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justlemmeadoreyou · 16 days

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rain-kissed* (footballer!harry x

nerd!y/n)

summary: y/n and harry, former rivals turned reluctant partners, find unexpected chemistry. heated glances, playful banter ignite a spark. a near-tragedy makes y/n confront feelings, and...will they be reciprocated? ft. lots of mutual pining

words: 6.1k

warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of a major injury, cursing, kissing, hints of smut, mutual pining.

Y/N groaned as she walked into the lecture hall for her literature class. "Are you kidding me?"

There in the very front row sat Harry Styles - captain of the football team, president of one of the biggest frats on campus, and certified douchebag extraordinaire. His feet were obnoxiously propped up on the desk in front of him as he laughed loudly with his friends.

"This class is gonna be a nightmare," Y/N muttered, taking a seat as far away from Harry's circle as possible. She couldn't stand arrogant jocks like him.

Class started and the professor cleared her throat loudly, shooting Harry a pointed look until he dropped his feet to the floor with an eye roll. "Alright, since this is an upper-level lit course, we're going to kick things off with a big group project."

A collective groan went through the class. Group projects were the worst, especially when half the group didn't pull their weight. Harry raised his hand lazily.

"What's the project, Millers?"

The prof narrowed her eyes at Harry's casual address but proceeded. "You'll be analyzing the themes and formatting an anthology of poems, plays, and short stories from a particular era or movement. I'll be assigning the groups and topics."

Y/N mentally prepared herself to get stuck doing all the work as usual for her group when Millers started listing off the pairings.

"Styles and Y/L/N - you'll be covering the Romantic period."

Y/N's head whipped up in horror as Harry scoffed loudly. Of course they'd get partnered up. This was quite literally her worst nightmare.

"Fucking kill me," Harry grumbled, slumping back in his seat rudely.

"I'd rather work alone," Y/N couldn't stop herself from retorting. Immediately, Millers zeroed in on her with a stern look.

"I don't recall there being a choice, Ms. Y/L/N. Unless either of you plans to drop this course, I suggest you learn to work together effectively."

Gritting her teeth, Y/N forced out a tight, "Yes, Professor."

Harry was already texting rapidly on his phone, not paying any attention. This project was going to be utter hell.

The rest of the semester only proved Y/N right about what a nightmare it would be to work with Harry. Their first meeting to divide up the work went about as well as could be expected - which is to say it was a total disaster.

"Look, I don't have a bunch of time for this bullshit poetry stuff," Harry kicked back in a creaky chair, looking entirely too at home in the empty classroom they'd claimed for their work session. "How about you just do the whole thing and I'll, like, proofread it at the end or whatever?"

Y/N stared at him incredulously. "Absolutely not! This is a hugely weighted project, Styles. I'm not doing all the work myself."

He shrugged impatiently. "Why not? You seem like a big ol' nerd who'd be into this."

Biting back a retort, Y/N forced herself to remain calm and reasonable. If he was going to act like a damn child,she had to be the adult in the relationship–or whatever this was.

"Forget it. We're going to split everything 50/50 whether you like it or not. I'll take the poetry analysis and you can have the plays. We'll swap sections to proofread before compiling the final thing."

Harry made a face like she'd asked him to perform surgery. "Do I have to? Plays are so boring."

"Don't care," Y/N said flatly. "You're pulling your weight on this one way or another."

With a melodramatic huff, Harry finally agreed and they were able to separate the reading materials and due dates before parting ways, both dreading the long weeks ahead.

Except...after trading several heated email chains and a couple disastrous coffee shop meetups, something shifted. Maybe it was the punctuality that struck after virtually living in the library for a week straight. Maybe it was how they both surprised each other by not being complete idiots about the subject matter. But at some point, the bickering and resentful silences turned to a bearable truce and even - dare Y/N think it - a hint of reluctant respect between them.

Y/N had assumed Harry was just another brainless party bro who skated by on his looks and family money. But to her surprise, he actually had intelligent insights into the Romantic poets and playwrights - even if he still whined about having to read "this dramalogy crap."

And Harry, who had fully expected Y/N to be an uptight, pretentious book nerd, found himself caught off guard by her whip-smart analysis...and her unexpected sarcastic quips that had him stifling laughs more than once during their study sessions. He called her nerd instead of her usual name, but was now slipping back to using Y/n more often.

"Oh my god, you did not just say that about Lord Byron!" Harry snickered as Y/N made another scalding comment about the poet's arrogant womanizing.

"What? The man was an infamous manwhore by all accounts," Y/N shrugged unapologetically. "Self-important dickhead thought his brooding and philandering made him a genius."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "How very unromantic of you, love! Have you no poetic soul?"

Without missing a beat, Y/N deadpanned, "I prefer to admire poets who didn't give the clap to half of London."

The startled laugh that burst from Harry's lips was so warm and uninhibited that Y/N felt an unexpected little flip in her stomach at the sight. Whoa, what was that?

Shaking it off, she hid her face behind her book again, tamping down an oddly giddy–sort of feeling. Just because she'd managed to find Harry slightly less insufferable lately didn't mean anything.

And so it went, their bickering gradually becoming more lighthearted and playful rather than biting. The weeks ticked by as they somehow formed an unlikely...friendship? Bros? Sure, they'd go with that for simplicity's sake.

At some point, they started expanding their hangouts beyond just study sessions too. Grabbing food after class turned into actually sitting together, Harry regaling Y/N with stories from his frat's latest shenanigans as she pretended not to be entertained.

On the rare nights Y/N wasn't holed up writing papers, she started joining Harry and his boys at their favorite dive bar, quickly becoming the calm voice of reason trying in vain to talk them out of their next boneheaded plan.

"Come on, PlainJane! Live a little!" Harry teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders at the bar.

The rowdy group cackled at Harry's horrible attempt at a literary-themed nickname for Y/N, as per tradition when any new face got absorbed into their friend circle. Personally, Y/N thought it was a lame pun, but she secretly loved how easily she'd slotted into their bizarre fratty family...and maybe especially how Harry always seemed to plaster himself to her side whenever they went out.

The camaraderie and effortless banter flowing between them should've been a huge red flag that something was shifting. But Y/N was quite stubbornly oblivious, as was Harry in his own way.

At least, that was until their big group presentation day rolled around. They'd been prepping and quizzing each other for weeks, reviewing notes and analysis essays till they were cross-eyed. Harry had really stepped up, much to Y/N's surprise, retaining way more than she'd expected about the playwrights and their major works.

The whole lit class was spread out in the lecture hall, with bullet-pointed notecards and thick anthologies ready as the first group took the floor. When it was finally Harry and Y/N's turn, they moved to the front in sync, Harry shooting her a subtle wink as he grabbed the microphone first.

"Buckle up, kids - this is how you do a proper literary presentation," he drawled cockily.

Y/N rolled her eyes on reflex, biting her lip and bumping his hip with hers in playful admonishment. "Shut up and just start already."

Neither of them noticed the amused looks being swapped by their classmates at their easy rapport. Or Millers leaning back with a knowing smirk, clearly recognizing the chemistry flying between her formerly antagonistic partners.

For the next hour, Harry and Y/N launched into their meticulously prepared overview of the key figures and works emerging from the Romantic period. Their back-and-forth was flawless yet casual, almost playful at times with little ad-libs and jokes only they were in on.

At one point, Harry lightly mocked Lord Byron's arrogance with a pompous impression that had Y/N doubled over giggling into the mic, barely choking out the next lines through her laughter. When she managed to catch her breath, she shot him a look that was equal parts fond exasperation and...something more heated.

There was a noticeable spark between them that had clearly evolved far beyond the adversarial classmates they'd started as. And if anyone could miss that subtext, it became blindingly obvious at the end when they seamlessly transitioned into their concluding remarks, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"So in summary, while the Romantics may have been a pretentious bunch of melancholic lads-" Harry began.

"-their pioneering works cemented their place as quintessential figures in literary history," Y/N picked up without missing a beat.

They shared a grin before finishing in unison, "And that's the tea, no cap."

A surprised burst of laughter rang out from their classmates at their cheeky sign-off, even the prof hiding a smile behind her hand. Everyone could see it - the easy chemistry, the almost electric undercurrent between the former rivals.

Everyone, that is, except Harry and Y/N themselves.

As they moved to return to their seats amid the applause, neither seemed to register the weighted looks and muffled whispers following them. Harry just ducked his head with an almost bashful smile, still riding the high of how flawlessly they'd worked together. While Y/N felt her cheeks flushing under the weight of what she convinced herself was just residual adrenaline.

In the weeks after their wildly successful presentation, that same strain of electrifying connection only grew stronger between them. You'd never know they'd spent the first half of the semester low-key loathing each other based on their current vibe.

Now, when Harry's frat brothers tried to rib him about his "study buddy" at their typical dive bar hangout, he just threw an arm around Y/N's shoulders and proudly declared, "More like my brain twin!"

Y/N would just duck her head with a bashful grin, pointedly ignoring how her heart did a little somersault at both the affectionate nickname and Harry's easy touch.

Or like when they sprawled out on the quad between classes, passing a bag of chips back and forth as Harry ranted about his coach riding his ass over the big rivalry game next week. Without even thinking about it, Y/N would reach out to squeeze his knee consolingly as he huffed out his frustrations. It was such a simple, natural gesture between them now that she didn't even register the slightly stunned look Harry shot her before clearing his throat gruffly.

Even their friends couldn't resist commenting on their respective obliviousness at this point.

"Bruh, Y/N literally lets you call her 'love' without punching you in the dick," Niall pointed out bluntly one night when Harry claimed, once again, he and Y/N were "just friends." His Irish buddy arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Pretty sure she wants to ride your lancer if you know what I mean."

Harry smacked him hard while trying not to get flustered. "Shut the fuck up, asshole."

While on Y/N's end...

"Sooooo, when are you gonna admit you have a huge crush on Styles?" Her friend Riley asked point blank over brunch, making Y/N nearly choke on her mimosa.

"What? No I don't!" She insisted a little too quickly, refusing to meet Riley's all-knowing gaze. "We're just...really good friends."

