#and so i just read whatever happened yesterday but Again for a few hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teacheesee · 2 months

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Hi you, I'm writing to you from Belgium! Thank you so much for your work, omg I love your writing so much!!! (you managed to make me get SICK butterflies in my stomach on your fiction "i am your singer" -smut LMAO-)

I'd like to suggest a story idea for zoro, I dreamt about him yesterday and in my dream he always found an excuse to get into the rooms I was in (very often the bathroom… While I was showering of course…) (example: it's dinner time // we're looking for you everywhere, I wanted to make sure you were okay…) Would you be willing to smut this dream into reality? 💚

(of course, it's a proposal, you're free to choose! Thank you so much for reading! 🥰)

don’t bother knocking - zoro x reader nsfw

hiiiii tysm for the request this is lowkey one of my fav pieces for this blog yet lol. enjoy!!

warnings: oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, fem bodied reader, no pronouns used

1.6k words

You ran your hands through your hair, making sure all of the soap had been wrung out. Ears blocked by water, you nearly missed the squeak of the door hinge as it opened. Sticking your head out of the shower, you saw Zoro, leaning against the counter.

“Can I help you?” You drew back into the water.

“No,” he hummed, “Just wanted to let you know that dinner’s ready.”

“Alright, yeah, I’ll be out in a minute! Don’t let them all wait up for me, alright?”

He grunted in response, and it took a few more seconds for you to hear the door open and close again.

Weird. Whatever. You stepped out of the shower, spotting wet footprints across the bathmat as you dried yourself off.

Zoro’s been acting this way lately. Always seeming to be where you want to go. Always showing up where you are. You try not to read too much into stuff with Zoro, maybe it’s just his way of trying to be closer friends with you. He’s got so many lofty aspirations that it’s hard for you to justify what your heart wants and what the crew already sees unfolding: Zoro’s got a thing for you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.

You towel off your hair and make your way to the kitchen, where you take your seat next to Zoro. Luffy is lunging for everyone’s plates although they’re all almost done eating, Zoro included. You sigh as you start to eat, relishing in the taste of Sanji’s perfect meal, and you rest your head on your hand as you start to pick at the plate. Distracted by the dinner, you don’t notice how close your arm on the table has gotten to Zoro’s. The heat of the shower is radiating off of your skin and onto his, and the hair on his arms raises. He fights the blush that settles on his ears, making no effort to pull away from your touch.

He stays there long after he’s finished eating.

The knock on your door is most unexpected, at this hour. You get out of your bed, setting down the book you’d been reading, and peek through the sliver of the door. When you see who it is, you open it wider.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” Zoro avoids your gaze a bit. Not completely, just enough to notice. He shrugs.

“Was bored. Mind if I hang out with you?”

You lick your lips. Zoro notices.

“Yeah, come on in, I was just reading,” you back away from the door and fall back into place on your bed. Picking up your book, Zoro sits on the side of your bed.

“What’s this about?” You take the book from him and set it down on your nightstand.

“I don’t really know yet, just started it tonight. But the cover is pretty so that means its gotta be good,” you laugh.

“Pretty sure there’s a phrase advising directly against that way of thinking but whatever,” Zoro mutters. You lean against the headboard as you laugh.

“Right, yeah, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’, well I happen to find that is the best method to finding anything good.”

“Is that right?” Zoro inches unperceptively closer to you, the arm bracing himself now over your legs.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Zoro licks his lips. You notice.

“What have you been doing hanging out with me so much? What’s the angle?”

“No angle.”

“No angle?”

“Maybe there’s an angle,” he smiles. His eyes dart down to your lips for a fraction of a second, but long enough to ignite a heat that’s started to burn in your stomach. Maybe, you realize, it’s been burning for a while now.

Zoro’s grown closer to you now, something you both realize. But the realization doesn’t make you pull away, not now that he’s got a hand cupping your jaw and tilting your face as if he’s practiced it a thousand times, just for this. Just for you.

You eyes close slowly as you feel the touch of warm, chapped, rough lips ghost your own. It’s as if he’s afraid to push too hard, to break a spell or scare you off, he touches you so dearly. The kiss deepens slightly, but never in a rough way, no, Zoro’s staked so much on this moment to ever make any motion that might scare you off.

You pull away, a giddy laugh making it’s way past your lips. Zoro searches your eyes for any trace of doubt or unrequited emotion, but he doesn’t find it. And he can’t help but catch that infectious laugh, that smile that cracks across your face with such abandon that it takes all of his efforts to not let it consume the entirety of his soul. It does anyway. You lean back up and let Zoro follow you down to where you sat against the headboard, and he moved to straddle you, running a hand through your hair and gently holding by the roots, committing all of these feelings to memory. He’s waited long enough to feel you, and now that he’s got you in his hands, he wants nothing more than to break down every wall you’ve built around yourself, to touch your skin, to sink into you.

He sinks his teeth, experimentally, into you. Not to damage, but to be able to look back tomorrow at breakfast and know that it wasn’t all a dream. Your fingers make his earrings clink as you run a thumb over them, tugging his ear close to your mouth.

“You wanna?” You whisper, the soft smile you’re wearing evident in your cadence.

“If you’ll let me,” he answers, trying not to give himself away. He does anyways. His hands, antsy to roam, have made their way down to your pajama pants and make a move to tug, but you pull away.

“Me first.”

You move to the floor, and Zoro’s hand flies to your nape, not wanting to lose touch with you for a second. His pants have pooled near you on the floor, and with it come his boxers. You lick your lips. And boy, does he notice.

The grip he has on your hair tightens, but is never harsh. Never with you. Even as your lips and tongue start to envelop and swirl around the tip of his dick. Never harsh. Even when his other hand clenches tightly into the mattress. Even as you take him further, noting every vein present and pulsing under your administrations. Even as he fights the urge to tell you every thought he’s ever had about you. Never harsh. Even when his hand leaves your hair to wipe tears brimming at your eyes, he does it with such tenderness that you start to question if the tears are from the gag at all.

Zoro pulls away from you, clearly a motion of great strain, and he pulls you back up to the bed, where you finally kick off those damn pajama pants. Laying down, Zoro’s eyes ask an unspoken affirmation from you, as his fingers hook around the edges of your underwear. You nod, and the haste of which he pulls them down makes you laugh. His lips are back on yours, tasting your laughter, until he pulls away to cup a hand on your cheek, slipping his thumb into your mouth, greeted by an unexpecting hum. He draws it out of your mouth with a pop, and brings it down to your center, dragging it across your folds, holding you open. You take in a sharp inhale as he rubs his thumb across your clit in circular, steady motions. He smiles, watching as you start to clench around nothing, and all for him. His lips are back on your neck, kissing further down until they ghost over your chest, pause, and continue kissing over the cloth of your shirt. Your back arches towards his warm breath, the fire in your stomach reaching a blaze. Your hands are all over his back as he continues to work you open, steadily puting more pressure on your nerves. You groan at the feeling, impatience starting to wear you down.

Zoro hears the quickening of your breath, and decides to sink a finger into you, working it around to get you adjusted. You huff in exasperation as he pulls away, only long enough to get himself settled towards you. His hand is above your head as he angles himself, dragging his dick along your folds. You groan in unison as you feel each other’s warmth, the culmination of all this waiting paying off after all these years. He sinks in, slightly, not so much to satiate you by any means, no, but it’s enough to get you adjusted.

Zoro takes a deep breath, and lets it go as he slides fully, sheathed impossibly tight within you.

You take a deep breath, and you let it go as you’re filled, depths reached.

“Good?”

“Good.”

With your affirmation, he moves, slowly at first, and then picking up the pace. But never harsh, never abrasive.

Not tonight.

There will be other nights, nights with less on the line, where Zoro will allow himself to tear into you, to deny and restrain you, but not tonight.

Tonight, Zoro focuses on loving you, which comes easily, given that it seems as he was born to do just that.

_____

The warmth of the hot water soothes your legs as you bend down to turn the shower off. The cool air of the night hits you as you step out of the shower, not surprised to see Zoro leaning against the counter. He watches as you wrap the towel around yourself.

“Can I help you?” You muse, tucking the towel in and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He smiles at you, resting his hands on your waist.

“Nope,” he presses a kiss onto your lips, “no angle here.”

a/n: hey everypony mwahahaha almost got carried away w this one it’s like one billion words. anyways school is still kicking my ass. sorry responding to this took so long!! hope everyone has a good day and eats good food! okay bye kitties meow

#zoro #zoro smut #one piece #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #one piece modern au #one piece fluff #one piece smut #zoro fanart #op zoro #roanoa zoro #sanji x zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x luffy #zoro x sanji #pirate hunter zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro imagine

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doobea · 3 months

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BORN TO MAKE HISTORY ─ RIN ITOSHI

synopsis: After his brother takes a nasty fall and calls out before the new season starts, Rin has to step up as your new figure skating partner.

✰ ✰ ✰જ⁀➴ PLAYLIST. | MASTERLIST

contents: an ice skating au fic (very much yuri on ice inspired), fem!reader, ice skating terms and irl figures thrown around, inaccurate depictions of figure skating, sfw, rin being awkward, sae is a decent brother in here, characters are in their early-mid 20s, talks about ISU grand prix, mentions of mental health (depression, anxiety, burn out, imposter syndrome), heavy narration, rin centric word count: 5.1K a/n: life has been super busy and hectic recently :( kisses to @popponn for beta reading my works as always <3 im forever grateful for you :) more notes towards the end of the fic <3

PREV. RINK | NEXT RINK

“What should we wear?” You’re pacing across the living room, hand tucked under your chin and brows furrowed.

Sae’s leaning to the side on the couch, trying to get a decent view of yesterday’s playback practice run on the rink every time you cross his line of vision. Rin’s also trying to pay attention to the jumps and step sequences too but, whenever his parts are about to come up, you seem to pause in front of the TV.

“I dunno, ask Rin,” Sae shrugs and turns up the volume, hoping that you would catch the hint.

It doesn’t matter though, because you’re shuffling in place and now your attention is honed on your phone, scrolling rapidly through what Rin can only assume are images of various costume designs. He’s seen a few of your professional photos from the previous years during his recent down time, a lot of the designs highlighted your feminine side with bright colors and pastels. It suits you, no surprise there, considering your outgoing personality. Rin, on the other hand, likes to keep it moody and, as his fans would like to call it, “Dark Paradise” core — whatever that means.

Well, it wouldn’t really matter if you did happen to ask for his opinion because, recently, Rin didn’t give two shits about what he wears. If anyone were to peek into his closet, which they would definitely need to fight through him first, they would discover an array of all different shades of black and blue in their deepest forms. Oh, and all he owns is athleisure attire, too. Rin doesn’t bother with all things fancy and tailored ever since going on break, though he has a creeping feeling that he might have to go back to it soon.

“As long as it’s not flashy, I’m fine with whatever.” Rin answers finally, and closes his eyes as he says it, realizing that he’ll either look incredibly out of place with whatever costume idea you’ll have in mind. He can’t quite place why he feels so stressed about it.

“Whatever?” You chirp back with a slight tilt. Rin can almost see the gears turning desperately in your head as your foot taps away in deep thought. “Have we even decided on a theme yet?”

“Considering we literally just started practicing? No.” Rin huffs out. He tips his head, letting his cheek settle comfortably against his palm.

Safe to say, his thighs and feet hurt like hell, laced with heavy exhaustion from yesterday’s session. He probably needs more sleep in more but, with both you and Sae knocking on his bedroom door this morning, he firmly decided in his mind to sneak away after today’s practice to catch up on some hours.

“Your jumps are sloppy,” Sae points out casually.

Rin rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime,” his brother shoots back before replaying the same damn sequence where Rin nearly loses his footing. The video is now playing in slow motion and zoomed in, painfully reminding Rin that he needs to upgrade his skincare routine. Somehow, he’s glad that you’re still covering half of the TV screen, unaware of the near wipe out scene from behind.

A few seconds later and Sae speaks again. “You look stiff here, bend your knees and loosen your arms.”

Rin sighs. “ ‘Kay…”

“We’re still going for ‘love’, right? Or are we not doing that?” Your arms are crossed, fingers drumming away, still deep in thought and tuned out from their own conversation. “What songs do you wanna skate to?”

Before Rin could even provide a half-assed answer to that, Sae interrupts his thoughts with, “Please try and at least look like you’re having fun.”

“…noted,” Rin decides with a sigh. “I’m going back to bed when this is over.” Screw napping after practice, he barely got a full eight hours last night and being berated so bright and early in the morning killed any sort of energy he had prior.

“Nope,” Sae pauses halfway through the video, turning to face him with a stern look. “You’re not going back to bed, because then you won’t wake up in time for practice. Sleeping in will only ruin your current sleep schedule, too.”

Rin wants to retort that he’s not a fucking child anymore, that he doesn’t need Sae to be looking after him. However, there’s the fact that his brother is sorta his manager now and in charge of quite literally everything of Rin's career. Also, it’s kinda hard to come up with a solid comeback when they’re reviewing his rusty movements, lackluster jumps, and every thirty seconds he’s taking a small break to catch his damn breath.

You eventually plop down in the middle of the couch, between both brothers, when you realize that your question isn’t going to be answered simply. After Sae finally gets the chance to thoroughly watch a good chunk of yesterday’s practice sequence, you switch topics. “Just so you know, Rin, have you seen your comment section lately?”

Sae shuffles in his seat and suddenly Rin feels the air in the room thickening. Rin fiddles with his phone in hand, knowing full well that he did post a ‘comeback’ announcement only to then quickly turn his app notifications off, because… of his feelings of self cautiousness? Would that be the right term he’s looking for?

“What did he do?” Sae’s asking you because he knows damn well Rin wouldn’t give him the full details and you’re just so damn open about everything so Rin can’t possibly hide from this one.

But, instead of answering Sae, you cough, loud and awkward, before shooting Rin an apologetic look. “Um, nothing…?”

Alright, well Rin takes it that you’re a god awful liar.

Sae’s now staring directly in Rin’s direction and he’s trying so hard to avoid eye contact right now by pretending that their family portrait wall is the most interesting thing in the room. Of course, that doesn’t work because he can hear Sae tapping away freely on his phone and—

“Did you fucking block me on Instagram?”

Okay, yeah, Rin totally forgot about that, too. To be fair, when someone is going through a depressive episode for over a year, the last thing anyone would want to see on their feed is the success of their older sibling.

“No?”

And, turns out, he’s also an awful liar.

Sae is not happy. He is very, very unhappy.

He’s not usually the emotionally expressive type to most people, so that usually leaves Rin the luxury of experiencing the back end when his brother does decide to let his walls down. And, well, in the past, when he did get pissed off, Sae would normally vent about his coaches and stalkerish fans with a bit of sass to it, but today?

He’s currently grumbling and groaning and Rin’s pretty sure his shirt is on backwards, and bless your soul, but also fuck you, for dragging him into this mess.

After a very short Google Search of what Rin has done, followed by an equally as short lecture on how to be professional on the internet, Rin is grimley reminded by the large number of likes and retweets on Twitter that his announcement might’ve not been the best thing he’s ever posted. He really can’t understand why though, because Rin was deadset sure he was going to lose his career nearly three years ago when he got into a fight with another skater, so why is he getting canceled for announcing something… tamed? Well, he also hasn’t exactly opened his social media apps since then. A strange gnawing feeling comes up whenever he fights off the urge to check.

“You should’ve held off or at least came to me before posting something like this.”

It’s a miracle that there’s nobody else but you three at the local rink right now. It’s been nearly an hour since arrival and Rin has gotten nothing but an earful from Sae. If any family were to walk in, they’d probably immediately walk out by the sheer amount of heavy tension steaming off on the ice.

You’re stuck in your own little corner doing all sorts of warm up jumps and stretching, glancing over every now and then at Rin as your way of saying ‘sorry’ and ‘are you doing, okay’. To which, Rin would glance back with a very stiff shrug.

“What difference would it make?” Rin’s cheeks are a little flushed and there’s a slight hitch to his breath, he had just completed a couple of routine jumps Sae instructed him to do.

“Plenty,” then Sae flashes Rin a quick glimpse of his phone screen.

An array of outrageous news articles and forums come through, many of them pointing out the strange timing and the internal turmoil of sibling rivalry. There’s a couple of them mentioning drugs, two threads from some third-party news site throwing your name to the mud, and then a short Buzzfeed article listing a slideshow of other skaters congratulating Rin for rejoining the sport again.

“People are speculating that you’re only stepping in because I’m down for this season. If you would’ve just waited until everything was put together then everything would’ve been different.”

Rin blinks a little, surprised by the flush coloring his brother's cheeks that’s most certainly not from the cold rink.

Although, in a way it did make sense. If there’s one thing that famous athletes do know about the media is the fact that news outlets love fabricating drama out of nothing. Sae’s a well known gold medalist, no matter what division that medal came from, so his name came out of people’s mouth as frequently as compared to Yuzuru Hanyu or even Yuuri Katsuki, whenever figure skating was mentioned. It made sense for others to grow suspicious when Rin randomly posted that he’s coming off of hiatus without further explanation. Sae most likely hasn’t told anyone that he’s being subbed in.

Rin hesitantly nods, his snarky response dies in his throat and he feels like he’s swallowing needles when faced with the awkward reality. He’s now reluctant to speak, unsure if anything he’d say would make a difference — for better or worse. Knowing himself, probably the latter.

After a few seconds of silence, followed by a few jumps performed by you in the background, Sae runs a hand through his hair, in what Rin believes is a rare nervous gesture, looking away briefly.

“Revival,” his brother finally blurts out. “That’s the theme. You guys fine with that?” Sae’s asking, but there’s a finality to his tone. Rin and you will have to be fine with it. The season starts in a few months, soon Sae would need to prepare choreography for two programs, consult a designer for custom fittings, and take over all things that a coach and manager would do. Somehow, despite being out for this year, Rin thinks Sae might have the hardest job here.

“No objections here.”

Two months and many hours of exhausting training later, you and Rin are standing in the locker room for the first competition as an official pair. It’s the first day of the Japan Figure Skating Championships and, somehow, you look more put together than he is.

“Think this looks good?” You do a 360 spin in front of the wall mirror in your short program outfit. It’s a simple short black, gray dress with mesh sleeves and small rhinestones running down the middle. According to the designer, it’s supposed to represent the night sky.

Rin stands behind you and adjusts his black vest. Gold and white thread accents throughout his patterned shirt compared with plain black trousers. He’s supposed to adjust his cuffs, but his fingers keep fumbling with the last button because his eyes are awkwardly getting lost in your outfit. Luckily, you’re too focused on yourself to take notice.

You eventually lean closer, repeating the question when he takes too long to answer, and he feels your breath against his shoulder. “Everything alright? Are you nervous for today?” Your voice is a little hesitant, full of concern that makes Rin’s stomach slightly jump to his throat.

“Everything’s fine,” Rin sighs as he manages to shove the last button through. It’s not like he’s going to lose this competition, he might be somewhat rusty but he didn’t qualify for the Grand Prix Final just based on his name alone. “It’s just… a little bit weird that we’re the oldest ones here,” he confesses.

“You’re still hung up about that?”

It’s stupid and maybe a bit irrational, he knows that much.

You’ve also already tried to convince Rin otherwise multiple times today, but he couldn’t shake off the humiliating feeling of entering a competition where your competitors are almost half your age. Okay, maybe Rin’s being dramatic, but at least five years younger. From what he can recall, it was usually the other way around whenever he competed in men’s singles tournaments. Having to see and now experience that is something he never really mentally prepared himself for.

From the moment he stepped into the locker room, Rin was basically towering over the rest of the athletes. It’s fine, kinda, all he really needs to focus on right now is landing all of his jumps and catching you. Sae’s a strict teacher, but he doesn’t force weird techniques on others if he knows they can’t handle it.

“Isn’t he, like, totally washed up right now?”

“Shh, don’t say it so loud, Makoto! He’s right there.”

“Oh, shit, let’s go before he…” Rin didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of the sentence, not with you scooting right beside him on the bench and shoving your right ear bud into his ear.

He’s learned quickly from the following days that you are not the playlist type of person like most people. Unlike normal and sane folks, you have all of your liked songs in one playlist and you like spending your time shuffling away through the vast hundreds of genres and artists until finding the right one. In your own words, if you were to make a playlist then it would easily be over a few dozen — why do that when all of your favorite songs are in one spot?

That being said, you’re currently blasting a Frank Ocean song before shifting through a couple more songs with the intent of finding both the short program and free skate song. Oh, and for some reason you don’t use the search function at all through your liked playlist. Apparently, it “ruins” the fun.

“This would’ve been a nice song to skate to,” the tune switches to something more upbeat and indie, Rin recognizes the band to be Florence and the Machine from the vocals alone. “Sae complained about the song being too long and I called him a lazy loser shortly after.” You say with a smile but Rin’s eyes drift down only to see your leg bobbing up and down rapidly.

Rin tries to pay no mind as he continues to put on his skates. “A six minute long performance would be too much,” he agrees with Sae’s previous answer.

“Hey, tickets to these sorts of things are expensive nowadays with scalpers everywhere!” You try to reason. “If someone’s spending two hundred dollars on a seat then they can sit through a six minute long skating sequence.”

Rin rolls his eyes as he fiddles with a tangled lace. “I didn’t mean the people in the audience, I meant the skaters.”

“Well, maybe we should learn a thing or two from people who do Disney on Ice?”

