Kiss Me Silly

content Arthur Morgan x reader, established relationship, fluffiest fluff that this rusty old hopeless romantic could write. First fic I’ve written in years, please be nice! Reader welcomes Arthur back home after he’s been away on a mission, suggestive ending.

Word Count: 1270 | AO3

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The past few days had been a painful waiting game. Many of the men, including your dearest Arthur, had been away with no word on when they’d be back. The days hadn’t been any different than usual; the same monotonous chores driven by Miss Grimshaw’s ever-present nagging, the same mystery stew, the same gossip with the girls. It was the nights that wore down on your soul like a drip, slowly but surely eroding away its own path on a boulder. The quiet of the half-empty camp and the missing heartbeat from your bed were the drip, and the path they wore on you was the fear and the doubt. Only at night was it quiet enough for those ugly thoughts to simmer in your mind; thoughts of Arthur shot down and lying dead somewhere. Thoughts of your big, strong man, who always protected everyone else, being unable to protect himself anymore.

The creeping fingers of night were just beginning to take hold of the land, raking away the last remnants of sunset from the sky. You sat next to Abigail, talking just to keep busy, mending one of Arthur’s shirts as you spoke. You could tell John’s lingering absence was wearing on her. She had confided in you the fears that it brought back to her, the way it reminded her of when he had left. The pair of you tried to chat as usual, but in the tense atmosphere any attempt at small talk came out stilted and awkward. Eventually, Abigail left to put Jack to sleep, leaving you with just your thoughts. Your thoughts, and the shirt that you kept scrunching and unscrunching between your fists. It was Arthur’s, and it needed badly to be stitched up. It was an easy enough patch job, it could have taken just 20 minutes to fix, but you had been avoiding changing anything from the way he had left it. So you dawdled, lazily pulling the thread along the torn edges, wasting time to stop and inhale the scent of smoke and sweat, wasting even more time scrunching it as you absentmindedly did now. It wasn’t until the needle pricked into the palm of your hand that you were reminded of the task that you were so close to finishing in the dying light.

A short while later, after just a bit more forlorn procrastination, the shirt was finally good as new. The sun had dipped low beyond the horizon and the sky had blackened, illuminated only by the campfire. The night’s symphony was in full swing; frogs croaking, crickets chirping, a soft breeze that rustled the leaves in a way it could only do under the cover of darkness. Breaking through the predictable night sounds came a deep and irregular drumming, the beating of hooves on the path. Your heartbeat began to quicken as the drumming grew nearer, with both fear of the unknown and anticipation for the expected. Each second drew on like hours, but quickly the horses reached camp and at once the heartbeat of camp returned. You raced toward Arthur, who barely had time to dismount his horse before your arms were thrown around him. Had it been any other man, the enthusiastic impact may have caused him to sway; but Arthur’s burly frame stood strong against the earth, arms returning your embrace.

“Whoah there, batterin’ ram.” he chuckled low under his breath, fatigue creeping in against the edges of his amusement.

You backed away to study his face, his features tired but smiling down at you. “Sorry, just missed ya is all.” you exhaled softly, wasting no time in embracing the man once again. This time, however, your hands clasping behind his shoulders were met with a sharp sting permeating your palm. Recoiling in surprise, you looked at the palm to see the sewing needle from the shirt you were still holding lodged deep into the palm of your hand. “Shit” you cursed under your breath.

Arthur gently took your hand. “C’mere,” he spoke as he looked at the needle. With one smooth motion he removed the metal from the skin. He lifted the palm of your hand to his lips. “All better.” he murmured against your skin, somewhere between a whisper and a kiss. 

He still held your hand firmly in his, but you raised the mended shirt that you still held in your other hand. “Fixed your shirt.” you said as you raised it, its existence somehow proof of its new quality. Arthur only hummed in acknowledgement as he moved to kiss your wrist. 

The edge of camp where you had run to him was empty now, the other men having left to reunite with the campfire. You took a step towards Arthur, becoming aware of the isolation that the darkness offered. Arms draped over his shoulders and around his neck, you leaned upwards to plant a soft kiss to his jawline. After days on the road, his face scratched your lips in a way it hadn’t before. “I missed you.” you whispered against his shoulder , tracing a finger over the spot on his chin where the hair never grew.

He pulled you tighter into his embrace. “I hate to’ leave ya’.” It was his way of returning your sentiment. 

Your lips followed where your hand had traced, leaving a tender kiss against a long-healed scar. “I know…” you exhaled, cupping his square jaw in his hands. You trailed your soft and pouty lips across his face, weathered and scratchy from his stubble. Peppering kisses across his face; from his temples to his chin, the wrinkled outer corners of his eyes to the bent bridge of his nose. The corners of his mouth, but deliberately avoiding his lips. Every scar, proof of pain, was overpowered by merciful love.

He held you, a tender embrace between terrible people, as he guided your chin with his index finger and his thumb. He met your lips with the kind of comfortable familiarity one rarely finds, even in one's own self. Your lips interlocked together, as if they were puzzle pieces made to fit the other pair. How had life passed by before you had known each other? The lingering taste of tobacco and wild mint clung to him, his lips tasted like home. His rough fingers brushed across your cheek as he moved to hold you by the face, savouring his turn to take in the beauty that he had missed while away. Gazing into your heavily-lidded eyes, obscured in the darkness by thick lashes, he brushed a calloused thumb against your plush lower lip as he leaned in to kiss you once more.

You were a strange pair; two outlaws surrounded by a world of death and hurt and somehow it was the comfort of life that sprang forth whenever your spirits met. Though the grim reaper seemed to be your stalker, and Arthur’s closest business partner, darkness and death turned a blind eye to this love. Like a sense of yin and yang, there was some purity left in the blackened hearts of this world. The pair of you weren’t so different, just two souls forced to do wrong in this world. Together, it finally felt like you were doing something right.

Arthur leaned his head away from your lips to speak. “Been away for so long,” he started, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. “I wanna do more than jus’ kiss ya’.” he smirked. 

You grabbed him by the hand, “Well then, Mr. Morgan, I think you are in for a lucky night.” you teased back, guiding him to his tent.

The Erechtheion Caryatid

inevitability- nanami x f!reader

tags: friends to lovers, salaryman!nanami, breeding, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary, mating press, creampie, mild cumplay

cw: alcohol (all sex sober & consensual!), pregnancy mentions, rough but v v consensual sex, reader and nanami are both in their late 20s/early 30s

word count: 5.3k

a/n: in which your decide with your good friend of many years that it's time to get you pregnant <3 this has been festering in my brain and i know it's pretty different than what i usually write but ! here it is! ahh! sounds of me screaming!

//

"this is weird, y'know?" you blurt out, watching as nanami hangs up his jacket by your front door before settling down beside you on the couch. he keeps a respectful distance, resting his hands on his broad thighs and smoothing down the fabric of his slacks, clearly nervous. "this is very, very weird. like, weird at levels i don't think people have achieved before."

"i know," nanami replies diplomatically, as if he could be anything but excruciatingly aware of how unconventional this is. "are you having second thoughts? because i completely understand --"

you shake your head abruptly. "no, no, just ... thinking aloud, i guess. just getting used to this, because it's really ... um ..."

"weird?" nanami offers helpfully, and you turn to nod.

"weird."

because what else do you call agreeing to have a baby with your platonic friend of 10 years?

you first met nanami on the second day of college and knew right away he'd be a good dad, even back when having kids wasn't even a consideration for you. it was obvious; he was already a good dad back then, with how he looked out for his underclassmen even as he progressed through his degree. how he stayed sober when he knew people would be going overboard, not sleeping until you texted him to confirm you'd gotten home safe after a party.

he helped you study at the weekends and, in return, you provided him with a discount at the local cafe where you worked. through this time spent knocking back americanos and proofing each other's work, you grew close.

even with all his responsibility and good sense contrasting your exuberance and recklessness, you found yourself enjoying being with him. and he could be funny, too, delivering sharp and witty quips when you least expected it.

you became inseparable. insufferable, some would call it; the matching-halloween-costume type of insufferable, a borderline codependent but obliviously happy friendship that can only be fostered on a college campus.

then right after college, when you had dived straight into your quarter-life crisis and dyed your hair every colour under the sun, got piercings in too many places, slept with questionable people and dated some even worse, nanami had gotten himself a decent, impressive, well-paying job. it was a job that had him wearing tailored suits at 23, paired with fancy glasses that cost more than your rent, and you'd laughed at him, at how serious he looked. but you also worried at how the bags under his eyes grew deeper and darker, how the amused lilt to his voice started to dissipate as time went on.

his 9 to 5 turned to an 8 to 6, and then he was working weekends and skipping movie nights, missing out on meeting new boyfriends of yours, fading into the periphery of your life with you unable to do anything about it.

as with all relationships in your twenties, it was hard to stay in touch. the higher he climbed up the career ladder, the further you grew apart.

soon, it was only on holidays or birthdays when you both would reach out, cordial and civil but achingly unfamiliar.

then, on your twenty-ninth birthday, drunk at a bar and having taken a couple minutes away from your raucous friend group, you had stepped outside to grab some fresh air only to walk head-on into nanami's firm chest.

you had spluttered apologies, lifting your head to see who you had headbutted, only to find your old friend looking down at you with an amused look on his face.

and just like that, things picked up where they left off. you spent the night talking, catching up over drinks and laughter.

with a tone that was only half-teasing, you had asked him what brought him out tonight -- it was hard enough to get him to come out for drinks when you were both in college, much less now with his big fancy job.

but he had laughed in that gentle, airy way you'd heard a thousand times, explaining that he had been out socialising with clients who had just left minutes before. he was just on his way out before running into you.

perfect timing. painfully perfect.

you stayed talking until last call, making exhilarated promises to get in touch the next day.

and to your surprise, you both actually stuck to that.

in the ten months since then, you've met up every sunday for breakfast at your favourite cafe. over lattes and freshly baked croissants, you fill each other in on the details of the half-decade spent apart. he had a serious girlfriend, serious to the point of moving in together, but she'd gotten spooked and left him last summer to go travelling. he was hurt, obviously, but understood her perspective in that annoyingly calm, measured way that is just part of his nature.

and on your end -- despite the drunken circumstances in which you'd been reacquainted, which is all part of moderation, after all -- you've actually calmed down considerably since your early twenties.

you have your own apartment. you have a rescue cat you care for immensely, even when he tries wriggling out of your arms to go stare out the window at passing cyclists. you have a retirement fund, started yoga, learned to bake your own bread.

you're not boring, you still have fun and let off steam whenever you can, but you're having the sort of revelations about life that nanami seems to have had years ago.

fun is good. fun is important. but it can't be everything, because then it starts to come at a cost.

truthfully, the birth of your nephew is what prompted you to make some changes. you didn't want to show up to babysit hungover. you wanted to have funds to hand in order to treat him to little toys and sweets when your sister allowed it, and soon found yourself amazed at how his little face lit up every time he saw you.

it made you grow up, and fast.

in the course of your cafe hangouts, you had mentioned your nephew to nanami. showed pictures of the boy's pudgy little hands reaching for the camera, told stories of how he could tell the difference between new episodes of Bluey versus reruns, and how he's changed your entire life without even realising.

soon, talk about your nephew turned to general musings about your own future.

then one night, when you decided to switch your meetup location from the cafe to a cocktail bar, you shared something that you had barely admitted to yourself.

you wanted to have a kid.

this realisation wasn't borne from some crisis about entering a new decade, it wasn't something forced on you by others or general societal pressure. it was something that grew organically, inspired by the honour of watching your little nephew grow up.

to your surprise, nanami didn't scoff or dismiss you. you figured he'd have rolled his eyes, laughing off your confession since you weren't in a committed relationship.

instead, he expressed similar sentiments, but for slightly different reasons.

"i'm sick of work being my whole life," he had mused quickly, sipping an old fashioned with a funny look in his eye. "it was only when we started hanging out again that i realised how much of my life I've wasted at a place that wouldn't care if i lived or died."

"do i need to be worried about you having the type of rebellious streak the rest of us went through ten years ago?" you asked, smiling and fidgeting with one of your rings without thinking.

he waved off your suggestion with a fond roll of his eyes. "i'm not impulsively quitting or anything, don't worry. just want to take a step back, i suppose, or find something with shorter hours. i just think there's more to life than endless hours slaving behind a desk."

you toasted to that sentiment, knocking back the last of your cosmo.

nanami continued, watching you set your empty glass back down with a soft grin on his lips. "the whole family, kids thing ... i get it, you know? it makes sense."

"yeah?" you pried carefully, interested to see where this is going.

"i'd be lying if i said i didn't think about it, too. i have a nest egg saved up which means i'd be able to take time off to help with a kid, to actually be there to see them grow up. and it's not that i want to have one just because i think i need to -- i think i'd be decent at it, y'know? the whole parenting thing."

you obviously agreed. you'd thought the same for a while now, and getting reacquainted with the man has only spurred on those thoughts.

he really would be perfect.

the issue wasn't discussed further that night, but it was brought up again at coffee the following sunday, then at the bakery the week after that, and before long, it was your birthday again.

after a massive party with all your friends and family -- and a little too much wine -- nanami had stayed behind to help you clean up, because of course he would, and you got to talking again, got to revisiting that topic that had been at the back of both of your minds.

you can't remember the exact wording of the discussion or how many bottles of prosecco fuelled the conversation, but what you do know is that when you sobered up, you didn't regret agreeing to it.

you were gonna have a kid together.

you and nanami.

coparenting.

as outlandish an idea as it might seme on the surface, when looking at it a little deeper, it made sense to you. this wasn't decided on a whim. this was something that had momentum building behind it for months and months, perhaps even years, without you even realising.

when meeting up for coffee the following week, you both gave each other an out. said there'd be no big deal if things were called off. but neither one of you took it, despite laughing for what felt like hours about how bizarre it all felt.

still, no sign of backing out.

which brings you to tonight, the agreed-upon date of when you'd start trying.

nanami had suggested using artificial fertility methods if that made you more comfortable, but you politely turned him down, thinking it unnecessary. he wasn't a stranger -- plus, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't objectively attractive -- so if he had no objections to trying things the old-fashioned way, then you didn't either.

and he obviously didn't mind too much since he's now here on your couch, folding his arms and then unfolding them as he waited for you to make the first move.

he looks good, despite all the nerves. he's filled out over the years, though he was always strong, with every muscle in his body well-defined and perfectly proportional. his hair is still blond but with the faintest specks of grey, his skin brighter and more well-rested than that night you got reacquainted.

his deep brown eyes stay fixed on you and your skin heats as his gaze traces over you.

"do you want me to kiss you?" you break the silence, the words tumble messily from your mouth.

he looks taken aback, as if this was something he'd vaguely considered but never thought would actually happen.

