#back when it was still on chrysanthemum

[raspbeare]

just finished re-reading little mushroom for the second time, and FINALLY after 3 reads i’m on tumblr looking for it

on a related note: seeing the array of new readers’ responses from “i’m finally going to read it! :D” “haha silly mushroom guy” to “what does it mean to be human.” “experienced the full spectrum of human emotion” is amazing and hilarious lmao! like yess the world building and cute little mushroom catches you, then BOOM. existentialism.

it’s so good.

#ngl idk if that’s the right word for it but it’s what i got at 2 am #this damn novel fundamentally changed me #i don’t even remember WHEN i first read it #maybe in 2019 or 2020? #back when it was still on chrysanthemum #first reread it in 2021 #then i come back now and it’s grown so much??? #it has a physical book?? and a manhwa??? and an audio drama??? #y’all i’m so happy #if you haven’t read it you should #even if you’re not big on bl or dan mei #it isn’t THAT big in the story #it’s pretty ace friendly ngl #READ IT #little mushroom #an zhe #lu feng #i don’t even know the tags FUCK 😭

[hai7ani]

familiar / haitani rindou

Haitani Rindou turns 32, gets married, and he silently wonders why people are so nice to him now.

the old retired ladies promoting milk powders and selling fresh fruits in the grocery store rushes up to him at any chance they get. one time when browsing for milk formulas one of them had tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at a brand she was not promoting for but thought was amazing when her own grandchild had tried it, and then placed a bunch of other stuff in his cart that she thinks his wife would need. an example would be containers of freshly cut mixed fruits that her colleague had just prepared. you remember him telling you that her tone was a lot more different than the average grocery store promoter trying to sell you a product ー it was almost as if she was talking to her own son.

when shopping for flowers just like he does every Sunday suddenly the part-timer who is usually silent, does her job and only responds to customers' needs had stepped up to him and pointed out a few selections that she believes are lovely for expecting parents. she was even smiling when doing so. and you remember he came home to you that day with two bouquets of fresh flowers ー chrysanthemum and baby's breath ー one in each hand.

today when taking you out for dinner in the local family-owned restaurant the daughter had served you a warm bowl of beef bone soup. neither of you had ordered it for yourselves, and you were about to tell her that, but her mother speaks before you can. "drink it, love. the soup is good for you." she yells a little from where she sits at the cashier with a grin. when Rindou stands to pay after finishing up her husband then refuses to take your bill for the night. "it's okay, son. dinner's on the house this time." he pats his shoulder and pushes you both out the door. "take care, you two. the next time you come i'll cook tofu for you, alright?" it was directed to you and you'd laughed, a little embarrassed but feeling warm and fuzzy nonetheless.

and now you are listening to your own husband ramble on and on about his new mysteries while he massages your feet on the couch.

"i seriously don't get it. i've been going to these places for years now and they were never this nice to us. i mean, they are nice, but never this nice, you know? it's the first time we've ever gotten a free meal from Kobayashi's."

we. us.

you brush his hair back, admiring the light wrinkles that have started to form on his skin. "that's exactly it, don't you think?" you bring it up and he hums in confusion.

"perhaps the reason why they've been so nice lately is exactly because you've been going to these places for years now. they know you."

"huh?"

"if you think about it, they've watched you go from an ordinary man to a husband, then a father. watched you bring a girl they've never seen before to these places more often and suddenly we go together all the time, you have a ring on your finger and i am pregnant. perhaps it is why. a sense of familiarity, maybe?"

Rindou looks at you as if you are love and warmth and everything pink and red and blue and purple and-

you are right, actually. you'd went from a girl he met at a bar to becoming the love of his life, the woman who is now carrying the love you both share. and the ladies at the grocery store, the Kobayashi's, the part timer who's been around even after graduating university years ago? they've all watched him grow.

when Rindou was 17 and had gotten ambushed by a rival gang alone, it was madam Kobayashi who'd ushered him into their store way past the last call and offered to cook him a nice meal, had her medical student son patch him up, her husband to chase away the remaining guys who were waiting for Rindou to come back out. her daughter had been about Rindou's age then, hiding behind the cashier and watching as he ate in silence with a cut to his lip, another on his eyebrow. (to this day still no one except for you, her, and him, knows that the reason he'd gotten ambushed that day was because he'd stood up for miss Kobayashi when she was getting bullied by one of the delinquents. she still thanks him for what he'd done whenever you both finish up your meal and get ready to leave.) Rindou was 17 when he'd first discovered what it was like to care for people; to be a human before anything else.

the two ladies from the grocery store wasn't yet retired and working this job back then. the promoter lady used to be the janitor who was working in the office building of his first job. she'd watched him gone through periods of unknowing, confusion, stress, to become a solid man of status today. the lady who is selling fruits used to work as a professional tutor and had been the one to tutor Rindou and his brother on Mathematics. although she is mute and can't respond in words when her students have confusing questions to ask, the brothers still thought of her as a good teacher because of the way she taught, which is why they'd stuck around and refused to switch teachers despite their parents' disapproval. because she is mute, she can only count on her colleague to dump containers of freshly cut fruits into his cart while motioning for her to tell him things that she actually wants to say to him whenever he visits the store.

the part timer at the florist is a lot younger than he is, but she have been working there for a very long time. watched him when he was still an inexperienced bachelor pacing around the store wondering which flower would be good on a first date to buying the same flowers every Sunday because you'd liked the lilies that she recommended.

it'd be heartwarming for anyone to see the boy you watch grow around love, into love, finding love, to marrying her and becoming a father.

"...yeah. maybe."

#寫作 #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers fluff

[fraugwinska]

Since your requests are open… can I request Alastor taking care of his sick wife? The crew noticed their mia and Alastor slinks away to their hotel room to find them dying (metaphorically) in their nest of blankets?

Thank you ;—; I love your writing sm! ฅ(•ㅅ•)ฅ

Whew - that was a first for me :D Switching it up for a little Alastor POV ;> I hope you like it, lovely Anon! (P.S. - The song mentioned is 'Unforgettable' by Nat King Cole)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

In Sickness and in Health

Alastor's day couldn't get better – adding another, large territory to his nicely growing collection, visiting his dear friend Rosie along the way, and now returning to his diddy hotel, full of entertainment, and with his lovely wife waiting for his return: He was in a rightfully jolly mood.

He'd left so early in the morning, letting his love sleep in deep, heavy breaths, he was wondering what she had been up to this day? On the way back, he stopped by the florist, careful not to touch the delicate, burgundy blossoms of the chrysanthemums, her favourites.

He entered the hotel to find the residents deeply engaged in another of the princess's silly bonding activities – a game of charades, as it seemed. Alastor watched them with curiosity as Angel Dust gestured wildly, while the others screamed in chaos, throwing guesses his way.

„Fuck, man, come on! I'm making it OBVIOUS here!“, Angel moaned, throwing his hands frustrated into the air.

„The hell you are – you look like you're hurlin' yo' last drink like a garden sprinkler.“, Husk replies dryly, rubbing his temples, while the girls just look confused.

„It's fucking MOTORBOATING, jesus christ on a cracker!“

The group groans, exept for Vaggie, who runs over to him and grabs the card the flamboyant spider waves around.

„It's just 'Motorboat', you idiot.“ „Potayto, Potahto.“

Alastor, having heard enough of that nonsense, closed the entrance noisily. Charlies head whipped around to see him.

„Oh, hey Alastor, you're back early.“, she chirped, ignoring the still arguing group behind her. Alastor walked over and smiled down at her. „Business went better than I expected, dear. And you all are as... aspiring as ever, I see?“ He let his gaze fall back to the group, counting – five heads. Not six. „Would you happen to know where my darling doe is?“

Charlie blinked. „Umm.“, she turned to look at the group, as if she expected her to be there. Alastors eyes narrowed as the princess asked timidly if anyone had seen her.

„Nope, not me.“ „Didn't turn up on the bar, either.“ „She missed breakfast, too“ Alastor huffed, feeling anger bubbling up in his stomach at the blatant negligence of his companions. He left Charlie and the others standing without a word, looking rightfully guilty and shouting apologies at his back. He made a mental note to plan an appropriate response to this mishap, and fastened his steps to his suite.

He knocked on the door, softly. No response. He listened intensely. „My love, are you in there?“ A quiet groan, muffled through thick wood and creaking walls, barely audible.

He opened the door his eyes searching through the dimly lit room - the curtains of the windows were still closed, just like he left them this morning.

„Alastor?“, he heard your voice, weak and tired, from inside the pile of cushions, pillows and blankets piled up on the shared bed.

He quickly set the flowers down on the bureau before he peeled layers of fabric off the built fort to reveal his precious doe – face reddened, hair damp with sweat and deep, panting in straint breaths. Her eyes opened slowly, they were watery and dull.

„Hello...“, she said, a small smile on her dried lips. „Hello, my love.“, he answered, brushing her hair out her face with timid fingers – when they touched her forehead, it was burning hot. Alastor frowned.

„You are sick, my doe....“ She hummed in response. A shiver made her pull the blankets around her closer to her. „I think I'm dying again.“ Alastor chuckled softly, cupping her cheek - heat poured from her scorching skin into his cold palms.

„Always so dramatic. No love, you're certainly not dying. Boiling yourself, maybe. You have a raging fever, sweet thing.“

„Potayto, Potahto...“, she murmured. Alastor scrunched his nose – Angel Dust certainly had a bad influence on his wife.

„Now, now, no reason to call for the mortician, love. Let's get you out of these dampened clothes for a start, shall we?“

She whined from the coldness he exposed her to, grabbing his arms as he pulled her out of the many layers of fabric and peeled the sweat-drenched clothes from her burning body. Her usually smooth and tender skin was colored in angered flushes of read, mimicking the blazing temperature she radiated. While he worked on getting her in fresh, clean pajamas, he murmured soft reassurances and sweet words of comfort to her.

Alastor knew she hated the feeling of helplessness a sickness brought with it. Her demise had been sudden, painful and most importantly lonely, having no one by her side while the disease had eaten her alive.

He placed her back into bed, a snap of his fingers had disassembled the abhorrent nest she had built, linens clean, soft and dry. She whimpered when he opened the windows to let some fresh air into the room, but sighed in sweet relief when the cold cloth he conjured for her cooled her forehead.

“Can you play something for me?”, she whispered after he had convinced her to drink some water, her lids heavy and almost out of consciousness.

Alastor brushed her cheeks tenderly.

“Of course my treasured girl.”

He pulled the chair from his bureau next to the bed, settling down with her hand in his. He chose the song carefully – it was the one she and him first danced to, when he and her were two singulars still, instead of one plural.

The soft tunes of the celeste and piano drove the dreadful, deafening silence out of the room, and when Nat King Coles voice started to serenade, her face relaxed into a serene smile, breaths flattening into calm draws of air.

Alastor watched his wife drift into healing slumber, her skin color already fading into her more normal shade. Relieved, he stroked his thumb delicately over her fingers, still safely wound around his. Yes. Alastor knew she hated the helplessness a sickness brought with it. But at least, this time, he could be there to guide her through it.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #charlie morningstar #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel vaggie #fraugwinskawrites #quick fic

[vxnuslogy]

— lost to time ft. sae itoshi

— warnings: angst, character death, slight ooc?

— author's note: a reupload of my favorite work on sae while i finish editing the next 2 chapters of my hazbin series. enjoy!

— first recording

“hi sae! i heard from rin that you’ll be leaving for spain. i’m really sorry i couldn’t come to see you off, i’ve been busy studying, you know, for exams and stuff. but that’s beside the point! i wish you all the best sae! do your best and when you come back home, you better be the world’s best striker yeah? don’t worry, everything will pass by quickly so don’t miss me too much ok?”

sae hated planes. he hated them quite a lot. in was a constant reminder of that time when he was only 14, leaving home to go to spain to live out his dreams only for it to be crushed 4 years later. sae hated the airport, it was always so busy and so stuffy and so cramped. he hated the feeling of being surrounded by unfamiliar strangers, hated the feeling of people brushing up against him even if they didn’t really mean it. sae hated winter. it was the season he severed his bond with his precious little brother after all. it was the season he turned his back on him and it was the season he had wished to never relive again.

-

— second recording

“hey hey guess who’s sending you another voice message? it’s me obviously, why didn’t you tell me you were back already?! if you did i would’ve picked you up from the airport!

……

is something the matter sae? you haven’t picked up any of your parents’ calls and their really worried about you. you can always talk to me remember? i’ll always be here to listen, ok? don’t bottle everything up, it’ll do more bad than good. well, i have to go now. talk with your parents every once in a while will you? ever since you left for spain you’ve pretty much cut off all contact, even with me. that’s all, good night sae.”

sae didn’t really like flowers. he thought they were a hassle. plants that require specific needs and if not met, they’ll wilt. sae was never fond of them but here he was, standing in front of the counter of a local flower shop as the elderly shopkeeper wrapped a bouquet – filled with carnations, gardenias, lilies, roses, and chrysanthemums. 

everything passes.

— college; third recordings

“i got into my dream college sae! can you believe that! honestly, i was really nervous when i took the entrance exams, but thankfully i studied real hard and managed to pass! i’ll be moving into the dorms soon. i’m gonna miss home. oh and rin! i heard he got into a soccer program recently, isn’t that nice! he’s following your footsteps in becoming the best striker in the world. i know, i know, you aren’t a striker anymore but it’s still nice to know that you’re still into soccer at least. by the way, when will you come back home? i kind of miss you, you know. i never got to see you off and when you did come back i was out of town and really busy. what about we plan a meetup or something in the near future? you know, make up for the times we lost? oh, i have to go now! my parents are helping me move in to my dorm. catch you later sae!”

sae didn’t really like coming home. the house he grew up in for the first 14 years of his life felt too foreign to be called home anymore. his parents felt like distant strangers that he just met a couple weeks ago – they felt more like acquaintances than his mother and father. the photos framed around his home felt like ancient relics from thousands of years ago, he didn’t recognize them. sae didn’t recognize himself. 

maybe he spent too much time in spain to the point where it felt more like home. how ironic, he began to realize. he had flown back to japan to escape from his hell that was spain but here he was, in his home, in the bedroom he used to sleep in for endless nights, wanting to go back to the place that left his heart hollow.

“there’s nothing else i could do.” he tried to convince himself as he sat down on his childhood bed, the bouquet of flowers at his side. he could only sigh and let himself fall back into the bed of his long gone home. “everything passes.”

“hey hey hey it’s me again! how have you been sae? i’d like to think that i’ve adjusted pretty well in college. made a few new friends and met some old ones. honestly, i almost didn’t recognize them! i mean, do you remember makoto from middle school. he was a such a problem child back then and now look at him! he’s a scholar now! i guess everyone just starts to become more mature after hitting 18, who knows. thank you again, for the gift. i was definitely shocked when my roommate told me i had a package from you. i can’t believe you still remember that i wanted ‘no longer human’! thank you, i’ll be sure to treasure it. well, that’s all for today. call you some other time sae!”

everything passes.

-

— drunk recordings; the words i wish i could’ve told you sooner

“how do you work this again? ah got it! hehe, hi again sae! i’m at a party right now, man maybe you were right, i do have shit alcohol tolerance. but it’s fine. don’t worry, i’m already on my way home and the driver isn’t some creepy dude that might kill me.

……

you know, i like you very much but i don’t think you’ll believe me. i know i jokingly said that we should marry each other if we aren’t dating someone if we hit our 30s, but i kinda wanna marry you even if we aren’t 30 yet. is that weird? i really miss you. please come home.”

……

“hello? god that was so embarrassing… sorry, could you just forget about what i said in the last recording? um just, gosh i don’t even know. denying it won’t really help right haha… it’s in the past now so don’t mull over too much ok? please, just disregard that last recording. i’m really sorry, it was just me being drunk.”

sae did not in fact disregard that recording. in fact, sometimes in the dead of night he’d think about it and wonder, if he had replied to that specific recording would things have ended differently? 

sae didn’t like deep and evoking questions about ‘what if’s’, he finds them annoying most of the time. and yet here he was now entertaining the idea. bouquet in hand as he casually walked around the neighborhood that the both of you had grew up in. the same twists and turns, same houses, same playground, same everything.

yet the silence was too loud, even for him.

everything passes.

-

— graduation recordings

“well, i think it’s safe to say i survived. i graduated sae, are you proud? man i still can’t believe i was a few point from getting the valedictorian spot but oh well. alls well that ends well i suppose. i heard you won your recent match congratulations mr best midfielder! kinda wish i was there to see it, but don’t worry! in your next match i’ll definitely save up enough money and buy those tickets to spain and your match one day! just you wait, i’ll be the screaming my lungs out and support you, i’m still your number one fan after all!”

sae had some feelings of dissatisfaction when you did not in fact get those tickets to spain and his match. maybe it was his wishful thinking but he really did wish you were there. but he knew it was impossible. 

he remembered the feeling of anger and frustration running through his veins, cursing the heavens above because he felt the need to show the gods his emotions. sae hated thinking about you in that moment. he hated how he felt like he was in a new version of hell whenever you just happened to cross his mind. sae hated you very much.

everything passes.

-

— recordings from 2 years ago

“i’m sorry. i know you should’ve heard it from me but i guess my family beat me to it haha. to be perfectly honest with you sae, i had no plans of telling you. i’m sorry. its just, the thought of breaking the news to you. how could i ever do that to you? i’m sorry. god i’m so sorry sae.”

……

“hey. i received the gift you sent me. you didn’t have to , you know. now i kinda feel bad about having you go on break in the middle of soccer season because of me. but still, thank you. i appreciated you being here, with me. it was a refreshing feeling, talking to you again and just hanging out. work has been really stuffy and felt like i was being caged but you came. you suddenly appeared and suddenly everything was alright again. i know we only said goodbye a couple minutes ago but, i miss you already. sorry. this sounds really weird doesn’t it? anyways, thank you again for the gift. i’ll be sure to wear it everyday. that’s all, have a good night sae.”

……

“hey. sorry for calling at such an odd time. i just. i just felt a little lonely. i sound so stupid i’m sorry. good night sae.”

……

“makoto dropped by today. god he was as annoying as ever but he really cheered me up. he managed to confess to this girl he’s pining over since sophomore year. i’m happy for him. but it really got me thinking about us. i know i told you to forget about that one recording because i was drunk but now that i look back on it, i wasn’t really honest. to you and myself. i know this may be the worst timing to confess but yeah, i like you very much. since primary school, as cliche as it may sound i think it all started when you stood up for me from those bullies. now that i think about, i practically glued myself to your side ever since that day didn’t i? i’m glad you didn’t really mind that. i remember always using homework as an excuse to always have you hang out with me even though i completely understood the lesson. man, where did i get the confidence to do that stuff? but i guess those times are lost in the sands of the past i guess. oh right, sorry, i forgot you didn’t really like those type of stuff. getting all deep and whatnot. well that’s all, i’m getting pretty tired already so i’ll head to bed. good night sae.”

everything passes.

-

— present

“hi. thank you by the way. i don’t know, i just don’t think i’ve ever said that you recently. so, thank you. its a bit funny isn’t it? i would almost always talk your ear off every recording but this time, i can’t even find the words to say. my parents came over, talked to them a bit. rin visited as well. he’s gotten a lot taller than i last saw him, he’s probably taller than you now!

……

sae, thank you. for everything. i’m glad we stayed in touch. i’m glad we stayed as friends.  thank you for making my days seem just a tad bit brighter, though sometimes i wonder what it would be like if we were, you know, dating. wonder what the difference would be. i mean we’d still talk to each other right? maybe holding hands and kisses but that’s pretty much it right? but thinking about it is useless right now. maybe in an alternate universe were actually married and adopted a cat like how we used to talk about.”

