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gguk-n · 1 day

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The Exception (Max Verstappen x y/n)

Summary- 4 times Max let y/n get away with whatever she wanted and 1 time he didn't.

I just have so much love for maxie and I wanna show it so it came out as this. Hope you like it!! I hope maxie is only loved tbh

Max was very young when he had moved to a Netherland. If someone asked him when it was, he'd probably never be able to tell. But he could tell you about the annoying neighbours he had growing up. Yes, he did spend most of his time karting and didn't have the time at home or in school like normal kids his age would but the fleeting moments spent at that house in Netherland left behind fond memories that he can look back and only because of a certain little girl with chubby cheeks and two identical braids on either side of her head who had made quite a place in his life. Jos wasn't very happy with Max wasting his time entertaining those kids but he couldn't do much when the children's father was a tall bulky man who could take Jos out in one punch, insisted on letting the kids play together. The tall man had 3 kids Max noticed when he had dinner at their place for the first time; the oldest being the girl who we mentioned before followed by 2 younger brothers who seemed to love karting. They asked Max so many questions about it that they got scolded by their mother for ruining dinner for everyone but Max thought was cute because the youngest couldn't even pronounce karting but had a lot to say. Every time he would spend time with his neighbours, it would always be with the 2 young boys who wanted to learn how to kart better and become like Max like the younger one put it. Even now it makes Max laugh reminiscing about those days. They never really made it professionally though.

2008

Max and the 2 boys were playing around when their older sister asked if they would like to join her for a session of afternoon tea with Mr Whale and Miss Teapot. The brothers made a face of disgust and ran away from her, dejected she turned around when Max agreed. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She quickly dragged him into her room and had him sit next to Mr Longneck, the giraffe. An hour later Max was found in Y/N's room with two pigtails if you could call them that on the top of his head, a tiara and the prettiest necklace Y/N owned. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn't help but laugh. Y/N on the contrary looked pleased with her handy work. She thanked him for being a good and compliant customer and to come back again if he ever wanted to look pretty. It wasn't easy to get Max to do what you wanted except he couldn't say no to her puppy eyes. She even gave him a drawing of him in his kart saying that it would bring him good luck since she couldn't be there and placed her favourite bracelet on his hand.

If Y/N was to ask him about the bracelet, Max would say he lost it as soon as she gave it to him, but deep down in the watch drawer of Max's Monaco apartment sat a brightly neon pink bracelet with Y/N’s initials.

2014

Y/N had started highschool and remained the annoying self Max had come to love. Her over the top demeanor and affection to screaming at the top of her lungs whenever she spotted Max never failed to make him smile. Having joined Formula one this year, meant Max was way to busy to be home but Y/N seemed to never forget to text him regularly. She would ask him to get autographs of other drivers or souvenirs from different countries. It was a regular race weekend when Y/N texted Max asking him to explain how the engine in a go kart worked. In a split second Max was on call with her asking "why she needed that?" to which she replied "I'm doing a project on that. I even made a small scale replica of your cart Look here!!!" She exclaimed. "I just need to shrink you and place you inside it" Y/N laughed. Max told her not to worry and that he would text her the details in a hour or so. Actually it took a couple hours and Y/N was starting to get agitated and called him back. Max replied with a almost done and smiled at her. He had literally written her entire report for her and sent it to review. Y/N almost screamed when she saw the assignment. She thanked Maxie for doing this for her and that she owed him her life. Max was just happy to be of help, he told himself more than he told her because who stays up till 5 in the morning on a race weekend doing someone else’s project.

He kept the small scale replica of his Kart on the mantle above the fireplace if anyone wanted to know what happened to the kart.

2018

Y/N was freshly 18, so getting drunk was the only thing on her agenda. On a night out, she was so drunk that no one could get her to move because she wanted her Maxie and would only leave with Maxie, she enunciated. Her friend was able to open up Y/N phone and thankfully find a Maxie in her favourite contacts. She called the number to be met with a groggy but worried voice. "Hi! This is Y/N's friend Kate speaking. Am I speaking with a....maxie?" she said tentatively. Max let out a sign while rubbing his eyes, "Yes, this is Max speaking." "Can you come pick Y/N up?" She asked hesitantly followed by, "She won't leave with anyone but you apparently." Max was already out of bed and near the door when he said "I'll be there in 10, where are you guys at?" She sent him the location and waited for 'maxie'. Nothing could've prepared them for this. They had thought Maxie was a friend, a boyfriend maybe even a neighbour; they did not think Maxie was Max Verstappen, F1 driver for Redbull racing. He apologised for the inconvenience and crouched down to Y/N level who seemed to have realised that he was here. She cupped his cheeks and giggled while turning his head to the crowd of people standing, "Look, this is my Maxie." Hearing Y/N say my maxie made his heart beat faster then it should've, he admits but that girl had a tight hold on his heart and he couldn't really do much about it. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Max asking him to carry her since her legs felt like mush. Max gladly carried her back to his car, as he fastened her seat belt she asked him to take her back to his place since her parents would probably disown her if she come in drunk for the 6th time this week. Max looked shocked and asked her to stop drinking so much since it wasn't good for her. All Y/N could mumble was that the alcohol made the pain in her heart bearable. This broke Max's heart. Who would dare hurt his precious little angle, if he met that guy he was so dead, Max thought. Little did he know that guy was the one driving her back home.

Y/N was a nuisance when drunk, she reminded him of the little girl he had befriended when he moved here. She wouldn't listen to anything he asked her to do that night until he agreed to let her do make up on him which he would gladly agree to, real or not.

2022

Y/N had recently graduated and was looking for a place to stay. It was one of those nights after a fruitless apartment hunt Y/N facetimed Max. He looked very comfortable in his sim racing chair in his luxurious apartment in Monaco having moved recently. "Maxie" the younger girl sighed. "Meisje, what's the problem?" came a concerned voice. "I can't seem to find a decent apartment, I've been at it for months now." she said. Max offered to help her find the right place and Y/N started listing out all the things she wanted in her apartment which was sounding a lot like Max current apartment which was true, that was Y/N's dream apartment currently; after seeing it a couple months ago when she had visited him as a housewarming surprise and even held a party for him. "You can move to Monaco, the house you're looking for is here" Max said. After a long pause Y/N replied with a chuckle, "I don't make formula 1 money. I'm too broke to afford a house here. In Monaco, I'd have to sell my organs to afford a place there." As if it was the most obvious thing, Max offered her to stay at his place and look for a job here.

The allure of Monaco was too much and Y/N was able to thankfully find a job there so that she wouldn't be completely dependent on Max which he wouldn't have minded. Max never let her pay rent, he'd always tell her to cook good food and that was rent sorted.

2023

It was the night of the Abu Dhabi grand prix. Max had just won his third WDC so him and his friends decided to go out to celebrate, Y/N included. The night carried on as usual, Max not touching much of the alcohol since Y/N decided to down drinks like a thirsty person. She was now in the middle of the dance floor making herself familiar with Lando's crotch, much to Max's dismay. He made his way to her and led her away from Lando while she shouted at him to let her go. They were now stood in the quieter part of the club but you could still hear the music blasting. Y/N looked visibly annoyed at being taken away from the dance floor. "You are drunk, you'll regret it tomorrow." Max said. "That's for sober me to deal with. Drunk me just wants to forget about everything and having an eventful night with a guy would do just the trick." she said. Max winced at the words and held her arms so that she could steady herself. "I don't wanna feel like this," was this the alcohol giving her the confidence, "the guy I've been in love with for ages can't seem to see me as a woman. I've been trying for years now. If I walked out naked, I'm sure he wouldn't even be phased." she sounded dejected. "Any guy would want you, Meisje." Max whispered. "But not the one I do" she stepped closer, enough that their breaths mingled. The woman in front of him was driving Max mad, had she not been drunk he would've shown her how much any man would want her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes before saying, "He's so dumb, can't even see the woman in front of him." The statement felt oddly targeted. "You know, he's a 3 time world drivers champion and he doesn't even get that I love him so much." she said while looking into his eyes. "You're in love with me?" Max exclaimed. "I have been since the day you let me make pigtails on your hair but thanks for realising now." she replied sarcastically. "You're drunk, you don't know what your saying" Max replied. "Well, sober me would never tell you this but I love you Max Verstappen. So much that you make my heart beat faster and my chest swell when you look at me. I think about marrying you and having a family with you, but you think I'm joking." she declared. Max couldn't help but smiled, "Tell me all of this in the morning when you're sober so that I can tell you that I love you too schat and then I can finally kiss you." "You can kiss me now" Y/N made a kissy face and eagerly leaned in. Max shook his head and carried her back to the hotel room.

Y/N indeed remembered everything and the first thing she did even though she wreaked of alcohol was finally kiss those soft pink lips.

this is just brain rot at this point. hope you liked it

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lando norris

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tinycoffeeroom · 2 days

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miami heat | lando norris

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

a/n: this is SO late but it took me forever to move past the writers block of a text only fic </3 still thinking about lando's race win...

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You and Lando had been inevitable. Your dad was a long time racing fan, often attending karting events around the country and dragging you along. As time passed, you learned to love it too, often waiting for your dad at the door when he got back from work so the two of you could quickly throw some clothes into an overnight bag and travel off to whichever race track you’d be camping in that weekend.

It helped that your cousin was a kart racer, both you and your dad using him as an excuse for attending so many races. Your mum would sigh, pull out the premade lunches from the fridge and stuff them into a small blue cooler before seeing the two of you off at the door.

When your cousin got the call up to F4, you’d been overjoyed for him. Being able to watch his dreams come true filled you with so much pride. It also gave you and your dad another excuse to attend more F4 races, now offering to pick your cousin up and take him from race track to race track every weekend as well as your dad offering to be his race engineer, using his background as a mechanic to work on the car’s engine. Your aunt and uncle agreed happily, knowing how much the two of you enjoyed watching your cousin race.

The first live F4 race felt electrifying. You weren’t used to seeing actual cars racing in person, only ever watching the Formula 1 races on the small portable TV your dad had invested in during the first year of your kart watching adventures. You and your cousin would always cheer for your favourite racers, him still sweaty and suited up from his own race but pumped up on adrenaline.

You watched as he fist bumped other drivers after the race, coming a respectable 4th in his first ever F4 race. This part was your least favourite, having to wait for your cousin to talk to all these sweaty teenage boys was not your idea of fun. Spread out comfortably on the moon chairs your dad had bought for the races, you opened your 3DS to play Pokemon Sun. Too enveloped in the battle between your Incineroar and the NPC’s Crabominable, you missed the sound of someone dropping into the chair next to you.

“What level is he?”

You jumped at the sound, looking up quickly to lock eyes with a random boy.

He was obviously a racer, still suited up. Using one hand to push back sweat soaked curly hair, he curiously eyed your 3DS before looking back up at you.

“She’s level 57. I need to beat this Crabominable to make her 58 so she can learn Flare Blitz.”

He hummed, a soft smile spread across his face as he flits his eyes over you. You took note of your appearance, hair pulled back into two braids to keep it out of your face in the windy English weather, your dads bomber jacket engulfing your figure as you fought the cold.

“Female Incineroar, rare.” He sounded impressed. “Don’t let me stop you.” Gesturing to the console in your hands, he leant back and focused on your hands.

Unsure of how to respond, you looked back down at your game. The Crabominable had about half HP but this was a nasty NPC, whipping out potion after potion to heal the Pokemon. You and the unnamed boy sat side by side as you chipped away, bit by bit, at the Crabominable’s HP until the victory message appeared on your screen. A mere 2000 pokedollars given for your troubles.

You watched as your Incineroar, lovingly nicknamed Kitty from when you started the game, levelled up to 58 and finally, she could learn Flame Blitz.

Saving the game and shutting down the console, you looked back at the boy beside you. He smiled back in response.

“So… no offence, but who are you?” The second the sentence left your lips, you wanted to smack the 3DS into your face, tone not unkind but wary. You could only hope he wouldn’t take offence to the question.

“Oh, sorry!” He reaches across to offer you his hand. You shake it gingerly, his hand warm in your wind chilled one.

“I’m Lando. Lando Norris. Soon to be F4 champion if all goes well. And you are?”

He was still smiling, the curve unnerving you a little. “Y/N. My cousin’s just joined F4, he’s over there.” Reaching out, you pointed towards the boy in question who was high fiving another racer, the two of them laughing loudly over the sound of car engines.

“Oh, Y/C/N? He’s cool. I met his dad earlier.”

You glanced over at the man mentioned, head bowed as he conversed with the other adults about race tactics and the boys’ performances. “That’s my dad, his uncle. He’s a mechanic so it made sense that he would be Y/C/N’s race engineer.”

“What about you? Are you a big karting fan?”

From the sound of his voice, you could tell he was facing you. Too nervous to look into his eyes again, you focused on your dad, watching as he pulled your cousin aside to talk about the race. “I am. Me and my dad have been going to karting events most weekends for years.”

His eyes burned into the side of your face, gaze unwavering. “How about Formula 1? That’s my dream, I want to race against Lewis Hamilton and one day beat him.”

The mention of your favourite driver dragged your attention back to the boy beside you. You smiled softly, pulling your iPhone 6 out of your pocket to show him the 44 sticker on the back of the case. “I love Formula 1. Me and Y/C/N are gonna watch the race in the van while my dad makes some adjustments to the car. Do you…” You hesitated for a moment.

Were you really going to invite a boy you’d just met to come sit with you and your cousin to watch a race? It was harmless, the three of you would fit in the back seats, but you weren’t sure if Y/C/N would want him to join.

Lando beat you to it. “Aw, I would ask to join but me and my dad have to get back home as soon as possible, it’s my sister's birthday this weekend!” Pulling his own phone out of his pocket, he showed you his lockscreen, a picture of him and who you guessed was his family.

You nod, turning your own phone in circles in your hands. “Happy birthday to your sister.”

He grins, the smile seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Thanks, Y/N!”

You hear a man call for him, presumably his dad. Lando sighed as he nodded towards the man, turning back towards you. “Gotta run! Could I maybe get your number? I think we’re going to be good friends.”

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He was right. The two of you would text every moment you could. In between classes, before and after dinner, even facetiming until the early hours of the morning on weekends.

Every weekend, you’d pull up to the race track and there Lando would be, permanent wide smile and open arms as you hugged briefly. Before each race, he’d run over to you, head bowed so you could knock on his helmet. You weren’t sure when the tradition had started but ever since it began, it was cemented in his pre-race routine.

After every race, it would go one of two ways. If it was a good race, he’d run over and hug you, spinning you round as you laughed brightly at him. If it was a not so good race, you’d be the one to approach him, the two of you sitting on the lip of his dad’s van in comfortable silence as you let him work through his emotions in his own time. He’d soon come around, chatting to you about any and everything.

