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aemondsbabe · 4 months

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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russellsppttemplates · 4 months

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This drawing is for you (Lando Norris)

Matilda already has her love language, handing out her drawings to people

Note: english is not my first language. Look who showed up, hm? Honestly, the last two weeks have been a bit all over the place and I've been meaning to post way more than what I actually have

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Mummy?", you heard your daughter call for you, walking to her playroom since you assumed that's where she was, "yes, baby?", you made your presence known.

"Can we stop by the stationery shop when we go and pick daddy up from work, please? My colouring pencils are getting too small", she showed you a few examples, the colours you recognised from having a big presence in her drawings belonging to pencils that you were barely able to hold in your hands yourself.

"Of course, Tilly", you smiled, "speaking of which, we have to leave soon. Are you almost finished with your drawing?", you wondered, "yes, mummy, I just need to finish colouring in the sun", she mused, grabbing the tiny yellow pencil and carrying on with her work.

When she finished, she set the pencil down, stopping in the bathroom to wash her hands and heading to the door to meet you, "hold your sleeves", you nudged as she held on the hems while you put on her jacket, not wanting her to let the clothes climb up her arms and be uncomfortable.

"Let's go, mummy!", she cheered, walking downs the stairs into the garage so you could get in the car and drive to the factory.

As you were driving, your husband called, "hello, love! We're already in the car on our way to get you, we're going to stop by the shop to buy some colouring pencils for Tilly so we don't have to wait too long for you", you said, turning on the blinker once you faced the junction.

"Hi daddy!", Matilda spoke loudly, hoping her could hear her like she heard him, "How are my favourite girls today? Actually, I was calling because the meeting ended early and I'm ready whenever you want to pick me up", Lando voiced as you saw your daughter smile from her spot in the back of the car, "you can come with us to the shop, then!", she said excitedly.

"That's a great idea, love! Me and Matilda will go and pick you up first, then! We're ten, maybe fifteen minutes out, depends on how traffic is, it looks okay, though", you muttered, finding it easy so far to drive to the factory.

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you! I love you, girls! Drive safe!", he said before ending the call, Matilda clapping her hands excitedly at the prospect of seeing her father earlier than expected.

By the time you arrived at the factory, Matilda had listed all of the materials she would like to get so her drawings would be pretty. Parking the car, you got out, putting on your coat as you walked to open Matilda's door, "let's go, Matilda!", you smiled, unbuckling her belt and making sure she was cozy and warm to face the cold end of the day temperatures.

Everyone in the factory knew you and your little one, so they would have at you, knowing they would have a difficult time at getting many words out of your little girl, usually a sweet smile, a wave and a small and quiet "hi" before she held onto your legs and hid her face there.

Lando was laughing loudly, so it was easy to know that as soon as you crossed that corner, you'd find your husband along with one of his mechanics and engineers.

Matilda smiled as she saw her daddy, releasing the grip she had on your hand, but keeping them laced until Lando and her locked eyes, "hello, my loves!", Lando said, crouching down so his daughter could finally unlace her hand from yours and run up to him, hugging him and allowing him to pick her up so she could kiss his cheek, "Hi, daddy", she whispered in his ear.

Even though there were only two other people beside her parents, she was still shy as they greeted her, "Hello!", they said as she waved, smiling before hiding her face on her father's neck.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Goodbye Y/N, bye-bye Matilda!", they said as they went the opposite direction, you and Lando bidding goodbye whenever you encountered someone until you were in the parking lot, ready to get in the car.

"Do you want to drive?", you asked your husband despite already knowing the answer. He hated not being in control of the situation if he could, so driving his family around was non negotiable most times, only sitting as a passenger when he was very tired.

Buckling Matilda back in her seat and kissing her forehead, you got into the car yourself as your husband drove to the usual shop where you got your daughter's art supplies and your own whenever your work required materials.

"Do you already know what you want to get, babygirl?", Lando asked as the three of you walked inside the shop. It was unusually quiet for this time of the day, and a small part of Matilda was happy because she could go up to the shelves and drawers she already knew had what she needed without having to ask her parents for help in moving along the shop.

After grabbing the supplies she needed, she took them to the young woman at the front so her parents could pay for it, "have a nice day, Matilda! I'm sure your works of art will be beautiful!", she said. You and your family were regular costumers, so they had already grown to know your name and hers, so they had managed to get in the small group of people that were not family and friends and Matilda didn't feel to shy with.

"Bye-bye, have a nice day, too!", she waved sweetly before running up to her daddy, "very good, Matilda, I'm very proud of you for that!", he said, kissing her cheek and walking along with you to the car.

The McLaren unit was working on full speed as you arrived, coffees and other drinks being served as guests arrived or workers carried on with their day, you opting to go to the track, along with Matilda, after the initial morning rush so you wouldn't have to deal with too many people at once.

"Do you want to to go to daddy's room or stay here?", you questioned her, "here in the lounge", she replied as you walked to one of the tables near the windows so you could be near the sunlight that had graced the weekend and be a little further away from the buzz.

"Do you want to draw with me, mummy?", she offered once she was comfortably sitting on the chair, taking her pencil case from her backpack along with the blank sheets of paper.

"Sure, love! Let me just text daddy so he knows where we are when he finishes his meeting", you smiled, grabbing your phone to text Lando before setting it down and grabbing the things you needed.

"Are you drawing daddy's car?", Matilda asked sweetly as she took a peek at your work, "I am! Do you think it's pretty?", she nodded, "but not as pretty as yours, I love your butterfly", you complimented.

As she was finishing colouring in the wings, one of the girls from the PR team came to greet you, "Y/N, Matilda! It's been a while since I saw you around!", she cheered, kissing each of your cheeks as you did the same to her before she noticed your daughter looking at her, "hello", she said in her usual quiet tone.

As you spoke with the young woman, your daughter carefully folded the paper and ripped it by the crease she had made so she could separate the small drawing from the rest of the plain paper.

"Alright, girls! I'll see you later!", she said as someone called her name, presumably with a task for her to do.

"You can have this one if you'd like", Matilda spoke, showing her the drawing, "really, babygirl? Thank you so much, I'm so flattered!", she said, accepting it and keeping it safe in her notebook, "I'll keep it here until I can get home and put it in my wall, okay?", she nodded as your little girl blushed at the attention, nodding too.

Because the practice session was being used as the scheduled opportunity for the reserve driver to do a few laps on the track, Oscar joined you and Matilda as you looked over the cars on track.

"I need to go to the bathroom. Do you also need to go, Tilly?", you asked your daughter, earning a head shake no, "I'm good, mummy", she said, going back to colouring in.

Excusing yourself after Oscar assured he'd keep her company, Matilda was quick to silently offer her crayons to the Australian man along with her colouring book.

"Where are Lily and Lucas?", she asked for her usual companions for the weekend. They would often be together so you and Lily could catch up while the kids entertained themselves in eachother's company.

"They stayed back home this weekend", Oscar explained, "but they told me they wish they were here. I think they're coming to Silverstone, so we will all be together then", he smiled as she gave him a small smile, too, noddinh in agreement and taking out her new glitter pens.

They start colouring and not saying much, only asking eachother to please hand them a crayon or pen the other couldn't reach or if the drawing looked good. Matilda felt understood by him, so it was no surprise that, besides her family, he was the person she felt the most comfortable with spending time in the paddock.

"Where's daddy taking you, little miss?", you asked as you saw Lando change the t-shirt your daughter was wearing. Under her dungarees, she now had an orange McLaren t-shirt, matching her father as he held her on his hip, "we're going to hand in drawings I made, and I didn't want to do it alone, and since you said you were feeling tired, daddy said he would take me", she smiled, kissing your cheek when you got up to kiss your husband's lips and her forehead.

"You sit tight, alright baby?", Lando urged, "me and Tilly want you to be well rested when the time comes to watch the race", he kissed your forehead. You hadn't slept that well the night before, so when Matilda had built her collection of gifts, she didn't want to tire you out more.

Leaving the hospitality, Lando walked with Matilda, asking her where she wanted to go first, "Can we find uncle Seb first? Mummy and I saw him when we arrived, but there were a lot of people near him so we said we'd see him later", she reasoned as Lando quickly searched for the retired German driver, "there he is, love", he pointed, walking in his direction.

Despite her initial confidence, Matilda felt shy as everyone's eyes landed on her and her father, cooing at the sight of them matching and the fact that little Norris had showed up, too.

"Hello, Matilda! How are you?", Sebastian asked, smiling at the duo as she retreated, hiding her face on his neck. Her backpack was open as Lando pulled the art pieces out.

"Didn't you want to give something to Sebastian, gorgeous girl?", Lando encouraged, kissing her cheek sweetly and giving her time.

"The bee one, daddy", Matilda whispered against his neck where she kept hhalf of her face hidden as Lando flickered the drawings, finding the one she meant.

"Is this for me? Thank you, Matilda, this is very nice!", Sebastian said warmly, making he little girl smile at him.

"Who's next?", Lando asked, "Charles, I made a drawing for him with a sea, because he lives in Monaco", she reasoned.

"And on the screens now we can see the McLaren garage this afternoon, where Lando Norris has his little one and his wife here this weekend!", Natalie said looking at the screen along with Naomi.

"That's true! Little Matilda has been in the paddock with her parents this whole weekend, and yesterday I had the privilege of seeing the cutest scene! She was hiding behind Lando's legs, but she kept holding some of the drawings until she found the people she wanted to give them to!", Naomi added, "she had one for Sebastian, for Charles, and she also shared some with the McLaren crew, too!

"And when I was interviewing Oscar this morning, Matilda walked closer to us and asked for his help to get the drawing she made of me - I have it right here, let me show you! - and this is the cutest thing ever! I have an orange suit - because of papaya, she said -, and my braids look so good with this glittery accent, see?", she showed Natalie as she nodded, "she's usually a very quiet little one, but she's an artist for sure. She takes after her mummy, so I've heard", she smiled into the camera.

"Yet, this morning, when me and the crew were deciding where to go first, we caught a father-daughter that made our hearts melt, take a look in the screens!", Natalie finished.

"Is it silly, Matilda?", Lando tried, seeing his daughter give him a full belly laugh as he drew a crocodile with rain boots, "crocodiles don't need rain boots, daddy! They can swim and walk all the same!", she giggled, delighting the people who were watching and hearing her laugh. "Well, maybe I should give him some floaties, too! Should I make him pink ones like yours?", he tried, earning another set of giggles out of his little girl.

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

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runnning-outof-time · 6 months

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I’ll Be Home For Christmas | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @pacifymebby ‘s 2k Follower/Christmas Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy promises (Y/N) that he’ll be home for his family’s first Christmas in Arrow House. (Y/N)’s hoping it won’t only happen in her dreams.

Warnings: none - just some Christmas fluff

Word Count: 2223

A/N: Congrats on 2K, Layla! I went with the song ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ … I listened to Brett Eldredge’s version of it and came up with this idea. I hope you like it. And it’s fitting that this is being posted on Christmas Eve, right? Sorry for cutting it close. Happy Holidays to all! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one

(Y/N) sat back on the chaise lounge with a sigh. She bit on her bottom lip as she held the reciever up to her ear.

“Are you still there?” came from the other line.

“I am,” was what she was able to get out before she choked on her words, fingertips pressed against her lips as she tried her damnedest to hold back tears.

“Tell me what’s wrong, love.” Even miles away and through a phone call, Tommy was still able to read his wife like an open book.

There was a moment of silence before she responded. In that time, (Y/N) was trying to decide whether she wanted to make her plights known or not. On one hand, he was her husband; the person who she was supposed to disclose these sorts of problems to. On the other, she didn’t want to add another problem onto his probably already full plate.

“(Y/N)?” Tommy’s voice cut through her internal debate, bringing her back to the conversation.