“you know, before this very moment. i accepted my fate already. i was content, i was doing fine but now. sae, i don’t want to die.”

“please remember me ok? and i’ll be sure to remember you. i’ll see you again, sae.”

“nii-chan..”

sae could only put his phone back in his pocket. his younger brother standing a good distance away from him. he could only imagine how rin looked like right now. was he pitying him, grieving with him? he’ll never know because he will never turn to look at him. not when your right in front of him.

how many times had he played all your recordings for the past 2 years? maybe a little over a 100 times? maybe close to 200 now?

sae removed all those thoughts as he placed the bouquet on the ground, the wind seemed to answer to his call – you seemed to answer to his call. despite all the pain, all the misery, all the bitter waves of grief that flooded his being whenever he played your recordings, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. he didn’t want to forget what you sounded like. your voice reminded him too much of home.

“happy birthday you idiot.” he said to you, keeping his hands in his pockets, watching the leaves of the flowers in the bouquet sway with the wind. two pieces of paper underneath it threatened to be blown away. “you said you wanted to come visit me and watch my match, well now you can.” two pieces of paper, one a plane ticket to spain the other a ticket to his upcoming match two weeks from now. “you better come watch me alright?” he could only bitterly smile. 

“you’re 30 now,” he whispered, before getting on one knee. placing a velvet box in front of your gravestone. “you should’ve waited for me, you idiot.” sae could only mutter those words to no one in particular. it was as if the world had stopped for a moment, the wind had stopped howling, the sun was nowhere to be seen. he could only see you. “i wanted to marry you too, y’know.”

sae could remember every occurrence where he would sit at his balcony in spain every night after your passing. phone to his ear, listening to all your recordings. but you’ll never know how he replies to them, every single one of them with his own. 

“i told the stars about you and what we could’ve had.” he chuckled, “you’re by far the hardest lesson i had to learn.”

standing up from his kneeling position, he gave you one last look before walking away. rin followed suit, but not before placing something at your grave. a pink book that you had loved till the very end. 

sae hated planes, but he flew back to japan every year. sae didn’t really like flowers, but every year he’d get you a pretty bouquet. sae didn’t like coming home but if it meant getting to visit you, he’d come back over and over again. sae didn’t like reading or any deep and evoking questions but he always humored you whenever you asked him.

sae hated all those things but they reminded him too much of you to let them go. 

and just like your favorite author, when osamu dazai asked to die, he simplu agreed; but just before his death, he suddenly felt obsession with life.

everything passes. just like how you’ll eventually get lost in the sands of time.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

#✒️ — works #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock angst #bllk angst #sae itoshi angst

[coco-loco-nut]

loml part 2

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: it’s time for you to finally have some happiness, even if you’ve sworn off drivers

part one masterlist ttpd masterlist

——————

A year after the break up, you are still living in George’s Monaco apartment. You keep to yourself, sticking to a simple routine and avoiding Formula One when you can. You could’ve gotten your own apartment with the divorce settlement and your job salary, but George insisted that you take care of the apartment for him.

George and Carmen were with you every step of the way, helping you pick up the pieces and bringing you back to as close to normal as you can.

“I’m done with drivers, I will never date one ever again,” you tell George one afternoon. George was almost offended but you added on the second half.

You go out for a run like you do every morning before work, and on your way home you stop in a bakery you’ve been eyeing. After placing your coffee and pasty order, you accidentally bump into someone.

“I am so sorry, I- Charles. Hi,” you look at the equally stunned man.

“Hi, how are you doing,” Charles says gently, sounding concerned. That isn’t what you expected out of your ex’s friend.

“Better, how’s, um, how is he?” you ask a little bitterly, internally cringing at the clear discomfort on Charles’s face. His name is called alongside yours, so he picks it up and sets it on a table, silently inviting you to join him, and you do.

“I don’t know. After the whole Kelly thing, I argued with him and we haven’t really talked since,” Charles admits, you look stunned.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you can’t really hide your bitter expression as the thought of Kelly runs through your mind. Not even a month after you separated, Max was off playing happy family with his new girlfriend. Your divorce wasn’t even legalized yet.

“I’m not. He lost someone incredible just because he wasn’t willing to put in the work for a good and healthy relationship,” Charles looks you in the eyes. You finish your pastry and process his words and his underlying meaning.

“Charles, everything is still so fresh, I don’t know,” you look out at the streets. You couldn’t deny he was attractive, but you didn’t want to reinvolve yourself with Formula One.

“One date, we can take it as slow as you want to. I know it must be hard, but you deserve to be happy,” Charles reaches out and touches your hand gently.

“I have to get to work. You should have my number, Charles,” you softly smile, leaving the cafe. Charles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Naturally, he asked George for permission first. He knew George was acting as your overprotective brother, and George knew you better than anyone at the moment. Despite you swearing off drivers, George felt that Charles might be what you need.

The first date goes well, and so does the second, and the third. Charles prioritized privacy, and you were grateful. He shows up to your door for the fourth with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, ones that Max always forgot to get. He always gave you chrysanthemums, fitting that he would choose a funeral flower seeing as how he killed the relationship.

“Cheri, are you okay?” Charles asks, seeing you tear up a little.

“Max never did this, and when he did they were always the wrong flowers,” you shake you head slightly, fending off the anger and sadness.

“Well, if he wanted to treat your right, he would. I want to treat you right,” Charles presses a kiss to your head. You invite him in while you find a vase to put the flowers in.

“I want that,” you tell him, his hands find yours.

“Be my girlfriend?” Charles asks, you nod happily.

“There is this restaurant that I’ve been wanting to try, down the street. Maybe I can take my boyfriend there,” you smile, heart racing.

“Lead the way, mon cœur,” Charles tells you. You lock the apartment behind you and take his hand as you lead him down the street to a restaurant that opened a couple months ago. The two of you are so caught up in each other, you don’t notice the table across the restaurant.

Max watches you walk into the restaurant, hand in hand with Charles - the guy who used to be one of his closest friends. You look stunning, and happier than you were the last few months before the separation. Of course Max saw you for divorce meetings, but this is different.

“Max is here,” you quietly tell Charles.

“Don’t worry about him, he won’t cause a scene,” Charles reassures you, knowing his old friend. You are grateful for the man sitting across from you.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask, causing Charles’s hear to soar. can’t believe he is finally happy.

Charles is by your side during the rough days, especially the day that should’ve been your wedding anniversary with Max. You couldn’t help but to be upset, and healing takes time. Charles didn’t push you to do anything, he just kept you company and followed your lead.

When you were together for six months, you felt comfortable enough to reintroduce yourself to Charles’s friends and family. It helps that the two of you adopted a dog.

“These are my sons, Ollie and Oscar,” Charles tells you as you stand in the kitchen, watching over the dinner you had been working on. He would’ve invited Liam, but that would be awkward for everyone.

“It’s lovely to meet you, I’m Y/n. I suspect you know Leo from social media. Would either of you like wine, or anything from the fridge? Please, help yourself,” you stop yourself from fussing. Charles recognizes it as your hormones kicking in, making you fuss over them.

“Thank you, need any help?” Ollie asks as Oscar plays with Leo.

“Thank you, but you are a guest. I couldn’t let you. Now, I think Charles has a really expensive bottle that will pair well with this meal, let me grab it and pour a couple glasses,” you wink.

“Only the best for you and the kids, Cheri,” Charles yells from the dining room where he is setting the table. Ollie takes the glass you poured for him, he wouldn’t mind you being his grid mom.

“Charles, come help me bring food in while the boys sit down,” you tell him, giving Oscar and Ollie a little glare when the move to help you.

“Of course, mon cœur,” Charles smiles, carrying the heavier plates in while you grab the wine bottle and the two empty glasses for you and Charles.

The two boys try to make sure they don’t come off as interrogating you, but you don’t mind. They are avoiding the elephant in the room, and both you and Charles know it.

“You can ask, I don’t mind,” you say gently, knowing it’s eating Oscar alive. He’s like you and George if you two had an idgaf attitude.

“Is it true that you and Max, um,” Oscar pauses looking for the words.

“Yeah, he’s my ex-husband. He did me a favor though, without him I wouldn’t be with Charlie,” you look adoringly at your boyfriend.

“Ask George and Carmen, they will give you the best version of the story,” Charles laughs and so do you.

“This is really good, I might need you to cook after races for me,” Ollie changes to topic, groaning a little at how full he is.

“She’s our mom, of course it’s good,” Oscar replies, you can’t fight the grin on your face.

“Of course I will. I can send some frozen meals for you to heat up along to the with Charles,” you tell them.

“Or you could come to the races and keep me company,” Ollie says, looking at you hopefully. You are one hundred percent adopting him. Charles looks at you a little panicked, you never really talked about being in the paddock as his girlfriend. Of course, he has publicly talked about how he has a girlfriend who he adores, but no one knows it’s you, except for a few people.

Max never told anyone about your relationship, despite him seeing your date and reporters asking him about you. It would be an asshole thing to do after he moved on so quick, and you deserved better than what he had done to you already.

“I’d love to, but don’t regret it when you are being mothered,” you point your fork at them.

“Wait, why only Ferrari,” Oscar pouts.

“I can visit you too, I’ll even bring cookies,” you tell Oscar. He pumps his fist in celebration.

Charles is happy to hear you are okay going to races again. You have to be a little stealthy about it at the start. You go the first couple times as George’s guest, and slowly increase how long you are with Charles each time.

Things change when you miss your period. You and Charles have always been very careful, but there have been a couple time that you forgot a condom.

“What does it say, mon cœur?” Charles sits beside you in bed, rubbing soft circles on your shoulder. You take a shakey breath and turn the stick over, ready to be shown another negative.

“Positive, I’m pregnant. I thought I couldn’t have kids,” you feel Charles brush tears from your cheeks.

“We will be the best parents, I’m so happy,”he reassures you, and you can see how happy he is. From then on you go as Charles’s partner, Ollie is happy to have you with him in the garage, and even accompanies you to visit Oscar. Ollie claimed it was to protect you and the baby against Max, but that doesn’t work when Max is talking to Lando at the same time you visit Oscar.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Max asks a little hesitatily.

“I’m really well, how are you?” you ask, pushing down the bitter parts of you. You truly are very happy now.

“I’m okay. Do you think we could talk at some point this weekend? I think it’s been long enough and you deserve closure for yourself,” Max scratches the back of his head.

“Message me on Instagram. We can find a time,” you agree, needing to get a couple things off your chest. That time is the next morning in an open room in Red Bull hospitality.

“You wanted to talk,” you say as you sit down across from Max. Charles was apprehensive when you told him of your plan, but he trusted you and was supportive of your choice.

“I wanted to apologize for how I treated you at the end, it was unfair to you,” Max tells you, clearly pushing through his pride. “So, I’m sorry. I can’t say it’s easy seeing you happy with someone who isn’t me. Are you happy?” Max asks, needing to know.

“Of course I am. It was really hard to move on. Charlie makes me extremely happy, and he’s given me the greatest gift I could ask for,” you smile, subconsciously putting a hand on your stomach. Max feels his stomach swirl with jealousy. Charles is living the life he should be living, Charles is doing everything he should be doing for you, but he fucked it all up.

“I, uh, wow. Congratulations, I know how much you wanted a kid. I’m happy for you, schatje,” Max says, pushing down his jealousy. It’s his fault he lost you, now he has to live with the consequences and be mature about it. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten with Kelly so soon he would be with you, but it’s too late now.

Max did try. He constantly asked George where you were, or to convince you to talk to him. George was protective though, he saw how hurt you were and knew you needed to heal on your own time. So he did what any overprotective best friend would do, talk reasonably and show Max why he needed to stay away.

“Thanks, Maxie, that means a lot,” Maxie, a dagger through Max’s heart. “I can’t be friends with you right now, but maybe someday. I like this version of you, maybe Kelly was the right one for you after all,” you can see the pain in Max’s somber eyes, the same one you see from the end of your relationship, and the same one that haunts you.

“I really am sorry,” Max’s voice cracks. “You’re the love and loss of my life,” tears well in his eyes as he looks at you.

“You’re the loss of mine as well,” you stand up and move towards him, pulling him into a hug. “You are going to be okay, Max. We weren’t right for each other, but now you can move on,” you say softly. In your heart you can feel the closure you’ve needed. Max felt it too, and when the day came, he would be ready to be a good friend.

Until that day, he is publicly supportive of your family with Charles. Max repairs his relationship with Charles first, then he slowly repairs it with you. When Julianna Herveline Leclerc graced the world, he was one of the first people to send a gift and well wishes. And when you and Charles finally make it to the alter, Max is standing beside Charles, happy to support the two of you.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #george russell #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #the tourtured poets department #loml

[lovifie]

Her Royal Highness Pt. 1

Masterlist

The palace gardens.

Thousands of flowers, trees and weeds grow all together. Every one of them, their own use and their own mission. 

Growing delicious fruit, being used in medicinal infusions… decorating the burning chapel of the late Queen.

The hundreds of chrysanthemums that decorated her coffin is a sight you would never forget. On any regular funeral, the flowers would have been white. But not on your mum's, everyone from the kingdom who arrived to give their respect to the deceased royal brought flowers. Every flower of different colours, making it look like a rainbow, making it look like a painting. 

A gruesome painting.

But now, as the autumn winds circle your body in the garden; you look around for the chrysanthemums. As in trying to go back to that day, take another look at her face, and try to memorise her better.

But it's not her face the one you see, but of a man you have never seen before.

High in the tower, looking down on you through the window of your father's office. Blue eyes lock with yours, and a kind smile appears through his beard.

At that moment, Alissa, one of the maids, calls for you.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in the Sun Room.”

The Sun Room, the stance where you would spend all those sleepless nights looking into the telescope. Visiting all those faraway galaxies, until the sun would come up. 

Now, it has been provisioned with a table and chairs, and it was your father's favourite spot to have breakfast. 

So you didn't think anything else of the request, making your way up to the Sun Room. Blue eyes already forgotten until you enter the run, and meet them again. But he was not alone. 

Five men were seated around the table, only one of them you know. 

Right in front of you was your father, smiling at you while pointing to sit on the chair opposite to his. 

On his right, was sitting the man you saw on the window. Around the same age as your father, with blue eyes, a beard and a smoking pipe on his lips.

Sitting on the left of your father, was a man wearing a hood and a veil-like fabric covering the lower half of his face leaving only his eyes exposed. You thought he was looking at you for a second, but when you tried to meet his gaze you realised he was looking at the man sitting next to the first mysterious man.

You follow his gaze, meeting bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile looking at you. A bit of stubble surrounded his mouth, only interrupted by the small scar on his chin. 

The last man on the table caught your eyes as he left the cup he was just using on the table. Tan skin, brown eyes and just as kind smile as everyone else on the table met your eyes. 

Everyone on the table except for your father quickly got on their feet as you entered the room, bowing to you as a sign of respect. 

You bowed back, almost on autopilot after so many years of training.

The brown-eyed man quickly makes his way towards you and moves your chair back to make it easier for you to sit, and once you do he pushes you closer to the table. 

“Thank you…” You say, a bit surprised by the action and follow him with your eyes until you look back at your father. “Morning, Father.”

“Morning, angel. Let me introduce you to King John Price, he has come all the way from his kingdom with his son and his two best knights just to meet you.” He says pointing to the older man on his right. 

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess.” The sudden deep voice from the foreign king quickly gains your attention as you smile at him courteously. 

“The pleasure is mine, your Royal Highness.” You answer by bowing with your head and picking up the cup of tea on your right. “May I ask the reason for such an odyssey?”

“Well, my son here, Prince Simon is still unmarried and as my only heir, I would like to meet my grandchild before my passing to die in peace. So when the news that the young princess was of age to marry, it sounded like the perfect opportunity. And now, having met you, I can rest assured that my grandchildren will be handsome.” The king jokes laughing softly but gets interrupted by the choking sounds that erupted from you. 

What news of you being of age? Marriage? Grandchildren? As you try to get back to breathing you cover your mouth with the napkin and try to figure out what is happening. But it is not hard to figure it out, your father is using you as spare change to keep the kingdom safe. A marriage between kingdoms means a bigger territory, a bigger army, and a bigger treasure to live in peace.

It quickly downsides to you how little your opinions matter to the kingdom affairs, it doesn't matter whether you want to get married or not, whether you like the prince, your soon-to-be husband, or not, any of that matter, because you are just like a horse being sold to a bigger farm.

Even though you can barely remember your mother's face, you can almost hear her screams of rage inside your head, the impotence flowing through your veins. She would have fought your father on this, completely against this interchange. Giving away her only daughter to the first man who knocks on the door, completely unaware of his real intentions. 

But your mother is dead, your father is getting old, and you are just a princess sitting between two royal knights of a foreign kingdom. 

So you do what you must, you stop coughing, get your breath back, stand up apologising for the rumble and excuse yourself by letting everyone know that there is a task that cannot wait to be done that you forgot to do this morning. 

You make your way out before any men in the room can say anything and walk to your room as fast as you can, hating more than ever living in such a big palace.

Once inside and with the door locked, you fall to your knees letting the tears flow. You should be ashamed really, of getting knocked out this easily after your first royal mission. 

But you can't help it, the fight that ignited inside your soul. You knew this would happen, ever since you were born your duty has always been to be married to some foreign prince, the easier way to make allies. But your poor romantic heart, which would keep you awake at night, dreaming of how a kind prince would appear to court you, how you would fall in love with each other, finally marrying and living happily ever after.

Those dreams get shattered in such a brutal way, leaving you no time to try and conceal your feelings. So you indulge in those feelings, suddenly taking notice of how little freedom you have left, you decide to not conceal your feelings. So you move onto your bed, and you cry. You cry until you no longer feel your mother's rage inside your heart.

—————————————————————

The knock on your door wakes you up, not having noticed falling asleep. You make your way and unlock the door coming face to face with Alissa, who looks at you with a worried look.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in his dormitory. You should come quickly.” She says as she starts to walk looking back to make sure you are following her.

“Did something happen? Why the hurry, Allisa?” You ask trying to get next to her and when she doesn't answer you grab her arm making her turn to you. “Allisa, what's wrong?”

“It's better for you to see yourself, Princess” Allisa says grabbing your hand back and walking with you to your father's room door. 

She opens the door and looks at you waiting for you to enter but without moving herself. She avoids your gaze almost as if she feels guilty about having you in the situation. 

Both the curiosity and anxiety of the moment make you enter the room without another thought.

The smell of chrysanthemums invades your nostrils, but there aren't any flowers in the room. But the sight brings you back to that grotesque painting of your mother's funeral.

Your father lays on his bed, breathing with difficulty and his eyes closed. He looks weak, a sight you thought was impossible now was right in front of you.

You run to your father's bed, kneeling at his side and grab his hand with your shaking fingers.

“Father? Please talk to me, what has happened to you?” You ask with your vision getting blurry with tears.

“Oh, my sweet bird.” Your father says opening his eyes and smiling weakly at you. “Why do you sound so worried? Don't you ever worry about me, it's my duty to worry about you. Something I ate must me fighting back, but it is nothing I can’t beat.” He caresses your cheek, feeling the cold of his fingers making a tear fall on top of his hand. “How are you feeling? You looked upset before when you left, do you not like the Prince?”

Like the Prince? The Prince you didn't hear say a word? The Prince you didn't even see his whole face? The Prince that didn't even look at you? That Prince? Did you even have a say in whether you like him or not?

“I was just… surprised.” You lie.