Before you’d leave, he’d pull you into another hug, swaying the two of you from side to side.

Of course, your cousin teased you. Singing silly childish songs, “Y/N and Lando sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G”. You’d bat him across the head, willing the blush in your cheeks to go down.

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Since the two of you were now 16, whilst Lando had allowances for his GCSE’s, you still had to knuckle down and work hard. Hours were spent sitting at your desk, eyes scanning across textbook after textbook. It was only after Lando called you in tears after he struggled to understand the poems needed for his English exams and explained he had dyslexia that the two of you would facetime every night. You’d read out the poems to him as he took it all in and made notes in a way that made sense to him. You told him about these coloured overlays that were meant to help people with dyslexia read, and you’d watch him cry as pink acetate covered the poems and he could finally, finally, understand. The two of you still facetimed every night, he claimed your voice helped him understand so much more.

Since you had to revise, you often had to forfeit your racing weekends. You’d see your dad and cousin off at the door, much like your mum had done for years, and return to your room, wiping the tears that threatened to escape from your eyes.

The routine never changed though. Lando would call you before every race, telling you that you had to knock on the screen and he’d hold his helmet clad head to the camera. After every race, you’d either celebrate over the phone or sit in silence, watching him through the screen as he let himself digest what went wrong in the race.

Your last GCSE exam fell on a Friday, the freedom of your weekends returning. You didn’t tell Lando, wanting to surprise him at the race track. As you sat in the back seat of your dad’s van, you kept up the pretence for Lando, texting him as if you had a normal weekend of revising ahead.

When the three of you pulled up to the race track, you ducked down so you weren’t visible through the windows. Your dad got out of the car first, greeting Lando’s dad. The two of them had formed a good friendship through the race weekends, often sitting together to watch the boys go round the track. Next up was Y/C/N, jumping out the van and fist bumping a waiting Lando.

The two boys went to leave, already play fighting about who would win. It was only then that you snuck out the back seat, hands on your hips as you called out to the boys ahead.

“Forgetting something?”

Lando’s head whipped around so fast, you feared he’d give himself whiplash. You barely had time to laugh at his dumbstruck expression before he’d launched himself at you, strong arms wrapped tight around your waist as he lifted you in the air.

He pressed his face deeply into your neck, the feel of his smile present against your skin.

Linking your arms around the back of his neck, you played with the unruly curls tickling your chin. “Missed me?”

He nodded, head still firmly placed between your neck and shoulder. The two of you stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s presence until your cousin piped up.

“We do still have a race to get to.” Locking eyes with him, you could already tell he was going to tease you relentlessly when you’re back in the van.

Lando finally released you, hands still holding firm on the sides of your waist. Warm smile directed at you, eyes glistening a little with unshed tears.

Lando’s dad bumped his helmet against his shoulder, Lando taking it and pulling on his balaclava and the helmet. He bowed his head, allowing you to knock on it once. This time however, he knocked on your own head once, hand uncurling to cup the side of your face before he walks away to join your cousin.

In that moment, you knew you were in love with Lando Norris.

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The two of you stayed close throughout the years. You still attended as many races as possible, celebrating his wins and commiserating through his lows. Soon you were watching him in Formula 3, then Formula 2 and finally, after all his hard work, you stood in the paddock of Albert Park watching as Lando was flanked by engineers.

His debut Formula 1 race.

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The day you got the call that he’d been contracted by McLaren was one of the best days of your life. It took him 5 minutes to calm down enough to explain to you what had happened, the two of you sobbing violently over the phone as you realised his dream had come true.

As you collected yourself once you’d gotten off the phone, your mum had come upstairs with a packed lunch and a flask of fresh, warm coffee. Looking at her questioningly, she smiled softly at you.

“Go. You need to celebrate with him in person.”

You grabbed the box and flask from her hands, arms thrown wide around her. Packing a quick overnight bag, you jumped in your car, haring down the motorway to Lando’s parents house.

The look on his face when he opened the door made the possible speeding tickets worth it, eyes wide and glossy as they flit up and down your body. “You’re here?”

You grinned at him, wide and unabashed. “I’m here.”

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The cycle continued. Every podium was met with you running into his arms when he was back in the garage and every DNF resulted in the two of you sitting in his driver’s room, your arms wrapped tight around him as the dream of a grand prix win slipped from his grasp again and again.

Today, something was different however. Lando had knocked on your door bright and early, inviting you down for breakfast with the team. He told you about a dream he had last night where he won the Miami Grand Prix, how the champagne shower had felt so real.

This unwavering optimism continued throughout the day. Him bouncing alongside you as you walked through the paddock, greeting the other drivers along your way. The optimism rubbed off on you, finding yourself pulling up old photos of Lando to save to a folder titled “Race Win”.

When it came time to get in the car, you watched as his engineer secured the final straps before disappearing behind a screen to check the car’s stats. He looked up at you through the open visor, head soon bowing. Leaning down, you knocked once before dropping a quick kiss to the top of his helmet. Extra luck for the day.

The entire race had you on the edge of your seat. You cheered as Oscar led the grand prix, winced as Max hit the bollard and nearly sobbed your eyes out as Lando overtook to lead. Kevin pushing Logan off the track meant a safety car and Lando ended up fortunate to join at the back but one lap ahead. A pit stop and fresh tires and away he went. Each second he gained on Max left spikes in your heart rate until it reached the 7 second mark and the last 4 laps and you knew. Deep down in your soul, even if everyone was still on tenterhooks, you knew this was his time. His win.

The engineers ran to the fences, an army of papaya swarming the metal chain link as your eyes stayed glued to the camera. At the last second, you darted out to the fence, away from the chanting crowd so you’d have an unobstructed view of his win.

The chequered flag waved and Lando crossed the finish line, now a grand prix winner. You couldn’t have stopped the tears even if you tried, knees buckling as you held onto the fence in front of you.

The noise around you was near deafening, engineers dog piling on one another, a few strays leaving the group to wrap you in tight hugs.

A hand landed on your shoulder, warm but soft pats pulling you from your stupor. Turning, you looked up at Zak, a fond smile on his face. “Let’s go see our boy.”

The two of you walked in near silence, Zak leaving his hand on your shoulder as he welcomed congratulations from other teams. The tears never stopped streaming down your face, vision swimming as you passed team after team.

The breath was knocked out of you as arms wrapped around your waist from behind and swung you around. Looking down, you spotted the rose tattoo on a left hand and laughed as Daniel dropped you back softly onto the ground. Spinning around, you threw yourself into his arms properly, the two of you rocking back and forth happily.

“He did it!” Daniel shouted as you pulled away, hands on your shoulders to shake you gently.

“He did it!” You responded, a fresh wave of tears escaping your eyes. Daniel laughed at your tears, wiping them away haphazardly before letting you run back to Zak’s side.

You watch as Lando ran towards his team, still fully suited up, launching himself into the air as the sea of papaya below caught him. The team held him aloft, jostling him through a mass of hands.

Once he’s back on solid ground, Zak approached him first, the two of them sharing a warm hug. The visor of his helmet is lifted and without even seeing his face, you know he’s smiling, eyes scrunched up in joy.

Those same eyes finally lock onto you, wide and sparkling. He runs at you as fast as he can, arms outstretched. You brace for impact, a laugh being pressed out of you as he crushes you in his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you up, warm eyes staring straight into yours.

Before you even know what you’re doing, your lips press against the front of his helmet, right where his own mouth would be beneath the carbon fibre, a universal sign in racing of a lover’s kiss.

Ignoring the roar of his team around you, you focus on Lando in front of you. His eyes crinkled under the force of his own happiness, shining bright even under the dark cover of the helmet. He lowers you down, arms wrapped firmly around your waist until your feet are planted safe on the floor.

You watch as he unclasps the straps under his chin and rips the helmet off, his neck support following in haste. His eyes are still locked onto yours, unshed tears gleaming along his lash line. Through the balaclava, you can see his smile, warm and golden in the Miami sun.

The balaclava comes off next and your heart stutters at the pure, unobstructed view of the man in front of you. Sweat clings to his upper lip, dripping down his thick neck, curls matted to his forehead under the American heat. You’re drawn back to his eyes, green as a hidden forest, full of glimpses of golden hour through the branches. You loved how you could always tell how he felt through his eyes, forever abundant with emotion.

Hands wrap back around your waist, dragging you into him as he presses his lips unwaveringly against your own. It’s a little gross, the feeling of sweat transferring to your own lips, the damp curls at the bottom of his neck where your hands come to lie but you wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s worth it to feel his smile against your own, the kiss more teeth than lips and you breathe in the way he laughs against your mouth, molten gold dripping from his lips to yours.

The two of you part slightly, cheeks aching at the way you’re still grinning. The kiss remains unspoken, Lando being dragged off by his team for interviews. You look at Zak who winks knowingly at you. This time, you let the blush rise, overtaking your cheeks and flushing down your neck.

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Waiting for Lando in his driver's room seemed to never end. It had been an hour since you’d finally kissed him and your lips still tingle with the feeling.

Your mind was a jumbled mess, thought after thought fighting to sit at the front of your mind. Tracing your finger across your lips, you allow yourself to remember that moment. To fall headfirst into how it felt to finally feel what it was like to kiss Lando.

The sound of the driver’s room door banging against the wall shakes you out of your stupor, twirling around to face a sheepish Lando.

“Um, sorry… I guess I was just eager to get back here.” He giggles softly, standing still in the threshold.

Smiling back at him, you gesture him inwards, scoffing at the absurdity of you inviting him into his own driver’s room. He stumbles in, shutting the door behind him. One hand reaches out to run over the scuff mark on the wall, grimacing as he traces the black mark.

He turns to face you, smile beaming as you stand two feet apart, eyes tracing over each other as you bask in the long awaited silence. You watch as his hand reaches out, the back of his fingers brushing against yours. The hand reaches around, clasping yours gently in his. You squeeze once, smiling shyly up at him.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice is quiet, almost shaky as he keeps his eyes trained on your conjoined hands.

You squeeze his hand again, humming your assent.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since we were 15 years old and I saw you sitting on those moon chairs. I remember my heart was beating so, so fast and I thought it was just post race adrenaline but when I remember your shy smile and the braids you had in your hair and my heart feels the exact same way. It’s always been you.”

Even after the kiss, the admission makes your heart race wildly. He loves you. He loves you back. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared. Scared that you wouldn’t love me the same way I love you.” He tries to come off nonchalant, but the way his hand trembles in yours betrays his true emotions.

Rubbing your thumb over the back of his shaking hand, heart thumping erratically at both the situation and the sweetness of his nervous confession. “Lan, I was literally a 15 year old racing nerd and you were a boy willingly talking to me. Why do you think I was a nervous mess when you spoke to me? I had the biggest crush on you.”

“Having a crush and loving someone is different.” He leads you by your intertwined hands to the sofa, settling back into the corner as you sit close enough to keep your hands connected. “Back then, you knew me as Lando Norris, F4 driver, and then just Lando, your best friend who secretly stuffs his face with pizza and falls over his own feet more often than not.” He huffs out a laugh at the memory of the last time he’d tripped over thin air and fallen flat on his face when you’d gone to visit him in Monaco.

Avoiding eye contact, he keeps his eyes trained on the way your fingers interlock almost perfectly. “I was worried you wouldn’t love me when we became close.”

“You idiot,” using your free hand, you smack him lightly on the arm, giggling at the fact the two of you had been mutually pining for years, “that just made me love you more. Sure, I was 16 and the idea of dating a race car driver, even little Lando Norris,” his arm reaches out to return the smack, “was a dream, but then I wanted to date just Lando, the man who gives me piggybacks from clubs when my feet hurt and bites my arm when I’m not paying attention. I love you, just plain old Lando Norris.”

If you thought his smile when winning was bright, the one he shoots you now is almost overwhelming. Face pulled up so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if he complained of an ache in his cheeks later, eyes crinkling deeply at the corners and shining a bright seafoam green.

Before you can return the grin, he reaches up and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. The passion is the same but different, no longer adrenaline filled from a race win, but full of love and adoration and the secret he never thought he’d get the chance to say.

He pulls back just enough for a whisper of air to pass between the two of you, eyes warm and locked onto yours. “I love you. So much. It’s me and you, plain old Lando and plain old Y/N.”

You push him lightly, grinning playfully. “Who are you calling plain?”

He rectifies his mistake with another kiss, this one softer and slower, the two of you taking the time to appreciate that this moment had finally come. The kiss moves to the corner of your lips, across your cheek and down to the spot just below your ear.

A hand wraps around your waist, securing you to your spot. Pulling back slightly, you look down at the smiling man resting his head on your shoulder. “So, I love you, and you love me. What next?”

“We go celebrate this momentous occasion, and the race win, and then I take you out for our first proper date.” Tightening his hold on you, he moves his head to rest in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, dropping warm kisses to the skin beneath his mouth.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

a/n: 3 of my top 5 boys on the canada podium is so 💞💖🩷💓💗💝💖💗💕💗💘💞 also as an esteban ult, it's on site for alpine fr. ALSO GOTE pt 3 coming soon ❤️

#lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 2 days

Note

ok, i know it’s not may any more, but could we please have more mer au. ghost preferably, i just want to shake him around in a bag like that one little girl from finding nemo.

hands you a carnival prize plastic bag with a goldfish-sized mer Ghost inside. feed him twice a day. plastic shipwreck not included. he might look lonely but don't let him convince you to put your fingers in the bowl :)

take the first half of this thing too:

36 / 1k / shark mer Ghost tolerating remora mer reader

...

Ghost doesn’t look back at you as you swim meekly after him. You have to whip your smaller tail twice as fast just to keep up, and you're getting winded already. He makes it look so easy to glide through the water.

"What now?" he mutters.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

“You’re thinking it.”

"I was just--" A huge yawn overtakes your reply. You sink in the water for a moment, scrunching your eyes closed, before huffing and darting after him again. "--Just going this way, too."

He knows you've been following behind him since dusk. You should’ve given up some time ago, but you never learn. He slows imperceptibly, just long enough for your catatonic ass to catch up, and then veers to the side so that you--rubbing your eyes with sleep--bump into him. You rest your hand against his tail instinctively and stick to him with the suction pads on your palm.

Satisfied having you in tow, he speeds back up. "You’re not a very good liar, sweetheart."

You mumble under your breath and hand-climb up his back until you're nestled between his shoulder blades instead.

Lazy little thing. Pain in his ass.

Despite grumbling, he does nothing to dislodge you from your spot. You seem to be having a difficult day, and he’s primed to make it worse. You’re the perfect target. When he has the energy--like now, at night--bullying you is his small pleasure of choice.