Riley hummed disbelievingly. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest further before clamping it shut as her mind started helplessly rehashing all her favourite little moments with Harry over the past few weeks. His warm, anthracite eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at her jokes. The proud grin he'd get whenever she successfully understood something he'd tried explaining. The way she felt this inexplicable magnetic pull to stay pressed into his side for as long as possible whenever they hung out...

"Oh my god," she breathed out, smile slipping as the enormity of her revelation dawned. "I'm in love with Harry fucking Styles."

That's not to say the smitten epiphany immediately changed anything between the two. Well, maybe it made their lingering hugs and casual touches go on for a few beats too long. Or had them both shyly stealing glances when the other's back was turned.

***

Mostly though, they just continued their cozy, obliviously pining routine of late night FaceTimes and weekends holed up studying together for finals. All while Harry's team prepared for their annual football rivalry game - the biggest matchup of the season that would make or break their championship chances.

The night before the game, Y/N found herself inexplicably anxious as she sat in the stands amid a drunk, raucous crowd. Harry kept shooting cheesy grins and double finger-gunged winks her way whenever he trotted past her section, clearly buzzed on adrenaline.

"Go get 'em, superstar!" She shouted at one point, laughing as Harry blew her an obnoxious kiss before getting back in the huddle.

The energy in the stadium was electric and infectious, Y/N finding herself caught up in the cheers and chants despite not being a huge football fan normally. Something about watching her...Harry out there gave her swirling butterflies low in her belly though.

As the intense game raged on, Y/N was on the edge of her seat, nails digging into her palms whenever Harry took a brutal hit or made a heart-stoppingly risky play. At one point he got absolutely leveled by a linebacker twice his size, his helmet bouncing sickeningly off the turf.The roar of the crowd faded into the background as Y/N watched in horror as Harry's body slammed violently into the turf. She felt her heart stop as he didn't immediately get back up after the brutal hit.

"Harry!" she screamed, her voice drowned out by the gasps of the other spectators.

The medical team rushed out onto the field as Harry lay unmoving. Y/N's hands shook with fear as she watched them carefully roll him onto a backboard and load him into the ambulance. She felt tears streaking down her cheeks as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally received word that Harry was going to be okay. The doctors said he had suffered a severe concussion and possible spinal injury from the whiplash of the hit. He would need weeks of rest and recovery.

Y/N rushed to the hospital, desperate to see him. When she entered his room, her heart broke at the sight of Harry's battered body hooked up to various machines, a cervical collar immobilizing his neck.

"Harry..." she whispered, taking his hand gently in hers. "I'm so sorry."

Harry's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. "Y/N? You're here..."

"Of course I'm here, you idiot," she tried to joke, blinking back more tears. "I was so worried about you."

A small smile tugged at his bruised lips. "I'll be okay, love. Harry is a thick skull, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning at his terrible joke. "Don't scare me like that again, Styles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A look of tenderness crossed Harry's face that made Y/N's breath catch in her throat. But before either could say anything further, the doctor entered to check on Harry's condition.

***

Over the next week, Y/N diligently stayed by Harry's side in the hospital. She helped feed him, kept him company, and supported him through the difficult early recovery stages. Harry quickly grew restless being cooped up, but every time he tried to get out of bed against doctor's orders, Y/N was there to scold him.

"You heard what the doctor said, Harry. You need to rest and let your body heal properly," she chastised him one day as he tried to get up.

Harry groaned in frustration. "But I'm going stir crazy in this damn bed! I feel fine, Y/N, honestly."

"No, you don't," Y/N said firmly. "You could have had a serious spinal injury. You're lucky it wasn't worse. Now lie back down before I get the nurses to strap you in."

Grumbling, Harry reluctantly complied, though he continued to hate being so confined and immobile. Little did Y/N know, he was already hatching a plan.

A few days later, Y/N arrived at the hospital only to find Harry's bed empty. Her heart leapt into her throat as she rushed to the nurses' station in a panic.

"Where is he? Where's Harry Styles?" she demanded.

The nurse gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, he checked himself out against medical advice earlier today."

"What? No, he can't have!" Y/N cried. She knew immediately where he would have gone.

Sure enough, when she ran across campus to the football practice field, she found Harry standing on the sidelines in his gear, acting as if nothing had happened. White hot fury blazed through her veins.

"Harry!" she yelled, storming toward him as the first raindrops began to fall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Harry turned with a cocky grin as he saw her approach. "There's my favourite nerd. What's got your panties in a twist, love?"

"You insufferable asshole!" Y/N exploded, not caring that they had an audience of his confused teammates. "The doctor said you needed weeks of rest and recovery! You could have permanently injured your spine!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Relax, babe, I feel great. Probably just overreacted with that whole backboard and neck brace nonsense."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Y/N seethed, hands balling into fists at her sides. Rain began pouring down around them, quickly soaking them both, but she didn't care. "You're incredible, you know that? You have zero self-preservation! No regard for your own safety and well-being!"

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Harry scoffed, though his casual demeanor faltered slightly under her furious glare.

"Dramatic? You could've been paralyzed, Harry! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Her voice broke with frustrated tears. "Don't you understand how terrified I was watching you lying there, not moving? I thought...I thought I might lose you."

Something flickered across Harry's features then. His cavalier mask slipped for just a moment, allowing a flash of guilt and tenderness to shine through that sent Y/N's heart lurching treacherously. Then it was gone, the wall snapping back into place.

"Well, I'm right as rain now, so you can quit your worrying," he said gruffly, turning his back on her.

That was the final straw for Y/N. She grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face her, not caring that they were getting drenched by the downpour.

"You're so fucking reckless with yourself, Harry! Like you have zero self-preservation or even an ounce of common sense! Do you have any idea how scary that was to see you lying there, not moving? How I thought..." Her voice hitched, throat growing too tight to continue as burning tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Through the rapidly blurring vision, Y/N registered Harry staring, chest heaving like she'd actually winded him with her outburst. His hands hung frozen at his sides, knuckles going white as he watched her come completely unraveled. And still she wasn't finished.

"You can't just keep putting yourself in danger like that! Pulling stupid fucking stunts and flipping off your own safety like it doesn't matter! Because it does, Harry. It matters so much to...to me," she finished in a thick whisper, finally allowing a tear to escape and streak down her flushed cheek.

A weighted silence stretched between them, Y/N struggling to regain her ragged breathing as Harry continued gaping at her, utterly shocked by her reaction. Waves of tension rippled through the small space separating them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Harry seemed to recalibrate. His expression went utterly blank for a beat before, out of nowhere, his eyes hardened into flashing jade. When he spoke, his tone was laced with a chilling detachment.

"Why?"

Y/N blinked owlishly. "W-What?"

"Why the fuck do you care so much, huh?" Harry exploded, eyes flashing as he aimed his scathing hostility directly at Y/N. "Last I checked, I'm not your boyfriend or your family. I'm just some dumb jock you study with, right?"

Y/N flinched at the biting sarcasm, feeling tears prick her eyes anew at his harsh dismissal. But Harry was on a roll, fists clenching and unclenching as he visibly wrestled with...what? Anger? Fear? She couldn't tell, but his next words sliced deep regardless.

"So why do you get to flip out and pass judgment every time I take a hit, huh? You think I don't know how to handle myself out on that field?"

"That's not what I-"

"No, clearly you don't think I have any sense of self-preservation or whatever psychobabble bullshit diagnosis you want to armchair next!" Harry barreled over her attempted protest, voice rising in a sharp crescendo.

He took a menacing step closer, using his full height to loom over her in a move that likely would've been intimidating...if his eyes didn't look so pained and conflicted behind that mask of bitter anger. "Tell me, Y/N - what gives you the right to freak out like that, huh? To look at me with those scared eyes like you have any claim over whether I live or die or-"

"Because I love you, dammit!" The confession exploded from Y/N with the force of a meteor strike.

A stunned silence fell over the field as Harry gaped at her, mouth hanging open in shock. Even the rain seemed to pause in the heavy tension between them.

After several moments where Y/N felt her panic rising, Harry finally found his voice again. "You...you what?"

Y/N took a shuddering breath, bracing herself. She had come too far to back down now.

"I love you, Harry," she repeated, slower and more sure this time. "I have for a long time, you idiot. But you're always so reckless and careless 'bout your own safety. You take stupid risks and shrug it off like getting hurt is no big deal!"

She stepped closer, feeling tears mingling with the raindrops on her cheeks. "Don't you understand? The thought of you being seriously injured, or worse...it terrifies me. Because I couldn't handle losing you. You mean everything to me."

Harry continued staring at her, eyes blown wide and lips parted as if her confession had utterly short-circuited his brain. Y/N pressed on, needing to finally unleash all the feelings she had kept bottled up for far too long.

"I love your stupid jokes and your kind heart. I love how passionate you are about football, even if it drives me mental sometimes. I love the way you always smell like sandalwood and make me feel so safe when I'm with you. I'm in love with every obnoxious, laddish, reckless part of you and I can't keep ignoring it anymore."

She let out a wet chuckle, wiping futilely at her drenched face, her hands still shaking. "So yeah, that's why I care, you absolute wanker. That's why seeing you get hurt destroys me every single time, because the thought of being in a world without Harry Styles in it is just too much for me to bear!"

The words hung heavy in the rain-soaked air between them. Y/N watched Harry open and close his mouth a few times, clearly struggling to find a response. For once, his swagger and cockiness had completely deserted him as her feelings poured over him in an unstoppable tide.

Just when the silence was becoming too much for Y/N to bear, Harry finally seemed to find his voice again.

"You...you love me?" he rasped out, the disbelief and wonder evident in his tone. "Like, you're in love with me?"

Y/N felt her cheeks flush hot despite the cold rain. She gave a small nod, unable to meet his intense gaze. Her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears, she barely registered the shouts and hoots coming from Harry's teammates who had witnessed the whole emotional outburst.

"Shut it, you wankers!" Harry barked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

In two long strides, he closed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Harry reached up with one hand to gently cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward his.

"Y/N..." he murmured, emerald eyes searching hers intently. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch despite herself. "And ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way? I couldn't risk that, Harry. You mean too much to me."

Something blazing and tender flickered across Harry's face at her confession. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he leaned in until their foreheads were resting together. Y/N shivered at the intimate proximity, at the way his familiar woodsy scent surrounded her completely.