“I do not want that to be my fall back career, thank you.” A shiver creeps down his spine at the thought of being forced to skate while wearing a Mickey Mouse costume of all things. Seriously, do people clean those suits?

“Hey, are you…” both of your ears perk at the sound from behind. Rin turns around first, he’s immediately greeted by one of the younger male competitors. The boy looks like he’s still growing into his body, probably not any older than seventeen.

“Yeah, I am,” Rin finishes the obvious question. Maybe the kid’s a fan by how bright his face lights up soon after. “Is there something you need?” Sae’s been drilling him to be a little bit more receptive to fellow competitors and fans alike, in order to fix some of his reputation.

“I’ve been looking at your past performances, lately,” the kid starts with a smile. “Last year, during the Grand Prix Final, you did good!”

“Thanks—”

“Your theme was the same as the previous years, but I guess that’s just something you’re comfortable with, right? The falls that you took, it was because your balance was off. You need to work better on finding your center during jumps if you seriously plan on competing in the senior division again.”

Rin only notices the pain digging in his fists when you reach over, palm encasing over his closed ones. You don’t bother looking his way, but you do say something to the kid. It sounds muffled though, or maybe Rin’s somehow zoning out? He’s not sure.

The loss from the Grand Prix is apparently still at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise. People love to pick out that particular part in his performance, acting as if they could pull it off any better. And, for a brief moment, all his past of anger and frustration at the sport suddenly comes rushing back at an overwhelming rate. Rin’s wondering who else wants to criticize him when they meet him again.

“Don’t they teach kids manners these days?” You try to shoot a glare back but, from Rin’s perspective, it just looks like you’re mildly constipated.

It kinda ends up working, because the kid backs off, scurrying away and off to his manager for last minute pep talk. Sae’s currently running late as usual, but it’s not like you two would need any words of encouragement. Rin’s competitive nerves have fizzled out by this point, at least for this event, but he’s now seething with discomfort. He’s certainly positive that you’re feeling the same way.

“I take it back, some of these kids need to be humbled and maybe even bullied.”

Okay, while Rin would agree, he feels like he has to somewhat step up in Sae’s place to make sure you don’t accidentally get kicked out of this competition for sucker punching a kid.

“It’s fine, don’t get too worked up over it. I more or less expected comments like that.”

Rin never expected anything to come easy. Climbing for his spot again in the competitive world can be absolutely ruthless and meeting skaters who are arrogant, condescending, and taunting are just part of the reality. He suspects that everyone else sees him as a washed up skater, never as a real competitor, or a real challenger for the gold medal.

“Still,” you pout, unsatisfied by his logical response, but drop the conversation as Rin tightens his laces. Then, you finally manage to find the song for the short program section after the relentless shuffling.

“It’s fine,” he reassures, and really, it’s kinda-sorta fine. It’s something that he’ll eventually get used to, even if he’s well aware of the heinous rumors floating around. Everything will die down after a week or two since most people can barely hold their attention span nowadays.

“If you’re positive,” you go back to your phone, but not before poking Rin’s sides and redirecting his attention towards the TV screen in the locker room. “Hey, the first pair is competing.”

Pair skating is a lot different from competing in singles. Aside from the obvious involvement of another party, there are more requirements in the short and free skate performances. In the Adult Singles programs, the skater focuses more on their jumps, having a higher emphasis on how many quads they can shove in — or at least that’s how Rin used to work. Quads granted him the majority of the points, it’s something that he can take some pride in compared to his other juniors and seniors.

For pairs, instead of focusing on jumps in the sequences, it’s lifts. There’s two types of lifts, overhead and twists, both are required in the programs. In general, overhead lifts rely on the movement of the person in the air, the control and execution of their rotations around the person carrying them. For twists, the most “exciting” part of the performance by judges’ words, requires an insane amount of coordination and strength since Rin has to propel you into the air by the waist.

Sae had the lovely idea to throw in three overhead lifts, just because he thinks Rin can handle it. Those evening practices at the rink, followed by early morning lifting sessions absolutely killed him, both physically and spiritually. Though, safe to say that he’s just about near his physical peak last year from all the training.

You and Rin both waited patiently in the locker rooms for the first three pair performances, only leaving and heading by the outer rink when you guys queued next. Sae leans against the railing, the brace on his foot now gone and, instead of chunky sneakers, he’s opted back to his expensive loafers. Maybe that’s why he ran late, just in case paparazzi took snapshots of his entire outfit. Go figure.

“I think you guys will have no issue securing gold.” Sae’s voice comes through the haze of Rin’s thoughts, sounding distinctly unimpressed by the current line up. “Even if you guys fumble your lifts, I think the amount of it will carry enough points.”

Erupted cheers soon fill the air and all eyes turn to the rink as the pair’s performance ends. You soon recognize one of the skaters being the teenager from earlier and throw Rin a look.

“We’re going to make sure that he doesn’t get a chance at winning until next year.” You announce, tone casual but eyes flickering something darker than what Rin’s used to.

Sae scoffs and leans against the railing, holding Rin’s Winnie the Pooh tissue box in his arms. “I’m assuming the locker room talk wasn’t all too friendly?”

“Maybe not your usual idea of friendly,” and Rin surges forward, taking your hands into his, when the pair in question struts by and casts both of you a nasty glare. Your grip around his bicep tightens and, while he didn’t care too much about beating a bunch of lukewarm competitors earlier, Rin’s fully certain that he wants nothing more than that gold medal and to clear both of your names from accusations right now.

Piano sounds ring throughout the arena from the speakers, starting with a single word that you’ve both heard countless times during practice. The soft piano notes quickly turn into a somber melody, growing louder with every passing second. The music is beautiful. Haunting, even. Capturing the audience in a trance while Rin prepares you for your first lift.

It’s strange, he thinks. While he’s gotten used to handling you, this is different from every other time. During practices, you’re always carefree and cheerful but, out here, surrounded by cameras and opinions of others that don’t weigh a thing, you’re focused and extremely precise in your form.

Rin thought he knew your routine. Clearly, he’s mistaken.

You skate with conviction, confidence, and accuracy. He can understand why you were originally Sae’s skating partner.

Once you’ve landed back on the ice, keeping up with Rin’s speed, the two of you follow the song’s beat with a smooth series of spins and jumps, each one rotating faster and faster until it feels like the mere audience is just a blurry backdrop in the foreground.

The final lift jump transitions easily into a simple step sequence before finally ending in a death spiral. Rin has a firm grip on your hand as you begin flattening your body low enough, face barely grazing the ice below, as he pivots you around in lull circles.

Judging from the sounds from the audience, Rin didn’t need to stay around to know the results of the performance. The roars, chants, and the standing ovation from them is enough to make out the outcome but, for your sake, he’ll stick it through.

You both glide through the last few seconds of the short program, focusing on nothing but the music and remaining movements. Finally, the music notes fade out and the two of you come to a rest in the middle of the rink, the final position has Rin tipping your body backwards with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, as if you both were reaching for something just out of your grasp.

Thunderous roars ring in his flushed ears and you’re shooting him a look, eyes glassy and lips parting, possibly saying some sort of praise, but Rin can’t seem to focus. He’s too lost in thought, too distracted by the tenderness of the performance, the flashing lights, the way your chest is heaving in rapid waves, and didn’t realize he had been holding in his breath until you pulled him into a tight embrace.

Everything is just about perfect. Every jump, lift, and spin. He can already imagine the gold medal around his neck, and the thought of winning gold at the Grand Prix only makes the rest of his blood course through his veins faster.

Being a professional athlete again is… exhausting.

Rin spends the following day in back to back conferences and being introduced to people. Most of them end up being unremarkable and forgettable. A couple of them are rude and eccentric, with one guy in particular honing down Rin in a corner and bombarding him with questions both surrounding his performance last year and his personal life. You and Sae had to step in to diffuse the situation before Rin blew a hole in his career again.

By the end of the night, Rin debates whether he should switch careers because this shit is absolutely not for him. It’s no surprise to anyone that Rin hates being around people and this night he’s probably escaped to the restroom maybe about five times to catch a breather. And, while Rin is not the type to exactly care about his image, he absolutely does a full body inspection in the full body mirror every time before he steps back out. Each time he revisits a new wrinkle line forms.

And his brother hasn’t told him when it’ll be over.

Rin’s hands twitch after another self-proclaimed journalist finishes up a half-ass interview about his latest goals for this year. He pulls out his phone when they suggest giving out their contact information and Rin just zones out, tapping away gibberish in his notes app and nodding until they finally went away.

He feels like he’s going to vomit and pass out if this goes on any longer.

“You look like you’re about to freak out,” and of course, you have the decency to point that out as he’s made the fruit salad section his little hideaway spot. Turns out people really dislike any sort of fruit dishes at these fancy events.

“I’m not,” Rin muffles back, mouth stuffed with various chunks of honeydew and grapes. Even if it is true, he’ll never admit it, but it also does suck that he's stupidly easy to read. “The food just sucks here, that’s all.” The fruit isn’t that bad. Maybe just the strawberries.

“Whatever you say, partner,” you roll your eyes playfully, almost giggling at the nickname before taking a sip from the glass of champagne in your hands. “If you want, we can sneak out of here and explore the city.” It’s a suggestion but, from the way you’re smiling, Rin picks up that he can’t wiggle his way out of it.

But he tries anyway.

“Do you even know your way around?” He sounds vaguely concerned.

Sure, it’s been approximately two months since you’ve crashed and turned his life a complete 180, but you’re still new to the area and very much new to the country. Rin’s heard you picked up basic phrases from his brother to get around but it’s still nearly not enough to go and explore, especially late at night. And, rightfully so, he doesn’t plan on babysitting while you waltz around half tipsy off your mind after winning first place.

You fake a wound over your chest and gasp, hiccuping soon after. “I have maps on my phone! I already pinned and favorited a bunch of cute stores we can check out.”

Rin doesn’t know why you even bother throwing him into the equation considering it’ll clearly be stores you’ll like.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Sae’s sauntering over, a half empty glass of wine in hand, and his movement is a little sluggish, but he’s probably the only few sobered up person in the room aside from Rin.

“Out,” you reply with a casual shrug, as if Sae’s supposed to be satisfied with the answer.

“Out...” Sae echos before flickering his sudden sharp gaze over to Rin. He feels himself straightening up before he realizes. “You guys still have to make your statements to the press, you know that, right?”

“Can’t we do it after we get back?” You quickly dismiss Sae’s annoyed scrunch with a quick waft of a hand.

Rin really doesn’t want to stand in front of a bunch of drunken and overly zealous journalists right now if he doesn’t have to. The idea of visiting a few late night street vendors might just be his highlight for today.

“Hey,” Sae’s agitated voice snaps him out of his daze. “Are you seriously going out?”

Instead of providing his brother a proper answer, Rin takes a hold of your hands and throws his jacket over your bare shoulders. You were complaining earlier about losing yours, and the last thing he wants is a drunk and cold skating partner in the middle of the streets of Nagano.

2024 — NAGANO: JAPAN FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS

Posted 16 hours ago 278,293 views

Comments 543

[niCOnii] - 10 hours ago All these rin haters from earlier can eat my socks because i knew he would comeback!!! his partner ain’t half bad either tbh View 30 replies [klnen2003] - 9 hours ago GO TO THE VIDEO AT 4:45 and see how Rin looks at Y/N!!! There’s definitely something there, right??? View 12 replies [YOICHISAGI OFFICIAL] - 9 hours ago Can’t wait to see Rin Itoshi and Y/N L/N compete at the Grand Prix this year!! Let’s catch up sometime! View 154 replies [jiroMark8734] - 8 hours ago I dunno… isn’t it weird how they swept everyone else tho? Can’t tell me that they’re both not taking anything lmao [my_skates_my_life] - 7 hours ago Congrats to everyone for winning!! And thank you so much for posting this. LOVE FROM ARGENTINA!! [merhaba234] - 7 hours ago Rin’s always doing the same level type program both in technique and artistic. It’s refreshing to see something new!

TAGLIST - OPEN

@anurst @blissblossom @genneii @wooasecret @chaosinanutshell @kaiserkisser @rroxii @takotakigum @jaynawayna @peachesncats @sseishiross @izumi-astra-123 @sereniteav @pokkomi

a/n: im crawling on the ground,,, if anyone knows me: i love making rin suffer but please know its in a loving way. is his brother hotter? yeah. but does his brother have a sad backstory? yeah probably. either way, i love working w men with sibling complexes and his whole design basically oozes with melodrama. rin!!! you are gonna be in it for a surprise next chapter!! also apologies for the late update everyone hehe i dont have a set schedule for everything ;-; and my mind runs either at 500 miles an hour or 0 miles. as of late, life has gotten in the way of things and maybe i do need to stick with some sort of plan to make myself ... less stressed when creating content :> anyways, i love you guys!!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x female reader #cw: depression #cw: mental health

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fruitr0llup · 2 months

Text

“no matter what.”

im nayeon x fem!twice 10th member reader; fluff

warnings: a HINT of angst if you squint, talk of disbandment

w/c: 747

a/n: i don’t like this fic but i’ll post it anyways </3 NOT PROOFREAD !!!!

it was saturday, and today was one of the days where all of the girls had an off day. they were rare, so most spent it with eachother, doing fun things around seoul, but a select few, including you, decided to stay at the dorm and rest.

you lounged on your bed, keen on spending your day off rotting in bed. you had scrolled through your phone for hours now, and honestly you were getting kind of bored. you were thinking of going to bother Mina, who had stayed behind, but figured she’d probably tell you to leave so that she could continue playing her game.

so instead, you kept scrolling, mindlessly wandering the internet. that’s until something caught your eye. It was an article on Jeongyeon’s interview with Bazzar earlier that week. You skimmed through the interview, curious to see what the older girl had said.

You stopped when you came across a question asking “Can you believe twice is in its 10th year?”

You felt your heart pang. No, you couldn’t believe that twice was in its tenth year. You couldn’t believe that you had spent ten years with these girls, who used to be strangers to you. it all felt so surreal.

you continued to read, wanting to know what Jeongyeon replied. You felt another pang in your heart reading what she answered. She replied, “How many more albums can we release as twice in the future? We can’t be active as twice forever. Of course, it would be nice if we could, but there will come a time when we each have to walk our own path. It’s not a given that we can prepare an album together like now.”

You set your phone down, getting lost in your thoughts. You hadn’t thought about what it would be like without twice. without your members. you’ve spent every waking hour with them since sixteen, and a world without them feels unreal. but Jeongyeons right, you can’t be twice forever. you’ll have to move on eventually.

just the thought makes you tear up. and in seconds, you have tears running down your face, ugly crying. you grab the tissue box by your bed and try to clean your face up, but failing as the tears continue to stream down your face.

you hear a knock on your door, “y/n-ah, are you okay?” it’s nayeon. she must have heard your wailing.

you sniffle, using all your strength to muster up a reply. “y-yes, nayeon un-unnie” you said through sniffles.

“y/n, you’re clearly not. i’m coming in.” she opens the door, revealing you sitting in your bed, your face red, tissues spewed everywhere, and snot running down your nose. her eyes soften instantly. “oh baby…” she walks over to you, sitting on your bed and pulling you into her embrace. “what’s wrong?” she asks, stroking your hair.

“what are we going to do, unnie…” you mutter. nayeon pulls away, looking at you softly.

“what do you mean?” at that, you start spewing out words. you express how you’re not ready for the future. how you don’t want to grow up. how frightened you are at the fact that it’s already been ten years, when it seemed like only yesterday you all debuted. and how scared you are that you’re going to lose all of them. your best friends.

nayeon looks at you with a pout. she takes your face in her hands and wipes your tears. “it will be okay, y/n-ah.” she says, stroking your hair.

“unnie, i don’t kn-know what i’m going to do without you g-guys..” you say, sobbing.

nayeon sighs. of course she’s thought about disbandment. she wasn’t ready for it either; none of them were. so she tells you what she had been telling herself. “y/n, no matter what happens. no matter what path we choose to take. we are always going to be twice. a silly disbandment won’t break our friendship. we’ll always have eachothers backs, and support each other in whatever we decide to do.”

you nod, hugging her again. she lays down on your bed, putting your head on her chest. “go to sleep, y/n… you’ve had a long day..” you nod, wiping a stray tear.

the two of you sit in silence for a while, before you speak up. “i love you, unnie…” you say, hugging her tighter.

nayeon rubs your back with her hand. “i love you too, y/n.”

you fall asleep, with nayeons comforting embrace assuring you that no matter what life brings you, you’ll always be together.

you’ll always be twice

#twice #twice imagines #jyp twice #im nayeon #twice nayeon #nayeon #nayeon x reader #twice tenth member #kpop gg #kpop #kpop imagines #twice fluff #nayeon fluff #kpop x reader #twice x fem reader

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nonotnolan · 1 year

Text

Rookie Mistake

“Yeah, I realized the other day that, like... I’ve spent the last five Sunday afternoons, like, completely blacked out,” he said, rubbing his hands as he spoke. Dave, our next door neighbor, was telling my mother why he didn’t host his normal Saturday night party yesterday. I had to admit I was not expecting that answer. “I didn’t even think I had been drinking that much, but like... why else would that happen, y’know?"

Well, I knew exactly why he had been blacked out the past five Sundays-- I’d been using the spellbook I found in the attic to slip into his smoking hot body. Look at his chest, can you blame me? Dude has shoulders for days. I’d hop into his body when my mom and her husband went out on their date night, and then I would download Grindr to score a few casual hookups with some eager twinks. Being home from college over the summer sucked, and Dave’s body helped make it suck less. It was a victimless crime-- or so I had thought.

Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about what Dave would remember whenever I hopped into his body. Total rookie mistake, but it could have been a lot worse. As long as I stayed out of his body, his blackouts would stop, and no one would be any the wiser. Dave excused himself and went back inside his house, while Mom and I finished up bringing the groceries inside. Hopefully I didn’t look too guilty.

I took the spellbook down off my shelf, and pulled up Google translate again-- the damn thing was written in Latin. The good news is that all of the spells were illustrated, so it was usually pretty clear what each spell would do. The bad news is that a lot of the rules were written in small, cursive handwriting that the computer couldn’t read when photographed. I was making decent headway translating word by word, but it was... tedious, to say the least. Can you blame me for getting impatient?

The astral form spell I’d been using to possess Dave hadn’t said anything about memory loss, but I had also stopped translating after three paragraphs. I’d already learned the important pieces, or so I had thought. You can’t travel more than a quarter mile away from your body without risking permanent separation, your astral form could be blocked by wards or captured by soul snares, whatever the hell those were... and then the spell started talking about how it was really good for spying on your enemies. Wouldn’t something like target memory loss be important enough to mention earlier? I was livid, but it was ultimately my mistake for using a spell that I hadn’t fully translated.

I’d only made it through another half-paragraph before I got interrupted by a knock on my door. “Sweetie, I just wanted to let you know that it’s just me going out tonight,” Mom said. “Henry isn’t feeling well, so he’s going to stay behind and rest up, okay? I know I don’t have to worry about you staying quiet for him while he sleeps. See you tonight!”

I could scarcely maintain my excitement as I waited for the sound of my mother locking the front door. Henry, my step-father, was a delicious otter of a man. I hadn’t even considered the thought of taking over his body, but how could I resist an opportunity handed to me on such a silver platter? And if he was planning on sleeping anyway, the memory loss issue didn’t matter! Translating the rest of the spell could wait, I needed to seize this opportunity before it slipped away. I made sure to clear off my bed, and position myself in a neutral posture before casting the spell-- the first time I used the spell and returned to my body, the crick in my neck took three days to fully heal. Once my astral form had separated itself from my body, I flew as fast as I could to Henry’s sleeping form.

After all... just look at this man. Henry is... he’s like gay candy. Any time the three of us go out together, I don’t think he realizes how many skinny dudes can’t look away from him. And for the next few hours, that would be me. God, it was such a rush to think about that. Can you blame me for getting excited? Aside from the occasional dress pant, Henry never really wore anything that would display his bulge, so I wasn’t sure what sort of equipment I would be working with, but... now that it was in my hands, I was not disappointed. So that was a ten minute detour. I’m only human, after all.

My next order of business was to take some raunchy selfies and send them to my phone for some, uhh... future me time. The problem was that the only rooms in the house with good lighting were also the rooms where Mom had already redecorated Henry’s house with floral wallpaper. Seeing that in the background was just a total boner kill. I’d have to use my room for photos. I try to avoid seeing my lifeless body whenever I can-- it’s kind of unsettling-- but in this case, it was worth the discomfort.

I figured Henry’s strength would be more than enough to carry my body down to the living room couch, only... when I opened my door, the bed was empty. The pit of my stomach sank to the floor as I stared at the impression in my bed sheets, the only remaining sign that my body had previously been resting there. I started taking deep breaths, running my hands across my new chest fur as I tried to calm down. If the astral form spell was going to cause my body to disappear, it would have happened before today. The first step was probably to search the rest of the house, just in case anything else had been displaced.

I found my body outside, shirtless, smoking a cigarette on the patio. He had to have heard me-- I certainly wasn’t quiet as I flung upon the back door-- but he didn’t even bother to look up at me.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my body?” I said, trying to puff out Henry’s chest for maximum intimidation.

My body responded by blowing a cloud of smoke into my face. “Get over yourself,” he said, taking another long drag. “You grabbed my spellbook out of my attic, turned the next door neighbor into a meat suit, and now you have the gall to pretend that you’re the victim here?”

I tried to think of some sort of witty comeback, but my brain had completely frozen up. “I... Henry? Is that you in there? What are you doing?”