Then again, he can feel the way you’re pressing up against him, small and clingy and cute as hell. It takes all his willpower not to roll over and stow you against his chest instead.

You remain blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. You’re more concerned about the emptiness in your stomach.

"You're going hunting, right?" you mumble against his shoulder.

“Trying to,” he says.

You’ve been tagging along on hunts for days, but you haven’t managed to snag any good scraps in a long while. But maybe tonight, when it’s just you and Ghost. "Mkay."

He keeps waiting for you to get in the way and then pout when he inevitably brushes you off. Instead, you’re silent. It’s bugging him.

Then, scanning the coral, he catches sight of a perfectly tasty-looking snapper. He puts your attitude out of his mind and instead tenses up to begin his hunt. You’re with him, so why worry. Watch and learn.

You peer past his shoulder curiously to see him work. His back muscles tense and shift as his eyes track every one of the fish’s movements. Then he bolts forward faster than the fish can dart away. It whips around in reflexive panic right as he snatches it in one fluid movement.

You watch over his shoulder as he kills it with a practical snap of the spine and begins to disassemble the creature piece by piece, eating the flesh and letting the bones and fins fall to the ocean floor below.

His focus is intense: attention trained on the task, his fingers work as precisely to strip flesh from bone as his jaw works on shredding the pieces of snapper he tears off into his mouth. The muscles in his shoulders ripple beneath your coiled-up body. As always, he moves with efficiency and a certain brutal grace, never wasting a single movement. It's the lethal behavior of a predator, yes, but falling into the repetitive, methodical habit seems to satisfy him.

You unfasten yourself from his back while he's absorbed in his task. The bones and bits of uneaten flesh sinking to seafloor have your interest. You swim after them.

“Don’t go far,” he warns after you. He’s not worried. There’s nowhere you could venture out here that he couldn’t find you within minutes.

You collect the scraps and eat what you can--mostly skin and fins, and they leave you feeling almost as hungry, but you're used to it. Ghost needs the food more than you do, anyway. You glide lazily over the sea floor to comb the sand with your fingers in hopes of finding another snack. Maybe a snail. A crab if you're lucky.

The search leads you to the edge of a long sandbar. It’s about a thousand minnow-lengths at its widest, and there are various shells and bits of debris scattered across the surface. You start to prowl the sandy floor for food, fingers stirring up soft sand into the water.

Ghost’s voice calls out somewhere behind you, but your exhausted brain isn't as reactive as it should be. If you could just find one or two more bites to eat, you think. You tug what looks like a crab carapace out of the sand, but it's just a strawberry-colored plastic bottle. You keep searching. Keep finding nothing of value. You come across a pile of barnacles, shards of coral, small rocks, a stray fishing lure you gnaw on just to be sure...

But no, nothing worth eating.

Your stomach rumbles again. You’re too tired and unfocused. Your movements are slow and clumsy, your senses dulled. You barely hear a sound until a hand comes down on your tail from behind and grabs you.

You jerk and dart away in surprise.

Your movement wrenches a sound from Ghost--a gruff huff of annoyance as he lunges after you. You're fast, but not fast enough. He catches your tail again immediately, dragging you back into his control.

"Idiot," he scolds. "I told you not to go far. If I had been a predator, you'd be dead meat right now."

You relax into his grip instantly. "Oh. Yeah."

He looks at you in that unamused way that says of course I was right. He looks you over with a critical eye. Your eyes are half-open and your muscles are slack. You must be exhausted.

He turns and heads for home with you still in hand. "Right, then."

You see what's happening and wriggle in his grip, hunger gnawing at you again. "Wait, aren't you hunting?"

"No." He's quick and harsh with his response. He doesn't appreciate unnecessary questions. "You're going home. Hunting can wait."

…

[part 1] / part 2

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 days

Note

Can I request batboys learn of reader's fake death, she is on a mission and they find her.

Reader can be read as gn or whoever you see fit.

Dick

‘Is that you?’ Dick asks softly as he neared you.

‘No.’ You replied in hopes that he’d leave but you knew deep down that he wouldn’t, not if leaving meant leaving you behind also. Not the way you chose to erase yourself out of the picture for this stupid suicide mission.

Dick on the other hand was hellbent to not loose you again, the house you both built wasn’t a home if you weren’t in it to share it with him and Hayley, the poor dog was still fast sleeping on your side of the bed before Dick left for his nightly patrol; Hayley missed you very much and would whimper when she realises that your scent was slowly fading away.

It hurt Dick more then he liked to admit, and he tried to suppress it for as long as he could but he would often find himself trying to look for you in other people, other things but it always ended with him looking at the pictures of the two of you on the wall and feeling nothing but cold. Everything felt out of place without you but Dick would always try to act as though he was coping better then he was behind closed doors doors, clutching at the clothes you’ll never wear again as he silently sobs into the fabric.

Now here you were stood before him in what people would call as pure coincidence or luck because anyone would give anything to see their lost ones again, absolutely anything, even if it was by morally questionable means and Dick can understand the reason why that might be.

‘I- I wish I could tell you but I can’t.’ You replied, not wanting to put Dick in danger because of the dangerous people you’ve wronged.

‘Why not?’ Dick asked, worried that something had happened when he wasn’t nearby to help.

‘It doesn’t concern you.’ You told him as you tried to make distance but Dick was quick to close it. ‘It does concern me if it involves you.’ He says lowly, gently reaching out to hold your face to make sure this was real and not a dream and when you leaned into his touch, eyes closed shut Dick lets out a relieved sigh as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. ‘So please, don’t make me loose you again. let me help.’ He whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

Now you really couldn’t reject his help, he made it impossible just like how he made it impossible for you not to fall in love with him all over again.

Tim

Didn’t know what to expect from what he was seeing.

He had heard that there was someone of your stature going about town during the night but he wasn’t one to believe it until he’s seen it with his own eyes. So when he did catch of glimpse of you or someone pretending to be you, he didn’t know what to do, he was brought back to where he was when he found out about your supposed death; helpless and confused as to how such a thing could happen.

It wasn’t until your eyes met his did Tim feel his blood go cold from how dull and borderline dead your eyes looked when glaring right at him. There was a flash of familiarity but that was gone before Tim could blink, something was wrong, very wrong but he didn’t know what exactly.

You weren’t…well you.

Now Tim did have dreams about what he’d do if you were to be magically reanimated, brought back to life but those were dreams for a reason, a alternative reality that didn’t abide to realism or the more likeliest of outcomes; this was reality and reality wasn’t pretty and is often disappointing on most accounts.

So Tim stood there, frozen as you made a quick exit, much to the confusion of his siblings -Dick and Damian- who knew how hard your death had struck Tim, they didn’t need to be told how difficult it must’ve been to see your dead partner somehow alive again.

‘Are you okay?’ Dick asks.

‘Somethings wrong.’ Tim said. ‘Why would they feel the need to fake their own death and not tell me about it beforehand?’ He asks himself.

‘Only if someone powerful wanted you dead.’ Damian suggested. ‘What other reason is there besides that one?’

‘If that’s truly is the case,’ Tim began as he looked between Dick and Damian, ‘then why reappear after only a week? It’d be common sense to stay low for far longer until the smoke clears, unless...’

Dick then places a hand on Tim’s shoulder. ‘Looks like we’ve got work to do.’

Tim wasn’t certain what he would do if you ever did come back, but now it seems as though he did know; to save you from whatever has been nipping at your heels.

Jason

Wasn’t sure whether or not the sleepless nights had finally caught up to him ever since your passing, spending them staring at the door to your shared bedroom as though you’d magically walk through it with a smile, telling him that everything that had happened was just a nightmare before kissing him on the forehead and cuddling into his side to fall asleep.

However Jason had pinched his skin that many times to know well enough that was all a fallacy created by his own mind because he didn’t want you seeing the man he’d become from whether afterlife you resided in.

So when he spotted sow thing he believes looked a lot like your silhouette, his body followed after it, much like it did whenever things pertaining to you sparked that sense of familiarity within him, that sense of home and belonging. However this lack of subtly on his end didn’t end up well as he was soon enough laid flat out on his back as your masked face hovered over his.

‘Why were you following me?’ You asked through gritted teeth.

‘I thought you were dead.’ He replied In disbelief.

‘That was the plan until you ruined it.’ You grunted as you pulled him up to his feet, ‘you weren’t followed were you?’ You asked as your eyes shifted from shadow to shadow.

‘No, listen sweetheart-‘ Jason tried to speak but you sharply shushed him. ‘What’s going on, you can tell me.’ He now whispers and you sigh, finding it hard to exist within the same space as Jason without hugging him to death, but you couldn’t risk dragging him into your troubles.

‘I can’t.’ You tell him, knowing that there was a heartbroken expression behind that red helmet of his, ‘and even if I can all I would be allowed to say is that some bad people are after me.’ Jason’s shoulders tensed at this.

‘Why did you say anything earlier.’ He asked, he was holding back from exploding because had this been brought up earlier then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to be subjected to witnessing your ‘death.’ ‘I could’ve helped you out-‘

‘And risk you becoming their next target? Not thanks Jason I already lost you once I’m not doing it again.’ You tell him firmly but he wasn’t having it, not after what you put him through. ‘And I thought I lost you or has that not ever come to mind.’ He bites back with the sharpness of someone who was deeply hurt by the actions of someone who he loved more than life.

‘Jason.’ You tried to say but you knew him better then most, once his mind had been made up there was little chance to change it.

‘No. I’m going to help you get out of this mess, either you want me to or not, this is my war now.’ Jason tells you as he marched ahead. You sighed as you followed after him.

This was going to be a long night.

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sapphiressmoke · 3 days

Text

Outlander II

Summary: She’s doesn’t know how it happened but they were calling to her to come closer. Touching it was never suppose to uproot her life and transport her somewhere she never thought she could see and witness. She has to try her best to survive if she wants to get back, right?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Modern!Reader

Characters mentioned: Criston Cole

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Nothing as of now but angst, romance, smut.

A/N: So they just met! Giggling and kicking my feet. There is some symbolism in this chapter if you are able to spot it and some other things. I’m excited to see where this goes.

He found himself wandering the forest, heading in no particular direction in his mind but it seemed as if his feet were guiding him… No his heart was guiding him somewhere. Kingswood was known for being mystical, all knowing and mysterious. People entered and never came back. Is that what will happen to him? Will he disappear? His feet continued to guide him through the tall grass. The world was silent around him, peaceful for once. Was he dead? He would’ve been okay with that thought. Truly… He would no longer be in pain, he would no longer feel the need to be in competition and he wouldn’t feel the need to fight for his fathers attention.

Though it felt like he was walking for hours, it was only mere minutes. ‘Aemond, stop and look up.’ A voice spoke to him. It was… his voice? Something within him seemed to be guiding him towards a space. His heart felt like it was guiding him. He took a glance up and discovered a stone wall that sat on the top of the hill. Aemond has heard of these stones before but he knew there wasn’t much written about them despite their long history in the forest. It was The Stone of Many a Moon. The reason why there wasn’t much written on them was because well… they would disappear. It seemed as if something didn’t want them to be discovered more than they were known. ‘Go up. She’s scared.’

Scared? Who was scared and why would she be scared. He walked up the small hill, up towards the wall. He heard whimpers and sensed movement coming from along the stones, curled up in the tall, green grass. He went to place a hand on the hilt of his sword but all he was met was open space. Why would he go in the forest without protection? “Hello? I know you’re there.”

At the sound of his voice, a head perched up and he was met with wide, scared eyes. Your wide eyes stared into him and softened for a slight second. He watched at you scrambled up to your feet. You were wearing a black slip dress with a black shall. He thought that your clothing was quite weird, the way you looked was weird. When you finally stood up, you practically stumbled towards him, as if you were a baby deer learning to walk. He quickly grabbed you by your arms as you fell into him. “H-Help me! I… I don’t know where I am or how I got here.” You had tears falling down your cheek.

He had this urge to protect you, shield you from the world. He brought you into his arms and stroked your hair. Why was he doing this. “I got you, don’t worry.”

Aemond woke up in a start, a thin layer of sweat covered his skin despite the crisp morning air from outside his tent. He brought his hands up towards his face and tried rubbing the sleep away before sighing. Who was this woman? Was he suppose to know her? His heart called out for her and broke when he saw her terrified. She was beautiful. No… She was ethereal. His thoughts were cut short with the voice of his mothers sworn protector calling to him. “Good morrow, My Prince. I have been sent to come get you as the hunt will begin soon.”

“Thank you, Ser Criston. I will get ready shortly and meet everyone at the forest line.” He advised the knight. “Please get my horse ready.”

The words ‘Go up, she’s scared’ replayed in his mind. What if she was actually in the forest, surrounded by The Stone of Many a Moon, scared and alone? Just having that thought caused his chest to tighten in sorrow. He shook his head away the thoughts as he decided to get out of his bed and finally get dressed. He made his way to his clothing trunk and took out his gear. He shrugged on his black linen tunic with a matching pair of black linen pants. He grabbed his forest green cotton jacket made with padding to protect him. He grabbed his sword, belt and placed his eyepatch over his scarred eye before he exited his tent.

Upon exiting, he was met with the lady in waiting of his mother bowing to him. “Hello, My Prince. I hope you slept well. I am aware that you are on your way to the hunt but The Queen has requested me to serve you a bowl of fruits and oatmeal before you go. She does not want you to faint.” Her arms stretched out towards Aemond to hand him the bowl.

He stared at it for a quick moment before grabbing it. “Thank you. Please advise my mother that I will visit her once the hunt is over.” He heard the lady in waiting softly speak ‘Yes, My Prince.’ before he made his to the forest like whilst eating the bowl that was provided to him. He felt this pull towards the forest, a yearning to go find her. Perhaps that is why he had agreed to join the hunt. Upon arriving with the other men, he threw the empty bowl onto the floor and made his way towards the Knight. Upon taking the reign from him, he pondered. “Criston, what do you know of The Stones of Many a Moon?”

He gave the prince a look, wondering why he was being asked this question. “Not much, My Prince. In Dorne, it is said to be protected by magic, a gate to something that people are not quite sure. It is known to be on a hill in this forest but it is not quite sure where.” Ser Criston watched as Aemond climbed his horse. “Why are you asking?”

A smirk played on the one eyed princes lips. “We shall leave the hunt for the brutes, Ser Criston, we are on a journey to find this monument.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Mount your damn horse and follow me. If you must need a reason, I shall give you one… away from these damn men.” Aemond clicked, allowing his Black Mare to start the journey towards his dream.