“When will you be home, Tommy?” she decided to come right out and ask.

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” he assured her within seconds of her making her worry known.

“But…but Christmas is tomorrow,” she stammered out, wracking her mind to try and figure out if his homecoming was even possible, “where even are you right now?”

“I’m in London, and I know it’s tomorrow. I’ll be home,” he assured her once more.

“It’s our first Christmas in this new house,” she said as she looked around the reading room that she’d decorated to her particular taste. The manor was beautiful, but it felt so empty when Tommy was away. “The kids had the best time decorating the tree,” she added, a smile gracing her face as she thought back to the time she spent with her three children earlier in the week. A time that Tommy had missed out on.

“That’s good to hear,” Tommy smiled as he closed his eyes and pictured his three young children gathered around the large tree in the living room. He never had a chance to make a memory like it when he was younger. The fact that he wasn’t present for his children at this time felt like a stab to the heart.

(Y/N)’s smile faltered as the thing that had been eating her alive from the moment her husband’s car pulled out of the driveway returned to the forefront of her mind. “I can’t have you gone much longer, Tommy,” she finally spoke, deciding to come out with her thoughts rather than keep them in.

“I won’t be, darling,” he assured her.

“When will these business trips end?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed as he ran a hand over his face.

“Yes you do. You’re the head of the company,” she insisted, a tinge of desperation seeping into her words.

“They’re part of the job.”

“They’re taking away time from our family.”

Silence rang on the line after (Y/N)’s declaration. She was no longer able to hold back the tears, letting them silently slip down her cheeks as she tried to keep the front that everything was fine on her end of the conversation.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, (Y/N),” Tommy was the one to break the silence after a few moments had passed.

(Y/N) swiped away her tears and nodded even though he wasn’t able to see her. “Ok, Tommy,” she agreed, even though she knew that it would most likely be a moot promise.

“I have to go,” he told her then.

“Ok,” she nodded once more, “I love you.”

“I love you. Give the kids a kiss for me.”

“I will.”

The line went dead after she told him she would. (Y/N) hung the phone up and let out a shuddered sigh. She looked at the garland lined mantle for a minute before closing her eyes and silently hoping that Tommy’s promise would come true this time around.

The sentence “mumma, wake up!” graced (Y/N)’s ears at the beautiful hour of seven o’clock the next morning. The feeling of three, small bodies bouncing on the bed soon accompanied it, making the woman finally open her eyes.

She was reluctant to at first because she knew that doing so would bring her beautiful dream of sitting by Tommy while watching the kids play with their presents to an end. The sight of the empty spot next to her in bed still hit her like a ton of bricks even though she was prepared for it. She couldn’t dwell on it though, because the kids’ excitement increased tenfold the second they saw her eyes open.

“Let’s go downstairs!” Charlotte, the oldest of the three, declared as she hurried to get off of the bed and make her way to the door. Max and Henry - twins who were two years younger than Charlotte, quickly followed their sister, their excitement practically palpable.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile as she tossed the covers to the side and moved over to where her robe was hung on the dressing screen. She took the same path as her children once the cozy garment was tied tightly against her frame.

The children were already rooting around the gifts that were placed under the tree, trying to find the ones that had their names on it. (Y/N) smiled as she made her way over to the couch and sat down on it. A tinge of sadness crept up on her before she could stop it. Tommy should be here, she thought to herself as the children went about unwrapping their presents.

Tommy’s words from the previous evening then echoed in her mind: “I’ll be home for Christmas”. She wanted to badly to believe that and think nothing else. But that sadness still loomed.

The children were excited to have their mum unwrap the presents that they made for her once they were finished opening theirs, and (Y/N) was able to push the sadness away as she beamed at the thoughtful, homemade gifts they’d given her.

The gloomy feelings came back when the kids went back to playing with their toys and she was left alone on the couch once more. An even larger wave washed over her when she noticed the unopened presents that still sat under the tree. One of the tags was facing upwards, and the name ‘DAD’ was written on it in Charlotte’s unmistakeable hand.

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” Tommy’s words rang in her mind again. She sighed and hugged her robe tighter to her body before looking over to the clock. Only in my dreams, she thought as she tried to focus back on the kids.

(Y/N) and the children ate a wonderful breakfast before the three young ones quickly dragged her back into the front room so that they could continue playing. She’d just gotten comfortable under the blanket when the sound of tires on gravel was heard outside. It made her eyebrows furrow. The family wasn’t supposed to come over until later, she thought to herself as she glanced over at the clock sitting on the mantle. It was still early in the morning.

Then the worry started to set in. (Y/N) was no stranger to the type of business that Tommy was involved in. She was by his side while he created a name for himself, and she stayed with him every step of the way. He continuously assured her that no one would ever come to their home and attack their family, but (Y/N) still couldn’t get the possibility of it to leave her mind.

She was so engulfed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Frances say “welcome home, Mr. Shelby. They’re in the front room,” as her husband entered the foyer. It didn’t even set in as Tommy appeared in the archway, and the three children went running over to greet their father.

Things didn’t become clear until Charlotte turned to face her and exclaimed: “mumma! Dad’s home!”

Then everything came into view. Charlotte with a wide smile on her face. Max and Henry in their father’s arms. And Tommy. Tommy was looking right at her with one of the widest smiles she’s seen from him in a long time.

“Let’s go over and see your mum, eh?” Tommy said to his sons before he made his way over to the couch. Max and Henry wriggled out of his arms once he stopped in front of (Y/N), clambering up into her lap to give her a hug and a kiss before they went back to their new toys.

Tommy’s eyes quickly found (Y/N)’s once it was just the two of them. “You made it home,” she said, her smile practically stretching from ear to ear.

“I told you I’d be home from Christmas, love,” he answered, winking as he sent her a grin.

“C’mere, Tommy,” she held her hands out to him, and he got the idea, sitting down next to her on the couch. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second, throwing her arms around his frame and practically climbing into his lap as she hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy you’re home,” she whispered into his neck as she nestled her face deeper into it.

“Wouldn’t miss Christmas with you for the world,” he told her, his hands finding her shoulders then. She took it as a hint and lifted her head to look at him. “I love you,” (Y/N),” he said as he reached up and ran his hand down her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her smile widening before she closed the gap between them to press her lips to his.

The kiss was filled with so much love, and (Y/N) would have happily held it longer if her lungs weren’t screaming for air. She was the one to pull away, but she didn’t move far, opting to rest her forehead against his. “I love you, Tommy. Merry Christmas,” she breathed, her eyes still closed as she reveled in his presence.

“Merry Christmas,” he responded in a similar tone, his arms moving to wrap around her frame.

“Dad! We have presents for you!” Charlotte’s excited voice broke into their reverie moments later.

(Y/N) moved slightly so that she was now sitting next to him, and Tommy managed to tuck one of his arms behind her back - in efforts to keep her as close as possible - before their children came over to him with presents in hand.

“Open mine first!” Max exclaimed, thrusting the small box into his father’s lap.

Tommy smiled at the boy before he went about opening the present. (Y/N) watched on with a smile, knowing exactly what her husband was getting and how excited their son was to give it to him. Max let out like giggles of excitement as Tommy took the silver tie clasp that had a horse’s head on it out of its holder.

“Do you like it?” the boy asked with anticipation.

“I love it,” Tommy smiled before adding, “I’ll wear it the first chance I get.”

Henry gave him the next gift, which was a fancy pen that the boy had picked out himself. He said that Tommy could use it to write all of ‘his important letters’. Tommy made a promise to use it as his only pen from then on.

Then it was Charlotte’s turn. “Be careful when unwrapping it, dad. It’s fragile,” she gave a warning, one which Tommy chuckled at but also heeded to. “Do you like it?” she asked, like her younger brother had, when it was completely unwrapped.

Tommy didn’t say anything at first. Instead he stared at the present. (Y/N) peered over his shoulder to see what it was. Charlotte had been keeping it a secret from everybody. What Tommy was holding made (Y/N)’s heart swell. It was a hand drawn picture of her family - Tommy and (Y/N) stood on either side, then Max and Henry were standing next to them. In the middle was Charlotte, holding both of her brothers’ hands while she was wearing her favorite, purple colored dress. (Y/N) also didn’t miss the fact that Tommy, Max and Henry were all wearing a peaked cap.

“Do you like it?” Charlotte asked again, getting slightly impatient as her father was taking too long.

“I love it, sweetheart,” Tommy answered, finally looking up to smile at his daughter, “it’s perfect, Charlie,” he added, sounding choked up.

“It’s our family!” Charlotte exclaimed, a beaming smile now present on her face.

“It is,” Tommy nodded, “and it’s going in a frame so that it can sit on me desk.”

“So you can look at it always?” she asked.

“So I can look at it always,” he answered with a nod. Charlotte then rushed to get onto the couch so that she could hug her father.

(Y/N) quickly took the picture out of Tommy’s hands before it would get crumbled. She couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at it. Everything she needed in life was present in that picture…and was sitting beside her on the couch.

She was thankful that Tommy was able to make it home for Christmas.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

Listen to Brett Eldredge’s version of I’ll Be Home For Christmas:

HERE.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic

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hanleiacelebration · 4 days

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Han/Leia Appreciation Week 2024

WE'RE BACK, BABY! "Wait, what's happening, wasn't this in August??" you might wonder. Based on your feedback, we decided to host this and (probably) future editions of Han/Leia Appreciation Week earlier in the year. July seemed like the better choice, given that it's a vacation period in both hemispheres!

This year we're also giving you the prompts over a month in advance, so you have plenty of time to plan and create!

Han/Leia Appreciation Week was an event originally hosted at @han-leia-solo between 2016-2019, but for the past three years, we've taken up the mantle here at @hanleiacelebration 😊

💖 How does Han/Leia Appreciation Week work?

The event will run from July 14th to July 20th, and there will be two different prompts each day that creators can fulfill with: fanfic, fanart, gifsets, graphics, fanvids, headcanons, crafts, playlists, rec lists. You’re encouraged to tag your posts with #hanleiaweek2024 so we can reblog them! After the week is over, we’ll share a masterlist with links to the works.

You can show your appreciation in many ways; however, please keep in mind that it has to be a creation of yours of some sort, e.g. don’t repost other people’s fanart, gifs, or unedited pictures. Rec lists should include a link to the original source both for fanfic and fanart (more on this after the cut).

🎆 The prompts

Sunday 7/14: Tradition / Ceremony

Monday 7/15: Braids & Bloodstripes (hair or clothing) / Home planet

Tuesday 7/16: AU / Canon divergence

Wednesday 7/17: Force / Belief

Thursday 7/18: Favorite scene / Favorite quote

Friday 7/19: Meeting / Escape

Saturday 7/20: Free day!

You can use only one of the daily prompts, combine both, reinterpret them, or skip the day if you can’t think of anything. If you’re not able to post on the same day for a prompt, you’re still encouraged to share it through the week—just don’t post works for a certain prompt before the day corresponding to that prompt.

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FAQs and Rules under the cut - please read!

💕 Can I post my work to another site and share the link on Tumblr?

Yes! This is a good option for people who might want to create explicit art that could be taken down on Tumblr, write a long fic or multichapter, or make videos or playlists.

💕 Does it have to be a new creation? Can I finish and post a WIP?

It has to be something that has never been posted anywhere else before, so finishing and sharing a WIP is okay! If it doesn’t fit any of the prompts, you can share it on Free Day.

💕 Is this event open to all ratings?

Yes! Just remember to use a “Read more” cut if you’re posting the whole work on Tumblr, and to add a note at the top if your work is rated Mature or Explicit, as well as if it has any major trigger warnings, so all folks can safely browse through the entries.

💕 Are there any length or quality requirements?