“They are nice people. They have a big kingdom, bigger than ours. They will take good care of you, birdie.” Your father says and you see him begin to close his eyes. “I'm gonna try to sleep again, alright? I'm sure I will wake up feeling better. You should try as well, it's been a strange day, hasn't it?”

You smile at him as you see him close his eyes but you don't move. You stay put while holding his hand, and only look up when you hear the door open. 

The King Price enters accompanied by the brown-eyed knight, who is grabbing a tea set on a tray.

“Leave it on the nightstand, Kyle.” Says the king without noticing you are inside and when he finally does notice his expression changes. The more crude and stone-like expression he was using, changes into the kind one you saw before. “Oh, greetings, Princess. Your father requested some tea to ease his sleeping.”

Kyle, the knight, puts the tray on the nightstand and gives you a smile when you look at him. Feeling your throat dry after crying the whole day, you stretch your arm to grab the teacup but before you can do it, the knight grabs your hand.

“Apologies, Princess. But it is for your father.” He says while looking at you with a smile but without letting go of your hand.

“I'm sure my father wouldn't mind sharing a cup. I only want a sip.” I say trying again to grab it but meeting the same luck again. The knight moves his hand to grab my hand more softly instead of my wrist and moves it up to his lips leaving a kiss on my knuckles.

“Your Royal Highness, with all due respect… I wouldn't recommend drinking the tea.” A shiver runs down your spine and you feel the king put a hand on your shoulder making you look up at him.

“Princess, why don't you go back to your room? We will take care of your father, don't worry.” King Price says and you feel like screaming, shouting, hitting, biting, fighting them until they leave the palace and never come back. But you don't, you stay looking at them like a dumb child.

You look back at your father. His skin looks almost grey, a pained expression on his face and cold hands meeting yours. Just this morning, he was fine. Having breakfast with everyone, joking, talking about marriage with the other king. And now, this.

“This is your making, right? You have poisoned my father. You are trying to murder my father’’ You say with a shaking voice looking between them and you hear the king sigh.

‘‘Princess, you are far too young to understand. Your father's kingdom has way too much potential for it to go to waste under such a careless king. He is already too old, and he was never that bright to begin with. When your mother was alive this was a great kingdom, but it has only been getting worse. Is the best for everyone, once you and my son get married, you won't have to worry about anything anymore. You are clever like your mother, aren't you? So prove it, leave your father to rest and let me make everything easier for you.’’

You feel your head throb, so much information all at once. The shameless way he just admitted to the murder of your father, how he let you know that this has been his plan for years even knowing your late mother, the way he expects you to just accept this reality.

You know you need to fight, but you know you would never be able to fight them alone. You think about different things would be if you had any siblings, maybe an older brother that didn't need to get married in order to reign. How things would be different if you were not the next in line… and then you remember. Your uncle. Your mother's brother is the next in line to your throne after you. 

But only if anything happened to you…

What's more important? The kingdom? Or yourself?

The blade on Kyle's waist suddenly seems too close to ignore. And you don't fully register what you are doing until you see the fear in the knight's eyes.

The blade feels heavy on your hands when you raise it above your head, and Kyle jumps in front of the king to protect him of your attack.

But you are not aiming at the king, you are aiming at yourself. And before they can prevent it, the blade is already through your torso.

‘‘If there is no marriage, the kingdom is for my uncle not for you.’’ You say barely above a whisper, feeling cold. A wide contrast with the warm blood covering your hands.

Your ears feel stuffed and it is more and more difficult to stay kneeled without falling. You hear the King curse and order the knight to go for the sages.

You feel the cold floor against your temple, not having noticed being lying on your side. You never thought about dying in a battle, or poison, or murdered. You always thought that's how powerful people die, and unimportant princesses like you would most likely die of old age somewhere alone.

But dying in order to save the kingdom seems noble enough.

In your last moments, you think about your father. Lying on his bed behind you, still breathing but already being given up on by everyone. Even his only daughter. 

What would he think if he got better? If he woke up right now? And saw his child, lying on a pool of her blood inserted on the visiting knight’s blade by herself. 

Useless.

You were supposed to help the kingdom and didn't even try to fight. Gave up before the fight started.

Coward.

Leaving the job for your poor uncle, as if he was not already busy enough.

Selfish.

Dying.

Alone.

—————————————————————

Since I uploaded the little something I did yesterday I couldn't stop thinking about it.

hehe

I hoped that you liked the first chapter <3

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #mw2 ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon ghost imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagines

[unearthly-doting]

yandere portrait

a/n: new blog, first post!! it's longer than i intended but in my defense, i wrote this to cope w the aftermath of bugbear's route in saint spell's, so. sorry if it's messy </3

warnings: yandere content, gn reader, male yandere, delusional yandere, i think this technically classifies as stalking, the feeling of being watched, slightly graphic murder, kidnapping, they/them pronouns do get used to describe the reader at the end, no nsfw but still minors do not interact!!

— there's this portrait inside the attic of the house you had just moved into. you had found it while cleaning the place out, getting rid of the belongings of the former owner of the place.

— you had tried throwing it out along with all the other stuff, but there was just something about it that... well... you aren't sure how to describe it, but looking at the man in the portrait, you felt bad for wanting to throw him away. he looked so sad in the painting, staring down at a wilted rose in his hand while being surrounded by a field of yellow chrysanthemums.

— it was silly, to be honest. it was a painting, you aren't sure why you felt bad for it, but you did. so you kept it. in the attic.

— and it was all fine and dandy. you honestly forgot about the portrait after a few weeks since you rarely ever went up to the attic, and you were so busy unpacking and decorating your new home that you just didn't have the energy to think about it.

— but then one night, you heard a very loud thump coming from upstairs. you weren't sleeping, catching up on some work you had put back, but the noise startled you nonetheless. had somebody broken in? the thought made you feel sick as you looked up at the ceiling of your room, waiting to see if you could hear footsteps or anything like that.

— you heard nothing.

— okay... then maybe something fell? you hadn't exactly cared too much about where you put stuff up there, so you wouldn't be surprised if something did. you... should probably go check, to make sure nothing was broken up there.

— when you got to the attic, it didn't take you long to find the source of the loud noise you had heard. the portrait of the man had fallen from where you had placed him and was lying face down on the ground.

— you picked it up with a sigh, only for the frame that surrounded it to come undone in the process. the fall must've broken it. it was old, so you weren't surprised. you're just glad the painting looked okay—wait... was the man always looking at the viewer?

— you're... not going to think too hard on that. you're pretty sure you have a frame that would fit, so you carefully roll the portrait up, making sure to not accidentally bend the corners or cause any tears before making your way back downstairs to begin your search for a new frame

— it was definitely a long search, but you eventually found one tucked deep away in the closet you were using for storage. and it was a perfect fit! and after some debating with yourself, you decided you probably shouldn't put it back up in the attic, just in case it fell again.

— there wasn't any place for you to hang it at the moment, so you just decided to put it in your room for now until you could find space for it. you made sure to face it away from the bed, however. you aren't sure why, but it felt as if the man in the painting were watching you.

— that feeling never really went away, even after the days went by. whenever you would walk by the painting, it felt as if eyes were on you. and you couldn't help but notice little details in the portrait were changing.

— the flower he held was no longer wilted. he didn't look sad anymore. the blooming flowers surrounding him went from chrysanthemums to red roses. it was hard to believe, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were going crazy. maybe the painting was just dirty and you were mistaking the details?

— the painting did look a little dirty, so after doing some research, you bought the supplies you needed to clean it and got straight to it when you had the time to spare. you removed it from its frame and laid it out on the dining table since that was the only flat surface you had that was big enough.

— you were deeply focused, playing music to fill the silence and humming along to whatever song played, tending to the painting as if you had painted it yourself. and you were so caught up in cleaning the painting that you didn't notice that you were being watched. you didn't notice the way the man's eyes followed your every move or the way his lips twitched in a barely concealed smile.

— you did, however, notice some writing at the very bottom right corner of the painting. "aurin, by xxx." so that must be the man's name then, huh? taking one glance at him, it felt fitting.

— once you had finished cleaning the dirt and dust off the painting—aurin, as you now know him as—you put him back in his frame and find a nice spot in the living room to hang him up. he was definitely out of place with the rest of your décor, but you didn't really mind. he added a strange feeling of... life.

— the feeling of being watched never went away, however. even at night, when you were tucked comfortably in bed, you would wake up in the middle of the night feeling as if someone else were in the room with you. it was beginning to make you feel paranoid. maybe the house was haunted?

— not only that, little things would be different whenever you came home from work or an outing. the place would be cleaner, the fridge would be neatly sorted, your clothes would be neatly tucked away in your closet... this was a very clean and friendly ghost if you're house really was haunted. and you really hope it was. you don't want to think of the alternative.

— but it was still weird, and you were starting to lose sleep because of it, hoping to see if you could catch whoever or whatever was doing this. at some point, you called a friend to come over to spend a few nights with you. you felt like you were going crazy, and you needed someone there to keep you grounded.

And your friend did! They came over, promising to stay for the week to help you keep your mind off the weird shit happening in your house. The weird feeling of being watched was still there, but nothing was ever moved out of place anymore.

Tonight was the last night that they'd be staying over, and the two of you decided to make a little party out of it. You both went out and got some drinks and a bunch of snacks and you guys just sat down and watched some shitty movies.

You guys weren't drinking alcohol, but the jokey mood the two of you had going on certainly made it feel as if you were tipsy, collapsing into a fit of giggles at one of their lame jokes as you leaned against them.

The time spent with them this week was fun, tonight being the best of all, but eventually, the two of you had to go to bed. The two of you shared a hug before you left them to go to your bedroom. You went to bed that night with a smile on your face, feeling relaxed for the first time in a while.

...

You startled awake. It was dark outside, and the clock read 4am. A loud noise had woken you up, a thud that sounded like someone, or something, falling. You weren't immediately concerned, thinking that your friend might've fallen off the couch while sleeping.

You should probably check on them to make sure they aren't hurt. With a tired sigh, you climb out of bed and make your way to the living room, stumbling a bit in the dark as you rub some sleep from your eyes.

Your hand roams against the wall for a moment before finding the light switch and flicking it, opening your mouth to speak but your words get stuck in your throat.

As soon as the light fills the room, your stomach drops.

You had been expecting to see your friend on the floor, probably still sleeping, but...

You weren't expecting to see someone on top of them, some sort of blade in hand, stabbing into their neck multiple times. You just stood there, frozen as you watched the mystery man stab your friend. They were already dead, not moving, eyes staring up into nothingness. You had only spoken to them just mere hours ago, and now they're on your living room floor, covered in their own blood as the man continues to stab them.

He seemed so caught up in the act that he hadn't even noticed the lights were on, or that you were watching. You should run. You should get as far away from here as possible, but it's like you were frozen in place. Your legs felt weak, and they gave out on you before you could even try running.

You fall to the ground, hands shaking, tears running down your face, bile stuck in your throat as you force yourself to not vomit.

The squelching sound of stabbing stops, and the man turns his attention to you. It was Aurin. Aurin, the man from that damn painting. Your gaze snapped over to said painting, thinking that you must be going insane, but no.

The painting was vacant. The man inside of it was gone. What the fuck.

His expression was vacant, and you stared at him like a deer in headlights, wondering if you were going to be killed next. Ha... killed by a weird supernatural entity that shouldn't even exist... maybe you are going crazy. Maybe this is all just one really bad nightmare.

You'll wake up any second now and see your friend's smiling face as they drag you out of bed so you can help them pack their stuff. You'll wake up, and he'll be back in his painting again. Everything will be normal. This isn't real.

It's not real. It can't be. This is just some fucked up—

Cold hands cup your face, and the feeling of blood smearing on your cheeks is enough to snap you out of your thoughts. You hadn't even noticed when he approached you, or when he crouched down to your level.

The vacant expression was gone, replaced with a quiet, guilty one.

"I apologize, my love," He speaks, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "You weren't supposed to see such a..." He trails off, a brief look of annoyance crossing his features as if remembering something he disliked, "Mess."

You were too stunned, too scared, to sick to speak. You just stared.

Aurin sighed, looking genuinely ashamed of himself, "I hope this doesn't make you think any less of me, my darling rose. I just couldn't... I couldn't stand the way they were looking at you. The way they were touching you. The advances they were making on you made me feel so angry," His nails dug into your cheeks as he spoke, and you wince slightly at the feeling. He took notice immediately, easing his grip on you as an apologetic smile appeared on his face, "I suppose I lost myself for a moment when taking care of them."

You struggled to process his words. He... he killed your friend because he thought they were making a move on you? Because of jealousy? That just... what the fuck...

"You..." Your voice cracks a bit as you speak, a wave of nausea hitting you as the taste of the blood in the air coats the inside of your mouth.

"Shhh..." He gently shushes you, running a hand over your hair. You cringe knowing there was blood sticking to the strands now, "Don't say anything, darling. I'm sure this is all a very big shock to you, but it'll be okay. I'll take care of you, the way you took care of me."

Your confusion only grew when he gently helped you off the ground, his grip on your arm was tight enough to keep you from running away but gentle enough that it didn't hurt, "But I haven't..." You trail off, going to deny his claims of you taking care of him, only to remember that you technically have.

He merely smiles, "But you have. I was so alone, up in that dusty attic. And then you came along, and you showed me a love that I hadn't experienced in decades. You took care of me. It's only natural that I take care of you in return, isn't it? That's what lovers do, after all."

"Lovers?!"

Aurin paid no mind to your shock, seemingly not even registering how odd and deranged this situation was, acting as if he hadn't just murdered your best friend in a fit of supposed jealous rage.

"I wasn't going to take you home so soon, trust me. I was content with helping you out around the house and making everything easier for you but..." He trails off, gaze wandering away from you to stare at the corpse on the ground, "Things happen. I don't think I can leave you to your devices here anymore. Someone may try to steal you away from me again, and I would hate for you to see another mess like this."

What the hell is he talking about?

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but you couldn't get a single syllable out before he was speaking again.

"Don't worry, it'll be a harmless trip. You'll just feel tired, but you can lean on me for support! Trust me, my love, you'll adore your new home." He says, excitement lacing his words.

It was a little scary, how you instantly began to feel tired after he finished talking. You're not sure if it was his doing, somehow, or if your body just couldn't handle the situation anymore and wanted you to sleep in hopes that everything would be better once you woke up.

Your eyes closed against your will, and you could faintly make out Aurin's soft humming as he held you close against him. You were too tired to fight against him, almost as if some sort of pressure were weighing you down.

Maybe everything will be better when you wake up...

A few months later, a couple had moved into a new home. The price had been on the cheaper side due to a fairly gruesome unsolved murder and kidnapping that took place there. They were determined to make a home out of it, even with its dark history.

"Honey, doesn't this painting feel a little off to you?" One of them asks, staring up at a painting that was hanging on a wall in the living room.

The other shrugs, moving boxes around and momentarily pausing to glance at the painting, "Just looks like a painting to me. Take it down if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Hm..."

They stare up at it, arms crossed as they take in the details. Two people were dancing together in a field of red roses. There was nothing wrong with that, it was rather romantic, to be honest. The man in the painting was normal as well, eyes closed with a serene smile on his face as he held his partner close. He looked as if he were in love, in all honesty. The part that unsettled them was the distraught look on the face of the man's dance partner, as well as the chains that tied their wrists to his, roses weaved into the chains as if to try and hide them.

It was a breathtaking painting, sure, but...

"Let's just put it up in the attic, that way we won't have to see it."

#oc: the portrait — aurin. #yandere portrait x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x gn reader #yandere #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere imagines

[h2llish]

【╰ヾ❝ GARDEN ✧„ pt 2

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR ━━━ leona loves the boy in the garden ♡ fluff, bit angsty, pining, book 2 and 3 mentions, leona is a little insecure and pining hard, male reader, lowercase intended, more lore for reader (wow/s)

fem aligned dni (she/they, she/her, etc)

part 1

the book leona borrowed from you (and still had yet to give back) began by saying the language of flowers and plants are beautiful, and then it'd go on to list some flowers and their meanings. amaryllis meaning pride; aster is a symbol of love and even daintiness; calla lilies mean beauty. one of those flowers listed is the white carnation, also one of the flowers you had given leona. the white carnation has quite a few meanings, but they all lead to the same thing nonetheless: sweet, innocent love.

if you move through the book a few pages, you'll find the salvia. it goes on to list colors on the flower having their own meanings. the blue salvia has a meaning you've always thought to be more beautiful than the red; i think of you. it was that flower that you gave to leona because it was true, you think about him. he was on your mind even when he laid next to you as you tended to the flowers. he was always there in your thoughts even when you needed to be focused on your task at hand. he owned your mind even though he was completely unaware of it.

and of course, the chrysanthemum; the red chrysanthemum. it was your favorite flower in the way you hated it so much. you told yourself you'd never own another, you'd never plant another, and yet you did anyways. because it was a flower you knew would get your feelings across exactly for its meaning was simple and straightforward; i love you. the same thing you'd only ever wished your mother had told you before she sent you off to live with your aunt. the words your mother told you she'd never utter as you were the reason, she let the magic consume and fog her mind. the words you'd hoped to tell leona yourself even with the flowers in your hands.

i love you, leona. i love you.

but you could not, not when leona hadn't come to the botanical garden for what you realized was half a month. you understood, of course, and it was bad timing on your part. all the dorms, including your own, were busy with preparing for spelldrive. and then there was the mysterious injuries that began to take some of the best players in every dorm by swarm. so, of course, leona was busy and probably couldn't come around to the garden as much as you wished he could. (because you'd admit, you missed seeing him.) so you opted to pay him a visit at his dorm, which quickly changed to just leaving ruggie to deliver your flowers to the prince in hopes that he understood exactly what those flowers meant and what you were trying to say. (he had your book on the meaning of flowers for months then, so you assumed he must at least know some of the meanings for the flowers.)

you paid him a visit a few more times after that but was quickly shooed away by ruggie who always had an excuse. you just wanted a response; because whether it was rejection or not, you needed him to tell you face-to-face. maybe then, you'd finally be able to get over the unfamiliar racing of your heart and the constant thoughts that centered around him.

if leona wanted to talk to you, he knew where to find you. and if he didn't, then you'd just track him down after spelldrive and force him to give you an answer because you didn't like how unfamiliar it was to be waiting so anxiously for a response.

however, what you didn't expect, was to have the prefect from another world suddenly approach your dorm and request the help of your housewarden to stop the culprit behind the mysterious injuries; leona. being a part of heartslabyul, you were expected to aid in the plan as well; you didn't protest, even when you were faced with the feeling of a pit in your stomach and a tightness in your chest as the realization that the man you were in love with was the reason one of your dormmates was injured. (but you still loved him even when that thought was almost painful.)

it was a surprise, to confront the lion and have him admit what he and ruggie were doing. but it was even more of a surprise when you recognized the obvious signs of building blot (something you were all too familiar with even before riddle). watching as ruggie struggled to breath as sand picked up and the air became thin with the grains. leona's signature spell was powerful; you knew that from the time you once asked him about it during your conversations in the botanical garden. you could start to see the effects it began to have on those around you, including yourself. breathing growing short and bit of panic rising in your chest.

but for the lion, leona could never forget the way you looked at him as you wrapped an arm around ruggie and pulled him away. you coughed under the effects of his spell, eyes wide as you stared up at him and━ oh, were you scared of him? the fear in your eyes would probably be unrecognizable to those who couldn't read you, but leona noticed it, and amongst the blot that began to take over, he felt his own self crumble at thought that you were scared of him. (if only he knew it wasn't fear of him, but for him.)

you managed to stop leona just before the blot could consume him whole, much to your relief. and as the blot that took form behind leona released him, you were the only one quick to rush forward to catch him just before the prince could hit the ground. and as he lay unconscious, you held him, so carefully, as if he was another one of your flowers in your garden.

and while ruggie didn't understand flowers, and he didn't understand you or leona, he understood, in that moment, as he watched you hold leona until he regained consciousness, that you loved the prince.

leona was avoiding you. he knew that, ruggie knew that, you knew that.

leona was avoiding you and he didn't understand why. ━ okay, that's a lie, he knew exactly why. it's because he (and his pride would never admit it) was scared. scared, because after his overblot, he didn't know what you wanted nor how you felt, and he didn't want to face it either. he doesn't think he could handle a rejection from you of all people.

ruggie has voiced his disappointment of the lion on several occasions, not happy that he was sending you away every time you tried to see the prince because leona was too much of a coward to face you. ruggie's had to come up with excuse after excuse just to send you off, and he's running out of reasonable excuses, and he knows you've realized. and while he's said this to leona a number of times, leona still refuses to face you. at one point, ruggie was desperate enough to drag a confused jack over to try and get him to move from his bed.

jack sighed, standing at leona's bedside and apologizing to ruggie, as it was obvious the lion had no intention of moving to go talk to garden boy as ruggie called you. the freshman didn't understand what was going on nor why leona had to talk to the gardener of the botanical garden, but it was obviously important if ruggie was trying so hard to force the lion out of bed.

ruggie groaned, "come on, leona! talk to him!"

leona didn't reply verbally, but the annoyed flick of his tail as he turned his back to the two told them what he was thinking.