"You daft woman," he murmured, the words fanning warmly across her lips and making her shiver for an entirely different reason. "Don't you know there's nothing I want more than for you to be my girlfriend? To be able to love you the way you deserve?"

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed at that, her heart feeling fit to burst from her chest. She had spent so long forcing herself not to hope, not to read into the heated glances and lingering touches she shared with Harry. Could he truly feel the same earth-shattering connection she did?

Her eyes blinked open again at the feeling of Harry's calloused thumb brushing reverently across her rain-soaked cheek. He was staring at her with such naked adoration and longing that it stole the breath from her lungs.

"I'm so bloody gone for you, Y/N," he confessed roughly. "Have been for ages now, if I'm being honest. Thought maybe I was imagining things between us or reading too much into it since I couldn't fathom someone as incredible as you wanting a mug like me."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to reassure him that she wanted every infuriatingly charming part of him, but Harry pressed on before she could get the words out.

"Then today, hearing how scared you were when I got laid out...how you thought you could lose me?" He shook his head slowly, curls dripping rivulets of rainwater down the sharp planes of his face and throat. "Don't know how I didn't see it before, love. The way you care about me, put up with all my shite...it's because you love me. Isn't it?"

It wasn't really a question, more like Harry was testing the words out for the first time and savoring the way they sounded. A thrill went through Y/N at getting to be the one to put that Look of rare, hushed awe on his handsome face for once.

"Yes, Harry," she answered anyway, both hands coming up to cradle his beloved face. "I'm desperately in love with you. The good, the bad, the reckless...all of it."

A crinkly-eyed grin stretched across Harry's lips then, brighter and more vibrant than Y/N had ever seen before. He wasted no more time closing that minuscule distance between them, capturing her mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Y/N gasped against his lips as the dam finally broke, months of too-long denied want and need bubbling over in heated waves. Harry's hands slid into her soaked hair, angling her head to deepen the embrace as he licked hungrily into her mouth. Y/N clung to him just as fiercely, fingernails scraping against his scalp and shoulders as if trying to physically pull him closer.

They were both panting harshly by the time they wrenched apart, sharing the same air in the infinitesimal space between their swollen mouths. Y/N felt drugged by the glazed, predatory darkness swimming in Harry's blown pupils,by the intimate glide of their rain-drenched bodies.

"Fucking finally," he growled against her lips before diving back in, one large hand splaying possessively across the small of her back.

Y/N hummed in ardent agreement, getting lost in his dizzying taste and scent and touch once more. It felt like a cosmic star had been reborn between them, the force of their crashing inevitability obliterating all the hurt and confusion from before.

Neither was sure how long they stayed like that, trading desperate, drugging kisses amongst the pouring rain. But eventually, Harry pulled away just enough to nose his way along Y/N's jaw, lips dragging hotly up to her ear.

"Let's get out of this downpour, hmm?" he husked, teeth grazing her shell and making her shudder. "Got some making up to do for being such a blind tosser."

Y/N pulled back just enough to catch the incandescent fire blazing in his darkened gaze. Her breath hitched at the onceiled promise flickering there, at the tips of his wicked fingers already slipping beneath the drenched hem of her top.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who had been harboring some pent-up longing and hunger.

Still, there was one loose end she couldn't resist tugging before allowing Harry to whisk them away... "Does this mean you're finally going to start taking better care of yourself?" she asked archly, arching one pointed brow. "No more stupid, reckless stunts for my idiotically brave footballer?"

Harry audibly groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically against her clavicle as his hands flexed with bruising force against her hips.

"Whatever you want, love," he conceded gruffly. "No more injuries or shite, I swear it. Now can we please get the fuck out of here before I embarrass myself further by ravishing you in the mud right in front of my teammates?"

Y/N gave a squeak of surprise as Harry abruptly ducked to gather her up in his arms, hitching her legs around his waist in one fluid movement. He sealed his wicked promise with another lingering, molten kiss that left her head spinning.

"Now, where were we..." he growled darkly before striding determinedly off the field, Y/N clinging just as fiercely in his embrace.

The teammates' raucous catcalls and laughter faded into the rainy background as Y/N tucked her face into the curve of Harry's neck, savoring his familiar sandalwood and smoke and the feeling of being wrapped in his arms at last.

She was never letting him go again. Not if she had any say in it.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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1K notes · View notes

merowkittie · 10 months

Text

ATSV INCORRECT QOUTES ☆ !!

This includes x reader and character x character (not in a ship way)

Miguel: Do we have any orange juice left?

Hobie: *pours the remaining juice into their cup*

Hobie: Sorry, we’re all out.

☆

You: *sees someone doing something stupid*

You: What an idiot.

You: *realizes it's Miles*

You: Wait, that's MY idiot!

☆

You: Pavitr ... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?

Pavitr: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned.

You: …

You: I wrote sanitize, Pav.

☆

You: My life is a mess.

Miguel: You relax, go get a beer.

You: I don’t want a beer.

Miguel: Who said it was for you?

☆

Peter B Parker: I've connected the two dots.

Miguel: You didn't connect shit.

Peter B Parker: I've connected them.

☆

*The gang is learning CPR on a test dummy.*

Gwen: So, assessing the situation. Are they breathing?

Hobie: No, Gwendy. They are not breathing. And they have no arms or legs.

Gwen: No, that’s not part of it—

Hobie: Where are they? You know what.. If we come across somebody with no arms or legs do we bother resuscitating them? I mean, what kind of quality of life do we have there?

Miles: I would want to live with no legs.

Hobie: How about no arms? No arms or legs is basically how you exist right now, Miles. You don’t do anything.

Gwen: All right, well, lets get back to it. ‘Cause you’re losing him.

Hobie: *pumps frantically*

Gwen: Okay, too fast. Everyone, we need to pump at a pace of a 100 beats per minute.

Hobie: Okay, that’s uh, hard to keep track. How many is that per hour?

Pavitr: How’s that gonna help you?

Hobie: I will divide and then count to it.

Pavitr: Right.

Gwen: Okay. Well, a good trick is to pump to the tune of ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees. Do you know that song?

Hobie: Yes, yes I do. I love that song. *clears throat, begins to sing* First I was afraid, I was petrified.

☆

Pavitr: I told Hobie to grab snacks for everyone.

Gwen , looking through the options: Why did you grab fruit snacks? Are you five? Who even likes Fruit Snacks?

*Pavitr, Hobie, and Miles raise their hands*

☆

*In a horror movie situation*

Hobie: I've got no service in my phone here.

Pavitr: Shoot, my battery just died.

Gwen : Sorry guys, I just broke my phone with a hammer.

Miles: Guys, my phone is a book.

☆

You, to Gwen : We had a date!

You: *aggressively points to Hello Kitty Coloring Book*

☆

Hobie: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos-

You: I wrote you a poem.

Hobie, already crying: You did?

Smth simple until I post an actual fic <3 im sorry for keeping you guys waiting sm I have terrible time management 😭

#reader insert #black reader #comfort #gwen x reader #hobie x reader #miles x you #incorrect quotes #spider man across the spider verse #peter b parker #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #atsv hobie #atsv pavitr #atsv gwen #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #miles morales x reader #atsv incorrect quotes

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mask131 · 1 year

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While checking around for my “Roman gods are not Greek gods” posts, I found back this tripartition of mythology, which is actually a fact that everybody should kno about if they want to dabble in Greco-Roman myths (especially Greek myths).

We know that, during Antiquity, the Romans and the Greeks thought that there wasn’t just one, but three different types of “theology” - three different views, perceptions and reception of the gods.

The first theology was the theology of the priests and of the state - aka, religion. The Greek gods as perceived and described by religion, as honored through rituals and festivals.

The second theology is the “mythic theology” - what we call “mythology today”. It is a set of legends, folktales and stories that are not part of religion, but rather used and carried by art - it is the gods are seen, perceived and described by the poets, by the epics, by the theater plays.

The third theology is the theology of the philosophers - who used the gods and their tales as images and allegories for various abstract or concrete topics. It is the gods as depictions and description of natural phenomenon, or the myths as a way to actualy exemplify a social fact or explain psychological workings.

For the classic Greeks and Romans, there was a clear divide between those three very different point of view of the gods. It was basically three different versions of the pantheon. This is notably why you will find texts noting that priests disliked and condemned the poets’ mythological works, due to them being blasphemous and making the gods too human when religion described them as perfect ; and it is also why the philosophers of old dissed on and rejected the literary works of mythology as nonsense only good to feed superstitions, because for them the gods weren’t characters or realities, but rather abstract concepts and rhetorical allegories.

This is something I feel needs to be reminded, because today these three different theologies have been mixed up into one big mess - as literary myths are placed one the same level as philosophical “myths” (actually texts taking the shape of myths), and both considered of outmost religious importance. When in fact, things were quite different...

EDIT: I was asked if there was a myth that could illustrate the three different theologies, and on the spot I would say “the affair between Aphrodite and Ares”.

This story originates from the “mythological theology”. It is primarily a story, and a good one. It is the story of a husband who discovers his wife is unfaithful and tries to get revenge, it is the story of an extra-marital affair gone wrong, it is typical set of divine shenanigans ending on a grotesque display of divine humiliation - it is an excellent narrative material for plays and poems (and the legend does originates from poems).

The story was also dearly beloved and reused by the “philosophical theology”, because the philosophers adored the idea of the love between Ares and Aphrodite - for them it was the perfect depiction of how the concepts of “love” and “war” , despite being seemingly opposite, attracted each other and were closely tied. For them, this story isn’t to be taken literaly as “a god cheated on another god”, but rather as “this is an allegory showing that love and war are two sides of the same coin, which is why Aphrodite falls for Ares despite being married to Hephaistos”. But for them the whole net part is just poetic nonsense invented to make people laugh ; or maybe they will reinvent them as a moral, cautionary tale that should be used to warn people of the dangers of unfaithfulness.