The white cloaked knight followed swiftly behind the silver haired prince. With the prying ears away from their conversations, all formalities were dropped. “Now Aemond, please tell me why we are on this wild search.” An hour into the ride, Criston had finally broken the silence.

Still keeping this eyes forward, he explained what he had dreamed and what it has caused him to feel. “Well Criston, the past two nights I have had this dream which was surrounded by these stones. There is this woman… Her beauty is beyond this world. There is someone who urges me to go to her and save her. That someone may be myself. She is scared and alone.” He paused for a moment, waiting to see if Criston would say something. “Upon meeting each other, she falls into my arms. She is lost. All I want to do, my heart wants to do is hold her and protect her.”

“So you dragging me into a wild goose chase over a dream?” Criston scoffed. “Are you even sure she is real?”

A laugh danced on Aemonds lips. “I am as sure as my dear brother is a drunk.”

As soon as the conversation started, it quickly ended.

He couldn’t get your face out of his mind. He wanted to cradle your face in the palm of his hand and wipe your tears away. He wanted to take your fear away and tuck them away, out of sight.

‘Aemond, continue forward. You are near.’ The voice made him stop his horse and look at his surroundings. It was the first time he has heard the voice outside of his dreams. ‘Help me.’ It was your voice. “Criston, we must make haste. We are near.”

“And did the voices tell you that?”

“My Gods… Will you shut up.” Aemond laughed.

Criston pointed straight ahead. “The voices in my head say that there is a hill up there. Oh wait! They also say that you are slightly crazy!”

Before Aemond could respond with something witty, he felt a shift in the air. His eyes grazed over the land before he spotted it. He spotted the White Hart. The King of the Forest bowed towards the prince before turning around and walking back from where he came from. ‘Time travels back and is protected by the White King.’ A deep voice whispered. It was not his voice or anyone he would know. This was his chance. Before even warning his companion, Aemond sprung out of the saddle and pushed his weight down on the stirrup, applying pressure to get his horse into a full gallop. He heard his name being yelled in the background but he did not care, all he wanted to do was find you. He couldn’t help but feel free for the first time. He was doing something he wanted to do, not something of duty or how it would make his family look.

The Black Mare suddenly slowed down upon nearing a small hill, Aemond tapped his foot on the side of the horse but it refused to move, as if something was not allowing it to continue. He raised his head to look up the hill and his eyes later upon the White King once again. It was beckoning him to follow. The Stones were up there, he knew it. He dismounted his horse and ran up the hill. His heart was pounding in his chest, knocking on his rib cage, feeling like it would rip out at any moment.

Just like in his dream, he felt her presence from behind the stones, he saw the tall grass dance in the wind and he spotted her. She was curled in a ball, the grass covering her from any harm as if it were her safety blanket. He took a moment to take a deep breath before speaking, his voice shaking from anticipation. “Hello? I know you’re there. Please come out.”

At the sound of his voice, he saw a head perch up, eyes wide with fear and confusion. It truly was you. His dream could not depict your true beauty but his eyes could truly see it. You were other worldly. He watch you stumble onto your feet and run towards him, practically falling into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you, one around you waist and the other holding your head. “It’s you.” You whispered, soft as air.

“It’s me.”

Aemond looked over your shoulder to see the White Hart bow down, make a whining noise before running back into the woods.

Kingswood Night Prior

You stumbled back, hands shaking from the shift of energy that exited you “Oh Gods, what did I do?” You couldn’t help the shake in your voice. The world around you was darker, the stars brighter than before.

You backed away from the stones, wondering what your next move would be. You weren’t far from the Hotel, right? Maybe if you screamed loud enough, someone will you hear you and find you. That was the plan… Scream. “Someone! Please! I’m lost a-and I don’t know where I am!” You pulled your shall over you to protect you from the cold wind of the night, reminding you just how lonely you were. “Please! Help!” You had realized you brought your bag with you since you packed the flashlight. You begun to scramble for the bag, having no luck finding it. “Please don’t say I dropped it… Please oh Gods.”

Tears of frustration began to fall down your cheeks, you were scared and alone and you weren’t sure what your next game plan was. Talia would tell the teacher you were missing right? That’s what you told her to do. Were you stupid and decided to find your way out? Of course you were. The only way you could decide on which way to go was by doing a stupid game; you were going was you closed your eyes, pointed an arm out and spin until you got dizzy and stopped. Once you finished spinning and looked at where your arm was, that was where you were heading. “Stupid Y/N. You just had to go into the stupid forest and get lost. Now you have decided to get more lost in the forest. Fuck me.” You wiped your tears away and started carefully walking. “What if I get mulled by a bear or attacked by a boar… Gods, I’m going to die here.”

‘Y/N, go back.’

You whipped your head back, looking for the voice. “No! You are the reason I’m in this mess.” You seethed. “Maybe Talia was right. Maybe I am crazy. I’m losing it.” You tried ignoring the voice telling you to go back and continued on your route. Every couple of seconds, you would spot the silver haired man, the voices were getting all muddled together. You clutched your ears, crying “Stop!” You tried to running until you collided with a hard being. It was soft to the touch and you could just barely see that it was white under the moonlight. You took a step back and looked up and saw that before you was a beautiful White Hart. His fur was a beautiful silvery white and his eyes were two different colours, the right was a beautiful violet and the left was a deep blue, like a sapphire. It huffed a deep breath and bent down slightly to bump its snout against your shoulder, as if it was trying to push you back. You took a couple of more steps back and tried to walk around the beautiful beast but with each step you took, it blocked you. “Come on! What do you want.”

The Stag did a deep roar before pushing you back with his snout in the direction you came from. You spoke to him, as if he could understand you. “Do you want me to go back? I’m trying to find my way out of this damn forest.” It took a few seconds before the Stag did a movement that could only be described as a nod. Okay so he could understand you. “Okay! Fine I guess.” You turned around and started walking back in the direction of the stones, and you kept looking over your shoulder to see if the Stag was following you and it was. ‘Right choice, go back and wait.’ You groaned. “Oh shut up!”

On the walk back, you felt as if there was this film covering your eyes and a heavy blanket was laid over you. You felt as if you were sleep walking. The only thing allowing you to know that you weren’t yet asleep was the warmth radiating from the Hart standing behind you. The last thing you can remember was laying down in the tall grass and feeling the soft fur envelope you like a hug.

The wind blew was blowing through your hair and a laugh bubbled from between your lips. There was a tight hold around your waist to keep you from falling from the great height you were flying. “I wish I could have experienced this feeling sooner, Aemond!”

Was that the man’s name?

You felt his chin rest on your shoulder and whispered sweetly in your ear. “You can experience this feeling for the rest of your life… As long as I am alive, you shall experience this feeling, ñuha jorrāelagon.” He placed a sweet kiss just below your ear.

All you felt was freedom, peace and love.

The warmth was cradled you all night was gone and you were left feeling the cool morning wind hugging you uncomfortably. Was the whole night just a dream? You tried curling up into a tight ball to try and perverse heat. You were alone… Again? You felt the fear creep back up through your throat and all you wanted to do was cry in the ball you held yourself in. The only thing going through your mind was that you were going to die here but that solemn thoughtwas cut short when you heard the voice you had been hearing since coming to Kings Landing. “Hello? I know you’re there. Please come out.” That voice. It didn’t even take you a split second before you swung your head up from the tall grass. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as your wide eyes met with his beautiful violet eye. He was truly beautiful, as if hand crafted from the Gods above. You stumbled onto your feet, practically tripping over them, before falling into his arms. You’ve only seen this man following you like a ghost but it felt right to hold him. He felt like home. You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “It’s you.”

You felt him hold onto you for dear life, as if he had the same feeling as you. “It’s me.”

TAGLIST:

@dahlias-and-marigolds @starsdotalk @itsabby15 @red-124 @ponyosmom35 @herpersonhoagiefarm @namelesslosers @bee-unknown @dixie-elocin @heavenly1927 @stcrrjoon @noirrose21-blog @smrthxx @thenightmistress @tesha-i-guess

tag list is opened xx

I tried tagging everyone but some people could not be tagged

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milksnake-tea · 2 days

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❀ ˎˊ- prompt: you've never told sunday you loved him, but you never had to. ❀ ˎˊ- sunday x gn!reader ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 787 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: vague spoilers for 2.2, mild angst (sunday hates himself lmao) ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: i remembered some random hc that halovians are sensitive to emotions and i woke up in a cold sweat idk if its canon but i like it. anyways happy sunday guys <3 ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

Halovians are the prized jewels of the universe, beloved and admired by many for their elegance, beauty, and elusiveness. But as Sunday’s come to learn, being one of the revered beings isn’t what it’s made out to be.

His halo tingles, little buzzes of electricity shooting across the metal ring and flowing directly into his brain. Sunday flinches at the feeling, although it's hardly noticeable - just a little jump of the shoulders, surprise flashing over his face for a millisecond.

Then comes heat - scorching, smoldering heat that floods over him, embracing and smothering him in its intensity. Instinctively his wings move to cool him down, but the heat is all in his head - physically, he’s fine. But it’s the implication, the knowledge of just what this feeling is that sets his face ablaze.

Ever since he was but a young child, he’d discovered quickly that he could sense the emotions of those around him as if they were his own. Humans were always wearing false faces, putting up a front, but he could always see beyond the mask.

But it was overwhelming - to put it mildly - to be under this constant onslaught of clashing emotions, so eventually, he learned to tune them out, to ignore the waves that his halo received.

And yet, despite all of those years spent learning to block out the emotions of others, here he is, fighting with all his strength to not melt down into a flustered puddle as he walks by your side.

There’s no one else in the Dewlight Pavilion’s garden, so he has no doubt about it - it’s you who’s sending these… feelings his way, and that realization does little to help with his predicament - he’d even say it makes it worse. But Sunday wouldn’t be where he is if he wasn’t able to keep a straight face despite it all.

But he does wonder, how are you doing it? See, Sunday has the excuse of being trained and raised for his role in politics. But you? How could you act so casual, so unbothered, and treat him like any other despite how strongly you… love him?

It breaks a part of his mind just to admit it, but he doesn’t know what else to call it. The warmth that emits from you is the same as that that radiates off of the newly wed couples that come to Penacony for their honeymoon, except you don’t know whether or not your love is reciprocated, nor have you ever considered to ask.

A part of him wishes that you would.

“Sunday?”

He blinks back to reality. You’re smiling up at him, and the pure adoration that exudes from you has his knees weak and his heart jumping. He feels like he’s choking, his breath is caught in his throat and there’s a heavy weight on his chest - but he only smiles reassuringly at you.

“Yes?” he asks softly, taking great care to keep his voice even.

“Are you alright? You seem a little…” You trail off, not sure how to word it. “…off.”

The corner of Sunday’s lip twitches. “Off is… certainly a way to say it.”

Your brows crease further in worry, and he can’t help but laugh good-naturedly.

“Please, don’t worry yourself.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I am fine, but I’m grateful for your concern.”

“Are you sure?” you insist. Sunday smiles warmly.

He feels how much you care for him, how much you wish for him to be happy, to have the most wonderful things. But he can't help but wonder - why? Why him? The parts of you that you devote to him, someone such as himself does not deserve. Not when in his ideal dream, he is destined for a life alone in the sky.

You deserve to love someone else, someone who can properly appreciate what you give him.

Absent-mindedly, his gloved hand comes to brush a knuckle against your cheek. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest as he feels your skin warm and your heart skip a beat.

"Of course," he murmurs. "In fact, I'd say I've never been better."

“If you say so.” You don’t look convinced, but you don’t argue, instead opting to subtly lean into his hand.

Sunday’s eyes soften. Guilt gnaws at him for his indulgence. He should stop, pull away. Leading you on like this wasn’t right. He needed to wake up, and stop playing pretend. The Charmony Festival was almost here - he couldn’t afford to give himself false hope.

And yet, he lingers there, bathing in your affection for a little longer.

If this is his sweet dream, he doesn’t want to wake up just yet.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

tags: @sh0jun, @themoderatelyawesomeninja, @xphantasmagoriax, @rainswept, @lucensei,

@akutasoda, @naraven, @scribs-dibs, @apathicace

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #sunday hsr #hsr sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #sunday x reader #sunday #honkai star rail sunday #sunday honkai star rail #reader insert #x reader #y/n #archives 🏵️

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formulawolff · 9 hours

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night swim - t.w.

pairing: nanny!reader x single dad!toto wolff

word count: 1.5k

warnings: poorly translated german, age gap relationship, inappropriate work relationships, oral (f! receiving), boundaries being crossed, pet names (lots of pet names ok), cursing, toto being a munch, yadayadayada

"do you mind if i join you?"

the words are low, thick with his accent as you glance over your shoulder. the heat from the water seeps into your muscles, bubbles foaming at the surface as the jets run, creating tiny currents.

"i don't mind!" you chirp, "the more, the merrier!"

toto wolff, team principal of the mercedes-amg petronas formula one team stands behind you, peeling off the heather gray tee that clung to his frame. he's careful with his movements, ensuring that he does not make too much noise as he strolls over to the ladder.

he steps in, bliss rippling across his face as the warmth envelops his exposed skin. he settles in the tub merely a few feet across from you, his broad shoulders leaning against the edge.

"now, this is nice. i can see why you've been coming out here these last few nights."

bringing your hand to your mouth, you stifle a giggle, "never been in a hot tub before, mr. wolff?"

"please," he rolls his eyes, tutting, "call me toto."

"well toto," you emphasize his name, clicking your tongue, "my question still stands."

when you were offered to accompany mr. wolff and the kids for a weekend getaway in the mountains surrounding zermatt, how could you have refused? especially when it was made very clear that mr. wolff was going to cover all of your expenses. while you profusely stated he did not have to, he was adamant that he was going to. along with your typical payment for assisting with any and every one of the children's needs.

oh, the perks of nannying for a billionaire.

since it was around midnight, the kids were asleep, leaving you two as the only ones awake. the hot tub was spacious, but it was still cozy, only a few feet between you and the team principal. all around, hanging lights glowed, casting a soft golden light over the water.

additionally, there was a privacy fence surrounding the tub, shielding you from the frosted windows of the cabin. it was the perfect relaxation spot, as you could lounge here in the evenings after putting jack to bed and checking on rosa and benedict.

well, now that toto found you, it had disturbed your little quiet haven.

yet, you didn't mind, leaning over the edge of the tub to place your book down. since you didn't know much about the team principal, this was the perfect opportunity. perhaps you could learn a thing or two.

it went without saying that toto was a mysterious man. due to his hectic schedule, you did not encounter him much. most of the time, they were brief exchanges as he came home from work-related events, or when he came by to pick up the kids from susie.

these exchanges were completely cordial, his tone nothing but polite as you greeted him. however, now that awkwardness politeness was dissolving by the second, the team principal in close proximity.

