#so to have someone like...LOVE you for your ramblings
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Alright new Jason Todd headcanons in a dpxdc setting:
Danny is a "liminal" ghost, rather than a "half" ghost. He's alive and dead at the same time. (He's like Jesus Christ (in the church denomination I grew up in), fully ghost and fully human.) Danny, in human form, can go through a ghost shield, because he IS a living human.
Jason, however, is a reanimated corpse. He isn't a ghost, wouldn't have a ghost core, etc, he has a normal human system that runs ON ectoplasm. Jason CANNOT go through a ghost shield, because he is always an ectoplasmic entity. Danny can go through the Fenton Ghost Catcher and be split into a ghost and a human; if Jason went through the ghost catcher, he would straight up die.
(For my purposes I'm gonna say that Jason became an ectoplasmic entity upon his resurrection, but wasn't very stable. Dunking in the Lazarus pit stabilized his system but also poisoned his ectoplasm.)
I do think that Jason could learn certain ghost abilities if he learned to harness his ectoplasm, especially if they detoxed him off the Lazarus waters. He's probably already enhancing his stealth and strength in ways he hasn't really noticed. I think he's held back by the amount of physical matter he's lugging around, so maybe he couldn't fly, but I'm imagining temporary invisibility, or intagibility of like, a limb at a time. Maybe he can't walk through walls, but in a fight he can dodge by instinctively making the targeted part of his body intangible.
#i saw someone call jason a 'revenant' in a fanfic once and that is juicy as hell so I'm stealing that- that's what he is in this au#Jason's ectoplasm does react to other ectoplasmic entities so they can sense eachother#but for ghosts he's fucking weird because he doesn't have a core for them to resonate with or w/e#danny would probably think that he's another halfa/liminal at first but the more time they spend together the more that doesn't add up#so I know that I'm trying to give Jason ghost powers but honestly this whole thing is kind of a bum deal for him#he gets all of a ghost's weaknesses and barely any of the benefits#honestly I'm conceptualizing this as more of a disability than a superpower#discovering that youre less alive than you thought you were and you're technically just a walking talking corpse running on supernatural goo#is fucked up and creepy and upsetting!#and it's something that he would have to come to terms with before he could start exploring what new opportunities it might give him#and i think that's really interesting#it's part of why I love messing with Jason in dpxdc stories so much#danny is fully ghost and fully human and he never feels like he fits in anywhere already#Jason is not quite human and not quite ghost so you can imagine how that would go for him#anyways i think they should be best friends and visit frostbite in the realms to make sure jason is healthy and also they should maybe kiss#and listen to the black parade together and talk about dying and stuff#danny fenton#jason todd#dp x dc#dpxdc#danny phantom#dc#batfam#my rambles
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Love your Hcs ❤️ they're so creative 🥰😋🎉
would you do one for me "caught in the act" - with Zoro, Kid and Law making love to you when suddenly someone of their crew enters (they don't know about your relationship) 🙏pleeasssee
getting caught with you (nsfw)
masterlist || commissions
cw: secret relationships (being exposed), zoro's part turns into a circus, zoro is an idiot (<3), lowkey crack taken seriously, kid is a menace, brat taming (w/kid), rough sex (w/kid), exhibitionism kinda (w/kid)
tagging: @willowbelle @eelnoise @fanaticsnail @indydonuts @zorolux
zoro
so caught up in the delirium of each other's touch, neither you nor zoro notice sanji entering the supply closet until he lets out a gasp and promptly faints from blood loss upon catching a glimpse of your naked form. both of you scrambling as the loud thud of the cook collapsing to the floor prompts the signature clack of nami's heels to approach the pantry, zoro hastily throws a nearby tarp over both of your bodies right as the navigator swings open the door.
"ew, gross!" she squeals, her scream echoing loudly and luring in the rest of your friends who were milling around nearby on the deck. while chopper barely even registers what's going on with you and zoro, more focused on attending to sanji's well-being, usopp, brook, and luffy are all laughing hysterically, though luffy is more so laughing along because everyone else is. that much is clear when he loudly asks why you both are naked, wondering if you'd both ripped your clothes or something similar.
"they were having sex, luffy!" usopp hisses, and luffy's eyes widen before he grins. "oh! you two must really like each other then, huh?" he exclaims with a smile as chopper helps sanji to his feet. zoro's patience was already wearing thin, but when the cook shoots a biting remark about the swordsman not deserving you his way, he's up in an instant and ready to clash with him, completely forgetting that he was naked. when the rest of your crewmates shriek in shock, he mindlessly and instinctively grabs the tarp that was covering both of you, accidentally exposing you.
"zoro, what the hell!" you squeak out, as robin creates a barrier of hands around your body to shield your privacy, using some of them to return some of your clothes to you so that you can get dressed.
"sorry..." he mumbles as he grabs his sweatpants and pulls them up quickly, before snapping at the rest of the crew to quit staring.
"blech. are you two together? because i made a bet that..." nami starts, and both of you cut her off with a simultaneous yes; usopp sighs as he hands the navigator a handful of cash, and the crew begins to disperse, including you and zoro, who are now far too embarrassed to finish what you had started.
kid
"you gonna keep staring, killer? you can stay and watch if ya' want." kid taunts when killer opens the door to his bedroom and finds you splayed out underneath him; though your relationship was a secret from the rest of the crew, it's a sight killer was accustomed to walking in on, and he simply sighs and rolls his eyes from underneath his mask. kid doesn't stop the movements of his hips for a moment, causing you to smack him on the forehead and tell him to cut it out until killer leaves the room.
"dinner is served. was wondering if you two planned on coming to eat any time soon." killer says, almost bored and completely unfazed.
"kinda busy here." kid replies, tilting his head towards you as you cover up your breasts with your arms, annoyed.
"i'll save a couple plates then." killer says, letting out a small, irritated sigh as he leaves the room, thankful that his mask hides the secret blush on his face.
"you're a real asshole, you know that? you can't even bother to cover me up?" you hiss at him once the door shuts, but your angry ramblings are broken up by gasps as he slams his thick cock deep inside of you.
"y'know i just love fucking the attitude out of you, pipsqueak. i know you love it too." he replies with a smirk; you let out a huff as you bite back a moan, knowing full well that he's right.
law
as the soft hum of music and a mixture of moans fills law's office, the two of you are too wrapped up with entwining tongues with each other and the way he lazily thrusts into your sloppy pussy to notice the creak of the door as it opens.
"oops, sorry captain!" shachi exclaims, doubling over laughing as both of you nearly jump out of your skin from the sound of his voice. for a split second, law considers simply teleporting both of you to his bedroom to continue unraveling you, but he knows that refusing to talk about this with shachi would cause misinformation to spread around the submarine like wildfire; so, he thanks every star hanging above his head that the two of you were already underneath a throw blanket and puts all of his weight on top of you to shield your body further.
"what do i have to do to get you to keep this a secret?" law asks with a deep sigh, neck straining as he looks up at his snickering friend.
shachi taps his finger on his chin a few times as he hums, trying to make sure he comes up with the most advantageous answer possible for himself. "no night shift or cleaning the floors for a month." he says with a smirk; law relents, giving him a nod before telling him to get out of here, which shachi responds to with an enthusiastic "yes, captain!"
though before he can slip out of the office, the door swings open once more; this time it's bepo, who lets out a loud gasp, his eyes widening until he suddenly turns on his feet and starts screaming down the hallway to anyone who would listen that the two of you were finally together.
"dammit bepo, you ruined my deal!" shachi yells as he follows his polar bear friend, causing law to sigh and teleport a heavy chair against the door, preventing anyone else from walking in and interrupting his attempts to shower you with affection from the inside out.
#one piece x reader#zoro x reader#law x reader#eustass kid x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#trafalgar law x reader#eutass kidd x reader#zoro x you#law x you#eustass kid x you#one piece headcanons#one piece drabble#one piece fanfiction#one piece smut#zoro smut#law smut#eustass kid smut
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things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton
part two
word count: 10k
warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.
A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate
It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.
Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.
Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him.
Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.
Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track.
Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.
Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.
Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.
She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people.
She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.
She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.
Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships.
She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.
That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.
Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.
When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her.
Lewis 🏁
How's your date?
She shakes her head, typing out her response.
dense. how's silverstone?
Lewis 🏁
Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.
i'm sorry 😞
Lewis 🏁
I'm going to need you tonight.
Lewis, i'm on a date.
Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.
Lewis 🏁
Is he getting lucky tonight?
NO!
Lewis 🏁
So why can't I?
Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again.
She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.
"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously.
She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.
Lewis 🏁
My jet will be waiting for you.
That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower.
When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed.
It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.
"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.
He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.
"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."
"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.
"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.
Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him.
She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body.
After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.
She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."
"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.
Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin.
Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.
Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship.
He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.
Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.
"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.
She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."
"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."
His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.
"Okay."
Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.
"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.
Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?
She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.
"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck.
She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.
"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"
Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay."
Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.
"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"
Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."
"Why that?"
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly.
-
They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.
"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back.
"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."
"Come on, beautiful."
He sits up, forcing her up with him.
She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck.
He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.
He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.
He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.
There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.
"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.
She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.
When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.
This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle.
She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same.
"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.
As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.
The screen lights up with notifications.
One catches her eye from, Natalie.
Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.
Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.
It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.
Still on for tomorrow?
At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.
"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him.
She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes.
He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.
Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.
But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.
She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him.
Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.
-
She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.
He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.
"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"
She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending.
Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.
When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.
"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.
"Hi, George, I'm Clem."
"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.
"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."
George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.
"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"
She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.
Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."
And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.
George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.
"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."
"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.
Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.
When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.
She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.
She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.
"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.
"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.
"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.
"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.
She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.
She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.
"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.
He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"
She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."
"Then get in the fucking car."
Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment.
He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.
Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile.
Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.
It has him hard instantly.
"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.
"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."
Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.
"I want to kiss you, but people will see."
She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.
"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.
"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place.
"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."
"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.
"You like fucking with me." He declares.
Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.
"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.
He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.
Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips.
He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.
He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.
Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.
When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto.
He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically.
She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.
He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door.
"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.
He looks stressed and zoned out.
"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.
Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.
She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."
That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."
She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."
Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.
Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."
"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.
Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.
"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.
"Time to race, Lewis."
She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.
Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.
She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.
When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves.
She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile.
She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.
She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.
She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.
She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head.
She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her.
She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.
His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.
Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place.
"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.
She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.
"I can feel it in my bones."
"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.
Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!"
He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.
"Well, that's me."
Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.
"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.
"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.
"Get in the car, Hamilton."
She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.
She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.
Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.
She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.
"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.
"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."
Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.
Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"
She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."
Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.
"Intense, yeah?" He questions.
"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."
"First time coming to a race?"
She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."
She laughs, "Right."
The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes.
He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.
But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.
Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.
Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.
It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race.
He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.
This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is.
That anger got him P3.
He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.
Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.
She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.
She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.
When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.
But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours.
When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed.
There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.
He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.
He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.
He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him.
"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."
Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet.
"Can you walk?"
She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights.
Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.
He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.
Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.
Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't.
"I had fun," she announces.
"I'm glad."
"You got podium." She cheers lowly.
Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.
She gives up trying to talk to him after that.
The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.
When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.
As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.
Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.
"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.
"No, I don't."
"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.
"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.
"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes.
"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.
Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.
"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.
She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.
He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other.
"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks.
He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.
She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.
He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.
Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress.
He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair.
Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room.
She tasted so good.
Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing.
Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone.
He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.
He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.
"Fuck."
Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.
Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears.
When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls.
She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.
He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours.
"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.
"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.
"I think you do."
His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.
"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.
"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"
Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.
Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her.
He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire.
He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.
Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force.
This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.
Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.
Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.
She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis.
Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.
He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.
"Woah." she pants.
Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.
Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.
"I booked you a room."
He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.
"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.
"It's just a floor below, suite 909."
Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"
Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.
"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.
Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness.
"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.
Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."
She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.
She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt.
Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase.
"Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."
Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.
She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.
And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.
She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator.
The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob.
She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.
For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much.
It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.
Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.
It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.
-
Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness.
He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.
He regrets his actions.
He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood.
He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.
"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"
He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel.
He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.
He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.
He never stood a chance against her charm.
He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.
-
When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds.
"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.
The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.
"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."
Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.
Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away.
-
Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since.
Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.
Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants.
"That was fun." She exhales.
He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile.
This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure.
He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"
He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.
"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."
Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.
He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.
It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him.
He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.
Everything unchanged, nothing new.
Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.
So he tries dating.
And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.
Their eyes don't gleam like hers.
They don't understand his humor.
They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.
They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.
They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.
They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.
Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.
And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man.
When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.
clemmy 🪂
I need to see you, where are you?
He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.
He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.
He'd take any sight of her he could get.
-
Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people.
If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons.
She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart.
How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit.
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too.
But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.
Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all.
clementine
liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others
clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !!
view all comments
feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿
clementine the coolest 😎
lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR
clementine 🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️
user no bc who did my girl like that
clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃
user builds character my ass, go beat his ass
user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???
clementine yk im filming girl 🙄
clementine
liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others
clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?
danielricciardo In your hands slaps
clementine you sir, have great taste 😘
user daniel what are you doing here 😭
user No really, weird ass crossover episode
user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen
clementine you noticing the small details >>>
justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me
clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂
user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm
feliciathegoat i love my bestie
clementine and I love u T 🥹
-
Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.
He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.
Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash.
He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door.
He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome.
He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door.
He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.
She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.
"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."
"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."
She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.
His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.
She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.
"I love you."
She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"
He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."
"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.
"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.
"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest.
He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.
"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."
Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."
"But you did, " she cries.
"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."
"You don't mean that." Clem breathes.
"I promise I do, Clem."
She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."
He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."
"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."
It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues.
"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.
"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."
"It's almost spring," Clem announces.
"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.
"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.
"I missed listening to you. Swear I did."
"Are we still friends?"
"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more."
"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.
She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."
"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you."
"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.
"Starting over, right?"
"Yeah, starting over."
Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.
Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining.
"Thank you for showing up for me."
Not proofread
the album:
bad religion - frank ocean
in your hands - halle
i think- tyler, the creator
saturn- sza
broken is the man- jorja smith
everything is gonna be alright- infinity song
everything- kehlani
mine- beyonce ft drake
poison- beyonce
are we still friends- tyler, the creator
eternal sunshine- jhene aiko
<3
#black reader#lewis hamilton#f1#formula 1#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x black reader#poc reader#black female oc#lewis hamilton x black female oc#black reader friendly#things lost and things found part two
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ೃ₊ 🌾 ❝ So When I Die ❞ ╰►, Gojo Satoru
𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 | following gojo satoru’s death, his ex wife is in charge of taking care of his funeral service and everything else that comes with it.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | 4,676 words
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | character death, possible spoilers, funeral, angst, and not proofread ;p
 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | I did NAWT want this to be my first work on here but due to certain circumstances…. AHEM his DEATH!!!! I felt it was necessary because laik… grief LOL. I wrote this a while back tho. Enjoy.
꒰ 💌 ꒱ ♡ ༘° 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓, gojo satoru …
Your ex-husband is dead, and in his line of work, yes, you know that he has a higher risk of dying than the average person, but still, death never comes expected, does it? Even if he always says—oh wait… used to, you suppose, say that he was crazy strong and no one could ever take him down. Well, he was wrong in the end like a bunch of other things. Like how well he took care of you, how he’d give you six kids, how—you won’t ramble, noting he’s dead now and there’s no point, but also because it’s quite rude of you to talk down on someone who is dead and can’t defend themselves. Whatever.
You just… don’t expect it. Yes, you understood he was hard headed and insanely cocky, but in a way… you always believed that he would always come home alive and, even if he did get hurt, he would be okay eventually as he heals. You don’t forget it, he’s only human, you know because of the many mistakes he’s made, but still… he’s… he’s gone?
You hesitated when you heard that. Gojo Satoru, the so-called love of your life from two years ago, is dead? Impossible, you think. Gojo Satoru found death embarrassing, with all the things he said. He said that he would be okay. He was always okay. What are you supposed to say to that?
When you get the call, you wonder why you, of all the people in his life, were the one they called to inform about his status. Why did you have to go to his place and clean out all his things? Take all his belongings with you? At first, your instinct was to say “throw it all away,” because what does Gojo Satoru mean to you now? You’re not his wife! He neglected you for years and filled your days and nights with sorrows. He broke your heart. But still, he didn’t mean nothing to you at the same time.
Those precious years of being his acquaintance in middle school. When you had shorter hair and he didn’t know much about you other than you were in his class and he had bought you cute white socks for your class gift exchange on Christmas that year. The long years that Gojo Satoru pined for you after you both attended the same high school. The hard and dark times he went through losing Suguru and shutting you out, though he loved you for so long. When you turned twenty, and Satoru had gotten better, to the point where he felt he was ready to move on and continue with his pursuit for you. When you turned twenty-three, and got married to him on a spur. When you moved in and shared a bed, until the marriage got cold and most nights you spent alone.
You couldn’t say for the past fourteen years, Gojo Satoru was nothing at all to you. The news was shocking, and knowing he was dead… did you have to be careful about how you felt about him, or how you thought of him? Well, now that he is dead, should you be so ruthless and hostile toward the man who broke your heart? You don’t know, so naturally, and it really just slips out, you agree to take care of the process of his passing.
For the most part, you’re calm. You don’t actually know how to feel, and you don’t know how to be. You’re not his wife, you have no obligations to take care of him, or anything that he cared about. Yet, you’re here. In his lonely apartment that doesn’t even smell like him. He probably never even spent much time in this place, even so, he still had a lot of belongings. Pictures of you in frames surprisingly. He did take them all when you got divorced and he moved out of the house, you just didn’t expect that he’d put them up on display. He probably didn’t get many visitors to question him about the lady in his pictures. You were sure that would get annoying.
Anyway, you don’t know if you’re supposed to cry or even feel sad. You don’t know if it’s strange to feel that way or not. You can’t quite make out how you feel, being surrounded by Gojo Satoru’s personality and things. You don’t think too much about the things inside the apartment because you don’t want to be too reminded of what you used to be. What you felt about the man once upon a time. If there was still love in your heart for him.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t clean either by any means. Given he probably didn’t stay here much, it made sense that you didn’t need to clean a whole lot of the apartment. You get there and you take it all in. Satoru’s little apartment, because he didn’t want to pay for such a luxurious place he wouldn’t even stay in. Maybe that kind of place made him feel more alone too. Thoughts you should not be thinking start to trickle into your brain, but you stop yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving, nor should you want to go back. You made a decision to leave and you should honor it. It was the right thing to do for yourself (hopefully).
Do you even want his things? No, not really. But you have a keep, donate, and a throw away bin anyway. Most of it keeps going to the keep bin and donation box. Somehow the feeling of someone else getting Gojo Satoru’s things is unsettling to you, but it’s even worse to think that all these things will just go to a landfill where things that were once valued are forgotten and it’s all going to be considered “trash.” Maybe that’s because you know why every item is there and the story behind that certain mug or decor piece. You don’t know it, but you’re trying your best not to care.
You sigh, the thought that this is all so strange, bothering and pestering you like an annoying fly. You tell yourself you know that already, so stop thinking about it. Maybe you’re in denial that Gojo Satoru is actually gone. You can feel him. He’s still there, you know it. That or you’re just surrounded by his belongings and that’s why his presence is here.
In your hand, you hold a big black garbage bag as you make your way to his bedroom to clear out his closet. This is a room of his that you haven’t been to, strange right? You wondered if another woman spent time here. Jealous much? You’re supposed to be clearing out your ex-husband’s apartment, not pondering about what he was up to after you two had split. The man is dead for one, what are you going to do about it? Confront his dead body? You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that, so that thought is one you shake off and ignore too.
You sigh because you’re tired from cleaning all day and clearing his things out and you’re probably only a quarter’s way done with the place. It’s not even that big, it’s just been uncomfortably hard for you to bring yourself here with your mixed and strange feelings about this whole situation. Isn’t there anyone else who cares about Gojo Satoru? How come you’re stepping up to the plate when this is how you feel—confused and unsure? What are you even going to do for the funeral? You took the task up because Gojo Satoru would probably turn in his grave knowing the higher ups organized his funeral. So while it is strange for you to do all of this, you’ve rationalized the lot of this situation that you put yourself in. Once upon a time, he loved you right? So surely he would prefer you over—you’re so silly, thinking all these things when Gojo Satoru is your dead ex-husband.
You plop on the bed with a small groan as you turn over. This is a bit inappropriate, to be laying on your ex husband’s unmade bed. It’s left in the state that it was the last time he woke up. That’s a little precious you think, freely, not even denying it. Are you ruining this precious thing here? Well, in all honesty, you’re kind of cherishing it, because this is a small piece of Satoru that is really still here in the present times. He always liked soft things and this blanket is soft. The sheets still smell like your ex-husband. The light musk of his skin and his soap is there. The thought of this bed being his is comfortable enough. Like you miss his warmth and touch, you curl up on the mattress, hugging yourself to the scent of him surrounding, and you can almost imagine that he’s holding you right now, like he used to. His detergent is faintly there too, well actually, it’s the same as yours. He asked when you two had split and he was settling into his own place all the household items you used. You supposed that it was all he knew.
You offered to go shop for household things with him and it was probably the last time you two had exchanged any kind of affection. You let him put his hand on your thigh as he drove you two to the supermarket. He let you link your arm with his, sides flush together like you two didn’t just get divorced. It was a silent message of “I miss you,” because it was and—quite frankly, still is—hard to get over someone you loved for so long. Even if he left the marriage long before you did, emotionally and physically. This was something you wanted while you married, for Satoru to present, and in your arms. For him to show you that he cared and loved you. You were even a little upset that was the only time he was doing all of that for you, but you chose not to ruin the moment for the both of you.
Funny how all these memories and things between the two of you are flooding in constantly. It makes you feel kind of sick. Nauseous and unable to breathe. You open your eyes in realization of what you’re doing right now. You sit up immediately, flustered and embarrassed as if Satoru would open the door right now and have that annoying smug grin on his face with his arms crossed, just to say as he leans on the door frame, “I knew you missed me.” Following with your name because he liked your name the best. He always said your name was pretty and he wouldn’t give you a pet name because nothing will ever be as great as calling you by your name. A nice little reminder that Satoru loved your name makes you smile a bit. Weird how all of these just keep piling up. One thought triggers another and it almost makes you itch and feel bad for the way things ended between the two of you. You almost have regrets about—
Whatever, you have a deadline to clean this place up you remind yourself. You spread your palms out on the sheets once more, feeling every thread that Satoru once laid his body on. You should take these for your bed, you think. They’re not so bad, just a plain white sheet, but it reminds you of Satoru’s hair and it would be waste.You lift yourself from the bed and open his closet, not even noticing how you keep having to make excuses for yourself to keep some of his things.
Already feeling overwhelmed because you keep holding back, opening the closet makes you feel like you’re cracking. You let out a suppressed sound. You can’t even register what it sounds like. A squeak or something? But looking at all his clothes almost makes everything so real for you. All his uniform? All his coats and sweaters? Ah, the one from high school. And then you can see all the ones you bought him. Damn, does that really test your strength.
Lined up neatly and nicely put away, it’s almost a shame to you to give these away. Your hand shakes as you hesitantly reach for one of his favorite button ups. Your skin meets the soft fabric and you only lightly touch it because you don’t want to wrinkle it. You remember when you used to iron Satoru’s clothes early in the morning before he woke up. Even until the end of your marriage, you still ironed them.
You look up, reaching for his work uniform. This is what he wore most often, you know that. So you let yourself crumble. Carefully taking off the hanger and sitting on his bed as you hold the shirt close to you. You bring it to your nose, just to smell it. You wish it smelled like Satoru more, but even so, it makes you break down.
Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you take another sniff. The thought that Satoru really isn’t here anymore makes your heartbreak. It comes crashing down on you. You really miss him, and you regret that you didn’t spend as much time as you would have liked to with him. You wish you could have had the courage to tell him how much you still cared and loved him. Yes, it might not have been the same kind of love you had for him before, but you did still love him.
You let out a little sob. In frustration and despair, tears flow out as you hold his clothes close to you. The walls of your bruised heart collapses as you hold his clothes so tight as if he was still in them. Well, you really do wish he was. You’re desperate to feel him in your arms physically. Just a moment with him so you could say your last sentiments. Just a moment to see him again. Just a moment to love him.
You’re helpless as your tears flow endlessly onto his shirt. You feel silly, but you just can’t stop. You really miss Satoru, and you have been for so many months now. You stroke the shirt as you would his body, wallowing in the grief you’re supposed to feel, even if the dead man is your ex-husband. You spent so many years loving him, how could you just not feel anything to hear news of his death? How could you not feel any regret or remorse for how messy you left things with him? There’s so many things you want to say to him, and it kills you to know you will never get to say any of it to him.
You wonder if Satoru was still around, would he wrap his arms around you and tell you not to cry? Would he kiss your temple like he always did when you were down? You wish he would just do all of it. You wish you two could have tried harder. Your love for him never burned out, you know that much. It’s the reason why you’re here, alone in his room crying as you hold his clothes dearly to you. And even if you hate to say it, even if you don’t want to admit it, Satoru loved you until the very end too.
“I’m still in love with you y’know…”
“Shut up,” You mutter as you slide the eggs off the pan for the hungry man at the table.
It was the dead hours of the night when he returned from a mission, knocking on your door, telling you that he was hungry and needed a place to crash.You slammed the door on him of course, but he wedged his foot in the gap of the door (no, it didn’t hurt, he’s got magical powers that prevent him from actually getting hurt like damn maniac) and used his own strength against you to push his upper body through the door to beg you to let him stay. It was a mistake on your part, but it actually wasn’t all that terrible that night. You were just bitter.