And then there’s the “religious theology”, the point of view of the priests - for whom such a story is mockery and sacrilege. You can imagine them saying: “You are making the gods look like fools! Gods don’t cheat on each other, gods don’t get captured in nets while butt-naked, gods don’t even sleep on beds - GODS DO NOT EVEN HAVE HUMAN FORMS IN THEIR NATURAL STATE - what the heck is this bullshit you’re saying, you’re just insulting the gods by turning them into lecherous humans and grotesque clowns for your vulgar story!” (This is a reconstitution and not the actual words of an Ancient Greek priest)

#greek gods #roman gods #greek mythology #greek religion #roman mythology #roman religion #ancient theology

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navybrat817 · 2 years

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Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Librarian!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Happily Ever After begins in the subway. Word Count: Almost 1.7k Warnings: First meeting, swearing, unwanted advances, slight fluff, protective Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: I need another AU like a hole in the head, but Nix's edit inspired me. @11thstreetvigilante, @sweeterthanthis , @dreamlessinparis , @musingsinmoonlight , thank you for helping me bring him to life. ❤️ Beta read by the beautiful @whisperlullaby (thank YOU as well!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by Nix, divider by @rookthorne and banner by yours truly. Poem by the lovely @maladaptivexxdaydreaming from these prompts.

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications and please reblog or comment as it means the world!

You met Bucky Barnes on an ordinary night in a quiet subway car.

There weren't many people around, which gave you a chance to sit on an empty bench and enjoy the relatively quiet ride after the long work day.

It never bothered you to ride alone. The restaurant you were meeting your friends at was only a few stops away and it was cheaper than a cab.

Your mom told you more than once that it wasn't safe, but you argued that neither was walking home by yourself at night. Plus, you carried pepper spray.

"If you had a boyfriend to walk you home, I wouldn't worry so much."

While you understood her reasoning, your last relationship fizzled almost as quickly as it began and that was over six months ago. You didn't need a reminder that you were single.

You briefly glanced up from your phone and reminded yourself to at least be aware of your surroundings. Which was how you found yourself staring at a handsome man standing a few feet away.

He was tall from what you could see and broad across the chest. From a casual glance, you made out that he had blue eyes behind the glasses perched on his nose.

The brunette turned the page of the book he was holding and you couldn't help but stare at his massive hands. The leather glove that covered his left hand matched his jacket.

You had to smile when you realized he was leaning against the door which specifically said not to. The leather and relaxed stance added to the allure that maybe he was the kind of man to break the rules.

The book of poetry in his hand that you recognized, however, suggested that he was a thoughtful, deep man. Maybe he was all of those things.

If he noticed you staring, he didn't say anything. That gave you a few more seconds to ponder on how soft his short hair was before you looked away.

You couldn't remember the last time someone grabbed your attention so quickly. He hadn't even spoken to you.

Dream on. Happily Ever After doesn't begin in the subway.

If not, why did you look up to find him gazing at you? And why did he have a small smile on his face?

Don't say anything. A man that handsome probably has someone at home waiting to feel that scruff between their thighs.

"I have that book," you said before you could stop yourself.

I hope that didn't sound like a line.

"My heart beats slowly when you look at me. When your eyes meet mine, my breath stops."

Though you were only quoting a part of a poem to him, the words rang true: You felt like you couldn't breathe as your eyes met.

His small smile stretched into a grin and you found yourself smiling back before the subway lurched to a stop.

Whatever moment transpired between the two of you faded as the door closest to you opened. You also noticed the smile on the stranger's face faded quickly as a man stumbled in and over to the empty spot beside you.

"Hey, sweet thing," the guy smirked as he threw an arm over your shoulders. "I'm Blake."

The man had an athletic build and was good-looking, but the alcohol on his breath and leering gaze created a pit in your stomach.

"Hey yourself," you said. You carefully removed his arm and scooted away until you hit the end of the bench.

The guy didn't take the hint and he inched closer. "Nice dress."

You smiled, not wanting to cause any trouble. "Thanks."

"Bet it would look nice on my floor."

Those lines don't work on me, buster.

"It looks better in my hamper, trust me," you said as you grasped the pole beside you and stood up before he could put his arm around you again.

"What's the rush, sweet thing?"

"My stop is coming up."

"If you need help getting off, I'm happy to lend a hand."

"No thanks. I have two of my own," you smiled.

The handsome stranger either snorted at your joke or found a funny passage in his book.

Blake, on the other hand, didn't seem to take the joke well as he got to his feet. "I'm just being friendly. No need to be a bitch."

The sound of whirring metal distracted you from the insult. At least, that's what you thought the sound was.

"I'm not being a bitch. My stop is-"

"Coming up. Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, nearly falling into you as you tried to back up more. You had nowhere to go. "If you're so nice, let me walk you home."

"No, thank you," you said with a grimace as he gripped your hip to steady himself. "Maybe you should sit back down."

"Only if you sit on my lap," he smirked, making the pit in your stomach grow. "C'mon, sweet thing. You can miss your stop."

"I said 'no'," you said louder, reaching into your bag for your pepper spray.

Mom, if you can sense this or if I ever tell you this story, don't say "I told you so".

"Sit down."

The low tone from the handsome stranger made you and Blake look his way. You felt like you couldn't breathe again when you saw the anger in his eyes.

"This doesn't concern you, asshole," Blake snapped.

"She asked you to sit down. I suggest you do as she says."

Blake let go of your hip, but didn't get out of your personal space. "Fuck off."

The stranger sighed as he closed his book and pushed himself away from the door. "Sit. Down." He said, his voice lower than before.

"Or what?"

You didn't speak as your knight in leather jacket armor removed his glasses and tucked them in his pocket. "You wanna find out?"

Oh, shit. Please, don't fight. And why is it making me swoon that he's defending me?

Blake wasn't small by any means, but he didn't carry the power that your hero did. He took three steps forward and that was enough for the jerk to back away.

"Whatever. Bitch probably doesn't put out anyway."

"Excuse me?" you asked. Why did turning someone's advances down make you a bitch?

"Do you mind holding this, please?" the man's voice warmed as he held his book out for you. Once you took it from his hand, he turned his attention to Blake.

"What the fuck?" he shouted when the brunette grabbed his hand, the one that gripped your hip, and twisted.

"Apologize," he ordered, twisting a bit more to make Blake yelp. "Now."

"Fuck, I'm sorry! Let go, let go!" Blake cried.

"It's fine," you said as the subway began to come to a stop. "Really, I'm fine."

The stranger let go of Blake's hand and shoved him back onto the bench. "Next time someone tells you to back off, listen. And you better not get off at this stop, you understand me?"

"Got it," he said, not making eye contact as he rubbed his wrist.

The door opened for your stop and you wished you had a little bit longer to talk to the man who defended you. "Thank you," you said.

He took the book from your hand and you couldn't help but shiver as your fingertips touched his. "It was nothing."

"Sorry, this is me," you said, gripping the bag on your shoulder as you turned to get off.

I wish I didn't have to go.

"This is me, too," you heard behind you as you stepped off the train.

"Oh," you smiled when he walked beside you. Though he was tall and clearly strong, he didn't scare you. "I really do appreciate your help."

"It was nothing," he said again, putting his left hand back in his pocket. "I saw you reaching into your bag for something, so I'm sure you could've handled him."

You nodded, thankful that he paid attention. Most would've ignored the situation. "Pepper spray."

"He would've deserved it," he chuckled.

"He would've," you giggled as you got to the top of the steps.

"I'm Bucky," he said.

You smiled and introduced yourself, falling into a comfortable silence as he walked beside you toward the restaurant. "Thanks for waking me here."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed, but nodded. "Have a good rest of the night."

Take a chance. Say something.

"Bucky?" you asked before he could walk away. "I know you said it was nothing, but I'd like to repay you somehow for stepping in."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I want to," you said, not wanting to say you just wanted a reason to see him again. "Please?"

He took his wallet out of his back pocket to get you a card. "You wouldn't happen to have a pen, would you?"

"Oh, yeah," you said, digging one out of your bag to give to him.

"I work at the Abraham Library," he explained as he held the card and wrote something down that you couldn't see. "We could always use volunteers."

"I love to read and I'd love to help out," you promised, glancing at the front of the card with his name, number and email address after he handed it to you.

"I'll make sure it's a shift where I'm working," he said, giving you back your pen as well.

"Perfect," you smiled, gesturing to the restaurant. "I should go. I hope you have a good rest of the night, too."

"Hope to see you soon, doll."

You smiled as you headed toward the door and looked back over your shoulder. He stood there with a matching smile and didn't walk away until you went inside.

You felt light on your feet as you went to the hostess station. As you told her the name for the reservation, you looked down at the card still in your hand and flipped it over with a gasp.

"The night I beg you not let the sun rise."

It was the next part of the poem you recited to him.

Maybe this is the start of my Happily Ever After.

We'll see the new lovebirds again in Far, Fary Away. Love and thanks for reading!

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #librarian!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #librarian!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

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justjams2003 · 5 months

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Fast Pace-6

I do apologize to everyone who has been waiting so so long for this. I was shadowbanned and didn't want to upload anything while, because then you guys can't read it :(. But now, you guys can!

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @dark-night-sky-99 @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis

Word count: 2,9k

Masterlist

Part 5~Part 7

A loud thunder crack causes a few people in the restaurant's head to snap up to the sky. Including my dear Y/N. Is she scared of thunder? Caco did not tell me this.

Usually, my mind would immediately worry about the race. How will the rain affect the car? How will the rain affect the track? How the rain affect my driving? Not now, ever since saw her for the first-time racing has been at the far back of my mind. If Caco or any of the Ferrari team knew this, they’d want to get rid of her as soon as possible. But if she has to leave so do I.

Her big brown eyes look up to me with concern and it just makes me want to wrap her up in my arms and never let go. Now, I worry about her getting wet. She might get sick or slip and fall. I did not bring an umbrella. I bring up my phone and go to dial the driver, but I’m interrupted before I can make the call.

“What are you doing?” Those delicate brows of hers pull together while she asks me. “I’m calling a driver.” We haven’t finished eating, barely halfway through the meal but I’d kick myself if she develops a cold so soon in my care. There is a twinkle in her eyes and a smile pulls at her cheeks. “Why would you do that?” I can’t help but want to know what she is thinking.

“I don’t want you to get sick, querida.” I lean forward, wanting to take her hand and caress it, but I’m not sure if she’ll allow me yet. A small laugh, a gentle one, she’s clearly amused with me, escapes her lips. “I’m sure a little rain won’t hurt. I’m not made of sugar.” She shrugs and can’t imagine that someone has such little care for their well-being. Especially someone as valuable as her.

