of the bathroom mirror.

once you lay in the bed, wrapped up in him his words finally sink in. as long as you are both secure in your relationship, what does it matter if people think you’re grumpy. you’d never smile again if it meant lando would love you for the rest of your life.

....

l's radio: if this is bad pretend i didn't post it i cba to proof read, i'm too tired from getting up at 6 for the gp today :(

#lando norris #f1 imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.��

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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luveline · 1 year

Text

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?”

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes.

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating.

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye.

A phone number.

If lost, please call.

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day.

It goes for ages.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess.

You’re the opposite of fearless.

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it.

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it.

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you.

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches.

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip.

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness.

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.”

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles.

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?”

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, really."

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you.

"That's you?" Moons asks.

"That's me. Sorry."

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling."

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside.

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with.

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair.

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it.

"Nice highscore."

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound.

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair.

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?"

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?"

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course."

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting.

"Sure you don't mind?"

"I'm paid not to mind."

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please."

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?"

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be.

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused.

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you."

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me."

"Yeah."

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes.

"Is there something wrong?" you ask.

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands.

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it."

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul."

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable.

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it.

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside.

You look up in shock. "I can't–"

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view.

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one.

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself.

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line.

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, seriously."

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach.

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front.

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes.

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way.

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it.

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited.

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin.

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons.

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe.

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage.

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours.

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing.

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow.

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them.

They're good.

Like, too good to be openers for long.

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out.

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places.

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set.

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship."

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl.

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says.

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons.

You try not to tense as footsteps approach.

"Can I sit?" he asks.

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up.

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say.

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup.

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted."

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion.

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?"

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then.

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup."

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice."

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet."

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call.

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar.

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over.

"Hey, it's you!"

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together.

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?"

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?"

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians."

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames.

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now."

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says.

"And the handsomest."

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly.

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?"

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here."

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound.

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back."

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody.

Not that it matters if he is or isn't.

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is.

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything.

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say.

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?"

"I'm not a big drinker."

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino."

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?"

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much."

"What's in San Marino?"

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding.

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it.

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch.

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino."

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar.

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

—

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again.

James has never seen Remus like this before.

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever.

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour.

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out."

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close.

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy.

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly.

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes.

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does.

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone.

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake.

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming."

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it.

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?"

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous."

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before."

"This is your first date?"

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special."

"It doesn't," you say.

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–"

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning.

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?"

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair.

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it."

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners.

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?"

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect.

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married."

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance.

"He's devoted," you guess.

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding."

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared.

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying."

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest.

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man."

"Half?"

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me."

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say.

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does.

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other.

"They've always been like brothers."

"But not…"

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time."

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now.

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful."

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes.

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise."

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own.

"Charming, isn't it?"

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?"

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in.

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another.

It's not so bad. It's agonising.

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this."

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay."

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–"

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder."

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing.

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time.

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says.

Not promising. "Okay."

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me."

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries."

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh.

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down.

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep.

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume.

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking.

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo.

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same.

The date is suddenly over.

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest.

You nod rather than answer.

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes.

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling.

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours.

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands.

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it.

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly.

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long.

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming.

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly.

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered.

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you.

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking.

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own.

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath.

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm.

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say.

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him.

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie.

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated.

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away.

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure.

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear.

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date.

Which means he has to get out of his head.

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice…

He wants to see what other sounds you make.

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible.

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice.

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands.

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still.

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips.

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down.

Your thumb traces a scar.

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs.

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor.

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head.

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again.

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat.

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat.

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine.

“Was that alright?” he asks.

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time.

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden.

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge.

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move.

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.”

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore.

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart.

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said.

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes.

Close? Remus is fucked.

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back.

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans.

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far.

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly.

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up.

He drags the quilt over your naked back.

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead.

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up.

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?”

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently.

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought.

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen.

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

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entitled-fangirl · 4 months

Text

The cold ground provided no comfort.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: The reader finds Felix in the maze after a strange encounter with Oliver. They decide to drink their problems away.

Words: 910

Warning: drinking, death, poisoning, cursing.