“My bad,” Satoru said dramatically as he took a bite. “Just thought you missed me. That’s the reason you let me in, right?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, not in the mood for any of his games. His smug grin made everything even worse, because he was right. “Gojo Satoru, wipe that grin off your face.”
“Must have hit a nerve,” He teased like it was still appropriate to do so.
You actually don’t even remember what you said then after that, but you just know… Gojo Satoru has you all figured out yet… he never said anything about it to you. And that was just him. He knew well enough not to break your heart one more time, but he was selfish enough to constantly flirt with you any time he could. If he passed by, or was coming home late from a mission and knocking on your door to remind you that he existed. Not anymore.
After cleaning his apartment, it’s all empty now. Which is a little strange. You’ve never even been to his place until after he died, and yet… it makes your stomach turn and feel upset after realizing that this place is no longer where your ex-lover resides. You understand that he’s no longer occupying it. There’s no point in keeping it for him. But maybe because you don’t think it through while you’re still in the grieving process. You don’t think about Gojo Satoru being dead because you don’t want to. It makes your heart squeeze and your breath stop. You can’t face the fact that he no longer exists and you can no longer see him anymore. You just can’t, so you wonder: where will his home be? Who's going to take care of him? Where is he going to go to shelter himself from the rain or snow? Where is he going to sleep? Where can he feel safe and secure?
You sigh, rubbing your eyes. You really need to get some proper rest. You feel yourself withering in the bitter feelings you still have toward Satoru, but also the dangerous sorrow that’s sinking your whole body down. You can’t believe that you really miss Gojo Satoru after all this time hating him and wishing you two had never met when he was here and alive, waiting for you to just cave into what your heart wanted. Truth is though, you never would. You were too strong for that.
Finally, you pack up the final things, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Satoru isn’t here anymore, and it looks exactly like that. This little corner of the world isn’t his anymore, and you’d like to say that it never was because he didn’t spend much of his time in this place. It’s just sad to see it all gone, stripped to the bare white box it actually is without the fun of your late ex-husband. You shut the door, leaving this place behind and bringing this part of Satoru with you, maybe the only part of Satoru that is still worldly and able for you to have in your grasp. You leave the key to his apartment on the landlord’s desk and leave with the rest of Satoru’s things in your arms, all thrown in the cardboard box labeled “Satoru” in your handwriting with a permanent marker. Silly of you to not even realize it, Gojo Satoru’s home is not a place, it’s you.
The end of it was the funeral process. Which was much more work than cleaning his apartment. You wish somebody was worried about your well-being, but that somebody, the most likely candidate, was dead. Satoru would have told you to chill out a bit and ask you to wind down with him, but this is his funeral, he can’t really do that now, can he? But you don’t want to seem like you’re so reliant on him. You’ve done plenty of things without him, and this will be no exception. He just… sort of made the process easier and bearable. You’re on your 10th phone call with the carpenters of the coffin when you really wish you didn’t take on the task of carrying out Satoru’s dying wishes. He didn’t even have many, because he was so sure he wasn’t going to die so soon.
Through it all, you hold yourself together quite elegantly. Even through the eulogy. No one would even guess the mental strain you put yourself through to make this all happen. All the floral arrangements are beautiful, Satoru’s corpse is dressed nicely—though you grace him with a closed casket funeral because you were sure that he did not want anyone to see him so vulnerably lifeless and you simply could not handle the sight of his stale and unresponsive body. But everyone could indeed tell, Gojo Satoru was loved. They could understand your love for the man. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t love him. But you just deny it.
His guest list was quite large. Some people you didn't even know, and you were sure he did not want that. But the higher ups had their own agenda too, and you had to make compromises though you stood your ground quite well for the sake of your late ex-husband's well being in the afterlife. You wonder, would Satoru love you for eternity for loving and caring for him unconditionally and so thoroughly? When you eventually join him, will he thank you for so meticulously planning and giving him a proper send off? You hope so. You hope that he will continue to love you in the next lifetime, and in that lifetime, you two will be happily together. Not miserably apart like you are now.
Maybe the only time anyone can see you break is when the casket is lowered and this is the last time that you’ll ever see Satoru’s face again, except you don’t. His casket is closed and covered with all the flowers you bought to send him off beautifully. There’s a complex look on your face, and no one could quite read it, but it was clear that there was a storm going on inside of you, stirring and rumbling. Your eyebrows knitted together and your eyes glossy with a down turn of your lips. You’re just keeping yourself together for Satoru. You need to.
The only time you get to break down about it is when you get home from the long day. Crumbling down your door, as you miserably sob. How could the world be so possibly cruel that you had to bury the last man you loved for the past ten years? It never gave you time to move on. You weren’t ready to let go just yet and be content with the distance. Sure, you asked for it when he was still tangible, but now he was untouchable, not existing, and it felt so painful. You curl up in a ball, on the bed you used to share with him. The bed you two used to gossip on and the bed where you simply just held him to sleep on your good days. The bed that you laid alone for most nights wishing he’d come to hold you and not be too tired for you. All the bad and good memories come to make you think of one thing; you wish Satoru was here right now.
You lay there, contemplating if you just want to stay there for the whole week or get up and cook yourself something. You haven’t been eating with how hectic it’s been to take care of Satoru’s send off. You sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep sounds like the best thing to you at the moment. You were drained and exhausted from preserving the life of Gojo Satoru as well as commemorating it. You needed that rest.
When you drift into sleep, you kind of hope that Satoru is there for you, waiting in a field of beautiful flowers like he came to visit you in a dream. Even if it’s just your imagination. You’d like to think that he cared enough that he left you alone to deal with all of the things he left behind. He doesn’t though, because you don’t dream. You just black out and you wonder if you’ll ever dream again. But maybe you’re just being dramatic because you miss your ex-husband so much. You blink the tears out from your eyes, wiping them before getting up and pulling yourself together. You can be sad, but not miserable. You were never the type to just crumble, however, even this shook you down to the very ground and yes, it is hard to get back up. But everything with Satoru was hard, and this was no different. You should have been used to this.
Eventually, you do get yourself together. Sad, but you’re functioning. You go back to work and you continue with your daily life. Satoru’s never really been a part of your daily routine after the 3rd year of being married to him. It was no different not seeing him at all, but it was just the fact that he truly wasn't there anymore. If you were to call his cell, it would just ring on your dresser in your room and go to voicemail. Sometimes, you wait for the voicemail just to hear his voice, but most times you stay away from his contact. You’re recovering, just slowly.
People at work send their condolences, just like they did when they found out you divorced Gojo Satoru. They give you a pitiful look and tell you to be strong, but when they think you’re not listening they bash Satoru for passing and still putting the responsibility of carrying his will out on his ex wife—you. You don’t defend him nor does what they say settle well with you. They’re right, of course. Gojo Satoru has always been selfish, up until his last breath, but you just can’t seem to feel validated when you’re the one who buried Gojo Satoru. He was once your whole world, how could you just completely numb yourself to the pain of losing your connection with him, absolutely and completely?
Apparently, you’re the only person on his will too. You inherit everything of his one day, and it’s kind of overwhelming. All of his money is transferred to your bank account, all his belongings, everything is yours. You don’t even know what to do with most of it. You don’t even want to look and use anything of his. So you store most of his things in a box and label it “Satoru,” along with the other things that you took from his apartment, and you make an account to store all his money in, for what? You don’t know, just something.
When you're older, you’ll come to realize that you made Satoru a loved person until the very end, and that you were perhaps the only person that he still had love for, even if you weren’t his wife anymore. This is why Satoru loved you so much, and yes, he got very lucky with you, you will give yourself that. But you also won’t feel so bitter about having to be the person to handle his departure because you made sure to do just the way he wanted it, by you. for now, you’ll miss him lots and bring him flowers whenever the time comes. You won’t call him your ex-husband, but your late-husband. You keep some of his clothes to wear like you used to. You still sleep on your side of the bed, leaving the space Satoru used to fill empty for him. Life goes on the way it used to.
#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo#satorugojo#jjk satoru#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fanfic#gojo fanfic#gojo angst#jjk angst#jjk fluff#satoru x reader#satoru x you
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King Edmund and Hedwig drabbles: running away but changing your mind and getting lost
Yandere!king & female!yandere x reader (female in Edmund’s case and gn in hedwigs)
I had a request similar to this like a year ago, but i deleted it because I couldn't come up with anything ... and now I have so ... that's annoying.
And this is probably the nicest Edmund has ever been. Weird.
BUT HEY I LOVE THE RELATIVES
Warnings: weapons, but actually pretty fluffy
King Edmund:
You had taken a horse and gone away into the forest. But here you are, sitting by a tree with the horse tied to a branch, hugging yourself and crying. What had you done? You finally realize how stupid you are. Why did you leave him? Why?
You're cold and lonely. Thieves are roaming the forest and you know that they would be delighted to find the queen all by herself. But you don't know the way home, and if you get up on your horse you risk going even further away. Staying in one place will be the best decision if you want to be found ... hopefully by the right people.
Suddenly, after what feels like (and probably have been) hours, you notice a sound.
"Y/N, your game is up."
Edmund!
You stand up and turn around, seeing him and his knights around you, their horses looking at you dumbly. The knights hold out their bayonets, but you don't care. You run over to Edmund, throwing yourself in his arms and crying ― crying in sorryness, in relief over being found by the right people, crying in fear and shame. Edmund's taken by surprise at first. He had been fully prepared to threaten you to get you to come back. Edmund's arms lock around you, securing your head into his shoulder.
"Lower your fucking weapons!" he tells the knights angrily. "Are you insane pointing them at us like that?!"
He turns to you, but before he has the chance to ask you how you're feeling of why you were so stupid to escape from him, you've already started rambling.
"I'm sorry, Edmund!" you sob. "I'm so sorry! I don't know why I did that! I regretted it immediatly, I promise! I wanted to go back but I-I lost my way and-" You can't finish your sentence, your breathe hitching with sobs.
"Shh, it's okay", he cooes, kissing your forehead. "You're back where you belong now, you're safe."
"I wanted to go back, I promise ... but I didn't know which way was the right one. I'm so sorry!"
You cry against his shoulder, hugging him tightly. Weirdly enough, you have never been happier to see someone that has hurt you. Edmund's your husband, you have accepted that. You hadn't realized that you had started to like him before now.
"It's okay, my dear", Edmund reassures you in a sweet, hushed tone and rests his head on top of yours, enjoying having you in his arms again. He rocks you back and forth gently, as if to coo you. "There's no need to cry, I'm here now. You will never have to worry when I'm here. You know that I will take care of everything."
His words are so comforting, so belieavable. You nod against his shoulder.
"Let's go home", he says. "You're cold."
He lifts you up on his white horse before cimbing up himself in front of you. You wrap your arms around his waist and hide your face into his warm back, crying even more. Why isn't he mad at you? You betrayed him. Edmund can't bring himself to be mad. You're genuinly sorry, he can't be mad at you for making a mistake ... a ridicolously stupid mistake, perhaps, but a mistake nonetheless. He needs to comfort you, not punish you.
"Make sure Y/N's horse comes with us", he says before riding off with you behind him.
Hedwig:
If you desperately had to fight with Hedwig about how controlling she is and storm off ... why did it have to be in a foreign country? You want to punch yourself for your idioticy. She's suffocating, yes, but you do love her ... somehow you still love her. And you want nothing more than to go back to her and have her hold you. How will you find her when you can't ask for directions back to her vacation house and can't trace your steps back. Why do European countries have to have such narrow, maze-like alleyways?!
You've found yourself on a bench in front of a cafe in the staking sun. You'll have to get up and look for the right way later, but your feet are probably bleeding.
"Y/N?!" you hear Hedwig's voice suddenly shriek. "Oh, my Gosh, Y/N!"
She runs over to the bench and you hurry to wrap your arms around her waist, hiding your face into her stomach. You can't help but sniffle in relief and sorry ... remembering how you left the house.
"I've been looking all over for you!" Hedwig pants. "I was so worried!"
"I'm sorry, Hedwig", you cry into her stomach. "For everything. I-"
She hugs your head closer and kisses the top of your head. "It's okay, I have forgiven you! "
She sits down on the bench next to you and cup your head into her hands. You sob.
"I'm just so happy to see you alive", she says in relief and brushed your sweaty hair out of your face. "But, dear, you're dehydrated! You'll pass out!"
She takes out a bottle of water from her handbag and feeds you half of it, before water starts to run down your chin.
"Why haven't you been drinking water?" she asks worriedly. "You could have passed out and who knows how dangerous that could have been?!"