Consistently, my brow raises. “Care to explain the medical bills I paid then?” Her cheeks light up and her eyes drag down to her shoes again. Now that her hair is down, she insists on hiding behind it. But when her eyes meet me again, she seems to beg for me to forget about it. How could I ever forget anything about her? “In any case, for me you are made candy floss.”

“You know, that reminds me of a poem. The author of it unknown, some people accredit it to Shakespear but clearly, they did not pay attention in English class if they think that. The true poet is unknown, but some consider it to be Qyazzirah Syeikh Ariffin. He says that you love the rain, but you open your umbrella. You love the sun but hide in the shade. It goes on but later he says that he fears what it means to be loved.”

Her words are so captivating, and her mind is something that I’d get lost in. The words she speaks, to me it’s like listening to a professor. One who has studied years to know exactly what they are saying. If she was my teacher, I’d get 100%, because I’d cling to her every word. If I could have her talking forever, I’d make sure I will live forever so that I may hear every word.

“How do you know this?” I ask, needing her to say more. She gives the cutest shrug. “It was between cooking or teaching English. I thought I’d make more money cooking and my parents wanted me to choose something more stable.” My blood boils thinking her parents wouldn’t support her true dream. How could they not see the beauty I see?

“But do you like it? The cheffing I mean.” She seems to think for a moment, biting her lip. If she does it, one more time I wonder if I’ll have control. But I must, I can’t scare her off. I can’t bear to lose her. And I won’t. Not of my own doing and not by anybody else’s. I’ll give her the world and make sure no one can give her anything else or take anything from her.

“Um... I did, at the beginning. When I could move to the centre of France, Paris. When I got to be independent, but it soon turned out to be more than I bargained for. I quickly got sick, because I wasn’t eating well. My mind wanders and it would take my mother calling for me to realise I hadn’t eaten. And then I fell behind on the bills. The stress made me smoke more which made me sicker.” Ah I see.

The big world just got too much for my baby. She’s too small to know how to care for herself. I see now why she needs me so. Her mind wanders to a fantasy world. She wants to be someone big and important. And paramount people don’t have to worry about those small things like what to eat and drinking enough water.

“Are you feeling any withdrawals yet? I know it was a bit thing to ask but you must know that I just want you to be as healthy as possible. So that you can enjoy all the things in life I want to give you.” She gives a coy smile and shakes her head. “No, it’s the least I can do for all you’ve done so far. I thought I’d be stuck with that debt for the rest of my life.”

She rolls her eyes just thinking about it. I could see the moment the money was transferred that her shoulders got lighter, and her smile got brighter. I won’t let another thing in the world affect her like this. Nothing will ever again sit on her shoulders. “If you feel even slightly off tell me immediately.” She nods, hiding her face again.

It irritates me, I want to see her as much as I can. I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear. I’ll have to get her some hair accessories, just to make sure she doesn’t hide from me anymore.

Because I can get her anything. She has me to provide for her and make sure that she stays in the most pristine condition. Now she can go of in her fantasy world and I’ll stay on earth to make her bubble doesn’t burst. “So, you don’t want to work as a cook anymore?” I need to ask, and I need to know exactly what her dreams consist of so that I may make it a reality.

Again, she bites her lip, and I can feel my trousers grow tight. How on earth has she been roaming this earth? How are people not fighting tooth and nail to be in my position? “I think I’d much prefer something...slower. Less stressful, you know? I’d like to cook, yes, but rather at home or maybe even have my own show!”

The excitement twinkles in her eyes again and I must know more. “When I was younger, my mother would teach me how to cook and I’d always imagine that I'm on a program. We’d watch master chef and I’d always imagine being Christina Tosi or Amandine Chaignot. But even then more than anything I wanted to be involved in fashion. In any shape or form. Even if I had to cook to the models.”

She laughs, ever so slightly and I can see the memories flash behind her eyes. Then it will be so. Then suddenly we can both hear a slight pitter patter fall on the roof top. Her eyes instantly snap right over my shoulder. Watching as the pavement turn from concrete grey to cloudy grey.

“As I was saying before. If it rains I am not afraid to get wet. If it snows I will not be afraid of the cold. And if I ever fall in love I hope I treat it the same.” I can’t help but lean in closer. I can’t help myself. In every sense I need to be as close as possible to her. Even if, for now, I don’t know if she wants me to be as near as I want to be.

But when she looks up at me with those big doe eyes, my actions become uncontrolable. Her gaze makes me feel like a prescious jewel being discovered for the first time. Even if it is her who is Painite, rarer than Diamonds, rarer than Emeralds. Her hands are just too resistable, her skin too soft. I take her hand in mine, but refuse to look anywhere but her hypnotic eyes.

I bring her knuckles to my lips and place a slow, gentle kiss. “You promise?” Her fair cheeks turn a rosy pink colour. She bites her lips and it takes everything in me not to kiss her. “I can’t make any promoses, Carlos. Emotions aren’t to be controlled or guarenteed. They are free and wild and only earned.”

“Then I will earn your heart.”

My heart breaks that I had to leave her, but my personal trainer had been blowing up my phone. I know he’s right. I know I have to keep my body up to standard for the racing. Even then, my mind is still with her. I had let her play in the rain after our late lunch. I could see in her eyes that she so badly wanted to play.

I told her that I’ll buy her everything all over again just to see her happy. Just to see her enjoy herself I’d let her rip the entire hotel appart. This did make her smile and it melted my heart. I didn’t care for the people staring, or the people taking pictures. All I see is the twinkle in her eyes and those cheeks become round with a wide smile.

When I left her, her nose and cheeks were rosy pink and she was cold to the touch. I told her to take a shower and bundle up. I was honestly struggling to keep my head straight while gyming. The thought of the water fallings over those soft curves of hers makes me hot and heavy. It makes me adrenaline go crazy and my mind fuzzy. My trainer said I hit a new PR on the weights.

I had been gone for at least an hour or two, but the sun had long since set. The girls I’d been with before, yes they were kind, yes they were sweet, but they just weren’t her. It was the moment I set my eyes on her in that restuarant, I knew I had to have her. They feared the public eye, they wanted nothing to do with the most important parts of my life. She craves it, she’s there whenever I need her.

I found her curled up on the couch. She’d taken the extra cushions and comforters and build herself a bed there. The blankets are all the way up to her nose. She’s curled into a little ball. Taking up as little space as possible. My heart flutters and my cock goes hard. I need a shower.

Why would she do that? Hadn’t I told her to sleep on the bed? Why does she insist on defying me when all I do is for her betterment? Terco como siempre. I prepare the bed, making sure there isn’t a single then wrong. I pick her up bridal style, up close I can hear the very light snores. She doesn’t wake, however, she cuddles up closer to me. And when I tuck her in nice and close and can’t help but notice how innocent she looks with her new pj’s.

She clings to my shirt when I lay her down, in her subconscious she needs me as much as I need her. More than the money, more than the fame, more than the job. She wants me, she needs me. I am nothing without her and I must make sure that I will never loose her.

After the shower, she’d thrown the duvet off to the side. She’d spread out across the bed and her shirt had ridden up right under her breast. And suddenly I need a cold shower again. Her skin is soft, like a freshly hatched dove. Her skin the same colour too and I can’t but want her to get more sun.

My hands move without control again. Her delicate curves are like a magnet to my body. I make sure to be as soft and slow as I can, to not make a noise. Just slightly hovering above her small body. My lips make contact with the arch of her collarbone, just small gentle kisses. I do not make a sound, but she sure does. Smalls whimpers and whines escape her lips.

Mi pequeña wants this. Still deep in sleep, but her hands grab for me. Yearn for me, like I do to her. Just soft, almost ticklish kisses on her collar. Worshipping her like I so badly want to. But, for now, I won’t take it any further. Call it but a goodnight kiss. I slept on the couch, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.

“Dulce niña, what happened here? Did you hurt yourself while I was gone?” Carlos’ hands come up to your neck. You instantly notice how his hands are big enough to wrap around your entire neck, you’re sure. Your brows intertwine, you know what he’s talking about. You tried curling your hair, to look good if there are cameras, but clearly you need more practice.

His brows furrow and concern fill his eyes. The look in his eyes is the same as last night, in your dreams. You can remember his big stromg arms taking holding you. Of those storming eyes commanding you to scream his name. If he found out about these filthy dreams you had, you’d sink into the ground of embarresment. He’s a classy guy who hasn’t asked for anything more than a smile, now you’re the one thinking of his skin on yours.

Not only that but you woke up in the bed this morning, even after going to bed on the couch. You and your girls had been talking for longer than you’d realised, likely falling asleep while on the phone call. They’d been just as excited as you were about the whole day. Both of them swooning and wishing their partners would do and say what he does.

You heard him coming back while you were getting ready. “No, no, don’t start with that mister.” You say, jabbing him in his chest. He’s sweaty and had clearly just come back from the gym. It’s already 07:30. His eyebrows furrow together. “I told you that I’d sleep on the couch. You are a very important person and need your full rest.”

A smirk forms on his face and it only makes you more annoyed. He crosses his arms and leans back, clearly done listening. “You already take care of me, give me a chance to take care of you. Relationships are 50/50. Even the more...unconventoinal ones.” You can’t help but hold onto his shirt, really wanting to drive the point home. “I agree, you tell me what you want and I give it to you. 50/50.”

You fold your arms together and roll your eyes. “Vous êtes impossible.” Something compared to a growl escapes his throat. He pulls you close to him by the hips. “I like it when you talk French to me.” Then his hand grazes your collar again. “Now tell me, what happened.” Concern is etched into his eyes and his touch is as gently as can be.

You shrug, “I wanted to curl my hair, but I haven’t used the curling iron in a few years...” He looks confronted with your words. “If you know you can’t use it, why risk hurting yourself.” He tucks a strand of now wavy hair behind your ear. You shrug and look up at him, “I wanted to impress you.” He lets out a loud laugh and takes your face in his hands.

“You’re too cute. What’d I do to have someone like you share a hotel room with me?” His eyes look and it makes you feel so warm inside. “You paid me,” your answer is blunt but the truth. You’re still not entirely sure where you stand in this strange relationship. He laughs just like before, “That reminds me, I got you something.”