Author's note: This was a request and DUDE IT'S GOOD! Here's the original ask: "hi! can you write something where the reader is Felix's best friend (they both have feelings for each other), and she finds him just as Oliver leaves him in the maze with the bottle of alcohol he drugged. neither reader nor felix know it's spiked so they're drinking it together and they die together? if it's too much you can totally ignore this!" Hope I did it justice!

Masterlist <3

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She pushed her legs to move faster as she ran through the maze in search for Felix. She had been to Saltburn many times, and she had been through this maze just as many, but now it felt like she knew nothing of the place.

But she knew Felix was there. Of course, he would be there. That’s where he goes to think or when he’s overwhelmed. They often shared intimate moments at the heart of that maze when things became difficult. She loved those moments with him. She loved the feeling it gave her when he wrapped his arms around him. She loved the look in his eye when she said something witty. She loved when his lips would pull into a smirk. God, she loved him. But, she would never admit so.

Her sprinting was interrupted by hitting what felt like a brick wall.

Oliver.

Oliver Quick was a confusing being. While initially she was excited to have him stay at Saltburn with the Catton’s, she slowly grew to see that he was a little more than strange.

She balanced herself, gawking at him slightly. “Oh, Oli. Thank god. Have you,” she paused, catching her breath, “Have you seen Felix?”

Though it was dark, she could still see the hesitant look in his eye. He turned his body to the side, pointing in the direction he had just come from.

She nods, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She began to walk in that direction before stopping. “You okay, Oliver?”

“I’m not sure.”

She nods. This party was becoming a nightmare. But she didn’t have time to make sure he was alright. She needed to find Felix first.

She needed to know he was alright.

Her legs began to sprint again in search of him. And, she finally found him.

She rounded the corner, letting out a soft breath at the sight of him. He was so beautiful.

He stood, leaning against the statue that lay in the middle of the maze. His angel wings were still on him. It was dark, but she could see in his stature that something was wrong. Very wrong.

She approached him slowly, her feet crunching the ground with every step.

He turned, an angry look in his eyes. They immediately softened seeing that it was her. “Oh, angel. Didn’t hear you.”

She nods, continuing to close the gap between them. “Sorry. Had to see you were alright.”

His lips pulled into the grin that she loved so much. “Yeah, angel. Just… had something happen.”

She rested her hand on his chest gently. “With Oli?”

He nods.

She wished she could take the heartache from him. The pain. She would carry it deep within her heart if she could, just to keep it from reaching his soul. He didn’t deserve any of this.

She looked down to see the alcohol bottle resting on the ground. “You been drinking, Lex?”

He nods again, his shoulders relaxing under her touch.

She shrugs, “Well, don’t let it go to waste, huh?”

He grins slightly. “I like the way you think, angel.”

Angel. Her heart always lept at the word every time it came from his lips. His angel. She was his angel.

He reached down to pick up the bottle, pulling it to her lips.

…

A little while later, and a few drinks later, they both sat on the ground. His back rested against the base of the statue, her back against his chest. Her head laid against his shoulder. She felt his lips began to kiss her neck. “…Fe..?”

He hums.

“W… what.. you doing?”

His lips grin against her neck, “Dunno. But… it feels… right.”

He was right. This felt right. It felt perfect. Like they were meant for each other.

She moved her head to look at him, their faces inches apart.

“I… I think I… I love you, Lex.”

Their lips were mere inches from touching.

He stared down at her lips, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Perhaps this was a bad idea. They were both quite drunk, and their friendship meant everything to each other. But they didn’t care enough to worry if this would ruin them.

He leaned in to her, their lips brushing before she pulled back with a horrid feeling. “Imma be sick…”

She crawled forward in case she would vomit. Something felt wrong. Perhaps it was alcohol poisoning. She already knew the hangover tomorrow would be horrendous.

He pulled himself to his feet ungracefully. He stumbled towards her, falling to his knees at her side. “Angel…?”

She let out a groan. “Just… hold me, Fe…? Pl… Please?”

Even sober, he would never deny her.

He pulls her to him, letting his arms wrap around her as her head laid on his chest. She could feel his uneven breaths in her hair.

“I feel… dizzy, Lex. I’m… tired…”

“Fuck. Lay… Lay down. Let’s lay down.”