"do ... do you want to?"

his earnestness has you smiling, cutting through the tension, and you meet his eyes properly for the first time since he arrived tonight. he always has this way of making you feel comfortable, his presence alone is like an embrace that calms the racing thoughts that constantly occupy your mind.

it's only now that you're close, so close, you realise that maybe you really do want to --

"i wouldn't suggest it otherwise," you murmur softly as if your heart isn't hammering against your ribcage, shifting nearer to him on the couch but keeping that last bridge of distance for him to close.

his tongue swipes over his lower lip, almost subconsciously demonstrating his wishes as his line of sight drifts down to your mouth. he nods then, dipping his head, only a couple inches of space between you now.

"yeah -- yeah, okay."

you can see how his pupils dilate as you reach out to slip his glasses off, setting them down on the coffee table, cupping his face in your hands.

he returns your smile at that gesture, just the slightest hint of nerves in his eyes that disappear when he finally decides to press your lips to yours.

his lips are softer than you imagined ... though until this very moment, you hadn't even realised that this was something you had imagined.

he lets you set the rhythm but doesn't shy away; he meets your movements, your energy at every kiss, letting you stop for a moment to adjust yourself as things progress.

this should feel weird, right? you should have some lingering feeling of awkwardness at making out with your best friend, at taking his hand in yours and setting it down on your thigh to show you want him to touch you?

this was supposed to be a relatively unromantic event, after all. it wasn't meant to be the start of anything. though it was never clinical or unemotional -- you're technically starting a family together, after all, if an entirely unconventional one -- you never foresaw it going down like this.

this feels like something that was meant to happen.

he pulls back ever-so-slightly, lips still grazing against yours as he asks softly, "this okay?"

you nod by way of answer, not wanting to waste another second not kissing him. nanami captures your lips with his again, and with renewed enthusiasm, slips his tongue into your mouth, probing gently and barely hiding the low rumble of a groan deep in his throat.

all thoughts of propriety start to fade into the ether. his hand on your thigh burns hot, shifting up and down the exposed skin. you'd worn a nice dress for the evening, unsure of the dress code for an event as strange as this, but you find yourself grateful for choosing something that fell so far above the knee.

his hands are rougher than his lips but not in an unpleasant way. you figure it's from his only out-of-work hobby that doesn't consist of hanging out with you; his renovation group. nanami is part of a volunteer organisation that helps build and renovate houses for those in need -- as if he couldn't get any more painfully perfect, obviously.

you stay like that for a few more minutes, exploring these new sensations and becoming increasingly more aware of the ball of anticipation burning in your lower stomach. everywhere he touches you feels warm, every soft nip against your lips feels electric.

then, against every instinct in your body, you force yourself to pause to take a few steadying breaths. nanami responds in the same way, pulling his hands back to his own thighs, adjusting his stance on the couch.

he's hard, you can see as much from the awkward way he shuffles in his seat. not to mention the bulge very obviously visible in the front of his slacks -- just seeing it fills you with want, with the need to touch and be touched.

this is moving more fluidly than you had expected, arriving at each decision without a second thought. in that vein, you decide to ask:

"want to head to the bedroom?", hoping you don't sound as desperate as you're feeling. "if you're ready -"

"yes," he responds before you've even finished your sentence. you feel grateful that the eagerness is not one-sided as you get to your feet, taking nanami by the hand to pull him up with you.

when you've reached your room and the door is shut behind you, revealing the modest set up of your freshly-made bed and a single scented candle -- any more than that felt a little too forced, too awkward -- you marvel at the feeling of nanami's hands on your hips, somehow gentle and firm at the same time, manoeuvring you onto the bed with a pre-rehearsed confidence that never verges on forceful.

your head hasn't even hit the pillow before he's kissing you again like he's starving for it. it's messy this time, the gentle exploration from before giving way to something more primal and urgent.

you have to remind yourself that this is your nanami you're kissing. the nanami who was there for you through the most painful college breakups. the nanami who knows your coffee order, who helped zip up the back of your graduation dress.

but now, with his tongue against yours and the stiffness pressing against your stomach, all you can think is why you didn't do this sooner?

just as you're about to combust underneath him, he pulls back, balancing himself on an elbow as his eyes flick down to see how your dress is bunched at the top of your thighs. he closes his eyes, his breaths ragged and unsteady.

"i don't know how--" he whispers, tongue gliding over his kiss-slick lips, "how ... technical you might want to go about this."

you let out a little laugh, craning your neck to kiss his jawline so he knows it's not at his expense.

"i never really thought about the technicalities, but it doesn't have to be too clinical, or anything. i know you, you know me. we can just ... have sex."

"have sex," he repeats slowly, eyes open again, the hint of a grin on his face.

"yeah, have sex!" you answer with a chuckle. "or is there another way you'd like me to phrase it?"

he laughs then too, looking at you again as he shakes his head softly.

"what?" you press him with a mock indignance. "it's rude to laugh at my suggestion, actually. i felt it was pretty accurate."

"i'm not laughing at you," he says gently, lips still curved upwards. "just ... i must have pictured you saying those words a thousand times, and i never thought it -- it's just funny to hear out loud, is all."

it takes you a second to fully comprehend the words as they wash over you.

you'd be ignorant to say that the realisation never dawned on you, but it was something you thought was a relic of your college years. he had blushed a few times too many whenever the topic of sex came up at parties, had a hint of jealousy in his voice when giving advice about one particular ex-boyfriend. at your apartment complex's winter party in senior year, you can tell he was thinking about kissing you.

but that was when you were young and naive, inexperienced with life, and the thought of this nanami desiring you, of picturing you in his life, of imagining what you'd look like spread out underneath him like this --

you lift your head and grab his shirt collar, yanking him in for another kiss. when he's settled back against you, your hands weave down to unbutton his shirt. you feel him smile against your lips as he starts to unzip your dress in return.

you're a mess of limbs as items of clothing get strewn across your bedroom carpet. before long, it's all skin-on-skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours before he grabs your waist and flips you over until you're straddling him.

you feel the length of him pressed against your stomach, hot and painfully hard, but from the way he cups his hand against your neck and starts to kiss your throat, you know he's not going to rush this.

just as you gasp out his name as his teeth nip against your pulse point, he brings his other hand to the apex of your thighs, fingertips resting just over your pubic bone, barely brushing against the sensitive skin.

"want me to touch you?" he mumbles quietly against your throat, the way his breath fans over you making you shiver.

you nod pitifully, hips canting towards him, but he doesn't budge.

"need you to say it," he says low, quiet, thumb shifting down by the millimetre, "need to know how much you want it."

"i want it," you gasp, the arch of your back deepening the closer he gets to your aching core, all concerns about appearing desperate evaporating with every press of his lips to your skin. "i want it, kento, p- please touch me."

nanami obliges, fingertips trailing down until his thumb is brushing over your clit. he slides his hand lower, fingers slipping through your damp lips, and then uses your own wetness to start rubbing you in earnest.

any form of articulate thought slips from your mind, replaced with only those that can get you more of this -- nanami's fingers playing with your clit, the other hand possessively resting at your nape, his cock pressed between you with precum beading at the tip.

you want it in your mouth. you want it inside you, and as you go to shift your hips, nanami shifts his back.

"want to see what you look like when you come first," he says, slipping his middle and ring finger inside you as if to prove he's going about it the right way.

and he really is, because after only a few strokes of his fingers, your vision is getting hazy. you've never been this turned on so quickly before, never felt this desperate, all-consuming urge -- but then again, you've never had a man look at you like this before now either.

you try to focus on the sensation of his fingers stretching you open, his thumb still stroking your clit in the perfect rhythm, but your mind wanders to the thick cock pressed up against you. you want to rub against him, let him fill you up, make him feel good too --

but looking at his face now, pupils blown and lower lip raw from biting down on it, you can tell this is as much for him as it is for you.

less than a minute later it hits you, the explosion of warmth radiates out to every cell in your body, rendering you a boneless mess in nanami's arms.

he holds you as the aftershock subsides, strong arms keeping you steady even when your legs feel as though they've turned to jelly. when you feel capable of supporting yourself, you slide ungracefully from where you were perched on his thighs and fall back against your pillows, head spinning blissfully.

nanami leans down next to you and kisses your forehead, whispering words of praise that fill you with a strange sensation you can't quite place.

"want to take a break?" he ask after a few moments have passed, "or if you're tired, we can try again later --"

"no," you cut him off, turning your head to look at him directly, face splitting into a smile through the post-orgasm haze. "i just need a second is all, i still -- if you want to --"

"i do."

and so to ease yourself back into it, you kiss him slowly, intimately, bodies gently intertwining as he shifts closer to you on the bed. you guide his hands to your chest, gasping as his thumb circles a nipple.

"you're just ... beautiful in a way i don't really have words for," he mumbles, watching you squirm pleasurably under him.

"nanami kento lost for words? a first time for everything," you manage to quip through it all, earning a pinch of the other nipple that turns your laugh into a moan.

"we've plenty more firsts to get through tonight."

at that, nanami shifts halfway down the mattress and gets to his knees, hands gripping your thighs as he spreads them open. he takes his cock in his hand and slowly drags the head through your folds, up and down but not yet penetrating you, appreciating how you're almost sucking him in, the eager way you pull back your legs to accommodate him.

he stays like that for a minute. every time you think he's about to sink in, he holds himself back as if transfixed by the obscene sounds that come from playing with your pussy, of using you to stroke himself off.

he looks to be on the verge of a choice, like his brain is fighting between two options: taking you slow and gentle like you deserve, or sinking in and fucked into you desperately, filling you up until he knows he's bred you, that you're his and only his.

you soon glean that he wants you to actually say it out loud, wants to hear those words he's fantasised about for so long.

"fuck me, kento."

now utterly unable to hold off any longer, he heeds your request, lining up and thrusting inside you in one fluid motion.

it's a pleasant stretch; he's still careful to let you adjust to his size but you're soon relishing the feeling of being so full, and the fucked-out grin on your face spurs him on.

his hips shift back inch by inch until he's almost fully pulled out, letting out a low groan as he sinks back in again, and at that, he knows he's a goner, completely lost to the feeling of his entire length buried inside you.

this is nanami at his most possessive, fucking into you as you're caged in by his strong arms, your knees now pulled back as far as they'll go. the skin on the back of your thighs is raw from your nails digging into them but you don't care, single-minded in your aim to keep the head of his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you.

your shoulder blades press into your soft pillows as you try to keep from writhing too much, wanting with all of your might to avoid upsetting this perfect rhythm.

above you, nanami's perfect cheekbones are flushed, his brows knit tightly together, your silky walls wrapping tight around his cock in a way that's driving him to the brink sooner than he'd like. against all better judgment, he slows down just slightly, allowing himself to indulge in the sensation.

"you take my cock so well, y'know that?" he mumbles in between quiet grunts, "with that pretty look on your face when i fill you up... you're trying to kill me, i swear to god."

you both laugh breathlessly before yours breaks off in a moan, slurring his name as he speeds up subconsciously. he presses his lips to every inch of your neck, jaw, collarbone, thrusts unrelenting but never too much.

if you weren't already aware of how soaked you are, the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you provide more than enough proof, melding with the soft squeak of your bedsprings to just about cut through the muffled sound of your moans.

your body now guided more by instinct than intention, you slip your hand down to where your hips are pressed together, two fingers circling the swollen bud of your clit. the angle of his ruts means his cock grazes your fingertips as he pulls out, the desperate rubbing of your hand between your legs spurring him on.

"still want me to come inside you?" he says then, strands of hair coming loose, sticking to his forehead, "want me to fill you up?"

you nod feebly -- the answer clearly not sufficient in itself, since he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours as he meets you for a wet, messy kiss. continuing his question with his lips still touching yours, he asks;

"want me to take care of you? want to be my pretty wife, hm, wanna -- fuck -- wanna be mine, yeah?"

you slur something unintelligible, focusing on the second orgasm gathering quick and hot in your core. you lose your grip on your thighs and fumble to pull your legs back up.

nanami helps to hike your legs back up -- but not in their original position. instead, he guides them until your ankles rest on his shoulders, and after taking just a second to press a kiss to your calf, he sinks back to the hilt. feeling him bottom out, your vision nearly goes white; this new angle allows him to slide in so deep it's practically splitting you open, so deep you can tell he's serious about breeding you.

somehow, the sensation remains just shy of too much -- it's not too much of a stretch or causing too much sensitivity -- it's more than you've ever taken but you honestly feel you could stay like this forever, taking nanami's cock like you were made for it, with him looking down at you with a mixture of reverence and pure lust.

you want him like this for the rest of your life.

"i'm gonna need you to answer, cos I'm pretty close," he half-pleads as if reading your mind, his voice deep and strained, firm chest heaving as the thrusts get messier and less coordinated.

though your mind is near-blank and your lungs feel they can't get enough air, you manage to mumble a "fuck, yes. want -- want you to come inside, kento ... please."

that last word tips him over with you following almost immediately after, clenching around his cock as you feel him pulsing inside you, feeling more full than you've ever felt in your life. his head tips back as he cums, moaning beautiful praise you can just about make out, strands of sentences about you being the only one he wants taking his come, about how he's going to keep fucking you full for as long as it takes.

sparks of electricity reverberate through your body, hips pushing against his as you ride out your orgasm, pretty little whimpers harmonising with nanami's continued praise.

you stay like that for what seems like forever, basking in the wave of pleasure that's just swept you away effortlessly.

everything is just ... warm. purely and blissfully warm. the warmth of his hands still gripping your legs, the warmth of your own breath fanning over your sweaty chest, the warmth between your legs that starts to dribble down the backs of your thighs when nanami pulls out.

for good measure, nanami uses two fingers to push some of his come back inside, grinning as aftershocks pulse around the digits.

you lower your tired legs to rest on the mattress, thighs aching from being bent practically in half, but it's easy to disregard any physical exhaustion when you feel this level of contentment.

nanami's arms are soon wrapped around you, pulling you to rest on top of his chest where you spend some moments of perfect silence.

you can hear his heart beating in his chest, skipping a beat when you angle your head up to meet his gaze again.

"well?" you ask, a smile imbued in your words. "still lost for words?"

"just thinking about how every second of this was worth waiting for," he replies without missing a beat, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches how his answer flusters you.

with one hand behind his head as he rests of the pillow and the other wrapped around your shoulders, nanami looks more relaxed than you've maybe ever seen him.

this is a man who looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown when you reconnected less than a year ago; he's almost unrecognisable now, the dark circles under his eyes have faded, his face filling out a bit more, the smile on his face entirely genuine.

and in this moment you feel a burst of clarity, a sudden realisation that's eluded you since that first night you met in college.

maybe -- just maybe -- you're as good an influence on him as he is on you.

Taking Care of You

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x babysitter!reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), breeding kink, praise kink, Fem!reader. Very minor mentions of injury & blood.

Description: He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home.

A/N: crossposted on my Ao3 and Tumblr.

3.7k words

18+ content! Minors and ageless blogs dni!

You remember the first time you came over to babysit for Mike all too clearly. You remember the way your eyes went wide when the door opened, and how your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. More importantly, you remember thinking that Mike Schmidt was far too hot for his own good, a clear image in your mind of how he had greeted you with tired eyes, messy hair, and a hand gripping the doorframe.