"coward." ruggie glared, arms crossed over his chest as an awkward jack stood next to him, a bit caught off guard by the sudden insult thrown towards their housewarden. when ruggie still gained no response, the hyena scoffed, turning away to stomp off, to which jack followed. but ruggie made sure to add just before he shut the door behind him, "i'm not turning him away again!"

leona scoffed, tail flicking aggressively as he stared at the three flowers in a vase, set safely on his desk. (because while he may be avoiding you, the flowers were once a confession, and he preferred to have that if he couldn't have you.)

everyone has a point where their patience dries, and they can no longer find themselves able to wait for something or someone. and for you, a rather stoic and otherwise patient person, it may take a while before you reach that point, but even you have that moment where you no longer find yourself able to sit still. (and your patience was strong because it had been a month since you last seen him.)

your patience just so happened to run out while at an unbirthday party. you had been in a conversation with trey regarding the science club (and rook's extravagant need to cause poor trey issues by almost blowing up the lab), when you overheard deuce and ace talking. you nodded at whatever trey was saying, but your mind was on the freshman's conversation as you heard them mention savanaclaw and leona.

you learned then that the prefect and grim found themselves staying at savanaclaw because the prefect had signed a contract with azul, putting their dorm on the line because they were trying to get ace, deuce, and grim's freedom back after they had been stupid enough to sign a contract with azul in the first place.

you felt frustration build, grip tightening dangerously on the teacup in your hand and eyes narrowing on the treats in the center of the table. trey noticed your silence, stopping to stare at you as your mood took an uncharacteristic turn. he was caught off guard, after his years of knowing you since you guys met in your first year at nrc, you had never been this expressive, and he couldn't understand what caused the sudden turn in mood (it's not like he knew it was because you overheard the freshman's conversation, nor why that would make you upset.) even if it was a small change in your character, it was enough to cause him concern.

"[name]?" he called.

you blinked, relaxing your grip on your teacup and turning to him with a hum, "yes?"

his brows furrowed, "are you okay?"

you tilted your head, "of course. why do you ask?"

"well━" trey sighed, "nevermind." (he's long since learned you can't be read or understood so easily.)

you nodded, leaning back in your chair and grabbing a treat from the table, biting into it slowly as you stared off in thought, feeling the frustration bubble in your chest again.

you weren't upset because the prefect was staying with leona ━ far from it, actually. you respected the prefect; you fought alongside them twice now. and they often paid you visits at the botanical garden, telling you they enjoyed coming because you made the garden peaceful and it gave them a break from the chaos, (even you were flattered by their words). they were nice and had admittedly become a friend to you.

rather, you were upset because they only mentioned leona. after a month of being turned away by ruggie and hoping for the prince to turn up at the garden, the very mention of leona caused frustration to build and patience to dry.

you were tired of waiting.

you sighed loudly, setting your cup on the table and standing from your seat. you turned to trey, who watched you curiously. with a rather forced calm tone in your voice, you said; "i just remembered i have to take care of something in the botanical garden. it's important. tell riddle i'm sorry."

trey could only nod in his confusion as he watched you take your leave from the maze. it wasn't like you to forget anything regarding plants, let alone the botanical garden. perhaps he'll ask you later, you do seem to be in a hurry.

you didn't stop for anything on your way to savanaclaw; not when cater tried to ask you where you were going and not when you almost ran into a very confused periwinkle-haired boy upon exiting heartslabyul. you didn't care about the odd looks you received from the students as you entered savanaclaw's mirror, and you had no intention of turning away when you spotted ruggie and jack.

ruggie noticed you quickly, looking a little tense as he seen the out-of-character expression of frustration on your face. when you approached him and the freshman he was talking to, he didn't bother to come up with an excuse (besides, he did warn leona). he pointed over his shoulder and nodded, "i'll show you to his room."

you nodded in return, pleased with his response, "thank you." you glanced at the wolf beastman staring at the two of you in confusion, "sorry to interrupt, jack."

"oh, it's fine." he waved off with a tilt of his head, watching as ruggie led you into the dorm building.

when you reached leona's dorm room, you could hear the familiar sound of a complaining grim. you didn't wait as you immediately pushed the door open, and right away did your eyes meet familiar green (an emerald color that you've always found so pretty to look at).

leona tensed, his grip on the monster's neck loosening. he stared at you, silent as you narrowed your eyes on him. the lion was at a loss as he noticed the frown on your lips and the tilt in your brow. (are you angry? at him? perhaps he should've listened to ruggie.)

the prefect caught onto the tension pretty quickly, grabbing grim, who was about to start complaining again, and quickly approaching ruggie, who was standing behind you in the doorway. you moved out of the way to allow them to pass, yet you remained glaring at leona, who was oddly quiet in the presence of you. the door shut behind you after their exit and the silence between the two of you seemed to thicken.

that is, until your familiar monotone broke it, "you're avoiding me." you stated, taking a step towards the prince. you hardly gave him a moment to respond other than the sound of what might've been the beginning of no, before you continued. "why are you avoiding me?"

leona scoffed (the only noise he could make, as he was unable to muster a response now that he was faced with the boy he had fallen in love with. the boy he had been avoiding because he was under the belief that your feelings had changed after his overblot.)

"leona," you said, rather sternly. (and he liked when you said his name, even if the situation for it wasn't ideal.) "why are you avoiding me? it's been over a month, why━" you went quiet, as if you had lost a bit of your nerve. or perhaps, you were just struck by a thought. you tilted your head and sighed through your nose, "if this is your form of rejection, it's terrible. i'd prefer you'd do it person instead of avoiding me. maybe then i'd feel better, because it... hurts."

oh.

you had gotten closer, your eyes still refusing to leave his even when it became obvious that he was uncomfortable under the sudden interrogation. "why are you avoiding me, leona?"

"i'm not avoiding you." he scowled, believing that would help sell his excuse.

it was your turn to scoff (and he must've noticed how you were so much more expressive around him. how could he not?) "if that's true, then why have you not been to the botanical garden? why have we not had our common banters and conversations? why do you have ruggie send me away with ridiculous excuses? what could possibly excuse this as anything but you avoiding me?"

you waited, expecting an answer from the lion. but leona could say nothing, he couldn't find an excuse that would make sense with his behavior. he was avoiding you; it was that simple.

you sighed, expression relaxing back into its usual monotonous state, finally tearing your eyes away from his. you were quiet as you stared off to the side, and leona still found himself unable to say anything. (did this mean you still held the same feelings for him? had he not driven you away?)

"reject me."

what?

"what?" leona asked, almost harshly.

you looked back at him, head tilting as you repeated your words, "reject me and i'll leave you alone. i'd feel better if you rejected me now, to my face, then continue to avoid me. reject me." you were stern and stoic as you spoke, but leona still noticed how you clenched your dorm uniform in your fists, and how your eyes were staring to gloss the more you spoke. "tell me my feelings are unrequited. that the flowers were thrown away and that you didn't enjoy the time we spent in the botanical garden. reject me."

leona knew it wasn't fair for him to feel angry at your words. he's the reason you're standing in front of him, asking the prince to reject you since that did seem to be the impression he gave after avoiding you for so long. yet he couldn't help but glare at you, who remained unwavering as you stared right back at him, eyes glossed with unshed tears the longer you waited.

leona knew he shouldn't find you so wonderful to look at, even as the air around you was thick in tension and the tightness in your chests were unknowingly shared between the two of you. you always managed to look amazing to him, even now, and even when you were covered in dirt after tending to the botanical garden.

he shifted in place and your eyes caught sight of familiar colors almost hidden behind the rectangular lamp on his desk. blue salvia, white carnation, and red chrysanthemum.

you sighed, relieved as you met his eyes again. yet more firm in your next words. "you can't, can you?"

"why are you even here?" leona couldn't help but ask, scowling at you (fake, you could tell).

"because i love you." you answered, simple and straightforward, like the red chrysanthemum. leona faltered in his persona, the forced scowl on his face turning into that of a frown, ears twitching as he searched your face. (for what, he didn't know.) you shook your head, eyes flickering between his own, frowning at him in return, "have you really not realized that? i love you ━ even after you've avoided me. i don't think my feelings even faltered. they're stronger now."

you raised a hand towards his face, but paused, "i was scared, you know?" leona glanced between you and your hand, the unfamiliar racing of his heart so loud he wondered if you heard it. "i thought we wouldn't be able to save you. i though i'd lose you."

your hand was on his face now, fingers gentle as you traced his cheek, and leona had to refrain from leaning into you. this was new. the feelings you stirred in him was new, but he didn't reject it; he couldn't, not when he began to rely on them while he was avoiding you.

"please, leona," you said, rather softly, expression gentle compared to the monotone expression you always carried around anyone else. "let me love you."

leona knows he's fallen in love with the boy from the garden, and he knows now, that he loves him too.

pt2. i actually really like how this turned out although this wasn't exatly my vision lol.

i think leona is a neat character to write for. he's seen as lazy and prideful (and yeah, he is) but a lot of the time, people fail to realize that that isn't his whole person.

he's the second born in a royal family, and that itself is reason enough to not be the biggest fan of his status. the second is always seen as second best because their older sibling, is well, older. they're the one taking the throne and what is the second born going to do? nothing, because they can't have the throne after the first born, that goes to the first's born child once they step down.

he spent his whole life being looked down on by the servants in his own kingdom because he just didn't fit up to expectations. he would hear everything, all the whispers and the insults, yet he did nothing except take it. and naturally that would make anyone feel insecure. i know i would if i was in his place; hearing people whisper about me being nothing compared to my older brother?? that's harsh, especially since he was still a child while hearing all this. what do you think all those harsh words will do to a child's psyche? absolutely destroy it.

so yeah, i think he's insecure. his entire life and talent is seen as second best; even in nrc when standing alongside the heir of briar alley he still isn't first. so of course, that would fuck with someone's already shaky psyche of viewing yourself as nothing more than second place. i also think this really plays into why he's still in nrc despite being intelligent and magically talented. riddle couldn't collar him because his magic was so strong and he's as cunning as he is smart so that begs the question why hasn't he graduated? i think it's because he doesn't want to go home any more than he already has to when it comes to holiday breaks or when cheka pays him visits. he'd rather stay in nrc, where he can keep up appearances and avoid hearing the whispers in the hall. (and plus, they already look down on him, what's failing a few years going to do? it can't get any worse.)

so when it comes to gaining romantic feelings for someone and someone gaining romantic feelings for him, i don't think he'd know what to do. in his mind he's second place, that's all he'll ever be, yet he entertains the thought of being someone's first choice. and when he is, he's unsure. can he really be someone's first choice? can he really be seen as anything more than the second-best category he spent his whole life in?

it's why i wrote the reader the way i did. he loves leona and he's willing to prove that to him by pushing past his own trauma to show leona that "yes, i love you. i pick you. i want you." and leona doesn't know how to react to this to confession so he chooses to avoid him, scared he's seen he's never someone's first and that the reader's feelings have changed. but when the reader shows up in front of him, showing a part of himself that he's never shown to anyone else and admitting to leona that his feelings haven't changed and he's still in love with him, probably even more despite leona avoiding him, leona has to accept that reader chose him, that he loves him.

in other words, i just think he's neat.

i'm done rambling now lol :")

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

#╰ ও ❝ fluff #╰ ও ❝ angst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #x male reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #leona kingscholar x male reader #leona x male reader

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 5

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13.6k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, handjob, mentions of past sexual assualt and trauma)

Summary:

Astarion reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself. 

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you. 

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again.

Read on ao3 here.

There’s blackness. 

Astarion reaches his hands out, but they hit a wall. 

He reaches to the side. Another wall.

He immediately knows where he is. The dread settles into his bones. He’s back in that cursed coffin, buried beneath the earth. 

He’s scratching and clawing at the wood surrounding him, throat raw from screaming, desperate and choking on his hunger. A vampire without enough blood was driven to madness and he had spent so much time down here with nothing but unending thirst. 

And just when had resigned himself to that eternity, Cazador was digging him out and torturing him anew.

Astarion’s head is pounding and he can’t think straight. Has Cazador finally caught up to him? Is this punishment for escaping?

No, Cazador is dead. 

Astarion is sure of that. And he’s all too sure he’s been here before. 

This is a memory. One of those twisted, ugly things that claws its way out from the back of his mind and he’s helplessly forced to watch it replay. 

He can’t remember what came before this. There was white? 

No. It was snowing. The first snow of the season. Tainted red by blood and dead bodies. They had been ambushed by the Gur. 

Your hand reaching out to him, blood dripping into his mouth.

Astarion closes his eyes and focuses on your face in his mind, filled with a sense of calm and warmth. His pretty wife welcoming him home. 

The image in his brain warps. 

“I have something for you,” you say, poking your head into Astarion’s study. You’re careful to hide your body behind the doorframe so Astarion can’t see what you’re holding, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. It sends a pleasant thrum through his own chest to see you like this.

“Why, do tell, darling, I can hardly stand the suspense.” Astarion hears himself say without really saying it.

This must be another memory, though his muddled mind struggles to place it. 

You step through the door frame, holding an ornate vase filled to the brim with flowers.

“You need to liven this room up a little bit,” you tell him, setting the vase on an empty table. You take a moment to rearrange the flowers to your satisfaction and step back to inspect your work with your hands on your hips. “It’s not that much longer until the first frost and it feels a shame for all those pretty flowers out in the garden to go unappreciated.”

The bouquet you’ve made is stunning. Red chrysanthemums, red roses, and red asters surrounded by clumps of tiny little white flowers. Heliotropes, Astarion thinks they’re called. 

Astarion is vaguely familiar with the meaning of flowers. In the back of his mind, he can hazily recall his mother telling him their meanings when he was a boy. But he must be misremembering because he’s fairly certain all these flowers you have given him mean love and undying devotion. 

“I thought you’d appreciate red. I assume it’s your favorite color, what with the blood and all,” you tease, sounding entirely too proud of yourself for coming up with that little quip.

Of course you weren’t trying to indirectly communicate with him via flowers. It made much more sense that the bouquet was a joke for you to amuse yourself with. It’s still a sweet gesture. Astarion isn’t quite sure why his stomach sinks with disappointment.  

“A vampire loving red. You’re very clever,” Astarion says sarcastically, coming to stand beside you and inspect the flowers more closely. 

“Wrong answer.” You turn to face him, hands still on your hips and a stern look on your face. It’s cute. “This is the part where you thank your lovely wife for bringing you flowers.” 

Astarion huffs, rolling his eyes. He’ll humor you today because you’ve put him in a good mood. Though, he does try to sound as annoyed as possible. “Thank you for the flowers, dearest wife. They are the highlight of my day.”

Deep down, he knows he means every word of what he just said. If anything, you were far more than the highlight of his day. The highlight of his week, of his year, of his life, more likely. 

And you do look so very pleased with yourself. Giving in to you was undeniably worth it, then. He adored that little look you got when you felt you had bested him. More and more often, he found himself conceding in your little verbal sparring matches just so he could see that look. 

“I have another surprise for you, too, tonight! Plan for a walk in the gardens.” Your voice is so light as you beam at him. His personal ray of sunshine. He wants to keep you like that forever, fill your days with nothing but joy and laughter. 

You hum as you slip down the hallway, practically skipping. 

Drink, Astarion hears you say, but that doesn’t make sense. You left already. 

His head hurts so bad. 

Something cold is pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth and tastes the sweet, metallic tang of your blood against his tongue. His brain is too foggy to question what’s going on, so he just revels in your taste, lets it coat his mouth and dance against his taste buds. 

He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left. 

It’s not enough. He could never get enough of you.

His eyes flicker open and you’re leaning over him. Something warm presses against his forehead and he recognizes that you must be wiping down his face.

This isn’t a memory, though, the corners of his vision are a bit too crisp. He can feel himself starting to squirm, an attempt to sit up and orient himself. 

“Shh,” you reassure him and your soft voice is music to his ears, even if it does sound clouded and distant. “Rest. We’ll have more for you soon.”

—----------

It’s dark in Astarion’s mind. He’s walking down the streets in the city of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where are we going?” The man’s voice behind him calls and he tugs insistently on Astarion’s hand.

Astarion takes the opportunity to spin, pinning the man to the wall. He licks up the man’s neck, biting softly on his earlobe before murmuring in that practiced, seductive voice, “Come now, don’t be impatient. Are you really so desperate for me to fuck you?”

He knows the man is. He was one of the creepy ones that were easy to pick up in a seedy tavern. And Astarion can feel the hard length of the man’s cock pressing into his hip.

“Yes, take me here,” the man says breathlessly, head falling back against the wall. 

“Be a good boy for me, wait just a moment longer. I have the perfect spot for us. Then, I can take my time with you,” Astarion purrs, with all the control he can muster. If he could just get him back to the castle quickly enough, he might not actually have to do anything. He might still be able to spare himself that little agony.

Astarion had been through this so many times- he knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do. His whole body felt numb as he continued his way back to Cazador’s palace, his new victim’s hand wandering and groping as they walked. Astarion laughed and pinched him back, even if he hated the feeling of the man’s hands on him. 

It was easier this way, if he just let his body act out the part. If he went to that little part of his mind and hid away in there until this was over.

Once he gets the man inside the palace, it’s finished almost immediately. 

Cazador makes Astarion watch as he drains the man dry. Makes him stare into those desperate, scared eyes of the man he betrayed. That part doesn’t bother Astarion. But the fact that Cazador enjoys a feast Astarion himself will never get to experience has him nearly going blind with hatred. He soothes himself by imagining he’s prying out Cazador’s fangs.

“Good job, boy. Here’s your dinner,” Cazador hurls a rat at Astarion and he drinks greedily. If he was quick enough about it, he almost couldn’t taste the gamey, bitter blood that barely kept him alive.

The man’s body creates a loud thump when Cazador drops him to the ground.

Only, when he looks again, it’s your bloody face staring back at him. Astarion’s crawling forward to you before he can even think- let Cazador unleash his worst punishments for this transgression. Astarion nearly retches at the sight of your once-beautiful eyes staring open at him, lifeless. 