“Watching you fall for the world’s most obvious trap,” he said, lording over me with a smug grin on his face. He had me dead to rights, and we both knew it. “Your mother hadn’t even finished pulling out of the driveway, and your horny ass was already trying to take over my body. Good thing I had already started my own astral form before she left. Mind you, I have ways of keeping unwanted spirits out of my body... but then we wouldn’t be having this delightful conversation, would we?

“Consider yourself busted,” he said, snuffing out the cigarette on the patio table. “You’re going to spend the night here, pretending to be me while keeping to yourself under the guise of feeling sick. I’m going to take your body out for a joyride tonight, same as you did to Dave. We’ll switch back in the morning. No funny business, or you’ll learn first hand why I no longer need to use a spellbook to cast magic.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said, nodding my head. Seeing Henry inside of my lanky body with his arms crossed, it looked catty rather than intimidating. All the same, I was not about to try and mess with him any further. Better to take the L here. “Hey, uhh... after tonight’s punishment... do you... do you think you could teach me how to use that spellbook?”

Henry paused, sizing me up and down with his eyes before speaking. “Me, teaching you? After a rookie mistake like this? Not on your life.”

#male body swap #gay body swap #casual body swap #male possession #male body possession #male body theft #selfish magic

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itsgodepi · 7 months

Text

If I lose my mind | Ch. 5

Series summary: When life has given you more than enough lemons and you cannot figure out how to make a lemonade, the only way to make it work is to get rid of the whole basket. But was it neccesary to send you to a whole different dimension for that? A juicer would have done the job, really. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 3k Also on AO3

Reading your own Wikipedia page is quite a strange experience. Paragraph after paragraph of your life written on the internet for everybody to see, from the day you were born all the way to this very moment.

You do not know if the fact that none of it is true is for better or worse.

Some parts are accurate, information about your hometown, date of birth, relatives' names and... that’s about it really. According to this biography, not only have you been the runner-up for a Formula 3 championship, but you are also a Formula 2 champion, which is good you guess, for someone that did not even know those kinds of competitions existed. As of two hours ago, Formula One was the only championship with those kinds of cars you had ever heard about, but there are so many. Too many actually. In a section of your page named ‘junior racing career’ —which is in itself a crazy sentence to read—, it even says something about karting’s championships and an academy thing, concepts you are not sure if you want to understand.

Oh, and the most important part, you are a Formula 1 driver, a statement endlessly repeated throughout the text. They even claim this to be your second year on the motorsport, ‘not a rookie anymore’ they say, as if yesterday’s race was not the first one you have ever watched from start to finish.

Still, if being pushed into a Formula One car and a whole Wikipedia page was not enough of a confirmation, you can find a million articles online that certify your participation in the sport. Webs filled with photos of you with the cars, dressed in full gear and with that stupid blue helmet, the situation getting worse and worse with every tap of your finger.

How is any of this possible?

The rabbit hole that seems to be your ‘life’ keeps you awake night after night, new information slapping you in the face every two minutes while you try to navigate what appears to be a Formula One driver’s normal schedule. Nick makes sure of that last part at least.

The first step on that agenda had been to fly out of Austria, a place you cannot comprehend how you had arrived to when you were in Spain just yesterday. It is not like you were having the best time of your life there, finishing the third month of your external internship in a city you thought was already too far away from home, but this change looks a bit excessive. The possibility of being in a completely different country had seemed so absurd at first, when a list called Austrian GP came up as one of the top results in your research, and yet with a simple look to the navigation app, your worst nightmare had been confirmed. From your trip to the airport, to the arrival to another country, France, and to a new hotel, Nick walking you through every step of the process and only leaving you alone once you are back in the hotel room.

The next few days follow a similar dynamic, mornings spent trailing behind Nick without a clue of what happens around you and long nights glued to the phone, the date for the next GP —or whatever they call it— getting closer and closer.

You are not ready to repeat last Sunday’s events, an engine failure had saved you from the inevitable end, but you might not be so lucky next time. There is no way you are stepping into that car again, that is for sure, and even less so when you have not figured out what brought you here in the first place.

Although you had drowned yourself in information about your supposed life the first nights in France, the need to discover what was happening to you had quickly managed to overpower that curiosity. From the moment Nick knocks on your door early on the morning to the hours you lay awake on bed looking for anything that could explain this madness, you spend every second of the day looking for an explanation.

A kidnapping had been the most credible theory from day one, the way you had woken up to all those screams and the men surrounding you, how Nick had come into your hotel room that morning and pushed you to drive with no regard for your safety. It made sense. However, the articles posted all over the internet told a very different story. There is too much information about you, some posts even dating back to when you were a child, photos and videos that cannot be simply edited and uploaded to make you believe you have gone crazy. You have driven a Formula One car on an official race, for crying out loud, that is not something anybody can orchestrate.

To be honest, the whole Formula One thing had knocked down quite a few of your guesses. What could someone gain from making you, a nobody, believe they are a motorsport driver?

In fact, the only theory that could easily explain everything that had happened to you in the past few days is that: none of this is real. A dream. You can vividly remember dozing off on your bed, that sensation of falling down and then suddenly waking up in that unfamiliar place. It could be the reason why you had blacked out when the car exited the garage, why everyone knew you, and could also explain the existence of all those false stories on the internet.

You had made all of this up.

That had indeed been one of your first assumptions, or at least had been an easy way for your mind to let go of all the worries in such an unnerving situation. If this was not real, there was nothing to stress about, no danger in sight. Your alarm will go off any moment now and you will be one day closer to ending this internship and going back home. Tomorrow will be a new day.

Despite this, as time goes by, it becomes harder and harder to hold onto this happy thought.

Stepping foot into the new track is a breaking point. It is Friday, five days have gone by and nothing has changed, the countdown to the next race weighting down on your mind as you walk through what Nick had called the paddock. It is that strange street again, the one lined by those colorful buildings but in a completely different country —another clue that this was indeed not real, you were clearly lacking imagination to be recycling sceneries like this.

They had brough you here yesterday as well, for a tour around the track that had set your nerves alight. Thankfully, you had done nothing but wander around the circuit for a while, be surrounded by a couple cameras, have a meeting with the engineers and go back to the hotel for another sleepless night.

Maybe you should sleep more —which sounds quite contradictory when you are supposedly already dreaming— because, when the events of last Sunday start repeating themselves, you do not even have the strength to push back. Nick manages once again to lure you into the white building and prepare you for what he calls practice, but the reality is that just the sight of that Formula One car on the garage makes you heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t worry about times,” a man who has been following you all day says “Let’s see if everything feels good first and we’ll talk things over for FP2”.

A lot of changes had been made to the car since Austria, that is what all the meetings had been about. You had silently sat down through all of them, nodding along to the engineers’ words as if you understood any of it.

Now that you are seated in the car, blue helmet and jumpsuit on, you can only wish that whatever broke the car in Austria has not been fixed. That the engine won’t even start, and you will have to retire again. It is hard enough to listen to the rest of the cars exiting their own garages, their engines revving like they might explode.

How they have managed to put you on the spot yet again, that you do not understand. And it is not only a one-time thing, but they easily make you jump in the car later the day for a second practice.

When you are finally helped out of the car the second time, body uncontrollably trembling and a static sound filling your ears, you feel an unusual sense of calmness. The whole ride had felt like such a clear sign that none of this is real, it can’t be. Both practices had gone by in the blink of an eye, just like it had happened in Austria, a fade to black and you are back where you started. You do not even remember seeing other cars on the road or how you got back to the garage. Nothing. The only proof that you had driven around for hours being the fatigue consuming your body, something that backs the dreaming theory up so perfectly.

They say you have done great though, so that is something.

Nevertheless, it feels nice to be back on normal clothes, like there is less of a target on your back for the cameras and other strangers, but it is still difficult to keep a low profile when you are walking through the paddock with the team’s merchandising. Nick is guiding you out to the last meeting of the day, after you have fulfilled all the media duties and team reunions that have kept you on the track since your arrival this morning. He says this driver’s briefing thing should not last long, that it is quite late already, and they are probably thinking more about going back home than anything.

The meeting is on another building, one you had not even noticed in your two days here, Nick leading you inside and up some stairs until you find the meeting room. When he opens the door, you realize there is already people seated inside, the sound of their mixed talks now filling the long corridor. You recognize some of them, not from the team meetings but from Austria, other drivers.

The room is furnished as a classroom, a projector on the right wall and the rest of the space filled with rows of chairs. There are not many people in it yet, Nick had said it would be better to get there early before people start crowding the entrance and now you understood why. Your gaze instantly zeroes in on Lewis, a tiny smile pulling at your lips while Nick guides you to some seats, deciding to leave your things with him and go say hello. You have not seen him since Austria, after you had spent the entire pre-race ceremony talking to him, and now that you have kind of ruled out the possibility that he is a kidnapper, you have realized that maybe he was just being nice.

Yet, before you can take more than two steps away from Nick, you feel someone pulling at your hand. You come to a sudden stop, looking back to see a man seated in the row in front of you and Nick’s seat regarding you with a huge grin on his lips. He has dark hair and big brown eyes that seem to be staring into your soul.

“Oh c’mon, you’re not even going to say hello because I didn’t get you cookies last week?” the man chuckles, tilting his head as he looks up at you like he cannot believe what you were about to do “Isn’t that too much?”

Even though his tone is light and jokey, you cannot help but frown at him. Why would you greet him when you don’t know him in the first place? And why is he holding your hand?

Instead of letting go when you stand there in silence, too stunned to react to his words, he decides to pull you down into the seat next to his “Didn’t Charles get you some? You are being greedy at this point” he jokes once you are seated, not a word leaving your lips.

Oh, Charles, you remember him from Austria as well. Actually, he was wearing the same exact red shirt as this man, a detail that the abrupt start of the conversation had left you blind to. The Ferrari logo in both his chest and cap are even more of a telltale of who he must be. Charles’ teammate.

“They were nice...” you respond, crossing your legs and relaxing back on the chair now that you have gathered your bearings. It is true, you had been munching on those cookies throughout the race after your disqualification, Nick bringing them over to you as a treat to distract you.

The man shakes his head in disbelief, smile widening as he assures you “I'll get you a full basket next time, don’t worry”

The promise genuinely makes you smile, he seems nice.

“How’s the car doing?” the man queries, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks around

You can almost feel the media training kicking in, pre-made phrases hanging off the tip of your tongue, they have been putting a microphone in your face and asking you about it all morning. Nonetheless, you manage to push it all down, it finally feels like you are having a normal conversation after this stressful week, you are not about to parrot the engineers' words for the millionth time “Well, it hasn’t caught fire yet...”

The man seems to like that answer, letting out a giggle and a “That’s an improvement” while he nods in understanding. There is a moment of silence that follows, his eyes set on your face as if he was waiting for something that does not come. Is he expecting a more in-depth response or something? Yet, before you can decide on what to do, he finally wills himself to say what he has been thinking ever since you entered the room “So... are you feeling better?”

The question catches you off guard at first, the conversation taking a more serious turn than you had expected —or wanted. Should you say you are great, just to shut down the topic entirely? The room is filling up with people by the second and it is not like you are about to open your heart to a total stranger. Or are you supposed to give the same response Nick had made you repeat over and over again in front of the journalists? ‘I’m perfectly fine now, it was pure exhaustion’.

“I’m-” you start saying, mind not really having decided on what lie to tell, when someone pats your head.

You rise your head to look behind you, both to see who it is and to get away from their touch —what is with this people taking such liberties?—, the man by your side doing the same. Standing tall behind your row of chairs is none other than the man you have spent day and nights thinking about: Daniel.

“Ready for the two hours briefing?” he sighs with a raised eyebrow, his hand traveling down to your shoulder when you turn your body around to talk to him. This is the first time you have seen the man out of that bright orange jumpsuit, now sporting a shirt of the same color instead, logos drawn all over it. He is still wearing that matching cap though.

“So dramatic...” the man seated by your side snickers, the previous chat seemingly forgotten “We should do a twenty-four-hour briefing just for you”

“Mate,” Daniel says with a half-smile, pointing at you with a tilt of his head “she wasn’t here last year”

That must mean something you do not understand because it is all the man in red needs to groan out loud, his face falling in defeat at the prospect of having to sit through such a long meeting. On the other hand, you can only sit there with your eyebrows furrowed, Nick had assured you would be out of here in no time. And of course you were not here last year, or ever, you have not- but your inner monologue gets suddenly interrupted by the one phrase you have been telling yourself all day: none of this is real, you’re dreaming.

“What? No, she was driving here last year” another voice joins the conversation, his statement sharp and direct. You lean your body forward to see who it is, he has taken a seat on the other side of the man in red and his body is blocking the stranger’s face, eyes widening when you recognize him. Charles.

“It was still Mazepin in France, he almost crashed into Kimi remember?” Daniel corrects him with a side grin “She started after the break in... was it Silverstone?”

Daniel looks at you for confirmation on this one, the other two men also lowering their gaze to yours, waiting. You are so overwhelmed though, it feels so strange, the fact that they are talking so categorically about things that have not ever happened. What is Mazepin? Kimi? And Silverstone? What break? The pressure of the situation getting to you in the worst possible moment.

So you end up doing what you do best, nod along to whatever the other person says even though you do not understand anything. That is what you have done to the engineers, to the media, to Nick and now to these three men before the start of a briefing that you won’t understand a word of either.

Afterall, none of this matter, this is only a dream, right?

Next Chapter

___

Author's note: Thanks a lot for all the hearts, comments and everything! I'm so happy you're liking the fic

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lewis hamilton x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you #carlos sainz x you #charles leclerc x you #lewis hamilton x you #daniel ricciardo x you

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lieslab · 11 months

Text

My Muse

Summary: Hyunjin has a rough day at work. After trying to take out his stress by drawing you, it’s not working. It’s up to you to help make him feel better.

Word Count: 1,260

Genre: Fluff

Read the last post: 🥒

_ _ _

Hyunjin hadn’t said much since he came back home from work. He mentioned yesterday that today the band was going to spend half of the day recording new music and the other half was going to be spent learning new choreography for a song.

He had left for work cheerily as ever. You had packed him his lunch and written a brief sweet note and stuck it in his lunchbox. You knew that he was hard on himself sometimes. You couldn’t be with him physically, so the notes you sent every day were the next best option.

When he came through the front door, a frown sat on his face. The corners of his mouth were lower than they normally were. You knew the drill. At times like this, he didn’t want to be coddled. He didn’t want your love and affection during these times.

The two of you had agreed that when Hyunjin came home upset from work, you wouldn’t overwhelm him. No kisses, no tender touches, nothing. He just wanted to be left alone and yet you still craved his presence. So the two of you would sit in the same room. Still with each other and yet far away.

Lost in your own forms of escapism while still being near. It made both of you content. When Hyunjin had finally worked himself out of one of his moods, you’d be there. Ready to kiss away the stagnant remainders of whatever unpleasant funk was left behind.

Today was no different. You were curled up on the couch with a book when he entered. Glancing over at him, you didn’t bother getting up off the couch. “Welcome home,” you called out and then you went back to your book.

Hyunjin kicked off his shoes, hung up his jacket, muttered a similar greeting and went back to the back of the house. You ignored it and continued flipping through the pages of your latest novel. You had been wanting to read this one for a while, so you had been glued to the couch reading it for over an hour.

Out of your peripheral vision, you could make out Hyunjin coming back to the living room. His sketchbook was in one hand and a pencil and eraser were in another. This didn’t come as a surprise. He had said it himself that sketching was one of the best ways to let go of his stress.

So the two of you sat for a while. You still soaking up your imaginary world and him drawing all over a blank white page. The only sounds filling the air were the occasional crinkling of paper as you turned the page and Hyunjin’s pencil scribbling up against paper.

Without warning, paper tore. You glanced up to see Hyunjin ripping a sheet of paper out of his sketchbook. He balled it up between his hands and tossed it onto the floor. You opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it. Whatever was going on in his head, you didn’t want to make it worse.

So you went back to your book until it happened again a few minutes later and again and again. By the fourth time, you closed your book and looked up at him. His teeth had sunken into the soft flesh of his bottom lip. His fingers turned white as he squeezed the ball of paper between his hands.

“Are you okay?” You asked timidly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He tossed the ball of paper to the floor where it laid with the others. “I can’t get the drawing right. Besides that, I kept screwing up the choreography. I thought that maybe drawing would make me feel better, but it’s only making me feel worse.”

“What are you trying to draw?”

“You.”

“Huh?” Soft pink blush rushed up to your cheeks. “Why me?”

“Because I love you, but I can’t do you justice. You’re my muse, you’re my everything. I just can’t seem to capture your beauty properly. I can’t get the angles of your face right. I can’t get your nose right either. I want to draw you, but I can’t.” He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his long hair.

You chuckled and slowly moved towards him on the other end of the couch. He raised an eyebrow as you gently took his hands in yours. You ran his hand across your jawline and he let out a small laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Maybe if you can feel the shape of my jaw, maybe it’ll help.” You grabbed his pointer finger and ran it over the top of your nose. “Is it helping?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t be shy. Go ahead and touch my face.”

And so he did. The soft pads of his fingers gently made their way across every inch of your face. You closed your eyes and basked in his touch. He touched you with such delicacy, as if you were the most fragile person on earth.

Nimble fingers ran over your jawline a few more times. Brushing up against your cheekbones. As if he was a sculpture sculpting your face, as lightly as he could, he pressed his thumbs against your eye sockets and trailed up to the corners of your eyes. Using two fingers on each hand, he traced your eyebrows.

Since he was this close to your face, he could see how lovely your lashes were. He had studied your face hundreds of times when you were sleeping, but it had never been like this. He had never had the chance to touch you like this.

It was so intimate and you were so vulnerable. You knew he could see every flaw you had when he was this close to you. Every pore, every scar, every curve, every slope, every single thing that made you, you. Your eyebrows that wildly grew out, the eyelashes that kept falling into your eyes, the peach fuzz. He could see everything and you hated it.

And yet this was Hyunjin. He had told you over and over and over, he loved you and you were beautiful. You lapped up every little praise. Every murmur of approval sent butterflies to your stomach and caused your heart to beat faster. You loved him and he loved you.

Without warning, a thumb ran over your lips. In shock, you opened your eyes to look at him. That’s all he needed, the warmth in your eyes. You didn’t have to say anything. He tilted his head and let his lips collide with yours. Fireworks popped and sizzled inside of you. Your cheeks flushed red and everything was on fire.

He pulled away and let his forehead rest against yours. “Thank you, my muse.”

You smiled and pulled your head away. Kissing the tip of his nose, you moved away from him. “Did it work? Are you going to try to draw me again?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

“Do you have time for a bowl of ice cream before you begin? I know how long your art takes and I think you should probably eat something before you get lost in it and lose track of time.”

“I’d never turn down ice cream.”

“Good because I have your favorite!”

He watched as you turned and left the living room. Your book sat beside him on the couch. He leaned back with his sketchbook, pencil, and eraser on his lap. How lucky was he? Not everyone had the chance to find their very own muse.

Read the next drabble: 🍯

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #stay #stray kids fluff #fanfic writing #fanficwriter #skz imagines #skz fanfic #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin fluff #kpop fanfic

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 10 months

Text

close to home | chapter fourteen

plot: after passing out from dehydration, the reader doesn't get a moment to rest when two bodies show up

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,872 Warnings: violence, blood A/N: thanks for reading!

Daryl was talking with Rick when he saw you pass out, and his stomach immediately dropped. He cursed loudly and ran down the fenced pathway to where Glenn and Sasha were kneeling next to you.

“She was in the cell block with the sickness, you think this is it?” Sasha asked, looking over your pale face.

“Nah, can’ be,” Daryl said, because the alternative was too hard to think about. “She been up with us all day workin’ in the heat, probably wasn’ drinkin’, ya’ll know how she can be,”

Glenn and Rick shared a skeptical look, but you weren’t showing any other symptoms and weren’t sick ten minutes ago.

“I think he’s right. It’s over a hundred out, and she does have a habit of forgetting to take care of herself,” Rick said, “We should bring her up to her room and just let her sleep it off.”

“She lost a decent amount of blood yesterday, too, from those guys that attacked you two. Didn’t need stitches but still, couldn’t have helped,” Maggie said, looking between Daryl and you.

Everyone visibly relaxed at her words and believed it was exhaustion and dehydration.

Before anyone could say anything else, Daryl carefully picked you up. He heard you groan softly and adjusted you so your head fell against his shoulder. “Imma put her in her cell and set up some water for her, be back in a few,” Daryl grumbled to Rick.

As he walked through the courtyard and into the cell block, he ignored most of the looks of concern people gave him. It wasn’t a secret that a sickness was spreading, but it wasn’t affecting you. Still, when he passed Beth, he asked her to get Hershel and have him come up to look at her.

Tora was sleeping on your bed when he pushed through the curtain, and she jumped up at the intrusion. Daryl carefully set you on the bed, and you moved about but still didn’t wake up. He lifted a hand to your forehead and sighed with relief when he didn’t feel a fever.

Hershel came in at the moment with a worried look, and Beth and Carol were behind him. “What happened?”

“Passed out,” Daryl said, moving away to give Hershel some room. He sat on the chair you had found on a run a few weeks back and immediately got to work.

“This the sickness, or whatever it is?” Carol asked.

Hershel hummed for a second before he shook his head. “No. And right now, it’s only Karen and David who have symptoms. She has no symptoms, and I don’t think she was exposed long enough to catch anything anyway. She’s severely dehydrated. Does anyone know if she’s eaten today?”