He then opens his gym bag and then pulls out a handfull of things. He hands them to you and you can see it’s a bunch of hair accesories. A gold headband, a gold claw clip and some scrunchies of various colours. You furrow your brows at him and he ecplains himself by taking the headband and carefully guiding it across your hair. “I don’t like how you hide from me. This should make sure that you can’t anymore.” Your cheeks go pink, he noticed.

“Can I ask you a really strange question?” You’re not sure why now you decided to ask the question that’s been forming in your bind. It just slipped out and when he looks at you like that you don’t have much control anymore. “Always.” He smiles, still fixing your hair. “Do I have to call you daddy?”

His hand stops and his eyes meet yours. He forms a slight grin and then pulls your closer by the shoulders. He bends down low and then whispers in your ear. “Only when you want something.”

My taglist is open, just ask!

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #f 1 x reader #f1 xreader

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an-android-child · 4 months

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Failings come in three, a poem about bats and birds

Part 2

Part 1 | Part 0 | Part 3

Comics used: Red Robin #1, Robin #128, Robin #182, Batman #427, Batman #633, Batman: Incorporated #6, Batman: Incorporated #7

Poem written by me.

#web weaving #dc comics #dc batman #dc #batman #Web weaving divided in parts #original poem #Poem divided in parts #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry #The ten image limit is my enemy #tim drake #dick grayson #stephanie brown #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth

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mouschiwrites · 2 months

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Hiiii

I was wondering if you could please make Jays head canons, or Jays story's?

Sure thing! :D

Ninjago - Dating Jay Walker Headcanons

It definitely wasn’t love at first sight when he saw you, but he couldn’t deny how attractive you were

He didn’t really see you like that; not at first, anyway

You were helping them with a mission, and once it was over he figured you’d separate forever, and that’d be that

But by the time the mission was over, he found he couldn’t bear the thought of losing all contact with you

He’d come to like your personality even more than your looks, which was really saying something since he thought you were STUNNING

So, just as you were about to part, he suddenly took you by the hand

He reddened, stuttering, trying to get out his words

You just smiled, knowing what he meant before he could even get a coherent word out

You guys exchanged info, promising to meet again sometime

Later that same night, Jay contacted you, requesting a meet-up at his favorite sushi joint in Ninjago

You guys continued on like that, taking turns picking your meet-up spots

It takes a while for Jay to actually admit his feelings, but he’s painfully obvious

Honestly you’ll probably have to make the first move, unless you want to wait forever

But when you finally start actually dating, he is ECSTATIC

He is THE turbo-boyfriend: super romantic, always showing his love in huge displays, memorizing all the things you like (as if he hadn’t done that already…)

His love languages are: All Of Them. Think of literally anything romantic (poems, gifts, doing chores for you, caring for you when sick, etc, etc) and he’s done it at some point

You might legitimately have to tell him to tone it down

Especially with PDA; we’ve seen in the show that he sometimes struggles with boundaries

He’ll always want to hold your hand or stand super close, but he’ll back off if you ask

Once you outline your boundaries, though, he does his best to follow them

He’ll probably slip up once or twice when he gets excited, but he tries his hardest :(

He’s very excitable when it comes to you, but he’s also prone to channel that energy into anxiety

And jealousy, which leads to insecurity

He sometimes feels that he’s not good enough for you, with you being as amazing as you are

Don’t worry though, you can easily cheer him up by showing him literally any amount of affection

But an evening cuddling and whispering sweet nothings works best ;)

Cuddling is a must with Jay; he clings to you like a koala, and he complains that he can’t sleep without you

In fact, he insists that everything is way better when you’re there

It sometimes annoys the other ninjas

They’ll be doing something completely unrelated and he’ll just sigh and go “I wish Y/n was here”

And they’re just like: 😐

He could (and does) gush about you endlessly to others

Much to many people’s annoyance

With all this in mind, I’ll finish off by saying he’s the type to shower you with all the love in the world but then break down sobbing when you so much as smile at him

(Please smile at him)

Thank you so much for this request! And thanks for reading, take care sweet doves!!

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #jay walker #jay walker x reader #jay x reader #ninjago headcanons #jay walker headcanons

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aphroditesmoon · 9 months

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sea, swallow me (part I)

jacaerys velaryon x fem!velaryon!reader

Part 2

summary: when jacaerys finally meets the hidden bastard of corlys velaryon, he loses interests in his betrothed Baela and intends to make her aunt his, but are you really what your family has made you up to be?

warnings: this fic is inspired by the movie 'song of the sea', CANON DIVERGENCE, slowburn, aged up jace (18 yrs old), reader has selective mutism (she CAN talk), reader is 5 years older than jace, selkie! reader, reader's race is NOT specified. cursing, nsfw content in future chapters,typical ASOIAF sexism, typical asoiaf targcest.

A/N: this part is moreso an introduction, the next chapters will have more stuff going on promise<3

taglist: @marytargaryen , @cdragons , @libdarkheart

♧♣︎♧

The day that the rumours of Corlys' Velaryon's illegitimate child was spread by the man himself in vague tell-tales, was the same day that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was celebrating his third name day.

The skies on Driftmark turned dark by afternoon, a rare sighting of a thunderstorm had appeared. And while every mankind on the land had went off to hide themselves in the comfort and warmth of their homes, an 8 year old child of the seas drifted ashore, she had not drowned, but she knew to act that way as to lead the oblivious guards towards her.

Brought onto land to be passed around to the servant quarters, you fell right into the master of the land himself.

Corlys should've brushed you off, should've sent you right back to the kitchen maids, but the unnerving bravery in your eyes hadn't made sense for a child that was supposedly, probably, had almost drowned due to a shipwreck.

So he took in the sight of you, standing tall, wordless when spoken to, similar even when not. A white complicated looking hugging your body. He is not one to be superstitious, even moreso his wife Rhaenys who had been againts his suggestion the moment it was spoken aloud, but his heart made him halt whenever he even thinks of shrugging you away.

The trusting unknowing look you have for him wasn't helping, you gazed at the life around you in awe, suprise, and even fear at times. So he did what everyone warned him againts, he announces her as his bastard child from a dead noble woman, and them proceeded 1to denounce your illegitimacy, claiming you under the Velaryon name.

The whispering guards and chattering servants could talk all the wanted, for all they knew, the real truth of who you were was uknown to everyone but Corlys Velaryon.

♣︎♧♣︎

Your heart's yearning was divided in two. The calling of the sea, and the wanting of land. You were not as free as you sister Laena nor your brother Laenor, and you weren't given respect as much as they did either, given your known identity.

But you relished the joy of being able to dance on your two feet, to feel water as how it feels to a man, and to see the people in a much closer view.

You don't mind the constant nagging of your maidens as they fuss over your unkempt hair or your bare foots often forgetting their shoes. You asked for this, and you don't regret it. Besides, there was no one there for you in the sea, your kind understood you, they know you, but your mother has left you in her death, and you don't quite crave the grief and loneliness again.

Though now that you've grown, you realise, it was quite inevitable either way.

The day you lost your sister, you thought that was the end of it, but the gods had taken your brother too soon enough. You cried for the first time that year, and you felt what the mortals had written poems and ballads of.

For all of your wanting of more freedom, you were glad to be confined in your room during their funerals.

You would've thought that the passing of her children would make Rhaenys Targaryen more open towards you, but you were wrong. You were greeted with hostility you've never known. The glare she often saved for you reads what others couldn't understand; it should've been you, not them.

Laena's daughter Rhaena had been placed under her care soon, you rarely saw her. Rhaenys' making sure that your paths never cross.

But even with the power she held over you, your father's power proved to overtook hers when he announced that you were to be introduced to society, and to your extended family, for your own benefit and the Velaryon's house, in his own words.

So you locked up your white coat in your treasure box, and you prepared yourself for your first feast, a celebration for your two and twentieth name day.

♣︎♧♣︎

The attendance for your feast was outstanding. The servants had said so, it hadn't been a minute since it started, and the usually empty hall was already half full.

You knew from Corlys' warning, that half of these people aren't really here for your name day celebration, they're here to see if the rumours were true. "Do not talk to anyone I haven't." He speaks sternly. You stared at him blankly, receiving a sigh of realization. "Right, well, don't, warm up to anyone I haven't." He corrects himself.

You nod once smiling thankfully at him before leaving his chambers.

He and Rhaenys would be the first to be announced, and then Rhaena, and then you.

But staring at the large doors hiding what you've heard to be a room full of nothing but hungry vipers, your stomach churns.

You flinch when you feel a set of hands clasp your shoulders gently. It was Rhaena. "Are you alright?" She asks in a hushed tone. You nod your head twice.

She holds you still as her eyes lingers on yours longer than before. "Do you want to walk together?" She asks again.

You don't hesitate to accept her offer, nodding at her question. Please, you almost whispered back. She smiles at your answer and you feel her hands slowly sliding away. "Alright, I'll let grandsire know, don't fret." She tells you soothingly betore making her way to Corlys.

A few minutes after that, Rhaena scrambles by your side as your father and his wife enters first before you, their names loudly announced, as if everyone and their mothers didn't know who they were. Humans are hilarious.

Your hand unintentionally grips Rhaena's as your names were announced after. Her fingers easily intertwining with yours. "Don't smile." She notes quickly when she saw you grinning widely. Your smile died immediately. You walk side by side, your feet trying to move in the same rhythm and steps as hers, and your eyes watching straight at your seated father, staring back at you with a small smile etched on his lips.

You could feel the stares still when you finally reach the table, giving out a elieved sigh as you take your seat by Corly's right, Rhaenys to his left, and Rhaena to your right, hands still clasped together until noble houses are starting to be announced.

You do as you're taught, you smile and nod, and let your father do all the talking.

House Lannister stood out to you most so far. You can't decide if Jason Lannister is arrogant or bad at arse kissing. A person to turn any conversation about themselves

"You are as beautiful as they say." He starts, eyeing you in whole. "Tell me my lady, do you ever envy your siblings that had dragons?" You hesitated, turning to Corlys instead of responding.