No, no, no- this is all wrong. 

Astarion is sobbing and crying, pulling your dead body to his chest, pressing his forehead against yours. Your skin is so cold. 

Astarion closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of your cold skin against his hand. 

When he opens them again, you’re in the gardens, shimmering and swimming in the moonlight of his memory. 

“Close your eyes,” you tell him.

“What are you going to do to me, you little minx?” He flirts and he can hear you shushing him as he shuts his eyes. 

You grab one of his hands and your palm is so warm against the cool night air that stings at his skin like needles. Astarion didn’t like the cold before he was turned and after, it was as if his tolerance to weather was nonexistent. 

With your finger intertwined, you lead him, giving gentle instructions on where to step. He practically runs into you when you stop and has to steady himself with his hands on your waist. 

“Oof, sorry, should have told you to stop. You can open your eyes now,” you say, but you don’t really sound too sorry. Astarion opens his eyes, but keeps his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you back against him a bit tighter.

In front of him is a new patch of white, star-shaped flowers. They’re pretty, undoubtedly. But Astarion can’t quite figure out their significance or why this surprise had mattered to you so much. 

“They’re moonflowers!” You rush to explain. “They bloom at night! And they look like stars so they reminded me of you, little star.”

He can hear the nerves in your voice as you say the last part. Little star. Just like his mother used to call him. For the first time in centuries, he thinks that perhaps he can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel the pounding pulse reverberating in his head, making him dizzy. 

“I asked Gale to help me find them in the woods and then Halsin helped me plant them! I thought you deserved to have something that looked prettier at night than during the day. Something special just for you,” you continue to explain, twisting in his arms so you can study his reaction. 

Astarion used his beauty as a shield, as a distraction. Keep it flirty and light and people’s minds become clouded by desire and they give you what you want. 

But you watch him, study him. He can feel your shrewd eyes on him, catching every involuntary twitch and movement in his face. He can see you categorizing and sorting them away in your pretty little brain. It’s the first time in many years that he hasn’t minded someone’s gaze upon him. 

But it’s endlessly frustrating how you keep poking and prodding at him in an attempt to dig deeper? Why couldn’t you just be distracted by the beauty like everyone else? Why did you make him want things that were impossible?

Astarion is speechless. You had given him these beautiful flowers, a gift just for him. Watching this memory play out before him, he’s forced to remind himself that this was just as real as the memories of Cazador. That despite all the trauma of his life as a spawn, his mind also contained these beautiful moments with you. 

His hands drop from your waist as he moves forward to inspect the flowers. It’s amazing to see. Where most flowers would sleep for the night, these large white blossoms are opening up their petals to the full moon, drinking in the silvery light. Astarion misses the sunlight, desperately. He misses the warmth on his skin and the way colors used to look so bright. But the way these little flowers worship the moonlight, Astarion thinks that perhaps a life relegated to the dark might not be so bad. Not if he has you to worship. 

He reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself. 

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you. 

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again. Not after he had killed Cazador. Not when he still needed to figure a way out of his stupid deal with Raphael. 

And that’s not what this feeling is anyway, Astarion tries to reason with himself. He wants to kiss you because that’s what his body is trained to do. To repay. Even if he knows your kindness has no expectations attached to it, Astarion thinks that this desire is a side-effect from centuries of conditioning. Love isn’t possible after what he had experienced. 

But then, that doesn’t explain why he wants to kiss you nearly every time he sees you. Or why he spends half his day thinking of silly lines he can say at dinner that will make you smile. Or why he wants to hold you so close to him that your bodies nearly fuse together. Or why he wants to flutter his eyelashes against your skin until you’re laughing and pushing him away. 

It’s perverse- the soft, domestic things he wants to do to you. 

“Astarion,” he hears your gentle voice coo out, though you’re growing hazy in front of him. 

He’s trying to reach out to you, to keep you with him.

He opens his heavy eyes and your worried face is looking down at him. You’re so blurry.

“You need to drink more,” you say softly, and the goblet is being pressed against his lips again, the irresistible taste of your blood in his mouth.

—--------------------------------------

When Astarion wakes again, it’s night. He finds you sitting next to him, alternating between pretending to read a book and staring out the window. The curtains must have been drawn back after the sun went down. Astarion can tell that you’re worried by the little crease in your brow and the way you chew on your lip. He lets himself watch you for a couple moments before he pushes himself up to sit, finally alerting you that he’s awake.

“Here, drink.” You’re rushing a goblet to his mouth immediately and this time, he’s able to take the cup from your hands and actually raise it to his own mouth with minimal shakiness. He tilts the cup back, throat still burning with hunger as he swallows thick mouthfuls of your blood. 

“You’re looking better. You’ve been pretty out of it for a while,” you say, taking the cup from him and sitting on the bed beside him. 

You reach out to brush a curl away from his forehead and Astarion doesn’t miss the slight shake of your hands or how ashen your skin looks. 

How much blood have you given to him? Astarion makes a mental note to ask Shadowheart to make you a special tea to help deal with any nasty side-effects of blood loss.

“What happened?” He asks, trying to piece together how long he had been unconscious. 

You frown. Astarion hates when he makes you frown. 

“You were staked. Not through the heart, thank the gods, but you lost so much blood. Shadowheart called it blood madness. She said that your body was returning to death,” you explain. 

Blood madness. Everything starts to make sense. The weird visions and memories. Falling in and out of consciousness as his undead body struggled to stay reanimated with so little blood in his system.

Astarion’s shocked when you let out a laugh- a hysteric, sorrowful thing that sounds all wrong coming from you. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t know why I thought vampires would have less blood. But you bled so much.”

“You gave me your blood,” he says and you nod in confirmation. 

“Shadowheart knew some way to drain it from my arm. It was… pretty gross.” You wrinkle your nose so sweetly and Astarion is struck by the desire to reach out and feel the way your skin creases with his thumb. “I passed out the first time she tried. We had to do it a few times so that you’d always have something to drink if you woke up.”

Your hands are folded in your lap and Astarion reaches out to cover them with one of his own. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you scoff. 

“I’m not that easy to kill, pet, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Astarion shoots you a wry grin that has you rolling your eyes before he turns serious again, giving your hands a little squeeze. “I know that your life would be easier without me. So, thank you. This was a gift. I won’t forget that.”

Your eyes are a bit teary when you look up from where his hand rests over yours in your lap and you say with a watery smile, “We’re just lucky they didn’t get you through the heart.”

You lean forward and pull Astarion into an embrace, your arms circling tightly around his torso. He grimaces, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain at the sharp throbbing in his abdomen where you had brushed against his wound. His body must still be starving for blood if his wound wasn’t healing at its normal vampiric rate. 

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” you rush to apologize, drawing away from him. 

“S’okay, little flower, just be gentle with me,” Astarion reassures, pulling you back against him. Your arms circle around him again and you’re careful to not put any pressure on his wound. 

He’s shocked for a moment at how warm your body feels against his. Slowly, he lets one of his own arms wrap around you, tucking you tighter into his side and resting his cheek against the softness of your hair. 

Astarion could live without the warmth of the sun forever, so long as he has this- his own, personal sunlight. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you say, so quietly that Astarion is sure he has mistaken your words. 

You pull away too soon. Though, if it were up to him, he would hold you in his arms forever. 

—-----------

You sit with Astarion and read to him while he continues to regain his strength. His wound heals quicker and quicker the more blood he gets back into his system. By the middle of the night, you finally allow him to get up out of bed and move around. 

He pities any patient that would have you as a nurse. The power went straight to your head. You were far too bossy- yelling at him not to move every time he tried to get comfortable and forcing him to drink some disgusting tea Shadowheart had made to help him heal.

But Astarion won’t lie, it’s nice to have you fussing over him. 

And now that you have finally deemed him safe to take a bath, he shooes you out of the room, sending you off to eat what he is sure is your first meal in days. 

He calls for Gale, who arrives with a flurry of other servants and water a few minutes later. The other servants leave the room after dropping off the water, but Gale stays. He doesn’t need to- they both know that overseeing a bath is beneath his status. But Astarion thinks Gale’s probably sticking around because you asked him to. 

When Astarion peels off the bandage on his abdomen, he finds that the wound has already closed and his skin is an angry red. 

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn’t you?” Gale jokes. Astarion knows this really means ‘glad you came back alive, you really scared us all.’ 

“You can’t even go on one measly trip to Emerald Grove without me or you come back half dead.” Gale pauses for a moment, to laugh at his own words. “Or, more dead than usual.”

This is the sort of light mockery that served as the basis of their friendship. Only, Gale’s wrong that he could have been of any help when the Gur attacked. 

Astarion had a… complicated history with the Gur that had started with a number of key rulings against them during his days as a magistrate. He still didn’t think that warranted beating him to the brink of death in a dark alley, though, so the distaste was mutual. Add to that, the fact that Cazador had ordered Astarion to kidnap a large number of Gur children at one point and that Astarion is now a thriving and powerful member of nobility again and well, the Gur certainly weren’t pleased.

And there were just so many of them during the ambush. 

Karlach is a masterful fighter and Astarion certainly knows how to hold his own and is quick enough to dodge most blows, but it had been a losing battle from the start. They never had a chance. Not when all the Gur seemed to have their eyes trained on Astarion. Not when they all had stakes and seemed content to die so long as they attempted to land a killing blow to him. 

Perhaps if Lae’zel or Wyll had been there, it might have made a difference, but they were off searching another spot. Gale would have just gotten in the way and likely found himself killed in the crossfire. He always did seem to have a knack for getting himself injured in the stupidest of ways back when Astarion had first hired everyone in Baldur’s Gate. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gale.” Astarion says, instead, rolling his eyes as he steps into the bath. The warm water feels glorious against his skin, his internal temperature still a mess from the blood madness. “The only thing you could have done was bore the Gur to death by talking in Latin.”

“I’ll remember you said that the next time you need me to translate something,” Gale narrows his eyes, moving a pitcher of water over the fire to warm it, knowing that the cold radiating from Astarion’s body will seep into the bath water all too quickly. 

“And you’ll translate it anyway because you can’t resist showing off to everyone about how smart you are.”

They settle into silence after that. Gale continues to tend to the fire and Astarion begins washing himself with a bar of soap.

“Lady Ancunin was really worried about you,” Gale says, completely changing the subject. It causes Astarion to pause for a moment, the bar of soap slipping out of his hands into the water. Gale pretends he doesn’t notice as Astarion scrambles to catch the slippery thing at the bottom of the tub. “She spent the whole time you were gone pacing like some sort of caged animal. And when you were injured, Shadowheart had to practically chain her to the bed to get her to sleep.”

Gale laughs a bit, but Astarion doesn’t find it amusing. He hates himself for causing you distress. 

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Astarion asks, suspicious of why Gale would bring you up.

“Ye of so little faith,” Gale feigns offense. 

“Perhaps I just know how much you like to talk.”

“Careful, Astarion, or I might think you’re being mean.” Gale says with a tone of warning. They’ve known each other for years now. They know each other’s tells. And they both know that Astarion can grow volatile and catty when he’s defensive.

“But no, my lips are sealed.” Gale makes a motion like he’s zipping up his lips and throwing away a key. “None of us have said anything about…” he trails off, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, “C-a-z-a-d-o-r or R-a-p-h-”

“I’m being serious, Gale,” Astarion interrupts. “And she knows how to spell, idiot, so that was a useless code.”

Gale laughs, pouring the final pitcher of warmed water into the tub and dumping the last bit directly over Astarion’s head. Astarion couldn’t be too mad because his hair was a mess from his days of bedrest and definitely needs to be washed, but it’s about the principle of the thing. 

Astarion pushes the wet hair out of his eyes and glares at Gale, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. They’re silent again for a few minutes as Gale starts tidying up and Astarion washes his hair. 

“She’s a smart one, your wife.” Gale says, always trusted to break the silence. “And loves to read. Might be a big help doing research if we just give her an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Your wife.

It has that jealous, possessive part burning within him. Yes, he thinks, she is mine- and it’d serve you right to remember that. 

But he doesn’t like the rest of what Gale’s saying, hates the idea of involving you in the plot that he’s been so careful to keep you out of. At first, he had been so secretive because he didn’t trust you. But now…

“That’s a slippery slope.” Astarion says, trying to keep his tone careful and not betray the panic that he feels rising in him at the idea. “First, we let her read a few books and then she’ll start getting ideas about coming with us on trips.” 

And then she’ll be hurt and I won’t be able to live with myself, Astarion thinks.

He sighs, “And then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions Cazador. And you know how she is when she gets something in her head. She’ll torture us all with questions until someone breaks.”

And Astarion knows there is no way you will ever love or respect him if you know who he truly is. No, it was best for you to only know him as the man he is now- not the weak, worthless spawn he once was. 

“You’re just as stubborn as she is,” Gale responds.

It makes his heart beam with pride to be compared to you, even if Gale did mean it as an insult.

Astarion steps out of the tub and dries off, pulling on the clothes that had been set out for him- white shirt and comfortable trousers. His fingers run comfortingly along the words embroidered on the hem of the shirt before he tucks it in. His secret poem, his constant reminder. 

“Thank you, Gale,” Astarion says, dismissing him. 

“I’ll let her know you’re finished,” Gale nods in acknowledgement as he leaves the room.

It’s like he can smell you as you come down the hallway. Gods, how could he possibly want you more now that he’s tasted your blood. It’s pathetic.

When you knock at the door, Astarion can hear your heart beating so fast, like a little bird. 

“How was your dinner, darling?” He asks, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe. “Devastatingly dull without my company, I assume.”

You completely ignore his teasing, which has Astarion worried immediately. You never passed up the opportunity for a good battle of wits. Instead, you brush past him into the room, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What’s wrong, little flower?”

“You’re doing better now, but you still need blood. You can drink from me, if you need,” you offer, words coming out in a rush. 

It’s everything he ever dreamed of- here you stand, offering yourself up to him. And he does need blood. 

He’s practically tripping over himself to accept. Only a fool would say no. 

“How do you want me?” you ask and it’s sweet how nervous you are underneath your poor attempt at a calm, unbothered demeanor.

“In every way imaginable, darling. But let’s start on the bed.” Astarion says, shamelessly. He can hear your heart quicken at the words, how the breath gets caught in your throat. This is exactly why he loves teasing you- the involuntary reactions you always have that let him know his flirting is working, your unconscious admission that he has at least some effect over you. 

Astarion reaches out for your hand gently and leads you over to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and patting the spot next to him. “Come on, pet, I don’t bite. Not until you ask nicely.”

“Oh, you were serious about the bed,” you say, looking at him with nervous, wide eyes. 

“In case you get lightheaded. I don’t want you to hurt yourself if you pass out again,” he explains, reassuring you with a light smile. 

Astarion guides you down so you’re resting comfortably against a pillow. Selfishly, he’d really rather have this experience be a pleasurable one for you so you’re more likely to let him do this again.

“And it saves us time when you’re unable to resist me after this and demand I ravish you,” he adds when you’ve finally settled next to him on the bed because he can never pass up the opportunity to tease you. The playful elbow you ‘accidentally’ poke into his stomach has him laughing.

His lips are almost on your neck when he hears your voice, barely a whisper, “Will it hurt?”

“Just for a moment, like you’re pricking your finger on a thorn.” Astarion runs the back of his fingers against the soft skin of your neck, soothingly. “Then it won’t feel like much of anything.”

You nod, but he still feels you moving restlessly. Frankly, it’s a bit distracting to have you rubbing against him like that when his pelvis is pressed so snugly against your skirts.

“Relax,” he breathes, as he gently moves your hair away from your neck.

Astarion takes a moment to savor the smell of your blood rushing through your veins, to feel your pulse fluttering so sweetly underneath your skin before he sinks his teeth in. 

The little whimper you let out at his bite has lightning running through his veins straight to his cock. Astarion had seen every sort of depraved, erotic display a person could imagine- had participated, even. Had he really fallen so far from his former grace that just a breathy little sound from you had him half-hard?

You taste just as good as he can remember, perhaps even better, because this time he’s fully conscious and can fully appreciate the rich, savory flavor of your blood. He could buy every expensive wine in the world and he would still be chasing after your full-bodied tang.

Your head falls back against his own and your hand moves up behind you to curl in his hair, pulling him closer. He feels you shiver with delight, feels the gentle thud of your heartbeat ringing in his own ears. He drinks as slowly as he can manage in his half-feral state- he wants this to last, wants to drag this out as long as he can since he’s unsure when you’ll allow this again. 

Tearing himself away from you is perhaps the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. 

He preens at the little puncture marks on your neck. 

Mine, he thinks. 

He leans down to lick up the drops of blood forming on the surface of the wounds and the gasp you let out has him nearly out of his mind with how badly he wants to fuck you, just to see what other pretty little sounds he could conjure up from you.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss next to the mark on your neck. He turns so he can shuffle around on his nightstand and find one of the bandages Shadowheart had left for his own wound, pressing the cloth carefully against your skin.

You settle your head back against his chest and let out a hum of thanks. Astarion gives himself this moment, lets himself pull you closer and begin carding his fingers through your hair.

Oh, the heavens must have blessed him tonight, indeed, because you let out one more content little sigh as your heavy eyes fall closed. Astarion knows you haven’t slept soundly in days, that the last time you slept longer than a couple hours was probably before he left.

But, Astarion is also sure that you don’t want to spend the night in his bed, so when your breaths become even and your heartbeat slows, he wraps you in his arms and carries you softly back to your own room. You stir a bit as he pulls the blankets up around you, eyes dreamy and unfocused as you pull Astarion down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

Thank gods your eyes have fallen shut again because Astarion is sure his face is bright red. In his own room, his hand immediately moves to hold his cheek, as if that will somehow allow him to revive the sensation of your warm lips against his skin.

Astarion practically crawls on his hands and knees to your room the next night, unable to stay away. From you? Your blood? Both? He doesn’t think about it too hard. All he knows is that he asks and you offer up your neck to him so sweetly that he wants to cut himself open for you and let you dig around inside his chest. 

He comes begging to you the next night and the next night and the next. Had he lost all sense of humility? And did he really even care how weak and foolish he was acting right now? 

Every night, he allows himself to press his lips against your throat in a parting kiss. He allows himself to hold you against him as you fall asleep before he carries you back to your room.

Until one night, your hand clutches behind you blindly, reaching out for any part of him you can catch onto. He thinks you’re going to yell at him, chastise him for taking too much blood, tell him never to come back to your room. But instead, you call out for him to stay.

Astarion is given a new gift that night as you turn around to curl against him, tucking your head underneath his chin and moving one of your arms to wrap around his torso. Your breath is soft against his collarbones and the two of you are so wrapped up in one that Astarion can hardly fathom how he was able to rest before this.

It starts to become a sweet little ritual. You, reading aloud to Astarion as he fights to pay attention and not be distracted by how lovely your voice is. You, pressing against him, sweeping your hair to the side and offering up your throat in sacrifice. Him, worshiping at the altar of your neck. The safety of holding you, or being held by you, as you sleep. 

Astarion is pleasantly surprised one night when he’s wrapped around you, pressing soft kisses near his bite mark after he’s fed, when one of your hands comes up to curl around his own and guide him nervously under your chemise.

Astarion hesitates. 

He’s more than a bit worried about how present you really are, worried that your mind has gone fuzzy from a lack of blood. He shifts a bit, so he’s able to see your face, able to see the way your eyes are boring into his with a desperation that’s so uncharacteristic of you. 

You, his sharp, guarded little heart, who always pretends to be so strong. You, his little wife who hardly ever asks for anything. And here you are, presenting yourself to him like a feast. 