“Nah, after the cell block and the meetin’ we went right out and dug the graves, didn’ see her eat a bite,” Daryl said.

Hershel sighed at you, knowing this was in your character. You cared too much about the things around you to care about yourself. “She should wake up soon once she cools off. She’ll need to eat, drink some water, and rest.” Hershel said as he stood.

“I can get her some food,” Carol offered, “I can sit in here with her until she wakes.”

Daryl looked down at you, his heart beating fast with worry. Even though everything made sense as to why you passed out, he was still worried. He told himself you were going to be fine over and over again.

***

A couple hours later, you slowly opened your eyes and met the metal ceiling of your cell. Your mouth was dry, and your head had a dull ache, but for the most part, you were feeling okay. Slowly you moved, stirring Tora and causing her to move from where she slept between your legs. Another movement caught your eye, and you looked at Carol, who was looking at you, a finger between the pages of a book.

“How are you feeling?” She asked you.

“Thirsty,” You joked. She handed you a water bottle, and you drank it hurriedly, only taking a few quick breaths before you finished it. “Did I pass out?”

Carol leaned over and pressed a hand to your forehead. “Yeah. Must’ve been the heat. You feel fine,”

You nodded and stretched your arms. “I didn’t miss dinner, did I?”

She finally laughed and made a move to stand up. “Not yet. They’re cooking now. I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“I’ll come with you,” You said, standing up.

“It’s okay, I got it. Hershel said you needed to rest anyway,” Carol said.

You ignored her words and followed her out of your cell, still a little wobbly on your feet. Carol attempted to usher you back in, but you ignored her and followed her outside anyway.

It was just barely starting to cool off, making your head ache even more, but hunger was a powerful motivator, and you made your way to the awning-covered tables. Maggie was already there, eating alone, and she smiled when you sat down.

“I told my dad you wouldn’t stick to his advice,” She said.

You shrugged your shoulders and watched as Carol made a plate for you. “I was goin’ be a doctor. I know my limits.”

You, Maggie, and Carol ate together in mostly silence. Your head was still aching, and despite feeling hungry, you didn’t seem to have much of an appetite once the food was in front of you. After a little while, Beth joined you guys and struck up a conversation with her sister, while you and Carol listened along.

You were just about to excuse yourself to clean up when Rick and Daryl joined you at the table. With an even bigger crowd at the table, you felt more obligated to stay. Rick struck up a conversation, and you listened to every other word, playing with the rest of your vegetables with a broken fork.

“How ya feelin’,”

You glanced at Daryl. His face was all sweaty and had some dirt patches, which was nothing new for him or anyone honestly. You were positive you didn’t look the best, either. Your hair and clothes were dirty, and you were probably just as sweaty.

“Better,” You said, forcing a smile and taking a bite of rabbit. “Just needed a home-cooked meal and some water,”

He scuffed and shook his head. “Needa be more careful, coulda been worse,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” You trailed off.

***

The next day, you woke to hushed voices and someone shaking your shoulder. You blinked awake and looked at Rick, staring down at you. You opened your mouth to speak, but he held a finger to his lips and nodded towards the door. Daryl, Tyreese, and Carol were standing outside.

You nodded, and after he left, you quickly got dressed. You strapped your weapons down and followed him out the door, taking a quick look around for Tora before concluding she’d spent the night with Carl downstairs.

You jogged a few steps to catch up and looked at Daryl. “What’s going on?” You whispered, blinking away your sleep and uneasy feeling.

He glanced at you for a second and nodded his head towards Tyreese. “Said he needs to show us somethin’,”

You two didn’t exchange any other words as you followed Tyreese down a long corridor and further into the prison. As you approached the exit to a small courtyard you all had yet to expand to, a trail of blood pointed the way. You and Daryl exchanged a glance.

When you walked outside, you gasped, covering your mouth at the scene before you. Two charred bodies were laid out in the center. You fell back a step in shock, bumping into Daryl’s shoulder. The metal crossbow pressed against your bare arm, but you didn’t move away.

“You found ‘em like this?” Rick asked.

“I came to see Karen, and I saw the blood on the floor,” Tyreese said quietly. As he spoke, his anger grew. “Then I smelled them. Somebody dragged them out here and set them on fire. They killed them and set them on fire!” He yelled. Then he advanced towards Rick, and you and Daryl moved towards them. “You a cop. You find out who did this, and you bring them to me. You bring them to me!”

“We’ll find out who--” Daryl said, trying to pull Tyreese away.

You glanced back at Carol, who looked utterly shocked and scared. Then you looked at Tyreese and Rick; the latter was trying to calm the other down. But Tyreese was only getting angrier, and when Daryl tried to step in again, Tyreese pinned him to the wall.

You grabbed your machete and took a step forward, but Daryl waved out his hand, and you all paused.

“We’re on the same side, man,” Daryl said.

Carol grabbed your arm and tugged you backward. You both felt the tension in the air when Rick started to calm Tyreese down and as much as you liked the guy, he was scary when he was angry. All three were, and you definitely didn’t want to be in the way when the fists started flying.

Tyreese threw the first punch, and you grabbed Carol when she tried to take a step forward. The two of you were both yelling at them to stop, and you couldn’t believe your eyes when something inside Rick snapped, and he went insane on Tyreese.

All three of you seemed to pause at Rick’s action for a moment before Daryl tried to get him off, and you and Carol continued to scream at Rick to stop.

Finally, he did, and when he fell back, you rushed to Tyreese to inspect the wounds. You couldn’t tell what was bleeding, it was a mess, and your hands were coated as soon as you tried to. He mumbled a few things before pushing you away, harder than he would’ve if he weren’t out of his mind.

Your head smacked against the concrete wall, and your vision blurred again.

“Hey!” Daryl yelled.

“Stop,” You said, rubbing your head. “I’m fine. Everyone just fucking stop; I’m not in the mood for this shit!” You yelled, pulling yourself up.

Carol wrapped an arm around you, making sure you were okay. When you nodded, she sighed with relief and watched Tyreese disappear.

You rubbed the back of your head and looked at your hand; there were a few blood spots, but it wasn’t too concerning--most likely, your skin just broke.

Daryl grabbed your wrist roughly and spun you around, looking at the back of your head.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Rick quietly asked you. You nodded and closed your eyes at the feeling of Daryl’s hand on your head, checking to see the cut.

“I’m okay,” You said, “You should see Hershel for your hand. And probably take a few minutes to yourself.”

“Not deep,” Daryl said, “Already stopped bleeding.”

You chuckled, “What an exciting couple of days,”

#daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #twd #daryl twd #daryl x you

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thatsdemko · 10 months

Text

strange realities - c.sainz

part 3: pining series

pinning series masterlist

warnings: anxious thoughts

a/n: hiiii thank you so so so much for all the love on the past two parts!!! xx we’ve got 6 more parts together of this ride 😁😁

yourusername

liked by yukitsunoda0511, scuderiaferrari, f1, and 4,579 others.

yourusername: Baku dump fting some nonferrari fan favorites 😁

tagged: carlossainz55, yukitsunoda0511, lewishamilton, & oscarpiastri.

456 comments

babyyuki: that one fan was right she always does include Carlos in her dumps…

lewishamilton: ☺️❤️

Charles_leclerc: no pictures of me?

yourusername: … oops😬 won’t happen again!

russellgeorge: I told y’all! she always adds Carlos!

ln4455: yeah maybe because she’s Ferrari’s intern media personnel?? I don’t think it’s that deep 🙄

Ferrariredflag: people making something out of nothing! thank u for the content once again 🫡

—

EARLIER IN BAKU

the sun was beaming hot, and the winds were just as cruel as yesterday. stepping out of the team car, you thank the driver before closing the door simultaneously as the one that arrives after yours. Carlos sainz.

“hola, amor.” his smile is awfully bright for the early morning as he approaches you, hand gesturing for you to lead the way to check into the paddock.

“you’re in a good mood this morning, ready for the race?” you ask scanning in your ID. you step into the paddock, Carlos following behind you; the fans begin to approach and your job starts.

you walk beside him, moving out of the way when fans want pictures, or when reporters shove their microphones into his face. he just smiles, answers the questions, and is careful not to step on your feet.

“I swear I can’t go anywhere.” he grumbles, fake smile plastered on his face as he shoots the camera for a thumbs up and a little wave. you attempted to move away in time, but you got trampled in the mix of fans, and your body was pushed back beside his.

“you’re too famous for me now.” you wink, elbow nudging his arm, he caught the words you said despite the fans yelling in his ears. it made him chuckle, “so now I’m out of your league?” he asks, turning to you.

“you were never in my league to begin with, sainz.”

—

the newspaper falls into your lap, it was hot off the press and pages were spilling onto the ground when you notice yourself and Carlos on the front cover, “whatever you have with sainz, it must stay professional.” is all you heard before they left. leaving you alone with the words and the pictures to take in.

not even an hour had gone by from the arrival. the white dress you had arrived in was stored in a cubby in the Ferrari motorhome, one you were now too afraid to step into. the mess was probably just unfolding in there, or nobody even dared to read the gossip. but whoever came in, clearly had enough time before the race to care. enough time to make taking pictures for the team harder than it needed to be.

“you ready for the race?” you ask snapping a few pictures of Charles before he got in the car. a hopeful smile forms on his lips as he nods to your question, “no pictures of Carlos?” he points to his teammate, who’s listening to last minute preparations from his team. he catches your eyes on him, those big brown eyes grow intense on yours, he sends a wink in your direction that instantly makes you turn away, despite the butterflies and temptations to turn back.

it can’t be like this. everyone’s watching, cameramen are everywhere. they could catch this, is all you could think. any friendly intimate moment was now to be paired as one of you falling in love with the other. why did it change so fast? two minutes ago you were his work friend, now you were someone the media claimed to be an interest in his eyes.

“just wave to the fans for me, Charles. please.”

—

“p3! oh congrats!” you wrap your arms around Charles, pulling him into your body for a quick hug before he finds Arthur and Lorenzo, sporting identical smiles to his.

it’s not a second later when carlos pulls in from p5. he’s not pleased, but he’s not overall in a bad mood. he climbs out the car, and pats and helmet taps are used in his congratulations. instead of the typical hug you always give both of the drivers, you try to stick with a high five, but he ignores it and embraces you like normal. like there wasn’t an article looming over your head.

“you did great, Carlos. we’ll get ‘em in miami.” you pull from the hug, looking into those sad big brown eyes, the only thing you can see under his helmet, “you did what you could, now vamos! we have media.”

he nods in agreement to your words, and finds Fred who gives the driver his words of encouragement, before he switches out from his helmet to a cap and trails behind you to the media pen.

the attention of cameramen and interviewers shift from the drivers that are currently standing around when you two walk in. he tries to stand out of the way, practicing his fake smile that only grows a real one out of you before he steps up to speak.

“Carlos, congrats on p5, what are your plans for Miami?”

“to have fun. maybe catch some rays in the sun?” he looks over at you in approval, but you only shake your head knowing Fred wouldn’t allow that much free time for him. there was always something the drivers could be doing instead of relaxing.

“what about you, y/n? will you be there with Carlos?” the camera shifts, microphone moves into your face, and suddenly you can’t breathe. caught so off guard, it’s like all of the air has escaped your lungs. your mouth is full of saliva as you try to find words, but nothing comes.

Carlos notices you had frozen. the cameraman’s smile widens, he caught you like a deer in headlights, and Carlos wasn’t having it. he didn’t like that cheeky grin, it made him step in, “she’ll be with the team, yes. she follows me everywhere, so there’s a good chance she’ll be with me.”

his hand gently presses against your lower back. it’s cool against your shirt, not having noticed your whole body had begun to heat up under the pressure of the camera. you can’t believe he does this all of the time, you see why it’s such a pain now having frozen in time.

you step aside further, allowing him to finish while you try to find your breath, or any air in your lungs. life seemed to have become too real in time, like the article wasn’t just a dream and people really were believing something was there.

“you ready to go, amor?”

“please, let’s get out of here.”

tags: @arian-directioner @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ak0ma @ruebennett89 @mochimommy2002 @flyingmushroomss @icarus-nex @solo-pitstop-vibes @xjval @chimchimjiminie16 @bookophiliac @tifosirussell @celestialpierre @moonvr @laneyspaulding19 @myescapefromthislife @formula1mount @moonyschocolate13 @bbubbllejisoo @summerslike11 @imperfectophelia @bhiees @cattt-tharsis @willowpains @chelsey01 @rqlstefanny @shinrjj @aldene-styles @roseamongthorns13 @imsorare @lucyysthings @aldene-styles @keonminshea @jspitwall

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malk1ns · 7 months

Note

36. things you said but didn’t mean (sidgeno)

tell me you're not over contractgate without saying you're not over contractgate...

thanks anon! the prompt list is here :)

Zhenya’s phone has been going off since the news broke last night.

He turned it off after he signed his contract and got confirmation it was received; he wanted to go to bed without constant interruptions, actually get some sleep after an emotional and exhausting couple of days. He hadn’t been that successful, but he’d at least woken up and for a few minutes been able to pretend that it was just a regular day, that nothing dramatic had happened to him recently, and all he’d have on his phone were the usual drunk messages from Sasha begging him to come back to Moscow early and a few good-morning emojis from Sid.

After he finished his tea, though, he couldn’t avoid it any longer, and he reluctantly took his phone into the living room, hoping that maybe the background murmur of the TV would lessen the blow.

It did not.

The TV is on, sure, but Zhenya had to turn it to mute—the morning news clashing with the constant pinging and buzzing as his phone frantically tried to alert him to every missed call, text, email, telegram, WhatsApp, instagram DM, snapchat, and tweet was giving him a pounding headache. And two hours later, he’s just barely climbing out from under it, deleting the majority of the notifications unread and focusing his attention on responding to teammates and the guys who are still lingering around Miami for the summer. The rest of the Russians and his family can wait—his parents will understand, and he doesn’t care about pissing Sasha off.

There’s one conversation that’s been pushed all the way to the bottom of his iMessages, inactive since yesterday morning. Zhenya’s scrolled past it a few times, but can’t bring himself to click on it.

Finally, when he finds himself actually contemplating responding to fans’ DMs with apologies for making them worry, he forces himself to open the last things Sid texted him, right after their fight.

hanging up on me? seriously?

this isn’t my fucking fault

and now you’re ignoring me? fucking awesome

whatever man. i don’t have to deal with this shit from you. i’m sick of your bs whenever you’re not getting your way. do whatever the fuck you want, i’ll find out what sorry team signs you tomorrow afternoon

Zhenya feels a little sick, reading it back now. He’d been so angry when he’d hung up on Sid, screaming at him like he hated him. Some of the stuff he’d said…he can’t blame Sid for being upset.

There are Flyers fans from their early years in the league who’d love to take notes on what Zhenya said to Sid yesterday.

Sid’s weathered Zhenya’s temper before, though—let him rant and rave and calmed him down with just the right words, and eventually, just the right touch. He’s always known when to leave Zhenya alone and when to engage, just like Zhenya knows how to handle Sid’s bursts of anger and the rest of his quirks. It’s why they work, it’s why they’ve always worked.

Now, though, staring at a conversation that hasn’t been updated in over 24 hours, Zhenya wonders if he finally said something that Sid can’t forgive. What else would have kept him from sending a message when he got the news that Zhenya was staying after all?

Screwing up his courage, Zhenya presses ‘dial’ and waits, holding his breath.

When it goes straight to voicemail, he wonders for a second if he really will pass out.

call me pls he fires off, sinking into the couch and rubbing his hand over his face when the message stays green.

He fucked it up for real this time, then. And now he’s tied himself to Sid’s team for the rest of his career, when Sid’s never going to talk to him again—or worse, he will, but in that freezingly polite voice he uses with annoying reporters and former teammates who have fallen out of his favor.

Zhenya wonders if Hextall would be able to trade him, even with the dramatics of the last 36 hours. Surely someone would be able to accommodate his new, reduced cap hit.

He’s not sure how long he sits on his couch, the TV playing soundlessly and his phone slack in his hand, but when his lock starts to turn, it sounds like a gunshot.

“Fuck,” Zhenya hisses, scrambling to retrieve his phone where it had fallen when he jumped. Probably Seryozha; old man never knows when to mind his own business.

When the door is finally open, though, the voice that floats through from the foyer is distinctly Canadian. “G?”

“Sid??” Zhenya says incredulously, jumping to his feet and almost tripping over his couch on his way to the hall.

Against all odds, it is Sid in his hallway, raggedy in his sweats and with bruise-dark circles under his eyes. He has one of his plain black caps crammed over his head, and the curls escaping from the sides are greasy.

“You’re staying,” Sid says, dropping his duffle. He looks small, shoulders uncharacteristically hunched in, and Zhenya moves toward him before he remembers what happened.

“I’m not sure you see,” he says cautiously. Sid seems skittish, darting his eyes around Zhenya’s condo like he’s never been here before. “I try to call, it’s voicemail. Sid, you’re here?”

“Oh, I was on the plane…I think my phone died while I was in the air, I don’t have a charger, can I plug it in somewhere?” Sid’s fumbling in his pocket. He won’t meet Zhenya’s eyes.

“Sid,” Zhenya says, concerned now, moving closer just as Sid sways forward alarmingly. “Sid! Jesus, come sit down.”

“Sorry,” Sid says faintly, letting Zhenya manhandle him into the living room and down on the couch. Zhenya remembers when they went to pick it out, how Sid had spent hours thoughtfully trying every couch in the store until the salesman looked like he was about to scream, before finally convincing Zhenya that this boring beige monstrosity was the right choice. He’d been correct, of course; this one is big and deep, and even ten years later still the most comfortable piece of furniture Zhenya owns.

“You’re sick?” Zhenya asks, plucking Sid’s phone from his hands and plugging it in. “Need water, maybe, or like, soup?”

“No,” Sid says with a deep sigh, settling back into the cushions and cracking his neck. “I’m fine. I’ve been traveling since last night, I haven’t slept…I’m just tired.”

“Last—” Zhenya snaps his mouth shut when Sid looks at him steadily. Last night, when his contract extension was announced. “Sid, I…”

“No,” Sid says firmly. “Listen. I get you were mad. I…well, I don’t know what it felt like, but I understand. And we both said some things…” He heaves a sigh. “I didn’t mean what I texted you. I’m not sick of you. I want to deal with your shit.” He looks down at his hands, twisted up in his lap. “I…you promised me. Do you remember?”

Zhenya does. After their first Cup, when they’d been so sure that they’d be back the next year, and the year after that. He and Sid had been tucked away together in a corner of Mario’s backyard, passing a bottle of shitty flat champagne back and forth and watching the sun rise. They’d been talking, but after a while it had faded to nothing, just quiet company, shoulders pressed together as the next day arrived.

“You’ll stay, right?” Sid had said abruptly, and Zhenya had looked at him, bleary-eyed and confused. “Here, in Pittsburgh. With me. You’ll stay? Even after your next contract?”

It hadn’t been a question that needed answering, in Zhenya’s eyes, but he’d answered anyway, leaning over and tilting Sid’s chin up and kissing him before whispering, “I stay always. Promise.”

He’d meant it then. He meant it last night, when he put pen to paper and signed away the rest of his playing career. He’d meant it when he was spitting invective at Sid over the phone, too, swearing he’d leave and sign somewhere the front office actually gave a shit about him.

“I never forget,” he says now, sitting next to Sid on the couch. “I’m so sorry, Sid, I’m like, I don’t know what I say to you. It’s such horrible things…I’m not mean, I swear. What do I do for forgive?”

When he looks over, Sid’s eyes are squeezed shut, but there’s a tear trickling down one cheek anyway. “I know you didn’t,” he chokes out. “I know, but…I was scared, G. I never really thought you’d leave me, and then…”

He opens his eyes and glares fiercely at Zhenya. “Fuck you for saying all that shit,” he spits, and Zhenya bows his head, because he deserves it. “Fuck you for doing that to me.” He sticks his hands in his hoodie’s front pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. Zhenya goes very still.

“I had to stop in Pittsburgh, on my way here,” Sid says, turning the box over in his hands. “I’ve had this…well, I had ideas, but we haven’t exactly made the most of the last couple of playoffs, so.” He snorts humorlessly. “We might not ever again, so I’m not sure what the point of waiting is.”

Sid flicks the box open. Inside there’s a ring, nestled in satin, shining bright. It’s gold, with beveled edges cut through with black striations, and thick; something that won’t look out of place on Zhenya’s big hands. If he knows Sid, there will be something on the inside—a date, maybe, or even a time.

“You don’t deserve this right now,” Sid says quietly, lifting Zhenya’s right hand and sliding the ring on. “And I’m not sure I deserve to be asking, either. But maybe that’s the point, eh? We’re still here.”

“Yes,” Zhenya says, splaying his fingers out to admire the ring, then folding his hands around Sid’s.

“Yes to what?” Sid asks, a bit of amusement lacing into his voice.

“Yes to everything,” Zhenya replies. “Everything, with you.”

#this one's weird; sorry i had a weird day!#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic

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criminalamnesia · 2 years

Text

Into Your Arms

warnings: fluff, more teasing and Jake being a flirt, not proofread (for the most part), part 2 to Habits of My Heart!

summary: after surprising Jake at the hard deck, you spend the night at his apartment. now you’re trying to figure out what’s happening to your friendship.

author’s note: part 2 to ‘Habits of my Heart’! also I wasn’t expecting to further that story, but it’s been getting some love and I’ve got some ideas, so maybe this will be a little mini-series? Let me know your thoughts! also you can read ‘Habits of my heart’ (aka part one) here

You woke up the next morning in a daze. Had last night really happened, or were you dreaming? Had Jake kissed you? Had you kissed him back? Maybe the few beers you’d had impacted you more than you thought.