"i didn't have any money", you say quietly. "I'm so sorry, I tried to find my way back, because I regret that I left ... but I couldn't ask for directions. I can't speak the language and I didn't have my phone and-"
"It's okay. I forgive you. But please don't do it again. It's dangerous. And I was so worried. My father was close to calling the cops and having them look for you."
"I'm sorry, Hedwig."
She hugs you, letting you rest your heavy head on her shoulder.
"It's okay", she reassures you. "I'm not mad at you. You know that I only want your best, right?"
You nod.
"You need to cool down", she says and stands up, holding out her hand to you. "Let's go get you some ice cream."
"My feet hurt really bad", you mumble.
"I will buy you new shoes too, and bandage and everything you need. Will you come with me? Please?"
You sigh and take her hand. Hedwig is the most confusing person you know, because how can she be so horrible, yet so magical?
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere oc x reader#yandere fics#yandere stories#yandere king#female yandere
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Body piercer! Matty part three
Part 1, Part 2
I missed writing for this man so much my god he is my everything. If you haven’t read the other parts, go ahead and do that first for context perhaps!
Fem! Reader
Contains: Mutual pining, cutie newly established relationship, mention of marijuana, proud concert bf Matty, him being protective of girlie at the show, exhibitionism (light petting in the crowd), rough quickie (unprotected), public sex (bathroom), fingering and fucking on the counter, Matty puts his hand over her mouth, mirror sex, choking (with jewelry)
WC: ~6.3k
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PART THREE- Your new boyfriend takes you to a punk show, ending with a quickie in the venue bathroom
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Both you and Matty knew in your hearts that this wasn’t just a fling. Flings didn’t stay up for endless hours on the phone, knowing damn well that you both had work the next morning. Flings also didn’t think about each other for every waking minute, always sending each other sentimental messages when things reminded them of each other. And, they certainly don’t touch you the way Matty touches you: like he’s like he’s been starved of you his entire life. He’d frankly been losing his mind, constantly daydreaming at work as he stared at the Polaroid of the two of you he kept at the front desk, knowing he couldn’t stand not calling you his girlfriend much longer. Not after the past couple of weeks you’d been seeing each other had been some of the best of his life. He was so antsy over the fact that he couldn’t actually call you his that it was eating him alive, where else would he ever find someone as perfect for him as you? His work friends teased him endlessly for being so head over his platform boot heels, telling him how he needed to lock you down as soon as possible. He endearingly calls you his “favorite client”, but you’ve quickly become his favorite everything (“No. You don’t even get it, mate,” he’d said, rambling on to some poor guy whose ears he was piercing, “she's like… the light of my life, really”). But, considering that you couldn’t close your eyes without picturing his pretty brown irises staring back at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges with all his twinkling, wild mirth, you weren’t faring much better.
Just as you’d hoped from that first night together, his sleepy eyes were in fact now a constant in your life. He asked you to be his girlfriend after taking you back to the same cafe where you’d had your blind date. Needless to say, it was an enthusiastic yes on your part, and everything has been so much brighter since, you can hardly imagine your life without all of his ruckus. Your days with him are long and lazy, and the nights are even longer, often spent wrapped up in his sheets or giggling while curled up on his couch after a smoke session.
You’ve learned a lot about Matty in the time you’ve been together. Like his tendency to leave things in your flat, his ungodly marijuana tolerance levels, and his love for his puppy Mayhem. You’ve also found that he takes his music very seriously. Listening to music is like a ritual to him, one that he refuses to partake in with “trashy” music. You call it snobbery, he calls it having good taste, and lately, he’s been trying to share that taste with you. He’s almost been subtly brainwashing you into getting into his bands, playing their songs in his car, burning some of their tracks on his CD mixtapes for you (always scrawled with cute Sharpie doodles and bad handwriting), humming the melodies of his favorite songs to you while cuddling. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working, you’ve found yourself adding his music to your playlists, combining your styles much like how the mohawked man has slowly rooted his way into every corner of your life.
So of course, words couldn’t describe how thrilled he was when you agreed to see one of his favorite bands play at a punk rock show. He’d approached you with the idea tentatively, explaining that it was fine if you didn’t want to go, he’d just take one of his mates from work if so. The way his face lit up when you said yes, your heart could have burst as you watched his eyes sparkle with pure unbridled joy. Then, he leaned in and kissed every inch of your face, ignoring your giggles and protests of him tickling you while he declared how much you were going to love it.
When the day of the show arrived, you kept your outfit simple: baggy, ripped jeans, a white tank top, a band hoodie, and a studded belt you recovered from the depths of your closet, figuring you’d at least blend in with the grungier crowd that way. You put on one last thing to complete the look, hooking Matty’s chunky, silver chain (that of course, he’d left on your dresser) around your neck. You smile to yourself as you tuck it under your clothes, liking the feel of having him close to your heart like this. When did you become such a sap?
Meanwhile, Matty was pacing around your flat, making sure he had everything he needed and that you’d get there in time for doors. His reasoning for being punctual was much less about him than it was for you. He wanted you to fully experience being close to the stage because he knows how much you like to take pictures at shows, your constantly full phone storage being a telltale sign of that. He was going full-on concert boyfriend mode, also keeping your lipstick and your wallet in his little hip pouch so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying anything but your phone. He’d clearly thought this through quite a lot, he’d been looking forward to it for weeks.
A sudden kiss to his cheek quiets the hum of his overactive mind when you approach him, his furrowed brows sloping to a soft look of adoration as he insists on you standing still so he can take a good look at your outfit. He holds his fingers up in front of him in the shape of a square, squinting one eye closed like he’s framing you for a memory. Sure, the relationship was shiny and new, but something about the way he looked at you told you this wasn’t going to dull with time’s cruel hands, not any time soon at least.
“Ohh, yeah. Very punk rock, baby,” he smiles slyly, chuckling as you roll your eyes.
“Hardly! I don’t exactly have the wardrobe for this.”
“Shh, nonsense. You’re like a regular Joan Jett, babe. But hotter.”
“But hotter? Wow,” you laugh, now glancing down at the jewelry adorning his hands and wrists, “I like your bracelet.”
Matty cringes, sucking a breath through his teeth while looking up towards the ceiling. He recalls just how he’d obtained said bracelet as a teenager with something to prove. He was never a bad kid, just a highly restless one who got bored too easily. Besides, he never got in any real trouble since his parents would have strung him up by his toes otherwise.
“Erm, thanks. I think I nicked it when I was a teen.”
“You were a delinquent!?” you exclaim, causing Matty’s loud laughter to ring through the apartment.
“That’s a strong term, innit? Let’s call it… misguided… and stupid. Now c’mon, out the door, miss.”
You shake your head playfully as he shoos you out of the flat, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend getting into all sorts of mischief. You can almost perfectly picture his toothy, boyish grin as he runs around the streets of his hometown with his mates by his side, freckle-faced and carefree, his curls in an unruly mop on his head. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in his younger, wilder days. An odd part of you hopes he still would have liked you.
“Why do you still have it?” you ask as you start your walk to the train together.
“What can I say? I’m unbelievably sentimental.”
The train ride is quiet, you share his wireless earbuds and listen to music side by side. The deal was that the queue of songs switched back and forth, you got to play one song, then him. He leans his head against your shoulder, the muss of hair atop the shaved sides of his head grazing your neck. He almost falls asleep as you start to scratch the top of his head. But, inevitably, all of his energy comes rushing back to him when the train comes to a halt. Immediately, he’s grabbing your hand to bound down the street to the venue, shouting about how good of a spot you’re going to get.
—---------------------------------------------
Once inside, at a glance, you don’t exactly fit in here. A sort of insecurity festers in you as you eye some of the girls dressed in spikes and leather, they looked like they belonged here, and so did your boyfriend. But, you try to shake it off nonetheless, even if you didn’t feel nearly as cool as you wanted to. This place was like the high council of people who exclusively wear clothes with tears in them.
Matty stands close behind you as you pack in with the rest of the grungy-looking crowd. His hands are on your hips as he glances around, making sure that you have enough space to stand comfortably. He knows how these shows can get, and he’s made it his personal mission to make sure no one ruins the experience for you. He shoots a look at any guy who tries to stand too close to you, the coldness of his stare sending them inching away from your personal space with cowardice. In an instant, the mean look is wiped off his face as he glances down at you, seeing how happy you seem to be there with him. He leans down, the cool metal of his chain grazing your neck as he speaks near your ear, just loud enough so you can hear him over the buzz of chatter throughout the venue.
“Can you see alright?” he asks, giving your hips a little squeeze.
You nod with a smile, having a fairly clear view of the stage. You’re only about three rows back thanks to Matty’s punctuality. You turn your head, grasping the necklace around his neck gently before pulling him down further so you can kiss his cheek. A grin breaks out on your boyfriend’s face, he can’t help but chuckle at your little move, he loves it when you get bold with him. His lips brush against your ear as he murmurs “little minx” before standing back up to his full height.
Matty talks over the pre-show music as he tells you a bit of background about the bands playing tonight, prattling on about who plays what and what makes them so cool. You listen to him with an enamored look plastered on your face, nodding along even when you have no clue what he’s talking about, but what else is new? It only makes you adore him more with every detail rattled off from the depths of his mind.
“... and this one here I don’t know shit about, to be honest. I reckon they’re probably fine though,” he shrugs, showing you the lineup on his phone.
You squint at the screen, tapping your nail against one of the names you recognize because of him. You blink up at him prettily, knowing he’s going to get a kick out of what you say next.
“This is the one with the guy who plays the drums with two pedals, right?” you recall, tilting your head at him, knowing damn well that you’re laying it on thick.
“Yes!! Yes, exactly,” he beams, his eyes instantly lighting up before he presses an enthusiastic kiss to your temple, “That’s my fuckin’ girl. The coolest girlfriend.”
Soon, the show begins, and Matty lets out an excited whoop as the first band makes their entrance, the one he’d bought the tickets for in the first place. He lets go of your hips, taking a small step back to give you the room to dance if you want to. He’s so considerate of you, it makes a glowing sort of warmth swell in your chest. You glance back at him and he gives you two thumbs up, his face scrunching up with a grin that’s so earnestly Matty, you have to resist the urge to just grab him and kiss him till your lips are raw right in the middle of the crowd. Not to mention how fucking good he looks tonight, his tank top allowing his tattooed arms to be on full display, and it should be illegal how tightly those black leather pants cling to his legs.
Your attention turns back to the stage as the first notes ring through the small venue, grungy guitar chords echoing off of the walls. Nothing gives you the same feeling as live music does, the pure thrill it makes rush through you is unmatched (sorry, Matty). The music is harsh, it grates on your ears, but in the best way possible. It’s invigorating, fucking electrifying, it’s thrumming in the hollow of your chest. You feel alive. Matty leans over to see it all happen from just a step away, watching the stage lights reflect in your eyes. He hadn’t looked at the band once, this was far more mesmerizing than anything that could be happening up there. You’ve completely captured his attention, and when you start bobbing your head to the beat and singing along to the chorus, Matty almost drops to one knee right then and there. He’s already mentally noted that this song will in fact be played at your wedding reception.
As the set goes on, his eyes stay on you for the majority of the time, he’s just so taken by watching you have this much fun hearing his music, which is now your music too. He’s simply beaming with pride. Every time you look back at him with that thrilled look on your face while you’re moving to the rhythm only solidifies to him that you’re his absolute dream girl. And of course, he’s having the time of his life too. Matty mouthes along to all of the words, nodding his head in a way that makes his quaffed mohawk bounce with his movements. And, shit, it’s hot in the crowd, you can feel the heat radiating off of the bodies moving around you. The hoodie you brought may have been an oversight, you can practically feel your mascara melting off of your lashes.
The show goes on, and when the moshing in the middle of the crowd gets increasingly rowdy, one man gets shoved and sent hurtling past the bodies between you and the mosh pit. You quickly hold your hands out to brace for the impact, knowing this can’t end well as you prepare to meet your leather-jacketed doom. The man is visibly very intoxicated and he would have stumbled straight into your body from the momentum if Matty’s hands hadn’t shot out to block him, catching him by his shoulders.
“Oi! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, fuck’s sake!” Matty spits, sending him back toward the pit with a light push.
Now, had Matty done his fair share of moshing and getting absolutely catapulted into other people at breakneck velocity? Yes. It’s not even entirely the guy’s fault that he almost crashed into you, he was pretty drunk and didn’t have his wits or his balance about him, but in Matty’s mind, he might as well have tried to tackle you to the ground WWE style.
“I could have caught him!” you argue over the music, laughing at the bitter look on your boyfriend's face.
Matty raises an eyebrow at you and shakes his head with an amused smile, but doesn’t argue. Maybe you could have, but he wasn’t about to let some sloshed idiot break his girlfriend's back because that’s his job, dammit.