And Astarion wants this, he thinks. For the first time in a long time, he wants something sweet and innocent, a moment that belongs just to him. He aches to make you feel good. Perhaps in part to repay you for the blood, but mostly because you’ve made him feel so impossibly happy these past few weeks. He hopes that this will make you become as dependent on him as he is on you. Then, you would never dream of leaving him.

He lets his fingers trace against the warm, smooth skin of your inner thigh and feels you shiver against him. 

It had been so long since Astarion had felt this desire to discover someone else, since he had felt genuine curiosity at the reactions of his partner. And right now, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from your face as he lets his hand press feather light, teasing touches right next to where you need him most. 

A cruel part of his mind almost wants him to make you beg for it, to make you pay for all the times he’s so willingly fallen at your feet in submission.

“I had no idea you needed me this badly, pet. You’re so wet you’re practically dripping,” the voice that comes out of Astarion is breathless and full of astonishment, so far away from the low, seductive tone he had mastered long ago. 

“Astarion,” you whimper and he feels your hips shifting slightly towards him, chasing after more. The way his name sounds falling from your lips has him wondering if it’s possible to die twice. 

“In time, little flower,” he shushes you, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the thatch of hair covering your pubic mound. “I intend on drawing this out as long as I can. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He feels a bit of pride that he will get to make this an exquisite experience for you. Not like the first time he was touched, fumbling around in a back alleyway with another young lord. 

Astarion finally dips his hand so that his fingers can stroke your inner folds, watching intently how your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the sensation. 

Astarion knows bodies- knows their signs, knows their cues, knows how to play them like a maestro. 

But, this is you. This matters. 

This is about taking his time, about learning you better than you know yourself. About watching each little gasp and every little muscle that moves in your face, carefully saving them all away to replay in his brain forever.

For a while, Astarion works with no real purpose. He’s careful to keep his hands away from your clit, which he knows is aching to be touched. Instead, he spends his time learning the folds of your cunt, cherishing the warm, velvety soft skin that just begs him to come inside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He croons, desperately trying to distract himself from the blood rushing to his own cock. This was meant to be about you, damn it, not him.

He accentuates that point by finally, mercifully swirling his thumb in teasing circles around your clit, feasting on the way that your mouth falls open in pleasure. 

He’s finally rendered you speechless, it seems. For once, you don’t have a snarky rebuttal or quick little jab. 

No, Astarion is graced with something far better when a shivery little moan escapes you as one of his fingers presses into you. He feels his own mouth water as the soft, wet heat urges him deeper.

Astarion is filled to the brim with lines that he used to make his lovers sing, but somehow, none of those seem enough. All too rehearsed, too empty for the depth of the longing he feels for you. His brain is growing empty as his finger continues to move in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. He feels your own hips moving against his hand, trying to quicken the motion. 

“Uh uh, pet,” he chides, impressed with himself that anything other than incoherent praises are managing to tumble their way out of his mouth right now. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

It’s easier, trying to revert back into that self-assured, confident persona to regain some semblance of control over the situation, so sure is he that he’s about to lose himself in how velvety soft and sticky sweet your cunt feels against his hand. 

He can only imagine how it would feel to be wrapped inside you. It would probably take every shred of his concentration to last more than a few shallow thrusts. Gods forbid if you clenched your cunt around him, he might just ascend to the heavens.

He sees you nod, catches how your hands claw desperately at the sheets as you try to still your hips. He feels the growing need to grind his own hips against something- to feed that aching, burning desire pooling low in his stomach. 

“Astarion, please.”

And oh, how pretty you beg. 

It’s far better than anything Astarion could have conjured up in the dark recesses of his mind. He considers dragging this out for hours- forcing you to beg over and over and over for him. 

But he’s too needy right now, so instead, he leans down to lick a stripe up your throat, savoring the twin droplets of freshly congealed blood that he picks up before he practically groans in your ear, “Tell me what you need, my love.”

Oh. Evidently you liked that based on the fresh surge of wetness that pools around his hand. He’s not sure whether it’s the endearment or the soft command that affected you so, but he’ll have to experiment with that again in the future.

“More,” you whine out, one of your hands brushing softly against his jaw before you reach up to curl your fingers in his hair and press his forehead against your own. Your eyes are screwed shut and he can feel your sharp pants of breath on his lips. 

He almost thinks about making you answer- more what? But he’s not sure you’re capable of stringing together more than a couple words at the moment and truthfully, he knows exactly what you need. 

“I know, little love,” Astarion says, slipping another finger in and letting them curl against your soft walls. Your hand tightens almost painfully in his hair at the added sensation. He gives you a moment to adjust before his thumb is moving against your clit again. 

“Oh, gods, Astarion. So good… so, so good,” you cry out. 

He feels the soft insides of your cunt fluttering against his fingers. He hears the sharp intake of your breath, your heartbeat erratic as you orgasm. He continues, riding you through the high and working his fingers against you until you’re shaking against him. 

It’s then that he finally grants himself release, finally allows himself to lean down and press his lips to yours. 

It’s just a kiss, but it feels like so much more.

Astarion has kissed many, many people. But fuck… it felt like a disservice to call this just another kiss. Not with how slowly and sweetly your lips slide against his own. Not when you release a happy little sigh into his mouth. 

Astarion feels the warmth in his chest, surrounding his unbeating heart. 

When he pulls away, the sight of you underneath him is breathtaking. Your hair is fanned out against the pillows, pupils blown dark and wide, skin flushed with exertion, the bite on your neck that marks you as his. 

He’d do this forever, until his hand went numb from overuse if it meant you would keep looking up at him with those warm, gooey eyes that feel like sunshine against his skin.

Astarion pulls your chemise back down from where it’s bunched up around your hips and shifts to pull your head down against his chest. His fingers card softly through your hair as he whispers how proud he is of you, how good you did for him, how you listened so well, little flower. 

Your soft, even breaths as you fall asleep and the relaxing, repetitive motion of running his fingers through your hair help to soothe the burning desire he feels within himself. It was easy to ignore his own needs, after all. He was used to that. 

But he can’t help thinking that if this is what the rest of his days are like, an eternity seems too short. 

————

The next day is totally normal. As if the world hasn’t undergone some massive shift that has knocked Astarion’s center of gravity completely off balance. 

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that you bring it up, when Astarion finds you nervously pacing the length of his bedroom.

“Last night…” you start, but trail off. Astarion knows what you are going to say- last night was a mistake, it should never happen again. He’s completely taken by surprise when instead you say, “I liked when you kissed me.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you, pet?” He purrs, confidence now firmly back intact since you had reassured him. “Can I do it again?”

You nod so eagerly. Astarion lets his hand come up to cup your face and tilt it up to him. Slowly, with all the restraint he can manage (he’s barely holding on by a thread), he lets his lips press against yours. 

Like last night, it’s slow and sweet how your lips slide against one another’s. One of his arms comes to wrap around your waist, to pull you closer. 

The longer you kiss, the braver you grow. But what else did he really expect from you, his wild wife? You run your tongue along the seam of his lips and Astarion opens his mouth, welcomes your tongue as you explore.

Astarion nibbles on your bottom lip, letting one of his fangs scratch the delicate skin inside. He feels the warm rush of blood and sucks your lip into his mouth to drink from the little cut. An appetizer for the meal yet to come. 

You bite his lower lip in retaliation and Astarion groans, pulling away from your lips so he can press kisses along your jaw as he makes his way to your neck. The familiar wounds have only just begun to heal from yesterday. Astarion sucks at your skin, pulling the blood up to the surface. Then he bites.

He’s rewarded both by the rush of blood into his mouth and the pretty sigh you let out as you wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him impossibly closer. 

He will never tire of this- of the taste of you in his mouth and the way you writhe against him. He will want this forever, drinking and pleasure and whatever else you bless him with. He will want this for as long as you’re willing to indulge him. 

Astarion is sure to keep a steady arm around your waist in case you get dizzy. But all too soon, you pull him up from your neck and crash your lips onto his again, your tongue licking into his mouth. He’s shocked because he knows the metallic taste of blood must still be heavy in his mouth, but based on the way your tongue slides against his, you don’t seem to mind it at all. If anything, you rather seem to enjoy it.

Astarion presses one last soft, slow kiss to your lips before he breaks apart from you, resting his forehead against yours. Your fingers play with the short curls at the nape of his neck.

“You’re really good at that,” you say. Astarion panics a bit about what you mean but your voice is sweet and relaxed.

“So are you, little flower,” he says, nudging your nose gently with his own. You giggle at that.

“It’s like dancing,” you respond, “Anyone is a good dancer if they have the right partner.”

“Is that so?” Astarion starts to sway and you move with him, feet taking small steps as the two of you dance in a little circle. “If I recall, you were an exceptional dancer. Other than when you stumbled over your feet when you first saw me.”

Astarion was chasing after the exact reaction you give- a little indignified huff as you pull away a bit to narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be upset, darling. You’re hardly the first person to trip when they saw me. And you certainly won’t be the last,” Astarion jokingly reassures.

You stop moving and purposefully stick one of your feet out so that Astarion stumbles a bit over it.

“Oops.” You look up at him all innocent, but you’ve got that dangerous little gleam in your eye that means trouble. 

“Cheeky little pup,” he says, shooting you a wicked grin, and you look so proud of yourself. 

“Lay with me?” You ask, tugging on his hands to pull him toward the bed.

And how could Astarion ever refuse you?

He gladly welcomes the few sweet, sleepy kisses you give him as you cuddle together. 

“Goodnight,” you murmur against his lips.

“Goodnight, little flower. I lo-,” Astarion cuts the words off, clearing his throat to cover what he was about to say. You give him a curious look, but lay your head back down against his chest.

Had he almost told you that he loved you? 

No, that was ridiculous. He doesn’t love you- it had just been such a long time since he had kissed someone he actually wanted to. It had been so long since kissing was an enjoyable enough experience to be able to stay in his body. 

Even after Cazador, when Astarion had thrown himself headfirst into all sorts of debauchery as a way of proving his bodily autonomy to himself, it all felt wrong. 

And this didn’t- this felt right. Wires were just getting crossed in his brain, that’s all. He’s pushing heavier emotions onto you because you’re the first person he’s felt comfortable with in centuries. 

He feels satisfied with that explanation so he lets himself relax and close his eyes. 

—---------

Astarion likes how your nightly routine has shifted and evolved. You still read and talk before he drinks from you. But now, afterward, you kiss him until he’s dizzy. And some nights, his hand will slip down under your chemise or he’ll bunch the gown up around your hips and settle himself between your thighs to eat you out like a man starved. 

It’s strange. Astarion can’t remember the last time he was excited about sex. But now, he takes such great pride in how easily your body responds to his touch, at how he’s able to make you sing and writhe with pleasure. He’s never felt so clear headed. 

And when your own hands begin to wander lower down Astarion’s body, he dutifully redirects them. He’s too worried about what might happen if you do touch him- worried that he might slip away to that little part of his mind and begin moving on autopilot, worried that he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy how wonderful you felt. 

And gods, you deserve nothing less than his full, undivided attention. 

Astarion could smell your arousal tonight, could feel the way you shift your hips up to meet his own. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Can I?” He asks, sliding your nightgown past your waist, moving to pull it off you. He watches you hesitate for a minute, hears your heart racing nervously. 

He’s always fascinated by how certain aspects of intimacy make you shy. It had been so long since he had blushed about anything. He was so used to his body being on display. 

He waits for you to decide, moving to pepper soft kisses across your jawline and reassure you, “You’re so pretty, darling. The sun and stars themselves bow to your beauty.”

He feels you shiver a bit at his words- you always were so wonderfully responsive to praise- and slowly, your own hand moves down to help him drag the soft fabric higher up your chest and over your arms. 

The only thing remaining on your body is the necklace chain with your wedding ring. It sits so beautifully against your bare chest. 

Possessiveness flares within Astarion at the sight. If it were up to him, he’d keep you bare like this forever- covered in only your wedding ring and his bite marks. 

Let the world know you belong to him. 

Astarion’s finger draws a line along your breastbone and he slips the ring over the tip of his finger, using the chain as leverage to pull you closer for another heated kiss. One of your hands tangles in his hair and he feels his groan reverberating in his chest when your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. 

 “Trying to show off your claws, my love?” Astarion purrs. He reaches up to gently disentangle your fingers from his hair. Lacing them between his own, he pins your hand to the bed.

He grabs your other hand from where it had been working to untuck his shirt and pins that one down, as well. You let out a wonderful little moan. He chuckles darkly, “You should know it’s dangerous to tease a vampire. You might get bitten.”

“I seem to get bitten plenty even when I don’t scratch,” you tease back breathlessly. Astarion nips playfully at the column of your throat in retaliation. 

“And yet, you keep coming back for more,” Astarion speaks against your skin. He presses a kiss over the bite mark he left the previous night, “But you’ll have to wait. I have something else I want to taste first.” 

Astarion releases his hold on your hand so he can drag one of his hands down to trace his fingertips in teasing patterns over your slick folds. He presses gently into your cunt to collect some of your wetness on his fingers before he pulls his hand away. 

You huff out a frustrated breath that has Astarion chuckling. You always had to make your opinion known- his sweet, stubborn wife. 

Astarion brings his hand back up to his mouth, his eyes falling shut as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to taste you. He moans, “How do you always taste so much sweeter than I remember?”

He’s done these actions so many times before as part of some performance. But it never felt rehearsed with you. Everything just seemed to flow so naturally. 

You’re looking up at him with wide, loving eyes that nearly pull the breath from his lungs. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, a bit stunned, before Astarion feels your warm palm against his stomach. Your gentle hands nearly burn where they press against his skin, pushing his own shirt higher up his torso. 

He’s hesitant to take it off, to let you see the poem Cazador had carved into his back. He knows you- knows you’ll have questions that he doesn’t want to answer.

“It’s only fair,” you pout and yep, he’s a goner. He’ll just have to be careful about how he angles himself so you can’t see his back. He pulls the shirt off and throws it blindly behind him as he soaks in your victorious little grin. 

Astarion is used to his body inspiring awe in people. And yet, when you gaze upon him, it feels as if he is being worshiped by the sun, herself. 

It’s too intense, the ache nestled deep in his chest feels too much like love. A nervous little shiver runs up his spine that he tries to hide. 

“You can touch, darling, I won’t break. And I certainly plan to touch you,” he says, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips. 

If he could just get you distracted, he could tamper down that little part of his brain screaming out to him that he should whisper those three little words against your skin and watch the radiant smile that would light up your face. 

You whimper, but your soft, warm hands descend upon him almost immediately, fingers tracing along the lines of his collarbones and feeling the sinewy muscles in his chest. It feels divine. Astarion could lose himself in this forever. The little voice screaming at him from the back of his mind is soothed and placated by your gentle, wandering hands. 

When one of your hands starts to move its way over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to his scars, Astarion distracts you by nipping at your neck. Your hands give up their search immediately, content to hold on to his biceps as he sucks and kisses at your skin. 

Astarion continues to trail kisses along the column of your throat, stopping for a moment to enjoy the beautiful scent that sticks so heavy to your skin before he continues downward. 

Your nipples have hardened from the cool night air and Astarion ghosts his finger on the underside of your breast, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. He had forgotten how living skin was able to do that. 

Fascinated, he squeezes your breast, feeling the soft, warm weight in his hand. 

“Astarion, stop teasing,” you whine. He can feel your hips grinding subtly against his own.

“You like when I tease,” he smirks, faintly tracing a circle around your nipple before he gives it a pinch. “And I’m not teasing right now, I’m appreciating. It’s completely different.”

Astarion is sure to provide your other breast with equal appreciation, so dedicated to balance is he.

And as he appreciates you, he’s fed with the most salacious little noises. Your hands claw desperately against his skin, looking for purchase. The soft sting of your nails has his own cock aching. 

Astarion adjusts slightly before he rolls his hips against you. You gasp, head sinking even further into the pillow. The curve of your throat, decorated with his bite and little love marks has something akin to pride blooming in his chest. He moves his hips again and this time, you move your own to meet his.

He grinds his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants growing damp where it rubs against your wet cunt. It makes the fabric cling impossibly closer to his own cock. He has to stop himself before he makes a total mess of his pants by coming inside them. 

You pout when he stops moving, but that quickly disappears as he presses kisses along your chest. His journey continues lower- he’s still hungry tonight. 

With each gentle kiss along your sternum, he can feel your stomach muscles tightening with anticipation. He takes his time, savoring how you squirm beneath. When he finally reaches his destination at the juncture of your thighs, he nudges your legs further apart to frame his shoulders. 

How was Astarion expected to find roses beautiful after this? Not after he had feasted on the nectar of the beautiful flower that resided between your thighs. 

“Oh, look how desperately you need me,” he says, astonished. 

Astarion is always amazed with the things you let him get away with saying when you’re spread open before him. You do try to make a noise of protest, but that quickly dies in your throat when Astarion leans forward to lick a flat stripe against your cunt. 

It’s an act of reverence as he licks and sucks at your soft folds, an act of devotion when he dips his tongue inside to taste you, an act of veneration when his tongue rolls over your clit. He can feel your little tremors and he’s studied your body so intently that he recognizes the signals of your impending climax and pulls away.

“I was so close, Astarion,” you whine out his name so pitifully, the fingers that have curled in his hair attempting to push his face back towards your cunt.

“In time, beloved,” he runs his nose along the inside of your thigh, smells the blood rushing underneath your skin, “I just need a taste.”

You recognize that he’s asking for permission, smart little thing that you are, and you’re nodding your head so fast and eagerly that it nearly falls right off. “Gods, yes. Yes, please.” 

You open up your leg a bit so Astarion has easier access to your thigh. As had become his new habit, he presses a soft kiss to the skin of your inner thigh before his teeth sink in. 

It should be a sin how sweetly your blood mixes with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. A concoction made by the devil himself to personally drive Astarion insane. How is he supposed to sustain himself on anything other than this? How is he ever supposed to drink the blood of another when he has tasted the gods’ ambrosia? 

When he’s had his fill (it will never be enough), he moves his mouth back to your center, lets his tongue dip and lick and suck. He presses a finger into you and curls in in the way that always makes you let out a pretty sigh. 

The room is filled with the wet sounds of him feasting on your cunt and all your sweet, delicious noises. Astarion’s chest blooms with an unfamiliar warmth. 

He insists on pulling at least three orgasms from you before he relents, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before he’s moving back up your body.

“You’re so sweet, little flower. Would you like a taste?” Astarion asks and you’re surging up to kiss him, tongue sliding hungrily against his.

He feels your hand trailing down his stomach, moving closer and closer to where he desperately needs you to touch him. His brain is almost short circuiting. 

He goes to move your hand away, as usual, but you’re insistent tonight, evading his grasp as you play with the waistband of his trousers.

“What are you doing, my love?” He asks when your hand dips even lower, tracing along the outline of where his erection strains against the fabric of his pants. 

“Show me,” you tell him, eyes boring pleadingly into his. “Tell me what to do. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Oh, how is he supposed to resist you when you look at him with those warm, loving eyes? 

Astarion’s not even sure anymore why he had been resisting your advances so ardently. He deserves to feel good, he deserves to feel loved. And how could he possibly slip into the darkness of his mind when there’s this electricity running through his veins?

“Okay,” he agrees, moving so the two of you are laying side by side. He manages to pull his pants down and kick them off his legs while still looking moderately graceful.  

You start with innocent, feather light touches that have him almost in agony before you wrap your hand around him and move slowly along his shaft. 