There’s no min. or max. length for fanfic or quality level for art, but please note that AI-generated works won’t be accepted. For gifsets, there’s a minimum of two gifs (that must be made by you!). For playlists, there’s a minimum of five songs. For rec lists of fic or fanart, there’s also a minimum of five recs. Some more questions you might have about rec lists:

- How do I share someone else’s art without posting a picture? You might post a thumbnail that crops a preview of the piece; if the piece has a title, you might use that; you might describe it; or you might say something like “this piece by [artist]”, and link to the source.

- What if I found a fanart on Google? Try to find the original source using reverse search image.

- What if I can’t still find it, can I just say “credit to the artist”? In that case, please just don’t share the piece.

- What if I know the artist but don’t have a link to the original source? Naming the artist and linking back to where you found it is okay, in that case.

💕 Can I write for canon/Legends and include other pairings?

All canons, time periods, headcanons and AUs are welcome, and you’re allowed to include side pairings, except for R*eylo. However, keep in mind that this is a Han/Leia appreciation week - at the risk of sounding repetitive, works should focus on appreciating Han and Leia’s relationship!

💕 What’s the time zone for the event?

Please don’t worry too much about time zones: when we say “day”, we always mean “whenever that day is for you in your part of the world”. IE: if it’s Monday for you, you can post your work for the Monday prompt.

💠 💠 💠

Do you have any other questions? Don’t hesitate to send us an ask or to message one of the mods: @lajulie24 @hanorganaas and @otterandterrier

We can’t wait to see what you all create!

#hanleia #hanleiaweek2024 #han x leia #han solo #leia organa #star wars events #swfandomevents #swedit #swcreators #mod post

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avocado-writing · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 1

1. Sex Toys/Strap-on, Mutual Masturbation, Muscle

It can be fun to make them frustrated.

If you set limits they usually listen: no touching each other, no looking away, no coming until I say that you’re allowed to. They know the final release will be even sweeter if they’re good. You’re the only one with the fortitude to actually enforce it, and they’re loath to let you down, so they obey.

But they’ve been needy recently. When you’re immortal time can seem very short, so when you enforced a month of chastity at first they seemed intrigued by the idea. However by the end of the first week they were needy, and at the end of the second they were desperate. Begging for your permission, which was only granted after a great length.

Not in the way they expected though.

You’re spread out on the bed, legs akimbo; Aziraphale is on the bedroom chair with his trousers around his ankles; and Crowley is simply leaning up against the doorframe. Then sounds filling the room are the soft slap of skin on skin, the heavy breathing of concentration.

Your angel has his hand around his cock, working it rhythmically, running his thumb over the head. Your devil has the fingers of one hand buried in his cunt, the other working his clit with such force you’re sure he will be sore tomorrow. You match their pace evenly, working between your legs with glee, their performance taking your lust to new heights. Your own personal pornography.

“That’s it,” Aziraphale breathes. His eyes flit between the two of you. He wants to see who can take more fingers, and irritatingly Crowley always wins that one. He has four inside himself, crooking to hit his own g-spot. He’s collapsed against the door in order to try and keep himself propped up, slick with sweat and cum.

“Oh, Crowley, you’re lovely,” you whisper. He manages a grin and fuck himself harder.

“That’s it darling,” Aziraphale encourages, squeezing his sac with his free hand and speeding up his pmovements. Crowley moans.

“I’m going to —”

“Yes,” is the simultaneous response, and the three of you come at the same time, endorphins flooding you and making you hazy. Aziraphale cums in pearls jets over his hand, Crowley’s fingers damp as he squirts.

You collapse into the pillows.

“There,” you manage, “will that tide you over?”

From the hungry look in their eyes you can guess that the answer is no.

@bootlmoth @elleofdragons @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler @darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee

@fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran

(people at the bottom of this list I'm not sure it's letting me tag you properly - can you please make sure you are searcable on tumblr? I reblogged a post about this earlier)

#avo's kt 23 #aziraphale x reader x crowley #crowley x reader x aziraphale #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween

125 notes · View notes

kleewie · 2 years

Text

speak now or forever hold your peace

summary: it’s your special day and you’re ready to tie the knot with the love of your life. but a certain letter ends up on your doorstep telling you to ‘don’t say yes’ and runaway with him now. hey, what’s a wedding without the drama? (in other words, a modern au about a special someone desperately wanting you to marry him instead. but this begs the question of who?)

→ pairings: diluc, & ayato

→ warnings: slight swearing. angst. fluff (if you squint), mentions of drinking and alcohol, gender neutral reader.

→ author's note: i was listening to speak now (taylor please release the album) and this idea popped in my head. i might write a part two with more characters if i feel like writing more aaaaa. there might be present tense issues since this hasn’t been beta read,, anyway, i hope you enjoy!

long post ahead!

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful! i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

the prologue.

“you dropped this.” ganyu says, handing a white envelope with gold engraving.

“a letter?” you ask, confused.

“earlier, you carried the bouquet and it slipped out.”

curiosity beckons you to rip the seal off the letter and pull out a card. the gold print catches your eyes while you repeat the words to your companions.

if second thoughts plague your mind, meet me at the back entrance of the church. i’ll see you soon.

“this has to be the worst time to be admitting to a fiancé steal-and-run,” keqing muses.

a joke, this has to be a joke. your thoughts sing. your wedding is in an hour. you should be preparing to walk down the aisle without a worry in the world.

instead, the notion of an objection to your marriage as you recite your vows makes your heart race— in the worst way possible. yet, the thought of who could have done this pops in your mind.

“any idea of who wrote it?” ayaka wonders, as if reading your thoughts.

the timing? the medium? the words? who else can it be?

“just a hunch.”

diluc: the first love

the first meeting with the heir to the ragnvindr corporation begins on the wrong foot.

hell, it begins terribly— you cringe each time the memory resurfaces.

a week before meeting diluc you meet his brother, kaeya—long story short, your father works for the ragnvindrs and wants you to befriend the brothers as they (crepus and papa) are good friends— and he tells you they are going to throw a surprise party for hothead’s eighth birthday.

one problem. he never explains what he looks like.

so on the day of the party, you lounge outside waiting for the birthday boy. and once a redhead arrives, it confuses you.

the invites practically say enter through the back entrance.

gosh, did he not read the invite? what if diluc saw! the party would be ruined!

thinking about it now, you wonder how distracted you were to assume a good looking boy with the rich-kid aura wasn’t diluc.

anyway, you rush towards him and hiss “what are you doing here?” while gripping his hand gently. “the party entrance is at the back door!”

he winces at your sudden friendly contact (or because you bluntly ruined the surprise, he is a smart kid. of course, he knows what you're talking about. yet he couldn't help but ask the question to rouse a reaction out of you) “party?”

“for diluc! his party?” you huff.

at the time, you think this kid has to be the dumbest monkey bun for being too slow to understand the vibe.

while to diluc, he thinks you are the pettiest pipsqueak to ever have lived— he assumes you knew who he is. but wanted to ruin the surprise anyway.

so when kaeya magically whisks through the front door with a smirk saying, “what took you so long, brother?” diluc reasons you’re in cahoots with the he-devil and instantaneously hates you a thousand-fold.

you being a smart kid, feels the resentment. and embarrassment fills up your whole consciousness.

yes. you spoiled the party. great job. and you feel so bad.

as you sincerely apologize, diluc cuts you off with a “save it,” and runs up the stairs to his house.

rude!

but you did ruin his surprise party (kids are petty like that.)

no worries, you do get to apologize properly.

well, after diluc accidentally pushes you causing you to land face first into his birthday cake— okay, to his defense, it wasn't premediated. someone left a bowl on the floor, near the table, he trips, and forces his weight onto your back, causing the whole issue.

though, diluc feels terrible.

yes, he still dislikes you for ruining the surprise (again, children are petty) but not to the point that he would intentionally hurt you.

so he genuinely apologizes.

you truthfully admit you had no idea he was diluc, while saying sorry.

and you become friends.

you both promise to let bygones be bygones.

still, each year on diluc's birthday, you unsurprisingly get a cake slam onto your face (candles excluded!) and he gets messages of “don't forget to bring the cake to diluc's birthday bash at 6:00 o'clock sharp!“ on random days before his actual day.

pretty much, you become the best of friends.

need someone to beat up bullies who laugh because you can't afford new school shoes? he's your kid! he'll pay for the hospital fees and buys two pairs of the shiniest shoes without letting you know it was him.

when bringing it up, he always plays dumb. “shoes? what shoes?”

and that's what you love about him, he never seems to claim the credit.

need a study buddy for high school entrance exams? he's your man! he will not stop until you master each and every subject matter, eyes closed.

and even if you do get failing marks, he never chastises you for it.

he simply encourages and promises he'll keep in touch.

just because you both go to different schools doesn't mean you'll lose your close friendship, you try to console yourself.

so imagine your surprise on the first day of class, seeing his red locks passing through the door. once your eyes meet, a small smile forms on his mouth. “surprised? don't think you’ll be getting rid of me anytime soon.”

and you're ecstatic. the chaotic duo together in high school! imagine all the fun trips, and school events you can attend together!

what are best friends for? obviously to have fun!

some days are particularly bad. like when you're sobbing your lungs out at three a.m. because someone manages to break your heart into a thousand pieces.

he's there too. always there.

imagine his surprise, hearing your heart-wrenching sobs over the phone. his soul breaks hearing you cry and his hands clench in anger; how could anyone hurt someone as wonderful as you?

he absolutely loathes your boyfriend.

ex-boyfriend, he corrects. by the way things are going he won’t accept anything less than stranger with a target on his head.

minutes later, he's inside your house with your favorite drink in hand, rubbing soothing circles behind your back with the other.

you apologize for wasting his time (you both have tests later in the afternoon) and listlessly laugh, “you'll eventually get worn out. my drama's a witch.”

“really?” he hums. “i could never get tired of you.”

more under the cut!

you exchange looks and feel the warmth of a blush crawl up your neck. while diluc coughs sensing the awkwardness.

maybe he does stand a chance. he hopes.

he leaves minutes later, slightly in a better mood to when he came.

yes, he feels awful seeing you cry. but seeing your reddened cheeks as a consequence of his proximity and comfort pacifies his shaky feelings.

things have been slightly awkward for the both of you after.

there have been lingering looks here and there, frequent touching of hands on the bus seat (“it's crowded, stay close.”) even gnawing thoughts of i don't think you know this, but i like you, without courage to say it out loud.

up until a certain incident happens.

with diluc's looks, status, and intelligence, no wonder he's the most popular student in the class. more like the whole year.

mountains of letters appear in his locker daily, and once in a while, a student proclaims their underlying love for redhead (to no avail, as he plainly acknowledges their feelings), finishing off with a “not interested.”

one day an extremely good-looking upperclassmen reaches out to him and confesses their feelings— you, feeling especially jealous, grumbles about how stupid he was to reject such an attractive person.

diluc, slightly annoyed at your assumption, rolls his eyes. “because i fell for you, obviously.”

your mouth gapes open.

what? no way.

his confession results into a game of hide and seek wherein, you: run for your life in sheer surprise (“oh god, this has to be the worst prank he's ever done!”); and him: chasing after you in complete frustration (“is it that hard to accept i have feelings for you?”)

in the end, he catches you underneath the oak tree and you both share a kiss.

how romantic!

both of you stay after school hours to clean up all the trashcans and mop buckets toppled over because of the hunt.

anyway, a relationship with your best friend is pretty blissful. almost very similar to your previous relationship (aka. friendship).

diluc teaches topics you have difficulty with, walks home with you after class, more frequent calls before sleeping at night, a little kiss here and there.

actually, a lot of kisses. and hugs.

with recurring “not in front of my face!” hisses from kaeya.

and retorts of “leave!” and “knock the damn door first!” from you and diluc respectively.

but with every relationship, there are ups and downs.

and one awful down changes everything.

the moment crepus dies—the ragnvindr family vacation (for diluc’s eighteenth birthday) results to a sudden a car crash, with both brothers leaving the incident unscathed but scarred— diluc becomes bitter and closed-off. a natural reaction to someone whose heart has been ripped out into a thousand pieces.

you have been trying to console the hurt man: calling him every night; caressing his hair as he falls asleep; assisting him with homework he’s too exhausted to begin; and hugging his body tight as he shakes in utter grief and sadness.

you’d like to think, slowly by slowly, it gets better.

and sooner or later, you’ll be able to reach out to your closed-off lover.

and it’ll be okay.

but when you’re too busy consoling someone whose heart is covered in sorrow, who’ll be there for you when heartache and sadness take over you?

constantly hiding your feelings become the new normal as you try to lessen the burden on your boyfriend.

until it reaches the breaking point and he lashes out, causing a big fight.

with the pressure of being the next heir to the ragnvindr company, the expectations of stakeholders, and the burden of protecting all he cares about, diluc couldn’t allow himself to be open to any risks.