"Mr. Schmidt," you had blurted, ignorant to how his nose scrunched at the words leaving your mouth, "It's nice to—"

"Don't tell me I look that old?" His tired expression tried a smile, and you found yourself standing there, unable to formulate a proper response as you were already convinced you messed up the job before you even started. "Just Mike is fine.”

Back then, the only thing you knew about him was that he was hot, overworked, and clearly exhausted. So you did your best to make his life easier, even if those things were small, like cleaning all the dishes before he came home, tidying up all the clutter left behind on the table and kitchen counter. It wasn’t much, but you figured he could use whatever help he could get. He came home the first night, too tired to even notice before collapsing on the couch. Suppressing a giggle, you threw a blanket over his sleeping form, lingering a moment longer than you should have just to observe his face. Even in his sleep, you weren’t sure you could find even an ounce of peace in his expression.

—

Mike remembers the first week of your babysitting, when he returned home at some ungodly hour that Friday. While most babysitters in the past opted to lay on the couch, sleeping or watching TV, he had discovered that you preferred to be a bit more proactive. That night, in particular, he recalled your humming in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.

A strange feeling filled his chest at the sight, the smell of dinner still lingering and the radio playing some old song from his childhood. It was a feeling he shouldn't have been feeling towards the babysitter looking after his little sister. You had jumped when the floorboard creaked beneath himself shifting weight, still shy and jittery around him at the time.

“I didn’t see you come in,” your voice is still shaken from the scare. You turned to the oven, “Oh! I kept the food warm, in case you wanted some. Are you hungry?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, blinking a bit to shake the thoughts from his head, “Ah, you don’t have to do all this, you know. The cooking and cleaning stuff.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” you returned your gaze to the dishes in the sink, “Besides, you work hard. It’s the least I can do. Just let me take care of it.”

Just let me take care of it.

A phrase he hadn’t yet forgotten, either. When was the last time anyone had taken care of anything for him? He’d taken on the role of being Abby’s caretaker the moment his parents were out of the picture. He had made countless sacrifices, dropping out of school to work full-time, losing his social life. His old friends preferring to go out partying rather than hang out with the guy who has a kid sister and a full-time job. Every day was work, only to mess up at work. Then go home, stress over a dirty home. Drive Abby to school, stress over her education and development.

He didn’t have it within himself to deny you, not when you were so kind and helpful. Even if the guilt ate away at him, reminding him how he couldn’t even afford to pay you close to what you deserved.

His eyes wandered to an image on the counter. There was himself, a familiar stickman with brown hair. There was Abby, of course, given the height difference. And then there was another figure, the hair undeniably similar to yours. All three figures were holding hands together inside a square home.

“What’s this?” He picked it up.

“Abby told me it’s us,” you had laughed, placing a dish in the dishwasher. “Cute, right?”

There was a thumping in his chest as he looked at you, before looking back down at the paper. All he could manage was a smile as he pinned it to the fridge.

You soon felt his presence at your side, his hand picking up another dish while you rinsed yours.

“Let me help with that,” he said.

—

You’ve fallen into a routine. Every day, when he returns home, he is met with the same thing. You, in the kitchen, humming. You, greeting him with a smile. You, sitting down to eat with him. You, always asking him about his day even though you know by now that he has nothing interesting to say. He prefers to hear you talk instead, to listen to you ramble about your shitty college professors and annoying roommates. He likes it like this. To be able to pretend that he’s not some deadbeat who can’t hold down a job to save his life or some traumatized freak haunted by the memories of his dead brother and parents. With you, he gets to pretend like he’s normal.

But, of course, just because he can pretend things are normal, doesn’t mean they are. Reality soon hits him when he’s sitting in his boss’s office, asking Mike for his badge and ID. It hits him when he’s driving home, remembering how he beat an innocent man, his knuckles still bloody as he grips the steering wheel tight. He walks through the front door, hearing you greet him from the kitchen, a sound that would have been music to his ears any other day.

“Mike?”

He doesn’t have the energy to reply. No, all he can do is walk over to the chair in the living room, sinking into it with a sigh. He loosens his tie and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the sound of dishes clattering in the sink followed by your footsteps against the hardwood floor.

“Hey, you okay?” Your voice is soft and gentle. His eyes shoot open when he feels your even softer touch against his forehead, laying the back of your palm flat. “You’re not sick, are you?”

In all the time you’ve been babysitting, neither of you had done so much as touch each other at all. The few times he could remember was how your fingers brushed when you reached for the same dish in the sink or the innocent hand you placed on his shoulder that one time you laughed so hard you couldn’t hold yourself up. He had always made sure to keep his hands firmly placed in his pockets or at his side. Now, you were touching his face, and he thinks that’s the first time anyone has touched him like that in years.

“Don’t worry about me.” He pleads, his body betraying his words when he leans into your touch, your hand drifting to caress his cheek, “You don’t have to.”

You ignore him, and your eyes scan over his form, before landing on his bloodied knuckles. A gasp escapes you, followed by the scolding of his name. He hears you stumble towards the bathroom, rummaging through whatever you can find and returning with a washcloth and disinfectant. You kneel beside him, cleaning the dried blood from his wounds and he winced from the sting of the alcohol.

“I know I don’t have to,” you finally break the silence. “I worry because I care.”

“Why?”

You avert your gaze.

“I just do.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.” He presses. There’s another pause.

“Because this feels like home.”

The answer is enough to render both of you silent, you out of humiliation, and him out of shock because he hadn’t realized you thought the same way.

You finish wiping the last bit of dried blood from his knuckles and there’s a lingering feeling left on his skin, where your fingers held his hands. Soft. Familiar. You’re still kneeling in front of him, but you’re wearing an expression he hadn’t seen since the first week he met you. It’s that look of shyness, the way you used to squirm under his gaze or shrink your presence out of fear of overstepping a boundary.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?

“Let me take care of you. Please?”

He knows it’s wrong. He knows that “messing around with the babysitter” has never been a good idea in the history of ever, but when he sees you gazing up at him like that, sitting on your knees between his legs, your eyes wide like that. Well, what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

The chair isn’t too high from the floor, so he easily finds himself at somewhat your level when he leans forward, his hand lifting your chin to look him in the eye. He pauses, analyzing your face just for a moment. Your lips are parted, so prettily, and your eyes are filled with a look of lust and desperation.

“Please,” you repeat, this time in a whisper.

Any semblance of self-restraint he had before was all lost the moment his lips met yours. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he got a taste, a groan escaping his throat when he feels your tongue in his mouth. And you, you are so pliant. So eager to please. Still timid, hands hesitant as they rested on his knees, but so willing to let him handle you however he pleases, moaning when he tugs on your hair, whimpering when his hands grope your chest through your shirt.

“Quiet,” he mutters between kisses. You feel him pull away, the ghost of his lips at your ear, “we gotta be quiet, yeah?”

You nod, and he kisses your forehead, a tender change from his rough kisses shared only moments prior. He looks down at you, a flustered mess, but knows he must look the same. He couldn’t even remember the last time he let himself indulge like this. He feels your hand slither up his thigh, fumbling with his belt, groaning when you feel him through his jeans.

“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes as your hand dips into his boxers.

“You have no idea,” he says, his hand caressing the side of your face, making circles with his thumb against your cheek. He can feel your skin heat up under his touch. Your hand wraps around his hardening cock, and he has to stop himself from bucking into you. You’re just so gentle and sweet and he knows you’d let him take his frustration out but he just cannot allow himself to do that just yet— not without a little guilt.

“Then talk to me.”

“Got, ah, fired,” he chokes out, feeling your thumb swipe over his tip, gathering his pre-cum and helping you stroke up and down with more ease. “Was my fault, too.”

“You started a fight, didn’t you?”

“Something like that.”

He looks down at you, his cock now fully hard in your hand. He can’t hold but admire the sight, how you hungrily stare at him, or how you press your thighs together to relieve yourself of your own desires. He feels his breathing become heavier with each passing stroke of your hand on his dick, and he forces himself to look away, his hand that had previously been caressing the side of your head now digging his fingers into the back of your scalp.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” he leans his head back, in an attempt to stop himself from busting in your hand before you’ve even done anything. He swears he’s not usually this sensitive, but the fact that it’s been so long, and the fact that it’s you, had him feeling like he was a teenager getting his first handjob all over again. He tries not to think about it. “I’m already behind on bills. I don’t think I can even pay you. Probably won’t even get another fucking job after what I did.”

“You don’t need to pay me.”

“You’ve got to stop saying shit like that,” he shakes his head, almost in disbelief. He looks down at you again, and you’re pressing your lips to kiss the underside of his dick, then kissing his tip. He shudders. “You’re too good for this. For me.”

He’s about to continue, but your lips wrap around him and he can’t think of anything. Curse words slip from his lips, feeling your tongue work around him, your hot mouth taking him. He still has his hand on the back of your head, tempting him to force your head down, but he’s more curious about whether you’d try to take him all yourself— which you do. He feels your throat contract around him as you try to push yourself down his cock, determined to take it all. Sometimes, you really were that predictable. Sure, you were a timid little thing, but you were equally if not more stubborn. He grips the back of your head to pull you off, a cough rising to your throat as you catch your breath and he smiles lazily.

Your quick to take him back in your mouth, and he cherishes the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your hands that reached for the base of him to stroke whatever you couldn’t take. He gives an experimental thrust and he’s in bliss when he hears you moan around him. And as much as he wishes he could do this forever, watching you take him in your mouth, he knows his own limits and he knows he won’t last any longer. Besides, he’s neglected your needs for far too long.

He pulls you off of his cock finally, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lips puffy from their earlier actions. Then, he’s lifting you to the couch, hovering over your form as your back hits the cushions. Mike is thankful that you chose to wear a skirt tonight because with your legs spread like this, he gets a full view of your white cotton underwear, as well as the wet patch your arousal has created. He brings his hand down between your legs, feeling you through the fabric. He can hear your breath hitch and he watches you bite down on your lower lip to suppress your noises. And as much as he wants to tell you not to, he is reminded by the fact that you are both doing this in the living room, and the last thing he wants to do is traumatize his little sister, who is sleeping a few doors down the hallway.

“Didn’t know you wanted me this bad,” he whispers, finally slipping his hand past the fabric barrier to gather your slick at his fingers and rub your clit with his thumb, his other fingers prodding at your hole but not yet entering.

“Wanted you for so long,” you admit, sucking in a breath when you feel his thumb circle around your clit again. “You’re really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

Two of his fingers finally sink into you and you’re gripping the fabric of his uniform at his shoulders. Rough, long and so much bigger than your own— you have to grit your teeth even harder to stop any sinful noises from escaping you.

“Always thought you were real pretty, too.” He continues, “You’re prettier right now, though.”

He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds making you burn up in embarrassment. He’s obsessed with the way your eyes roll back, how your pretty lashes flutter open and closed, and how your hips buck to meet his rhythm.

“More, please,” you finally let out, your eyes going down to his cock, which was still very much hard. “Need you inside.”

You whimper at the emptiness you feel when his fingers leave, but quickly forget about it the moment your panties are removed and you feel his cock rub against your cunt, the tip resting at your entrance. You expect to feel him push in, only to see that he has paused.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, a pained look on his face. He had no reason to keep any around any more, not since providing for Abby had become his number one priority. He mentally kicked himself for it now.

“Mike,” you whine, trying to roll your hips up, but his hands remained firm against you, keeping you down. “I don’t care. Just pull out or something.”

You feel like a pathetic idiot for saying it, and he feels even more of one for considering it at all. All he can manage is a sigh. He’d already crossed so many lines tonight that he shouldn’t have. What difference would crossing one more be?

He hesitates before pushing in, but once he feels your tight walls around the head of his dick he can’t find it within himself to have any regrets. You’re so tight and warm and wet and he loves the way you stretch around him, gasping with every inch he gives you. He pauses when he’s buried at the hilt, mentally trying to cool himself down because the fact that he’s fucking you raw and you’re taking him so well is driving him mad.

“So good,” he coos, his hand on your face, thumb on your lower lip, “so fucking good.”

He pulls away until he’s nearly out again before thrusting into you fully, and he has to slam his hand over your mouth to stop the moan that would have escaped you. He continues to fuck you like this, slowly, and deeply, before it’s not enough, and he finds himself taking you faster, harder, wanting to see how much you were willing to take.

You feel every inch of him inside you, and you can’t help but clench around him every time the tip of his cock hits the spot inside you that you can’t reach with your own fingers. You feel so full and it’s everything and more that you’ve needed for so long.

He pushes up your shirt, revealing your cleavage. Your breasts are still covered by your bra, but he pinches your nipples through the lacy fabric anyway, content when he hears you make a sound, muffled by his other hand which remains on your mouth.

He can tell you’re close from the telltale sign of your pussy clenching harder, and how you start to freeze up, too fucked out to do anything else. He, too, starts to feel himself approaching his limit but knows he has to hold out long enough to let you reach your high first. He finally removes his hand from your mouth and uses it to rub your clit.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes.

“I’ll always be good for you,” you keep your voice a whisper, “Always waiting for you when you come home.”

Your words ignite a desire within him he never realizes he had. He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home. Now, as he’s fucking you, the only thing he can think about is how deeply he wants to cum inside you, over and over again until he gives you another kid to take care of. He doesn’t care if he can’t afford it. He’ll pick up as many jobs as he can get just to take care of you.

He feels your back arch and your walls clench around him, immediately going to kiss you to swallow your cries. He ruts into you, over and over again and though there’s a sinful voice in the back of his head telling him to fill you up until he’s dripping out of you, he knows he should stay true to his promise to pull out. That is, until you tell him otherwise.

“You can do it inside,” you choke out, still fucked out from your orgasm, “I don’t mind—“

Before you can finish your sentence his hips come to a stop and he’s finishing inside you, as deep as he possibly can, as if to not waste a single drop. When he finally pulls out, he can’t help but watch in awe as his seed drips from your cunt down to your ass, ruining the couch cushions beneath you both. He tries not the think about the consequences that will bring. Instead, he’s pulling you close, catching his breath while laying his head against your stomach. Moments later, he feels your hand running your fingers through his hair and he sighs, leaning into your warmth.

“I don’t want you to be Abby’s babysitter anymore,” he starts, his voice hoarse and worn out. He can feel you tense up when he says it, before immediately continuing, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

He hears you laugh.

“Does that mean I won’t get paid anymore?”

“I’ll repay you in other ways,” he flashes you a suggestive smile, earning him a snort and a flick on his forehead. Still, the guilt gnaws at him from within. “Seriously, though. I will. I’ll take care of you, too.”

He doesn’t care what job he picks up next. He’ll take any job in the world, so long as it means he can provide for you and Abby.

—

You wake up the next morning, the scent of pinewood and campfire surrounding you. You don’t remember exactly how, but you remember, after being fucked mercilessly, being carried to his room, cleaned up, and falling asleep in Mike’s bed. Now, you find the place next to you empty but can observe Mike standing at the door, speaking in a hushed voice while holding back the door.

You stand on shaky legs, still wobbly from your earlier affairs, approaching the argument.