“Tighter,” he instructs you, bringing his own hand down to guide you, to help you adjust your grip and show you how to move up and down a bit faster. He can’t help but think about how tight and hot your cunt would feel wrapped around him.

Tracing his thumb across his tip, Astarion collects some of his precome and spreads it along his length as lubricant. Your fingers chase after his own, eager to learn, and dance over the head of his cock. His whole body nearly jolts in response. 

Astarion’s trying to watch your face, studying how your own curious eyes dart down to glance at his cock and how you bite your lip so sinfully. But your hand moving against him feels so good and it’s been so long and it’s all just getting to be too much. 

“Tell me how it feels,” you murmur, shifting to kiss and suck at his neck while your hand continues to move. 

Astarion wonders if you’ve noticed that he was starting to lose himself. He’s eternally grateful to you for helping to anchor him back to reality. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Astarion calms his mind, focusing on how your soft hand is moving against his cock and he manages to choke out, “Warm… your hands are so warm… and so soft.”

And oh, you start twisting your hand a bit toward his tip and that has Astarion’s hips rocking into your hand involuntarily.

“That’s- so close. Fuck… Feels so good. So…” Astarion groans as he trails off. 

He faintly feels you smile against his skin before your teeth are sinking lightly into the base of his neck. It feels unbelievable- the gentle sting only serves to amplify the pleasure. He completely understands why you’re always so eager for him to bite you. 

He comes hard, spilling over your hand and the soft skin of your stomach. 

You keep moving your hand against him, his cock pulsing in your hand, until the sensation starts to hurt a bit and Astarion’s steering your hand away from him. 

“You did so good for me,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. 

It’s so sweet to have you whisper the words back to him that he always tells you after he’s brought you to ruin. 

“You’re so handsome,” you continue, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Always so patient with me,” you press another kiss to the spot between his eyebrows. “My wonderful husband.” A final kiss on his forehead. 

There’s that lovely, fluttering warmth surrounding his heart again at your words. Astarion catches your chin and guides your lips to his own for one last slow, sweet kiss. You let out a content little sigh into his mouth.

But Astarion feels sticky where his come is drying uncomfortably against his own skin, so he can only imagine how you feel.  

“Let me clean you up,” Astarion says, pushing some strands of your loose hair behind your ear. 

He detangles himself from your arms and you eventually let him go after trying unsuccessfully to pull him back into bed a couple times. Your actions have Astarion smiling with a goofy grin, happy that you seem to crave his embrace as much as he craves you.

After wetting a cloth at the wash pitcher and basin, he comes back to the bed, where you have spread yourself out in his absence.

“And where am I supposed to sleep, little flower?” He teases.

“In a coffin, probably,” you giggle and Astarion snorts out a little laugh at your stupid joke. You kick playfully at him when he tries to sit back down on the bed. 

“You never make anything easy, do you?” Astarion rolls his eyes before catching your foot. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he sets your leg back down on the bed. 

“Where’s the fun in that? You’d get bored.”

Astarion is sure to keep his touch gentle as he wipes down your stomach and he moves his attention to the bite on your inner thigh. The blood had already started to coagulate and heal, but the skin around it was angry and red.

You will have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Astarion will probably get an earful from Shadowheart. 

Oh well, it was worth it. 

“You always take such good care of me,” you say with a dreamy sigh, reaching out to wind your finger around one of Astarion’s curls that had gotten dislodged when your fingers were threaded into his hair earlier. 

He reminds himself that you don’t really mean this- that you’re probably just feeling a bit faint from blood loss and are caught up in the afterglow.

“You’re just tired,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze and continuing to wipe away any remnants of stickiness from your skin. 

“No,” your palm moves from his hair to cup his cheek and your eyes stare into his desperately, like you need him to really hear your next words. “That’s not- I’m trying…”

You huff out a frustrated breath of air. Obviously, you’re going to tell him you’ve grown tired of him- that he had served his purpose and you’d be moving on now. He’s desperately trying to come up with ways to bargain with you in his mind, to convince you to stay.

“I’m not very good at being nice,” you say. 

That’s a lie, Astarion thinks. You’re plenty good at being nice. You can be a bit brazen and you are certainly obstinate and headstrong. But underneath all that, you are deeply kind- you gift Astarion flowers, you offer him your lifeblood when he’s on the brink of death, you save him from the worst parts of his mind even after he has already given you pleasure. 

“I just…” you trail off again, biting at your lip. “You take very good care of me. You let me set boundaries and try things at my own pace. I appreciate that. I appreciate you. Sometimes it just overwhelms me how lucky I am to be married to you.”

That’s… oh… That’s not what Astarion expected at all.

And he knows that if he sits in this moment, if he lets himself say what he’s really thinking, he’s going to finally realize that the feeling you inspire in him is love. And that maybe it’s been love for quite a while. 

“Did you ever imagine yourself saying that when we first married?” He says instead, and he can feel his lips splitting into a wide smile. 

Teasing was easy. Teasing was comfortable. Teasing distracted him from that little feeling gnawing at him. 

You groan in embarrassment, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes. 

“It’s cute, you get all blushy and flustered when you’re embarrassed.” Astarion continues, pulling on your wrists gently to move them away from your eyes. You give him a little pout that makes him chuckle. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips, “Makes me want to take a bite.”

“Down, boy,” you laugh, lightly pushing Astarion’s head away from you. “You’ve had plenty today. I’m cutting you off.”

“A shame.” Astarion gives a big, dramatic sigh and settles his head against your chest. He feels you shake with laughter. 

The rhythmic movement of your fingers through Astarion’s hair and the loud, steady beat of your heart has him nearly purring. He uses his own hands to draw swirling shapes on the soft skin of your stomach that have you giggling and swatting at his hands.

When Astarion rests his chin on your chest to look up at you, he can’t ignore it any longer.

The only emotion that can possibly fit what he is feeling is love. 

It terrifies him. How could he let himself be so weak, so foolish?

Astarion nearly falls out of bed, attempting to put as much distance between you and himself as quickly as possible. He needs to get away from here, needs to think.

“Astarion, what’s wrong?” 

He can hardly hear your voice over the roaring in his ears, the bubble building in his chest that’s pushing away all of his air. When your hands reach out for him, to pull him back to you, your hands are too hot against his skin. He steps away as if he’s been burned. 

“I have to go,” Astarion manages to choke out, pulling his clothes back on before he’s stumbling out of the room. His feet carry him back to his study. 

He paces the length of the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

It was never supposed to go this far. He was never supposed to love you. It’s just that at every step, he kept craving more, kept getting carried away. 

He shouldn’t have concerned himself at all when he overheard your father and that vile man at the party, talking about you like you were an animal up for auction. He shouldn’t have gotten the foolish idea in his head that he could help you. Should have never even conceived the plan to marry you as a solution. 

He should have killed you when you found out he was a vampire. 

But you had such fire, such tenacity. He was intrigued. And he had already concocted the plan to marry you. It had seemed so simple, at that time, to twist his own reasons for why marrying you would help keep his secret from getting out. 

He shouldn’t have started inviting you down to dinner, shouldn’t have entertained you in the library in the evenings or taken walks in the garden with you. 

He never should have tasted your blood. He should have woken up from his nearly comatose state and demanded that they fetch one of his blood bags from the village.

He certainly shouldn’t have allowed himself to drink from you every night. Never should have pulled you into his bed, never should have let you read to him or comb your fingers through his hair or hold him while you sleep. 

He never should have let himself become intoxicated by the taste of your cunt and those delectable noises you make.

You were the sun, the best and worst parts of you. You were bright and brash, the gentle touch of a spring day and the angry blistering heat of summer, creation and destruction. If Astarion stayed on course, he would become consumed in your sweet warmth. 

Without even recognizing it had happened, Astarion had become your moon- existing solely to reflect your own brightness back upon you. 

No, his transgressions would end here. From now on, you were just someone who he shared a house with and nothing more. Whatever that feeling was, whatever love he thought he felt needed to be gone. He couldn’t confront Raphael if his heart had such an obvious gaping wound. 

“Are you alright?” Gale asks from the doorway, shocking Astarion out of his pacing. 

“I’m fine,” Astarion nearly snarls back at him. 

“It’s just… It doesn’t seem like you’re fine?” Gale says, hesitant. “Lady Ancunin sent me to check on you, she was worried.”

And the idea that you’re worried about him nearly has him reversing all his plans again, nearly has him crawling back to you on his knees and begging you to forgive him for causing you distress.

But, no, he must stand strong. 

“Is this another one of your episodes?” Gale asks when Astarion still hasn’t answered.

Astarion feels his face twist in rage at Gale’s unknowing implication that you- his precious, lovely heart- could even be compared to the vicious monster that was Cazador and the horrors Astarion would be forced to relive forever. 

No, this anguish was something entirely new, something entirely foreign that Astarion didn’t know if he would ever be able to navigate.

“Leave,” Astarion commands. “I need to think.”

Gale looks reluctant, but follows the instruction, letting the door click shut behind him.

Astarion throws himself back into research. He has been too distracted lately, too willing to forget his mission so he could spend more time with you. But, the quicker he can find the final gem that Raphael needed to complete the crown, the quicker he can get out of this idiotic contract, the quicker he will be back in your arms…

No, Astarion stops that line of thinking. 

There would be no returning to you. Love is a disease that festers and grows and spreads. Even after he is free of Raphael, growing close to you would grant him nothing but suffering. 

You were human, you would die.

He spends the rest of the day pouring over books, reading until his eyes hurt. Even then, he doesn’t take a break. His mind has to be wholly consumed by getting out of this deal with Raphael. If he lets any part of himself think of you, he might lose his resolve. Deep down, he already knew he was a weak man when it came to you. 

“Astarion,” you knock gently at the door to his study, interrupting him from his reading. 

Astarion shoots a quick glance over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s evening again. He had hardly noticed the day passing.

When he looks at you, it feels like someone has staked him through the heart. The circles under your eyes are dark, like you didn’t sleep after he had run off. He quickly turns his gaze back to the papers on his desk. 

Had he really been driven so mad that the mere sight of you threatened to ruin him? 

Pathetic.

“Astarion, talk to me. What happened this morning?” You approach him where he sits at his desk, hands reaching out to relax the muscles in his tense shoulders. He jumps away at the contact and the look on your face is so heartbroken.

“What’s going on? Has something happened? Tell me and I can fix it,” you plead.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been thinking…” he trails off because the words he needs to say next are getting caught in his throat, his body and his brain at war with one another. “I just think it’s time that we end our little arrangement.”

“Our… arrangement?”

“I don’t need your blood anymore. I have someone else.” He tries to keep his voice as measured and even as possible, tries not to choke around the bile threatening to rise up in his throat. 

“Someone else…” you take a deep breath and it looks like you’re forcing down tears. His hands are itching, shaking at his side with the need to reach out, to cup your pretty face and apologize as he wipes away every single tear. 

But no, Astarion knows the next words out of his mouth will ruin everything with you forever.

“I just need someone who could keep up with my tastes, darling. Not that you weren’t fun for a while, you’re just a little… bland,” he says, trying hard to make it look like his face is contorting with disgust and not anguish. “You were a fun challenge at first, but now, you’re just too easy. Too desperate.”

Astarion does recognize that it is a bit ironic to call you desperate when he is the one who requires your attention as a basic need for his survival. 

You look as if he has split your ribs open and dug the beating heart out of your chest cavity. Astarion wishes that the gods might smite him where he stands so that he can escape this agony. 

“That’s just- that’s not-” you splutter and for a second there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest like there always is when he manages to catch you off guard. Your face twists, anger taking over, “Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!”

And just like that, Astarion’s very worst fear is confirmed. He had been taking advantage of you.

You always have to have the last word, Astarion knows this about you. It’s what he lov- likes about you- that his nettling and teasing always gets him some sort of response. 

But he also knows when you’re angry, when you’re really, truly angry, that your words can almost border on cruelty, and can cut him so deeply in ways you could never understand. He shouldn’t go poking and prodding at you when he knows you’re this upset. 

“Well, consider this,” Astarion points his finger between the two of you, “finished, then.” 

He’s fighting with everything in him to keep his even, trying not to betray the hidden storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I hate you,” you spit out at him before you’re leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

You should, he thinks. He will never forgive himself for what he has done to you. 

Astarion pours himself a glass of wine and finally lets the wave of emotions crest. 

For once, Astarion had something good in his life, something he enjoyed. Something just for him. But of course, he was too selfish, too greedy, and had pushed you too far. He had turned into the monster, Cazador, that he always hated. Someone who took and took and took until the people around him were drained dry. 

And Astarion thought he was being so careful, too. He had waited for you to initiate intimacy. He had checked to make sure you were level-headed. He had thought he had known what you wanted…

But it doesn’t matter what he thought, he reminds himself. It only matters what you think. And you have just confirmed that he is just as bad as Cazador, Worse, even. Because Astarion had done this to someone who he loves.

It was a vicious cycle that he seemed doomed to repeat- the monster and the victim. He had been on both sides of it now. They felt equally miserable, equally terrifying. 

It’s good that he is finished with this dalliance, with this weakness. Astarion would never let love hurt him again. 

------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

*squirts Astarion with water* No, bad Astarion, stop overthinking and self-sabotaging.

To everyone who made it to the end, thank you for sticking with me! I know this chapter was long and had quite a few emotional ups and downs as well as a lot of plot.

As always, thank you to my wonderful beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3!

Okay, now time for a couple notes. I do not know the logistics of being bitten by a vampire every day. I’m pretty sure you would just, like, die… HOWEVER, this is fiction and I like vampire bites so I like to imagine that Astarion’s just taking a lil sip every night and that Shadowheart brews a really awesome tea that prevents death by daily vampire blood draw.  

Second note, I have fully lost the plot on whether it’s day or night in most of these scenes lol. In my head, the reader is fully nocturnal by now and it’s like late fall into winter for this chapter, so the nights are longer. But if there’s ever weird night/day mix ups- oops, my bad.

Also, I love you all! I cannot even begin to express my gratitude to everyone who has read this fic and left likes/kudos or sweet and encouraging comments. I see them all, I love them all. It makes me so excited to sit down and keep writing the rest of this!

Chapter 6 will be up next Sunday! It’s somehow just as long as this chapter…

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

[luveline]

baby blurb of steve buying the reader flowers b she just gets a little teary bc no boy has ever bought her flowers before <3333

this turned into a whole thing, idiots in love, soft steve etc <3 fem!reader | 1.1k words

Steve is kicking his shoes against the door. You can hear it, the thud of rubber against wood. He’s in the habit of knocking with his foot rather than his hand because his hands are always full. Usually of snacks, sometimes with takeout, occasionally slurpees. Treats.

You’re surprised your mouth doesn’t water with the sound. You spring up off the couch where you’d been waiting for him and race to the front door, pausing for a second to feign that you’re entirely unbothered by his arrival before pulling it open.

Steve’s hands are full. One hand holds a takeout bag from your favourite place, the brown paper already translucent with grease, and the other…

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, grinning.

Your eyes flit from his face — beautiful as ever, his deep set eyes dark and lifted by his charming smile, his perfect hair kissing the skin of his jaw where it’s come untucked — to the bouquet in his hand.

You’re honestly lost for words.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You duck back silently and let him. Your house is silent in wait for his arrival and he fills it up, a riot of small sounds: the crinkle of cellophane and paper, his jacket, his shoes, his socked footsteps into your kitchen. He puts the flowers down with about as much care as he does the takeout, which horrifies you. You don’t have time to fret as he turns on his heel, little urgency in his actions as he extends his arms hopefully.

You’re still shell-shocked at the flowers. He hasn’t said they’re for you — but they’re for you. Right? They’re not for the mailman.

“What, guy can’t get a kiss? Jeez,” Steve mutters, mostly joking.

There’s a hint of self-consciousness that you despise and set about stamping out, stepping into the reach of his arms. Before he can move down you raise your hand to the curve of his cheek, his face shape so pretty it aches to look at, the hill under his eye a must to touch. You stroke the back of your pinky and marriage finger over his cheekbone and tuck that stray lock of hair behind his ear, a terrible well of emotion building in you at his adoring expression.

You imagine you look the same as you tilt your chin up for a kiss. Your eyes stay open as he closes his to watch his lashes pinch together, his lips pressing to yours. It’s an intimate softness, a warmth you always miss even if the time between kisses is small. Minutes can feel like years when you want him, and you always do.

He tucks his chin back and frowns at you mildly. “What?”

You don’t answer.

“Do you still have a back ache?” he asks knowingly, hands running carefully up the length of your spine, pulling you ever closer. His eyes lift from concerned to smug. “You’re hungry.”

The loss of his arms is abrupt and unfair. You’re one step behind him as he picks up the flowers again and offers them to you, almost forcing them into your hands.

“Those are for you, beautiful. Put ‘em in some water while I get the plates, okay?”

He moves through your kitchen like he knows it well, and he does, retrieving dishware and cutlery with practiced movements, huffing to himself about something or other as he goes.

All you can do is stare. You peer down at the flowers in your hands. The bouquet is made up primarily of pinks. Pink and red roses, cerise carnations, pale baby chrysanthemums and germini’s made up of tens of shades. The roses overpower every other scent, musky, a hidden sweetness.

They’re from Bradley’s Big Buy, the tiny section by the newspapers and magazines. There’s a simple tag wrapped around the stems that reads, ‘Young Love (Pink)’.

You feel your lip tremble and bite down hard. A vast array of emotions surface and all of them burn as you bring the flowers to your nose and sniff. Your sniff turns to a sniffle, and your eyes grow heavy with sudden tears.

A plate falls to the table. “What’s the matter?”

You look up and find Steve slack-jawed with a spoon in his grip. He drops it in favour of striding towards you and taking your face into his hand, his palm flat to your cheek. “Is it your back?”

“No,” you murmur pathetically.

Steve rubs away a rogue tear before it can traverse the bump of your cheek. “Let’s sit down. You should’ve said. I can go over to Bradley’s again and get you some more Tylenol.”

“It’s not- Steve. Thank you for the flowers,” you say. Your ‘thank you’ sounds stretched, tenuous. You smile and your cheeks apple, prompting another fat tear to tip.

Steve looks horrified. “Sure, babe. Of course. You like them, huh?”

You wrap one of your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, needing to be closer than close.

“You’re crying about the flowers?” he asks, voice a murmur.

You nod, feeling his hand cup the back of your neck.

“This reaction makes me think I need to get you them more often.”

“Nobody’s ever got me flowers before.”

“No?” He pushes his chin over the crown of your head. “Lucky me, to be the first.”

You start laughing. “My first,” you repeat.

His arms tighten. Cellophane crinkles between you. “Oh,” he says, voice warm with fondness. “You perv. Here, give ‘em back. I don’t get flowers for sickos.”

You hold them as far away from him as possible. He chuckles and hugs you and eventually you pull away from him to stare some more at the assortment of blossoms, enamoured.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve is looking at you the same way — entirely besotted. Sick with it. He shakes his head and returns to your quickly cooling food, though he can’t help glancing at you from time to time as you trim the stems and set them in a vase.

You rub a delicate petal between your fingers distractedly.

“Come eat something,” he says.

You nod and drift to his side, looking over your shoulder as if checking they're still there. He promises to himself to get you another bunch, and another, as many as it takes for the novelty to wear off.

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things

[teatreeoilll]

|| Temptation (Satoru Gojo X Reader) ||

(Reposted from my old blog which I don't have access to anymore (thanks Tumblr), if you liked it reblogs or likes would be appreciated to get me back on track since I've lost all my followers and half my work :(

While hoping to be reinstated in the Jujutsu world, you meet with the teacher you had a crush on in your school days.

I wrote this while drunk, I think that says it all.