“it’s impossible to pretend nothing’s wrong, when everything is,” diluc murmurs. “i’m not ready to get hurt again.”

your body shakes and you cry. “why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”

it’s a stupid argument.

it wasn’t supposed to end that way.

but it is, what it is: the fight that ended your relationship.

the timing of the quarrel conveniently (sarcasm) destroyed all chances of reconciling with your ex-lover as he decided to: stop attending classes as the last semester of the year ended days before your fight; and to add fuel to the fire, he disappears without a trace.

diluc changes his number, moves out of his apartment. spamming the company email proves to be pointless, and even reaching out to kaeya causes a pitiful look. “sorry, i can’t.”

the last time you’ve seen diluc was the fight. and knowing his personality, he wouldn’t show himself unless he wants to.

so when he appears at the wedding reception carrying a salmon-colored box, feelings of surprise, happiness, and confusion resonate your heart.

“am i dreaming? mr. ragnvindr attending my small wedding?” you jested. “why i’m honored.”

he hands you the gift, shaking his head. “i was invited.”

“i expected you to be busy, you-know, with your own wedding.”

the news of the engagement between the ragnvindr and gunnhildr families captured headlines for months now. of course, you know.

“father would’ve rolled around in his grave if i didn’t.”

you smile. after all these years, the sarcastic diluc you once remember shows his colors, albeit slowly.

your hands pull the ribbon off the present and you open the box. inside, a name tag with your name on it.

before you can inquire the meaning of the present, the master of ceremonies chirps, “now, ladies and gentlemen. we shall have the cutting of the cake!”

that’s your cue to proceed to the main hall and do the honors of cutting the dessert with your beloved husband.

as if sensing your confusion, diluc answers. “so they remember you as the marriage celebrant.” then adds “try not to fall on the cake.”

you burst out laughing. all this time, he’s still the pettiest brat you know. “i thought we let bygones be bygones.”

“i keep my promises.”

soon the mc ushers you towards the cake-cutting table, you taking your time talking must have taken a toll on the program flow.

a thought suddenly nags your consciousness. who wrote the letter?

turning your neck slightly, you see diluc walk towards a good-looking blonde woman, and his brother. a small smile creeps on his face.

of course, diluc didn’t write the letter.

he’s never one for regrets and second thoughts.

bonus:

“oh god!” you wail. “i failed math and science!”

diluc’s bewildered. all he hears before you bust down his front door are scrambled expressions of i’ll never get into college! and i’ll die alone!

you’re sixteen. you have your whole life ahead of you. how two failed quizzes develop into the slippery slope destruction of your complete existence confuses him.

bawling, you grip his wrist. “diluc— you have to attend my wedding.”

he knows you well. whenever something terrible happens, whether it be a failed test or even larger issues, your mind spirals down the road of bad thoughts, irrational beliefs, and unreasonable consequences.

a sarcastic reply almost escapes his lips, but the worried look on your face erases it completely.

“…i will,” he answers.

“you will?” you sputter, brows furrowed in confusion.

of course he will. what kind of person would he be to miss your wedding?

“i promise.”

ayato: the nemesis

no one manages to ignite the nastiest part of your soul like kamisato ayato.

i mean, you’ve met your fair share of handsome, rich, and smart men, but he succeeds in coming out on top as the worst of the bunch.

yes, he is good-looking, wealthy, and clever.

denying the fact is impossible.

but when someone talks about how kind-hearted he is?

how generous and caring?

it makes you blow a fuse.

you first meet him at a college party.

ayaka invites you to a close nit celebration with a few of your close friends, to celebrate the end of the exam week. her brother, who you’ve never met before as he skipped a year (or two), attends as well through her pestering. as she wants him to get to know her, quote “soulmate!”

you’ve only known the woman for a short while (four months) and you expect her own sibling to be as fun, charming, and generous as she is.

boy, are you wrong.

he arrives with his own friend group, all smiles, and takes the farthest seat away from where you, ayaka, and keqing (a classmate) are. he waves at his sister and returns to talk with a man with messy blonde hair.

ayaka annoyed at his indifference, hollers, “my friends! keqing and—” and pointing at you, “my closest confidant!”

ayato replies with a short wave and a smile.

he seems nice! (for now)

the party goes on: more glasses in hand, a few drinking contests, loud laughter, screaming, until it comes to a point where you feel dizzy from all the blinding lights— and your stomach makes this grumbling, gurgling noise.

you guessed it. you’ve eaten something bad. very bad.

muttering a quick “watch my drink,” you head outside. and ready yourself for any hurl that may sprout from your mouth.

while crouching behind a dumpster, you hear the chime of the door opening. the sight of blue hair catches your eyes, and you can’t help but listen into the conversation he’s having on his phone.

they weren’t being particularly quiet. i mean, it’s difficult to tune out someone shouting at the top of their lungs.

well, you’re not particularly blameless either. alcohol tends to turn the lightest of sounds into the heaviest of noises.

“having fun? meet anyone interesting?” the person on the phone asks.

ayato scoffs, “no one special.” he kicks a pebble before adding, “a few are nice, some are pathetic.”

his sudden display of hostility causes you to slip and, before you know it, his eyes meet yours. awkwardly, you grin. he returns the gesture with a smirk and walks back inside the bar.

a fluke, you reason. you’ve probably caught him at the wrong time. it’s easy to assume the bad in people out of context.

so you give him the benefit of the doubt.

the next day, you run into him outside the university courtyard with his friends. hoping (that you read the room wrong yesterday), you try to start a conversation with the man.

it ends fruitless though. he succeeds in ending the discussion as quick as possible with the excuse of having classes.

hey, sure! of course, you understand. classes are important.

so you disregard his unresponsiveness.

a comment from ayaka, irks you. “really? he’s free at the afternoons though?” only slightly.

it’s fine! of course, you get the picture. talking to strangers tire some people out.

so you forget his lie.

but every time you try to get to know your best friend’s brother, he always succeeds in turning the conversation into something one-sided, leaving you feeling neglected afterwards.

oh well. so what if he’s nice to everyone but you?

who cares if he gets along with all your friends?

it doesn’t hurt you one bit! (even if you’re the only one uninvited to hangout with his friends)

who needs a narrow-minded, rude, and overcritical jerk like him anyways?

thus, you ignore the douchebag with the passion of a burning suns.

except this time, he purposely steps on the paper (the air-conditioner blows it off your desk) that took you the whole night to cram and write by hand.

he does pick it up.

however, the ungenuine “sorry,” he quips (with his signature smirk) fuels your anger to the highest level.

and you lose your temper.

but not before scrambling to erase the footmarks left on your paper ahead of the due date. which was in five minutes, tops.

nevertheless, you do confront him about the issue a few hours later.

“listen here, you piece of shit. it took me hours to finish that paper. hours!”

“i apologized, didn’t i?” he gibes.

your face reddens in frustration, “you’re going to pay for that!”

he smiles. “oh? is that a threat?”

that becomes the day you place a target on his back.

and the start of frivolous payback fueled by pure animosity and bitterness.

you offer homemade donuts to the kamisato household (you visit for a project), specifying that the box with the blue ribbon is for the unfortunate creature ayato only.

he gives you the stink eye the next day. he must love the mayonnaise-filled doughnuts.

ayato returns the favor by replacing the cream-filling of oreo cookies with toothpaste. in your defense, the wrapper was completely sealed and untampered. it’s impossible to know how he did it!

one afternoon, you place sticky notes all over his car. imagine his surprise to see an assortment of ‘goodlucks’ and smiley faces on the yellow paper,

and the list goes on.

weird enough. no matter what pranks you throw at each other, it’s sort of an unspoken rule to never cause enough harm to seriously hurt one’s studies or reputation (feelings).

you hope.

hence it comes as a complete shock to see your own cellphone floating in a bucket of mop water. no matter what you do, the device doesn’t turn on, prompting you to buy a new one.

a cost you can’t afford either.

so you cry.

both from the stress and betrayal.

the initial anger from his neglect faded into something akin to dislike, closer to light bickering. it hurt more thinking how you were almost getting along. even if it’s not the most conventional way of becoming friends.

when ayato comes through the door. seeing as you’re late for another school project at the kamisato household (his sister begged him to pick you up) and he’s at the same building anyway, why not walk together? (with a bit of teasing along the way)

the first thing he sees are the tears streaming down your face. followed by your excruciating sobs. he instantly knows something’s wrong.

“what happened to your face?” he asks, softly.

cheeks flushing, you seethe. “how could you! stupid pranks, i understand. but destroying my stuff? you’re awful!” and another sob racks your body.

he watches your hands cradle a wet cellphone and right away, comprehends the situation.

you think he did this.

you think he deliberately hurt your feelings (and phone).

unexpectedly, the thought of you hating him wounds his conscience.

“i may dislike you, but i’m not heartless.” he mutters.

with glossy eyes, you stare at the man.

he looks sincere. the most sincere you’ve ever seen him.

'cause you’re too busy noticing his flaws and scheming

he’s telling the truth, isn’t he? i mean, he isn’t the type to lie and all. instead, he’s more likely to laugh and take the claim rather than play innocent.

...so you believe him.

but ayato senses the hesitation and sighs.

slightly irritated by your skepticism, he grips your chin with his fingers and gently pulls your face towards his—your eyes meet. “is it that hard to believe?”

you shake your head. almost immediately.

and the issue is solved.

you believe the jerk-face is telling the truth (calling him one to eradicate the sappiness and to keep up with your i-slightly-don’t-hate-you-but-i-have-to-pretend-i-do-for-reputations-sake persona).

and he trusts you'll treat him the same (and forget about his sentimental moment with you in the classroom).

did i mention, you also receive a new phone from him the next day?

you burst into ayaka’s empty classroom, holding up the new device. “please tell your brother i’m thankful. but did he have to flaunt his cash by getting the newest model? oh god—” you exclaim. “i owe him a kidney now, don’t i?”

your closest friend shoots a quizzical look and asks, “what phone?”

dazed, you look at her.

who else would’ve bought you the phone?

so you take her confusion as protecting her brother’s character (doubt the man would appreciate you advertising how kind and caring he is to buy someone, one who has smacked an egg on his head last week, a phone).

and you go on with your day, occasionally throwing the guy a stink eye.

by now, you realize your relationship with your adversary changes from ‘i slightly despise you so damn much!’ into ‘hey, some brat pushed me down the stairs. you in for some whooping?’

simply, he becomes the chaotic, manipulative, and scheming associate you can count on to teach you math problems, while being present for more sinister things.

like recording three upperclassmen threatening to pummel you for breaking their so-called angel’s heart. technically, ayato did the breaking. and why you’re being bullied in his place, you have no clue.

“really? suing them? are you insane?” you blurt.

ayato shrugs his shoulders. “why? prefer a hit man?”