“Abby, go away!”

“No! Let me—“

“What’s all this?” You interject.

Mike loses his grip on the door and Abby opens it wide. Her arms are crossed, adorning a frown while Mike is bringing his hands to his face.

“Abby, I can explain—“

“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were having a sleepover?” She fumes, “We could have built a pillow fort!”

No. 13 for Azriel please ❤️❤️🤌✨

“Everything reminds me of you, it's driving me insane”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 1.4K

a/n: kinda inspired by cardan’s letters. if yall read the cruel prince series then u know. get ready for some angst yall.

prompt list

“This is the last straw Azriel. I can’t handle not being a priority in your life! You always choose Rhys, Cassian, Elain, work, or literally anything else over me. I have only seen you once in the past week, and we live together for Cauldron’s sake! I feel like I live with a ghost. You’re gone before I wake up and you return after I fall asleep!” You yell between tears. “I can’t do this anymore. I love you, but it is too painful to keep living like this.” Azriel realizes where this is headed.

“Y/n, please. I’ll be better. I promise!” He begs, desperation in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Azriel. You had your chance, multiple actually. It’s too late.” You turn away, unable to look at his heartbroken face without potentially giving in. You can feel his shadows attempting to reach for you as you walk out the door.

———

January 7th

Dear y/n,

Rhys won’t tell me where exactly you left to, but promised he would deliver this. I understand that you are angry with me and that you need some time to calm down. I hope that you will return soon so we can work this out. I love you and I’m sorry.

Sincerely,

Azriel

———

January 29th

Dear y/n,

Point taken, dear. I know I messed up, but it’s been weeks and I miss you.

I know you are getting these letters. Rhys said he ensured they would be delivered. I guess that doesn't guarantee that you will read them. Nevertheless, I am sorry for my actions and I am taking steps to create boundaries in my life so that I can have more time for you. I can prove it, if only you would just come home.

With deepest apologies,

Azriel

———

February 14th

My love,

I had hoped you would return before Valentine's Day. You always loved celebrating this holiday. I know you won’t see them, but I still got you flowers. They're on your nightstand.

It's been over a month. I miss your voice. Please come home.

Azriel

———

March 7th

Y/n,

If this is your way of punishing me, then consider it a success. I’m a wreck without you. Please come home.

-Azriel

———

March 30th,

My heart,

I am begging you to come home. Come home and yell at me, come home and fight with me, just please come home. I love you and I’m so sorry.

Always with love,

Azriel

———

May, 15th,

Y/n,

I understand what you meant about feeling like you were living with a ghost. Everything reminds me of you, and it’s driving me insane. I am haunted by these traces of you around our home. Please end this torment and come back to me.

-Azriel

———

June 7th

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Why are you doing this to me?

I hate myself for causing this and pushing you away.

Do you still love me? Do you even miss me?

Please come home I can’t take it anymore.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

I miss you.

———

Y/n,

This is my last letter. I won’t bother you anymore after this. I hope that wherever you are, you are happy. I will always regret taking your love for granted.

Eternally yours,

Azriel

———

It was another sleepless night for Azriel. He was plagued with the memories of every single time he chose something or someone else over you. He’s past the point of beating himself up over it, but rather, he considers this the worst punishment of all. Being forced to relive each memory over and over, unable to change it. Hating himself and drowning his sorrows in whiskey.

He hears a knock at the door. It’s probably Cass or Rhys, doing their weekly check on him, since he rarely leaves the house anymore. Azriel chooses to ignore them.

They knock again.

“Fuck off, I’m not in the mood tonight guys.” He barks in the direction of the door, taking another sip of his whiskey.

Another knock.

Cauldron boil him, his brothers were relentless. He was going to open the door, but only to yell at them to leave. He grumbles angrily to himself all the way to the door.

“I said I wasn’t-“ It's not Rhys or Cassian on his doorstep. Instead, he sees you, holding a stack of letters. His letters.

This is another dream, he thinks. He must have fallen asleep on the couch. When he wakes you will be gone again, having torn the rip in his heart even wider. But until then, he lets himself indulge in the dream. Azriel doesn’t hesitate for another moment before pulling you into a tight hug.

“My dreams must be especially cruel tonight because somehow I am able to smell your perfume. I can feel your heartbeat.” He mumbles, face buried in your hair. His shadows encompass you two, whispering in Azriel’s ear y/n, y/n, y/n

“This isn’t a dream, Azriel.” You say softly, pulling away to look at him and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening, but as soon as he does, he pulls you back into a hug, even tighter than before. You feel hot tears fall onto your shoulder as his shadows surge around you.

“My love, my heart, my star. You came back to me.” He sobs. Your heart breaks at the pain in his voice. You had known he was probably upset about the breakup, but in an attempt to heal and move on, you never opened his letters… until last night.

After several long minutes of intense bear hugs, he finally manages to let go. Well kind of, he can’t seem to let your hand go yet.

“We should talk, Az.” You say nervously.

“I will do anything you want if it means you will stay.”

Gods, you were the worst person in the world. This poor male, who you still love desperately despite your best efforts, is so broken over you leaving.

“I’m not going anywhere, Az.” You reassure him. He finally loses a small bit of tension in his shoulders a the words, but his hands seem to hold tighter. You take a deep breath, trying to prepare for what you have to say.

“I didn’t read your letters until last night. I was trying to get over you, and so I avoided reading them. In an attempt to move on, I had convinced myself you were happy without me. But I couldn’t move on. I couldn't stop loving you. When I finally read your letters, I realized you truly had changed. I should’ve read them months ago. I should've never left. I’m so sorry Azriel. I understand if you need time or if you can’t forgive me but-“ He cuts you off.

“I forgive you. I don’t need time. I only need you here.” He’s so quick to dismiss every mistake you made, it breaks your heart. It will take a long while to reassure him that you aren’t ever leaving again, maybe a lifetime, but that’s okay.

You take notice of his dark circles and how skinny he has gotten. Gods, has he eaten at all since you left, you wonder.

“Let me make us some dinner, then we can talk more, okay?” Azriel nods and reluctantly lets go of your hand, following you to the kitchen like a lost puppy.

———

After several long hours of tears and brutal honesty, you and Azriel lay in your bed, embracing each other.

You spent the next week holed up in the house, reconnecting and reigniting your love for each other. You even took extra time to apologize to his shadows. They were very happy that you were back and made sure to show you so.

True to his word, Azriel never took your love for granted for as long as you both lived. And true to yours, you never left again.

I think I may do this prompt again later with someone else in more of a rivals to lovers type scenario, but I kinda just felt like this was fun for this one and wanted to try it idk

prompt list

taglist: @fxckmiup

amnesia - part 11 (ona batlle x alexia putellas x reader)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10

a/n: things might just be starting to look up for our girls :) once again, thank you to @codiemarin for all of the advice and suggestions!!! ❤️

--------

The tears kept going, and by the time you got home you felt absolutely exhausted. All you could do was crawl back into bed and cry yourself to sleep, the feelings of hurt and betrayal threatening to consume you from the inside. 

You awoke a few hours later to the sound of your doorbell ringing and your name being called through the door. It was Alexia, her voice making your heart ache. You wanted nothing more than to let her in, have her console you, comfort you, make you feel safe in her arms, but all you could think about was how they’d treated you and how foolish you felt.

You stayed quiet, hidden under the covers of your bed, waiting for Alexia to give up. After about 10 minutes it went quiet, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Wanting to make sure she was gone, you trudged to the door and looked through the peephole. The captain was gone, but you could see something on your doorstep.

When you opened the door to see what it was, you were greeted by a familiar scent - your favourite drink and pastry from the café down the road, the one that Alexia had taken you to just over a week ago.

Had it really only been a week? It felt like that afternoon was forever ago. 

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you picked up the drink and pastry bag. Yeah, you were mad at Alexia, but it’d be a waste to just leave this on the doormat. You brought it inside and slumped down on the sofa, desperately trying to blink away the tears filling your eyes. You ate the pastry in silence, unable to find the energy to even grab the tv remote. 

The next days passed in a blur. At first, everything you did was consumed by hurt - it felt like your heart had been ripped out of your body, leaving a gaping wound. You knew it was dramatic, that you were probably overreacting, but that didn’t change how betrayed you felt. The hurt soon gave way to numbness. You went through the motions of each day, waking up, going to therapy, coming home. You tried to go for a daily walk in the park, something your physiotherapist recommended and something you knew would be good for your mental health, but even your walks in the park felt empty. 

You avoided seeing Alexia and Ona. It was easy enough - they were usually in the middle of training when you had therapy, and when you did happen to be in the gym you wouldn’t look at them, eyes fixed to the floor. The first time you saw them it was as though the air had been sucked out of your body, and after that you were careful not to look at them. You couldn’t get the image of them out of your head, though. How tired they looked. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t avoid them completely. Every single morning, like clockwork, a pastry and a drink would be waiting for you on your doormat. Sometimes it was from the café nearby, sometimes it was from a different café, one you remembered being near Ona’s place.

That was another thing - your memories. They were slowly returning, bit by bit, trickling in through the cracks of your closed-off brain. They reappeared softly, quietly, so that you didn’t even realise they were there until something made you think of them. A small bouquet, lying in front of your door, made you think of your first date with Ona, your first real date. She’d tried so hard, buying you flowers and everything, and you’d been so overcome you’d forgotten how to speak for a minute. A song playing on the radio reminded you of a post-match celebration, dancing in the changing room with your teammates. Memories you didn’t even realise you’d been missing.

The accident brought other things, as well. There were things you’d forgotten how to do, things you knew you should be able to do - the first time you tried to tie your shoelaces, alone, you almost cried with frustration. Alexia or Ona had always noticed you struggling before and had helped you without a word, but now you had to do it by yourself. After a few failed attempts you gave up, and pulled on a different pair of shoes. You knew you should just ask your physiotherapist or occupational therapist for help - you’d been told multiple times by various people that it was extremely common for people to forget or not know how to do basic tasks anymore after an accident like yours, but you just felt so stupid.

And lonely. You hadn’t noticed the frustration in your everyday life with Alexia and Ona there to distract you, help you, but without them it was more present than ever, and without them you realised just how alone you were. Sure, you were friends with the rest of the team, but those two had been your rocks, your best friends. 

One day, you were looking for a sweater to wear - laundry was another thing you didn’t have the energy to do - and found one you didn’t recognise, tucked away at the back of your closet. As you pulled it out and held it up, you were engulfed in a familiar scent, one that brought fresh tears to your eyes. It smelled like Alexia, like her perfume, and you knew without a doubt that it was Alexia’s sweater. You bundled it up and brought it close to you, holding it tight like a teddy bear, and found yourself unable to stop the tears from falling down your face - one, then another, then a cascade of them. You sobbed into the sweater, the feeling of loneliness overwhelming you. In what felt like a moment of weakness, you shook the sweater out and took a picture of it, sending it to Alexia.

[Y/N]: is this yours?

You regretted sending the message almost immediately, frustrated at yourself for giving in and messaging her. You were about to throw your phone aside when it buzzed.

[Alexia]: Si

[Alexia]: I gave it to you a few months ago, you kept forgetting to give it back to me

Something inside you told you that you hadn’t forgotten to give it back, but that you’d kept it secretly, loving how safe it made you feel. That you’d wear it when Ona wasn’t around, feeling guilty for keeping it, knowing that you should return it, but something always stopped you. 

You took a deep breath and began to type.

[Y/N]: I don’t think I forgot. I think I was keeping it on purpose, I wanted to have something that smelled like you

It was easier, somehow. Messaging her, rather than talking to her face to face. You felt like you could say things you wouldn’t be able to say in person, emboldened by the lack of eye contact. 

[Y/N]: it still smells like you

You stared at the screen after sending the message, your stomach in knots. You weren’t sure why you were so anxious about her response.

[Alexia]: Does it?

[Y/N]: yeah, like your perfume, I think

[Alexia]: is typing…

You watched the three bubbles appear and disappear, desperate for her to reply. Yes, you were still angry at her, but it was hard to be angry at a screen. And, if you were honest, you just missed her - missed both of them, more than anything else. 

As you waited for Alexia to respond, you went over to your chat with Ona. If you scrolled back far enough you would find inside jokes, sweet messages, heart emojis and selfies. You paused, then typed out a short message.

[Y/N]: hi

[Ona]: Hola, bebé

[Ona]: I’m so sorry about everything, I shouldn’t have lied to you like that

[Y/N]: actually, can we not talk about it, please?

You frowned at the phone screen. You missed them, you wanted to talk to them - but you didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened.

[Ona]: Of course

[Ona]: How was physio today?

At the same time, your phone buzzed with a message from Alexia.

[Alexia]: Ah, you always liked that perfume. You always wanted to steal some after training.

A warm feeling spread through your body as you read the message, your mind filling with memories of laughing in the changing room. As you sat on the floor in front of your wardrobe and typed away, chatting to both of them, with Alexia’s sweater still in your lap, you couldn’t help but smile.

---------

part 12 here

hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

their reactions if MC was fatally wounded by wanderers and passed away

⚘pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader

⚘tags: sfw, gender-neutral MC, established relationship, loss and grief, ANGST, alcohol consumption (in xavier's part), very slight chapter 7/8 spoilers (in rafayel's part)

⚘a/n: sorry xavier's is shorter, i'm still figuring out his character! also can you tell i have a bias um hehe,,,

╰┈➤ ❝ XAVIER. ❞

is devastated by the news, and blames himself for not being there as their hunting partner to protect them and keep them safe

he drowns his grief in liquor at The Nest—the bartender worries for his sudden habit, but xavier's lips are locked tight, and so he doesn't pry. the best he can do is cut him off before his veins are more alcohol than blood

he also takes it out on the wanderers he fights from then on, hoping that the next one's throat he slits is the one who took his precious MC away from him

on calmer days, he brings flowers to their grave whenever he's able—he'll sit and chat about everything and nothing in the hopes that somehow, somewhere, they're still listening

╰┈➤ ❝ ZAYNE. ❞

would be in the ER doing everything he can to save them

....but it's not enough

the guilt of their life slipping through his fingers weighs heavy on him. but he never lets it show

he already spends a lot of time at work, but after they pass, he throws himself fully into his job

he's even more clinical and impersonal than ever and fully embodies the "cold and distant dr. zayne" title everyone else thought of him (everyone but MC)

he doesn't allow himself to get close to anyone anymore—after all, the ones he opens his heart to always get taken away from him

he keeps himself busy 24/7. if he allows even a moment's break, he starts thinking, and thinking is bad

his already frequent nightmares worsen, and he finds himself pulling even more all-nighters than usual to avoid them

bonus extra angsty alternate ending: his lack of sleep and inner anguish affect him to the point of messing up a delicate surgery. he resigns that same day.