You knew that nothing else had happened. You two had made-out for a while, then you just talked until the late hours of the night. You were too tired from your flight for anything else, and besides– he wasn’t getting you that easily.

Jake had fallen asleep first. You two had been laying side by side in his bed, staring at the ceiling and saying whatever came to mind. It made you think of some rom-com, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

When you eventually heard his soft snores, you stifled a laugh and got comfier on your side of the bed. He had always been the first one to fall asleep, ever since you two were kids. You could stay up until the next morning– but Jake? He was out by midnight.

“I need my beauty sleep,” he would grin, and you would always roll your eyes and give a witty retort.

Your thoughts of last night quickly dissipated at the sound of a loud bang coming from a different room, followed by a loud curse. You snorted, rolling out of Jake’s bed and trodding into the kitchen. You were still wearing your clothes from yesterday– some jeans and a t-shirt. Not the best to sleep in, but you were exhausted.

Jake was wearing a raggedy navy t-shirt and sweats, fighting to make a decent breakfast with a variety of ingredients strewn across the counter.

“Having fun?” You said, causing him to startle. He jumped, dropping the egg he’d been holding. It fell to the floor with a crack and Jake groaned as the yolk spread onto the tile.

“Give a guy some warning, would you?” He huffed, grabbing a paper towel to clean up the mess.

You rolled your eyes and stepped further into the kitchen. You’d never been in his apartment before– well, this apartment. The navy had him moving a lot, and because you were both so busy, there wasn’t much time to spend at one another’s homes.

You took it in, ignoring his annoyed muttering as he cleaned up the mess. It was nice, definitely Jake’s style. A little more modern, but still homey and cozy-feeling. Perhaps that was his country roots peaking out.

He tossed the dirty paper towel into the trash and turned back to his concoction. You approached him, standing on your tiptoes to look over his shoulder.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?” You asked into his ear, causing him to jump again.

“Jesus fuck, stop doing that!” He turned, crossing his arms over his chest.

You laughed, “aren’t you supposed to be in the navy? I thought you guys needed to be aware of your surroundings all the time.”

“Excuse me for trying to focus on making us breakfast,” he grumbled, turning back towards the stove.

“Have you ever even used this kitchen before?”

“Yes!” He shot back.

“Have you used it other than to reheat leftovers or microwave meals?” You followed up.

“…Mind your own business. Always so noisy, it’s not attractive, honestly,” he muttered the last bit to himself as he reached for another egg.

You rolled your eyes and moved towards him, pushing against him to move him out of the way. Caught off guard, he stumbled to the side, but not without protesting as you surveyed his work.

“Jake, your mother is an amazing cook, and you’re telling me this is what you’re going to make me eat? Did she not teach you anything?” You grabbed the frying pan, holding it up to show him the very burnt, sad looking omelette.

“Just cut off the burnt parts,” he told you.

“It’s all burnt, dipshit,” you replied.

He huffed, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms once more.

“Fine then, let’s see you cook, master chef.”

“Hell no. Let’s go get McDonalds or something,” you told him, reaching to turn off the stove before tossing the burnt omelette into the trash and dropping the dirty pan into the kitchen sink.

“My burnt omelette would be better than McDonald’s,” he said with a hint of disgust, following you as you walked out of the kitchen.

You shrugged, turning to face him as you both entered his bedroom. “Then go fish your burnt omelette out of the trash. I’m going to get something.”

He groaned but didn’t protest. Jake started towards the bathroom, but you ran past him, quickly slamming the door behind you and clicking the lock before he could come in.

“Dibs on shower first!” You called from behind the door.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then you heard him laugh.

“You left your clothes out here.”

In your haste to beat him to the shower, you had totally forgotten your change of clothes (which were actually some of his old clothes, seeing as you’d left all of your things at the hotel you were supposed to be staying at). And knowing Jake, he wasn’t going to just give them to you.

“Leave them by the door?” You asked hopefully. He laughed again, the sound growing fainter as he presumably left the room. You groaned before accepting your fate and turning the shower on anyways.

—

Ten minutes later, you cracked open the bathroom door the tiniest bit to see if Jake was in his bedroom. You were clutching the fluffy bath towel around you like your life depended on it.

You didn’t see him through the crack, so you opened the door a little wider. Still nothing. Letting out a breath of relief, you pushed the door fully open and made your way to his dresser. The clothes you had forgotten were still sitting there, and you thanked whatever higher power there was that Jake wasn’t cruel enough to remove them.

With the clothes in one hand, the towel with the other, you tried to silently creep back towards the bathroom.

As soon as you turned around, however, you were met by Jake’s smug form as he blocked the entry to the bathroom.

You groaned and he grinned, then whistled as you watched his eyes take you in very slowly.

“You’re a perv,” you said, annoyance in your voice.

“No ma’am, I’m an opportunist.”

“You’re full of shit, that’s what you are. Move, Tex. Or I will move you.” You walked towards him, a mere foot separating the two of you. He was still wearing that shit-eating grin.

“We gonna wrestle? I’m not one to question your choices, but you may not want wrestle in a towel…”

“We’re not going to wrestle. I’m going to kick your ass for being annoying.”

“Is that a promise?” He asked.

“It’s a threat,” you responded.

“Hot.”

“Jake, move!” You groaned, using the hand holding your clothes to push at his shoulder. He laughed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his chest. You stumbled forward, and you surely would’ve face-planted had he not been there to catch you.

“Easy there, hot stuff. Don’t want you fallin’.” He chuckled, tucking his chin to look down at you.

“I have never wanted to punch you in the face more than I do in this very moment.”

“Keep talking dirty and see what happens,” he replied.

You scrunched up your nose and once again pushed at his chest. “Gross. Has anyone ever told you how gross you are?”

“You have. Many times. Including right now.”

You wormed against him, but he grabbed you by the shoulders to still you. His grip wasn’t forceful– it was gentle. You stopped moving, looking up at him. He grinned down at you.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, his voice quieter than before.

“Oh, so now you’re asking if you can kiss me?” You replied, vividly remembering last night when he just crashed his lips to yours with no warning.

“Well, can I?” He asked again.

You paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

Without another word, Jake leaned his head down and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes closed as your savored the feeling, and you had to stop yourself from throwing both your arms around his neck.

You pulled apart first, and he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could even get his first word out, you shoved (a little harshly) him and stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door in his face. He was too stunned to stop you.

“Now we’re definitely going to McDonalds.” You called out to him through the door as you began to get dressed.

“Yeah, whatever,” he replied, but you knew he’d give in to whatever you wanted. He always had.

—

After Jake showered and changed, the two of you climbed into his truck and made your way to McDonalds. He grumbled the entire time, but you ignored him in favor of eating your food.

After leaving, he started driving in new direction. Confused, you raised your eyebrows and looked curiously out the window. Jake didn’t say anything, and for once, you didn’t pester him about it.

Ten minutes later, he had pulled into a public parking area with beach access. You frowned as he turned the car off, looking at you with a smile.

“What, you don’t like the beach?” He asked, brows furrowed in slight confusion.

“I do, it’s just that I’m currently dressed like Adam Sandler in your baggy clothes, we don’t have towels or anything, and we’re not wearing bathing suits.”

“I think I just fell asleep while you were talking, that was so boring and whiny. C’mon,” he grinned, pushing open his door and hopping out of the truck. “Live a little!”

Begrudgingly you followed him out of the car. He waited until you were beside him to start the trek up the sandy dunes to the beach. You followed behind, internally cringing at the feeling of sand getting into your tennis shoes.

When the two of you finally made it to the firmer sand, you took a chance to admire the pretty blue water. You’d never been to California before, but you’d always heard about their beaches.

Smiling, you made your way towards the water. Luckily, there weren’t very many people around. The ones that did paid you more than one glance, but you ignored them as you slipped off your shoes and socks, abandoning them at the waters edge. You stepped forward as the next little wave came crashing forward, washing over your feet.

Jake made his way to stand beside you, having also shed his shoes. He was more appropriately dressed– having worn flip flops and clothes that properly fit. Then again, he’d known where he was taking the two of you. Smug bastard.

“Happy now?” He asked, bringing you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to look at him.

“Mhm. Happy with the beach? Yes. Happy with you? That’s yet to be decided,” you told him.

He sucked in a breath, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Tough crowd.”

You giggled as you dug your toes into the wet sand.

“When are you leaving?” He asked after a moment, turning his body towards yours.

“I’m supposed to fly back tomorrow. I’ve got work to get back to. It’s a miracle I was able to get these few days off, and I’ll be making it up in overtime– but it was worth it. I guess.”

You tacked on that last part to try and not give his ego a boost, but you knew it was a futile effort. Jake’s ego was almost as big as Texas.

He nodded his head as his lips quirked up in a smile. It wasn’t one of his smug or teasing ones. It was real, genuine, and it made you happy to see it.

Jake was so rarely serious in front of you. He had walls– you had them, too. But not to his degree. Getting him to open up was like pulling teeth, so you cherished any true, real, deep emotion and vulnerability you could get out of him.

“I could fly back with you.”

Your eyebrows shot up, mouth slightly agape. “Don’t you have things to take care of around here? I mean, you just got back.”

He shrugged, taking a hand out of one of his pockets to push it through his wind-blown hair. “I already talked with Rooster. His girl’s looking for a place to stay. I told him she could rent my place from me for a bit until she finds something else, or until I come back. It’s worked out.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me this?”

“I talked to him while you were in the shower. You used up like, all of the hot water, by the way.”

You lightly hit his arm, offended. “I did not! I made sure to be quick.”

“Whatever you say,” he chuckled.

The sound of the crashing waves washed over both of you. You inhaled the sea’s salty scent deeply before turning to face Jake.

“You have to buy a plane ticket.”

“No problem,” he replied.

“Where are you going to stay? Your parents don’t have room for you anymore.”

“I can’t stay with you?”

You groaned, hanging your head. You were going to offer him a place to stay ever since he said he was coming home, but he didn’t have to know that. Plus, it was fun to tease him.

“I mean, you can, but your ass is sleeping on the couch.”

“We can’t share? We shared last night juuuuust fine.”

“Oh, fuck off. That’s different.”

“Is it?” He asked, brushing your shoulder with his.

“Yes. We were both a little intoxicated and we fell asleep talking. That’s not how it’s going to be back in Texas.”

“Does it have to be like that for us to share a bed?”

You sighed, pinching your brows together in frustration. Why did he ask so many questions? And why was he trying to bait you?

“Because things are… mixed up between us now.” You told him, folding your arms across your chest.

“I think they’re perfectly clear,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You like me, I like you. We kissed.”

“That doesn’t exactly make us a couple,” you retorted.

“Well, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You went silent, thinking about his question. You had known him for so long, and a relationship could ruin everything. Or it could be everything. Big chance, big payoff, big risk.

But you didn’t know if you were ready to enter a relationship with him. He’d just gotten back, for heaven’s sake. You hadn’t properly talked to him in weeks, and he still wouldn’t lower his walls around you. You wanted him, you knew that you did, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

But when did he start wanting you?

Jake looked at you expectantly. You inhaled deeply.

“No. Not yet.”

He looked surprised, but he quickly masked his emotions and nodded nonchalant-like.

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I just don’t want to jump right in–”

“Okay,” he interrupted. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t get upset, Jake. You just came back. We haven’t seen each other in forever. Forgive me for wanting to go slow.”

“No, you’re right,” he replied. You looked at him, and you could tell he was being genuine. But you could also tell that he was a little hurt. It occurred to you that no woman had probably told him ‘no’ before.

You gave him a small smile before stepping closer to him and resting your head against his shoulder. He instantly leaned his head on top of yours and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks for bringing me here, even though I look like Adam Sandler.”

“You’re welcome, Adam.” He laughed.

“Shut up.”

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

Text

Here, Kitty, Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Thank you all so, so, soooo much for the love on this story! I'll be writing some brand new shit soon! Stay safe! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*************

TEN.

When the next day comes, it brings with it some unseasonably warm weather that Aizawa feels when he wanders into the living room and finds you gone.

He isn’t sure how you got out since the windows are locked, but he supposes that cats have their ways. He feels a twinge of disappointment at seeing you gone once again, but he knew that you would probably want to be outside and not cooped up in a dorm all day.

Plus, now that Eri has more hope that you’ll come home after your adventures, she seems much happier. Even when he wakes her up in time to get her ready to hang with Hitoshi before his classes begin, she is a giggly, upbeat little ball of energy.

“Maybe she’ll bring back a present,” she happily says as she and Aizawa walk hand and hand across campus. “Or maybe she’s with other kitties! You think she’ll let us meet them, Daddy?” The way she looks up at him excitedly makes his heart clench. “If she trusts us enough and has friends, sure,” he chuckles.

During the entire day of work, Aizawa is feeling pretty good, though one thing could make his day go a whole lot better: seeing you. He purposely has stopped by your office a few times when taking bathroom breaks just to see you, but every time he does, you’re never in. He thinks that maybe you just took off today or perhaps your hours are different this week.

Whatever it is, it’s none of his business, but he can't help the disappointment he feels at not seeing your pretty face or cute little ears.

He has no idea why since he ends up becoming a rock-hard, blushing mess over them regardless. He doesn’t know how he was able to say even one coherent sentence to you while he and Eri were eating ice cream yesterday afternoon. Maybe Eri was the missing link. Or maybe the ice cream. It’s been proven chocolate works as an aphrodisiac.

Aizawa can’t help but feel wistful about his conversation yesterday with you. It was all so amazing that it felt like a good dream to him–the easiness he felt speaking to you; the way such joy sparkled in your eyes; your musical laughs that he wanted to hear again and again; the way you engaged Eri that made him want to put a baby in you himself. It all felt so good. So right. He can't help but feel like that may never happen to him and you again.

He’s just too damn anti-social. Too shy. Too awkward. What would he be able to say without Eri linking the two of you together? How can he speak to you, especially with those damn ears and that tail he wants to desperately stroke?

Where does he even begin to learn how to charm and woo a woman when he hasn’t had the urge to do so since high school?

He knows just the person to talk about this with, so after the day is through and school is out, he and Mic take a trip to the faculty dorms’ private gym. They leave Eri in the kids’ section that Nezu specifically created for her and any other faculty members that may have a child. So far, she’s the only one occupying the space.

While Eri colors and sings along to the Little Mermaid playing on the TV overhead, Aizawa gives Mic the rundown on his dilemma as he does his bicep curls with some 16 lb dumbells.

Mic is overjoyed as he does his cool-down stretches, his long legs splayed out in front of him. “Ah, I’m so glad you’re coming to me with this, Shouta!” he happily says, grinning at his friend. “We need to talk like this more! It’ll do you good to open up about your concerns and anxieties with the ways of women.”

“Don't get used to it,” Aizawa grumbles, giving Mic a fixed stare from the bench. “I’m only tellin’ you because you’re the only one I semi-trust with this.”

Mic just laughs as he continues his cool-down stretches, pressing down onto his knees. “And I only wanna talk to her because she seems nice. I don’t want her to think I hate people or whatever.”

Mic glances at him curiously. “But you do hate people.”

Aizawa flushes as he bends forward, still doing his curls. “Well, yes, but she’s too nice to be all people,” he argues. “She actually gives a fuck about her job and the way she engaged in conversation with Eri was just…”

He trails off and smiles dreamily as his mind fills with visions of you and Eri together, in your own little world. The way you encouraged her to be her little bubbly, hyper self was the cutest shit he’d ever seen. You’d be a great mom, he knows…if you aren’t one already, that is.

Something in Aizawa wilts at the possibility of someone having you–maybe a partner or a husband. You never talked about being married or dating, especially to him, so he knows thinking this way is stupid. But dammit, he just can’t help himself or these intrusive thoughts. Feeling eyes on him, he looks at Mic, finding a goofy, knowing grin on his face. “Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he growls.

“Man, I don’t know why you don’t just admit that you like the girl!” Mic laughs, standing up and raising his arms, lean with muscle, high. “C’mon; she’s sweet, intelligent, loves kids, and has those cute lil’ cat parts. She’s your dream girl!”

Aizawa rolls his eyes, thinking his friend is just being overly dramatic as usual. “Just ask her out one day when she’s free. Simple as that!”

Aizawa softly grunts as he lays the dumbbells down at his feet, giving his arms a break. “I don’t just ask people out,” he huffs, frustrated. “And I’m not askin’ her out, to begin with. I just want to have a conversation with her without feeling awkward. I want us to be strictly friends.”

Mic just shakes his head pityingly at the professor. “Whatever you saaaay,” he sing-songs, obviously thinking differently. “But you should still ask her to lunch or something to get to know her if you don’t feel comfortable doing it around us in the break room.” He snaps his fingers, a lightbulb flicking in his head. “Maybe for some ramen! Everybody likes ramen, right?”

“Who likes ramen?” you suddenly ask from the door. Aizawa nearly chokes on the water he’s chugging down when he spots you in a bright yellow sports bra and black yoga pants that should be illegal on you, especially with the way you cut out the back so your tail can breathe. It swishes happily at your ankles when you spot Mic.

“I thought I heard your voice,” you giggle. “I could hear you all the way down the hall.” You come farther into the room with a dufflebag and Hydroflask.

As you do, your eyes fall onto Aizawa and your tail stops swishing. “Oh…sorry, I didn’t know you had company.” Aizawa’s mouth goes dry despite the water he just drank as he stares at you, forcing himself to not check you out.

Mic snickers quietly, already gathering his shit. “No, come in!” he enthusiastically insists. “I was just getting ready to leave. Gotta grade papers now or else I’ll never get to ‘em. But you don’t worry your pretty ears; Shouta here is a great gym buddy.” He turns to Aizawa and gives him a wink. “See you two tomorrow!” he chirps before he practically rushes out of the gym.

Aizawa makes a mental note to kill his friend and hide the body later.

When you walk farther into the room, you barely spare him a glance. Though it pains him, he can’t exactly blame you because he keeps his eyes down at his feet too as he proceeds to finish his bicep curls. Out of his peripheral, he watches as you lay a yoga mat down from the row of shelves underneath the mirror sitting in front of you. You wipe it down with a sanitized wipe before kicking off your shoes, plugging in your earbuds, and getting right to the warm-up stretches.

Aizawa can’t help but watch, noticing how flexible you are. The way you bend this way and that, your muscles moving with every pose, makes his cock grow embarrassingly hard in his sweats.

The air between you is tense and thick with something he can’t quite describe: Awkwardness? Definitely. Desire? Possibly, on his side. He just can’t help himself when he begins to acknowledge how good you look in yoga pants.

He quickly looks away, instead opting to look towards the empty treadmills on the other side of the room. What he wouldn’t give to get a handful of your ass, squeeze and spank the firm yet soft cheeks, and stroke that tail that invades his nightly thoughts. Maybe you’d let him dig his fingers into the hole of your pants and rip it further, revealing the cute little panties hiding underneath. Or maybe you’d have none on at all. It would give Aizawa the perfect chance to pull those asscheeks apart and finally put his face in it as his tongue relishes the taste of your sweet, perfect, wet little–

“Mind if I use these?” you ask, suddenly next to him. He nearly jumps, finding you pointing at the eight lb dumbbells that Mic left.

He finds his voice after swallowing the lump in his throat. “Go ahead; I’m not usin’ ‘em.” He hopes that sounded the least bit of kind. You smile in thanks though and silently take the dumbbells from the spot Mic left them in.

He silently and sneakily watches as you begin to do your leg and glute workouts with some dumbbell lifts added in the mix: squats; lunges; kickbacks. All done right in his face. Do you know what you’re doing to him? Can you see the bulge growing in his sweats? Obviously not since your eyes are facing straight ahead, focusing strictly on your workout.

‘Fuck this,’ he thinks, sexually frustrated. He isn’t going to resort to being a perv. Quickly, he puts his dumbbells down and walks out of range to the other side of the gym farthest away from you. He walks straight up to the pull-up bar where he left his duffle bag for a specific reason. He usually goes for either cardio or dumbbells first to get his arms warmed up before proceeding with the “real” workout.

Aizawa takes his scarves out of his duffle and carefully wraps them around the pull-up bar, making sure to pull it tight enough so the scarves don’t unravel. Once finished, he wraps his fists up in each end of the scarves and begins to do his special arm exercises.

He uses his scarves as one would use resistance bands to build their upper arm strength, doing warmups to get the blood flowing in his arms. He concentrates on his bicep and tricep curls, and wrist exercises to keep his arms limber yet controlled, sweat beginning to drip into his eyes from how hard he’s going into his workout. He is finally able to focus on something other than you. ‘Thank God.’

Feeling like his arms are warmed up enough, he grips his scarves into his fists and pulls himself up, his arms clenching from his full body weight. He straightens his arms and crosses one foot over the other as he straightens his back. He envisions himself on a tightrope, forcing himself to stay still despite his arms beginning to rest since they’re the only things holding him up.

Grunting softly from the burn in his arm muscles, he relaxes his arms only to slowly flip backwards, his movements controlled from many years of training. He finally lands back on his feet, bending his knees slightly to avoid injuring himself. When he releases his scarves, his hands are red and his fingers ache from gripping them so tightly. He’s gotten used to that though. It is what comes with the pains of being a pro.