“no— what? i can’t afford a lawyer!”

you don’t have to, he has you covered.

apparently his trust fund covers intimidation, lawsuits, and hospital bills (for, surprisingly, a fourth upperclassman trying to trip you after hearing the first three fail at their bullying tactics).

not only does he offer protection over bullies, he provides unsolicited relationship advice as well!

like the time you start dating a student from a different university. each occasion you try bringing up the man, he has no qualms in squandering the alleged person’s reputation.

you roll your eyes. “he’s not that bad! he’s kind and smart and loves the same music i do!”

“oh, really?”

“yes! really.”

ayato scoffs. “lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

this close, you are this close to throwing your drink at him.

good thing you don’t.

days later, the so-called boyfriend goes missing and the next time you find him is at a bar. dancing and kissing random strangers.

you’re too agitated at the i told you so smirk forming on ayato’s lips to berate the player for hurting your feelings.

anyway, besides the pranks and teasing, kamisato ayato’s a great friend.

though, sometimes you have your doubts.

especially when it comes to being the best man of your wedding.

why your husband decided on him, you absolutely have no idea.

“no. you will not bartend!” you hiss. “the last time you did, we ended up blacking out on a beach! on a random island! with thoma vomiting his guts out!”

ayato hums. “oh? your loss. it’s not everyday a special someone gets married.”

though, he senses your unrest. earlier, you were over the moon, excited for wedding. now, a feeling of dread radiates your form. mixed with the sudden outburst (asking to bartend was more of a joke, really), he knows something happened.

so he prods the subject. hoping it results to an answer (instead of him being kicked out from the ceremony).

and you, though reluctant, explain how a letter landed in your dressing room, begging you to stop and marry them instead.

eyes squinting at his, a sudden clarity forms in your head. “too low. this has to be the worst prank you’ve ever played! on my day— you’re nuts!”

ayato pauses, thinking. “i’m flattered, really, but i’m no wedding crasher.”

you shake your head, taken aback.

if he didn’t do it. who else would it be?

suddenly, the processional song chimes, causing you to flinch in surprise.

following the sound, an elated ayaka hollers, calling your attention to walk to your proper place (as practiced in rehearsals).

curiously, you peek at the quiet man. “you know, i still don’t really know why i used to despise you.”

ayato smiles. “i’m irresistible, aren’t i?”

bonus:

“you’re a bad liar, did you know that?”

ayato peeks at his younger sister. “oh, really?”

she knowingly places a hand on his shoulder. “everyone knows you’d wreck the wedding if you wanted to.” she pauses, “so why didn’t you?”

faraway, he watches as you bounce your legs in excitement. and soon, the doors will open, and you’ll walk towards the love of your life.

the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“they’re good for each other.” he lies.

though he never wrote the letter. sometimes he falls asleep with you on his mind. is it worth it? risking everything he holds dear, for a chance?

would you have fallen in love with him instead?

as symphonies of music reach his ears, a stinging thought sings.

‘would you have said yes if he asked?’

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful! i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •�� )✧

thank you for reading!!

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hanzajesthanza · 11 months

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use #the witcher books for the witcher books tag

hi there! if you are a fan of the witcher in general or specifically the witcher book series, you may have found it difficult to find book-related art, textposts, edits, and other posts in the main #witcher or #the witcher tags on tumblr, as adaptations and non-adaptations also bearing the witcher name (e.g., netflix or games) tend to dominate those tags.

the results of the poll conducted earlier this week concluded that #the witcher books should be the tag (at least, here on tumblr) to both find and post posts related to the book series.

as the tag designations stand:

#the witcher books : books-related posts | all languages #wiedźmin : all mediums | polish language content, or posts with no language (e.g., visual art or edits, which would not hinder a search)

of course, it is up to each person's individual discretion whether or not to use the book tag, especially if their posts contain or are about multiple mediums, but there have typically been few issues with keeping the tag book-centered, so this isn't really a worry as of now.

the reason for this post is to let people in the witcher fandom know that there is a books tag, if they are looking for books-focused content, or want to post books-focused content themselves.

if you are a fan of the witcher (any medium) or post about the witcher, i encourage you to consider reblogging and sharing this post to inform the community of how to use these tags.

and under the readmore, you can find:

the poll results and reasoning behind these tag designations

a quick tutorial on how to search a tag on tumblr (because there is a difference between searching a tag and searching a phrase).

how this was decided

after both a poll and conversations amongst the community, many came to the conclusion to use #the witcher books as the tag for content about the book series.

here, i will describe the poll results and boost some voices and opinions i thought were significant in this decision.

poll results

there were two primary contenders for book witcher tags on tumblr: #wiedźmin and #the witcher books.

#the witcher books won with nearly 40% of all responders, and together, over 70% of all responders were in favor of either only using #the witcher books or using both tags.

this decision, however, does not mean that one should not tag their witcher books posts with #wiedźmin. the decision was for #wiedźmin to remain an all mediums tag, and for #the witcher books to be the book community's main go-to to post and search book-related content. but read the below for more context.

commentary and opinions

in this post, i also wanted to include some reasoning behind this decision and foster discussion within the community about this topic. (as a note, i will be using the term 'anglophone' in this post now to mean those who speak english but do not speak polish)

the word wiedźmin is literally just the non-translated "witcher," and thus applies to all mediums of the witcher: books, games, netflix, 2001 film ("hexer" in english), musical, you name it.

generally, it was expressed that #wiedźmin should be a place for polish language posts because there are already so many places for english posts, and it can be difficult to specifically find posts in polish for this reason. for many polish fans seeking polish-language posts and other polish fans or creators to connect with, it can be aggravating to see a polish tag appropriated for english-language posts.

and with the alternative of using an english tag for english-language posts, the choice seems like a no-brainer here.

additionally, the broader community already has some history with anglophone fans appropriating the polish name for something (or someone) to mean that thing (or character) in "only this specific medium" ... yes, jaskier, i am talking about jaskier, whose polish name and tag seemed to become synonymous with netflix's jaskier overnight, with little room left for the books or games jaskier... and suddenly, the tag became unusable for polish posts.

of course, this opinion was not expressed by every single member of the community, but by several mutuals, friends, and followers who pointed out that it is important for polish witcher fandom to have its own space.

thus, #wiedźmin should generally be prioritized for polish posts or posts with no language (e.g., visual art or edits, posts which would not hinder a search).

intentions

edit, july 10th, 2023: i have been thinking about this and i realized that i should have a disclaimer for this post, so here that is.

this is just what i have found from my own initiative and responses i encountered when asking around—i in no way speak for any entire community, and i never intended to make this post to be representative of any entire population.

i am aware, of course, that some don’t care about finding books content, that for some english-language content in #wiedźmin isn’t a bother, that for some tumblr is not a concern to them and it’s not worth deliberating what goes in what tag.

at the same time, the majority of commentary i encountered when asking about this topic both urged to (1) have a specific place for books content only (i.e. no netflix content) and (2) have a specific place for polish-language content. the commentary i speak of were received via tumblr replies, tumblr asks, discord messages, tags left on the initial post, tags left on the poll post, and and poll results.

all in all, it’s just tumblr and it doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of life. it’s definitely not the end of the world if tags are used in a way that people disagree about; however, let me be clear about what motivated me to make this post:

my goals with this post were the following:

make tumblr more usuable for fans of the witcher books: both for fans who are interested in “all ‘witcher’s”, and fans that are only interested in the books. (personally, i appreciate organization and i like to use tags to organize and find the content i am interested in).

casually inquire as to how the english-speaking witcher fans on tumblr can support or improve the experiences of polish-speaking fans on tumblr.

create a post to boost visibility; show that the tags #the witcher books and #wiedźmin exist.

my intentions were NOT:

assume authority and tell everyone what to do

assume leadership and speak for everyone involved

assume everyone deeply cares about this topic

i made this post because i have not seen anyone else speak and speak up about this topic, and the very polite and kind anonymous ask i received also made me think some action should be taken as a help to the community, especially during this time of netflix’s season 3 premiering.

the reason why i am making this edit is that after some reflection i realized it is not obvious and does not go without saying why i made this post, and i always want to be clear with my intentions.

i would also like to be clear that this is my own reflection which prompted this edit, and i have thankfully not received any hateful comments or anything like that—this is just me thinking to myself and saying i could have done better when explaining why i made this post.

how to use tag search on tumblr

a question raised during this poll was, what about when non-book posts tag #the witcher, but mention "books" somewhere in their post, so it gets put into #the witcher books tag?

to which i must point out, there is a difference between searching a phrase on tumblr and searching a tag on tumblr.

searching a tag will send you to that tag, where you can see all posts tagged with that tag.

searching a phrase will return a search, where you can see all posts containing the keywords in your search.

[desktop]

on desktop, it’s very simple:

just navigate to the searchbar, and type in the tag you want to browse.

to search the tag, click the highlighted "Go to #the witcher books".

this will send you to tumblr.com/tagged/the%20witcher%20books.

do not hit return to search the phrase, which will instead send you to tumblr.com/search/the%20witcher%20books

[mobile]

i follow #the witcher books tag:

which makes it more streamlined to open the tag, which looks like this:

oh, a familiar face at the bottom there, how nice

by the way, the very nice featured art in the tag header right now is by @onlymagpie! here is the post to reblog if you wanted to see the featured post of the tag

but you can also navigate to the tag in other ways.

for instance, if i open the search tab, it leads me to a search fork much like the desktop version.

i can either search the phrase, which is not what i want, as it will return posts that have not explicitly tagged #the witcher books, but rather all posts which include the keyphrases “witcher” and “books”:

or, i can search the tag.

to do this, you have to either select the "Go to #the witcher books" in the search function, as per it is on desktop

or, you can also go to “tags” from the search you returned, and select the tag you want to browse:

then, you will end up in the tag (see above).

conclusion

this is how you navigate tags and searches on tumblr. though somewhat complicated, one has the choice whether to search all posts containing certain keywords words, or only posts tagged with a tag with the keywords in the right order.

#the witcher books #the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher #my apologies this is a little late but i wanted to spend time making this post + add the tutorial

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cleolinda · 3 months

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Weekend links

My posts

1) From earlier this week: “My ~longform posts are going somewhere else. Dreamwidth? Definitely previewed on Patreon and backed up there. Here’s an unlocked post about it. tl;dr: I know tech bros already scraped everything, but if you tell me you’re going to do it, I’m not gonna hand it to you. Maybe it’s a token effort, but there it is.” Of course I’ll still post links to new writing here.

2) Some people have March Madness. I now have the Hot & Vintage Movie Women tournament.

One of the best parts of the tournament (you may remember that Toshiro Mifune won the male matchup) is people reblogging and submitting pictures, further bio information, and personal anecdotes--that sense of the Tumblr collective scrapping for the pure love of their blorbos. I love Edwige Fenech’s eyes and her iconic eyeliner, and I had to step in when she went up against powerhouse Julie Andrews with only one small picture. No, I’m not letting Edwige go out like that. She won’t win, but the people must make their choice knowingly.

I also posted some pictures for Lady Tsen Mei, because I’d actually never heard of her and was curious. Also, because she’s going up against Musidora and that’s not an easy row to hoe, either. If you see matchups like that, where hotvintagepoll didn’t receive much to post about an actress--appealing to the people with a good picspam in the reblogs is where the fun comes in.

Bear in mind that running the tournament is an INCREDIBLE amount of work; this was Friday alone. Like, I don’t know the person who’s running this, but it couldn’t be me. They’re working with what they were sent, and here’s how we can be the propaganda we want to see in the world. I will jump in as necessary when Ava Gardner, Gene Tierney, Norma Shearer, Paulette Goddard, and (on my mom’s behalf) Julie Christie show up. But there’s 512 contenders, and it’s going to be a hard fight.

(I am now reblogging the polls at only one an hour, and when I fall behind, that just means that people who missed them can catch up. Each poll lasts a week, after all.)