╰┈➤ ❝ RAFAYEL. ❞

thomas is unable to contact him for days. texts and voicemails remain unanswered, deadlines are fast approaching with no updates... but, isn't this normal behaviour from the antisocial artist?

it's not until finding out about MC's passing a week later that thomas realizes he should have been more persistent with rafayel. but would it have even mattered? when rafayel is in a mood, it's near impossible to find/reach him, nevermind pull him out of it

weeks pass with still no word, and thomas regrets his last conversation with rafayel—pressing him to finish his latest painting, with an eager buyer already waiting

thomas does his best to manage cancelling rafayel's many interview and art show invitations without stirring up concerns. rafayel is already known to be dodgy with such things, though, which thankfully buys him some time

rafayel is finally spotted some time later on the beach just off his home studio, drenched to his bones and wandering aimlessly barefoot along the coast

he hasn't touched a paintbrush in ages, and has completely forgotten the inspiration for his last unfinished piece

he's spent nearly the entire time in the sea. the rocking of the waves and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears keep him distracted more than painting ever could

his muse is gone, and with it his flame. he spent all this time to find them... just to lose them again. his poor heart just can't bear it

one day he leaves one last cryptic message to thomas, dons his scales once more, and returns to the sea forever

Title: Burned

Character(s): Childe / Tartaglia (Genshin Impact)

Summary: He was your best friend ever since you were kids, you guys were inseparable. You promised that you would be together forever yet you could not feel anything but fear as you looked at from the audience his bloodied clothes and crazed eyes as he was essentially granted permission to have you by the Tsaritsa.

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, yandere themes (obsession), childhood friends to lovers(?) trope

You and Ajax had known each other since you were babies. Having lived close to each other's home it was almost every day that the two of you would meet and play, holding hands as the two of you explored the white-coated forest or stay by each other side drinking hot cocoa by the fire.

To your parents, it looked like the two of you were inseparable when they watched you guys lean on each other, napping quietly with a blanket covering you two. It was cute. When you were like the younger sister and Ajax was the older brother.

Even when Ajax's family grew in size, younger siblings, he never left your side, really still holding your hand tightly as if he didn't want you to go. There were moments when he would be conflicted as his sibling called him from far away, yet he was unable to go as he held your hand.

Even tho he was technically the older brother, he acted almost like an attached puppy toward you. Wherever you go, he would follow you if he was allowed, and when he isn't, there were times when he would whine wanting no more than to play with you.

He watched his siblings all the time, his parents were glad with how dedicated he was to taking care of them but you were special they could see it in the small boy's eyes how he would constantly look for you even when you were not around. How his ears were always sharp, moving immediately when he hears you while they could barely.

His parents and yours would joke that the two of you would marry later when you guys grow up and that they would connect the families through you guys. While most kids would dislike such jokes, finding them disgusting or in their words, "eww!" Ajax would always blush, looking rather hopeful at the idea as he would sneakily glance at you. They thought that this was the future, a few ups, and downs, no doubt, but they thought they could see it.

They didn't know what to do when Ajax suddenly disappeared.

It was a shock to everyone, with fear in their hearts that they had lost someone they desperately search for him. You cried when your parents didn't let you continue searching when it had gotten so late at night, when you looked so hard yet still could not find him. Cried so much that your eyes stung in pain with rashes under your eyes and nose.

After a few days, some gave up looking, and after a month or two, they had to stop. You were broken. It felt like the world collapsed because he was gone, and many pitied you. But you still didn't stop looking for him. Going to the woods where you and him played often, you would call out his name before returning when someone calls you back home. You missed him, you missed him so much and only wished he could come back home.

And he did... just... just that he was different from before.

Found in the middle of the woods, his clothes bloodied and thorn. Many were concerned for the boy, surprised to even see him alive in this freezing nation but most were happy. Till they saw his eyes, lifeless and blank. In the back of their minds, warnings started ringing as they slowed down their steps.

What in the world happened?

Ajax was taken back home, embraced by his family's arms and he also hugged them back just as tight. Being stuck in the abyss for so long all he wanted to see was both his family and... you.

Small steps he could hear that sounded all too familiar to him and impatient knocks on the door his parents were in the kitchen while his siblings were playing with their toys. He was the only one who could open the door, getting up as he headed towards the door, opening it, but before he would see actually you, his body was pushed backward and hands clinging around his neck.

It felt like an invisible weight was lifted from his shoulders. When he looked at you, your face hidden in his shoulder, he was supporting both you and him so that you two would not fall onto the hard floor and tears wet his clothes.

He didn't want you hurt after all, always thinking about you before himself, but when he heard your voice, your cries, that you missed him so much... He couldn't help himself but hug you as tightly.

People around him started treating him differently after he came back. His own personality and attitude had changed too much. He had become jaded even if he was the same boy who still took care of his baby siblings his parents could see it in his eyes, that flame of insanity and a yearning to fight. It hurt his parents, as they were unable to look into his eyes as guilt choked them. But there was one person who didn't change other than his baby siblings who couldn't even realize anything was different.

It was you who continued to stay by his side.

You stay by his side... Ajax knew that you were as innocent and naive as his siblings but held on to this kind of hope that you would be different when you make no mention or found him slipping as he talks about the thrill of fighting. He was your friend you told him, why would you ever leave him?

"I will never ever leave you, Ajax. So you don't have to hide anything from me! We are friends and we will stay together forever! Okay?"

It was naive words, maybe down the line you would regret someday but you didn't know that determined to stay by his side when you saw how Ajax looked at you, his eyes widen like saucers. The hesitation and fear of something that has yet to come... you wished to take all of it away. He was your friend after all.

The hand that held your own tightened, and you whined in pain.

"Promise?"

It was a solemn voice as Ajax looked down to the snow floor. You tilted your head, startled as he looked at you again. There was no sparkle in his eyes but something else... something you didn't understand when you were so young. But you nodded.

"Promise."

You were surprised when you heard of the news of one of the harbingers taking an interest in Ajax. Happy if not proud that he had gotten the interest of someone who worked so close to the Tsaritsa. Yet you can't help it as your smile dropped when Childe told you that he would be leaving here.

After your last hug (both of you knew that you would not be able to see each other for a long time), you watched him leave with Pulcinella.

It was okay... you both had promised to send letters as often as you could.

You wished to see him every day, sending Ajax letters one or two a week even as years passed. While he didn't send as many letters to you, all of them were usually thick and full of care. He was always busy that much you understood from when he told you his training schedule but also from Pulcinella, who would show up here ever so often to care for Ajax's siblings.

You asked him if he was doing all right...

"Ajax is doing fine, but training is really hard, and he has been very busy. But if you want, I can deliver a word for him for you if you wish." he offered, but you choose to instead decline, thanking him for taking care of Ajax.

"He has told me about a lovely lady many times before. It seems that you are the one that he was talking about." The old man smiled at you, "I shall tell him that you miss him if you wish. He would be very happy."

Instead of declining his offer again, you hesitantly yet respectfully accepted his offer. But there was something that he said that you could not get out of your mind.

Just before he left, Pulcinella turned back to face you again. "Maybe you already know this but just in case, I think it is better for you should know that Ajax is a different person than he was before he fell into the abyss. You must be careful with him. Otherwise if handled carelessly you might be burned by his flames."

The mayor's words made you hesitant, offended by his words, yet at the same time, it made you confused. How could he say that when he was the one who took Ajax in.

You ignored his words, well at least tried to when you continued to write letters to Ajax. Somewhere in your heart, you knew that something was true, yet for years, you chose to ignore everything, for... he was still your friend.

Ajax and you continued to send letters to each other you more than him, while he would occasionally send them a small present would be with it telling you how it reminded him of you. From bracelets, and small accessories to stones, and dried flowers and sweets. (You tied to ignore the fact that there was a bit of blood on some of the items sometimes, worry that he might be hurt, or wonder how hard the mission was. Part of you knew that this blood wasn't his not with how cheery and excited his letters were.)

There were some people you knew in the village that meet Ajax, not usually on purpose but by chance, and they would all say the same thing. That he really had changed. Their faces never say it was for the best. Instead, they were rather pale and unsure as they started warning you to be careful.

While Ajax's parents looked hesitant when you asked them about him when they visited him.

You never wanted to believe it, that you would rather see it from your own eyes. It has been so long since you last met Ajax, but you saved enough money to make a trip to see him after some years. Finish getting ready, you head out, leaving your home to visit him as you have heard that there was a tournament happening between the Fatui, that maybe you could see him then...

Your heart froze when you saw the blood stains on his clothes as he battled with other fatui members. It was a brutal fighting tournament, and the winner gets a wish granted by the Tsaritsa.

The boy you once knew was nowhere to be found as you watched another man with ginger hair injure another of his colleagues. He never stabbed too deep, yet your body could not help but feel a chill as you watched his crazed eyes.

He was holding back... but in what sense you didn't want to know.

"Is there anything that you wish for as a reward? Fame, money? power?" The Tsaritsa asked her voice chilling. Yet the man didn't seem to be fazed still keeping his head low he spoke up, "I do not wish for such things. Fame and money have no use to me. While power does appeal to me, I wish to be rewarded with something else."

Whispers could be heard everywhere as people were shocked that such a young man like him would deny the opportunity for something greater. The Tsaritsa paused as if thinking for a moment before speaking, "Raise your head, my soldier, and tell me what is it that you want. If it is not impossible, I shall give it to you."

Childe raised his head a smile on his lips, yet still respectful, but nothing could hide the madness in his eyes that just came back from a bloody fight. "I have a lady that I love but had to leave her when I joined the fatui years ago, I wish to see her again and would like to ask for a month or two rest so as to visit her and my family." You blink in surprise at what he said, yet you felt your heart stop when you locked eyes with him for just a second.

He knew you were here. Yet rather than that affectionate eyes of the young boy that you knew, you felt nothing more than his prey.

The Tsaritsa was silent for a moment again looking down at Childe as if examing him. "You are a loyal man. Very well, you shall go back to your home as I will grant you 2 months of rest. Go be with the woman you love and come back when the time is up for when you come back you will be bestowed the 11th rank of the harbinger."

The crowds gasped both in shock and amazement, yet soon after, there was loud cheering. Yet you could not join them as you stood frozen in your spot, fear nestled in your heart as your childhood friend looked straight at you. The look in his eyes was familiar to you, but back then, you didn't know what it was.

Now you do. Those eyes belonged to someone you cared for so much now held an infatuation-crazed love within them shown to no one but only to you. Taking a step back, your legs felt like they were encased with ice.

This was not the boy you knew.

"I thank the Tsaritsa for your benevolence. It is an honor to be granted this reward."

Or maybe you never knew him in the first place.

part 2 of that university mizu i wrote

So you have her hoodie right?

Its so big on you btw (reaches your thighs) but it's also very comfy.

You're on your way home, on the bus. She waved at you goodbye from outside the window. Of course you waved back. Without her hoodie, she's just wearing a plain tee shirt.

It's not even cold in the bus.

Hell, its not even that cold outside too.

So u cant help but smile at her caring gesture.

Your hand goes up to your lips to suppress the big smile on your face.

then you realize her hoodie smells like her too.

Now her perfume is stuck on you too.

You could still smell her perfume even after you've taken off her hoodie

___

You texted her that you'll return it tomorrow. You both have your respective classes. she has morning class while you have afternoon classes.

Lmk if your class is done, im waiting outside ur building :))

That was your mesage an hour ago. She didnt respond.

You constantly looked at the time and checked her schedule, double thinking whether or not this is her actual building.

Ding!

I'm omw

it wasnt too long until she walked out of the building with her bag slung over her shoulder. You smile.

Then you notice there was someone else with her.

Whoever he was, he was creating years amount of stress on mizu's face

"Why'd you keep telling me to go away? Not like i'm going to scare her off! Or maybe you're scared. You scared she'd ditch you for me once she sees me? What? You scared?"

"shut up." mizu said through gritted teeth

Then her serious and annoyed expression quickly shifted to a more softer and gentler when she sees you.

Her brow relaxes and she stops walking fast, trying to escape her chatterbox of a 'friend'.

You smile at her and you wave.

You look at the man beside her a polite smile and an acknowledging nod.

You walk to Mizu to give her a paperbag

"thanks"

She looked confused as she peaked inside the paperbag

"its- uh, your hoodie," you point yourself, "the one you let me borrow? Remember? Yesterday?"

She huffed a laugh at your stammering

"i was hoping you're not going to return it."

Huh?

She gave you back the paperbag

"keep it."

You look at it in uncertainty, you glance at the man beside her who also seems kinda surprised, then to mizu who looks at you encouragingly.

Take it.

Is what she seems to say.

So you did, but unable to look her for long in the eye from being flustered.

"Thanks?" you laughed. "Do you want to have breakfast?"

"It's eleven."

You rolled your eyes

"then brunch."

Then you remembered her friend,

"oh,- uh, he can come with if he wants to! What's your name, by the way?"

"Taigen!-" "Absolutely not."

Taigen looked at Mizu like she just told him to go to hell. (she kind of did, in her mizu way)

even you were taken back by her cold COLD COLD voice.

"he's busy." mizu said with finality.

Taigen frowned

"What's with you? Can't i atleast meet your new friend? Its not everyday you get a new friend! Dude, come on!"

Mizu turns to him with a sharp glare behind her glasses.

Taigen huffs and walks away.

"Whatever. Fucking rude." then he smiles at you, a very good smile that probably has the intent in looking handsome. "My names Taigen by the way, if you ever get done with Mizu's bitchiness my number is-"

Mizu just pushed him away by his face and went to you, grabbed you by the hand and speed walked out of there (it was hard to keep up, she walks fast).

"he's something."

"something to get rid of, more of." she responded quickly, it made you laugh.

That was when you started asking her if she have other people in the uni she's close with. She said yes and told you about akemi and ringo.... and taigen.

"out of all of them, i like being with you the most."

GIRL COME ON

SHE'S SUPER INTO YOU BUT YOU DONT WANT TO JUMP INTO CONCLUSIONS

THIS UNI READER AND MIZU IS MAKING ME PULL OUT MY HAIR

Mizu: i am literally in love with you

Reader: oh haha i love my friends too

___

Mizu started introducing you to her friends one by one after that. She wasnt surprised to see you and ringo get along since you both share a very calm and kind vibe.

Akemi, you were a bit hesitant at first. I think you felt somewhat insecure? She just looks so pretty, and...

"Oh, this is (Y/n)? It's nice to finally meet you!"

But when she spoke to you and you start talking to her, she's a very interesting person. She's kind, have that fierceness in her, but honest and polite. She's cool, and you got along well with her.

Then there's taigen.

You didnt hate him, but he does get overwhelming at times. He does say funny comments.

You thought him and mizu's interaction was the best it can be but man, is seeing him, mizu, and akemi banter is the best.

It's like a sitcom. Insults thrown here and there which usually ends with taigen with his ego or face bruised.

___

the most memorable thing you two had was during a party

Its so full of people, like touching shoulders at how many there were and you were both just there to pop in and say hi to akemi, wish her a happy birthday. Stay a few hours and leave to hang out somewhere.

You two love doing that. going in a very extroverted place just to say you went only to leave early to do whatever introverted stuff you two want to do (like stop by the grocery because you needed to restock, or stop by the park on mizu's way home because there are cats there)

anyways, so there were so many people right?? And they were havng fun, its loud, they're dancing. and you're starting to feel bothered by them. You and mizu are holding hands to get through the people. You both want to go home but you still have to find akemi.