He pulled her down with him, their bodies laying on the cold dirt. He rested on his back, his eyes closed and his hand still on her waist. She cuddled close to him, her arm laying over his torso.

His voice was a mutter, “Close your eyes, angel. I.. I gotchu.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Her eyes closed.

….

The two lovers lay dead in the morning, holding each other close, for the cold ground would never provide comfort to the lost.

..........................................................................................

#felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #jacob elordi imagine #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn #saltburn movie #oliver quick #felix catton fanfic #felix catton angst #saltburn angst #jacob elordi angst

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alotofpockets · 18 days

Text

Roommates | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Gorry!Reader & Katrina Gorry x Sister!Reader

Where you start dating your sister's bestfriend after she becomes your roommate.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8k

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"You're still going to pick up Kyra from the airport and drive her to her introduction at the Arsenal training grounds, right?" Your sister has asked you this question at least ten times now. Her Matilda's teammates, and one of her closest friends Kyra Cooney-Cross was making the move from Australia to the UK, just like you had done two years ago, and your sister had asked you to look out for her there.

"Yes Mini, don't worry. I will pick up Kyra and drive her to London Colney. You can go to sleep and stop worrying, I promise I've got her."

Katrina seemed to finally relax a bit, "Okay, text me when she gets there? I told her to do that too, but she'll probably be too tired from the flight to remember.” Your sister loved Kyra like family, and it was sweet to see how similarly she cared for Kyra as she does for you.

“I will text you when I see her at the airport, now please go to sleep.” You laughed at the slightly annoyed sigh that escaped her mouth. “Thank you again, and goodnight.” You hung up the phone after wishing Katrina a good night as well.

You finish your workday, and run some errands, before you head home. You made a funny poster to welcome Kyra to London before you head to bed for an early wake up call to head to the airport.

When you saw Kyra walk down the gate hall, she looked exhausted from the long flight, a feeling you knew all too well yourself. She was wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie, combined with a messy bun. When she laid eyes on your poster her face lit up. Welcome to London, my favourite Tillie!

"Oh we're so showing Mini your sign." She greets you with a hug. “Yeah, let's send her a picture. I promised I'd text her when you landed.” The two of you pose together with the sign, while someone next to you takes your picture.

“Are you hungry?” You ask while you take half of her bags. “I ate on the plane, but am in desperate need of a coffee.” In the coffee shop you catch up for a bit over coffee, and breakfast for you, before Kyra gets a call. She walks out of the shop to take the call, while you scroll on your phone.

“What’s wrong?” The panicked look on her face as she walked back in immediately grabbing your attention. “That was the landlord of my apartment, he just let me know that he accidentally double signed. In other words, I don’t have a place to stay anymore.” Without a second thought you had a solution for her problem. “I’ve got a spare room that I never use. It’s yours if you want it.”

The following week you helped Kyra get settled and went with her for her introduction meeting at Arsenal. Initially you would just drop her off and pick her up later in the day, but she had insisted you’d join her. Together you got the Arsenal tour, and you sat to the side for all her video and picture moments. All in all, it ended up being a fun day.

The two of you had gotten close quickly over the days that passed, sure you had known each other already, but now living together brought you on a whole new level of friendship.

Tomorrow would be Kyra's first training session at Arsenal, as well as meeting the team for the first time. Besides her Aussie teammates Steph and Caitlin, she didn't know anyone more than a familiar face. You had known she was nervous, but you didn't realise just how much until she knocked on your bedroom door.

“Hey Ky, what's up?” The usual smile the girl was wearing was replaced by a frown. “Were you homesick when you first moved here?” You had been so adamant that she was just nervous, that you hadn't taken the move to another continent into consideration. “Yeah, I did. Come here.” Patting the spot on your bed besides you, you offered her a place to sit.

You talked for a while before you both fell asleep. The next day you drove Kyra to her first practice with Arsenal. You were just going to drop her off, but when you saw Caitlin get out of her car, you had to go say hi. You knew all of the Tillies from the many times you had met them in the family and friends hall after matches.

“Y/n, hi, what are you doing here?” She greeted you with a quick hug. You point back to your car where Kyra appeared from behind the trunk. “Ky has been staying with me.”