Reblogs of interest

You are invited to the assassination of Julius Caesar! If you joined Tumblr during the various internet shakeups last year, you may not be aware that the Ides of March is a major Tumblr holiday. You need to be.

People have always been people: an immensely long collection that may make you cry.

Respect for the Welsh language

The “Fool in a Field” theory of life in the universe

A helpful guide to some common birds here in the western US

The Forbidden Colors

“You get to drive away”: A Tale

I was not ready for this development in the Fairy vs Walrus debate

(Did William Butler Yeats believe in fairies? An anecdote from my grad school days)

(”While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a slapping”)

Video

“Recently I’ve been interested in what I’d like to call the historical lesbian wardrobe”

“This is the snake I’ve been looking for my entire life”

Angry kitten scolds water, slaps it for good measure

Cat plays theremin

A speedy boi who doesn’t need a bike to jump

The most relaxed tiger

The sacred texts

Yes, THAT Stinky Bastard Man

Personal tags of the week

I want to be clear that AI has incredible scientific uses and could be used voluntarily by writers and artists for their own experimental projects. That is... not what this AI tag is about.

Speaking of AI: truly, the Willy Wonka Experience debacle has been a DashCon for the 2020s.

#weekend links #odds and ends #linkspam

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kawaiiakamaru · 5 months

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THE NOTEBOOK

noritoshi kamo x megumi's sister!reader

fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, sibling comfort, does mention motherhood/children?, etc. trigger warning: mention of death

word count: 1.6k ; not proofread

i do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted anywhere else! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated:)

the moon shone through the large bedroom window as noritoshi toyed with his blood-dipped arrows. its luminescence was much less prominent in tokyo than back in kyoto, but just for a few days, he didn't mind—especially if it meant he got to see you again. with missions and the 360+ kilometers between the two of you, it was safe to say you didn't see each other nearly as often as you both deemed necessary.

having been sat criss-crossed on the ground and hunched over for about an hour, his back began to cramp. groaning, he rose and rubbed his eyes before picking up his phone from his bed. scrolling through the kyoto groupchat, he rolled his eyes at the series of messages.

miwa: i'm nervous for tomorrow. i just don't want to be the reason we lose the event. i mean, they are the students of gojo satoru. 🤷‍♀️

kokichi: please do not let this worry keep you up tonight. mechamaru will protect you, miwa.

mai: 🤨

kokichi: by that i mean we are a team, so mechamaru will protect everyone. 👍🏻

mai: ANYWAYS, that white-haired oaf? no, girl. we'll be fine. 🤚🏼⚔️

todo: do not worry. the bigger they are, the bigger they are! 🥔

momo: todo, what does that even mean?

his eyebrows furrowed as he saw another notification pop up.

y/n: hii, love. do you want to spend the night? 🥰

much to his dismay, the brunette's heart began racing as he typed his reply: i will begin to gather my belongings, please be patient.

two hallways down, you smiled and chuckled softly. always so formal, you thought.

lighting a candle and fluffing your pillows before lying down on the bed, you attempted to patiently await your lover’s arrival. a few moments later, you heard a soft knock.

shooting up from the bed, you darted across your room before swinging the door open excitedly.

your wide smile immediately turned sheepish as you stepped to the side and allowed the individual into your bedroom.

sliding out of his slippers and making his way to the edge of your bed, he was the first to break the silence, "are you doing okay?"

the room went silent once again as your mind raced. sucking in a breath, you decided on an honest answer, "i'm not sure."

megumi nodded his head and began looking everywhere but you. honestly, part of him was hoping you'd just say yes, and you both could go on with your nights knowing neither of you were truly okay. however, the other part of him was relieved that you was feeling the same way.

"you know I'm not the best with words," he began, "but i think that whatever you're feeling—whatever we're feeling—is justified. gojo-sensei didn't really give us an opportunity to react." a mild grimace played on his lips as he thought back to the events earlier that afternoon.

you nodded slowly. "it's not every day that you see your newly-acquainted teammate rip his heart out in front of you and return in a box weeks later." you fidgeted with the chain around your neck.

"sorry, i'm rambling. i just." you paused, "can i say something awful?"

your brother hummed softly, waiting for you to continue.

"i'm grateful he's back, but part of me wishes he wasn't-- i'm just so worried. what happens when word gets out that he's still alive? or alive again? god only knows if sukuna is part of the reason why he's here, which could mean that yuji has even less control over his body."

megumi remained silent, taking in your words carefully.

"we watched him die, ‘gumi! i just can't handle losing him again, and i know you can't either." your voice became muffled as megumi rose and wrapped his arms around his sister.

you remained there for a few seconds before a knock interrupted your embrace and megumi gave you a questioning look.

walking over and grabbing the door knob, you pleaded, "just be civil, that's all i'm asking for." you took megumi's silence as promised adherence to your request.

swinging the door open for a second time that night, you sucked in a breath. you didn't know if it was his casual attire, his freed hair, or simply your eagerness to see your lover, but one thing was for certain: noritoshi kamo was breathtakingly beautiful.

stepping into the room, he opened his mouth to say something before locking eyes with the eldest of the two.

"fushiguro." he stated cooly. megumi could hardly take him seriously with the glittery hello kitty keychain clipped onto his duffel bag--presumably a gift you had given him in private.

placing a kiss on your forehead and grabbing the door behind him, the ravenette responded, "good night, y/n. kamo." holding eye contact for just a few more uncomfortable seconds, you rolled your eyes and forced the door shut.

"sorry about that." you began, "i wasn't expecting him to come over."

noritoshi, visibly more relaxed now that it was just the two of you, hummed. "please do not apologize, y/n. you know that you could never do any wrong in my eyes."

a tinge of pink painted your cheeks before you cupped the archer's soft face in your hands. thumbs stroking his pale cheeks, he nodded, giving you permission to lean in.

their lips connected and noritoshi, purely by instinct, grabbed your waist gently and pulled you in close, whispering softly, "you are everything to me."

looping your arms around his neck, you kissed him with more passion and lust than before. lips moving in sync, you carefully walked the two of you backwards until you felt the back of your knees hit the mattress.

noritoshi, without breaking contact, cupped the back of your head and pushed you back gently, gingerly placing your head on a pillow.

he hovered over you, legs straddled around your figure as you kissed each other hungrily; tongues dancing together with so much passion, desire, and love, it could have been mistaken as your last. deep down the both of you knew that a jujutsu sorcerer’s life was shorter than most, which further prompted you to cherish each other’s presence.

in desperate need of air, noritoshi broke the kiss and used the mattress to push himself off of you—admiring your swollen lips and staticky hair before laying his head on the pillow next to yours.

as the combination of your panting ceased, you picked up a few loose strands of his hair. wondering aloud you asked, "do you think in a world without curses or clans, we still would have found each other?"

noritoshi was silent as he pondered this idea. eventually, he settled on the words, “no, i do not think so.”

before you could protest and voice your disagreement, he continued. "i don't know what we would be doing if we didn't live in this world together, but i can imagine that a world without curses to exorcise and the pain felt from comrades dying at the hands of them and other sorcerers, without the loneliness and anxieties that come from leading a clan, life would be much closer to perfection. and i think the lack of perfection in this universe is part of what drew us together. raw human suffering is romantic because it connects us, in some grotesque way.”

your vision blurred as you attempted to blink back tears, whispering, “i never took you for a poet, kamo.”

the kamo heir snorted and lifted his thumb to your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

god, you loved when he was like this: when he spoke his mind freely without fear of damaging his clan’s reputation. when he was vulnerable about his feelings. when he snorted, for christ’s sake.

“you’re right, you know.” you whispered. “the fact that we found each other amidst the chaos of this life is beautiful.”

noritoshi gave you a small smile. “almost as beautiful as you.”

you rolled your eyes and bumped your shoulders teasingly. “do you say that to all of your girlfriends?”

noritoshi sighed, but played along anyway. “only to the ones i can envision as a mother to my heirs.”

your heart fluttered. “i will be anything you want me to be.”

noritoshi thought for a moment. checking an imaginary watch on his wrist, he tsked before shrugging. “for now, being yourself will suffice. ask me again in 10 years.”

you grinned before reaching an arm over to your nightstand to grab a book, checking the time simultaneously.

“it’s nearly 12, ‘toshi. i’m still not that tired yet, so could you read to me?”

noritoshi huffed in fake annoyance. “is my voice really that boring?”

seeing his adorable pout, you assured him that that was simply not the case; instead, because his voice was soothing and gentle.

opening the book to the page saved by the bookmark, noritoshi’s eyes danced over the words to remind himself where you both left off.

“Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense,” he began, stroking your scalp in a way that was sure to coax you to sleep in minutes, “That's what it was like for me. I didn't plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt if you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has happened only once, and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it."

author’s note: ahh! first fic done! i know it’s not the greatest, but i haven’t written anything in the realm of creative writing before—just academic essays! i am open to feedback on how i can improve so i can do right by you all. thank you so much for taking the time to read this through! likes, comments, and reblogs are all very appreciated.

dividers: @cafekitsune

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk noritoshi #noritoshi kamo #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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eternally-frozen · 2 years

Text

Eye-catching movements

Author note: Hello! This is my first post here :) This is just a test, so if you like this; please like/comment/reblog. If it gets enough notes I’ll write more stuff

Warning: Fem!Reader, Yandere, you’re at a club, mentions of alcohol, threats, if I missed something lmk!

“What’s your name?”

The colourful lights that spin around in the club turn to hit his face. The freckles that were previously hidden by the dark, appeared on his skin, before fading away as the lights move to yet another place.

“Y/n. You?” The drink in your hand was bought with his money. A very direct move to get to know you more. You watch his slender fingers push back the locks that had fallen in front of his eyes in a messy manner.

“I’m Childe.”

While it’s an uncommon name in Snezhnaya, it suits him. His carefree smile and the way his leg keeps bouncing up and down with no particular rhythm – almost like an impatient child. (yes, the name matches him.)

“It’s what everyone calls me.” He continues almost in a defending manner. His hair brushes against your cheek. When he leans back again a smile spreads along his cheeks and he shrugs.

Earlier, in the later evening, you entered the club with your friends. It was yet another Friday, - shifts barely ended before you all gathered and assigned one friend to be the babysitter of all the other soon-to-be wasted friends.

It hadn’t taken you long to destress. With your friends on the dancefloor, some alcohol buzzing though your body, and the loud music, you were able to forget the stress that had accumulated over the past weeks at work.

And somewhere around your second drink you went up to the bar to get some rest. You weren’t drunk, a bit tipsy maybe, but dancing in heels was perhaps not the right choice for tonight.

‘I saw you, just now, y’know.’ Those were Childe’s first words to you, followed by; ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a pyro vision. Your moves were on fire.’

His pickup line, or whatever he was attempting to do, wasn’t smooth in any way. Yet, you couldn’t help but laugh at him. He bought you some fire-water, ‘to compliment your fire moves’, but despite your Snezhnayan heritage, you had no tolerance for it. He, on the other hand, downed the shot in one go.

While his attempt at conversation was far from smooth, his carefree smile charmed you to stay a while longer – leading up to the conversation you were currently having.

“’Childe’, because you act like one?” The fire-water flushed his cheeks red. His freckles were more prominent now – even outside the moving lights. You lean back to get some space between you and him.

He bashfully smiles and gives a light shrug. “’T was enough to keep you by my side, wasn’t it?”

You playfully roll your eyes at him. There was something about his playful yet clumsy attitude that made you open up to him. Something you normally didn’t do.

“So, Childe.” You emphasise his name teasingly. You didn’t want to be too desperate for his attention, but you wanted still pushed the conversation. “What do you do?”

When you lift your eyes up to his, he seems confused. His ocean blue eyes seem to widen for a moment. In the dark you can’t see the shimmer in it.