She stops to make sure you're close behind her, and just as you were about to catch up to her, the crows moves like a tidal wave you end up being caught in it like a fish caught in the currents.

You get shoved so hard that you let go of mizu's hand and end up stumbling forward.

Youre pressed up to someone

and youre too embarassed and too scared to look.

Then you smell their perfume

Mizu.

Your heart thumps.

And you stopped breathing when she shifts, so your head is tucked under her jaw. Her hand finding its way around your waist

it was like she was shielding you away from the people, a crowd that you hate so much.

She's warm. super warm

Or maybe its just you and your lesbian disaster tendencies?

The fact that your height difference was even made more obvious in this situation wasnt helping

Then the crowd shifts and finally there's space again.

And even when there was space, she didnt pull away.

So you did.

You pulled away because you didnt want to make her uncomfortable, not knowing she cherished every single second of it.

That was the first time you two even made physical contact. Like straight up somewhat intimate physical contact that goes more than hand holding and arm touches.

None of you mentioned it on the way home.

But you were both thinking about it.

(i bet mizu felt giddy over it but her face remained stoic lmao)

___

i think mizu thinks you dont like her back the same way she likes you. (come on, she might as well marry you at this point)

So i think what she did was she wanted to enjoy your presence and convesations and decided she'll tell you when she can see that you feel the same way. if you still dont reciprocate her feelings then she'll definitely court you (in a non obvious way) until you do

___

when she came over to your apartment it was when you definitely trust her lotsa to be there.

You guys watched movies in a projector. Overtime it made mizu sleepy and she drifted off.

You were so invested in the movie you just noticed it when you heard her low soft breathing. (she's quiet during the movie, she made little comments and remarks like "why would she go there? Is she stupid?")

SHES SO CUTE WHEN SHES ASLEEP OKAY

She looks so unguarded.

So you took your phone and snapped a pic. You even replaced her contacts picture to it.

Her hair was down today (rare times). You think it looks great on her too.

when she woke up, she was super embarassed and apologetic

"no, its fine! Dont worry about it." then you showed her her picture. "you look really cute by the way."

Mizu didnt know how to react??? But she did march towards you to grab your phone but you easily held it away and dodged her.

She gave up

so she stood there and looked you directly in the eyes. Face half amused and adoring

"you're such a fucking brat."

Then she left and went back to your couch. Her long hair swaying behind her.

i'd be lying if i said that statement lived rent free in your mind

That was the first time you heard her curse

___

if she went in your home, you did too in her dorm. it was during a school break. Her roommate was away visiting her family.

Turns out she lived closer to the uni than you. It's just a few minutes walk away.

it made you feel warm knowing she had to walk maybe ten minutes? just to wait for the bus with you, and walk another ten to go back here again.

She never mentioned it too

Mizu's a real clean freak kind of person, she wants everything to be organized. But you also learned she cant cook. She even burned a pasta, how do you burn a pasta?!

"i didnt know i had to boil water first."

"well what did you do first?"

She was silent then she turned away from you

"...i placed the pasta in a pan with oil."

You dont know what to say anymore

I think youre the one to teach her (other than ringo) how to cook.

Also when you both were cutting vegetables, mizu held her knife wrong so you'll correct her and teach her how.

"here, let me show you."

You held her and positioned the knife properly on her hand. While you explained and taught her how to easily slice a cabbage, you missed how she cheekily smiled.

We all know how great mizu is with a knife.

She just wanted a reason to hold your hand.

"ringo, i dont think i'll be going to your cooking lessons next week."

"what? why? Is my teaching skills not good?" ringo asked worriedly

"no, you're great, ringo. I just..." she smiled, "want to learn from someone else."

___

I think the gang had enough of you two pining each other like a bunch of idiots, so they all had the plan of getting you both drunk after exams under the excuse of 'celebrating'.

But it didnt work

Because you were incredibly responsible and drink slowly (two hours have passed and you're still drinking from the same glass)

While mizu didnt drink at all (she knows what they're doing and she doesnt like it because she wants you or her to confess during the right time and place while being sober. hell no is she going to drunkleny confess to you at the sidewalk).

The gang (mostly taigen) tried to force either of you to drink but it didnt work.

Akemi nudged taigen from under the table. And that was their cue to go to Plan B.

Plan B? Taigen starts hitting on you (was supposed to be inconspicuously but he's bad at being inconspicuous)

compliments you, jokes that made you laugh, and jabs of insults to mizu.

anyways, i think mizu got annoyed and went up to go to the bathroom.

You notice and excuse yourself from the group. You go after her.

She was cleaning her glasses with the end of her shirt when you got there.

You see the slight furrow in her brow and the tightness on her jaw.

You smile comfortingly at her.

"Wanna ditch this place with me?"

"You can stay. You look like you're enjoying yourself, anyways."

She doesn't return your smile like she usually do. She wasn't joking.

your smile falters and you slowly approach her.

"What do you mean? Of course i am, they're our friends."

I think mizu's upset because she's starting to think you really dont like her at all. Or maybe you just don't like a 'her' in general. You don't giggle the same way as you did to taigen, nor do your eyes shine when he compliments you.

She wants to leave and think.

Mizu sighs and turns to you

"i'm going. Tell them that for me."

"what?" you grab her hand when she walks past you. "Mizu, what- where are you doing? What's wrong?"

Should she say it?

Say how much she likes you that it's absolutely breaking seeing you not realize it?

She wanted to scoff.

Hell no. She's not going to admit just because fucking Taigen started hitting on you.

Then she looks at you, and just like that all her frustrations and annoyance washes away.

You looked genuinely upset and worried for her.

Your eyes are sad, and you're looking up to her like she just told you she's leaving forever.

Oh

She sees it now.

That all this time you have been looking at her differently, but she wasn't able to see it because she sees you all the time.

You look at her with so much longing and care that it made her feel weak.

So she holds your hand that's gripping her wrist and offers you a gentle smile.

"I'm going to tell them we're going. How's that?"

There it is.

Your heartfelt smile.

"Okay."

You don't even have to ask

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Synopsis: After the qualifying at the Grand Prix of Monaco, you look for Charles to give him comfort... and in search of his forgiveness.

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. English isn't my first language, so it probably contains some mistakes. I tried my best but if you want to correct or help me, you are welcome.

Author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is always appreciated and is important for me. If you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to write them and I will take into consideration. 

The sun had already set and the moon had taken its place lighting up the dark sky above you. 

As you approached the port, you could hear the music from downtown getting more and more distant. Absolute silence reigned in the port, it was just you, the sea and the many boats docked. Everyone, except one person, was celebrating. And you knew, or at least you hoped, you’d find him on his yacht. Away from everyone and everything, probably lost in his thoughts and thinking back to what had happened just a few hours ago. 

Once again, in fact, Ferrari and Charles’ team had screwed his race, jeopardizing his victory and proving to be incompetent. Although they were the ones who made the mistake, Charles would pay once again the consequences, just when for the first time he had had the chance to get on the podium in Monaco. That was the thing that pissed you off more. 

Even though you were on a break, you couldn’t help it but support him. Because in the end and despite everything that had happened between you in the last months, you loved him. You still wanted him to win and be happy. But instead, he was struggling once again. 

Charles ran to win every race but Monaco was different, it was special. It was his home race, the place where he had grown up and lived. 

He loved Monaco, its people and he wanted them to love him equally, to make them proud. That was the reason why he wanted to win… for them. The thing was that they already loved him… or at least you did. You loved him more than everything else and seeing him sad broke your heart. After you had tried to call him and had received no answer, you had decided to go find him and see for yourself how he was. You wanted to comfort him, but you were also dying to see him and have him a few meters from you after weeks away, to hold him in your arms. You would have told him that everything would be fine. Even among you. 

The break had been your idea and Charles, even though he didn’t like the idea, had agreed. He loved you and he knew that being in a relationship with him, always under the spotlight wasn’t easy, that sometimes it could be a little suffocating. So, he had let you go with the hope that you would return to him sooner or later. You were now as you had thought enough. Being with him wasn’t easy for sure but being without him was even more difficult. Those weeks apart from him had strengthened your feelings for Charles. 

You needed him just like he needed you. Those weeks, those days must not have been easy for Charles and your distance must have made everything worse. Part of you felt guilty for not being there for him. 

His yacht was for both of you your second home, your refuge. Whenever he could, Charles would come and take the yacht out to sea. As he wanted to stay alone with his thoughts during those moments, he almost never allowed anyone to accompany him, except you. You were always welcome. Would you have been even now? Did he still love you? These questions had been nagging you all along the way. 

You got on the yacht and it didn't take you long before you saw him. He was standing with his back to you and looking up at the sky. You were approaching him when the sound of his voice instantly paralyzed you. 

“I said I wanted to be alone.” 

You could hear the sadness dripping and it broke your heart. You wanted to run to him but you were unable to move. Would he have appreciated that? Were you welcome? As he had his back still turned, he had no idea it was you.

“Does that apply to me too?”, you asked, scared of being rejected. Your voice made Charles instantly turn around as he realized who you were. 

His face immediately lit up upon seeing you just a few feet away from him. But you could still see the sadness in his eyes. 

“Y/N…”

“I just wanted to see how you were… you know after everything that happened, but if you prefer being alone, I can…” 

He didn't let you finish the sentence. “You know there is always room for you on board”, he said smiling. 

You smiled back. You were tired of that distance between you, it was time to fill it. You approached him filling the gap between you. Now you were inches away from him. 

“Even in your arms? Because I think a hug would do you so much good”, you said.

Without answering, he reached out to you and wrapped his strong arms around your shoulders and back. 

“You don’t even have to ask”, he whispered burying his head into your neck. 

You tucked your head into the curve of his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist. The contact with his body sent a shiver through you. It was like the air was taken from you as you melted onto him and your eyes began to fill with tears. You could feel he was crying too as a slight wetness was soaking your blouse. 

Charles sighed as he felt immediately lighter between your arms, relieved. After all those weeks of being away from you, Charles felt he could start breathing again. Without you by his side and with all the pressure leading up to his home race, he had felt like he had been drowning for the past weeks. You were his anchor, the one who kept him afloat when everything else was failing. You had arrived just in time to rescue him. 

You hugged in silence for a few minutes. Words weren't necessary, at least not now. Your hearts beating wildly, in unison with each other spoke for you. That was enough.  

After a while, you broke the silence. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, not now that you are here with me… That's all that matters now, I don’t care about anything else”, he whispered.  “But there is one thing you could actually do for me.”

You pulled away gently and looked into his eyes, your faces inches apart, noses touching and his hands still on your hips. 

“What is it?” You were feeling a mixture of curiosity and fear as you were waiting for him to talk. 

Charles placed his forehead on yours. 

“Would you stay here with me tonight?”

You closed your eyes and sighed, part of you feeling relieved at his words. 

“You don’t even have to ask”, you simply said. 

His lips curved into a smile satisfied by your answer. His hands cupped your cheeks, as he slowly leaned in and placed his lip onto yours. Your spare hand gripped his shirt gently, pulling him closer until you were pressed against each other. You needed to feel him. But first you needed to do something else. 

With your hands on his chest, you took a step behind leaving Charles confused and visibly worried. 

“I’m sorry, Charles, for everything. I should have been there for you, especially knowing how difficult it would have been today…”

He took your hands in his and placed his forehead on yours. “Shhhh… You are here now and that’s enough for me. Tomorrow, if we want, we will talk about us but for now I just want to hold you in my arms. No racing, just us. Me and you. Okay?” 

You nodded and let out a small whisper “I think it’s perfect”.  And you kissed again.

 

A few weeks later you were back on the yacht, Charles had taken you on a date.  

Between Charles’ arms and rocked by the sound of crashing waves, you were staring at the starry sky and enjoying the silence away from the city.

“I’ll be right back”, he whispered into your ear and pulled gently apart from you. 

You kept looking at the starry sky when a streak of light crossed the sky and then immediately vanished. 

“Look, Charles! A falling star!”, you screamed and turned around to face Charles. 

You were speechless and couldn’t believe your eyes. 

Charles was in front of you... on his knees. He was holding a small velvet box with a diamond-set ring inside. And it wasn't just any ring but the one that Hervé, Charles' father, had given to his mother when he had proposed to her.

You put a hand in front of your mouth trying to hold back the emotion and the tears. 

“Charles…” 

“Y/n, a few weeks ago I asked you if you would stay with me for the night. Now I ask you, would you stay with me a little longer?”

Tears streamed down your face as you weren't able to hold them back anymore.

“Forever, Charles”, you finally said. “You don’t even have to ask.” 

In Sickness and In Health

Synopsis: You fall ill while Childe's away, and while he might care about the Fatui’s missions, Foul Legacy doesn’t.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Being sick, mentions of pain, headaches, and difficulty breathing, worry, general suffering