"She does not, and the both of us know she would not need one, my dear girl fares better in the sea." He answers for her with a bitter laugh at the end of his sentence, as if shooing the man. "Ah I see, truly a daughter of yours then." The table turns silent. Jason Lannister's own smile dissapear as quickly as it came, realizing his mistake too late.

Your father's lips pursed together, a brow raised as he leans closer to the table. "Yes, she is." The coldness in his voice indicated the Lord of his time to leave. With a quick thank you and honor to meet you's, Lord Lannister leaves.

You hear the man next to you mutter an incoherent insult under his breath, wiping a hand over his already tired face. "People have eyes, Corlys." Rhaenys justifies. "And Mouths." She added, making him groan as House Baratheon are announced. "Oh believe me, I know." He replies shortly, awaiting Lord Baratheon. Thankfully the man was quick, and polite, though you were sure you weren't the only one who noticed how his eyes stayed on your face, a judgmental intent behind them.

But at least he knew not to say anything disrespectful out loud before walking off.

You watch your father's eyes light up for the next house, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. House Targaryen. "Finally, a house with more manners." His wife snorted at his words. "Pretend niceties aren't manners." You feel Rhaena stiffen next to you. "That boldness of yours will get you in trouble one day Rhaenys." He warns lightly, in which she only hums carelessly in return.

You almost laugh at contrast of the white and darkhaired family walking your way. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the throne, holds your eyes as she walks nearer. You hae never met your sister in law before, you've seen her through faraway window glances, but she looked at you like she's seen you, like she recognises you.

Her husband, prince consort Daemon Targaryen however, you have met. Once, while he had been staying in Driftmark with Laena during her pregnancy with Rhaena. He saw you leave Laena's room the same moment he was about to enter and spoke your name in a guess. When you turned in his direction at the call, his suspicion was confirmed. What he never understood howerver, was why would Corlys go through many lengths of restricting her from meeting people and hiding her identity?

The court wouldn't have given two shits over another man's bastard daughter. He knows it well enough.

It seemed the question he bore was the same question everyone else wondered, thus why they're all here, willing to feign courtesy and respect towards a so called bastard.

Now he's seeing her again, and it makes things even more confusing. Surely he knows how ignominious she'd feel, being put under the spotlight after 15 years of entrapment. Did he know that this feast was as good as feeding you to wolves? Was that what he intended to do in the first place? Sell you up to the first noble lord willing to take in a bastard Velaryon girl as his wife? And why did Daemon Targaryen cared so much about this girl, when he knows that nothing about her deems worthy of his attention.

Those thoughts ran through the mind of Daemon Targaryen until he's close enough to you that he had to turn his eyes towards Rhaenys' and Corlys' faces instead.

"And where has this lovely dear been all along?" Rhaenyra was the first to speak, greeting the lord and lady of the house properly first. "Ah well, if you had been here more frequent with my son, you could've caught her plenty." He replies easily.

Daemon hummed and bobbed his head. "It's true, I believe this isn't the first time we've met, yes?" He raises a brow at you, a small warm smile painted on his lips.

You responded with a smile that matched his and nodded once. The veracity in your every move made you look like a puppet with strings he's not sure who holds in their hands.

What Daemon Targaryen has not realized yet, was that Corlys velaryon's hands on you were barely a grip. They lead you because you let them. And for a girl who swam her way up into one of the most richest and well known houses of Westeros at 8 years old, you knew more than anyone thought.

♣︎♧♣︎

The dark coloured halls of the Velaryons were lit brightly with gold ornaments and lights. Jacaerys doesn't think he's ever seen much wealth be spent on his mother's own wedding.

The singer hired for the event pauses only for a few minutes before she resumes her orchestral performances. No one pays the music mind of course. The center was you.

He'd kiss your hand and tell you that you had your father's eyes. But that was a lie. His ears maybe, if he squinted closely at yours. He smiled at you and he says the things that he should. It is lovely to meet you. It is a lovely feast. May you continue to age as gracefully as you are now.

And then he walks away and never look back, just as he's told to.

It shouldn't be that big of a deal, or at least thats what he thought. But his mother had given him clear instructions earlier that evening. Do not mingle, do not talk more than you should, the rumours around you sre bad enough. The people will see what they want to and spin those pictures into false stories.

A bastardy affair? Laughable. He's sure the Queen would eat it right off her spy's hands. But still, his gaze on you lingered.

You had an air around you that gave the idea of naivety and carelessness. But he's not so sure if that's the real case here, or are you just so sure in your own sense of self and identity to not fear the men ready to point their fingers in your direction at the first moment they could.

He hopes he'll never see you again after this, his curiosity has always won the best of him.

"She is pretty, though Rhaena's right, you only see how much she resembles grandsire when you're up close. I've met her once, as a child. I don't thisnk we talked at all, but I do remember her gifting me a scarf." Baela's calm voice reached his ears clearly even through the loud chatting and extravagant music.

He raises his head from his food to glance at her. "That's nice, do you still have it?" The girl shook her head and pursed her lips. "No, Rhaena stole it, and then lost it." His face breaks into a grin. "Sounds like her."

He gives another quick glance to your table and looked again when he notices you weren't there. His head moves slowly until he catches the sight of you, standing straight, in front of Dalton Greyjoy. The Red Kraken was what they called him.

Jacaerys could see him speakingas he frowned, glancing from your face to the nothingness behind you as he's deep in his own talking. You were silent, only your eyebrows moved up and down to indicate understanding. He forgets sometimes how some men prefer their women mute.

The Greyjoy boy was waving his hands now, as if an invisible object laid before him. You start to lean slightly againts the serving table and he wondered the same thing you were; when will he stop talking?

"He's a little bit too young to be that pretentious now, isn't he?" Jacaerys says loud enough for Baela and Lucerys to hear him. "He's a year younger than you." His younger brother quipped. Jace frowns. "What? He's 17?" Baela hums in reply. "Doesn't make him any less pretentious." Jace concludes, earning a laugh from both of the people seated by his side. "Ah yes, he's probably explaining how killing people works to her." Baela adds. "I wish someone would tell him how conversation works, she hasn't said a word still." Luc says, the three of the them staring at you now.

"She's mute, Luc." Jace corrects, turning back towards the table, watching as his mother and Daemon make conversations with the other houses. "No she's not, Rhaena said she's heard her talk to grandsire before in one of her letters." The boys' eyes widen. "Then why does she never talk to anyone else?" She shrugs, feeding herself a spoonful if pudding.

A sigh escapes him as he pushes away his plate, his appetite lost. If he'd ask you to talk? Would you? Is that what it was, had no one asked you to talk?

Dalton Greyjoy's face seems unamused as you shook your head at him, his mouth moves once more and his head tilts at you in question, you shook your head again, immediately moving away from him, and straight into Jacaerys' stepfather. The 17 year old took in his defeat and walked away, and Jacaerys watches as Daemon Targaryen speaks so slowly that he can't make up what he's saying fron where he's situated.

You held a steady posture, and your face doesn't give away any reaction, it is stoic, but not cold. "Should I ask her to dance?" Jace suggests. Luc and Baela shares a look of disagreement. "Right in front of our parents? You know we shouldn't get too close to her." He almost doesn't even hear what his betrothed says when he stands up abruptly. "I'm gonna ask her."

Baela stutters and he hears Luc mutters for the love of the gods, as he makes his way to you and Daemon.

He can see his stepfather sigh audibly when he arrives. "Ah, You've met Prince Jacaerys, the heir after his mother, Rhaenyra. Jace, we've been talking of her fondness of the sea, your father said he's only taken you sailing with him when you were 8?" You nod, acknowledging the prince with a smile.

"Then, have you been on a dragon? Surely Laena or Laenor must've offered you a ride once." You shook your head.

Daemon's grin only widens. "Well that only means that you're long overdue a staying at Dragonstone, right Jacaerys?" A nervous laugh leaves the younger man. "Oh yes, I do a bit of uh, sailing sometimes, on my mother's orders. I also have a dragon." He explains, taking in your beauty properly.

"You've seen a dragon up close?" He tries, watching Daemon relaxes as his eyes darts from you to Rhaenyra. Both men are disappointed when you sshook your head, nudging utin Corlys' direction. "He worries to much for you, it is true that getting too close to a dragon for someone without valyrian blood in their veins, is dangerous. But with the right company, you won't have a problem."

You suffer the awkward conversation between the two men, willing for someone to drag you away.

It wasn't that they were rude, or terrible. But you don't think you've ever talked to this much people in your life. Your voice disaappears as it always do, and your usual smile is starting to feel forced.

You were enticed by the idea of travelling to Dragonstone. You've never seen much if anywhere outside of Driftmark, it was boring. But you also knew that the Targaryens are no different from the other houses. They don't offer kindness in return for nothing. And they sure as hell did not see you as family, for you know how much they protect their families.

So why such civility and effort? You could offer no allegiance as a bastard, nor could you even be used as a pawn.

You've blocked out half of what Daemon Targaryen has been saying the past two minutes, eyes still on him, trying to ignore the boy staring intently at the side of your face.

When the older prince finally excuses himself, you were relieved, only to turn around towards his stepson who's been awaiting your attention. "Do you dance?" You shook your head. A dissapointment 'oh' came after. "Do you not know how?" He tries again. The same answer prevails.

You could dance if you wanted to, but you doubted it'd make you feel better. In fact, you're sure dancing with him would attract more attention and not just to you. His mother surely won't be pleased with more rumours surrounding her son. So you give a bow and you leave, walking far away enough until you're sure he's not looking.

But you don't see him watching you barely sit by your father for barely a second before disappearing completely from the crowd. And you didn't see him do the same thing.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #hotd x reader #jace velaryon x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones #jace targaryen x reader #hotd #jacaerys targaryen

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 5 months

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Hi I wanna know how would the tfa bots elite guard and cons react to meeting a female bot who is like Barbie who came to life by an allspark fragment and developing a crush on her

-Optimus feels ashamed of his crush because he doesn't think he's worth her. She's just so... so perfect. Beautiful, kind, funny, intelligent. She's got it all and Optimus doesn't. He'll probably try to avoid her for some time after realizing how he feels about her.