"i have participated in my fair share of hot springs and such," he shrugs, "but this is sort of a rare occasion. i don't get out much, but i'm sure you know that."

"you seem like a very busy man," laughter bubbles up in your chest, spilling from your lips, "how is the season going? jack told me he was excited to see lewis next weekend."

at the mention of lewis, as in lewis hamilton, toto's lips curve into a broad grin, "the season is going well. there have been some hiccups, but nothing we can't handle. but enough about me, i'm sure the kids tell you all about their father. i want to get to know you."

"me?" you raise a brow, "oh toto, there is nothing interesting about me. i promise."

"nothing interesting about a gorgeous woman like you?" your heart skips a beat as he crosses the space between you, only inches apart now, "surely there's something. what else do you do besides nannying?"

"taking care of your children is the only interesting thing about me i'm afraid."

"do you have a boyfriend?" toto presses, his hands cupping the edge of the tub, pinning you to the cool surface, "surely you have a boyfriend. you're far too pretty to be walking around single."

"oh toto," you murmur, the notes so sweet and angelic, "nannying is my top priority. ensuring that your children are safe, happy, and well taken of is what i devote most of my time towards. i don't have time for boyfriends."

"good girl," he hums, "that's a good answer. you're far too pretty for most of these boys anyway."

good girl.

the way the praise fell so effortlessly from his lips sends a shiver down your spine.

"so what are you saying?" tilting your head back, your gaze finds his, your lips pursing ever so slightly.

"i'm saying you need a man," his mouth hovers above yours, the words dripping with lust, "you need a man to take care of you."

"oh do i?" you tease, "do i need a man like you, mr. wolff?"

fuck.

were you oh so tantalizing in this moment.

toto knew he shouldn't. he knew the stakes involved. he was well aware of the risks that came with this.

yet, you were so fucking tempting in that little number.

and he just couldn't resist.

not for a second longer.

lips crash into yours, steady hands cupping the curves of your ass, lifting you to the edge of the tub. you nearly teeter, but he holds you firmly, the fiery kiss sucking the air out of your lungs. the veins in his muscular forearms are prominent as he keeps you situated on that edge, your thighs spreading, inviting him in.

a whine rises in your throat as his tongue licks along your lower lip, begging for entrance. you let him in, hips bucking as the kisses deepen, your arms wrapping around his neck.

the kisses are passionate, fueled by lust. almost as if the team principal was wolf, ready to pounce.

and you were his prey.

his innocent, angelic, stunning, prey.

the cooler air has your nipples hardened, yet you were hot to the touch, desperate for some sort of relief to the burning desire consuming you whole as his mouth descends, pressing sloppy kisses down your neck, onto your collarbone.

"toto," you groan, head rolling back as fingers wrap around the fabric of your bikini top, his warm mouth enveloping your nipple. his tongue flicks back and forth, earning a series of mewls from you.

"what is it?" he nearly pants, "what do you need?"

"you."

"is that right?" he coos, glancing upward, "you need a man like me to take care of you?"

"yes," you nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, "please."

"oh i will," his lips curl into a smug smirk, "i'll take care of you, angel. don't you fret."

his mouth reconnects with the plane of your stomach, the taste salt lingering on his tongue from the water. you squirm as he finds your dripping core, his tongue teasing your swollen clit through the fabric of your bottoms.

"so, so beautiful," he murmurs, his breath fanning against your inner thighs, "like an angel from the heavens above."

his fingers hook the hem of your bottoms, pulling them aside as he comes face-to-face with your weeping cunt. carefully, his tongue treads along your slick folds, a moan ringing out into the night.

your fingers tangle in his dampened locks, tugging at the roots as his eyes drift upward.

the emotion bursting within those depths is indescribable. it was almost as if a man was brought to his knees at the altar, ready to worship and praise the divine. as if a man was catching his first glimpse at a piece of pure art.

yet, the once bright mocha gaze was now dimmed, hardened into a near obsidian hue by the spell that had taken ahold.

"ride my tongue," the words vibrate against you, "i need to feel it. need to taste you."

yet, as you begin to roll those hips, a familiar cry floods your ears.

"papaaaa! hase!"

jack.

"fuck," toto curses, wiping his lower lip, "i guess i should go check out what he needs, hmm? or isn't that your job?"

"he called for his papa first," you tease, sticking out your tongue, "i can go help him back to bed though. he probably just had a nightmare."

"hase?" his brows furrow as you swim across the tub, stepping onto the ladder, "why does he call you bunny?"

"it's a long story," you wave a hand, treading up the steps, "i need to go do my job. also, my fingers are getting all pruney. we may want to continue this somewhere else."

"well," toto follows in suit, slapping your ass, "i think we'll continue this in my room. if you don't mind."

"you better hope i don't fall asleep with jack," you scoff, wrapping a towel around your frame.

"oh hase, don't fret. i'll just carry you out of that bed and into mine."

#toto wolff #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff smut #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfiction

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egcdeath · 2 days

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the old college try

summary: you reconnect with an unexpected guest at the creator of your scholarship’s dinner party.

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

warnings: stanford era, sassy reader, situationship, a touch of family drama, mentions of putting an etsy love spell on someone, arguing, emotional immaturity, maybe not the best decisions from our lovely characters, kindaaaa open ending

word count: 4.6k

author’s note: i am absolutely addicted to all things ex!patrick. i hope you enjoy reading this!

“This is my son, Patrick.”

Your stomach dropped the second the woman’s son turned around, familiar light eyes and scruffy appearance immediately taking you back to your tumultuous third semester of college.

You remembered it like it was yesterday—the extended periods without contact followed by a surprise appearance at your dorm room, or the drawn out arguments on the phone that left every passerby giving you—the angry woman on the phone in her pajamas on the sidewalk—a strange look, and even the few good times you had with him.

You blinked once to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you, then felt an onslaught of realization hit you at once. Despite your several month on-and-off situationship with Patrick, you never learned much identifying information about him, including his last name. In fact, that had been something you’d argued about multiple times. The two of you barely knew each other, save for each others’ bodies, which you unfortunately both knew very well.

Had you known that Patrick was the son of Mrs. Zweig, donor to your scholarship, you wouldn’t have accepted the invite to this family event.

Mrs. Zweig seemed to recognize the shock and confusion on both of your faces. While you didn’t think your mouth was agape, there was certainly a high chance that it was. “You two already know each other?” she asked, looking amused.

“No,” you quickly replied.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, his words coming out at the same time as yours.

“Yes,” you tried again, trying to get your story straight.

“No,” he said this time, your voices overlapping once more.

She glanced between the two of you skeptically before humming aloud. “Hmm. Well, I’ll let you two chat and connect, or reconnect, whatever it is you’re doing.”

She was off without much more fanfare, leaving you very flustered in her wake.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Patrick asked you, getting right in your face like he always did when the two of you argued. It was almost slightly nostalgia-inducing.

“What are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, given that he had been introduced as the son of your beneficiary. Of course he would be at a family function. This was his family, after all. But you were flustered, as anyone else in your shoes would be, and words were currently failing you.

“Zweig doesn’t ring a bell?” he asked. When you responded with a wordless shake of your head, he chuckled in annoyance and disbelief. It all felt very familiar. “What was it that you always used to say to me? ‘You don’t even know what my middle name is?’”

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes, not knowing where the discussion was going, but not liking it regardless.

In response to your non-verbal response, he leaned in close to your ear, clearly not trying to let on to the rest of the attendees the level of drama that was currently occurring in their midst.

“You hypocrite.”

The words he spat were simple, but effective—leaving you simultaneously filled with rage and oddly, a little aroused.

He walked off after that, using self restraint that you weren’t actually sure that he had. Knowing Patrick, he would be back and spewing vitriol in your face or in your ear whenever he next had the opportunity.

You were taking a very different approach to the situation. Now that you knew Patrick was at the event, you were determined to do everything humanly possible to avoid bumping into him.

You talked to any and everyone you could find, trying to ignore the fact that you could feel Patrick’s eyes searing into you, no matter what part of the room you were in. He was clearly waiting for the moment he could pounce on you once again, evidenced by the way he seemed to start going on the move whenever you stopped talking to someone.

Somehow, you were still one step quicker than him, quickly maneuvering yourself into new conversations or inserting yourself into the conversations of others.

You weren’t sure what Patrick so badly wanted to tell you anyway. Maybe taunt you about some new conquest he was with, or to beg you to come home with him after dinner. Unfortunately, the latter proposition didn’t sound all that bad.

Other than your issue of avoiding conversation with Patrick, you were also facing another challenge: People trying to introduce the two of you to each other. You weren’t sure what it was that made people think that the two of you needed to meet so badly—from Patrick’s mom, who had been insisting for weeks that you meet her son, to a random cousin who happened to think that you’d like each other. You wished you could tell them that you’d already met each other, and that you’d magnificently crashed and burned.

Briefly wanting to get away from the repetitive small talk and questions about if you’ve met the person you were in a messy situationship with, you found your way to a bathroom—but not without being followed in.

“What the fuck?” you said immediately as the door behind you shut.

“We need to talk,” Patrick said plainly, locking the door behind him.

“Unlock that,” you demanded, not because you were all that afraid of your safety, but because you wanted a quick exit plan if he started to really piss you off.

“Fine,” he conceded, unlocking the door. “But don’t act weird if someone walks in on us.”

“Walks in on us?” you laughed, parroting his words. “There won’t be anything to walk in on. I mean, you can’t seriously think I’m going to fuck you at a family dinner.”

You were about 95% sure of your words, but that other 5% was thinking about the logistics of getting your tight dress off in that small bathroom.

“I didn’t come in here to fuck you,” he explained.

“Then what are you here for?” you asked, confused about what else he could possibly want from you.

“We need to get our story straight. I can’t have a repeat of that conversation with my mom.”

“Why does it matter? I’ll just stay away from you for the rest of the night. I’ll expect you to do the same, then there won’t be any issues.”

“That won’t work. Have you seen the seating chart for tonight?”

“Seating chart?” you scoffed. It seemed ridiculous, but it made sense. For people rich enough to create and fund scholarships, it made sense that a large dinner for friends and family members would come equipped with a seating chart. Besides, you were sure there were people with dietary restrictions in your midst. “How would I have known there was a seating chart, let alone look at it ahead of time?”

“Well, a little spoiler: you and I are sitting next to each other.”

“What the hell? Who did that?”

“I don’t know! Stop looking at me like this is my fault.” Now that he mentioned it, you were currently glaring at Patrick. “It must’ve been my mom. I swear she’s been telling everyone that you and I need to get together. Everyone’s been telling me all night that we need to meet.”

“God, I thought it was just me. Is this a family of matchmakers or something? Or are they trying to help you out with your fear of commitment?”

“I don’t have- can you just focus instead of trying to be funny? We’re gonna be next to each other all night and people are going to be asking us questions. So what are we going to tell them?”

“You don’t want to tell them about you leading me on for months?” you asked innocently, not trying very hard to hide the contempt behind your words.

“No, you’re right,” Patrick agreed with you, fake thoughtfulness in his tone. “Now that I think about it, maybe we should tell them about the love spell you paid some Etsy witch to put on me.”

You instantly felt your cheeks warm at the mention of such an embarrassing action.

“That was a joke and you know it.” It wasn’t a joke. It was a dark period of time for you. “So what do you suggest we tell them?”

“That we’re just friends,” he said simply.

“They aren’t gonna be suspicious that you’ve never brought me up before?” you probed, part of you wondering the logic behind his decision, and the other part of you wondering if he’d ever brought you, his situationship, up to his friends or family.

“Doubt it,” he dismissed with ease.

You were only a little disappointed, but not at all surprised. “So what’s the story?”

“That we met when I was visiting Stanford.”

“That’s true, though.”

“Just leave it at that. We met once or twice through mutual friends,” he directed.

“Okay,” you shrugged. “Anything else I should know?”

“Just that you look really hot tonight,” he said, biting his lip and unabashedly checking you out.

“Okay. Goodbye,” you didn’t bother humoring him, though his words did satisfy you. You left the bathroom and didn’t spare a glance back, even as you heard him leave a few minutes later.

After the torture that was socializing with people whose sole purpose seemed to be setting you up with your ex fling, you’d all been summoned to sit down for dinner. Just as Patrick warned you, you sat down at a seat that was directly next to him. You wished you could switch seats with someone else, putting their nameplate next to him and hoping that no one would be any wiser, but you couldn’t see a world where that would work out for you.

Eventually, Patrick sat down next to you, clearly trying his best not to look at you too closely, lest someone catch on to the fact that you two knew each other.

You did your best to be a fly on the wall in the conversation that the people around you were having. You poked around at your salad and wondered if you focused hard enough on the leaves, if you’d be able to disappear.

“So, have you two had the chance to meet?” someone asked from across the table, directing the question to you and Patrick. Clearly, your plan of disappearing hadn’t worked out after all.

“Yeah! We actually know each other already,” you explained, directing a friendly smile towards whatever cousin or family friend you were speaking to. Clearly, Patrick didn’t trust your answering abilities, as he butt into the conversation before you could finish speaking.

“We have some mutual friends, so we’ve crossed paths once or twice,” Patrick clarified, attempting to give more context to your relationship. Technically, it was true. While you weren’t necessarily friends with the man who inadvertently set you up, you’d been invited to a party being hosted by some tennis player in your accounting class who played with Patrick at some point, and met at that very event.

Despite the many partygoers, Patrick seemed instantly drawn to you, or at least, was instantly attracted to you, based on the way that he openly checked you out as he approached you. Normally, that kind of thing would make you roll your eyes and walk away, but you’d been intrigued by his looks and his shameless demeanor. If only you could go back in time to tell yourself to roll your eyes and walk away.

“But we don’t know each other very well,” you added. That, you firmly believed was true. Patrick may have known what position made you cum quickest, but he didn’t know a thing that actually mattered about you. He probably couldn’t even tell you what your major was.

“What a coincidence you ended up here, then,” the other man, whose name you couldn’t remember, commented. “Did Patrick help you get the scholarship?”

“What?” you tried not to sound too offended, though you very much were. You tried to remind yourself that saying the wrong thing could cost you your entire higher education, and ended up laughing off the very rude allegation. “It’s really just a funny coincidence.”

To your surprise, Patrick jumped to your defense. “Unlike you and your seat on the board, there’s no nepotism here. We met long after she already got the scholarship, which she earned. She’s one of the most dedicated students I know.”