~ * ~ As a Fatuus, Childe is often away from you. It’s his duty as the Eleventh Harbinger to carry out orders, completing missions in the name of the Tsaritsa while training young, eager recruits to grow into another member of Snezhnaya’s pride and joy. This he explained to you, over and over, before you had even begun to consider him more than a friend. He was so nervous at first, scared you would reject him, disgusted by his status as a Harbinger. It’s only when you finally moved to silently slip your hand into his that his voice faltered and trailed into silence, lips twisting in uncertainty before lifting into a relieved grin when you gave him a smile full of understanding. Since then the constant, nervous reminders of his position have faded away, replaced by dates of absences and return, one mission after another. It breaks his heart to be away so much, but you always wave off his apologies- his home isn’t the Harbor; it never has been, and as long as he returns, you’ll be alright. And yet no matter how dire the circumstances, Childe would always leave you with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered promise to spend time with you when he returns- anything you like, whether that be dinner, travel, or simply a walk. You’d always laugh and playfully hit his shoulder, unable to do any real damage. He knows what you want, you choose it every time, as the comforting arms of his Foul Legacy form around you are incomparable to anything else, the knowledge that Foul Legacy adores you as much as Childe does ensuring you a good night's sleep after weeks of worry. It makes him smile, seeing how much you love his Abyssal form. He wasn’t even aware Foul Legacy could feel emotions such as love, but the constant, rumbling purr in the back of his mind whenever you’re nearby says otherwise, and his hand briefly rests in your hair before he’s forced to pull away. You’re there when he boards the ship to his destination, smiling and waving goodbye, and his subordinates swear they see the famed Tartaglia’s eyes sparkle as he waves back to his dearest secret standing on the shore. Childe’s only joy in the coming weeks are the letters you send, detailing your normal, mundane life as well as how much you miss him. It’s the only time he genuinely smiles, normally confident smirk gone from his face as an agent hands him a letter almost daily, although they’ve been sparser lately. He opens today’s letter eagerly, making sure not to tear the paper, but his expression morphs into one of confusion when he sees the short, terse paragraph in elegant writing. Zhongli, it must be- Childe knows that script anywhere- and his dull eyes widen in horror as he reads the message. You’re sick. Extremely sick. Zhongli’s been tending to you for a few days, but your fever refuses to go down and the only thing you say when awake is how much everything hurts, mumbling Childe’s name whenever you slip into uneasy dreams. Zhongli assures him that he’ll do his best to take care of and hopefully lift you out of sickness before Childe returns, but that doesn’t prevent his stomach from twisting into a knot of guilt as he thinks of you suffering without him by your side. Foul Legacy whines in his head, to the point Childe can almost see the Abyssal beast curling his claws anxiously as he urges the Harbinger to return home, wherever you are. Childe grits his teeth as he folds Zhongli’s letter; obviously he’d love to go back to the Harbor, but his duties have taken him across the sea, miles away from you, and even if he could go back he wouldn’t dare leave his duties and reveal you as his beloved- the mere thought of the danger you’d be in sends a shiver down his spine. Foul Legacy’s whines turn to hisses, repeatedly insisting to go home, go back, go HELP! And Childe throws his hands up in frustration. “I can’t!” He says aloud, trying to placate the monster clawing at the edges of his mind while his own thoughts race with worry for you. Foul Legacy falls silent, and for a moment Childe thinks he’s won the argument, before he hears a sudden, deadly growl. If you won’t, then I will. There’s barely time to blink before Foul Legacy assumes control of their shared body, inhaling the crisp air and flexing his talons. Without a backward glance he leaves, star-speckled wings spreading and catching the seaborn wind. The agents will awaken to their Harbinger missing, but Foul Legacy doesn’t care- the Fatui’s petty problems are unimportant compared to your pain. His haste is so great that he reaches Liyue Harbor just as the sun is setting, touching down carefully outside your back door to avoid the late-afternoon Millelith. The door’s unlocked, a foreign scent leading inside, and with a growl Foul Legacy enters your home, gaze landing on Zhongli who whirls around in shock. The ex-Archon exhales in relief when he sees Foul Legacy, moving aside to reveal your frail body curled on a bed, fingers clenching the sheets in discomfort. A frantic cry tears itself from Foul Legacy’s throat, rushing past Zhongli to kneel by your side, claws hovering over you, unsure where to place themselves. Zhongli pats his shoulder, trying to reassure the Abyssal monster, and the commotion shakes you from slumber and into unsteady wakefulness, dazedly looking at your love. This must be a dream, it has to be. Childe’s somewhere overseas, completing his latest task for the Tsaritsa; he shouldn’t be back for weeks. And yet, Foul Legacy stares at you, crystalline eye flooded with concern as his whines dip, with some effort, to gentle purrs and he slowly extends a hand to you. “Legacy…” You catch one of his claws in a weak grip, fingers wrapping loosely around the talon before falling back to the mattress, and Foul Legacy whimpers at your lack of strength. Archons, you’re so frail- just how long had you been suffering before Zhongli wrote to him? His hand brushes against your forehead, only to immediately recoil when your skin burns with sickening warmth, far beyond a healthy range. Your eyes flutter shut, too exhausted to stay awake but comforted by the presence of the one you hold dear. Foul Legacy watches you drift into an uneasy sleep, absentmindedly playing with your hair. His touch calms your fevered dreams, and soon your features relax into an expression more peaceful than Zhongli’s seen in days. Legacy’s gentle coos turn to a low hiss as he turns to face the funeral consultant, keeping his claws gentle but his glare steady and pointing at you with his other hand. “Fix. Help. Heal.” And Zhongli simply nods, moving to fetch today’s dose of medication. When he returns, Foul Legacy has curled around your body, cradling your head against his chest and holding your limp hands. The room fills with soft, soothing purrs, refusing to pause even when Zhongli tilts your chin upwards so you swallow the bitter medicine. It tastes like mint and ginger in your dreams, and you nearly spit it out, but the gentle hand petting your hair urges you not to as you lapse back into slumber. From then on Foul Legacy never leaves your side. Day and night he tends to you, comforting your twisted dreams and giving you medicine and making you drink water, when he can. More often than not you feel his cool talons settle on your cheeks and forehead to stave off the heat, and in the fleeting moments you’re awake you can make out his figure keeping you company, claws wrapped around your hands and wings laying over your body like gauzy blankets. His routine is to care for you and nothing less, directed by the vague memories of when Childe’s own siblings were ill, and even when Zhongli stops by, the Abyssal monster refuses to leave you. In a way, Zhongli’s grateful- surprised, yes, but also grateful for the help. He could already see how your condition improved simply by having Foul Legacy tend to you, your breaths coming out easier and sleep being far more peaceful. When you’re in pain, Foul Legacy is too- and on nights when your head feels like it’s splitting open from agony and you can do nothing but cry, he cries with you, attempting to coo and reassure you only to break out into full sobs at the sight of your suffering. But such nights become few and far between the longer he stays, and soon he sleeps the starlit hours away alongside you, the need for constant supervision diminished. He’s napping by your side the day you wake up, tired but lucid, and cup his cheeks in your hands. Foul Legacy jolts awake with a surprised chirp, staring at you like he can’t really believe that you’re here, awake with your consciousness intact, giving him a sleepy smile. “Hi…” Legacy cries out and swoops down to bundle you in his arms, burying his face into your neck with overjoyed clicks and croons. You’re still fragile- he can feel it from the way you lean against him as you thread your fingers through your hair- but you’re alright, you’re okay, and you’ll only get better from here on out. With a tenderness only you’ve had the right of knowing, he sets you back down, the bed cushioning your aching bones, and you open up your arms towards him as an invitation. With a delighted trill he accepts and cuddles against you, claws wrapped securely around your waist and head nudging underneath your chin to make small, hoarse chuckles bubble out of you for the first time in weeks. Your laughter is the sweetest melody to his ears, and Foul Legacy purrs blissfully at the sound. Eventually your hands begin to slow, going from scritches to long, languid pets as sleep tries to pull you back under, fighting against it to no avail. Foul Legacy simply pulls you closer, slotting your body against his as he strokes your arms; his permission to wander back into unconsciousness. You yawn, snuggling impossibly closer and latching onto the scarf that hangs around his neck with a sleepy mumble of goodnight, before peaceful dreams inevitably claim you again. With a soft, affectionate rumble, Legacy pulls the covers over both of you and allows your quiet breathing to lull him to sleep, too, where you can both finally rest. “Love you…” It’s the sun instead of pain that wakes you, filtering through a space in your curtains and bathing you in golden light. You stretch, delicately, and crane your neck towards the Harbinger dozing beside you, before nudging him with a mischievous grin. Childe mumbles, blinking tiredly- it feels like he’s been asleep for days, the only thing on his mind being the murmur from an exhausted but happy Foul Legacy- and when he turns he’s met with the sight of you, the effects of your illness still present but almost invisible due to the smile on your face. “Good morning.”

Long Gone Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: pure angst because I've been in a mood

Shielding your bond had become second nature, not that it really mattered if it was shielded or not. The light of it that once burned bright had been slowly snuffed out, leaving it cold and dark. Azriel had taken on more missions that kept him away for extended periods of time. At first, you had begged him not to go, but he claimed it was his duty. After a while, you realized you were wasting your breath. He'd never choose to stay. You had started sleeping in the guest room when he was away, unable to sleep in your lonely marital bed unless it was one of the few times he was home. He hadn't noticed the toll this was having on you, or if he had, he didn't care.

You were left alone once again after Azriel had rushed out for a mission in Illyria. You stared at the half eaten breakfast he had left behind. Your eyes drifted around the house, noticing how it was just a house, no longer a home to you. It used to be full of love, and now it's just a hollow shell, like you. The thought made you laugh, and the more you dwelled on your life, you couldn't help but laugh harder. You were becoming hysteric, laughter turned to tears quickly as you realized how pathetic your existence has become. You couldn't stop crying, reaching out for Rhys to send Madja.

Moments later the they are both in front of you, "sedate me!" You manage to say between sobs. Madja looks to Rhys questioningly. After he prods your mind, with permission, he gives Madja a nod. She gives you a tonic that will keep you resting for several hours. Your eyes flutter closed as the tonic takes effect. Once Rhys carries you upstairs to bed, he orders Azriel to return home. After some back and forth, Rhys shows him why he needs to come home. Once Azriel returns, Rhys tells him about the state they found you in and Madja sedating you before he leaves the two of you alone.

Azriel stares at you, wondering how it took him this long to realize the pain you're in. Madja said you'd be out for hours. He took the time to really take in how much things had changed. He noticed the bed smelled more like him than you, even though you slept in it more, or so he thought. He took in the puffiness of your eyes from crying. Each sign of pain and distress he failed to notice sooner glared at him. He reaches out to hold your hand but stops, wondering if you'd want him to touch you. He sits there in silence as he dwells on the past several months. When you stopped begging him to stay is when he should've realized what was happening. He thought about how lifeless the bond between you had become.

You started to stir on the bed, bringing Azriel out of his thoughts, "Hey, Angel," he says softly. Your eyes are still tired as you try and focus on him. "Madja gave me the good stuff. it's almost like you're actually here." You mumble before your eyes drift closed again. "It's me, I'm really here." He says as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. "You're away, you left earlier. Besides, you wouldn't choose me." You mumble before drifting back asleep. He sits in stunned silence at your words. The fact that you'd accept a dream of him being there before him physically being there hurt him deeply. He hadn't given you reason to believe otherwise, though, he thought to himself as he watched you rest.

You wake up later that evening to the smell of dinner. You get out of bed and make your way towards the savory scent, expecting to see someone from the inner circle. You're stunned when you see Azriel cooking with his back to you, you pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. Once you accept that you're awake, you take a few moments to gather yourself. "Dinner is about ready if you want to sit down." Azriel says over his shoulder. "I thought you were in Illyria." You say as you remain where you are. "I was, but you needed me." You let out a laugh, "That's never stopped you before." You say. You watch as he visibly flinches from your words.

He makes a plate for you and sits it at the table before making one for himself. "I can hear your stomach growling from here. Please sit down and eat." He says gently. You hesitantly sit down and take a bite. The chicken is so tender and flavorful as you savor it. A satisfied grin comes over Azriel. You eat in silence as Azriel keeps a watchful eye on you. "How are you feeling?" He asks. "Okay, I guess." You answer. "No lingering drowsiness or headache from the tonic?" He asks. "No." You answer before gathering your dishes and carrying it to the sink.

You wash your dishes and leave them to dry in the rack. "I guess I am still kind of tired. I'm going back to bed." You say before heading upstairs, not giving him a chance to stop you. You decide to sleep in the guest room, unsure of what to make of Azriel cooking you dinner, let alone him being home. You change into knit shorts and a shirt before climbing into bed and trying to get some sleep. You toss and turn for a bit before finally falling back asleep.

Meanwhile, Azriel sits at the table where you left him. He moves his food around with his fork but doesn't have an appetite anymore. He scraped the remaining food from his plate into the trash before cleaning his dishes and leaving them to dry with yours. He sat down on the couch and debated what to do. He didn't know if you wanted him in bed with you or if he should just make himself comfortable on the couch. After a while, he decided to sleep beside you. He made his way upstairs and into the bedroom, which was surprisingly empty.

He checked the bathroom, and still no sign of you. He sent his shadows to search for you while he checked the other rooms and found them empty until he came to the guest room. As soon as he opened the door, he could tell you spent a lot of time in here. It had been redecorated to your liking, and it smelled of your sweet scent. He found you soundly sleeping in the bed. This was your retreat when he was gone. He could tell how much time you spent in this room. He briefly wondered how he could miss all the signs, but then it would be easy if he was hardly ever home.

His shoulders slumped as his mind raced with more questions than answers. Would you want him to stay with you or should he sleep on the couch, would you ever be able to forgive him, if you did would things ever be like they were when you first got together. The more he thought about it, the more overwhelming it became. Finally, he tucked the covers tighter around you and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead before whispering, "Good night, angel." As he turned to leave, he heard you mumble."Love you, Az." His heart stopping at your words before a little spark of hope flickered in his heart. He quietly shut the door before walking downstairs and laying on the couch. He laid there thinking that tomorrow is a new day for a new beginning, and he was determined to fix everything.

[Old love never rusts. Mihawk has to face that truth when he meets again the husband of the girl he almost had.]

Mihawk's version | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Mihawk wants the entire conversation to end before it has even started. He's aware that his heartache and anger are bound to get the better of him. Not to mention Shanks, who will surely gloat and boast beyond tastefulness. Although Mihawk can't exactly blame Shanks for his pride - the Warlord knows that he'd behave identically, if not worse, were their roles reversed.

Shanks knows what's on Mihawk's mind. he can read it on his face, in the sombre gloom that clouds his yellow eyes. Still, the red-haired captain patiently waits for the swordsman to break on his own. It will happen soon enough as the matter of you is the only subject that rids Mihawk of his self-control. He may be a great man, in more ways than one but when it comes to the insatiable love seems unable to let go, the Warlord becomes a young boy at heart, always seeking assurance that his affections are returned. Or not outright rejected, at least. Alas, the consequences of his own selfish actions have finally caught up to him and Mihawk must face the truth - this love is never going to be returned.

"How is she?" Mihawk asks reluctantly. He hates to give Shanks the satisfaction but the famished desire of his heart is a lot stronger than his iron will and pride. "You know of whom I speak."

Shanks gives him a mocking smile, a devilish flame appearing in his brown eyes.

"I also know you have no right to ask that, hawk-eyes," he answers. "Not when you treated her like a backup option."

"I never-" Mihawk hangs his voice. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. Agitated negation will only further prove the captain's point. Truth be told, deep inside Mihawk knows that Shanks is right. He did treat as someone who would always be there, waiting for him until he came back from his escapades. Until you grew tired; until you didn't. "Where is she?" he asks angrily. But what he really wants to ask is 'If you're here, who's taking care of her? Who's looking after the one you promised to keep safe and happy?'

"Home with the kids," Shanks retorts casually. Despite his light-hearted tone, there's a hint of something mischievous between his words.

Mihawk feels disgusted. The thought that Shanks got to know you intimately and built a familial life with you fills him with rage so visceral he'd rather claw his own eyes out than think about it. And that red-haired poor excuse of a husband probably considers himself good enough for you.

Laughable, if it wasn't so sad.

"I suppose I should wish you well," Mihawk begrudgingly murmurs. Once again, his words do not quite reflect his actual thoughts. He wishes you well but couldn't care less about Shanks's well-being. Mihawk already knows for a fact that the red-haired captain is incapable of taking care of you properly so it would really be mercy if Shanks had a little accident and Dracule could play the magnificent role of a consoling party.

"You should." Shanks nods. "But I know you won't." He lets out a bitter chuckle. He's disillusioned about Mihawk's perpetual heartbreak. Some part of him still pities the Warlord. After all, how awful must be the torment that can haunt someone like him for a good decade?

"Yes, I won't," Dracule drones his words. There is jealousy, there is envy and then there is the horrible sensation that has been eating him up for the past ten years, slowly turning the man into a bitter, brutal husk of a person. And he shall never find it in him to wish Shanks well after he had shamelessly taken the person the closest to his heart.