The band’s set is finished with a bang, the final chords echoing in your ears as you try to catch your breath from moving almost nonstop, your heart thundering against your ribs. You turn around to face Matty with a giant grin plastered on your face, letting out a breathless, excited laugh. He just chuckles, eyeing the strands of hair sticking to your face from the sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup rimming your wide eyes. He’s not in much better shape, his tank top is clinging to his body like a second skin. By this point, your hoodie feels like it has its own climate, and you’re dying to peel it off.
“Fun?” he asks, as you start to lift the fabric over your head.
“Oh my god, yeah,” you breathe, your voice muffled by the hoodie.
“I-”
His next words die in his throat as his eyes immediately snap to your chest, his breath catching as he spots the clear outline of your nipple piercings through your drenched, white tank top and- was that one of his chains around your neck? He feels a stir in his tight leather pants as his mouth slightly drops, he can’t remember ever being so instantly and completely turned on. Heat ripples through his body, climbing up to his face as he shamelessly stares at your tits. Not only were you showing off his skillful work, but your pretty neck was adorned with the chain he’d forgotten all about at your place. It might even look better on you than it does on him.
You’re tying your hoodie around your waist when you catch the look on his face, your brows knitting together with confusion till you follow his gaze and find your piercings proudly displayed through your shirt. As the realization dawns on you, you look up at your boyfriend with a coy smile. Matty shudders, lust crowding his mind as he struggles to come up with a coherent thought, one that isn’t wildly pornographic. He can actually feel his hands tense with the urge to grasp, to lay claim to you with his fingertips. You simply look up at him through your lashes, watching him short-circuit right before your eyes.
Before he has the chance to say or do anything, the next band comes onto the stage, the crowd roaring to life a second time. You give him a knowing look before turning back around to face the direction of the music. Matty swallows hard, raking a hand through his mohawk like he’s grappling with demons… and losing.
The music is nothing more than a pulsing beat in his skull, his attention is fully on the back of your head. He begins to inch forward to you, his hands finding a home on your hips while you vibe to the beat. He brings your hips back against him, feeling your movements stutter as the protrusion in his trousers presses into your ass as if to say “Feel what you did to me?”. You get the message loud and clear, draping your weight against him, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you both rock to the beat of the drums, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. Matty’s hands begin to wander, mapping over the damp fabric of your tank top, up your stomach, over your ribs till- oh. You gasp, the stage lights strobing under your closed eyes as he squeezes your tits through your top. Matty can distinctly feel the barbells through the thin fabric, it drives him fucking wild. Your lips part as you melt into him like honey, your skin feels like it’s on fire as the music blares through the venue. Your stomach swoops when he dares to flick the piercings with his fingertips, danger humming in your veins as he gets bolder, as if you’re not surrounded by a sea of people. Your eyes snap open, you quickly glance around to find that everyone’s far too enthralled with the show to notice, not that Matty would give a shit if they did. No one can hear the way you whimper when he pinches your nipples. You stare down at the large hands that possessively grope your breasts, feeling a throb resound between your thighs.
“Matty, you said this was the band you don’t know, right?” you call to him, your voice uneven and unnaturally high-pitched.
His heavily lidded eyes look almost black with the way they darken as he reads between the lines. Even if it was one of the bands he liked, he’s pretty sure absolutely nothing could stop him from doing what comes next, not when his dick is this hard, and you’ve teased him this salaciously. Wordlessly, Matty lets go of your chest and grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd towards the exit. He moves fast, the urgency in his strides and on his face likely making people move out of the way quicker. You’d feel concerned about losing your spot up front if your mind wasn’t so scrambled with need, your legs rushing to keep up with your lanky boyfriend.
Your head is spinning as he swiftly leads you into the nearest gender-neutral bathroom. Matty’s hands are on you the moment he closes and locks the door, he’s all over you in every sense of the term. You breathe in the musk of his sweat between the melding of your lips. The kiss is messy, it’s searingly hot as he desperately licks into your mouth, his fingertips digging into your hip bones. He backs you up blindly until your hips meet the bathroom counter, his hands reaching to undo the hoodie tied around your waist and toss it aside without breaking the kiss once. You didn’t think you could get much hotter than you were in the crowd, but now you’re burning up from the inside with white-hot desire.
Matty hastily turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, tagged with graffiti and littered with lipstick prints at the border. It was clear that the space was well-loved, but clean. A culmination of every aspiring artist and sticker enthusiast in the area, almost no spot on the wall was left untouched. Your eyes are drawn away from the decor as Matty grasps your jaw from behind you, turning your head to make you meet the almost feral look in his eyes through the mirror. He holds you that way as he leans down to press dire, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his other hand snaking down your front to unbutton your pants. The feeling of his tongue stud soothing over faded love bites only makes you weaker in the knees. Matty fumbles with the zipper of your jeans for a moment before he shoves the clothing down your legs, the fabric pooling around your ankles. It’s clear that he’s not wasting time with his usual delicate, worshiping caresses of your thighs while he undresses you, this is an electrified frenzy.
“No bra, baby? Is that how you want to play?” he mutters, his lips grazing the column of your neck teasingly.
“I-I didn’t-” you begin to protest, only to be cut off by your own moan as he gives a rough pinch to your nipple through your top.
Matty follows the curve of your midsection with his hand, intense honey-colored eyes locked on you through your reflection, the image swirled at the edges with colorful spray paint. A shudder reverberates through your body as his fingers venture lower, dipping below the waistband of your soaked panties. Your body instinctually arches backward against his, mewling when his calloused fingertips brush against your swollen clit. It’s like he can light up every one of your senses with just a graze, your breath getting shallower by the second. You feel his stiff cock twitch in his trousers as you press yourself impossibly closer to him, every inch of his glowing skin flush against your back. Matty continues his loving assault on your neck as his thick digits gather the arousal pooling between your thighs. Your dazed vision trails downward as you stare at his hand shoved inside your panties from behind you, watching the fabric shift with every movement of his skilled hand. You whine as he circles your slit before beginning to sink his slicked fingers into you, your eyes squeezing shut as the dizzying pleasure thrums in your veins.
“Shhh. You know how much I love your pretty noises, baby, but be good, okay? Can you do that? Don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to, do you?” he murmurs, dragging his plush bottom lip against your ear lobe.
You nod wordlessly, afraid that if you open your mouth, noise will overflow from you uncontrollably, his fingers being knuckle-deep in you is just too damn good. If you don’t control yourself, anyone outside could hear you, could know how good your boyfriend is filling you with his fingers, satisfying you to your very core. The thought of it alone makes your heart hammer in your chest harder. You don’t want them to know… because that would be wrong, it would be undignified… it’d be… kind of hot.
His digits stretch you open as he begins to diligently pump them in and out of you, curling them towards the spot that he knows will make you see stars. He works quickly, his pace is almost feverish from his determination to make you fall to pieces as efficiently as he can. Matty’s other hand is groping your breast, squeezing the fullness of it, his rings pressing into your flesh through your thin tank top. You bite down on your lip hard enough that you think you might tear the flesh open, desperately trying to keep your whimpers quiet. Matty’s gaze on you is cautionary, his eyebrows slightly raised like he’s testing you, seeing just how much you can take.
The last of your defenses come crumbling down as the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, the flood of sensations making a moan burst from your throat as he begins to draw tight circles on the bundle of nerves. In an instant, Matty’s hand is off of your chest and is clasped over your mouth, muffling any noise. Fuck.
“I mean it. Pipe down, or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, smirking at you as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers.
“No- no, please don’t stop,” you babble against his palm like the idea of it was simply unbearable.
Matty’s hand stays firmly over your mouth as he withdraws his fingers from inside you, ignoring the way you squirm in protest, whining uselessly. He tugs your ruined panties down your legs, letting them join your pants in a heap around your ankles. It’s almost embarrassing how you can hardly contain your desire, but he likes it that way, knowing how needy you are.
“Matty, please, fuck, need it,” you mumble, and he can see the way your desire is clawing at you from the inside just from a glance.
“Be patient for me, my love,” he smiles, hurriedly pulling himself out of his uncomfortably skin-tight pants with his free hand, “You’ll get what you want. Being stuffed full with my cock, hm?”
You whimper as Matty nudges your legs further apart with his foot, leaning you forward over the counter onto your elbows. He whistles lowly at the sight of you, his eyes following down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and to your dripping pussy. You tremble slightly as he reaches between your legs, collecting your honey on his fingers before spreading it over his shaft, slicking himself with your arousal. A whine vibrates against the palm Matty holds over your mouth as you swing your hips in a desperate attempt to entice him. He just chuckles darkly, keeping his hand securely in place as starts to guide his cock through your folds, the head kissing your aching clit as he rubs it back and forth.
Matty doesn’t waste a second longer, you can hardly process it before he’s pushing inside of you, gasping as he fills you inch by inch. His fingertips press into the side of your face as he tightens his hold on your mouth to muffle your mewls, watching as your lashes flutter, your face contorting with pleasure. He can feel your hot, heavy breaths fanning into his palm, your chest heaving as he bottoms out inside of you. Matty groans loudly, tossing his head back as he’s fully surrounded by your velvety warmth, forgetting his own volume rules that he’d set for you. Hypocrite.
“Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he sighs, reaching to pull your tank top over your breasts, “Stay like that for me, yeah? Wanna see your perfect tits.”
He barely allows you a moment to breathe before he’s snapping his hips against you roughly, letting out a strained grunt with every thrust. Sensations trickle up your spine like flickering flames as a muffled cry spills out of you. Matty angles his hips just right, hitting so deep inside you that you feel as though you’re being split open by each drive of his cock, it’s mind-numbing. Your whole body jolts against the counter with his purposeful movements, the edge of the porcelain biting into your hip bones. He can hardly focus on just one thing, his gaze darting from where he’s disappearing inside of you, to your gorgeous face, to your breasts. Matty’s raspy voice makes your eyes refocus on him, you watch in the mirror as he licks his teeth like he wants to devour you whole.
“You see how pretty you look? No, no, sweetheart, don’t look at me, look at yourself. God, isn’t she pretty?” he drawls, “You look so sexy, wearing my chain like that while you’re taking my cock.”
At his instruction, you meet your own eyes through the reflection, your eyebrows sloping as you realize that he’s right, you do look pretty when he’s fucking you. Your rosied cheeks, your blown pupils, your glowing skin… and your boyfriend’s hand over your mouth. Your chain bounces against your collarbones in tandem with your pierced tits, it’s no wonder he’s loving this position so much, he gets to watch everything at once. While you’re gazing at yourself, Matty reaches around and begins to rub two fingers on your clit, swirling them in intoxicatingly quick figure eights. You watch your own eyes go wide as the pleasure ricochets through your bones, making you light-headed. This must be the expression Matty lives for when he’s got you like this, the face to his sweetest wet dreams. You’re almost mesmerized by seeing yourself get railed to high heaven, it’s sort of an odd feeling. In one swift motion, Matty lets go of your face and grasps the chain around your neck, pulling it taut against your throat from behind, ripping a shocked cry from your lips.
“Ohh, she liked that one,” he grins lazily, tilting his head back with a groan as he feels your walls clamp down on him like a vice, “Shit, not gonna last if you keep doin’ that, god damn.”
It feels like he’s stolen the air directly from your lungs as he lightly chokes you with the silver links you’d so slickly “borrowed” from him. Even just the slight restriction of oxygen has you reeling, your eyes rolling back as your hands claw at the counter, your whole body buzzing with mortifying heights of exhilaration. It’s a dizzying combination of thrill and precarious risk as Matty keeps a tight hold on the chain while fucking you with such vigor that you don’t feel attached to your body, the counter being your only loose grasp on reality. It only makes every drive of his cock feel that much more visceral, the tension coiling tighter in your belly. Heat prickles at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the purely obscene sounds of him thrusting into your sopping cunt, skin on skin echoing through the small space while his fingers abuse your clit.
It’s all building up so fast, quicker than usual due to Matty’s frenzied rhythm, his hips meeting yours again and again, unrelentingly. You bite back a wail as the tension so deep inside you reverberates in crackling pangs, threatening to break you to pieces as you arch backward. Your hips writhe against his hand both like you’re chasing the friction and trying to thrash away from its intensity. He can tell you’re on the edge of euphoria, teetering with every swipe of his fingers, every slam of his hips. He gives the chain a harsh tug, knowing it’ll send you spiraling into the depths of pleasure just beyond your fingertips.
“Fuck!” you gasp, one of your hands flying to grip his wrist as your mind goes impossibly blank, your nails digging into his skin, “I’m gonna- I-I can’t!”
“Shit, me too angel, so close. Oh, fuck, cum for me, sweet girl. Cum for me while I fill you up,” he grunts, a burst of energy coming over him as he manages to piston into you even more brutally.
It crashes over you like a thunderous wave, spiraling through you from your dizzied head to the tips of your curled toes. He lets go of the chain, putting his hand over your mouth again to stifle your cry, the disorienting rush of oxygen almost making your knees give out from underneath you, and they just might have if Matty hadn’t kept you supported against the counter. It feels like pure white light is fizzling under your eyelids as Matty makes you reach the stars with your climax, dousing you in pulsating bliss as you clench around him tightly. He lets out a deep, animalistic sound as he spills inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he fucks you through your orgasm, his rhythm beginning to falter from the effort.
“Fuuuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth, along with other breathy strings of profanities.
Slowly, his body stutters to a stop, giving one last roll of his hips before he collapses over you as delicately as he can, enveloping you with his chest to your back. He lovingly presses kisses to the back of your neck as your head hangs forward slightly, both of you gasping to catch your breath.
“H-holy shit, babe. You’re so good…you’re fucking incredible,” he mutters, seeming just as dazed as you are.
He can’t seem to stop complimenting you and loving on you as he keeps you held up with his hands on your hips, rubbing little circles into your skin as you both come down from the highest of highs. The afterglow clouds your head in a way that makes you feel like you’re floating with Matty being your only anchor to the ground.
“Matty…” you mumble, reaching back blindly for his face.
“I’m right here. Right here, love,” he whispers, guiding your palm to his cheek.
You smile warmly as you feel the scruffy sides of his head at your fingertips, Matty keeping his hand over yours sweetly. At the same time you both glance upwards at the mirror, letting out simultaneous giggles as you appreciate the state you’re in. He leans to kiss your cheek, peering into your eyes adoringly through the reflection, pulling your top back down over your breasts.
“Oh my god… we’re a mess,” you snort, rubbing aimlessly at your runny mascara with your free hand.
“You mean you’re a mess, I look damn good,” he jokes, starting to slowly ease you both back up into a standing position.
You both let out a breathy sound as he pulls out of you slowly, his cum beginning to streak down your thighs. Of course, Matty stares, swallowing thickly like he’ll never quite get used to the sight while he shimmies back into his pants. Diligently, he reaches for a handful of paper towels, keeping a gentle hold on your hip. You reach to try and smack his arm when he laughs at the way your legs are trembling, your knees wobbling due to how hard he’d railed you. He dodges the blow, grinning at you triumphantly.
Matty gently wipes away the residue of his pearly release, whispering a hushed “I know, I know” when you squirm at the sensitivity. Once he discards the paper towels, he kneels down to pull your underwear and your jeans back up, kissing his way up the outside of your leg as he does so while looking into your eyes with a playful glint. He kisses you deeply while he buttons your pants with nimble hands, not even letting you lift a finger as he takes care of his girl. You throw your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as he teases his tongue piercing along your bottom lip just to make you shiver.
“My perfect girl,” he mumbles against your mouth.
You stay in the bathroom for just a little longer, kissing and whispering sweet things to each other while your bodies fully come down, Matty shouting at whoever keeps intermittently knocking on the door to fuck off. You can’t help but feel a little tinge of guilt in your stomach for “christening” the restroom the way you did, but you highly doubt you were the first.
After he reassures you that the makeup streaked down your cheeks is “hardcore” and that you should leave it the way it is, you finally leave to re-enter the show (not before one final, drawn-out kiss, of course). Your boyfriend keeps you close by his side, his fingers interlocked with yours as you find yourselves at the very back of the pit, scattered with only a few other people. Matty guides your arms around his neck, grinning at you like a fool as you start to rock back and forth to the rhythm of the drums. His smile is infectious as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, singing to you when the song reaches its chorus. He looks incredibly dorky as mimics the wail of the guitar solo, swinging his hips while his hands rest comfortably on your waist, almost like you’re about to slow dance. You tell him as such and Matty just tosses his head back with a laugh like a little kid. His eyes are sparkling, but not just from the iridescent stage lighting, it’s the look he gets only when he’s with you. You feel your heart swell in your chest as you continue to dance like you’re the only two in the venue, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the whole world.
—-----------------------------------------
SO I was a liar and I did write another part. I intended this to be a blurb but I had so many more thoughts about them and their relationship eeeeee
The ending was soooo “do you wanna dance, dance at the back of the hall”
I love them. I need them to be happy forever actually.
This one is dedicated to my lovely lovely friend B (@haveyouseenherlately) thank you so much for the ideas, you get body piercer like no one else, queen. Love you!!!
Go check out her stuff if you haven’t it SLAYS <3
#body piercer!matty#matty healy smut#matty healy x reader#matty healy x you#the 1975 smut#the 1975 x reader#matty healy fanfiction#matty healy fic#the 1975 fic#the 1975 fanfic
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Oh hey since I mentioned sci hub again
I'd love to hear people's stories about small things that radicalized them in benign ways. I'll start.
I was already pretty leftist at this point, but being associated with academia so long means I've gotten free access to a variety of scientific journals, software, and more for... Basically my entire adult life. On campus, all of those systems have automatic logins. But off campus, usually there's janky, half-functional systems associated with actually inputting your credentials into these sites. Scientific journals especially are really and at tracking logins, and oftentimes have to link back to your uni's generic login page, which they're bad at pinging. Software installation usually requires
So instead of using services that the university had already paid for, for me to freely use, like adobe, journal logins, and Microsoft products, I started using free equivalents. Sci hub, gimp, libre office, Ubuntu... Not because I was invested in open source and free access mentalities at the time, but because they were literally quicker and simpler to use.
And then I started thinking about all of the little bits of tech infrastructure I was using to access my "free" stuff.
Someone coded those systems.
Some tiny portion of a server is devoted to handling those pings an login requests.
Someone spent hours upon days of work moving office 365 and adobe from actual pieces of software that fully live on your computer into stripped down versions of themselves that now have to verify
Someone made the payment system for Nature.
So. Much. Wasted. Labor. Just to block people from already existing services. That have alternatives. That are as good. For free. And they can be free largely because they don't have all of the bullshit associated with locking them down and keeping them proprietary.
Tech and science are of course what I have the most experience in, but I feel like once you start realizing that in one sector, you start seeing it everywhere.
Anyways this is a barely focused unmedicated ADHD ramble but I'd love to hear other examples
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Does anyone else think that Tommy rehearsed what he wanted to say to Buck in the drive over to his loft?
Cause when Buck opens the door, Tommy seems a bit lost in thought to me. He's looking down at the floor. Telling himself that he's Tommy Kinard and he didn't do anything wrong but Eddie told him that something about Buck just seemed off lately and he feels bad because Buck loves the people in his life to the fucking extreme. He'd easily take a bullet for any of them, and he's even put himself in that position multiple times.
So, Tommy decides to stop by Buck's place before he has to go on shift because there's no way he can focus at work knowing Buck feels excluded.
And he has no idea what to say? "Sorry I stole your best friend and his son. I just wanted to feel a millisecond of that happiness you experience on the daily."
He expects to show up, apologize, and explain that he's not a threat and never would or could be.
And it's flowing. The conversation.
Tommy tells Buck that he just wanted to be part of that family atmosphere that the 118 have. Because that's the root of it, isn't it? To be around people who like you for exactly who you are? No expectations.
Tommy has never had that before.
Sure, the people at work include him, but it's a different type of inclusion. He doesn't know the names of their family members, he doesn't sit down with them for "family dinner" like Bobby does.
They are just coworkers. Nothing more.
But those four individuals that asked for his help that night?
They didn't hesitate once to save Bobby and his wife. No questions asked, no confirmation needed. All because someone didn't answer their phone.
Tommy can't help but feel a warm magnetism between them. A silent confirmation that, no matter what, they will always have each other's back at any given time.
And the people THEY love... they're included under that umbrella of certainty and that's where Tommy thinks he fucked up.
Because Buck is under everyone's umbrella.
So, he's honest. Tommy doesn't know how not to be. He tells Buck he was jealous of all those things, and maybe that played a part in how situations unfolded, but that was never directed at Buck.
And then...
Wait.
Buck tells Tommy that he asked for the tour because he wanted to get to know him. Tommy. Buck explains that this whole thing hasn't been him trying to win back his found family, but join them in including Tommy within their unit.
"... 'cause trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting."
That's the jump start to Tommy's brain.
His attention? His?
"My attention?"
All this time, Tommy has been making the first move in the name of camaraderie. He invited Eddie to the fight. He invited him to trivia night.
But Buck was just trying to simply get Tommy to fucking look at him.
And now, in Buck's apartment, listening to Buck rambling about how he's not as cool as Eddie and how he understands why Tommy would prefer to hang out with Eddie...
Tommy sees him.
He acts on that magnetism he's felt from Buck since that first night. He thought, after speaking with Eddie, that it was full of resentment, but now, as he presses their lips together, Tommy thinks that, maybe, this could be something.
And he's ready to try.
#i don't really know what this is?#i had a thought and now we're here#911 abc#911 fandom#evan buckley#bucktommy#tommy kinard#tevan#kinley#help me
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The one thing I regret the most is that I can't support everybody as much as I wish I could. I want to comment on everything my mutuals say because whatever they posted is important to them, so it's important to me, too! I want to comment on and reblog every fic they write, everything they draw, every GIFset they make, every headcanon post, every theory they put forth. I just want them to know how much I value them and their opinions and the things they create and I just inevitably miss so much and it makes me sad.
#mutuals my beloved#honestly you don't even have to be one of my mutuals for me to feel this way#i want to support everybody#i want all fics to be read and have comments#i want all creative posts whatever they are to feel appreciated#if you post about your day i want to like that post so you know someone saw it and they care#it just... burns me that i can't do this for everybody#i can't even do it consistently for a handful of people#i know nobody expects that#it's just how i feel#i feel helpless sometimes in life#and this makes me feel like i can support somebody and can maybe make their day a little better in this way#and i want to do it#you ought to see my list of to-be-read fics#i WANT to be reading them all#but if i don't have the time or the energy to comment i don't want to read and then forget to comment you know?#commenting on fics and vids and art posts is important to me#anyway i'm just rambling#i just wanted to let you know if i've failed to comment on or interact with in someway something of yours it's not because i don't care#i just didn't get there yet#or it slipped through the swiss cheese holes in my brain somehow#but i love you and support you and you're so important and i want you to always know that okay?#ageless aislynn
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This is a ramble, apologies in advance.
Manager 100% just has that stare. Yk, like that “knock it the fuck off” momma stare and it always gets the girls to stop immediately. Manager doesn’t even have to say nothing, the moment that stare comes on you have like 30 seconds to act right, and the tiktok people eat it the fuck up.
Also, speaking of momma bear, the manager is so protective of her girls!!! Like talk shit about them she’s borderline gonna beat your ass, but she refrains.
I feel like the manager is a person who is sassy with a smartass mouth when they’re bantering with the group, but it’s all in good fun. However when someone says some slick shit to the team that smartass mouth is lethal, whilst still keeping it classy cuz of her job.
^ adding onto this the girls are the same way!!! they don’t play about their momma bear. Good luck to the unlucky soul that does something mean to their manager.
-🐹
AAAAAAHHHH NONNIE, THESE ARE ALL SO REAL. and pls spam me babe, i don't care!!!!!! esp with the manager series, it's sm fun 🩵🩵
oooo yes, one glare from manager and everyone is shutting up and quieting down. the only two people who test her patience constantly are kk and paige and they're the only two who've ever been yelled at by manager
no everyone on the team is TERRIFIED of manager bc she just holds sm power, and no one wants to make her mad. even geno lowkey is scared of her, like... she's just scary af
if she's having a bad day and she shows up at practice and kk/paige tests her patience, SHE'S SO DONE. obviously geno gets mad at them for getting manager all mad now so he makes them go run laps (cus a mad manager means = mad everyone)
OHMYGOSH, she's literally the protector of the team. bc the team can't respond to rude comments on social media, you bet she will. especially when people keep comparing paige to EVERYONE AND THEIR MOMS, manager has more than once put them in their place
oh and don't get me started on rude interviews, you're getting absolutely flamed cus manager does not back down. she won't stop until the interview is either embarrassed af or crying. baby girl tries to keep it classy but people test her patience SOO much, she just has to put them in her place (which has gotten her in trouble plenty of times but nothing too serious)
YES, the entire team just adores her. they will protect her with everything they've got!!!!! they hate when people talk down to her and are mean to her, you will get humbled really quick
SEND SOME MORE GUYS!!!!! i love hearing your thoughts
#uconn wbb manager ★#uconn women’s basketball#uconn#uconn huskies#uconn wbb#paige bueckers#nika mühl#nika muhl#kk arnold#ice brady#paige bueckers x reader#🐹 nonnie!
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i know anon asked about kinks and fetishes, but is there any scenario/wet dream they'd like to recreate?
For Luka, his obvious one would be to hunt and chase his darling, but there’s more than just that. One scenario that he’d really like to recreate would be him having his darling all bound up in black ropes with a gag in your mouth and a blindfold over your eyes. He’d then wanna place you upside down, just so he can fuck you as the blood rushes to your head. He wants to see you squirming as all of the sensations start to overwhelm you. But, uh, if that’s a bit too much for you, he can dial things down a little bit. ^^;;;
And… Honestly? Another wet dream that he’d like to recreate is fucking you in the public bathrooms during a concert. The thought of shoving his fingers deep in your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucks you senselessly in one of the stalls while music plays in the background sounds incredibly hot to him.