His words surprised you. The argumentative ones calling out his relative, not so much, but you were a little impressed by the way that he stood firm on the fact that you were a good student. Sure, he witnessed you studying for midterms in your dorm room every now and then—even if at the time he’d been trying to distract you from your work to get some attention—and now that you were thinking about it, he did bring you flowers after he found out you’d made it onto the Dean’s List.

Maybe Patrick hadn’t been all that bad of a… you didn’t even know what, after all. But that was certainly a thought you were only entertaining due to his sweet behavior he was currently exhibiting. The fact that you were a whole year out from your entanglement and still couldn’t define what the hell happened between the two of you was a testament to how much of a mess your relationship was.

“Not that you know too many students,” his relative laughed in that stuck-up rich person's laugh they all seemed to have. You tried to ignore how you were already getting caught in family politics, getting your academic ability called into question in the crossfire of an easy insult Patrick dealt to his family member. “Pat’s too busy going around the world hitting balls. How’s that going, by the way?”

From what you’d observed in your own efforts to see what he was up to, they weren’t going great. Notably, after you’d cut things off with him, his performance decreased significantly.

“It’s going well,” Patrick said with false confidence that you saw right through. If you could see right through it, you were sure that his family members were able to do the same. A brief glance at the woman in front of you who was clearly attempting to suppress a laugh confirmed this for you immediately.

It was almost a little pathetic to see, watching Patrick lie so obviously to an audience that couldn’t even pretend to believe him. Seeing how he stepped in to help you out, it was only fair that you did the same for him. Even if he hadn’t done so, you were starting to become embarrassed for him.

“Have you been to any of his matches recently?” you asked, interrupting their mockery of Patrick. “He did a really great job at the French Open. I mean, even making it to the French Open is really impressive.”

Not that you’d been at any of the matches, but you occasionally Googled his name to see what he was up to. Even more occasionally, you turned on ESPN to see if you could catch any footage of him playing. But it wasn’t like you even really cared.

Okay. You cared a little bit.

Most of the time, you were rooting for him to fail, as is the right of all bitter exes. But now was not the time for you to share that information. Not when Patrick was looking at you like you were crazy, and his family members were eyeing you suspiciously.

That was when you remembered that the two of you weren’t supposed to know each other very well. You instantly tried your best to cover up your tracks. “But I don’t know a lot about tennis, that’s just what our friend told me.” Considering that you hadn’t spoken to Art since Accounting 223 ended, he did not actually share this information with you.

“Huh. Do you guys talk about Patrick a lot?” you were trying your best not to fold under the skeptical look she was giving you.

“Only when he’s doing something cool. Which isn’t very often,” it was a good save, which left the rest of the table laughing at your little dig at Patrick. You were starting to understand his family dynamic a little more, and it didn’t exactly seem like a pleasant one.

You could practically feel his betrayed gaze searing into you, but you did your best to ignore it. You were already feeling guilt gnaw into you about hanging him back out to dry with a family who already liked to pick on him.

“You know, that actually reminds me. You said you don’t know much about tennis, but I remember seeing you play a little bit. How’s that going?” Patrick asked you, his question obviously trying to reveal something embarrassing about you. You instantly felt the blood drain from your face at the mention of your attempt to play the sport.

Your brief stint with tennis was mainly born out of your desire to see Patrick more often. After your run-in at his friend’s party, you were determined to put yourself in the type of situations that would allow you to ‘accidentally’ run into Patrick.

You started off simple, going to the tennis matches for Stanford’s men’s team, hoping that Patrick would eventually show up in the stands to support his friend. Despite your incessant searching of the stands, you were never able to find Patrick amongst the crowd of students, fans, and supportive family members.

Never one to give up easily, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Maybe if you were a little sportier, Patrick would take an interest in you, reaching out to you so you wouldn’t ever have to make the first move. You spent the evening perusing sporting goods stores with your roommate, putting cute tennis outfits and equipment that you couldn’t really afford on a credit card.

The next morning, the two of you got up bright and early to hit the tennis courts before anyone else arrived. The game seemed simple enough, but proved to be far more difficult than either of you anticipated. After half an hour of attempting to play with frankly awful technique, you decided to call it quits and do a photoshoot instead.

Feeling satisfied with pictures that featured your best angles and the slightest hint of breeze blowing up your skirt, you decided to post your photos on social media with a caption about how much you loved tennis. That was sure to get Patrick’s attention.

Just as you’d suspected, not long after you posted, you received a message from Patrick, casually asking about how things were going with you. Your faux interest in tennis had been promptly abandoned.

Surprised at the fact that Patrick was bringing up your very blatant bait of him, you were caught slightly off guard. “Oh, I was never really super into it,” you attempted to dismiss.

“That’s news to me,” he chuckled. “I swear, you told me about how you were super into tennis. Was that just a phase, or…?”

He eyed you mischievously, clearly challenging you to a match of whatever mind game it was that he wanted to play with you. Unluckily for him, you were in the mood to play–and win.

“Something like that. I guess I just figured out that tennis really wasn’t for me. But you know, college is a time to try out new things. See what you like, what you don’t like. And man, I really didn’t like tennis.”

Obviously, you weren’t talking just about tennis. You hoped that Patrick was able to catch onto the not-so-subtle subtext.

“I don’t know, I thought you liked tennis a lot. Thought it was good for you,” Patrick commented casually, going back to his food before looking back at you.

“It was surprisingly pretty toxic,” you replied easily.

“Are you sure you didn’t share a part in that toxicity? With a sport like tennis, you really get out what you put in.”

“Sure, but I didn’t put in nearly as much toxicity as I was getting from it.”

“Of course you’d think that,” Patrick murmured.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“It means that you think you’re so guiltless, but you played a bigger role in… tennis not working out than you’re acting like you did.”

“Please, enlighten me on how I could’ve made tennis work out better for me.”

“I just think maybe you’re being a little too hard on tennis in comparison to what really happened.”

“Just because you have a nice racket and a little more experience than me doesn’t mean you’re an expert on how bad things were for me. Seriously, Patrick. You actually don’t have a clue about what I was going through.”

“Are you guys still talking about tennis?” someone asked with a forced laugh, breaking the thick tension at the table. There was a stiff, awkward chuckle from your fellow dinner companions. It was almost as if you’d forgotten that you were at his family’s dinner, bitterly arguing with Patrick in loosely coded language. You should have the shame to feel embarrassed, but you mostly felt agitated with Patrick.

“Obviously,” Patrick replied. “What else would we be talking about?”

“Oh yeah. Obviously,” they said stiffly. “So like, are you sure you two don’t know each other that well?”

“We really don’t,” you quickly replied.

“Why would we lie about that?” Patrick said, your voices overlapping.

As if arguing about something that was very obviously a metaphor for your relationship wasn’t suspicious enough, this reaction certainly didn’t help your case. It was ridiculous to attempt to keep up this façade when it was becoming more and more clear to anyone at the table with eyes to see and ears to hear that you two were more than casual, mutual friends.

“Actually, we did lie. We were friends for a little while,” you confessed.

“Friends?” Patrick parroted with a scoff. He looked at you with disbelief before shaking his head. “Excuse me,” he announced before standing up and walking off from the table.

The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, which you took as your cue to follow Patrick to wherever he was sulking off to. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

The two of you said nothing as you followed Patrick out to his back patio. The fresh, cold air felt nice after a suffocating, stressful evening. As Patrick sat down on a piece of comfortable furniture, you wordlessly sat across from him.

“Just go. Back inside, back home, I don’t give a shit. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Clearly you do,” you replied, watching him dig in his pocket for a cigarette to no avail. He finally found a loose cigarette and brought it to his lips, ignoring you as he lit it up.

“Don’t blow it in my face,” you warned him, though you wouldn’t mind taking a drag or two from it.

“I won’t,” he replied, words muffled around the cigarette at his lips.

The two of you sat in silence before he spoke once more. “Do you seriously feel like we were just friends?”

“Jesus,” you laughed at the question, unbelieving that Patrick would think all of your desperate acts to try to get him to commit to you could be interpreted as anything but romantic. “Of course we weren’t just friends. But you try describing what we had to someone who wasn’t a witness to the train wreck that was our relationship.”

“We were…” he trailed off as he thought about how to describe your relationship. “Friends with benefits?”

“Sure,” you replied, though you obviously disagreed with him. “You know, this is exactly why things didn’t work out. I wanted to be with you so badly and you refused to acknowledge that we had a connection any deeper than physical until it was convenient for you.”

“Did you expect me to spell out how I felt about you when I was showing you how I felt?” he asked as if it were the most obvious question in the world.

“Actually, yes. Clearly we were not on the same page about how we felt if you thought that you were being so obvious while I was over-analyzing every single word you’d ever said to me to try to figure out how you felt about me.”

“Are you serious? You were the one who was impossible to understand. One day you wanted me to take you out on a date and hold you in your little twin sized bed afterward, and the next you didn’t want to speak to me. How was I supposed to interpret that?”

“Patrick, you were doing the same thing to me! I was just so mad at you. Like, constantly. Even though I had feelings for you. My friends were always telling me I’m an idiot for letting you treat me that way, so obviously I tried to start pushing you away. But even with everything, I still really liked you, so I couldn’t fully stay away from you,” you explained, hoping that your disjointed words would make sense to him.

It truly was a very complicated situation. Part of you wondered if you had communicated this earlier, if things might have ended differently for you.

Patrick seemed to be thinking deeply about your words before he spoke again. “Do you ever still think about me?”

You had two options for approaching his question. You could lie, like you hadn’t made it abundantly clear earlier that you still, at the very least, pay attention to his tennis career, or you could tell the truth and risk having your feelings hurt again.

“Sometimes,” you confessed, going with the latter. “I’m mostly still really annoyed with the way you treated me, and the fact that I let you treat me that way. But sometimes I miss you, anyway.”

“Then let’s do things differently this time,” he proposed as if it was the best and brightest idea he’d ever had. “I miss you, too. It shouldn’t have taken us breaking up for me to realize how much I need you in my life, but it did.”

“What are you saying, Patrick?” you asked, trying to make sure that you fully understood his proposition. Was he trying to get you back?

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he spelled out for you. “I want to treat you better than I ever did before. I’ve thought about everything that went down between us, and I think that we can make it work this time if we just try to be honest with each other. What do you think?”

You were shocked at the offer. If someone had told you going into this dinner that you would end it with your former situationship asking you to be with him, you would’ve laughed in their face. Yet, his proposition, and the fact that you wanted to say yes, didn’t exactly feel like a laughing matter.

You paused as you stopped to consider your options. Your gut instinct was to say yes—you’d wanted him for so long, and he clearly wasn’t over you. You obviously had some things you needed to work through before you really made this relationship work, but the feelings were there. The more logical part of your brain was telling you to say no—Patrick had hurt you so many times before, that there was no telling if he would hurt you again.

“Sure. Let’s try it,” you said, ignoring all of the logic in your head and fully following where the passion in your heart wanted to take you.

You couldn’t be sure if this would end in another heartbreak for you, but you weren’t so sure that you cared either.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig fic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #challengers #challengers fic #josh o'connor x reader

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darylbae · 1 day

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Daryl and breath play <3

Imagine him choking you out from behind as he roughly fucks up into you after you fucked up yet *another* resource run; drool running down your chin as you babble incoherently as his thick cock splits you open so wonderfully!

there ain't no god here — daryl dixon

in which you mess up on a run, and daryl has had enough

note: SMUT WARNING! do not consume this content if you are under the age of 18, i am not liable for you reading past this point.

warnings: rough sex, dirty talk, bad writing.

You and Daryl have never had a nice relationship. From the moment the pair of you met, you'd been at each other's throats. Always arguing, always antagonizing each other, but there was something sizzling between the two of you. Which neither of you had noticed. Maggie said it first. When you'd all turned up to the farm, she'd asked you if the two of you were a thing, to which you laughed in her face. "As if I'd let Daryl put his hands on me," you exclaimed. "Dream on, girl," he'd call out as he passed the two of you outside. When the farm had been lost and you'd all found the prison, the two of you were incessant on arguing. It was just a constant cat fight between the two of you. Glenn had even made a comment about it feeling 'weirdly sexual'. Rick had learned to keep you apart, for the sake and sanity of the group. He was surprised you'd made it this far without physically fighting or fucking. The long winter on the road, hunting in the woods, finally finding Alexandria, you two just never clicked. It had even become a game of sorts, to inconvenience the other one, to push them just that little bit off the edge. The two of you were so caught up in this game of riling up the other, that people within the community were beginning to assume there was a spark between you. And Daryl heard none of it, until Spencer had approached him once. "Hey," he spoke awkwardly, too afraid to look at the archer who was aggressively buffing his crossbow with a cloth. "What." Daryl grumbled, not even bothering to look up from his weapon. He could tell by the lanky figure it was Spencer. "I, uh," Spencer was rambling, unable to get to his point, "I wanted to know if anything was going on between you and Y/N." "Why do you care?" "I was gonna ask her out, well, I was gonna ask her over for dinner. There's not much in the way of dating anymore." Spencer faltered, looking anywhere except at Daryl. "But I didn't know if there was actually a thing between you two, so I thought I should ask instead of listening to rumors." Daryl finally stopped fussing his crossbow. "Why would I care? Do what you want with 'er." Just as Spencer had retreated down the porch steps, Daryl had immediately regret what he'd said. But why? You frustrated him to his core, you got under his skin, you knew just how to make him tick. And he hated it, at least he thought he did. All he used to worry about were walkers. Now, they'd been pushed to the back burner of his mind. He's been so swept up in this little back and forth with you, that he'd forgotten how terrible the world was for a moment. Did he really care about the thought of you spending time with another guy?