On queue Kyra appears beside you, and drops her bags to hug Caitlin tight. While the two of them embrace, another player walks up to greet you. You knew it was Katie, but as far as you remembered you had never properly met. “Hi, I'm Katie, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand. “Y/n, nice to meet you too.”

Katie inspects you, trying to figure out where she knew you from, until it finally clicked. “Oh you're Gorry’s little sister, aren’t you?” Kyra stepped out of her hug with Caitlin to defend you. “She's her own person you know.” It was really sweet, but you really didn't mind. “It's fine Ky, I am.” You rolled your eyes at her defensiveness, but behind that facade you secretly loved how she stuck up for you.

From then on Caitin and Katie picked up Kyra for practice, since you basically lived on the route to the training centre.

Kyra joined you in your room on more days than not over the next few weeks, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t enjoy the moments you spent together. You were quickly falling for her, and every part of you hoped that she felt the same way.

Then one morning you woke up with Kyra cuddled into your side, and her leg draped over yours. You lift your hand to gently play with her hair, she hums with enjoyment and cuddles further into your side. “Good morning to you too.” You were like a deer in headlights, caught by the fact that she had, unbeknownst to you already been awake. “Don’t stop.”

You release the breath you were holding and continue. You must have laid there for another hour before you got out of bed. “Can I maybe take you out for breakfast?” The way her eyes lit up at your question was enough for you to realise that she did indeed feel the same way. “I would love that.”

The two of you had been together ever since, just keeping it to yourselves to enjoy your time together away from prying eyes. Which is why you were stressed since your sister had called that she was coming to visit with her family, because she was meeting with the West Ham United team. You had offered your home as a place for them to stay while she had her meeting, and while her and Clara would be looking at homes for their family.

“Relax babe, we never changed my room back to a guest room, so they won’t notice a thing if we act like just friends for a couple days.” Kyra tried reassuring you. You had talked about telling her, but ultimately you decided that you weren’t ready to tell her yet, and Kyra was fine with that.

Kyra offered Mini and Clara her room, while she took the couch, and your niece Harper was overjoyed to be having a sleepover in your room for a couple of days. It was nice having your family around, and you were excited to have them closer after the move as well.

Mini and Clara were out house hunting while you and Kyra spent some time with Harper. Harper insisted on some painting, and you could not stop laughing when the girl had started painting Kyra instead of her paper. While Harper was dancing and singing her little heart out to Frozen, you cleaned Kyra’s face. When you were done you placed a quick kiss on her lips. “All done.”

Meanwhile a few blocks over Mini’s mind was on something besides house hunting. “I think they’re together.” She stated to Clare, who was busy inspecting the kitchen of the place they were currently in. “Who?”

“Y/n and Kyra.” This got Clara’s attention. “What makes you think that?” Mini went on and on about how Kyra’s room looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks, that you looked so comfortable together, the glances she had noticed between the two of you, and just the general vibe when the two of you were in a shared space. “Well, if they are, what would you think of that?” Mini thought for a moment before ultimately deciding that she thought the two of you would be cute together and good for each other.

Mini had not expected to get answers to her question on if the two of you were together or not, but when she put Harper to bed, her little girl snitched on you right away. “Did you have fun today?” The girl nodded her head enthusiastically before telling her mom all about the things that you had done today and finished her story with, “Oh and Auntie and Kywa was kissing.” Mini smiled to herself. “Oh did they now, sweetheart? I am glad you had a good day. Sweet dreams.”

The next morning you head out to breakfast all together, before your sister and her family fly back for a couple more months. “This place is great, y/n. Where did you find it?” You’re glad that they are enjoying the food just as much as you do. “I took Kyra here when she was all settled in.” You were soaking in all the time with your little niece as much as you could, so you were helping her colour in her drawing while you were speaking to the adults at the table.

“Oh, did you go here for your first date?” Since you were so focussed on the colouring you didn’t think before speaking. “Yeah- oh.” Your head shot up at your older sister, though you relax when you see the proud smirk on her face. “You knew?”

Mini points to Harper, “We’ve got ourselves a little snitch on our hands, she saw you two kiss yesterday. I did also have a feeling already.” You felt relieved now that your sister knew, because she was the person you were most scared of telling, with Kyra being one of her best friends and all.