“That was really cool,” you suddenly say from behind him in the mirror. Your eyes are trained straight on him, wide with astonishment.

He turns around, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “Sorry!” You blurt, looking ashamed at your staring. “I’ve just never seen anyone do that before. You work out with your scarves?”

He notices the way your fluffy ears droop in embarrassment and he smirks to himself. “To keep myself familiar with ‘em,” he huffs before taking a sip of his water. “And to come up with new techniques. It never hurts to rehearse from time to time.”

He goes to take a seat on the floor to proceed with some push-ups, but as he does, a searing pain enters his lower back that makes him hiss. You stare on, concerned. “Just my back,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about it.” The last thing he wants is for you to see him as old or decrepit.

But his body betrays him once again as he tries to get into position, a sharp pain in his lower back stabbing him. “Ah, shit!” he swears, his hand immediately flying to his lower back to rub at the ache.

It doesn’t help at all. He must’ve not done as much stretching earlier as he’d hoped. He glances at you, expecting you to be laughing at him–the sight of Eraserhead suffering from back pain in his early 30s must be hilarious.

But instead, you just look worried. “Maybe you should try this.” You slowly sit down in a crisscrossed position, your feet touching one another and lean forward so your back is straight and your chest is touching the floor. “This pose really helps with back pain. I do this as much as I can since I sit so much during work.”

Aizawa hesitates slightly, not wanting you to pity him. But with the way your soft eyes are coaxing him to follow, he mirrors your position anyway. As he slowly leans forward to straighten his back, he can feel some of that tension and ache beginning to evaporate. You smile in approval.

“Now stretch your arms up overhead,” you instruct him, raising your arms up to the sky. He follows, doing his best to hide back a blush. He feels like a little kid following your every move.

“Good; now place your hands on the floor and stretch your arms out as far as you can go in front of you. Don’t push yourself.” He follows you, raising his arms up before falling forward, his arms stretched out in front of him. He breathes deeply, allowing the stretches to do their work. He can feel the tension and aches in his muscles leaving him, his body recovering after his workout.

“Feel good?” you ask, a smile in your voice. He hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed. “The butterfly position helps too! Looks like this.” He lifts from his position, finding you sitting upright with your hands holding your feet. Your knees begin to move up and down, mimicking those of a butterfly’s wings.

Aizawa follows, feeling the stretch in his hamstrings and inner thighs. He raises an eyebrow at your smile like you’re trying to hold back a laugh. “You’re slouching,” you playfully giggle, rising from your seat to assist him. His heart begins to hammer in his chest as you kneel next to him. You’re so close. “May I?” you ask, giving him a soft, round-eyed look.

He nods, unable to speak. You move behind him and place a tentative hand on his lower back. He nearly shivers at your touch. Your hand is so warm. He wants to feel your touch everywhere. Not to mention the scent of your shampoo. What is that? Coconut? It’s driving him insane. All he can think about is that scent being all over him after he’s done fucking you.

“Just keep your back straight,” you utter, your breath fanning his cheek. “Grab onto your ankles for leverage if you need it.” Your voice is soft and inviting, coaxing him out of his comfort zone.

Swallowing harshly and forcing himself to not pop a boner, he does as you instruct: he straightens his back, puffs out his chest, presses his shoulders back, and grabs onto his feet. “Perfect!” you giggle, applauding him. “You’re a natural at this.”

“So are you,” he blurts, his voice lower than normal. “A-At teaching, I mean.” You smile at the compliment as you rise to your feet. “I used to teach yoga on YouTube as a way to pay for school. I had a dream of opening up my own yoga studio, but I guess my calling was to be a counselor.”

Aizawa commits the new info to his mental file cabinet on you. He can see you being a teacher in anything, knowing you’d do a good job with such a soft yet commanding aura. “I’ve been told my flexibility would make me a great hero,” you snicker, balling up your fists for a mock fight with him.

He chuckles, grunting as he stands. “It takes more than flexibility to be a hero.”

You laugh at his statement, hands on your hips. “You say that even though you have back pain in your thirties,” you retort boldly, then flush with embarrassment when Aizawa raises a brow at you. “I read everyone’s birthday on the faculty birthday calendar.”

Aizawa practically melts. Why the fuck do you have to be so goddamn cute? “Back pain or not, as a seasoned professional pro, I also have strength, both upper and lower, technique, and strict control over my quirk when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. You’ll need it when you’re fighting villains.”

You cock your head to the side, a purse in your pouty, kissable lips. “Show me some of them techniques then,” you playfully challenge, crossing your arms over your chest. “Since you’re so seasoned and so sure I don’t have what it takes.”

Aizawa cocks a brow at you, feeling a zing of electricity shoot through him at this newfound side of you–you’re so playful and sassy. It’s fucking hot. “Alright,” he sighs, “but you don’t complain when you twist a muscle.”

He begins to walk over to the right side of the gym which is known as the training portion of the room. Several punching bags and makeshift people made out of sandbags sit there, ready to be used by any seasoned or up-and-coming pro to train for missions and fights.

Aizawa and you stand in front of a makeshift person, its head and body two heavy burlap sacks filled with sand. He turns to you, stepping into the roles of a trainer and sensei. “So, we’ll start with the basics. Start by facing your opponent and analyzing them.”

You nod and turn to face the sandbag person, eyeing them up. He resists the urge to laugh at your cuteness. “If they have a quirk, what kind is it? Can you spot a weakness in it or your opponent’s body? Can you spot a pressure point perhaps? Maybe a place you can sink those claws into.”

You glance at him, straight-faced. “Ha, ha,” you deadpan. "I don’t even have claws.” Aizawa thinks that’s a lie. He’d opt to find out in his bed (or yours; he ain’t too picky) while he’s balls deep inside of you and your hands are gripping his back.

“So your opponent is coming at you,” he continues, willing the nasty thoughts away. “But you’re ready though. You’ll start by placing your foot on your least dominant side behind the foot on your dominant side.”

You do as he instructs, placing one foot behind the other. “Tilt your hips a little more so they’re angled to the side but facing me.” You attempt to do that as well, but can’t seem to angle your hips enough so they are parallel to your feet. A laugh in the form of a huff leaves his nostrils as he comes forward.

“May I?” he asks, his eyes flicking up to yours. Silently, you nod. “Like this.”

He places his hands on your hips which is a horrible idea. Now his cock his throbbing, begging to be released from its prison in his sweats. Your skin is so warm from the slip of your stomach that he gets from your pants riding low on your waist. Your body is tense, but you don’t stop him as he twists your waist to face him and angles your hips so they are straight.

“Now you’re gonna use your dominant leg to kick up and out, right at your opponent’s chest. Put your full weight into it.” He steps back, allowing you to act out the move. You turn to your opponent and, with an inhale, you kick your leg up and out at the middle of your opponent’s sandbag body, grunting as you do. It barely moves.

You turn to him with a shameful expression. “Let’s try that again,” he chuckles. “Push onto your opponent when your foot connects with their chest to push them down and away from you. Put all your weight into your leg.”

Once again, you try, letting out a forceful grunt as your foot connects with the sandbag. You push your opponent away, causing it to teeter slightly on its stand, and then fall backward.

You gape down at it, an excited gasp leaving your lips. “I did it!” you shout in triumph, your ears and tail frazzled. He nods, crossing his muscled arms over his chest. “Not bad for a rookie,” he playfully says. “Maybe you’ve got some potential…some.”

You turn to him, a mischievous and bold glint in your pretty, brown eyes. You purse your lips at him and lay your hands on your hips the way he wants to. “I’d say the same about you with yoga,” you retort, earning a chuckle from him and a surge from his cock.

You both stand there for a moment, staring at each other. No blinking. No talking. Just a surge of electricity that Aizawa can feel in the air. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, and so delicious. His eyes glance at your lips, zeroing in on how plump and glossy they are. He could just lean in and kiss you right now.

His phone suddenly goes off in his back pocket, making you both jump. Growling deeply at the ruined moment, he pulls his phone out and finds the reminder he set for 5 PM. “Shit,” he hisses. “I should be cooking dinner around this time for Eri. I have to go.”

“Oh, okay!” you reply, and he catches a glimpse of what he thinks is disappointment in your pretty eyes. Or is that just what he wants to see?

“I should be gettin’ back too,” you say, already moving to gather your things. “You just reminded me that I need to start cooking too before I end up ordering takeout again.”

Aizawa watches you, his heart clenching painfully. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want this moment to end with you. Can’t it just last a minute longer? “I could walk you back to your dorm if you want,” he suggests with a passive shrug. “It’s only safe.”

He keeps his tone tight and easy, but he’s dying for you to say yes. You look at him wide-eyed, shocked that he even offered. The little smile and nod you give him just about fills him to the brim with relief. So you don’t think that he’s a creep. Great start.

After you both gather your things, Aizawa collects Eri from the playroom, finding her sleeping on the floor. “Time to go home, puddin’,” he whispers to her as he scoops her up into his arms. She sleepily groans, her head lulling against his chest. Her eyes then flutter open to stare up at him. “Daddy, why are you smiling so much?” she groggily asks. He shushes her in response.

Luckily, the little girl falls right back to sleep as Aizawa accompanies you on your journey to your dorm. It doesn’t take long, but the last few minutes of feeling you beside him are all he needs. When you finally make it to your door, you give him a grateful smile. “Thanks for walking me back.”

He nods silently, willing himself to say something more. He thinks back to Mic’s words, conjuring up all the confidence he can muster to ask for your number. “Um, maybe we can do this again sometime?” he asks, a shy blush adorning his cheeks. “Just in case you ever decide to you wanna fuck up a sandbag person again.”

You blink at him, alarmingly quiet. He knew he’d fuck this up. It was all wishful thinking. Damn Mic and his advice. “O-Or you don’t have to,” he quickly adds. “No pressure. I just thought that–”

“I’d like that,” you interrupt, giving him a dazzling smile. “I can give you my number or…” You trail off, looking just as shy.

Relief floods Aizawa’s body as he gives you his number instead, his heart pounding as you type his digits into your contacts. That’s all it took, and yet Aizawa feels like he just walked on the moon. “See you tomorrow then,” he mumbles, abruptly turning on his heel to avoid grinning like an idiot at you.

“Shouta, wait!” you suddenly shout. He abruptly stops and turns to face you, finding you to still be standing at your door. “I-I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” you weakly say.

He blinks at you, noticing how nervous you suddenly look. His stomach immediately plummets, wondering what the flip in your demeanor could mean. Are you having second thoughts about his number? Are you with someone already?

Finally, you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “Nevermind; just be safe.” You give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes before you turn, unlock your door, and disappear into your dorm. Aizawa doesn’t have time to ponder what just happened. He silently walks back to his dorm with Eri in his arms and dinner on his mind, expecting a quiet, normal end to the night.

However, when he arrives at his door and spots the little black cat that has stolen Eri’s heart sitting by his dorm door, he realizes that tonight will be anything but normal. “Look, Eri,” he coos, smiling down at your little cat form as you push your furry body into his legs, your trail curling around his ankles.

“Our visitor is back.”

#shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #here kitty kitty #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #black writers #aizawa x black!reader #shouta aizawa x black!reader

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echoing--stars · 6 months

Note

ok picture this: Wars is an absolute MENACE. He goes to bake and Rowan just so happens to check the expiration date on let's say his baking powder which may be 20 plus years old....

just pulling ideas outta thin air ya know not targeted at all

Totally not going out of order to post this one today while it's fresh nope not at all

This was supposed to be crack, but it's mostly just very sweet! It is also based on a true story of a beloved friend using baking powder that is older than they are. I will be kind and not call them out though XD

This one also got long. It's longer than some of my fics on ao3 I'm pretty sure! And I remembered to use a read more line break this time!

(If you read this and would like to request a supposedly short snippet, see this post!)

Link thought that Rowan would be proud of him. He’d read the recipe twice — twice! — before starting. He’d taken out all the ingredients and all the equipment he needed. He’d only had to dig for a few things, but he’d bought the chocolate and butter that he knew they were out of yesterday. If he’d misread the recipe yesterday and thought he’d needed baking soda instead of baking powder, well, no one had to know except himself. They’d use the extra baking soda someday. He assumed. And he’d found some baking powder anyways so what did it matter? He cracked the eggs in a bowl and made sure no pieces of shells were left in them. He measured out the sugars and dumped them in the mixing bowl along with the sticks of butter (and yes, he had remembered to take them out of the fridge that morning) and added two teaspoons of vanilla.

Link put the eggs and the sugar canisters away and then wiped the sugar residue out of the measuring cups he’d used. Rowan had talked about the importance of cleaning as you go and keeping a tidy workspace, after all. Next was measuring the dry ingredients. He started with the smaller measurements, putting them in a small ramekin for now. If he put them on the bottom of the bigger bowl, they wouldn’t mix well. Another thing that Rowan had taught him was how to properly measure flour for baking. If you couldn’t weigh it, then you should spoon it into the cup and then level it. But was it really that important? Link thought for a moment, then shook his head. This was a simple cookie recipe, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He dunked the measuring cup into the bag of flour and scooped some up. He smooshed it against the side of the bag to even out the flour and — Knock knock! Link dropped the measuring cup into the bag of flour and grabbed his phone. Had one of his roommates forgotten their keys? It was too early for Rowan to be here, he wasn’t supposed to be off work for another hour. There was another knock and Link wiped his hands on a paper towel before heading to the door. He unlocked it but left the chain on, opening it just enough to see who was on the other side. “Rowan?” His boyfriend smiled sheepishly, and Link shut the door to undo the chain before letting Rowan in. “There’s a peephole for a reason, you know.” “That’s less dramatic.” “Whatever you say, Link.” Rowan pulled him into a brief hug, and when they pulled away, Link pressed a kiss against his lips. Rowan smiled into the kiss, and Link laughed as they pulled apart again. He turned to head back into the kitchen. “Why are you here so early? I thought you were at work until seven.” “It was slow today, so I left early.” Rowan dropped onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “What are you making?” Link blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to make you cookies. I’m sure they won’t be anything fancy, not what you make, but—” “They’ll be perfect, Link.” Link’s cheeks heated even more, and he turned back to the bag of flour. Now was not the time to flirt. Not even if Rowan looked extra cute with his hair coming undone from the bun he normally kept it in and the soft sweater and… He shook his head. No time for distractions. Now that Rowan was watching, Link measured the flour right. He took the spoon he’d left out and scooped the flour into the cup and leveled it with a spatula. He dumped it into the mixing bowl and started on the next cup.

Rowan was fidgeting in his seat while Link worked. Link tried to ignore him, to concentrate on what he was doing. But it wasn’t exactly easy. He’d just dumped the second cup of flour into the bowl when Rowan stood and walked around to Link’s side of the counter. He stood behind Link and wrapped his arms around Link’s waist, leaning down until he could tuck his chin over Link’s shoulder. “Rowan, you’re going to distract me.” “But I missed you!” Link hummed and tilted his head to the side until their cheeks were touching. The position was a bit awkward, but Link wouldn’t trade it for the world. After a few moments, Link got back to work. He grabbed the whisk and stirred the flour briefly. Rowan’s arms tensed around him briefly, making Link pause. Rowan pressed against his back as he reached towards the canister of baking powder still on the counter. Link took a small step forward to make it easier for Rowan to reach it and grabbed the ramekin of salt and baking powder he’d measured out earlier.

“Why are you using baking powder?” Link paused and let his hand fall to the counter. “That’s what the recipe says?” “Where’s the recipe?” Link gestured to the bag of chocolate chips. “The one on the back.” Rowan stepped away from Link’s back and grabbed the bag. He scanned the recipe before looking back at Link. “It says soda, hon. Most recipes like this use baking soda.” Link grabbed the bag from Rowan’s hands and squinted at the label. Had he been correct yesterday after all? “I swear I read this like three times!” Rowan laughed — the audacity — and shook his head. “You guys have baking soda right?” “I bought some yesterday.” Rowan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. Link dumped out the ramekin into the trash while Rowan grabbed the can of baking powder to put it away. “Link, where did you get this baking powder?” “Huh? I found it in the cupboard. Why?” “Link. Link, this is expired.” Link turned around. Rowan was holding the can upside down and frowning down at it. “Oh. Stuff is usually okay to use past the expiration date. And besides, Time used it a few months ago I’m pretty sure.” Not that the whatever he’d been attempting to make had turned out well. But Time had never been good in the kitchen, at least not without his girlfriend to supervise. Link couldn’t reasonably blame the baking powder for that. “No, Link.” Rowan shook his head. “This expired over 20 years ago.” “That’s not possible.” Rowan held out the can for Link to take. And just as he’d said, the date on the bottom read Nov 97. “What in the fuck?” Rowan burst into laughter. “You were a toddler when this was purchased!” Link dropped the can on the counter. “Stop laughing! It’s not my fault!” “Was it here when you moved?” “How am I supposed to know? I assumed Time or Twilight bought it.” “They’ve only lived here, what? A few years? Did one of them inherit this can from their parents?” Link sunk to the floor, head in his hands. That only made Rowan laugh harder, until he was nearly wheezing. Link could feel how red he was, his cheeks flushed from the embarrassment. “Rowan, how I supposed to know?” Link flopped onto the floor, hands still on his cheeks. He was glad that he’d mopped earlier before this whole fiasco. “This can looks like it’s from the 90s, Link. It’s all yellow and faded.” “Maybe that’s just what baking powder looks like. You’re the baker here, not me.” Okay, now he knew he was just whining. It’s not like he’d already made the cookies. Rowan knelt down next to him, his laughter finally fading. His cheeks were as red as Link’s felt. “I know, and it was very sweet of you to try. Do you want to finish?”

#a not so secret #anon!!#worm writes #linked universe #lu fanfic #lu warriors #rowanverse

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alsoitsjunie · 8 months

Text

PATRICK HOCKSETTER X FEMALE BULLY VICTIM PT. 2

ITS MORE THAN BULLYING NOW.

patrick x reader bully victim

again, overall tw and the same ones as last time. also the reader has only a mom in this, so sorry if you don't have one or you dont like yours.

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its been a few days, and i genuinely cant figure out what patrick was talking about on friday. what did he mean by 'im real and i think you are too." what does that mean? of course patrick is real, nobody that sadistic could be fake, but then what did he mean that i was too? god why does he have to be so mysterious all the time? i just want an answer to all of this..

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i try and shove it to the back of my mind, as i walk downstairs to make something to eat. jesus this is weird. im kind of glad he decided to do that yesterday, so then i could have the entire weekend to think over it. this is so crazy. i have no idea if i'm more nervous to go back to school now or not..

my mind was going 100000 miles per hour as i stretch on my tip toes and grab a box of cereal from the cabinet, and then the milk from the fridge. there was a note from mom on the counter next to the fruit bowl.

hey honey,

i had to go into work early to help mike with a project. maybe go to Emma's house later, but i wont be home until 10 ish. there's a pizza in the freezer.

love you!

i slurped cereal out of my spoon as i read the note and smiled to myself. i should go to Emma's house. i haven't seen her in a minute and it'll help get my mind off this whole 'patrick' situation. i nodded in agreement with myself, then put my empty bowl in the sink and went back to my room.

i fixed up my bedhead, and then grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a large t-shirt, and my chuck taylors. i took a glance at myself in the mirror and sighed, mentally scolding myself for the shit I've let happen over the last 5 years, like i did every morning. i'm so stupid. so vulnerable.

whatever.

i shut off my light and closed my bedroom door, then went downstairs. i grabbed my house keys off the hook next to the door, and then closed and locked it behind me. i felt uneasy the whole walk to Emma's house, constantly checking over my shoulder. eventually i got to Emma's and her mom let me in, and i was thanking god that Emma only lived about two blocks away.

me and Emma spent the day together. we went to the convenience store and got slushies, and then to the park where we met Jonathan and hung out with him for a bit. once the day few by, and the streetlights started coming on, we all agreed that we should go home before it got darker. as soon as i was walking home and i wasn't with Jonathan and Emma, dread crept over my body. it was dark, i was alone, and i had no clue whether or not henry and his gang were out on one of their little 'patrols.' i feel like it took an eternity to get home, but i finally did, and as soon as i unlocked the door and stepped inside, I locked the door and went to the kitchen. I reheated a slice of leftover pizza and leaned against the counter while i ate it. it was dark in the house, with the kitchen counter lights being the only thing lighting up the room i was in. after i was done eating, i turned to the sink and scrubbed a few plates that were sitting in the sink. when i was done, i clicked off the kitchen lights and walked back to my bedroom. halfway down the hallway, i heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor. inside my bedroom. immediately my heart dropped to my stomach, and i became silent. slowly i backed up, sliding my socks along the carpet, never lifting my feet, not making any noise. i slipped back into the kitchen and frantically looked around, somehow forgetting where anything was in my house. i grabbed a bread knife from the first drawer and spun back around, quietly pacing back and forth, trying to get my head on straight.

okay.. theres someone in your room. you dont know who.. but you know that they could be dangerous. shit. okay.

i inched back down the hallway, not breathing. i slowly grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. my room was still. there was nobody there. yet my clothes were scattered all over the floor, my bookshelf was missing three of my favorites, my window was wide open, and there was dried mud on my floor. my jaw dropped in shock and i uttered out a small squeak. i stood there in disbelief as i walked into the room further and closed the door behind me. i flicked on my lights and dropped the knife on my bed. after i stuck my head out of my window and saw nobody, i quickly closed and latched my window, pushing my curtains closed. as my fingertips dragged over the windowsill, my nails caught on a notch in the wood. my brow furrowed as i looked closer and traced the lines. there were two letters engraved in my windowsill. initials.