Daryl had watched in dismay as you spent less time winding him up, and more time walking the streets with Spencer. It was almost as if you were riling him up by walking past the porch he'd sit on. It was jealousy, and almost a sick possession to want you all to himself. You, unbeknownst to Daryl, had no interest in Spencer. You spoke to him and spent time with him purely as a friend and to make connections within the community. So when you'd been sent on a run with Daryl, it felt nice to not have to play a part anymore. To just be around someone you were yourself with. Of course you cared about Daryl enough to not see him get killed, but the two of you have always been at each other's throats. That was kind of your thing. "We taking a car?" You asked Rick, folding your arms as you stood beside Michonne. It was supposed to be the four of you, but Deanna wanted to see Michonne and Rick. "My bike." Daryl retorted. "I suppose it makes it easier to throw myself off," you reasoned, scowling at Daryl, and you could see Michonne chuckle into her hand. "Please," Daryl bit back, striding towards his bike, "gives me a break from you." You had your arms around Daryl, holding on tightly as you sped down a long, narrow road. The wind whipped your hair into your face, and every time you felt inclined to swipe it away, Daryl made sure both of your hands were around him. He'd gripped your hand and forced it back onto his waist as you tried to smooth your hair down. When you'd gotten to a small town outside of the area, Daryl dismounted and helped you off the bike. It was the least he could do. You did your usual sweep of each store, and taking the stock you needed, occasionally being annoying and getting a series of grunts in return. "Didn't ya ever learn to shut up?" He spat, waving you off as he entered another aisle. You rolled your eyes, shoving stuff into the backpack you'd brought along. "Didn't you ever learn to treat women nicely?" You had aggravated him the entire run. Instead of moving things out the way so both of you could pass, you'd just climb over it and let Daryl deal with it himself. Instead of listening to him, you'd go off and do exactly what you wanted to. Daryl felt like a babysitter. "Surprised Spencer puts up with ya." Daryl mumbled, shining a flashlight into a dark back room, only to find dead walkers and upturned furniture. "Excuse me?" "Ya heard me, girl." "Spencer doesn't have to put up with anything." You remarked, folding your arms. "So it's just me then? Ya annoy me and not ya own damn boyfriend!" Daryl's voice grew louder, the two of you so caught up in arguing that you'd almost forgotten the dead were out to get you. "Spencer's not my boyfriend!" Oh, Daryl thought. His heart lifted for a moment, until he'd seen a walker come out of the room behind you. Without hesitation, he shot an arrow through it's skull, and watched as you caught your breath. "Get in 'ere." Daryl demanded, grabbing your hand and leading you into a vacant bathroom. "Always messin' up the damn thing." "What?" You answered, voice small and still shaking with fear. You'd never come that close to death before. A walkers hands had grabbed your shoulders, it's teeth mere inches away from you. "Why don't ya listen to me, huh?" He whisper-yelled, his grip still firm on your hand. "Always runnin' off and doin' what ya want. Ya need manners, girl." "I need manners? When have you ever said a nice word to me? When have you ever thought about me in any positive way?" Daryl paused, was it the time for this?

"Every fuckin' day. Every mornin', every night. Every damn time I see ya, I can't not think about ya." Daryl admitted, frustration still laced in his voice. "All ya do is drive me insane." Both of you were breathing heavily, tension still clouding the air in this very small bathroom. You were almost chest to chest with the little space available in here. Daryl was thinking with the recently unlocked part of his brain that just contained you. Every glance he'd ever sent your way, every time he'd seen you stretch and show the hem of your underwear, every time he'd look down at you and see those innocent eyes staring back up at him. There was nothing that felt as right as this. His lips were on yours, and you'd moved against his like you'd done it regularly. Hell, you thought about it at times. When you were lonely in your cell, in your room in Alexandria, the hatred went hand in hand with passion, and you were so overfilled with lust that it had all blurred into one. Every bitter word the two of you threw at each other, it fueled the fire that you were both burning in now. He'd gripped at the clothes he wanted gone, and you'd silently obey him. His calloused hands swiped over your neck, and it had awoken a side of you that was powered off when the world ended. "Oh, you like that, huh?" He asked, his voice no longer containing it's usual gruffness. It was whiny, almost poking fun at how you were putty in his hands. You just sighed in response, giving up any self control you had. It was all his now, to do with it as he pleased. "Gotta teach ya a lesson, girl," he breathed into your ear, hands on your shoulders and spinning you round the other way. You hadn't realized the mirror facing you, your tinged cheeks and sleepy eyes clouded over with lust.

Daryl's lips grazed the curve of your neck, daring to place a kiss on your soft, pure skin. He wanted to toy with you, like you did with him every day. Sauntering around, giving looks you'd only give to him, leaving him to deal with his hard-on in the middle of the night. "Ya gonna listen to me now, hm." You could feel his hands gliding closer to the inside of your thigh, heat burning between your legs. You didn't just want it, you needed it. You arched your back into him, rubbing against whatever you could. Needed the friction, the look in your eyes almost primal. Daryl smirked at you in the mirror, holding your gaze as he spat on his hand. Your fingers squeezed the counter as he slid into you, the two of you completely in sync as you moaned out for each other. The feeling purely nostalgic. "God," you cried, your eyebrows knitted together and your lip quivering. "There ain't no God here, girl, just me." One of his hands gripped your thigh as rammed into you, jerking your hip bones into the counter. If you weren't so wrapped up in Daryl, it would ache. But you couldn't stop, not even to readjust, you needed Daryl to carry you to your high. His other hand snaked up your body, sensually rubbing at your breasts, of which he'd caught glimpses of for years. Finally seeing them felt... satisfying. All the times you'd fiddle with your shirt, exposing them just barely, and Daryl would have to be a gentleman and look away. His hand finally reached your neck and he'd gripped both sides with his fingers and thumb. He'd peered at you through the mirror, catching the whites of your eyes as you rolled them back. Seeing how delighted you looked, it made him feel good. He knew just how to make you tick. "Ya gonna do as I say from now on," he breathed, squeezing tighter on your throat, "you're all mine, girl." "Yeah," you croaked, Daryl's grip on your throat and him inside of you rendered you unable to speak, you were just allowing him to do whatever he wanted. "All yours." He'd suddenly stopped and you whimpered at the loss of contact. Daryl had turned you around again, hooking his arms under your ass and lifting you onto the counter. "Wanna see that pretty face." He'd entered you again, filling you up and you were back to seeing stars as he pumped into you. His grunts and moans were close to sending you over the edge. His hand found your throat again, squeezing on the familiar spot and Daryl's eyes flickered to your breasts as the bounced with every thrust. They were entrancing. He was close to finishing, but he wanted to savor this moment. He wanted this, you, over and over again. He could see the drool escaping your lips and running down your chin, some dropping onto your breasts. He almost finished at the sight of it all. "Let go for me, girl." He moaned, bringing you closer to him for the final few thrusts. "Come on. Good girl." Your body took over, sending you over the edge and quivering on him. Daryl held your body tight, careful not to let you go. His rhythm had gotten sloppier, he couldn't hold it, just knowing this was all with you, all for you, he let go himself and caught your gaze as he did so. There was nothing he'd change about this, the tiny bathroom, the argument beforehand, the relationship the two of you had before. It all led to this, and he'd do it again. Exactly the same.

#inbox 💌#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon incorrect quotes #daryl x you #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfic

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newyork-institute · 2 days

Text

All I can think about now is the reader being a freshly turned vampire, and Ghost stumbles across you, covered in blood.

"NO! Wait, please, I don't understand-" "Who's blood is that?" "Mine? I think?" "You think?" "I don't know! I was attacked from behind and then all I felt was pain and then I woke up and everything smells so fucking good and-" "Have you attacked anyone?!" "I-"

Turns out you did, in fact, attack someone, the raw hunger of a fresh turn almost impossible to stop yourself.

He becomes your lifeline after, knowing the clan in the area would rather rip you to shreds than have a vampire running around without being told what to do from another.

When he first offered you his blood, the smell called to you like a siren called to shore, hoping to drag someone into the darkness with them.

You couldn’t escape the taste of him constantly in your mouth or the smell of him surrounding you. You craved licking the sweat off his neck and biting in, but in the beginning, you were limited to the blood from his hand.

Ghost was never surprised to come out of his room in the middle of the night to find you sitting by the window in the living room, eyes cast towards the sky. (Vampires don’t sleep because they’re dead, Ghost had to remind himself.)

He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring at you all the time, wanting to feel your skin under his hands.

Of course, though, other vampires learned of your existence easily, grabbing you like a thief in the night and keeping you sedated with dead man’s blood constantly pumping in your veins.

Ghost was covered in blood when he found you, the smell bitter because it was vampire blood but his presence a balm on your tired and aching body.

“How’d you find me?” You murmured, your head lolling around on Ghosts shoulder. He shushed you, telling you not to talk and to let him take care of you, and you did, closing your eyes and sleeping off the rest of the dead man’s blood.

When you woke up at whatever time later, all you could smell was Simon - the sweat, sweat smell of his musk and the gunpowder that stuck to his skin. You looked at him as you opened your eyes.

The whole turning into a vampire and then being captured and held captive by other vampires caused you to break, a sob slipping past your lips as you buried your head in the pillows.

Strong arms were around you, Simon hauling you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your hip and the other tangling into your hair.

You were shaking as you buried your head into his shoulder, calming yourself down with the smell of him invading your senses.

Then hunger shot through you, brutal and agonizing, a wounded sound passing your lips as you tried to pull away from that intoxicating smell of Simon Riley.

Hands were on your face, a thumb pushing at your brow to get that look off your face. “What is it, love?”

“‘M hungry,” you grit out, letting the wave of devastating hunger pass before you opened your eyes, Simon’s chest now bare as he slid his hand to the back of your neck.

“Here,” he said, tilting his head to the side some, baring his neck to you. You whimpered, not needing anymore convincing to press your lips to his neck, fangs coming through and piercing his skin.

I just like the idea Simon Riley letting himself be the only one to sustain you, gripping you tightly each time as you sink your fangs into his neck.

#cod x gn!reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fantasy/supernatural!au #dead man’s blood seems like a potent vampire poison #brainrot #I have so many ideas #vampire!reader #gn reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you

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ravstars · 2 days

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HELLOO this is like the first time I'm requesting here... umm so an idea came up to my mind, it's about Wanderer's little story about sewing a doll. It's on his character menu. He basically learns how to and sews a doll, and then he starts bringing it everywhere he goes... but what if his S/O discovered about/saw that his boyfriend had actually something to be attached to? IDKK feel free to do the request only if u want, if you don't mind I'd prefer a male S/O... that's it!! Ty for reading and for ur attention!!

(I find that so cute help me, HE HAS A DOLLLLL so cutie)

MY DOLL ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

⌇Wanderer/ Scaramouche x Reader.ᐟ

જ⁀➴Fluff: See above for request <3

a/n: I hope you like the way I wrote it, Anon! Thank you for the request, I hope you have a great rest of your day ^^. I‘m sorry that you had to wait a little. HAPPY PRIDE, LOVES <3

You knew of some parts of Wanderers extraordinary history, having become his friend after Lesser Lord Kusanali introduced you to him. He hated every second he spent with you, he‘d say, with his signature scoff and a roll of his eyes.

Truth is, he had grown fond of the idea of spending time with your reassuring and caring presence, even when he felt like he didn’t deserve it. Not that you needed to know when you could just understand from the way he pulled his hat down when you teased him on the way to the Akademiya or from the way he‘d tolerate your occasional energetic behavior even after he had a long day. Even in silence, there was a mutual understanding between him and you, no words needing to exchanged for you both to know how you were feeling.

He hated it — Feeling vulnerable to you. He couldn’t help but cave on some nights, though, looking up at the night sky and watching the stars with you when you couldn’t sleep. So, yes, you knew of his past, even if not completely and appreciated every part of his vulnerability and trust. He knew he could trust you, he didn’t know if he should, though.

—••••—

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Your laughter takes him out of his thoughts as you walk around Sumeru City, talking about whatever crossed your mind as Wanderer listened.

“I don’t need people to know about my personal affairs, much less if I’m involved with you.” He grumbled, clearly flustered about the encounter earlier at the Grand Bazaar. A merchant had inquired if you and the Wanderer were in a relationship, and even though true, your lovely boyfriend was too embarrassed to answer.

“So what, I am your lover, am I not?” He basically shuts down, turning beet red

“Shut it.” He pulls his hat down, speeding up to escape your teasing.

Suddenly, a rock gets in his way and he trips, sending him straight down on the sandy ground. His hat falls right off too, and he makes a startled sound. You’d think it’d cute if you weren’t just slightly worried but surprised too.

You kneel next to him.

“Wanderer?”

He has his guard up again and now both of your gazes land on what fell out of his hat.

“What is this?” You ask, snatching the object from the ground before he can, dusting it off.

It was a little and soft doll with white clothes and black hair, a waistband tied using a butterfly knot, and a clear, round tear at the corner of his eye. You pet the top of the dolls small head with your thumb before looking back at him. His brows are furrowed and he’s blushing profusely

“Give it back.” He says, but you just hold it. You knew Wanderer too well, you knew what he was thinking

“I’m not making fun of you, I like it. I love it, actually.” You slowly give it back, smiling gently.

“He’s my travel companion.” He puts it back, keeping it safe underneath his hat. You help adjust his hat and help him get up. You keep walking silently until he feels less embarrassed and finally talks.

“Thank you.” He says, mumbling quietly. You respond by humming, taking his hand in yours, which he then squeezes tightly. No one understood him like you, no one cherished him like you, no one loved him like you and no words could express your love for one another.

“Who does the doll represent?” You ask, curiosity overtaking you

“Someone from the past. It doesn’t matter, anyway.” He turns to you and , in rare occurrence, smiles at you, genuinely and sincerely.

“You’re the one that matters to me from now on. For forever.”

Forever — That sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

#~𐙚ravza writes...#genshin impact #wanderer #wanderer fluff #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scara smut #scaramouche smut #scara

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hyukalyptus · 1 day

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heyy could u do smthing like txt reactions to u using the safe word while at it????

omg of course!! i love this idea sm.

cw. use of safe word, all of them stop ofc, sex, rough bdsm stuff is not mentioned, soob is big and clumsy and reader likes pushing limits, gyu uses red/green/yellow system and likes pushing limits, pet names (baby), aftercare, tae's kinda vanilla and feels guilty, kai is kinky asf (but that's not discussed here; go check out lia's duality for that lol), cuddling, kissing.

smut(?) under cut!

yeonjun - omg honestly i think he’d be the absolute sweetest. stops in his tracks, lifts his hands off you, but stays inside you to wait for further instruction. doesn't apologize because you've ask him not to in the past (makes you feel guilty) and he's worked so hard to make sure you feel safe with him and that you're not hesitant using the safe word. he's so proud (but doesn't show it) that you feel safe enough to use the safe word with him. "what did i do? what can i do to make it better?” doesn't touch you until you say its okay. once you've caught your breath and have calmed down, he very cautiously and with your permission picks things back up, finishing you, but he doesn't finish himself. he can get off later.

soobin - he's the one that insisted on creating a safe word in the first place. he knows he can sometimes be just a bit too clumsy and a bit too big that he doesn't know if he's hurting his sex partners or if they're just playing into it. so he learned quickly that he needs to establish a safe word every time, especially since you like pushing the limits. things start getting a little too hot and heavy for your liking and he's getting a little too carried away. it feels so good at first, until he takes it just a bit too far. typically, you're usually comfortable enough to ease him down with body language and talking, but something was off today and you needed it to stop. he comes to a slow stop, relaxing his hands, loosening his grip on you and turning them into soothing strokes and caresses. asking and giving exactly what you need.

beomgyu - first of all, i see him as the type to use the red, yellow, green system. and can definitely see him pushing you into yellow a lot. and he loves it (as do you), but he's cautious. the second you say red, he drops everything. "was that too much for my baby? i'm sorry..." going to get you some water and sitting down to have an in-depth conversation about what was too far. "did you like the idea of it and i just went too far? did you want to try it again but slower? was what i did completely out of the question now? what can i do to make you feel safer next time? do you feel safe right now?" turns into soft and slow aftercare that eventually warms up to slow and sensual sex to make up for it.

taehyun - i think feels the most guilty out of them. he doesn't strike me as the kinda guy to be super into kink stuff, so i think he almost doesnt know how to handle it other than apologizing. asks a lot of questions, like, "are you okay? you sure? do you want me to finish you? i'd be happy to if you like." and you agreeing that you'd still like to come as long as he still wants to and is comfortable to keep going but as soon as he's inside you, "are you sure you're okay if i finish too?" maybe becomes a bit too nervous before both of you agree its better for both of you to stop completely and cuddle the rest of the night.

hueningkai - honestly i feel like kai's kinky asf and i will not be silenced any longer. he talks a lot about it with you beforehand anyway, so its rare that you (or any of his partners) get to that point because he knows all ur limits and how to push them and how to not push them too far. so you saying it is a bit of a shock, but he knows exactly what to do. drops everything, slides out of you, asks what you need from him. and when you request cuddles, he's the biggest cuddle bug ever. cheek kisses, whispers in ur ear about how perfect and beautiful you are. dragging his nails down ur arm. omfg i love him.