Oh, and it doesn’t matter what gender you are– Luka will want to fuck you in the men’s restroom. If you’re fem or just someone who’s more comfortable using the women’s restroom, Luka will think it’s even hotter that you’re in the men’s area with him. The hushed little moans that escape your lips as you try your hardest not to get caught… The thrill of it all… Luka would really like that too. And if the two of you get caught? Well, at least everyone now knows who you really belong to..!
As for Kairos– he has more wet dreams that he’d like to recreate than he can count. He’d love to try all kinds of things, like recording the two of you and making it a porno, role playing, fucking in the back of a movie theater, hand job under the table at a restaurant, etc. He’s, uh, far too nervous to really try any of these– but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to! (o^ ^o)
But, um… There is one slightly embarrassing wet dream that he’s always had. It’s totally okay if you don’t want to do it– no, truly, he gets it! But, uh, it would be nice if you helped him recreate it.
Kairos would really, really like it if you forced him into a maid dress and ordered him around for an entire day. Or it could be a butler suit– whichever you prefer! He’ll even put on some cat ears and a bell collar. And he’ll do absolutely anything you tell him to. Get on his knees? Absolutely. Make you (poorly made) food? Of course! Tell him to stroke his sensitive cock while he incessantly rambles about just how amazing you are? He’ll do it in a heartbeat. ( 〃▽〃)
And don’t be afraid to punish him when he does something wrong. Kairos is a masochist at heart– he’ll love it when you pull his hair or smack his face. You can even harshly tug on his cock or squeeze it extra tightly– to be honest, that would cause him to gasp and moan like crazy.
But, uh, again… If you don’t want to recreate that with him, it’s totally fine, he gets it! Ultimately, what Kairos wants is whatever his darling wants. ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ
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German!Gale AU
And now for the other one that won't leave me alone.
Gale was born in Germany, but he lived in France for a decent portion of his childhood. His parents moved there for work. His mother was a part-time typist and his father. Well his father was many things; whatever people paid him to be (and as fast as possible), but he was known for transport.
Gale loved growing up in France. It was so busy he could pass by unnoticed and enjoy his people-watching in peace. So many people came from all over to enjoy one of centres of European culture, or so the Americans called it. His parents didn't like that much, but Gale liked the Americans the best. Brash. Up front. Not much guessing about what they really meant. He got enough of that at home.
But then dad came barging in the front door of their modest apartment at 2.23 in the morning with a black eye, and they were packing the essentials and anything of value, and crossing the border the Germany, barely stopping on the way.
Neither his mother or his father ever explained why they'd had to move, but Gale didn't need them to confirm what he already knew. He'd lost enough of his own precious belongings - a collector's edition of his favourite comic series; a perfect, detailed model plane he'd won in a maths competition at school; the watch his grandfather had given him before he died.
And then there were the drunk ramblings when mother had gone to bed about how Gale had cursed this family and his luck, and everything was all his fault.
He was five the first time he felt the back of his father's hand and heard the vitriol he really thought of his son. And he was never allowed to forget.
When Gale was barely a man, in those final stages of gangly teenagehood, things...changed in Germany. It wasn't anything groundbreaking. More like when the floorboards that always creaked finally moved a little under your feet. People were still struggling to recover after the War, and all the voices that had been looking for someone to blame were getting a little closer to home, a little louder, a little more important and harder to shrug off.
One of his only friends Solomon had stopped looking him in the eye. When Gale had demanded an answer in that quiet, firm, unyielding way of his, Solomon had scoffed.
"You look just like them, Gale. The posters."
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Everything Solomon was not.
"Mama says we have to go before... well. Just, before. But you'll be fine, Gale."
He never saw Solomon again.
In his twenties, they were at war and his dad still worked in transport. People came to the house and paid him to take things to places they'd only wrote down once before making his father burn the paper.
But then his father pocketed the money and when those people left, he'd make a call and those officials with the impeccable uniforms would turn up, question his father thoroughly, before handing him a packet of money as well.
"Hitler will turn our fortunes around, boy. You'd best fall in line, before you ruin this for me, too, and kill us all."
Now Gale was quiet, but he wasn't meek. And he didn't think the Nazis had it right at all. But they'd abandoned a lot of their pretenses by now and news of attacks and deaths and beatings were commonplace.
So Gale decided to get into the family business. He didn't tell his father, and people who knew his last name were slow to trust, but anyone who spent any significant time with him couldn't help but respect him.
He didn't understand why, but he was grateful, honoured.
The first time he reunited a dark haired, dark eyed child with their gaunt and terrified parents he crawled into the hayloft in the barn and sobbed into the straw. It wasn't anything grand, he wasn't a human smuggler. He simply found ways to move some small supplies around for others make the bigger, grander gestures of resistance. But when frightened breaths came from the wooden crate, he'd had to bite his lip until it bled to stop from vomiting at transporting someone that small like goods.
For their life, Gale, he'd told himself.
He hated himself and was terrified in equal measure. Filled with a righteous fury that made him want to fight it all. Terrified that he'd wake up to those impeccable uniforms pointing a gun at his head, and his father grinning and pocketing his pay packet, before they pulled the trigger.
Then, one day, the last straw broke the camel's back. Or, more accurately, fell into his cabbage patch.
The dark haired man was drenched in blood. There was barely any skin visible from the top of his head to the collar of his jacket. Dark blue eyes glared out from the red.
He was tall, taller than Gale, broad and strong looking. But Gale was clearly in a better state. If it came down to it, he was sure he could hold his own.
The man held his hand to his lips, gasping on his knees in the dirt. "Bitte," he whispered in an American accent.
"Amerikaner?"
The man nodded and tapped his chest with one hand, the other still raised, palm out. "John."
John. Gale returned the favour in kind, and he liked the way his name sounded in American.
Just as he was about to ask the man if he needed help - the stupidest damned question he would have ever asked in his life because seriously - barking and shouting came from the woods a ways behind the house.
Terror flashed in those blue eyes.
"Please," the man begged, dragged from the depths of him and Gale got the impression it wasn't something he said often. "Please help me."
And the awful limbo Gale had felt stuck in for years started to crumble away. He marched forward and grabbed John roughly and hauled him to his feet. He half carried him to the hay cart and tossed him onto it. John barely had time to give him a single bewildered glance before Gale was shoveling hay over him and dragging the cart around the barn and next to the silo. Then over the hill came a small band of hunters, dogs and guns and all. One of them was a regular visitor to his father and Gale ran forward waving his arms and yelling.
"You are looking for someone?"
They were.
"They are injured?"
They were.
He led them to the cabbage patch and the blood on the pale leaves.
"I've checked everywhere and they're not hiding anywhere I can find."
And because most people saw his father when they looked at him, the hunters gave nothing more than a cursory glance around, before they left.
And Gale is left with an American man hiding in some hay, who by hook or by crook, he was going to get out of here.
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…
No, because when someone asks me, "what would a relationship with Itachi canon be like, you know, the rogue ninja who killed everyone to stop a civil war and abandoned his brother for his own good?", I imagine a relationship similar to that of Greg and Rose Quartz.
Imagine being a civilian who enjoys playing the guitar, and one day, singing in the forest, you encounter this mysterious man.
He congratulates you, arguing that he was drawn to you by your melodious voice and the gentle sound of the guitar.
He tells you his name after you tell him yours, although you vaguely asks why he didn't tell you his last name. But, Itachi is a nice name even if there's no suffix to pair it with.
The most random and imaginative topics arise in each encounter you both have. You two always meet in the same place, always at the same time. It quickly becomes a routine for you.
Without signs indicating that Itachi comes from any village or indicating that he is a ninja, you are left wondering where this sweet man could have come from. (although maybe if you looked behind the tree that is two meters away from you, you would see the articles he used daily)
Maybe he's the son of a vendor passing through your town, or maybe he's a tourist who likes to visit towns that aren't visible at first glance on the map.
Whatever he may be, it doesn't matter, not as long as your heart beats strongly when his hand brushes yours or when his fingers gently touch your cheek as he tries to tuck your wild locks behind your ear.
Itachi knows it's wrong. He knows these encounters are wrong. But he can't help but want to be by your side, listening to you ramble about random and simple yet fascinating things that as a ninja he never would have thought or imagined.
You make him feel like someone normal, like an ordinary man. You make him feel alive, something he hadn't felt since the massacre, perhaps even long before joining the Anbu.
It's as if he doesn't have blood covering his hands. As if he doesn't bear all the hatred of the world on his tired shoulders, preventing him from breathing.
All his problems disappear from his mind when you allow him to rest his head to take a nap, while you arguing that his dark circles look too big. Nightmares and insomnia leave him when you run your delicate hands, with no calluses in sight, through his hair. The protest dies on the tip of his tongue when you scratch that specific part that quickly turns him into putty in your hands.
One morning, Itachi Uchiha vaguely realizes that the dark circles and stress marks have become smaller and blames you for the gentle fluttering his heart does at the thought of you taking care of him. Kisame looks at him puzzled when he comes out of the bathroom. At first glance, he had a neutral face, but his eyes told a different story; they looked more alive.
Kisame wondered what or who made him that way. Itachi simply ignores him as usual, trying to keep the corners of his lips from rising because his happiness hasn't waned yet and he doesn't want Kisame to see him like that.
It's a night when Itachi finally realizes that he has fallen deeply in love with you. His heart stops for a moment when he realizes that it hurts to think about leaving you when he dies at the hands of his brother.
And he simply doesn't want to.
He doesn't want to leave your side. He's being selfish, he knows it well, but for once he wants to be. He himself destroyed all his dreams and hopes, all for Konoha and his younger brother.
By sacrificing his world, he can never become Hokage or live in Konoha again.
Maybe if he cut his hair and ran away with you to live in another secluded place away from the ninja world—
He stopped.
What was he thinking? He was dangerous. Everything about him was dangerous.
He had hurt so many people, had ended the lives of so many. You deserved someone better, someone who didn't have hands stained with blood or a destroyed man.
And he simply decides to push you away.
He told himself that this would be the last time. He didn't hesitate when he told you that he didn't want to see you again and that you should stay away from him.
Maybe if he were strong enough and you didn't have him in the palm of your hand, he would have been stronger, and he would have left without explanations.
But that wasn't the case.
"Itachi, you have to tell me what's going on."
Itachi sighed, almost as if trying to prepare himself for what he was about to say. "I— you have dreams, I don't want you to sacrifice everything for me," he told you the truth, unable to hide it under a lie.
"It's a pity."
"Uh?"
"You are all I want."
“So…”
“Hmm?”
“What was the answer?”
“… Love”
“Woahhh-! I know it!”
“So do i”
…
*the end*
love like you starts playing in the background
Also— maybe I’m gonna write a series of this now that i have ao3 🤭
@vulpisnocturna ,, @andohmyloveiliedtoyou ,, @moumouton4 ,, @izumi-uchiha-anon ,, @itachianon ,, @svfttachi ,, @kidsinsaturn ,, @ayyyez ,, :> hehe
#itachi uchiha headcanons#itachi uchiha x reader#itachi x you#itachi#itachi headcanons#itachi x reader#uchiha itachi#itachi uchiha#itachi naruto#naruto shippuden#naruto scenarios#naruto#naruto x reader#if i could#began to be#half of what#you think of me#I could do about everything#and i could even learn#how to love…#like you#<3333
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So, I've seen some interesting posts about Spacer Shepard and Colonist Shepard and the struggles they had to face, so I just want to ramble about my favorite Earthborn, why I think it's such a powerful background and what makes it especially heartbreaking.
It's easy to guess why both the Colonist and the Spacer chose to become soldiers. For the Spacer it was the most obvious choice available (and we see a lot of these "dynasties" in the game: Ashley, Kaidan, Tali, Jacob…), for the Colonist it was revenge, but what about the street kid, the Earthborn? What kind of hell was the Earthborn living in that the only way out was to join the fucking military? Were they even 18 when they enlisted? Shepard calls the place they grew up a "war zone," so you can draw your own conclusions.
We kind of get the inside scoop on Shepard's gang days thanks to Finch, and this whole quest really got me thinking: what kind of stuff was the teenage Shepard involved in that Finch (and I don't think he's a stupid guy) really thought he could blackmail the first human Spectre?
Also, how did gang life affect Shepard? Military training must have been hell for them, because it's based on trusting your squadmates, your commanding officer, the whole chain of command, and gang life is pretty much the opposite: trust someone and you're likely to get fucked.