You specify, “For work?”

Childe leans back, his eyebrows furrow together for a moment. “If I tell you, you’ll probably end the conversation.” He smiles and holds out his pinkie before he continues, “Promise not to laugh?”

He’s leaning closer again. The smell of his cologne makes you feel dizzy.

With curiosity you hold out your pinkie as well. When you intertwine your finger with his you throw him a cheeky smile, "You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life."

Childe continues for you, "You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice."

His finger squeezes yours before he lets you go. The nursery rhyme is very popular with children from Snezhnaya. You smile at the nostalgic feeling.

“Okay, so. No laughing.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. A serious expression covers his face, something that looks foul - and unlike him.

“I'm a toy seller.”

You put your hand up to your mouth to stifle a smile. As unexpected as his answer came, it seemed to fit his image – and name.

You lean in closer to whisper in his ear, “Like, child toys?”

“Hey – My little brother thinks it’s the coolest job in the world,” He feigns hurt for a moment, but it’s gone as quick as it comes. He leans forward like you did moments ago, his voice whispering in your ear. “But it obviously fails to impress beautiful ladies like you.”

When he moves back he gives you a wink. While this is his best attempt at flirting, it was still a conversation about work, - something you wanted to forget on your free days in the weekend.

“Toy seller might sound silly, but its far better than my job. It straight up sucks.”

“Yeah, I never liked working with costumers.” Childe groans alongside with you. “No one really appreciates the effort you put into your work.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

How had he known you work with costumers? You hadn’t mentioned your job before, right? How many drinks did you have again? You were definitely not drunk yet.

“Anyways, no more drinks for the lady?” Childe’s eyes are closed as he smiles at you. His own glass is empty, and he probably noticed you hadn’t ordered one of your own in a while.

You shake your head, “I don’t want to see the world spinning, thank you.”

“I really liked our conversation, y/n.” Childe takes your hand in his. When you don’t pull back he intertwines your fingers with his. His hands are warm and you give him a soft squeeze – one he returns.

“I did as well. Never before did I speak to a toy sales man.”

Childe laughs and you can’t help but join him.

“You’re going home?” Childe says. When you retract your fingers you see his fingers twitch, refraining himself from chasing your warmth.

“I think so. But, I have to find my friends first.” You look over to the dancefloor. You don’t spot any of them. When you glance over to the bar you still see no one. They wouldn’t have all gone out at the same time for a break. Where were they?

“Are they on the dancefloor?” Childe asks, concerned.

After one more thorough look you shake your head.

“Let me message them.”

Your hands move over to the purse you put on the bar. A small amount of mora – used to buy drinks, some necessities, home keys and there it is; your phone. It takes no effort to unlock it. When you open up your notifications, you’re bombarded.

In your group chat are many missed messages. Few wishing you and the ‘hot ginger’ a ‘safe’ night, others contain pictures and conversations from your drunk friends and finally the message; ‘We went back home, if you need a ride, call us.’

You roll your eyes and turn your head to Childe.

“They abandoned me.” You joke. “I’m going outside for a moment. I need to call them, or else I have no ride home.”

Before you can stand up from the car seat Childe puts his hand on your back. “Need me to come with you? I don’t want some creep bothering you.”

You think over your choices but you ultimately decide to take up on his offer. He’s been a joy to be around, safe for his awful flirting attempts, but he seems genuine enough.

“Sure.”

Childe waits for you to grab your purse before grabbing your free hand. He’s taller than you, and while he isn’t that broad, he is able to bring you outside without too many people bumping into you.

When he opens the door you feel the harsh Snezhnayan breeze hit your face. You automatically feel more sober.

“Huh, it’s a more calm than I expected.” Childe closes the door behind him and you can hear his voice clearer.

“Anywhere is calmer when you walk exit a club like this.”

He smiles at your response. “Let’s walk a bit more to the side in case people want to exit.”

His hand is on the small of your back as he walks with you a few more steps to the right of the building. Now that you’re both standing up in close proximity you feel his form comfortably tower over you – in a shielding manner.

Childe takes a few steps back when you dial the phone number of your friend. You first call the one who was supposed to be sober, but you go straight to voiceline.

“You good over there, y/n?” When you look at Childe he has his own phone in hand. His lower back is leaning onto the side of the building, watching you pace back and forth on the pavement.

“Yeah, voicemail though.” You shrug. “I’ll try someone else.”

You dial the next friend. They’d probably not be sober, but you know how often they look on their phone. Surely they’d pick up, but once again, voicemail.

You frown and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach grows bigger. The last text message had been 30 minutes ago. They should’ve been home by now.

“Nothing?”

You look up at Childe. Once again you have to shake your head. You’re somewhat hurt that your friends left you without ways to get home. They probably had their own reasoning, and the message did say to call them if you wanted to get picked up, but you are starting to feel like the friend who got left out.

“Hey, it’s okay. If you want we can go back inside and wait till they call back?” Childe puts a hand on the small of your back, his thumb is rubbing you in circle motions. It makes you calm down.

Childe continues, “If the club is too much, I live nearby. I don’t have a car and I don’t know if you’re up for walking, but it might be more comfortable than the club?”

You gaze back at your phone. Your latest message in the group hadn’t been read by any of your friends. Had they crashed asleep when they arrived home?

“Okay, let me message your address to my friends first. So, they know where to pick me up. ” - and to be safe. If anything happened, your friends would read the message and know where to find you.

“Can I?” Childe holds out his hand and you place your phone in it. His fingers move fast across the screen. When he returns the phone you see he sent his address. Nothing more, nothing less. Just what you asked.

You close your phone and put it back in your purse. “Well then. Lead the way mr. toy salesman.”

He holds out his arm your you to take. “Of course, m’lady.” He gives you that boyish grin and you can’t help but return a smile as you loop your arm around his.

The walk had been filled with empty chatter. Silly questions such as, ‘Hey, what’s your favourite color?’ – teasing ones, ‘You don’t have a boyfriend right?’ – and some more serious ones,

“You should get better friends. What if you were all alone?” The streetlights set for a sober mood. Empty streets, dark homes and a dimly lit sidewalk.

“They didn’t abandon me. I think they thought I went home with you, and then decided to leave themselves.”

“You didn’t strike me as someone who’d go home with a guy from the club.”

“I normally don’t.” You grow more aware of the close proximity you have with Childe. You unlinked your arms a while earlier, but even now, you seemed to hover closer and closer to his warmth.

You take a step to the side, making some room between you and Childe. He notices immediately and stops in his tracks to face you.

“If you want we can go back to the club. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

The club was already a 10 minute walk back from here. A few more houses and you’d be at his home, yet he still offered to take you back if you felt uncomfortable.

There was no need to feel scared, right? Childe seems like a normal guy, who maybe tries too hard, but has enough respect to stop when you say so. You decide to stick with your previous choice.

“No, I’m alright. I guess I’m a bit worried though.”

“About your friends?”

You nod. “They know I wouldn’t just ‘go’ with someone.”

Maybe he was right. You love your friends but they shouldn’t have left you alone at the club – especially not if you’d been drinking and had no way home.

“My home is at the end of this street. I don’t have a car, but I can call a friend in the morning to drive you home? It’s only a few more hours till sunrise.”

You smile at him. “I’d appreciate that. And I’m sorry about this mess.”

He shakes his head and continues to walk. “I’d be pretty heartless if I were to leave you alone in the middle of the night at a place where people are – most likely – drunk or high.”

“Were you not with friends either?” You walk alongside him. He matches his pace to yours, now more conscious to leave some room between you two.

“I knew the owner of the club. He sometimes bartends himself, though – lucky for you, he wasn’t at the club today. So I had time to talk with you instead of him.”

Childe comes to a halt in front of a house.

“Well, this is it. It’s nothing big but we all have to start somewhere, right?”

He grabs a single key from his pockets. There’s no charm attached, no other keys. And as weird as it looks, you don’t comment on it.

“You can leave your purse anywhere, shoes as well if those heels are tiring you.” He throws you a smile and walks further into the house. “Just close the door on your way in.”

You check your phone once more. No new messages or missed calls. You sent a text, explaining you’ll get a ride from one of his friends if they continue to ignore you. In another one you sent some sad emojis with one angry one.

You put the phone in your purse and you close the door behind you when you walk in. There’s a set of stairs going up, but with the light out you know he went to the room further in the hall.

When you enter the living room you see his figure move around in the kitchen area. You think he’s filling some glasses with water.

You eyes move back to the furniture in the living room. There are two separate couches and a smaller table situated closer to the window. There, you put your purse down. You also notice a bookshelf. It’s covered with many books but your eyes focus on a picture frame.

“Is this your little brother?”

You grab the picture in your hands and lift it up closer. A young boy, with the same ginger coloured hair smiles into the lens. His eyes are open. They are brighter than Childe’s.

Childe hums as he approaches you. “Yes, Teucer. He’s grown a bit since this picture though.” From behind you, he lifts his arm to reach for another picture frame that’s above you. You can feel his chest press against your back and he lowers his face until it’s hovering above your shoulder.

“You can see my sisters in this picture as well.” His breath ghosts along your neck. You hope he didn’t notice your sharp inhale.

With slow movements you take the picture frame from his hands. He’s been leaning close to you the whole night, yet, it feels more intimate now you’re both alone.

Your fingers move across the picture. He’s much smaller here, but it’s still undoubtedly him.

“You seem so happy.”

He hums, “I was much younger then. Teucer was still a baby so I should’ve been… twelve?”

You take a shaky inhale as you turn around. His frame cages yours between the bookshelf and his own body. Childe’s blue eyes gaze into yours.

“I-“ He struggles with his words, “Did I tell you, you’re gorgeous tonight?”

Words get stuck in your throat – in a good way, and you feel your heart move out of your chest when his fingers graze along your cheek as he puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

Before any of you can say anything, your phone starts ringing.

Immediately you’re snapped out of your daze, you slip away from Childe’s form and you rush for your purse that you left onto the couch. You see your friend’s name on the screen and you pick up.

“Hello?”

“Y/n. Listen, you need to get away. Right. Now.”

You blink a few times. “Where are you guys?”

“He’s one of the harbingers, the fatui –“

The phone call ends abruptly.

“Y/n?”

Childe is frowning when you look back at him. He’s still at the bookshelf.

“My friends –”

Thoughts race into your mind. What did they mean by the Fatui? A Harbinger? Had they been assaulted by them? You had no idea why they would be. Your friends, and you, were good citizens. You never disrespected the Tsarista, nor had you gotten into debt or contact with the Fatui before.

“Y/n.”

Childe grabs you by the shoulders. You hadn’t noticed him approaching you.

“Let me go, Childe.”

You struggle, trying to push him away. “My friends are in danger, I need to go back home.”

“And what?”

Adrenaline starts pumping though your body. You’re scared when you catch his dull gaze bore into your eyes. His grip grows stronger, forcefully freezing you in place.

“Why would you try to save your friends? Didn’t they abandon you before?” He tilts his head to the side, mockingly. “Besides, you work a nine-to-five job ‘helping’ your parents business throughout the week and you party with your friends in the weekend. You can barely hold your ground with unsatisfied costumers. Do you really think you can save them?”

“W-what?”

He removes his hold on your shoulders and moves back. You feel like you’re talking to a complete different person. His posture is different – more tense, and his eyes dull, observing every emotion that crosses over your face.

When he moves though the door to the hallway you start to tremble. As suspected you hear his key close the door.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, but your parents are indebted to the Fatui.” He emerges from the hallway again and moves back to the kitchen as he talks. “I’ve been visiting your shop for a while now but your family is unable to repay us.” He seems to grab the two glasses he previously filled with water. “I just happened to see you at work one day, and I must say you entertained me when you put those costumers in their place.”