P. H.

that son of a bitch patrick. terrorizing me at school was one terrible thing, but breaking into my house, my room, destroying my belongings, stealing my stuff and carving his fucking name into my windowsill. carving his name into my life. im fucking done dealing with this.

i threw on a sweater and my working boots, grabbed the kitchen knife again and stormed out of my house. i didn't bother to lock the door. i didn't care if id be back or not. i was going to kill this freak.

author note.

HI IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED BUT IM WORKING ON THE NEXT PART I PROMISE THERE WILL BE SOME ROMANCE BECAUSE IK YOU ASKED FOR THAT!! I LOVE YALL SM

#patrick hocksetter #it2017 #the losers club #losers club #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins #patrick hocksetter x reader

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kiryoutann · 1 year

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

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Emergency meeting, they said.

The aristocrats filled the familiar large hall, where the meeting was about to begin. Some had curious expressions, but not a few had irritated faces after being forced to abandon whatever business they were doing before the knights sent letters to come to the main palace immediately.

“Is His Highness in his right mind now?” One sitting near Duke Maxim joked.

Another nodded in agreement. "Let's hope so. I left my woman for this.” He said, the smell of cigars and alcohol following his breath.

The sound of the large door opening. All eyes were drawn to Prince Childe, who entered with an expression that stood out in stark contrast to yesterday's. Brilliant blue eyes scanned the royals as if they were looking for someone. Either he found them or he was waiting for something, Childe walked towards his seat.

"Good afternoon everyone!"

The nobles' jaws hung open. Just now, had he really just greeted them? Rather than an emergency conference, he was now acting as if this was nothing more than a tea party that noble ladies usually host.

“"Please accept my apologies for the inconvenient times. But I think today is the right day for something dramatic." He continued, adding to the confusion in the room.

In his chair, Childe sat up straight. Unlike the previous days when he had served as his spokesperson, Dmitri stood silently next to him. The prince curled his lips into a smile which he gave everyone. He rested his elbows on the table before linking his fingers with one another.

"I have answers for two things that are still in question: the King's death investigation and the attack on the Princess."

The smile grew wider when his ears caught the mutterings of the nobles. His hands tightened from the excitement. He let them say whatever they wanted, as compensation for their inability to do so in the next few hours.

“That's why I brought that person here myself.”

More shocking than Childe smiling was the woman who had just entered the room. There are no whispers between the sounds of your approaching footsteps, perhaps because the people trailing you are no less interesting. In his seat, Duke Maxim swallowed hard. Why the hell is that confidant here?

Several pairs of eyes looked at you as if you were a ghost—an undead they didn't think would survive. You replied with a smile on your face.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Compared to Childe's, your greeting sounded calmer. But, why now did Maxim feel the urge to get up from his chair and make excuses to leave the meeting? The uneasiness in his stomach was inexplicable. What is he afraid of? It's impossible for you to know everything, right? There’s no way.

“It's nice to see familiar faces. If the situation was different, perhaps I would have invited all of you to a tea party.”

You're always good at small talk. Being too adept at wrapping yourself up makes it seem like you're nothing more than a stupid woman who happens to be lucky to have a princely husband from a great kingdom. You've always liked that way though, leading your prey into a trap with a smile before actually catching them.

A glance you give to Childe. “Your Highness, may I?” You sound as if you're requesting approval.

On the features of his handsome face, a smile was carved perfectly; one that makes some stir in uneasiness. Unlike you, most of the time every time Childe smiles is a sign that something bad is about to happen.

“Go ahead, Love. Tell me what I don't know." He says.

You nodded, "Thank you, Your Highness."

“In these few days, I have spent all my time unconscious after an assassination attempt was made on the royal family.” You began. “It appears to have been well planned. Someone deliberately set off something on the other side of the building to attack the members of the royal family as they were rushing towards the safe room.”

That smile you put on said one thing but friendliness. "In order to reveal the truth of this crime, let me name people who will aid me." You raise your free hand.

The index finger was pointed in an impolite manner, as if you had forgotten that they were titled nobles. However, no one dared open their mouths to protest—not when Childe sat in his chair with a proud smile as he rested his chin on his hand as if he were watching opera. Maxim anxiously watched you point out one by one the people who happened to be part of his group. No... something like this couldn't be a coincidence. Has someone betrayed him?

“The gentlemen I have chosen, please stand before me.” The order was given by you.

Cold sweat started pouring from their temples. No matter how hard they tried to hide it, fear was too obvious on their faces. Of the many people you appointed, no one dared to come forward.

“Your Highness! This is slander! I did nothing!"

The shout of one of them echoed throughout the room. Childe ignored him, but was clearly amused. These people reminded him of a frightened mouse in a trap. You try hard to hold back a smile that breaks into a chuckle.

“Lord Lebedev, nobody is accusing you of anything. Did I not say that I would select people who would assist me in revealing the truth?"

If he was pale earlier, your words just now have drained the blood from his face. Too defensive without provocation. It was enough to get opinions and assumptions circulating in the room. Without you having to catch them, they will walk right into your trap. You won't have to say much and they will confess in the end.

"I'll repeat it once more. Please stand before me.”

Doubts. They are filled of doubts as they take steps to approach you. After they are all lined up in a row, you count them all out with your eyes. Ten people, only the mastermind remained sitting in fear in his chair. The best bait deserves the biggest surprise.

"There are a lot of you." You make a remark as you join your hands in front. “I was wondering, with this many people, can you make sure that no one is a traitor?”

Instantly, air seemed to be blocked from entering his lungs. Maxim felt a chill on his back, as if winter had suddenly come and touched him. In contrast to what he was feeling, his sweat was dripping like a man in flames. Unconsciously he locked his jaw. Is that true? That someone has betrayed? He glanced at each of his accomplices, trying to figure out who might have done that.

The pressure in the atmosphere of the room increases.

"For me to know exactly who was in this, I know it can't be called a coincidence." you smile. "One of you has turned traitor and told me everything."

Those nobles before you can no longer hide their fear. They started glancing at each other, staring for a long time as if communicating telepathically. It turns out they don't trust each other so much that one word from you can make them look ready to pick and bestow one of them as a sacrifice.

You bring your hands together. “"How about we play a guessing game to ease the tension? Whoever can guess the traitor is will have their sentence reduced.” Your voice is enthusiastic, blind to their anxiety.

In his seat, Childe widened a smile. You're crazy, very crazy. It was something that made his chest fill with warmth and his heart beat with enthusiasm. He clenched his fists to exercise control. He's going to let you have the fun this time—at least while they're still alive, before they're left alone in the room with him.

From despair, one of them pushed another. "Him! It must be him!”

"Are you crazy?!" The other one replied.

“Lieutenant Kozlov did say that he was thinking of turning himself in to His Highness in case the plan failed! It must be him!”

Your brows furrow, feigning curiosity. "He said that when..?"

“After that meeting! After we discussed the plan!”

Silence fell as soon as the echo of the answer disappeared. At the same time, the nobleman realized what he had just said. Another one has fallen into your trap, and you're still holding yourself back from celebrating.

“Ah, a confession.” You said softly.

“N-no, Your Highness! It is not my intention-!"

"You have the tenacity to find the 'traitor'. But, I'm afraid you won't be granted amnesty because, to be entirely honest, there were no traitors from the start.” You watch their eyes widen as their jaws droop, threatening to fall. "I have to say, though, that you all make for an excellent bunch considering you all have the same objectives and viewpoints. Perhaps that is what made you equally foolish, and why you chose to seek the 'traitor' rather than be one to protect the royal family. For a moment, I thought you really wanted no leniency at all.”

“Your Highness! Please!”

"It must have taken someone slightly wiser than all of you to come up with such a plan." You walk up to the older man. "This might be your last chance to be forgiven. Tell me, who is that person?"

The man rubbed his sweaty hands. He blinked a few times, took a few breaths. But despite his best attempts, the tension in his shoulders and the shaking in his lips persisted. Knowing that the scenario had changed to whether they still had tomorrow, the other nobles behind him sneakily peered at each other.

"It's.. it's.." His Adam's apple bobbed and swallowed hard. “It's..”

The sound of something falling to the floor. You turned to find another noble in front of you kneeling shouting a name.

“It's Duke Maxim! Your Highness! Duke Maxim planned all of that!”

"It’s a lie! A slander!”

A new voice made the whole room turn to the handsome man who now stood up from his seat. The star in this story has broken his silence. Behind the lashes, his eyes were wide open. How could he say it was slander when he was sweating like that?

“Duke,” You turned your body towards him. “Do you have anything to say?”

Maxim clenched his fists tightly, trying to calm himself down. He knew his brain wouldn't work under anger. “That is baseless slander, Your Highness.” He repeated, this time in a quieter voice.

“Is that so?” You swept your eyes across the anxious nobles before you. "If that's the case, then why do they say you're the mastermind?"

Maxim clenched his jaw. “I.. I don't know either. As a duke… isn't it logical to have someone frame me like this?” His voice trails off at the end, trying to pass himself off as an ill-fated man. "Someone wants to ruin me, Your Highness!"

"Perhaps you mean Liyue?"

When you said that, the arguments for self-defense came to an end.

"That day, you spent the most time with the King. Before we drink tea together, you have already given him wine. Was it from Zhilchik?" You maintain eye contact with Maxim until you realize he is glaring at you with intense resentment. "After a split second of drinking the tea, the late king coughed up blood. All my life I have been trained to remember the events I saw, but surely you would have doubts about that."

You turned to the confidant of the late king, Vlad. “Sir Vlad, please explain as best you can.”

Vlad—with a polite nod at you—walked over to stand beside you. He glanced at Maxim who was still standing by his chair. Whereas the black-haired man was in constant fear spreading within him. As if it wasn't enough with just you, Vlad is here to add to his destruction.

"Although my memory isn't as sharp as Her Highness', I do recall an irritating voice that kept urging the maids to throw the tea away—as if that were more urgent than the King dying on the floor."

A chill ran down Maxim's back. His breaths began to be short, labored as if someone had cut off his breathing. The clenched fists were getting sweaty.

“That's because I—!”

“But, Sir Vlad, Duke Maxim might have been trying to prevent anyone else from getting poisoned.”

Maxim could not believe his ears. Why did you suddenly come to his aid? He's staring at you trying to scan your face for something in it. Nothing. Just a confused expression. Or maybe you've always been this naive? Always this stupid? Whatever it was, this was a golden opportunity for him and he couldn't waste it.

"That's right! I ordered the maid to throw away the tea immediately for fear of poisoning you, Your Highness! You are an important key to Snezhnaya's glory!” He shouted out loud to make sure Childe heard this too.

Your lips curved into a smile before opening to say, "But Duke, didn't you say you asked someone to check the composition of the tea?"

In that second, his heart seemed to have stopped beating. Checkmate. He foolishly stepped into your trap. The 'clean' nobles around him started whispering, muttering about the day he said that researchers found Silence poison in the tea. But, with his new statement now, there are only two plausible possibilities: either he lied or he took the sample before the King drank it.

Everything is a dead end for him. Lying to the royal family is a capital offense, killing the royal family is an act of betrayal. Maxim unfortunately combines the two.

“Ah, how dare you lie to me.”

Childe's voice made Maxim immediately turn to look at him with undisguised fear. Blue eyes like the deepest ocean trenches, threatening to take him in and never to the surface. The Prince was still resting his chin on his hand, but the look he gave him was enough to tell that it wasn't difficult for him to stand up and come over to help him find his end.

“Y-Your Highness! This—this is all a trap! Someone is setting me up! I have served the royal family for a long time! Why would I do all that?!”

Maxim seems nothing more than a drunken babbler. His mouth must be running faster than his brain. He looked pathetic—different from the him you sawin your vision. His accomplices were no better than him either.

“Only you know the reason, Duke. Care to tell us, where did the courage you have come from that you dared to kill nearly two royalty?” You continue. "But then again, all your denial will be useless because the knights have searched your residence."

The door was pushed open revealing several knights entering with a vial on a purple cushion. If Maxim's eyes had previously widened, now his surprise makes you believe his eyeballs will pop out of his lids. Those heavy footsteps filled the conference room before they stopped right in front of you and knelt down respectfully. You shifted giving everyone a chance to see what they found.

A smile of victory you gave to Maxim. "'Silence', right?" you ask.

Maxim let out a laugh—one you're sure didn't come out of his sane side. "This is crazy!" He threw his hands in the air. “This is really crazy! Someone is setting me up! Princess (Y/N) might be setting me up, Your Highness! This was all planned by Liyue!”

This man really wants hell. He wanted hell and all the torments in it by saying that. You don't mind hearing it, after all it's out of desperation and nothing about it is true. But, it was always different with Childe; the gaze in his blue eyes was sharp, perhaps sharper than the knights' swords put together.

"What did you say?" Childe's voice came out dangerously.

“She must have planned this all to set me up!” Maxim repeated louder trying to convince everyone.

You don't take his word for it. “You also said that the late king coughed up blood after drinking the tea. To be fair, how about we put that to a test?” Maxim paled from your words.

“F-forgive the interruption, Your Highness! But, what do you mean by that?” One of the noblemen inquired.

From Childe's signal to the knights, the door opened again—this time with the arrival of someone being dragged inside. Like a scarecrow, he had a cloth covering his face. He knelt on the cold marble floor in shabby clothes stained with dried blood. The nobles shuddered at his presence.

“W-who is this?!”

Dmitri was the one to reply, “This is the assassin that shot Her Highness that day.” He said before continuing which left the room full of shock, “This man is scheduled to be executed today.”

Childe glanced at the maid who had arrived with hot tea. "Do it." He gave orders.

The maid nodded rushing over to the knight carrying the poison. He placed the teacup in the middle of the table, giving them all a chance to watch as a drop of liquid from the small vial made its way into the tea. Maxim’s eyes followed where the tea tray was taken—to the kneeling man.

“No.. no! NO!”

"Gentlemen, let us prove the Duke's words." Your voice comes out cold.

A knight removed the sack covering the man's face, then drank tea through his lips. He walked backwards after making sure he took one gulp. The pressure in the room grew heavier as Maxim froze in cold sweat.

One two..

Two minutes passed.

Two minutes passed without anything happening to the man. He was still on his knees, motionless as if he had accepted his fate. The nobles furrowed their brows, whispering in disbelief of the 'proof' you stated would be carried out.

The sound of coughing echoed throughout the room.

The man fell to the side coughing. Gasps filled the air as red liquid stained the marble floor. Vlad closed his eyes tightly—it felt like déjà vu. You stared straight ahead without looking at the man's condition, already knowing what awaited him after taking a sip of the tea laced with deadly poison.

“Oh my God!”

“It’s true! He's really coughing!”

The sound of his cough gradually weakened. You take a deep breath, clenching your trembling fists. Hold it in, (Y/N), it will all be over soon.

When the room was silent, the footsteps of a knight rushed to the man's body. He put two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse and answered everyone's question with a shake. The man was gone—he had received his death sentence by drinking the same poison that was in his arrows that day.

As you breathe in, your eyelids tightly close. Your head fills with an upwelling of mixed emotions. “Now you see,” you spoke up as Maxim's eyes bore down on you with rage and hatred. "It took him a while to start coughing. The poison ‘Silence’ isn’t one that kills instantly—that makes it the perfect one if you want to kill without raising suspicion.”

It was beyond you how he had plans to kill someone just to blame it on someone else—making a war after. If you didn't get the vision at that time, what will happen to you and Shiva now? Are you going to live in slander for killing someone?

You begged all Gods to grant that damn Duke a horrible death.

You took the little vial to show him. “Not only did you stop there but, you also intended to harm His Highness with this small dose of Silence Poison.” Purple color resplendent in it. “You did that in the hope that you could be the one to save him with the antidote you stocked up after burning all of it.”

One of the knights held up another vial of green liquid. Ekaterina shows documents regarding the fire incident in the village of Klirinsk. For a land fire to occur in this cold country..isn't that strange?

“It is what gives you the impression that you will get away with this, but you won't. Perhaps God helped you hide that wine bottle throughout the past few weeks; however, Duke, it is now over. You are all alone. You must now reap what you sowed. Don't expect God's presence after all the sins you have committed. Accept everything; your efforts were worthwhile while they lasted, but now you have shown that you are nothing more than a pretty face.”

The words left your lips. After taking a deep breath, you turned your heels to leave the room. But, you remember something.

“Ah,” You stopped in your tracks. “Don't you know? Your wife came to me the day before the incident. She said something bad would happen if His Highness didn't make a new agreement with you.”

Maxim's eyes widened as if they were about to pop out of their lids. His teeth were gritted together. The surge of emotion caused the veins in his temples to bulge. The room was filled with cursing from him as the knights held his hands behind his back.

His day has been ruined—all because of you. A Duke is dragged out against his will, his hands shackled in shackles. Maxim still has a lot to say. As the guards led him through the dark and smelly prison halls, he kept biting his cheek trying to convince himself that this was all a dream. It was only when he was thrown into one of the cells that he realized that this was real.

His mind had one thing playing over the long hours in that stone-walled room.

Will he get a forgiveness?

The question was repeated over and over in his head as Maxim sat in the cold end of the prison cell. His nose wrinkled couldn’t stand the stench of a dead rat not far from him. The moonlight came in through the small window bounded by strong iron. There was no way for him to escape from here. The only good thing he could be thankful for was that his body was still in one piece. He had expected Childe to meet him personally, finish him off or even tear him to pieces but, no. Could it be that he was just acting back then?

Maxim wasn't even put in an underground cell. This means that he will be granted forgiveness, right?

As if coming to answer his question, one of the prison guards approached his cell to open the padlock. Maxim stood up from his seat, dusting off his expensive clothes from the dust of the prison's stone floor. His face didn't fit to be in this place much longer.

"His Highness ordered me to take you to him."

A surprised expression painted on his face. "His Highness said that?" Maxim asked, answered with a short nod.

So it's true, Childe is forgiving him.

On his way into the room, Maxim tried to hold back a smile. It's too early to celebrate, he thought. Even though Childe would grant him mercy, he knew he still had work to do to regain his trust; after all, he was the same person who killed his father and was about to kill him. Maybe people are wrong about Childe—he's not heartless, he has a big heart to forgive people like him—

Maxim's thoughts stopped when he arrived at the vast dark room. In the middle, Childe was walking around with a sword in hand.

“Ah, you’re here.”

The 'greeting' came out of Childe's lips casually. Under the dim light, he could see a grin plastered on his face. He swung his sword playfully, waving his hand telling Maxim to join in immediately.

"Give it to him." Childe gave the order and the knight pushed a sword at Maxim. “Do you want a shield? Actually, you know what, just give him one.”

With a puzzled expression, Maxim accepted the sword and shield. He took a step closer to Childe after making sure he gave him permission. After getting close enough, he then asked: “Y-Your Highness, I don't understand the meaning of this.” He said, unsure of his words.

Childe paused. "What's not clear? You’re going to fight me. Is that understood?” He spun his sword once more.

Wait, what?

Just now he said that he was going to fight him? Maxim swallowed hard. His sword and shield now felt not good enough. No one had ever won against Childe—Tartaglia—no matter how much battle experience they had. Maxim was no exception.

Being so generous, Childe allowed him time to process everything, using it to fix his chest harness. A waiter brought him a glass of whiskey which he downed. He rolled up his sleeves. Maxim was still standing like a fool; not ready yet and will never be ready.

"Hey, what's with the cold feet, huh? Aren't you the same man who killed my father and nearly harmed my wife?"

Tired of waiting any longer, Childe let out an annoyed sigh. “Come on! Raise,”—he swung his sword requiring Maxim to do the same while taking a step back in evasion—“your sword!”

A grin climbed up his face. "That's more like it!" Childe kept taking steps forward, deliberately missing the aim of his sword—finding pleasure in Maxim's frightened expression. His eyes widened, sweat dripping from his temples. He wondered what shade of red his blood was.

“Your Highnesses! Please, please! Please stop!”

Maxim's plea came in before it left his ears—like the cries of cattle being slaughtered. His sword made a sound as it cut through the air, barely hitting Maxim's eye by a few inches. Childe continued to take steps forward. Finding no solution, Maxim started swinging the attacks that he dodged. Childe found an opening and cut in.

Red drips on the floor.

Maxim's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His jaw locked as he tried to hold back the pain of the open wound on his cheek. Those treacherously sparkling blue eyes stared at him like a predator. He would not stop until Maxim begged not for his life, but for his death.

"That's all you got? Come on, aren't you devoted to the royal family? Let this be atonement for your sins before I send you to your death!”

Maxim used his own sword to deflect Childe's blow. He must survive.

Childe took a step forward. "You should be grateful, that I'm still kind enough to let you breathe a little longer." He drew his sword to launch a new attack.

The sound of swords hitting the floor echoed through the room. Maxim fell to his knees, bleeding from a fresh shallow wound in his neck. His back was rising and falling with breaths he couldn't catch anymore. Fear overcame his ability to fight even though he had been doing it for his whole life. He clenched his fists tightly.

“Your—Your Highness..” He tried. “Your Highness, forgive me!”

Childe pushed back his sweaty hair. He watched the man in front of him tremble. Not long after, something flowed between Maxim’s legs and spread around him. "Ha." Childe let out a mocking scoff. “Did you just wet yourself?” He swung his sword around without a care. "So, she's right. You're nothing but a pretty face. I don't want to hear her say that again, though. So let's end this quickly."