You drove Mini, Clara, and Harper to the airport with Kyra, where you said your temporary goodbye’s. Knowing that they would be back in two months to move to London. You couldn’t wait to have your family close again.

-----

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

can i ask for poly! marauders x reader where reader is really sick and literally hallucinating and they take care of her? 😭

Thanks for requesting lovely! I didn't quite do hallucinations, but I hope weird, feverish dreams are close enough haha

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You seem absolutely miserable, and Sirius wishes he could tell you how adorable you look. He would, if he thought you’d take it well. Your eyes are still half-lidded from the restless sleep Remus had woken you up from a minute before, your cheeks flushed pink, and your expression wide open in the way Sirius so rarely gets to see when you have your wits about you. Your lips are pursed in a pretty little pout as James tries, in his sweetly tenacious way, to coax you into eating something.

“What about a sandwich?” he asks after you turn your nose up at his offer of soup.

You shake your head, and Sirius thinks he can see you swallowing against a gag reflex. James gives you a pleading look.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you gotta eat something.” He sighs. “How about just dry cereal?”

You look a bit sulky about it, but give a reluctant nod. James grins, pressing a satisfied kiss to the side of your head before heading towards the kitchen.

He passes Remus in the doorway, the taller boy on his way in with that plagued indent still solid between his brows. James passes a comforting hand along his shoulder, smiling at him encouragingly. Remus returns it, his features softening like butter in the rays of James’ sunshine.

“Alright, dove,” he says, coming to sit next to you on the bed and uncapping a thermometer, “how are you feeling?”

“Weird,” you mumble, and Sirius pouts at you as Remus holds you still with a gentle hand at your jaw, settling the device in your ear.

“Still feel like you could be sick?” he asks.

“Yeah. And my head really hurts.”

Remus frowns sympathetically. “M’sorry, sweetheart.”

The thermometer beeps, and his frown deepens as he brings it closer to his face, reading the screen.

“What is it?” Sirius asks.

“It’s not great,” Remus replies quietly, bringing the back of his hand to your forehead like he’ll find something different there. “We need to get your fever down, lovely girl.”

“Eating could help,” James says brightly, coming in with a bowl of, as promised, plain cereal. He sets it on your lap, but you only stare at it, looking guilty but honestly like you might be sick, even with nothing in your stomach to bring up.

“Well, don’t let it get soggy,” Sirius jokes after a moment, unsure whether he feels worse for you or James right now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you really do sound it. “I’m really not hungry.”

“Just have a few bites,” Remus reasons. “You need to eat something with your medicine.”

“What medicine?”

“The fever reducers I’m about to give you.” Sirius looks over to see him screwing the cap off a pill bottle, shaking a couple into his hand. “C’mon, eat your cereal.”

You look up at him, eyes big and pitiful and surprisingly watery. “I can’t,” you whine.

“Dove,” Remus' voice is firm, but still gentler than he’d usually be. “This isn’t up for debate, I’m sorry. You have to eat at least some.”

You set your mouth in a stubborn line, and Remus cocks an eyebrow.

“No cuddles until you do.”

Your defiance cracks like a shell, your eyes filling with tears quicker than any of your boyfriends can react. “Really?” you whimper.

Fucking hell, Sirius hadn’t agreed to that. Neither had James, apparently, because they’re both at your side in an instant, Sirius wrapping an arm around your shoulders while James thumbs away the few hot, sluggish tears that escape.

“No, angel, it’s okay,” James says hastily. “Why don’t you just have a couple bites of cereal, huh? Just for now.”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “This is so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, baby,” Sirius promises you, kissing your temple. The heat that meets his lips is frightening. “You don’t feel well, I’m sure everything sucks right now. You’re allowed to be a little extra emotional when your brain is melting.”

More tears spill from your eyes, glassy with fever and now also filling with horror as you look up at him. “My brain is melting?”

“It’s not,” Remus says quickly, shooting Sirius an exasperated look. “It’s not, darling, that was just an exaggeration. What Sirius means is that you have a really high fever. It’s understandable that you’d be upset.”

“Oh,” you hiccup, and Sirius murmurs an apology, rubbing your upper arm comfortingly. He casts a bewildered look to the others as you sniffle, Remus’ expression lined with exhaustion and James looking dangerously close to laughter.