Turning on his heel, Mihawk marches away from Shanks. He knows that if he spends another minute around the red-haired man, he will do something he might regret.

He could be a mighty Warlord, the greatest swordsman alive and, perhaps ever - truly a someone. Alas, as a wise man once said: You're nobody until somebody loves you. And everyday of his life, each time he wakes up to a cold bed and a house drowned in deafening silence, Mihawk is reminded that he is less than nobody. For it was his own grandiosity that had ridded him of the person he cares about the most.

Dracule's gnawing loneliness is accompanied only by his own thoughts, only by the rumination of his utmost failure. 'It didn't have to be like this', he reminds himself on the nights when he can't fall asleep, 'You could have had everything'.

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER ONE

What if Daemon Targaryen married Cregan Stark’s sister instead of Rhea Royce? What if instead of murdering her, she died in childbirth…giving birth to you.

Y/n Targaryen, a dragon raised by wolves. You grew up knowing only the North as your home, Cregan acting as your mentor and elder brother throughout your life.

Now you have been summoned to join the court of Viserys Targaryen a few years after the grueling incidents on Driftmark with no knowledge of why. A Stark rides South at the behest of a King.

What a familiar story.

———————————————————————

The reader has set physical features such as eye and hair colour. The reader's skin colour is left ambiguous/when described uses the phrase “s/c” aka “skin colour”.

This story contains canon-typical behaviors and scenes! Viewer discretion is advised!

Morgana Stark was said to be the finest beauty of the North, born years before Cregan Stark was even a whisper on her parents lips.

She was brown of hair, with soft features and steel-blue eyes which ensnared all who looked upon them. Morgana was a young girl of ten and two when she was betrothed by Queen Alysanne to Daemon Targaryen, the man being six years her senior when they were wed. They would not be made to consummate the marriage until summers later, but by then Daemon had already grown bored with his Northern bride.

Yes, she was beautiful, a fierce warrior, and well read enough that she took the time to learn the ancient language of his House; yet, that was not enough for the rogue prince. He needed more than the barren wastelands of the North, and so he abandoned her to return to the Crownlands.

Years passed and when he finally remembered his sweet Morgana he forced her to leave the North and join him, moving her Northern charm to the South.

It would not be long before Morgana was with child. After all, the seed of the dragon is strong. Morgana begged and pleaded with her husband to be allowed back to the North for her pregnancy, to be allowed back with her family and her people. Daemon pitied his poor Lady-wife and sent her North, but that would be the last time he would see her alive.

When Morgana arrived in Winterfell she became weak, her first pregnancy taking a toll on her body. Eventually Daemon received the raven that explained she could not be moved back down to Kingslanding due to her weakness, but he tossed it away all the same. Daemon had gotten his fun, he would not need her again for some time.

Morgana would die in her childbed nine months later, leaving behind one wish; that her child be taught the ways of both their people. So, her brown hair and steel-blue eyes were laid to rest, soft features covered in the stones of the Stark crypt.

But she brought Morgana back to life. Y/n Targaryen. She brought back her mother’s soft features and night-brown hair, her sweet smile and beauty-marked skin. The only thing she was unable to recreate was her mothers steel-blue eyes. Y/n had taken to her fathers instead, changing his smoky Indigo to a burning lilac.

Cregan Stark, the young boy he was, thought it was perfectly fine that his little niece was not collected by her father. He did not realize the disrespect of Daemon remarrying so quickly and not bothering to even write a letter acknowledging his only child. In fact, Cregan was thankful that Y/n was going to be staying with them permanently, he was excited to train her and teach her the ways of their house.

“My sweet little Y/n,” Cregan would sing, bouncing her around her nursery, “My sweetest little dragon.”

*

Y/n Targaryen grew into more of a Stark than anyone could have imagined. Her grandfather, Lord Rickon, did his best to fulfill his late daughter's wishes. He had brought in Maesters from the south to teach Y/n High Valyrian, and they had attempted to teach her the ways of her fathers family but try as they might the slippery Y/n always made her way back to her uncle. Cregan would sneak her into the forests around Winterfell and teach her how to strike prey with a bow, he would steal her from her lessons and read to her instead the stories of their ancestors.

“Tohrren Stark, he was the King who knelt. He did it to protect our people from Aegon the Conqueror.” Cregan whispered as the two crouched by candle-light, both technically meant to be in bed.

“Aegon…” Y/n breathed, caressing the page which depicted the moment Tohrren knelt for the future King. Cregan looked at Y/n, furrowing his brow at the young girl of eight years.

“Yes, he’s your blood as well; your father’s blood.” Cregan was honest with her, wiser in his years of ten and five. He knew she was beginning to pay attention a bit more to her maesters teachings, a child’s innocent curiosity getting the better of her.

“Does my father look like Aegon?” Y/n asked, lilac eyes staring at similar ones etched in ink.

“No, he is leaner than King Aegon was, and with longer hair…” Y/n nodded in understanding, flipping the page to see two detailed portraits of both Tohrren and Aegon.

“I can have his portrait brought up, if you’d like. We can put it next to your mothers in your chambers.” Cregan smiled although he despised the idea of Daemon Targaryen sitting next to his sweet sister on his niece's wall. Y/n’s eyes widened, a large grin spreading across her face.

“Truly?” Y/n gasped, sitting up straight.

“Yes, truly. Us Stark’s keep our promises.” Cregan puffed out his chest, ruffling Y/n’s dark hair. Y/n pushed him away with a giggle, crouching back down to read the book.

“Thank you, uncle.” Y/n hummed, and instead of looking towards the pages of the book Cregan looked at the way the light bounced off of her face; how in the dancing shadows he saw a glimpse of his sister beneath them.

*

“Tohrren, heel!” Y/n scolded her pup, the giant hound tripping over its large feet as it came to a halt.

“You have him well trained.” Cregan spoke, Y/n clutching her furs closer to her body.

“We have a sacred bond, him and I. Like that of Visenya and Vhagar!” Y/n scratched behind Tohrren’s ear, his tail beating the ground rapidly. In her elder years Y/n took a great interest in the warrior queen, reading binded Valyrian texts that Visenya had written in her youth.

“Come, a letter has arrived for you.” Cregan beckoned, Y/n following behind him at a steady pace, all while Tohrren watched her intently by her side. She had named him for Tohrren the Tall because of the great stature of his breed. When Cregan had inquired why not give him a Valyrian name Y/n had responded, ‘I am saving my favorite name for when I claim my own dragon’.

It was no surprise to anyone that Daemon had not placed an egg in Y/n’s cradle nor concerned himself with anything dragon-related thereafter. She was a Targaryen without a dragon, and in that family, it was a fate worse than death. Cregan had often wondered what it would be like in Winterfell with a dragon around, but dragons need fire to survive. The cold would have killed them, which is why Cregan refused the notion that Y/n was any less Stark than he was. No petty dragon could brave the forces of winter, and luckily for Y/n, she was raised by wolves.

“It is from the King?” Y/n blinked, opening King Viserys’ royal seal. Cregan looked over his niece's shoulder, reading the words as she did.

“He…he just wants a correspondence with me? To talk?” Y/n sputtered, rereading the letter. In all of her sixteen years her Targaryen family rarely visited her, never mind writing to her. She only got the occasional trip on dragon-back from Rhaenyra Targaryen, not even her own father.

“If the King wishes to speak with his niece, who are we to deny him?” Cregan shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging on Y/n’s lips as she knocked shoulders with him.

“The King wants to speak with me. Not about betrothals or silly court gossip, but about my life. He wants to understand me.” Y/n re-folded the letter, looking up at her uncle.

“I will be in my chambers writing back to him if you require me,” Y/n stood on her tip-toes and kissed Cregan’s cheek, his growing beard scratching against her lips, “I love you!” With that she called for Tohrren and scurried off to her rooms, leaving Cregan to do all the worrying.

It troubled him that Viserys was taking an interest in their shared niece. The King had never been interested before, so why now? Cregan hoped for Y/n’s sake that it was the incident at Driftmark which made the King contact her. Perhaps after the disaster of his immediate family Viserys was reaching out to what little he had left, no ill will behind it. No Queen behind it.

All Cregan could do was hope for the best and pray that the Old Gods protected his Y/n.

Slow Down, You're Gonna Crash

Chapter Six

Summary: Being a Verstappen means realising that you'll never be as good as her brother. She knew it. That was why she ran away to California. Of course, she's gonna fall for the older, naval aviator. And, of course, it pisses her family off.

Bradley Bradshaw x F1!Driver Reader

Warnings: distressed reader, Google translated Dutch

1.3K

The Bronco was silent as she tried to get her breathing under control. Her mouth tasted horrible, bad enough to make her want to throw up again.

But she couldn't, not in the Bronco.

Instead she looked at Bradley. Bradley, she had helped her into the Bronco. Bradley, who had given her space to breathe. Bradley, who looked undeniably pissed.

"Roos," she began, still a little breathless.

But she couldn't say much else, not before he began. "I thought you said you'd sobered up," he said, voice low.

Her heartbeat sped up in her chest. The words she wanted to say, they weren't leaving her lips.

"God, if I'd have known you were gonna get this pissed, I would have left you at home."

She stuttered something out, not quite a complete sentence. She couldn't manage a completely sentence as Bradley shook his head at her.

If only he'd just fucking look at her. Then he'd see. He'd see that she wasn't drunk, not in the slightest. No, she was feeling entirely too sober.

"Ik ben verdomd niet dronken!" She suddenly cried, slipping back into her native tongue. It was something she'd done since her karting days. When she was a shy kid, unable to hide behind her dad, she found comfort in her native tongue.

The tears fell freely after that. It was like the floodgates had opened. Hiding her head in her hands, she sobbed.

Bradley felt his expression immediately soften as he pulled over. "Shit, baby," he whispered as he reached for her.

But she flattened herself against the passenger side door. "Raak me niet aan," she said as she furiously wiped under her eyes, trying to stop the tears.

But still Bradley was reaching for her. His hands on her only made things worse. She flinched away and pushed him, desperately scrambling to put as much distance between them as she could. It was a miracle she didn't open the door and start running, but her legs wouldn't have taken her very far.

"Talk to me," he said, dropping the nicknames. "Tell me what's going on, what I can do to help."

But she just shook her head. Bradley let out a sigh, returning his gaze to the front of the car. He'd never felt this level of helplessness before.

"Take me home, Bradley," she whispered, this time in English. Bradley. Not Rooster, not Roo. Bradley. He spared her one last look before he drove her back to his place.

Her tears kept falling, but there was nothing he could do. He pulled into the driveway and killed the ignition. Before she could reach for the door and let herself out, he spoke. "You're not drunk, are you?" He asked, and she shook her head. "So, it was something you saw happen with the race."

She didn't answer that one. Pulling open the door to the Bronco, she climbed out, slammed it shut (well, it wasn't exactly a slam, but still forceful enough to have Bradley wincing), and went to wait by the front door.

Bradley watched her as he climbed out of the Bronco and locked it behind him. The tears had stopped, but she still had her arms wrapped around herself, was still sniffling and wiping at her nose.

Wordlessly he pushed open the front door and let her in.

As soon as the door was open, she strode open and made her way to the bedroom.

Bradley was a little slower. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He filled it quickly and topped it up with ice, just the way she liked.

When he turned around, there she was, dressed in her pyjamas and grabbing a blanket from the basket beside the armchair. "What're you doing?"

"Sleeping," she mumbled as her head hit the arm of the chair.

Bradley shook his head. "Don't do this, baby," he mumbled as he strode over. "Come join me in the bed."

But, when he reached for her, she was retreating, quickly shaking her head. "Please, Roos," she squeaked. "Please don't touch me right now."

His hands dropped to his sides. "Okay," he said quietly. "But please take the bed. I'll sleep in here."

She went to argue, but Bradley fixed her with a stern look. "Okay," she agreed. She took the glass of water Bradley was offering her and headed to the bedroom.

She wasn't drunk, Bradley knew that. But he also knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to tell him any time soon.

There was no way he was going to sleep. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and began watching YouTube.

His page was full of videos about military planes. It was a bit of a cliché, that he sat on his sofa on nights he couldn't sleep abd watched videos of people restoring outdated military aircrafts. But that wasn't what he did this time.

No, he went to the search bar and typed in her name.

Hundreds of videos came up, and Bradley couldn't wait to watch every single one. The first was old, from when she was just a child. She was grinning a wide, partially toothed smile as she spoke to the interviewer in a language he couldn't understand. She looked so damn happy, helmet tucked under her arm as she spoke animatedly.

He clicked on the next video.

It was a compilation of her overtaking other drivers on track. He actually couldn't tell which car was hers. There was no number fifty three and every car looked different in almost every clip. It was only when she pulled up in front of the number one spot, climbed out of the car and held up her finger that he realised she was in the number nine red and white car.

Bradley didn't know how long he sat there, watching old videos of her. He'd seen her happy, like just that morning at the beach, but he'd never seen her happy like this. He didn't understand any of the informative videos about her, but he still watched them, only because they had more videos of her.

His phone gave him a low battery warning, but he didn't much care. He kept watching. And then he found the videos of her and her friends, all of them dressed in red shirts as they did silly little challenges.

When the bedroom door opened, Bradley looked up. He watched as she walked down the stairs, changed out of her pyjama shorts and into one of his shirts.

She said nothing as she came to sit beside him on the sofa. She pushed his phone out of the way and climbed into his lap. "The bed's too big without you," she mumbled, but her brows were still furrowed and she still wore a sour expression.

He didn't settle his arms around her, not like he wanted to. No, he took a moment to just look at her. She'd definitely still been crying after she'd gone to bed. "Is that because of me?" Bradley asked gently as he wiped his thumb across her cheek.

She shook her head and moved his hands for him, settling them around her waist. "You certainly didn't help by being an asshole, Roos. But no, you're not the cause of this."

His gentle fingers moved her hair from her face before settling back on her waist. "You wanna tell me what is the cause of all this?" He asked, hand falling back to her waist. He squeezed her hip and it was so damn comforting.

"Not today," she replied, reaching for the phone she'd knocked out of his hand. "Whatcha watching?" She asked, holding the phone up in front of their faces.

Bradley couldn't hide his red cheeks if he tried. A laugh bubbled from her lips as she pressed play. "I remember this! Oscar kept stealing the food I was meant to be trying so that he and Logan would win," she said as she settled down against his chest.

It was a good memory from her motorsport career, that much was clear. Bradley kissed the top of her head as they continued to watch. But they only got to the end of the video before her eyes were shut and she was snoring lightly, drooling against his chest.

Bradley drifted off slightly, but he didn't fall asleep. No, he watched a few more videos, this time from her time in Formula One. He watched her crash into the wall, watched her celebrate her highest points finish of the year.

This was the same feeling that flying gave him, he was sure. She'd be back in a car in no time, he thought, knew she'd be doing all she could to make that true. And then she'd be out of San Diego, out of his life, forever.

Bradley held her just a little tighter after that.

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