The sword clinked after he threw it aside. Childe grabbed Maxim by the collar roughly. The stir in that gaze belonged neither to Childe nor to Ajax; it belongs to Tartaglia.

“Get up, man. The fight’s not over yet.”

Maxim had cursed himself. How had he forgotten that there were worse punishments than death? He watched as Childe clenched his hand into a fist before landing it on his aquiline nose. The Duke staggered backwards, trying to steady his legs only to receive a new blow to his jaw. The pain was radiating, giving him a headache. Another punch to his injured cheek opened the wound even wider.

There is only one punishment that is more horrible than the death sentence—when Tartaglia takes the time to become the executioner himself.

Perhaps he was disgusted by the blood splattered on his clothes. Childe unbuttoned his shirt and gave it to the maid standing guard at the side of the room. From his double vision, Maxim saw him twisting something around his fingers—his wedding ring.

Was that what made him so angry? That he touched you and nearly killed you?

Childe gives the ring to Dmitri. “Damn, I was so excited that I forgot to take it off. Make sure it's not broken. She'll kill me if it does." He said that with a warm smile—one he didn't expect from him.

Another hit. Maxim fell to the cold floor, adding to his agony. He wanted to die now.

“Ple.. phleashe..”

His lips were too swollen to speak. He might have bitten his tongue from his efforts to endure the pain. His hands felt numb. It hid him from the moonlight and served as a constant reminder that he was his worst nightmare.

Childe continued his suffering until dawn when he returned to you.

Like a skilled thief, he tiptoed slowly trying to make as little noise as possible. Your back is facing him while you sleep wrapped in a comfortable blanket. Childe wanted to sneak up to hug you, let himself lie down covered in the blood of the man who had just breathed his last from all the blows. He regarded it as a momentary example of evidence that those who dared to harmed people he loved would always suffer the consequences of their actions. Nonetheless, he is aware that you hate blood. He refrained from kissing you and immediately rushed to wash himself.

After making sure he was clean, Childe crawled on the bed wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You move in your sleep, opening your eyes slowly and smiling at him.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked, no guilt in his voice.

You chuckle. "I know you did it on purpose." You say and he joins in your laughter, cupping your face to plant a peck on the lips.

Childe pulled away to give another one to your forehead. You put your hands on his only to frown while furrowing your brows then. He gulped when you started scanning his fingers looking for something.

"Where's your ring?"

The lack of lighting doesn't blind you to the grimaces and nervous giggles that come out of him. “I told Dmitri to clean it for me. H-He’ll finish the day after tomorrow. Don't worry, Love—”

“Did you break it?”

A dramatic gasp from him. “No way! I would never do that on purpose! You know that! You know me, right?" Childe pursed his lips looking at you like a puppy who's just been scolded.

You didn't buy it, though.

"If I find out you were lying to me, you are welcome to sleep in your room again tomorrow."

“No! Ah, why are you being so mean to me?” Childe hastily buried his face into your collarbone. “F-fine! I accidentally broke it. There, I said it! Shouldn't you be giving me a prize for my honesty?" He looked up with hopeful eyes.

You squint. "I'll.. think about it." Your smile widens when you hear him whining again, hugging you tighter begging for forgiveness.

AbbyBianx, ness

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greypetrel · 3 months

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Distance.

Ages ago, @salsedine sent me not one but 2 prompts from this Florence prompt list. You can find the first one here for some mutual F!Mahariel/Morrigan pining, but the second one...

Big God is one of those songs I really like and always need to listen to… twice or thrice in a row. I wanted to do it good and catch the feeling and I felt like I always was going out of theme. I wrote this prompt. And re-wrote it. And re-wrote it again. Settled on an idea. Wrote it twice. Re-read it and be angry at it.

I was considering changing the character (in my mind it's an Aisling song, but MH), or making it crack, but then I read Florence talking about it, describing this song as a “obviously, an unfillable hole in the soul, but mainly about someone not replying to my text"...

… And I realize I already wrote it in one of my ten thousand iteration.

So here you go it’s angsty. Post Trespasser. AND it’s epistolary, because I wanted to try it. Maybe I’ll post the bigger version on AO3, it’s Aisling’s pov and it got discarded because it was getting LONG even for my standards. That needs an ending and some more editing, tho, so here you go in the meanwhile.

37. The best of the best and the worst of the worst CW: Mental illness, PTSD, Depression

Sometimes I think it's getting better And then it gets much worse Is it just part of the process? Jesus Christ, it hurts Big God – Florence + The Machine

Skyhold, August 27, 9:44 Dragon

Aisling,

Just writing to check in that you got there all right. Stupid of me, since you left but… What, few hours ago?

I hope you can forgive me for organizing all this. I swear it’s not to send you away, it’s not because I don’t want you, but I don’t think staying here was doing you any good. Three days in a bed are too many, my love, I hope you can forgive me for worrying.

I am already missing you, before you can think of anything else. If you need, please know that I’m but a letter away. Ask, and I’ll come running.

All my love, Cullen

---

Skyhold August 29, 9:44 Dragon

Hello, love.

I’m told you arrived all right and you settled in Stone-Bear Hold, and I wanted to give you a welcome myself.

Don’t take these as any pressure to reply. Take your time, I am here waiting until you’re ready.

Pet Storvacker for me as well, would you?

All my love, Cullen

---

Skyhold, August 31, 9:44 Dragon

My love,

Nothing much happened, don’t worry. It’s all bureaucracy and I’m quite bored.

I must say that you were right, your room is indeed dauntingly big - I’m rolling my eyes at your smug grin, right now. I left all the pieces of my armour on the floor, one beside the other, to fill it a little and to recreate some mess. You can laugh. Since you’re gone it’s all too tidy, and I miss you.

All my love, Cullen

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 3, 9:44 Dragon

My love,

I missed yesterday, sorry about that.

I’m fine, it was just a busy day. Before you ask: yes, I’m eating regularly and I’m fine.

I think Dennet is a little bored, without you and Little Brother around. I caught him snorting grumpily at a horse that obeyed to him right away, the other day. I hope Little Brother is well, I am sure I don’t have to tell you to give him an apple from me.

Or should I? I got told you didn’t go to the stables onc Nevermind that, you surely know better.

Love, Cullen

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 5, 9:44 Dragon

Is it already a week since I last saw your face? It seems a lot more.

I slept in my old loft tonight, it’s less big and daunty and I had a lot of work. It feels void anyway, without you, and whatever company there is at lunch can’t hold a candle to you, even if I appreciate it. See? I’m also eating with other people, like you’d want. It’s not really the same without you, but I’m holding on. And struggling to make these letters longer, as you’d want too.

Without you making shenanigans with Dorian and Sera, it’s all too quiet, and there’s really little to report.

Beside that I miss you.

All my love, Cullen

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 7, 9:44 Dragon

Aisling,

I hate to speak about work, particularly right now. But this bears importance to mention:

If you’re approached by Sapphira, please turn her away. She came up with a plan and… We turned her down already, Cassandra is dealing with it. Do not worry at all, but if she comes to you, please be wary, I doubt she is your friend. I doubt she was ever our friend.

I hate to write this letter with such things. My plan was for you to forget about work for a while and figure things out, and look at me. You really married the wrong person not to talk about work, I fear.

I am sorry, love. I hope you’re doing better and are more rested. I hope you can get out of bed in the morning with no problems.

If you are and you do, then missing you so much is fine.

I love you, Cullen

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 8, 9:44 Dragon

Love,

I’m making up for yesterday’s letter with a better one.

I managed to convince Cabot to give me the recipe of his scones, and to let me try it with his supervision.

I did some turns in the kitchen back when I was training, and well. I’m no baker in any way, but they didn’t turn out so bad for a first trial. I think you’d like them. And it was pleasant to do. By the time I’ll see you again I hope I’ll be better.

Maybe after I’ll learn these I’ll ask the cook to teach me to make custard, what about it?

I hope you are eating enough.

I do miss you, a lot. Cullen

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 11, 9:44 Dragon

Aisling.

I understand you aren’t well. I understand you need time and space, all too well.

This is in no way meant as a criticism or to withdraw anything I ever professed for you. I still love you, I still want you, I have no intention of leaving you, ever if you’ll let me stay.

It’s just been a difficult night and I fear that-

I don’t know what to think of your lack of answer and it’s terror-

I’d need for you to write back, just to

Please-

Never mind that.

I wish you answered to me. Just once. Tell me you’re fine, tell me anything, really.

Please.

I shouldn’t send this.

I do love you, I do, and I wished you were fine and you were here.

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 12, 9:44 Dragon

Aisling,

Never mind the letter from yesterday.

I’m sorry I sent it, I shouldn’t dump that on you right now.

The love still stands. I’m better now. Could use a full night sleep, but this bed is just so damn big. I complained to Josephine and she laughed because apparently you told her the same thing.

She told me to say hi, maybe you’ll read this before her letters? Well. We all miss you.

Love, C.

---

Stone-Bear Hold, Kingsway 13, 9:44 Dragon

Cullen,

I am so sorry- Please, if you- If you can bear to forgive-

I’m sorry, I really am that you’re not well and facing it alone. Before you can tell me so: no, I don’t mind listening. Please, tell me more. I hope you are really better, and it’s not something you wrote to make me feel better. Don’t lie just to spare my feelings, please, I’m better knowing.

I know you’re strong and you’ll make it through, you did so many times before and you’ll do it one more time, I trust you. Just, take it easy, please. You made the right choice and it’s good to pursue this path, even if it’s difficult and it hurts and thirsty.

You can do it. You already did it. More than once. I have not many things to believe into, right now, but I do believe in you.

I am fine.

Since when you started seeing that as a lie? I do wonder if it was exactly when you started complaining about it, or if you realised sooner. Comes to mind I never asked you.

I am surviving, I can’t say anything more than this, I am afraid.

It’s… I am so sorry. I have forced myself to read your letters just today, in truth.

Physically I am fine. I am not in pain, the wound closed well and the Healer is happy with it, says that beside the scars I have nothing to fear anymore. My balance is still off, but I trip and bump less and less. Nonetheless…

I am given things to do. I help the Augur and Sigrid Gulsdotten in their activities, and it’s good and honest work. The morning is for people, helping them out, preparing rites, picking herbs when we finish them. The afternoons the children come for lessons, and I’m more another student than a help, but the Augur doesn’t seem to mind much, and I quite like listening to the lore. I can’t but wonder if the Lady of the Sky was also a not going there.

After that is when time stops. I don’t know what to do, honestly. I lived so much out of roles and paths pre-traced for me that now that I’m out of them all I find myself in the void. Do I like the things I do because I had to, because of habit, or because I sincerely do? When I am left with nothing left to do, I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what I like and I don’t know who I am.

That’s why I haven’t replied before. It’s like… I think back of the person I was, and it doesn’t feel like I’m her anymore. I am terrorized at the idea that I’ll open those letters and they’ll all be addressed to a person that’s not me anymore. I can’t take it, right now. Thank you for having written, and thank you for not having written to her.

I miss you so much.

I miss you most at lunches: no one here can hold a candle against you, too. I miss our conversations and your friendship.

I miss you in the afternoons, because all that comes to mind is that I could curl in the corner of the couch in your office. Complain because it’s always full of boxes of reports and there’s no space. And just watch you work.

I miss you at nights the most. Sigrid is a good hugger, but she’s not you, she hasn’t your smell and she cuts the hugs always short.

Tonight I missed you so much that… Ida Sigridsdotten and Annike Majasdotten married, today. I put up a dress and smiled and helped the rites as I was asked to. But when it was over, and people started walking to the Hall for the banquet I missed you so much, I couldn’t ignore the memories. It was so unbearable that I fell back and decided to open one of your letters. Just one, I thought, I need to know who you were talking to.

It was so brief -not that I expected anything else, I know you. So I opened another. And another.

I couldn’t avoid answering your last letter, I hope you don’t mind if this is so long. It compensates for all those days of silence, I hope.

I really hope it does.

Is it ok for me to conclude this with expressing love? I am not sure who I am anymore, I don’t know what I like, but I do know that I love you. Reading your letters was a breath of fresh air. Ironical no? I get so much of it, these days.

Write to me again, if you wish.

With all the love I can muster, from exactly where I don’t know but it’s there, Aisling.

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 14, 9:44 Dragon

Love.

Another calm day, full of bureaucracy.

I do hate dealing with money and calculating. You’d laugh at me and tell me it’s simple maths and do everything in five minutes.

Sometimes I still look up from my desk and expect you napping on the couch. I don’t think it did you so well, and I’m glad you’re out there doing better things, and I won’t lie: it made me feel observed. But now that you’re away, I do miss that too.

Maker, I miss your mess. Frida went through all your drawers, now they’re unbearably organized.

I do wonder: are you reading?

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 15, 9:44 Dragon

My love,

You would be happy in knowing I just made a fool of myself.

Your letter came, and I just took it and ran away without realizing, leaving apparently Josephine and a trio of Comtes who lent us money and were discussing of reparations standing in the Great Hall, mid speech.

If I don’t answer anymore, Josie came for my head.

Now, with order.

I am afraid you never were much of a liar, my love. I realised you weren’t fine as you told it the first time in Haven, you have always worn your heart on your sleeve. Honestly? I liked that in you from the start. I only hope this new you still has it, it was endearing and soothing. But if you don’t feel like that anymore, it’s fine anyway. But please, don’t lie to me. No need for it.

I wish you were here too, but I don’t think you’d like being here. For the rest, I’m fine. Really. It was just a bad night. I’m better now that I heard from you.

As for the rest, I can think of a couple of things you like: magic and animals. You love horses. Maker knows you worried me so and busied Josie enough to make you presentable again after the stables to like horses out of duty. What about it?

Answer, if you’d like. I understand if you don’t. I’ll keep the love with gladness.

All my love, Cullen

---

Stone-Bear Hold, Kingsway 17, 9:44 Dragon

Cullen,

Please don’t let Josie reach you. Or if she did, hello Josie, can I have his cape back to remember him by?

Thank you, love Cull my love. It all brought a smile, and it was something I needed. That was a lovely long letter, please keep it up, I appreciated it so much.

I don’t want to see horses. My balance is still off when I’m walking and I would hurt myself on a horse, for real. And I don’t think I could And I would hate to see you smug with a “I told you so”.

But yeah, I guess so. I pet Storvacker whenever she comes around, and it’s nice, she’s very beautiful and such a good creature. I think she remembers I saved her, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking. How’s Bran? Is he keeping you good company, did he learn to duck and not fetch?

The children hijacked the lesson, today, when the topic fell on Hakkon Wintersbreath. We went overtime because the kept asking me about the dragons I slayed, if it was true. Someone out there had spread the rumour I dealt with the three in the Emprise all at once? I had to struggle to convince them it didn’t happen like that, and they were even more disappointed than when I told them that slaying dragons is just a sad thing to do and I hated doing it.

Oh, there’s one thing I hate. Does it count?

I do love you, and I miss you a little less now that I’m writing back. Thank you for being so patient with me. I do love you, a lot. You’re one thing I really like.

Are you feeling better? For real.

Say that I’m sorry hello to the others from me.

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 19, 9:44 Dragon

My love,

It does count, and I think it goes into the liking animals box. Anything else? I remember you were quite fond of swimming, if I recall correctly our first visit to Honnleath and our last one in Wycome. What about it? If you can catch a sunny day, the water should still be warm enough to bathe.

And sweets. Do they have something sweet to eat? Should I ship down there your candy stash?

Bran is fine, and is keeping me good company, thanks. He misses you too, but I’ve been fairly successful in teaching him not to sleep where you should be on the bed. Now he sleeps at my feet and I have to curl up. He still fetches, but we’re working on that too.

I am feeling better, I swear. For real, I took it easier in the last days and delegated some.

I firmly believe you wouldn’t fall if you tried to ride. I saw you. Maybe don’t start with a gallop, ease yourself in? I am sorry if I insist, but please, don’t let fear stop you. You love riding and you love that horse. And I’m sure he misses you too. And I’m not saying that to pressure you, but because you always light up when you talk about horses and about Little Brother, and I’m sure he misses you too. But it’s ok, ignore this paragraph if it bothers you, you surely know best what’s good for you.

Everyone says hello. There are various recommendations of hugs, and get well soon and missing you and a choir of “Horns up” from the Chargers and Dorian.

I second the missing, and the horns up too.

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 25, 9:44 Dragon

Aisling,

I am sorry if I told you something wrong.

Please, ignore the last letter.

Little Brother is well taken care of, safe as can be, and I recommend to give him extra apples and extra cuddles. Do not worry about him, love, and please forgive me if I insisted.

If I see another Comte pretending we borrowed money from him without papers to demonstrate it I swear I’m throwing them down the battlements. Bran growling at him had been a nice addition to the group. Josie too gave him a biscuit for his good job.

I happily announce you that I have a recipe for custard and a successful attempt to my record. It was good, I’m waiting for the first lemons to try it properly and try to make it as you like it.

I do miss you, love, and I worry. Forgive me if I said the wrong thing.

I do love you even if you’ll never ride again. Cullen

---

Skyhold, Kingsway 28, 9:44 Dragon

Aisling.

You know what?

Fuck the Comtes.

Josie and Cassandra can hold their own for a while.

Wait for me.

---

Stone-Bear Hold, Kingsway 28, 9:44 Dragon

Cullen.

I’m sorry. Again. I really am.

I was angry at first. And hurt. The thought of not riding again… I have been scraped clean of so much, that the idea of realizing that I had given away that too was unbearable, even in theory. You were right in insisting, because yes. I do love horses not out of duty.

Spirits, or whatever power there is in this world, how many weeks of waking up before the dawn I did back in Haven, because I didn’t want a mount out of duty and out of a choice made for me, but I wanted that horse? With you, it’s the one thing I don’t want to give up on, and you reminded me I had to.

But you were right. – I miss your smug smile, now, I would so much love to be able to kiss it away.

After two days of being angry, I decided to go to camp out of spite.

I hate how people there can’t talk to me and the pity there. I should thank you for organizing my stay with the Avvar, it was… It was what I needed.

Anyway.

Little Brother was, indeed, angry. I can’t hardly blame him. I know how he’s feeling.

I stood there in the paddock, as in the first days. He ignored me for hours. And then he approached me. Bumped me to the ground with his head.

I deserved it, poor thing. I left him on his own for a month. And I know he must have felt abandoned and… And nobody should feel like that.

I cried for the first time in a month, and we cuddled.

You were right, my love. It did me well.

I think I’ll get back in the afternoons.

I never answered to you about magic and… I’m not using much magic. I’ve been seeing Desperation again in my dreams. Nothing much, I’m still here and I’m fine, both the Augur and Sigrid are aware. The Augur has been very helpful. I’m telling you because it may help you too.

He says that for all negative spirits we attract, there’s a good one too. The good one is lingering around, we just need to see it, even if it’s a little more difficult to tune down the noise of the other.

I feel mine: there’s Cole around, lingering at the edge of my vision. He hasn’t approached me yet, but I feel him, always there. At the ready should I… Well, I do need him. But I need him from afar.

I’m not yet ready to face head-on what happened, and facing him would mean that.

But I’m writing you from the stable, forgive the wobbly calligraphy. I hope you can still read it, but my desk is furry and breathing. I couldn’t take his head away from my legs, and I don’t want to. He needed this, and so do I.

I stopped crying, but I think I’ll get back at it in some minutes. It’s good for me, and I missed it too.

I feel hopeful today.

Thank you for pushing me to come here.

Thank you for knowing me better than I do. I needed that. I still do.

I will be ready to see Cole and talk with him. Eventually.

I think I’ll try to hop on Little Brother, tomorrow.

I should probably stop writing. I do miss you keenly, right now, and I wish you were here. Do not fret here, tho: you have work to do and I don’t want to distract you any more than I’m already doing, love.

I am fine. I’m not lying.

Please do not worry, and remember that I love you. Even if you make me angry at times.

I love you and I miss you, and I hope I’ll dream of you tonight, and that it’ll be a nice memory. It’s not that hot to swim, unfortunately, but I’ll be able to dream of when we did in Wycome.

Love, quite a lot of it even if it smells like horse, Aisling

---

Stone-Bear Hold, Kingsway 29, 9:44 Dragon

Cullen,

Nothing much to add since yesterday, honestly.

I just wanted you to be the first to know: I am waiting for Little Brother to be saddled. I need to find a way to do it myself, but-

*the rest is written in a calligraphy even less readable and clear than the rest, clearly scribbled very quickly.*

You must be kidding- Who am I writing to, I’m telling you directly.

Spirits, you’re so sappy it’s lucky I love you.

Or not, the lucky one is definitely me.

Here? Really? With all those reports?

Ok I’m done, I’m asking you.

---

Stone-Bear Hold, Kingsway 30, 9:44 Dragon

Hiding this in your boot as you sleep, if you won’t notice when you’ll put it up tomorrow, know that it’s the reason I smiled at you. Well, one of the reasons, not the only one and not the most important. But still.

Nothing much, I just wanted to say thank you, and reiterate that you’re impossible and stubborn and totally the fun police. And that I love you because you are.

Thank you, really.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #da fanfic #cullavellan #post trespasser #ANGST #writing petrel #aisling lavellan #cullen rutherford #epistolary #am I sure about anything of this? ABSOLUTELY NO #unfortunately my mind works in order I'll post this to hopefully be able to get on with the last prompt I have #also it's been in my WIP for two months and I'm tired of looking at it :"D

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