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elysianholly · 2 days

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Why Spuffy

Decided to put this here so I can find it more easily. Originally answered on r/Fanfic: What is your OTP?

Why? There are a lot of assumptions made about Spike/Spuffy fans. Like, we're just whores for good cheekbones. We're blinded by Spike's abs. We're all just abuse victims waiting to fall in love with the wrong person. And honestly, after 2+ decades of this nonsense, it'd be nice to just say: "read this then get back to me."

So. What is your OTP?

Buffy/Spike from BtVS. They've owned my heart for more than 20 years and show no signs of slowing down.

At first, it was the enemies-to-lovers thing. I've always been a sucker for that. Especially for a villain who turns to mush for a hero in the falling process. That is still true, but my love for them has become more nuanced the older I've gotten. I just turned 39; I fell in love with Spuffy when I was 17. What I love most about them today is that their history as enemies means they know each other better than anyone, have seen each other's faults, have done the worst things they could do to each other, and have a very honest, non-rosy view of their relationship. Spike is also the only man in Buffy's life (on the show; I'm not counting comics) who owns the hurt he's caused without making it her fault or imposing his view of things and convincing her he's right. He shows her that loving her doesn't always mean sacrifice or suffering, the way it was with Angel or Riley, but that she can make someone want to be better. And he also knows her well enough to know she will assume the responsibility of the soul he sought for himself (the most effective and tortuous sentence for the demon who hurt her), so he first tries to hide it from her, then encourages her when she starts dating Robin Wood that she owes him nothing, that she doesn't need to consider his feelings. It's the first time someone she's been intimate with has not been petty or jealous at the thought of her moving on. And because he has seen the best and worst in her, when he says he loves her, it's with a view of the whole person Buffy is.

And for Buffy, loving Spike is about loving herself. He was her outlet for her depression, a representation of all the bad things she thought about herself when she was at her lowest, and she punished him for that. She was conditioned to believe her friends' acceptance of her had strings attached. By Season 7, after she has come to peace with the worst thing she went through, she is no longer apologizing for herself or making excuses. She is unapologetically in charge. Loving Spike means loving the parts of her she always thought were ugly or twisted or irredeemable, going all the way back to how she carried the burden of Angel having lost his soul when she was a 17-year-old girl in love and had no idea what was going to happen. Furthermore, how she was made to feel responsible (side-eyeing Xander here; Giles and Willow get a pass but Xander was the most egregious offender). She also assumed the responsibility for her relationship with Riley falling apart even after he negged, gaslit, and cheated on her. Spike showed Buffy that she is not the problem in relationships, and allowing herself to love him meant an acceptance of self she struggled to find throughout the course of the show. In the end, after bringing out the worst in each other when they were at their worst, they learned to bring out the best in each other. It's just beautiful.

And that's why Spuffy, friends.

#spuffy #spuffy is endgame #spuffy fanfic #spuffy prevails because we're better #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy #spike x buffy #spike and buffy #spuffy meta

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heich0e · 2 days

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"don't stick your fingers in there!"

touya turns away from you furtively, his pointer finger caught between his lips. there's a mischievous lift at the corner of his mouth that you catch just before he turns his back to you that tells you he's not even a little bit remorseful, save possibly for the fact he's been caught.

you sigh, but the sound is just as fond as it is frustrated, and open the kitchen drawer at your hip.

"here."

touya turns around again to look at you, his finger still in his mouth though you're sure the frosting has long dissolved on his tongue. you hold out a teaspoon towards him, with a little dollop of the frosting from the mixing bowl balancing upon it. he blinks a little, surprised you're offering him any when he'd just gone to such great lengths to steal some, but accepts it nonetheless.

"thanks," he says, taking the spoon from your grip into his own, your fingers brushing lightly as the utensil changes hands.

touya's tongue peeks out from between his lips, licking away a small corner of the frosting on the spoon rather than sticking it all into his mouth at once. it's cat-like, almost—though it doesn't surprise you all that much, when so much about him is. you watch as he savours his little treat slowly.

"is it good?" you ask him, wiping your hands off on a towel—you'd been rinsing off some dishes when touya had initially stuck, and droplets of water still cling to your skin.

"mm," touya hums affirmatively. "'s sweet."

you laugh a bit. "it's frosting, that's sorta the point."

you pick up the offset spatula in front of you, scraping some of the fluffy white frosting from the edge of the bowl. you feel a familiar weight against your back, suddenly; a pair of arms slipping around your waist where they seem to fit so naturally.

"what's the cake for anyway?"

touya's voice is right by your ear when he drapes himself over you like this. his breath is warm against your cheek. if you turned your face towards him, you'd be so close you could probably still taste the sugar on his lips.

your hands pause in front of you, setting the spatula aside.

"touya," you say quietly, your voice a little hurt. "do you know what day it is?"

all at once touya seems to stiffen—petrified by unexpected panic he's forgotten something important.

"ah, uh—fuckin' wednesday right? no, wait—"

you turn in his arms, pressing your face to his chest.

"tomorrow's your birthday, dummy."

touya's hands—hovering momentarily over your back since you'd turned around to face him—drop to rest gingerly against your shoulder blades.

"oh," he says. simple. plainly. "i forgot."

no one's ever made him a birthday cake before. at least not that he can remember. maybe when he was really little, and things weren't as bad at home—but he can't be sure if those faint recollections he has are real memories or just things he dreamed up to make the truth sting less.

shouto made him a birthday card once, though. he remembers that. it was right after he learned how to write his own name—that's all that was actually written on the card, 'SHOUTO' scrawled in bright red crayon on the inside since he didn't know how to spell anything else, but there was a crudely drawn picture of a cake too. that's the closest touya remembers to getting a birthday cake.

that was the last birthday touya spent at home.

(he still has the card, all these years later. he sometimes wonders if shouto remembers it, too.)

touya holds you a little bit tighter, his eyes scanning around the kitchen of your little apartment over the top of your head. it's nothing fancy. a bit cramped. certainly humble. then he looks at the cake—waiting to be decorated—on the counter behind you.

it looks delicious.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head. so light you might not have felt it at all.

"thanks," he says.

you peek up at him.

"for what?" you ask, blinking at him curiously.

he smiles a little, and you notice for the first time there's a little smudge of frosting at the edge of his mouth. there's a little blush sitting high on his cheeks too. he looks younger like this. boyish in ways you're not used to, but that make your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

he laughs. "for letting me try it."

#todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #bnha drabble #bnha writing #writing

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weasleys-wizard-writes · 3 days

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Return {O.G}

Synopsis: You and Ominis are finally reunited on the Hogwarts express after several weeks apart. The only problem is, you're running late, and Gaunts are not known for their patience...

Note: Here's a little (fairly unedited) Ominis fluff blurb for you all to help tide everyone over until the next big fic is ready for posting <3.

"He's been waiting for you"

Sebastian teased as you all but stormed toward him, that smarmy grin of his making you wish you could recall the spell you'd learned to temporarily move one's mouth elsewhere.

You scoffed, giving him your most unimpressed glare,

"Of course he has. Doesn't he always?"

Except both of you knew what the slytherin had meant when he said those words, and you could tell by the look in his eye that he was more than aware of your understanding.

His grin morphed into something far more akin to a smirk than anything else, and you briefly searched the depths of your mind once more for any recollection of that mouth relocation spell, though you came up with nothing after a few moments of contemplation.

You sighed. There were much more pressing matters to attend to anyhow, it seemed.

"Quite."

Sebastian all but purred in response to your previous remark, shooting a less than subtle wink your way before gallivanting off in the direction of a bickering Leander and Garreth, no doubt hoping to stoke the flames of their already less than friendly conversation.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed open the door to the compartment that you and your friends had sat in for every trip made to Hogwarts thus far.

It was an unspoken rule, after all, that this particular car was favored by the ever particular and oddly intimidating Ominis Gaunt.

And, as things went, Ominis tended to be granted that which he was selective enough to vocalize aloud, whether he ever truly recognized it or not.

"Omini-"

"You're late."

You flinched softly at the obvious displeasure in the young man's voice, not for fear of his doubtless nonexistent retribution, but out of discomfort at the mere thought of being the cause of such a tone.

You wondered if Sebastian ever had the sense to care about such a thing, but found you would rather not know after a moment or two of deliberation on the subject.

You did not need yet another reminder of the ways in which your friendship with the youngest Gaunt heir differed from the one he shared with the sole remaining male Sallow.

Sighing, you nodded, knowing full well after so many years together that the blond sitting before you would sense the gesture regardless of his lack of sight.

He had a way of knowing such things, after all, particularly when they pertained to you and your movements.

He always seemed to know exactly where you were, as if attuned to your every breath.

"I know, I apologi-"

"I had to call in two favors to keep this train from moving without you, you know."

Ominis bit out before you could finish, immediately all but stunning you into silence.

Cutting you off twice in one conversation? Perhaps you'd upset him more than you'd initially realized.

"I mean honestly, late for the train in your seventh year? Was I foolish to believe you might have learned better by now?"

He all but scoffed, continuing with his tangent whilst crossing his arms and fixing his face with a scowl so cold it very nearly had you shivering.

"Probably not,"

You began a few moments later, allowing the sliding door to rest against your shoulder as you stood in the opening, your carry bag of necessities slung haplessly over your shoulder.

"But you know timing was never my strong suit."

Ominis rolled his eyes, immediately causing a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips in spite of your best efforts to keep it at bay.

"Far from it, as you've so kindly shown."

He muttered beneath his breath before turning his head toward you wordlessly, expression a rather amusing mixture of exasperation, confusion, and dwindling frustration as he opened his mouth to speak up once more after a few seconds of silence.

"And just what in Salazar's name do you think you're achieving by standing in that doorway, hm? Have somewhere else to be that you've conveniently neglected to mention?"

In response to your friend's accusation, you found yourself having to bite back a bout of laughter.

He would never admit it aloud, but Ominis was immensely fond of your quiet train rides back to school with one another, regardless of where he was returning from, and clearly he was concerned that you'd made other plans for your afternoon journey back to Hogwarts.

And of course, you would never admit it aloud, but doing such a thing was so inconceivable to you that it nearly made you burst out laughing, as evidenced by your present struggles.

After all, why would you ever want to spend time with someone else when you had Ominis Gaunt so impatiently waiting for you in the train compartment furthest from the rest in the second car down?

The answer, of course, was that you wouldn't.

"Certainly not."

You replied casually, amusement coloring your tone as the blond sitting before you scoffed once more, his cheeks glowing with a pink so faint that you could scarcely make it out, even in the brightness of the afternoon sun that beamed through the windows from high above the valley you were passing through in that moment.

"Well then what in the hells are you waiting for, a written invitation? Sit down already, you're letting far too much racket in standing there with the door open."

He huffed, averting his unseeing gaze away from you and toward the wall that sat opposite him as you shook your head with a grin and did as you were told with an eagerness you were glad that Ominis couldn't make out.

Making yourself comfortable within your place beside him, you couldn't help but take in the sight of his familiar profile, illuminated ever so slightly by the light filtering in through the glass.

It was always like this on these long rides back, you quietly admiring your friend as he sat, none the wiser, in the spot beside that which he always saved for you.

And, as an easy silence filled the room for the first time since your delayed arrival, you watched as the blond finally relaxed a bit in his seat, massaging his temples in slow circles until you finally leaned forward slightly to place a gentle hand just above his knee, the fabric of his perfectly tailored and painstakingly pleated trousers somewhat rough against your soft palm, though you found that the warmth radiating off of the man wearing them more than made up for that fact.

"I really am sorry for being late, you know."

You assured quietly, watching as the boy sitting beside you sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly, his cheeks now pink enough that you could make the color of them out with ease.

You tried not to think too hard about how happy the sight of that color upon his flushed skin made you, nor of just how much the fact that you had caused such a reaction was driving said happiness.

"I know."

Ominis replied gently, his hand finding yours, warm flesh upon warm flesh, the feel of his palm much softer than the fabric that was presently pressed against your own.

"I was simply worried that something had happened to you. It isn't typical to miss the train entirely, even for someone as truant as yourself."

His voice had a teasing lilt to it now, but you could still hear the strain hidden just beneath it as he spoke, poorly concealed even as you squeezed just above his knee encouragingly, reminding him of where you sat, perfectly safe at his side.

He seemed to deflate slightly at the gesture.

"Well, no need to concern yourself with my whereabouts anymore, Gaunt. I'm here, aren't I?"

Ominis chuckled under his breath, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated exasperation that you could tell he wanted to convey far more than he actually felt.

"Yes, I suppose you are."

And with that, you smiled, leaning your head familiarly upon the shoulder of the young man sitting just to the right of you before closing your eyes fondly when you felt the weight of his own atop it.

The two of you stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, head against head, until eventually, the train began to slow, and the door burst open to reveal Sebastian, who grinned rather obnoxiously as he took in the sight before him.

"Well well well, not waiting anymore now are we, Ominis?"

"Oh sod off, Sebastian."

#ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt fluff #ominis gaunt x mc #harry potter fluff #ominis x reader fluff #ominis fluff #hogwarts legacy fluff #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #harry potter x reader #harry potter

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