“How about just three bits of cereal?” Sirius asks softly, scooping a few pieces from the bowl and holding the spoon up enticingly. “Then you can be done, yeah?”

“Okay,” you mumble, taking the spoon from him. Remus murmurs something to James, who disappears into the bathroom.

By the time you’ve finished your three bites, with no sparse amount of praise from both Remus and Sirius, James has returned with a cup of water and a washcloth in hand.

“Attagirl,” he says with a smile, passing you the cup of water as Remus hands over the pills.

You swallow them eagerly, as if you’re anticipating the relief. James folds the washcloth, pushing you gently back into the pillows with a hand on your shoulder.

“Lie down for me, sweetheart.”

You do, and he lowers to a crouch by the bed, smoothing the hair from your clammy forehead and laying the washcloth in its place. Sirius can’t help but think of how pretty the two of you look, James’ curls falling in his face as he brushes a touch over your cheek, you looking over at him adoringly.

“Thanks,” you whisper, as though afraid to disturb the quiet, peaceful atmosphere that’s descended upon the room. “Feels nice.”

“You should close your eyes, dove,” Remus suggests. “Get some rest, give the medicine a chance to do its job.”

You frown, but it’s not the grumpy sulk you’d worn a few minutes before; this is more pensive. It’s almost funny, Sirius thinks, that somber look on your cute, feverish face.

“I don’t think I want to,” you say. “I didn’t like it before.”

“You didn’t like being asleep?” James raises his eyebrows, and you nod seriously. “Why not, angel?”

“Weird, bad dreams.”

Sirius scoots closer to where you’re lying, his knee almost touching James’ chest. He sets his palm idly against your overwarm cheek. “You’ve got to sleep if you’re going to get better, pretty girl,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay with you, if it makes you feel better. Those nightmare fuckers will have to get through me first.”

You do your best to bite it back, but your smile wins in the end, your eyelashes pinching at the corners. Sirius starts there, his thumb smoothing a line from the outer corner of your eye into your hairline. Back again. Over and over, in a nice, slow rhythm. After a few times, your smile fades. Your eyelids flutter, and Sirius can tell they must feel like they weigh a hundred tons each from the way they droop slowly before finally slipping closed.

Sirius thinks you might be asleep, but then you say drowsily, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles softly. Remus echoes it. “That’s alright, baby. If I was trying to be subtle, you’d have no idea.”

You hum like you want to argue, but you don’t speak again.

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sapphicmsmarvel · 26 days

Text

Azriel: baby blanket

Azriel had never had a baby blanket.

When you found this out, it made you so sad you started crying (you were on your period which didn’t help the emotions).

You were talking with Feyre and Cassian. Feyre mentioned how she found Rhysands baby blanket in their closet and couldn’t get over how cute it was.

“It has bats! It was so cute.”

“Oh yeah, Rhys’ mom made me one with swords on it.” Cassian sipped his beer.

“And Az?” You asked.

“Az what?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“What was on Az’s?” You asked, tilting your head.

“Huh.” Cassian thought. “I don't think he ever got one.”

“What? Why?” Your heart was shattering for your husband and mate.

“When he joined the family, he was in his preteens. A little old for a baby blanket. I joined when I was a bit younger so I think that’s why I got one.” He titled his head as he thought. “He might’ve had one when he was with his blood relatives, but I doubt they let him have any comfort.” He grimaced.

You teared up. “Rhys’ mom never made one for him?”

“No, just because he was a bit older.” Cassian shrugged.

You frowned, “I wouldn’t think of it either if I were her I just…” Your lip wobbled. “He deserves it.”

“Aw shit.” Cassian got up and went to your other side. “I forgot you were on your cycle.”

“Shut up.” You cried, swatting his arm. Which he wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest.

“He’s okay, sweetheart. He’s a big boy.” He kissed your temple.

“Everybody deserves a baby blanket. I still have mine.” You bit your lip and sniffed. “I need to make Az one. He deserves it!”

Feyre touched your shoulder. “I think Rhys still has fabric his mother owned.”

“Can you ask? I wanna make it and include the woman that took him in.” You frowned, “and find some way to include his mother.”