And what about the whole "Take Earth back" thing? There was a very interesting thought in the post about the Colonist, asking why Shepard should care about Earth at all when their own home was destroyed and their parents were killed? And it got me thinking about the Earthborn: why should they care? They saw the absolute worst that this planet can be: they were an orphan in a war zone, forced into the gang just to survive. Someone like Kaidan is fighting for his family, for his orchard and the view over English Bay, and what is Shepard fighting for? For the slums where they grew up?
What I love about this background is how well it fits the Paragade route and how well it explains some of the moments in the game.
Shepard charming the Citadel shopkeepers into giving them a discount? Street kid moment.
Shepard getting really excited about finding the credit chit between the couch cushions? Street kid moment.
Shepard fleecing their own engineers in the sci-fi poker game (after telling said engineers not to be so hard on the rookie)? Street kid moment!
Shepard getting all sarcastic around C-Sec officers and scolding mercs? Street kid moment!
And you know exactly why Shep is so good at hacking and lockpicking, and why it takes some devilish concoction to finally get them drunk.
It's also the reason Shepard can't dance, hums rather than laughs, and smirks rather than smiles.
I honestly have so many heascanons about the Earthborn that I could ramble on all day. Also, following this topic, there's a point to be made about how Bioware handles the issue of sexism in their own games, but that's definitely for another time. Bye.
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TKATB - Theories, wahoo.
This will contain spoilers for Days 1 and 2 of @fantasia-kitt 's 'The Kid At The Back', along with containing mentions of material found on her Twitter (https://twitter.com/fantasia_kitt).
This is mostly based off things I've picked apart and/or kinda pieced together. If you feel I'm incorrect, or am missing something; hell, if you have any theories of your own, please share!
Anyway, the actual theories (apologies in advance if the rambling is...uh...too rambly).
- Okay, so considering the fact Jess was moved into the ‘Lower Class’ school, it means that she either failed a class or got a ‘violation’ (those are the conditions for being moved down, according to Hyugo). Brittney mentioned how ‘confident and loud’ Jess is when she’s angry, and Brittney apparently was popular at some point, but lost it at the party (it was mentioned a few times by Deryl) 2 years ago due to an incident. I think maybe Brittney was being bullied and Jess lost her shit, maybe even got physical? And that led to the duo being sent to the ‘Lower Class’ school.
- Subaru (Geo) and Hyugo are mentioned to be brothers, but Hyugo says “Subaru! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”, which could mean Geo (due to him being rich af) was moved down as well??? Hyugo and Geo are brothers but have different surnames, so I have a feeling (also because Geo is said to have daddy issues by Fantasia herself), that maybe Subaru Oogami and Hyugo Sugimoto aren’t related.
- Continuing that, Hyugo is the ‘traitor’ that the ‘Rough-Voiced Man’ was looking for in the cinema, so he’s obviously affilated with some dodgy people, and we know he hates injustice, so perhaps he is a mercenary or assassin of sorts (he did canonically kill somebody, with Sol witnessing it, check Fantasia’s twitter); and that could be why Geo avoids him? Hell, why does Subaru even go by Geo? Is it a codename, like Geo Sugimoto, is he hiding his real identity?
- With the person who threatened MC and their father with taking the farm, and the Marie Antoinette references, maybe the ‘handsome man’ is Crowe’s father? Hell, maybe even Eries, the fuchsia-eyed celebrity Jess loves. Along with that, the 'moral' I suppose of her biography was along the lines of: change is inevitable, either you deny it, or accept it. It'll happen anyway, what changes is your role and reaction to it (say you choose Crowe, Sol'll lose his marbles; if you choose Sol, Crowe might move on...unless he's also insane but I doubt it).
- Flowers seem to be important symbolism-wise, like the carnation and passionflower mentions made by Crowe (carnations can mean love for someone, or purity if white, or rejection/disappointment if yellow. Passionflowers mean renewal and hope I think). Brugmansia is also a poisonous flower, so it hints to Sol being a ‘poison’ that could kill us.
- I've seen this mentioned by @sweet-herbal-peach-tea (I'm sorry for tagging you anon, I wanted to credit you; also check their theories out as well anons), but I'll add it here anyway: With the prominence of Edgar Allan Poe's 'Annabel Lee', it could hint to Sol having loved us either in a past life...or...maybe we - the MC - look identical to a past lover of his, one who maybe passed; and he's deluded himself into thinking we are them?
Now for my favourite ones:
- The Hallow’s Ball, the event Deryl mentions on the groupchat, is on Friday. Assuming the game will be 7 days long and that Day 1 is Monday, that means Day 5 is crucial. It could be a catalyst, hell it may even decide what ending you get (Fantasia said there’ll probably be about 5, 1 true, 2 good, 2 bad; albeit that could change). Geo mentions he doesn’t want to go, neither does Brittney, but I think she will due to the fact Jess is. It may decide whether you choose Crowe or Sol, along with finalising relations with the other characters.
- Hyugo also mentions ‘taking care of Sol for him’, implying his absence…or even death. Hyugo pulls a gun on a person who seems to know him, maybe the boss of a crime syndicate? Hyugo hates injustice, so maybe the missing persons cases are being caused by people Hyugo knows, and he wants to stop them? I think if Hyugo vanishes (hell, it’s already known that he doesn’t always show up to class), it might be a way to get more info out of Geo.
That’s all I got off the top of my head lol, if it seems janky, I'm sorry. ;^
And uuh...yeah. This is my first Tumblr post so yeah. Love this Visual Novel and cannot wait to see more! (Especially of Geode lmfao).
#the kid at the back sol#geo subaru oogami#sol brugmansia#the kid at the back#tkatb sol#crowe ichabod#jericho crowe ichabod#hyugo sugimoto#tkatb hyugo#the kid at the back hyugo#geo oogami#tkatb vn#brittney claire#jessie sitrus#deryl helianthus#i love this visual novel so much#repost#reminder that geo is superior#geo(de)
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Title: Player #10 (Sungchan)
Pairing- Sungchan x fem!reader
Genre- implied university au, soccer themed, fluff
Word Count- 1.5k
Summary- Falling into the arms of a cute stranger after a soccer game was definitely not your proudest moment. You were a sweaty mess and yet the cute stranger didn’t seem to mind one bit as he continued to befriend you and even ask you out on a date.
-
You took soccer seriously.
After having lost the last game, you were more competitive now than ever. The game was getting close to an end and your legs were killing you but you didn’t waver, not once losing focus. It seemed like hours of relentless running and having your eyes on the ball before the scores turned in your favor. With a bit of shoulder, you managed to get to the ball, and sent it straight into the net and past the amateur goalkeeper.
You soaked in the glory before glancing back at your friends in the bleachers. Just their presence alone gave you the energy to keep going. Although you were tired, it didn’t show. You were still riding the high of the win as you huddled with your teammates to cheer.
After taking out your mouthguard, you ran towards your friends in excitement. As you neared them, you found yourself losing balance. Your cleats never liked the bumpy gravel and they definitely didn’t like them today. You thought you were gonna hit the ground when someone caught you with both arms.
“Sorry, it’s just hard to walk in cleats,” you gave the stranger an apologetic smile. You froze for a second when you met his eyes. He was cute. So damn cute. And here you were a sweaty mess.
“And yet you ran in cleats,” the stranger joked, “player number 10 should be more careful.”
You looked down at your jersey, feeling heat rush up to your cheeks. Surely player number 10 should’ve been more careful indeed.
Your friends then waved to you, calling out your name. They congratulated you and gave you a high five before introducing you to the stranger. “I see you’ve met Sungchan,” Wonbin smiled.
“Yeah, I have.” You looked back at Sungchan and gave him a smile. “Are you guys friends?”
Turns out, they were.
You conversed with your friends for a bit on the track before deciding to go to a pizza place to celebrate. For some reason, Sungchan sat next to you. It started off a bit awkward since you weren't good with strangers but then it got more comfortable when your friends started to share embarrassing stories of Sungchan. While waiting for the food, Sungchan and you got lost in your own conversation. “So how long have you played soccer?” he began.
His question took you by surprise. It wasn’t a loaded question by any means but when the boy asking you was cute, you felt immense pressure to say the right thing and not stutter.
Nervous, you rambled. Then, you asked him the same thing. And turns out, Sungchan was a soccer player too, but at a rival school. He played midfielder and it made you more drawn to him. You wondered why you’ve never seen his face before today, especially since he seemed so close with your friends. It made you curious about him.
As he told you more about himself, you realized that soccer practically ran in his bloodline. His whole family loved soccer, and as he told you more about his life, you began to realize that you and him had more in common than you thought. He was nothing like the boys you knew at your school. He was different. Like a breath of fresh air.
Before parting ways with him that night, he made sure to give you his number. He could’ve simply just entered his number into your phone, but no. He wanted to be extra and write his number on the back of your hand. Your friends teased you about this after Sungchan left but you didn’t think much of it.
In fact, you didn’t think much of Sungchan’s friendly actions that night for the rest of the week. It wasn’t until Wonbin suggested that you text Sungchan that you did. What started off as a simple “hey” turned into much more. Your days soon began to fill with Sungchan and he’d become the first person you thought of you when you woke up. It was just a friendship but as his texts turned into late night FaceTime calls, you began to realize how hard you were falling. Feelings had emerged and it was treading dangerously as it blurred the line of friends.
Despite the fact that your whole friendship with him began with soccer, he has never once asked you to attend his games. By the time he had asked, you were already deep into your thoughts. Were you two just friends? Was he just being nice? Or did he like you too?
Regardless of how you felt, you didn’t show it.
The night before the game, he called you on FaceTime and expressed his concerns for the upcoming game. He seemed apprehensive and while you tried to assure him that he'd do great, he still didn't seem so sure. You could tell in his eyes that something else was worrying him but you didn't press on it.
"How about this?," you began. "If you win tomorrow, I'll treat you to whatever you want."
Sungchan smiled at that. "And if I lose?"
"You won't." You were confident.
The next day, you came to his game alone since the rest of your friends were busy. Your eyes were glued on Sungchan from the moment you sat down on the bleachers. You didn’t think he could look even more breathtaking as he did when he was on the field. While he ran, you focused on his skill since it was your first time watching him play. As a result, it took you a while to realize his jersey number, but when you did, your hand flew to your mouth.
His jersey number was number 10 too.
You made a mental note to ask Sungchan about it later then focused back on the game. He was a pro, having sent the ball straight into the net multiple times, scoring each time he kicked. He was relentless and had good tactic. Any good player could look at his agility and the way he carried the ball across the field, and could tell that he knew what he was doing, and he was damn good at it. All those years of practice was evident in the way he carried the team.
During the game, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was mesmerizing and even more so when he scored the winning shot.
After the cheers died down and everyone started to leave, you came down to meet Sungchan and greeted him with a huge smile. “See I knew you’d win the game! Also why didn’t you tell me your jersey number was number 10 too? I could’ve worn mine and we could’ve been matching,” you joked, nudging his arm.
“Truthfully? I wanted to see if you’d notice,” he smiled at you. “That's fate don’t you think? That we’re both number 10?”
“I suppose so,” you smiled back at him. Even though he was sweaty and out of breath, he was still so attractive.
He then rubbed at his nape, seemingly nervous all of a sudden. “So I was just thinking since I won the game and all. Instead of you treating me, how about I take you out instead? And if you're free tomorrow maybe we could go on a date too?"
The world fell silent as his words replayed in your head. Did you even hear him right? He had been so shy up until now, that you weren’t even sure if you were daydreaming or not. Despite being taken aback, a smile creeped at the corner of your lips when you finally spoke up. “I'd like that.”
You didn’t miss how his eyes lit up. Written on his face was admiration and the one confirmation you needed to know that he liked you too.
“Where should we eat now then? I’m starving.” Sungchan didn’t look much at you afterwards, and rambled about food as you both walked to his car.
Despite his confidence from asking you out on a date earlier, you could sense that he was still nervous. Tense too. You could feel it in the air when it got a little too quiet. And especially when his hands would brush against yours. You could tell he was holding back when he didn’t take the initiative to hold your hand and so when the air was silent and he least expected it, you locked your fingers with his, taking him by surprise.
He didn’t say anything nor look at you but based off how red the tips of his ears were, you could tell he was flustered. Sungchan was so shy sometimes that it made him even more adorable. You wondered how tomorrow's date would go as you walked alongside him.
His bangs no longer stuck to his forehead and his skin was now glowing from the post sweat. He was breathtaking and the moonlight only did him justice as it illuminated the slope of his nose, his rosy cheeks, and his long eyelashes. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at him until he licked his lips and cleared his throat, turning to face you.
“So,” he began softly. His voice was barely above a whisper yet it pierced through the silence. “Hotpot?”
“Sounds great,” you smiled. He was truly so cute.
#sungchan fluff#sungchan x reader#sungchan imagines#riize imagines#riize fluff#riize fic#sungchan fic#riize sungchan#riize x reader#sungchan scenarios#riize scenarios#riize angst#sungchan angst#sungchan oneshot#sungchan fanfic#jung sungchan#my fic
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