-If Optimus feels ashamed then Ratchet feels embarrassed. He's an old mech, past his best years and he's not supposed to go after some young, pretty bot that's just started figuring out life. Not to mention that he's long since given up on having a love life. Like Optimus he'll probably avoid her if possible in an attempt to smother these feelings.

-Despite his claims, Bumblebee don't have a lot of experience with lady-bots. You know what, scratch that. He's got ZERO experience. That doesn't mean he'll dive right in and do his best to impress her. Super nervous about making a fool out of himself but he masks this with false confidence. Starts stumbling over his words whenever she smiles at him though.

-Bulkhead in love is just so wholesome. He realizes he's got a crush on her when he finds himself painting nothing but portraits of her. Tries to woo her the old fashioned way, with flowers and poems about how pretty her optics are. Will ask her to model for his paintings as an excuse to spend time with her.

-For Prowl, him having a crush is divided in two parts. First, he ignores it. Ignores her. Tries to be smooth about how he leaves when she shows up but he's just desperately trying to avoid her so he won't fall deeper in love. But he can't focus on anything, all his thoughts keeps drifting back to her so eventually he accepts it. Now he's determined to woo her though he feels intimidated by how amazing she is. How is he supposed to prove himself?

-It's been centuries since Ultra Magnus last had a crush but he just can't help it with this bot. She's everything he looks for in a conjux. Graceful, gentle, determined, intelligent, kind. She would make a perfect First Conjux (cybertronian version of First Lady). Now, he's not been in the dating game since he was a new frame but he's still confident that he can muster up the old charm.

-Fuuuuuck, Sentinel is so damn annoying about his crush. He flirts, says a million different pick up lines that makes everyone else cringe yet he fails to notice how hard he's failing. In his mind, a perfect mech like him deserves nothing less than a perfect bot like her. Thinks she's got a crush on him just because he can't imagine otherwise. Tries to impress her all the time.

-Jazz, just like Sentinel, flirts, but he's so much better at it. At first the flirting is mostly playful, trying to test the waters and see if she's interested, and once he's more confident then he'll lay it on real thick. Loves coming up with improvised love songs on the spot, singing about her many amazing qualities.

-The jettwins, Jetfire and Jetstorm, are like two puppies the way they follow her around, desperate for any scrap of attention. Like, they are down BAD. They hang onto her every word and think she's the most incredible bot in the world. Desperately try to impress her.

-Every lord needs a lady and that includes warlords so of course Megatron is determined to make her his. While she's a little too kind for the position as Lady of the decepticons he doesn't mind it. Her intelligence and charm more than makes up for it. Super suave with his flirting.

-Starscream tries so badly to impress her, be it with his intelligence, power or by flying. He tries to to act confident and suave with her but the moment she does anything he feels completely lost because she does everything with such ease. She's naturally graceful, doesn't even have to try to make people like her and that's everything Starscream wishes he had.

-She's got Blitzwing's personalities rapid switching because they all want to spend time/look at her. Hothead's usual anger and bravado turns into a blustering mess around her and all he can say are simple sentences like "You're pretty" or "I want to hold your hand so badly". Gets so flustered by his admissions that he willingly switches out. Icy is better, he is calmer about his crush and tries to woo her by being a gentleman. Too bad Random suddenly switches in and ruins it by saying that he wants to eat her so they can be together forever. Awkward.

-Look, Lugnut already got a conjux that he loves and adores so he feels super guilty about his crush. Whenever he sees this bot he will shout at them to stay away, calling her a temptress. Secretly though he's wondering if Strika would like to meet her. He's pretty confident that she'd like this bot and she's always been up for a third.

-Shockwave is torn between acting professional and ogling her like an idiot. She's perfect in every way, sense and form and he'd be an idiot to just ignore her. But because she's so perfect he finds himself so taken off guard that he doesn't know how to react.

-Yeah, Blackarachnia feels terrible. She's got a crush on her bot at the same time she's super jealous. This bot is beautiful and highly sought after by everyone and she feels so lacking in comparison to them. Might try to flirt but honestly don't think it will go anywhere, even if they for some reason were interested. Blackarachnia simply couldn't bear constandly comparing herself to this perfect bot.

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howyouloveyourdragon · 1 year

Text

Some Thread of Time

pronouns: she/her warnings: angst summary: It has been years since Aemond has seen his childhood companion, once attached to the hip and now mere strangers harbouring the same memories but no matter how long it's been, he can't seem to let go wordcount: 1,343 A/N: i'm a fan of poetry so this was loosely inspired by the poem 'Two People' written from Robert M. Drake in the collection 'Empty Bottles Full of Stories', if you also like poetry then i greatly suggest it :) it also has work by one of my current favourites r.h. Sin whose poems you might have seen on my page before divider: firefly-graphics

Professing that Aemond missed Y/n was the same as saying he missed his eye–both obvious and true. Sometimes he goes days without remembering and then one day he finds a throbbing pain buried where something is supposed to be and it feels like something is digging into him, carving out the space you or his lost eye belongs all over again. It snatches you away without as much as a caring thought. The one-eyed prince still feels the burning flame of your lingered touch always so gentle as it dips across his cheek. He might never see you again, he used to think bitterly as he curled in on himself. The day he lost more than he could bear, the day more than one part was stolen from him. Aemond knows he should let you go and so he has tried but the carefully written letters that always wind up hidden beneath a thick book in his desk never stop growing. He discovers that no matter how strong he tenses his hand against his quill, he cannot spoil the ever-flowing words that stream from him like spring rain. The inked words are never enough to reach your ears however–never sweet nor good enough. Nothing is the same since you were taken from him but he still hopes that you can sometimes hear his heart beat for you in the quiet of the night no matter how far you are. He doesn't need yours in return, he just needs you to wield his own.

His mind whirrs in the silent hall as he stands by his brother's side, hating how no one else seems as bitter as himself at the display before him. The small family that has built from far too much tradition to be considered fresh. He scowls, watching as his cousin and nephew smile at one another at the announcement of their betrothal. Aemond's jaw tightens. Not for the first time, his mind wanders to a much prettier image–a grown portrait of you with your hair loose and flowers he had picked specially for you embedded in-between the strands. The prince did not enjoy appearing weak in front of others but for you he would, he's certain, if you hadn't been sent away from him in a cruel punishment of the Gods. Once his brittle father defends his sister's wretched spawn and the hearing is dismissed, he lingers long enough to sweep his eyes across the sea of courtiers and estranged family all leave. He turns swiftly with his brother's encouragement in the gesture of a harsh slap to the back. With some shattered shard of hope left wedged in him, he had hoped you'd appear out of some mythical mist. That's what consumed his dreams some nights. Not because he had always been infatuated with you but rather because his romanticised childish vision had only managed to preserve you against all else. His father's false love had soured and his mother's gentle hand felt hard but you had stayed the sweet girl who attended to him even in his worst states. He knew that it was unlikely for you to still be his cousin's lady-in-waiting after so many years but he hoped you hadn't wed, that you hadn't been moulded to bear children yet. For now he could rest without the last shred of his childhood ruined.

Perhaps he should have fought more, he thinks as he trails the dark stony halls of the castle he is supposed to call home. A thread of silver wrapped tightly around his barely beating heart, squeezing it as he turns the doorknob and pushed through. After entering, he slams the door back closed behind him. His fingers tremble as he reaches for a quill and drops himself haphazardly onto his chair. They then snatch and splay out parchment with the entitlement that it was only waiting for his rough hands and gentle words to breathe with the life of his whispering memories. Aemond didn't like to think that she left him, it hurt too much to consider she would do that but part of him is grateful that an untainted image of her can still burn as bright as the stars strewn in her eyes. Still, he selfishly longs to feel your presence but refuses to accept the very real possibility that you have forgotten him. Aemond knows that he is no longer the young sweet prince without friends–though two of those facts still prevail–he is different to the boy you once knew and he is happy to accept that you too will no longer be the same squeamish girl who despite her own disgust with gore, wiped back the tears off his cheek as blood poured from his wounded face. Aemond thinks of you, misses you, dreams of you even if he knows the likelihood that you are thinking also of him is low because it is worth it to hold onto the remaining scrap of innocence. The innocence you both had to leave behind. He only manages to leave his desk to attend a horrific family dinner awaiting him–only then can he dismiss you briefly from his thoughts.

As the dusk turns to the streaming and golden dawn of his bedroom his mind paints a sweet artwork of his childhood, one of the rare moments he could capture effortlessly. A fluorescent drawing of pink and orange flowers weaved into your braids and his hand holding tight to your warm one. He wanted to show you the royal gardens and who were you to deny him? There, he had taught you to dance and the feel of his own heartbeat tapping your feet to the ground on bare feet as you had insisted. You wanted to feel the earth beneath your souls and who was he to deny you? He wonders sometimes if that was the day that everything changed. He does not regret it but instead secures it safely in a glass bottle cast not into the ocean but rather his mind for him to only succumb to when he cannot blame himself for your disappearance from his life.

He spars the next morn with a surprising spring to his step and he can tell that people are curious as he refrains from squaring his shoulders and tensing his taut stomach. Instead, his shoulders are loose and his face awfully tranquil. His feet carry him with soft steps rather than aggressive slaps against the harsh stone floor. Aemond still has his usual sense of purpose however as he echoes through the corridor. Finally he reaches his personal squire and thrusts a parchment into his hands. The younger boy's eyes widen in surprise and his lips part in uncertainty. "For Lady L/n. I want these to reach her as soon as your horse will take you and I want you to follow this map so that you can present her with these flowers alongside it. Do you understand? They must be fresh." Aemond's voice does not contort into domineering, instead he is focussed and gentle. His stare however remains fixed on the squire who nods furiously. Neither can remember the last time Aemond Targaryen sent anyone a letter. Once the boy is given a dismissive nod and hurries off, Aemond can be let go of a shuddering breath and so he does although it struggles to soar from his lungs. He is firm that the flowers be fresh because he cannot believe yet that the care between you both has wilted. In fact he refuses to but neither of you yet know what is to come from this letter nor the feelings that he has finally released. He hopes that you have not forgotten the foolish promises of children half-grown. He hopes you remember the sliver of thread you once used to wrap around your ring fingers with a feeble attempt at vows. He hopes you can find the inspiration to return to him, no matter how staggering the path you both shall face.

To find your way back home.

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