“Of course.” Feyre said. She also kissed your temple.

Feyre later asked Rhys, who absolutely let you have some fabric. That way the blanket was from both you and Rhys’ mom. You reached out to Azriel’s mother, who helped you learn to sew. You spent hours with her. You loved doing this so you could give Azriel something meaningful, then it was better since his mother helped you learn.

You did a few practice runs with random squares of fabric that weren't the special kind. Just to make sure you didn’t fuck up the actual project.

You picked out a soft fabric he loves because it doesn’t cause sensory issues. You chose if in his siphon blue with stars on it.

When he came home after you had finished it, he was concerned because you looked like you were up to something.

It didn’t help that you had made his favorite foods plus dessert (since you wouldn’t let him eat you for dessert with your cycle going on, which he doesn’t care either way for the record).

Then after dinner, you made him sit on the couch and close his eyes for a surprise. “And I forbid your shadows being sent out! So don't send them!” You yelled as you ran up the stairs to grab the surprise.

“Yes, love.” As if they’d listen to him over you in this case. Plus, he’s never seen you so excited. So no, he wasn’t going to ruin it.

He heard your giggling as you walked down the steps and couldn’t help his own tiny chuckle. He heard the crinkling of a bag as well.

“Okay, open your eyes baby.” You said. He opened his eyes to see his love smiling wide and her eyes twinkling.

She handed it to him, he could feel that it was hefty. He took the tissue paper out and threw it at you, which you giggled at as it hit you.

Then he saw the most beautiful blanket there. He pulled it out. It was a deep, rich navy blue. Sparkling with the night sky.

“Did you make this?” He whispered, his heart was already filled because his love gave him something.

You nodded and that caused his heart to overflow.

“I love it but what’d I do to deserve it?”

“Just be you.” You said. Then he saw the tears start in your eyes. “Gods, this stupid cycle. The amount of times I cried making it.” You wiped your face.

“Cassian told me you’d never had a baby blanket. And everybody deserves that bit of comfort. I’m sorry if this seems silly I just-“ Your lip wobbled. “I wanted you to have it.”

“Oh baby.” Azriel cooed. Which was weird, because he was one of the most feared warriors cooing over his period-ridden wife. “C’mere.” He set the blanket down, and pulled you into his lap. Your thick thighs cradling his muscular ones.

You fit perfectly in his lap. He then grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around you both. For a baby blanket, it was quite large. You worked so hard. He loved it so fucking much.

“I’m sorry this is your gift and I can’t stop crying.” You let out a wet laugh. “Gods, the amount of times your mother teased me for crying.” You sniffed.

“My mother?” He froze.

“I went and visited her a lot these past few months. She taught me how to sew. We had lots of tea and talked about you.” You teased. “I loved seeing her so much.” You whispered.

His heart was bursting. You spent time with his mother, his mother who you loved to see.

“Baby, this is beautiful. You’re so talented.” He kissed your forehead. “I can’t believe you made me a baby blanket. Thank you.”

He never even thought that he’d want one. Now, the only way anybody would get it out of his hands would be if he were dead.

“Where did you find this fabric?” He asked. It was beautiful. As if the night sky itself was woven into it. And so soft on his skin.

“Rhys’ mother.” You sniffed again.

He snapped his head to you, confused. You smiled. “I asked Rhys if there was any fabric left from her. Then I actually embroidered your mothers signature in the corner, with her guidance. So,” You shrugged. “It’s from all three of us.”

“The three most important women in my life.” He murmured.

He brought you into a kiss that told a thousand words. “Thank you.” His voice broke off. “I can’t even begin to think of how to repay this.”

“That’s the thing Az. You don't have to. I’m your wife, I am honored to give you something so special.” You whispered, clutching his face.

“You didn’t just give it. You made it. You make me so happy, my love.” He brought you in for another kiss.

After that night, you kept catching him snuggling the blanket. He wouldn’t travel with it, it was his prized possession. It never left your house. All your family knew about it was that you made him a blanket.

Then, for away missions. You made him a travel size one.

Then for his birthday. A tinier matching one. Only with your signature in the corner opposite his mothers.

And, an embroidered baby footprint.

#acotar #acofas #acomaf #acowar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x reader fluff

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