He puts the two glasses down onto the table by the couch. When he turns around he’s got a smile on his face, but it no longer charms him with those empty eyes. “He totally deserved it, don’t worry.”

Childe wastes no more time and plops down onto the couch. With shaking hands you continue to hold your phone close to your body. You’re still in the middle of his living room. The windows are all closed, and with the front door remains closed – you’re trapped inside.

“Sit.”

He pats the set next to him on the couch loudly. When you remain in place he repeats himself, slowly in a deep commanding voice.

With trembling legs you hesitantly make your way over to the couch. Everything seems to happen so fast and sudden, it feels like unreal. You wish you hadn’t drunken as much as you did.

When you sit down you move towards the far end of the couch, adding more space between you and Childe.

“I know it’s a lot of information for your little brain.” He leans back into the couch and pushes his hands though his ginger locks. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you drink that much, but I thought I’d give you some fun on our first date. My bad.”

He lulls his head into your direction. You’re unable to move when you see his eyes stare into yours.

His voice continues to be calm when he speaks, “I’ll make it simple for you, okay? If you try to leave this house, I’ll kill all your friends and family.”

Tears pool up at the bottom of your eyes and you can’t stop your body from shaking. You can’t call the police, the Fatui has more power in Snezhnaya, so they wouldn’t help you. You friends are probably still in danger and you have no way of exiting this house without being caught by him.

With his cold stare boring into your eyes you give him a slight nod as your fate settles in.

“Good girl.”

When a hand reaches for your forearm you jolt away. Though, as learnt from before, his grip is as unmoving as stone. With little to no effort he pulls your body towards him, and you tumble to your side, your head in his lap.

His warm fingers take place in your hair, gently playing with your strands as he hums a soft lullaby.

He’s unable to comfort you start sobbing in his lap.

#❄️ winter: writes #tw: yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere #childe x reader #childe #childe genshin x reader #childe yandere #harbinger x reader #genshin harbingers #fatui harbingers #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia #tartaglia

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bcacstuff · 1 year

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My Dearest Gentle Reader....

Sometimes stories are too good to be true, and sometimes they're too good to not be shared. Even though I promised not to waste anymore ink or feathers on what is going on in a particular corner of the Tum where a certain Cinderella is the highlight and the talk of the Tum these last weeks.

You know the best show not on tv, though much to our surprise Cinderella was rudely written out of the books, instead last years summer fling's likings on posts became interesting again.

Then suddenly around midnight (CEST, = abt 6pm ET and 3pm PT) she who always wakes up to DMs or just got a minute rushing in between meetings posted an Anon telling her most eligible bachelor was in the South of France and pictures will be out tomorrow. I had to shake my head as I knew how that message came about.

Half an hour before, I posted a little cryptic message to an Anon that sent me a message earlier that evening (21.50 CEST) about the whereabouts of this supposed vigilante. I did a little research and the message, naming an event, had some merit in it. I tried to find pics or videos, looked at many, but none to be found that could identify him clearly. Yes, several lookalikes with a cap and a shirt far in the distance. But not good enough for me. So I decided to post this cryptic message hoping Anon would come back and perhaps had some more proof than the 'listing' I found and mentioned in my cryptic post.

About 15 minutes later I got this Anon:

I had to laugh as it was far off... and no Idea why H... R....... and him being 'listed' as I wrote could have anything to do with the South of France in the slightest way.... Confirmation bias looking in wrong directions to say the least

You can imagine how I had to laugh even more when I saw the same Anon on the blog of the one that now seemed to have all the time in the world spinning a fantastic story around it. The Anon seemed fairly sure now, not a question mark in it but even claiming there would be pics tomorrow! I had no doubts where this Anon had been reading first and as I didn't posted her message she must have thought she was right and run straight off to Lalaland to please her fairytale writer.

Time for popcorn 🍿 I thought and popped some in the microwave... and boy, I needed a full box of it, cause what happened after that post I can hardly describe. The story that was spun around this 'South of France' you can not make this up. Literally in a matter of minutes, each time I refreshed the page there was another chapter. More 'proof' and 'evidence' on every reblog of herself.

Look Melissa is in Cannes... [right, she was already there for a couple of days... and believe me S isn't the only one she grooms]. And of course it all made sense since, blimey, all of the sudden Cinderella was back on top of the list and magically popped up in the South of France as well! Only days before, she posted about Brigitte Bardot and changed her profile pic to an old one from the time she once must have been on an RC in Cannes and you know she's 'a socialite and a film maker who has lived in France for years' and must be well known in those circles... No, this can't all be a coincidence, now can it? 😂😂😂

More popcorn please... 🍿 🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿

Lists of parties in Cannes were shared and oh bloody hell how could we have missed his latest following of Alessandra, she's there as well... Maybe she was even better than Cinderella (how rude!)

[Did she not notice how he followed her already long time ago, but seemed to have unfollowed her and now re-followed again, as well as the other ones he followed recently, the everydayman and Neil Marshall. Now don't ask me why he does this, but he does]

My head started to hurt from laughing.... but also from keeping up with all the women the Queen of Lalaland had brought up in less than a day. And remind you, she was busy for more that 8 hours straight to finally come up with an Anon who gave her and her readers the wake up call realizing what H.... R.... stood for.

About 8 hours after my cryptic post and 2 more hours after I received my Anon

Yes, of course Hyrox Rotterdam. Not a woman, but a sports event. I found the listing on the website. (why did nobody else took a look there???) And I have to be honest, I did remove some comments working it out and received Anons before it even occurred to the other side what it was all about.

But last night it showed no results and today it is still empty. I was hoping more results would be added today but it doesn't look like it. As said no clear identifiable pics or videos have been found. So it remains unclear if he participated at all. All I can confirm is that at least he planned to stay on this side of the Canal and fill his days with sports.

But do not despair my dearest gentle readers, as I have it on good authority that he's busy preparing for a full week of shooting TCND in which he even might get arrested at the end of the week...

Signed: Yours Truly

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russellsppttemplates · 10 months

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We'll be just fine (Pierre Gasly

Misunderstandings take a toll on your and Pierre's marriage

Note: english is not my first language. this is another long piece that I hope will make me keep up with posting a bit more regularly, and while I'm pretty sure it's not that good, as I'm not the best at writing angst, I'm working on it so I hope this is at least not awful.

my masterlist

Tw: miscommunication, drinking heavily, curse words

You walked around your bedroom, grabbing the last few things before you left the house to go out with your friends for some food and drinks, thinking of texting Pierre that you'd be going out with Anna and that she would bring you home since she was on antibiotics, bless her, so she would be the one driving, but refrained from doing so because you would come home earlier than he would anyway, his meetings lasting longer and longer these days.

The marriage had been going through a rough patch, and while you had both admitted that you'd both need to put in the work for it to go forward, Pierre felt like it wasn't going anywhere. None of the efforts were making it worse, that was for sure, but it wasn't going maybe as fast as he had hoped. He still felt some distance on your part some days, and he was cautious of your boundaries, not wanting to overwhelm you and, in part, he was happy that you were taking some time for yourself to enjoy with your friends.

In the bar you and your friends had decided to spend the night, drinks kept coming to the table while you spoke about whatever came up, "are you okay, Y/N?", Anna asked, nudging your side when the rest of the group had to make a bathroom trip, "yeah, just tired from the week", you offered, not really wanting to dwelve into your thoughts since the therapy session alone that week had been intense and full of things to sort out on your own. Drinks kept coming and while you weren't too drunk, tipsy was also a word that couldn't describe how much you had in you.

"I'll drop Y/N home, guys", Anna said to the rest of the group as they arranged their own rides since Lucie's husband had volunteered to take them home. Sitting in her car, you opened the window so you could feel the cool breeze on your face, "are you good? Do you need to stop?", Anna asked you, "I'm good, just a little bit tipsy, but no throw ups, don't worry", you said, grabbing your purse to text Pierre that you were on your way home and seeing a couple of texts and missed phone calls, "Oh, but he's worried now", you mumbled, locking your phone once you noticed you were getting in the road you lived in, "thank you so much, Anna. I hope I wasn't too bad", you mumbled as she walked with you to the front door, "you're fine, not the worst I've seen you, I have to say", she smiled, "you'll be okay?", she asked, "yes, I will", you reassured her, "I'll be good", you said as you heard the door open unexpectedly, seeing Pierre greeting Anna, thanking and wishing her a safe ride home, the whole scene seemingly slower than it probably was.

Getting inside, you heard Pierre close the door before he sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't text or call back, but when we were at the bar, the signal wasn't the best and I couldn't hear it. When I saw the notifications, I was already at the top of the road", you explained, sensing that the sigh would come with a scold from him.

"I was worried about you! You guys don't usually stay out for this long, and this was when I assumed you were with them from your hand I recognised in their stories", Pierre began, "and you didn't tell me anything, I didn't even know where you were, and you didn't answer your phone!", he snapped, "something could've happened to you and I didn't know where you were or how you were!".

Rubbing your temples, you manage from look up at him, the frustration clear in your voice as you spoke, "I left the house with my friends, to finally spend a night where I don't have to think if I put a foot wrong with you or if I am too much trouble or if I'm not keeping the promises or the behaviour that I should", you yelled, tears brimming your eyes.

"You didn't tell me where you were going, I have a right to be worried for my wife!", Pierre pointed his finger, and you broke down, "Why do you care? It's not like I matter to you anymore", you hiccuped, letting your mouth speak what was inside.

"What?", Pierre asked, not expecting that to be your answer, listening closely while you walked to the other side of the living room.

"Why are you so bothered by this? Why do you care so much? You barely ask me anything these days, you don't ask where I'm going, or what I've been doing. You don't care wether I've had a good day or a bad day, you don't care to know how I've been... you don't care about us...", you finished, tears falling from your eyes give that your futile attempt to stop them didn't work.

Shaking his head, Pierre looked at you, "is that what you think this is? That I don't care about you? That I don't care about us? Y/N, no, absolutely no", he stated, "I thought you needed some time to yourself, that you wanted to set some boundaries and so I didn't want to pressure you, or make you feel like I was controlling you", he gulped, "I never wanted it to seem like I didn't care about you", he explained, "I care about you, mon amour. Fucking hell, I don't think I've ever loved anyone like I love you", he admitted, making you look at him, still keeping a distance between you, "Sometimes I don't feel it", you admitted back.

Sighing, you wiped your eyes one last time, feeling the waterfall finally stop, "I don't know how to deal with this, with not knowing how you truly are doing, if I can ask for something or not", you mumbled, feeling lightheaded from the alcohol and choosing to sit on the sofa, "are we condemned to this?", you asked out loud and to no one in particular, you guessed, until Pierre knelt in front of you, "you don't seem bothered by this, but I am! Every spare moment of my thoughts I have, I'm thinking about this, wether or not we can make it work, wether you care about me or about enough to not let this go. I miss you, I miss us", you let out a shuddered breath.

Pierre was lost. He truly didn't think he was behaving like that, as in his mind, he was just giving you some space and allowing you to set your boundaries, but miscommunication clearly got the best of you two, "Mon amour, I never wanted you to feel like this. I'm truly sorry for making you feel like this. I love you, I love you so much and I'll spend everyday of my life reminding you of it", he said, grabbing your hand as you looked at him, "one step at a time, we'll do this", he rubbed your hands, "we can work through this, I know we can", he stated.

"What if we loose ourselves again?", you whispered, the fear you felt contrasting with your voice's volume, "we get back to eachother. We will talk about everything, we can't leave eacother in the dark. Anything that happens, good or bad, small or big, we talk it over. We go to eachother and ask what we want to know. And it doesn't matter if we get mad at eachother, because we love eacother beyond that, and we'll get through it", he comforted, making your hands hold his, squeezing them, "we'll be just fine".

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly × reader #pierre gasly fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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