Image credits to user blueparadis.

"Why'd you call me Sensei?" Gojo chuckled, his long fingers reaching his blindfold, holding it up to let one eye peek from under it. You take a seat across from him. "I was only your teacher for a year, and that was ages ago."

He was right, of course, but the air of his office and the familiar smell of the chrysanthemum bushes outside the window had brought back too many memories of your last year at Jujutsu High; your mind had no trouble flashing the images of late nights and talks with your then best friends.

2009

"I think I might fail this year," you'd laugh, covering your mouth with your hand, thinking it would hush your uncalled-for remarks you'd whisper in the middle of training sessions, "I mean what is he, a few years older than us?"

On weekend nights, the few students in your grade would gather in one of the rooms, trying to muffle the 'tsssk' sound the opening of the drinks they managed to smuggle for these occasions would produce. At most of these gatherings, the tougher subjects would be tactfully avoided, no talk about missions and curses, or mentions of horrible past incidents were allowed.

There wasn't much left to chat about after the rules were unanimously established, and so most nights your classmates would group together laughing at the feelings you've managed to develop for your new teacher. The running joke had always made your cheeks flush red. "Oh, Gojo-Sensei, your eyes are so blue!" A boy from your class would make a lousy impression of your voice that would always elicit laughter from the group, "Oh, Gojo-Sensei, could you tutor me?"

Even at that age, you liked to think that no one apart from your friends could observe the crush you've steadily developed. However, especially when hearing your whispers, your teacher had always felt that was an insult to his self-proclaimed skills of deduction. Gojo would make sure to pause his enthusiastic explanations to put a large hand on your shoulder just to watch you blush, and your classmates giggle. He was far too determined to take advantage of each lesson to bask in the feeling of your attentive gaze.

present day

"I'm sorry," you mutter, "Old habits." His limbs are sprawled on the shiny leather of the chair as he talks ; "Are you thinking of returning to the Jujutsu world? If so, I think there are more suitable people to talk to." He noticed your gaze shifting downwards, he didn't mean any harm with his words, but you couldn't help but feel unwanted in the room.

"I'm sorry to be a bother, I just thought that -" "Ah, I'm sorry. You probably just came to visit your old Sensei you used to crush on." He snickers. Getting up from his seat, he walks around the large desk, just to put a hand on your shoulder the way he remembered would make you blush. "What? I -," You struggle to find the words, your gaze still fixed on your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I - I never had a crush on you."

Your words seemed to him as a personal challenge. The determination to make you admit it excited every cell in his body as he kneeled before you, the grin widening on his face when he grabbed your fidgeting hand to hold gently, the sudden touch making you raise your eyes to glance at him.

He hardly changed, you thought, his mannerisms still as shameless as they were back then, his touch still making your stomach flutter. "Nothing to be ashamed about," He declares, "It was your last year, and this young, attractive man comes in -" "Gojo Se-" you stop yourself from saying the word that so easily excited him to go down this path, "Gojo, I'm really only here to talk my reinstatement."

His thumb moves slightly over the back of your hand, the walls of the room closed in on you when the heat from his hand runs straight to your head. "Sure," He lets out another small chuckle before putting on a serious expression, "Just as soon as you'll admit it."

He watches your brows furrow. "I see you've learned nothing. The first rule of Jujutsu is that honesty makes you more powerful," The snarky comment makes you cross your arms. You yank your hand back, and the chair scratches the floor under you when you get up.

"That's childish," You inhale a sharp breath, but his immaturity, as most spiteful characteristics, rubs off on you. "Might you be so stubborn because you're the one who had a crush on me?" You spew, stunned at your own unsophisticated comment.

"Who says I didn't?" He gets up from his knee to face you once again, his unwavering enthusiasm makes it hard to control your pent-up urge to both pull him to you, and shove him away. Huh?

"Never mind that," He suddenly says.

"What do you mean, never mind that?" You cock your head to the side, confused at the sudden change of heart he displayed. "I don't need you to admit it anymore," You watch the corners of his mouth twitch lightly before widening back to a broad grin, "You already did, little tomato."

Your hands shot up to feel your own cheeks, the heat radiating to the palms of your hands. You were sure you looked like you'd just run a marathon. "Alright, little tomato, you can ask about the other things now," He smiles, leaning back on his desk. A thought crosses your head that even Alexander the Great didn't beam like that when bringing the Persian Empire to its knees.

"Don't call me that," you protest. With each response he'd evoke from you, he'd find himself more captivated, seizing the moment to push himself off of the desk only to stand closer to you. "Why not, little tomato?" He'd found himself too fond of the new nickname, his face so close to yours you couldn't ignore it if you tried. His blindfold sat peacefully at the crook of his neck, his hair splayed on his forehead, eyes agonizing to look at; looking half at you and half through you.

The childish-like oblivious manner of your feelings had disappeared as soon as his lips brushed on yours, the pit of your stomach spinning and swirling at the fantasies you thought you'd left behind years ago. He snorted a little when you pressed your lips against his, his hands impulsively gripping your thighs.

He groans between the kisses; "I really see I've taught you nothing, little tomato," He murmured, "The second rule is never letting your opponent know he's got the upper hand."

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo X reader #satoru gojo #satoru x you

[vinyldreamsfuckup]

I hate everybody (but you)

Warnings: smut, arguing, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), sub slash?, angst, squirting

If I missed anything let me know

Slash was really good at getting caught up in his own head. So when he told you he didn’t know if he was ready to be committed to you while out on tour with Guns and Aerosmith, it wasn’t surprising that he regretted it the next day. He woke up hungover and mad at himself.

When you woke up to a knock on your door you figured it would be the curly haired guitar player but you almost wished it wasn’t. Sure enough, Slash was standing there holding your favorite flowers and gently rocking on his feet when you opened the door. He was wearing his leather pants and a slightly see through red and black button up, which only half the buttons were actually done. He had his glasses hung on his necklaces and rings covering his fingers which tightly gripped the roses and chrysanthemums. He looked at you with a smile.

“Good morning,” he said with a bright smile. You crossed your arms across your chest. Your Aerosmith t-shirt covered your whole body.

“What are you doing?” You asked slightly annoyed. Not even 12 hours ago he was telling you he couldn’t commit to you and now he was standing in front of you. At least he brought flowers.

“Can I come in?” He asked, you could hear some nervousness in his voice. He fiddled gently with the stems of the flowers.

You sighed slightly, “Is that necessary?”

“Y/n, please. Just let me try to explain,” Slash responded. He brought a hand to the back of his head and scratched it slightly. You stepped back and gestured for him to come in. He took a step into the familiar apartment. You closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen.

"Well start explaining then," You gently sighed as you began to make a pot of coffee. Slash stood there still holding the flowers. He gently cleared his throat.

"I'm an idiot," Slash started. I let out a laugh and looked at him. My back leaned against the counter, "I got all in my fucking head again and I just got all fucking jumbled. It doesn’t matter why what matters is it wasn’t true and I love you.”

“So you’re not going to go fuck every girl you see?” You said, harshness still lacing your voice. Slash took a step toward you.

“I don’t want anyone else but you,” Slash whispered down at you.

You scoffed, “Oh come on. How am I supposed to believe that?”

“At least take the flowers,” Slash whispered handing the flowers toward you. You reached your hand out and grabbed them and sniffed them, “I don’t care about any other women. I only care about you. I got in my head because I was worried you’d find someone better while you’re here and I’m gone.”

You looked up at him, “Better?”

Slash nodded, “Someone who could be here with you. Someone who could worship you every single day. I don’t know…someone who wasn’t gone half the fucking time.”

“Slash, I don’t want someone “better.” There is no one better,” You said setting the flowers on the counter behind you. Slash took a deep breath and set his hands on the counter trapping you between his arms.

“Let me make it up to you,” Slash whispered in your ear.

“You’ll have a lot of making up to do,” You said softly.

“Let me try,” Slash whispered and pressed a kiss to your neck. You grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down onto his knees. Slash looked up at you and smirked slightly. You draped your leg on his shoulder.

“Take my underwear off,” you whispered. Slash’s fingers ran up your leg softly before hooking around the lace waistband of your underwear. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh as he gently started to pull the underwear down. He pulled your leg off his shoulder and let the black lace underwear fall to the floor. You hooked your leg back around his shoulder and pulled him closer to you.

“Let’s see just how much you really want to make up for what you did,” You whispered and he sighed softly before pressing another kiss to your thigh.

He slowly kissed further and further up before licking between your folds. A loud moan escaped your lips and your head fell back. He smiled against you and sped up his movements licking against your clit quickly before dipping his tongue into you.

“Oh my god…” You breathed out which caused him to speed up. He brought his fingers to you and licked against your clit. He groaned against you as he moved. Your leg hooked around his neck as your groaned.

“Slash…yes…” You moaned out. He increased his pace as he pushed his fingers into you and licked you like he was starved.

“That’s it, baby,” He mumbled as your body started to shake. Your hands tangled into his curls and he smiled. Your hips bucked against Slash’s face.

“Come on, baby. That’s it,” He mumbled and then gently sucked your clit.

“Slash…im close…” You breathed out. He increased the speed of his fingers until you squirted out onto his face. He gently licked through your folds as you came down.

“So pretty,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “So fucking pretty.”

You tried to catch your breath and pulled your leg down. Slash stood up and gently wiped you away from his face.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Slash asked leaning forward. You chuckled.

“Mmm…not yet. I think you still have more to do,” You said unconvincingly. Slash chuckled and picked you up.

“I love you,” he whispered as he walked toward your bedroom.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

#slash gnr #guns n roses #gnr smut #gnr x reader #gnr fanfiction #slash fanfiction #smut #guns n roses fanfic #slash guns n roses #angst #slash smut #guns n roses smut #slash fluff #guns n roses fluff #imagine #saul hudson

[miokki]

# RIBBONS OF AFFECTION

✰ synopsis: xiao’s small act of showing affection and a larger encounter.

✰ paring: xiao x gn!reincarnated!reader

✰ warnings: crying ig and past lives

✰ notes: tbh i no idea what this fic is about. it was supposed to be about ribbons but it turned into reincarnation??

XIAO is rather shy by nature—blood quickly rushes to his ears whenever he gets flustered, even by the most simple gestures. this time is no exception, as xiao is picking out flowers for you. the feeling of the flower store has always had this moist atmosphere, yet it feels best during the morning; right when the last of the dews drip off the leaf.

as he enters, the bell attached to the door rings alerting the woman behind the forest green counter, who only smiles before looking back down at the materials in front of her. the store is decorated in colours and life, with flowers on one side displayed in the window and a longer area full of blooms to his right. the blossoms being the brighter shades that human life seems to be afraid of nowadays, the shades dance in front of xiao as he continues to stare.

in truth, he has very limited experience with flowers and its symbolism; less is known about how much you like flowers. yet, xiao isn’t known to ask and only hopes that you’ll understand the vision as he admires the beauty of the them—each petal handled with such delicateness and care. yet, his mind swiftly switches to you and the way you handle him—like porcelain, like glass. that’s what your touch feels like. your skin on his is a hot fire burning on his, yet it’s gentle. in a way that makes him feel that no one has been kind to him—at least not before you.

he wishes there were more to convey his ocean like affections for you, something that meant his life long oath to you. yet, you wouldn’t agree such a thing, he thinks. he finds it strange humans, your kind, can be the same yet completely different. he’s seen humans that want the world, but seem to only want to love him and live knowing your boyfriend loves you back.

“excuse me?” he asks quite meekly to the florist standing by the counter.

the florist gaze meets his, “mm, how can i help?” her smile glows as she disregards the floral foam and roses in front of her.

“what flowers would you recommend, for my partner?” he replies.

her smile widens, and xiao tenses as she moves from behind the counter and towards him. however, he soon relaxes, his shoulders now sitting in a comfortable position as she speaks purely of her craft. xiao watches as she points to all different shades, some of of white, some of red. yet, it still leaves him feeling clueless and embarrassed. it isn’t long before, the florist is stumped. simply unsure of what other flowers could the man want.

“i’m sorry for troubling you,” xiao says, sounding incredibly apologetic.

“nono, you’re fine. it’s not everyday someone shows up with a challenge.” the florist panics as her hand waved in the morning air before she turns back to grab a book and pencil. “tulips.. no, maybe something else.” she turns the page. “we’ve gone over liles… ahah, what about some chrysanthemums?” she turns her head to xiao and xiao tilts his.

“those white ones over there,” she directs, pencil hanging out of her mouth as her finger lifts up to point the white flowers sitting on the middle shelf. yet before xiao can get a closer look, the light wood from her lips drops and her hands start to shake from her joy. “oh my! i have some leftover carnations in the back. give me a second, i have a really cute idea.” then she starts to run off.

it’s not long after that she comes back out of the storeroom with a bunch of white chrysanthemums, pink carnations and a hand full of baby breath, along with rolls of paper and ribbon all wrapped in her arms. a smile spread across her tan skin, and her rosy cheeks bright and clear in the sun as the materials land on the wooden surface.

it isn’t long before the range of flowers transforms into bouquet, lands in xiao’s callused palms and is paid for in full. however, the bunch of petals doesn’t leave the store without a series of thank you’s, smiles and goodbye’s before xiao exits. the bell ringing behind him as he walks along the streets of liyue. internally smiling to himself as he travels back home.

“xiao?” your voice rings in his ears.

you grip onto the tote bag’s handle resting on your right shoulder as you lift off the heels of your shoes. a shocked look splattered on your boyfriend’s features as you speed toward him, the stone under your feet scratching against the soles of your shoes. fresh morning air spreads across your face while you loose the distance between the two of you.

“hun, i’ve been wondering where you’ve been all morning. i was worried,” you say to his face before looking down at his left hand. “oh, are those mums?” you point at the white flowers.

“chrysanthemums? yes, do you not like them?” your lover’s eyes displays a thousand words, years of worry in them, as he stumbles over the word ‘chrysanthemums’. it’s endearing.

you can’t help but panic all the same, “nono, i love them, their beautiful. but how come your look disappointed?” you question, staring at the somber look in his golden eyes.

“i wanted to surprise you. i hadn’t anticipated that you would go out to find me.” the discontent takes a spotlight in the pools of gold and stars.

oh. perhaps you should just pretend to be blind and walk—

“i mean you still can, i’ll just pretend i never saw you this morning and—“ you begin to walk back in the direction you came from yet don’t make it far. you barely get two feet away before your wrist is used to tug you back to him.

he pushes the flowers towards you, “i want you to have them now, even if it didn’t go to plan. i should of known, i’m always meant to find you in every lifetime.”

you take a step forward as you hear a break in xiao’s voice, your lips closing in on the side of his porcelain face. you place a gentle smiled kiss on his skin before taking the bouquet from his grasp. you stop. you stare and admire it for its beauty. yet your eyes catch onto the pink ribbon loosely wrapped and tied into a pretty bow around the pieces of paper and parchment that hold the stems. it only takes a moment and a half for your fingertips to caress the thin, long line of closely woven fabric and to tug it undone. a long line now in your hold along with the bouquet.

“here, give me your hand.” you gesture towards his left as you lift your right towards his.

your boyfriend holds up his pinky as you lift your own, carefully placing the bouquet in between your arm and you side. xiao watches intently as you wrap the ribbon around his finger twice and tie it off with a knot before doing the same to your own pink before tying it off with a bow. the sun shines in your eyes as the ribbon between creates a curve.

“here, i know we can’t see it normally but it isn’t just you that finds me, i chase after you too. i found you here after you disappeared this morning. and in every life time this ribbon will lead us both to each other, in all my life times. you’re not alone xiao, i’m here now at the very least.” you reassure, combing back his green toned hair out of his face.

he can’t help but laugh. he smiles. xiao smiles so brightly that you can watch the moment his eyes start to shine with tears. yet the moment the tears starts to roll, you pull him straight into your embrace, rubbing his back and whispering your affections for him.

do not copy or repost any of my works.

@ miokki 2024

#genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #miokki #xiao fluff #genshin x gn reader #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #xiao fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao

[burntheedges]

Maintenance Request: Chapter 3

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ (minors DNI) | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 2.4k

fic summary: Hot Construction Guy is the bane of your existence - he seems to only pop up at the worst possible moment for you, every time you see him.  There’s no way there could be something more there.

Right?

chapter tags/warnings: reader has allergies to certain flowers (plot related), misunderstandings, some angst, drink mention a/n: ok we might be exaggerating a flower allergy a little bit here but it's all for the plot, ok? go with me.

Chapter 3

Monday, September 16 Fourth week of the semester

After the pile driver incident, it was like the floodgates opened, in terms of seeing Hot Construction Guy around campus. You’d realized at this point that he must have worked for the university, like Beth said — not a contractor, after all — but you still didn’t know his name or what he did, not really. You caught a glimpse of him sometimes, heading somewhere or other on his own or with a crew of guys. He was usually too far away to talk to or even wave at. Even if you’d been on waving terms. Which you weren’t. 

About a week after the pile driver was finally gone from the library construction site, you stepped out of your parking garage and immediately sneezed. And then sneezed again. And again.

You looked up and around, wondering what on earth was going on, and you saw them — chrysanthemums. Orange, red, and yellow chrysanthemums. In every flower bed, all around the parking garage and the buildings across the street.

You sneezed again. Twice.

You knew that they changed out the flower beds regularly in various places around campus, and it was about time for them to do something for fall. But did it have to be chrysanthemums? You were so allergic. You pulled your sweater up over your face and tried to breathe shallowly as you walked quickly in the direction of your office, where you at least had allergy meds in your drawer. 

As you entered the central quad, you noticed some people from the grounds crew installing the flowers over by the building next to yours. As you got closer, they started to move towards your building with a golf cart full of flowers and all of their various tools.

And that’s when you saw him up close. For the third time.

It was like he had put on a new outfit for a new job — dark pants, light blue denim shirt, neck gaiter pulled up around his nose, complete with gardening gloves to tie it all together. Like a doll you could dress up for different jobs. Hot Gardening Guy, a new version of the same man to add to your mental list of Hot Construction Guy and Hot Contractor Guy. Or Hot Landscaping Guy, maybe. (See? Not Hot Construction Asshole, after all! said Beth’s cheery voice in your ear. You sighed.)

He, of course, noticed you as soon as you got within 50 feet of the door. As you reached the stairs, he held up a hand in a wave. You started to wave back, but launched into a fit of sneezes — three, four, more, you lost count. When you finally stopped, covering your nose and mouth with one of your hands and fishing for a tissue in your bag, and looked at him again, you found him frozen in place with his hand raised. He looked startled, eyes wide. Great.

You felt your cheeks start to warm as he unfroze and headed towards you, a concerned tilt to his brows as he pulled down his neck gaiter, revealing a frown.

“You alright there, darlin’?” He came to a stop in front of you as you finally located a tissue and replaced the hand you had covering your face.

“No,” you said shortly, trying not to let him hear how much of a gross mess you were behind the tissue. “‘m allergic.” You gestured towards the flowers being installed behind him. 

“Ah,” he replied. Once again, he actually sounded somewhat apologetic. “Well, shit. Sorry about that.” He raised one hand to rub the back of his neck, and was he actually looking sheepish? You realized he was covered in dirt and some flower petals right before you sneezed again. Violently.

“I hafta get inside,” you mumbled through the tissue, making a break for it. He nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but you were already turning away and slipping through the door. As it closed behind you you could have sworn you heard him curse – a soft, but vehement, “fuck.”

…

you (9:02 AM): [image of your face, miserable, swollen nose, eyes watery]

bestie (9:07 AM): wow wtf happened to you

you (9:08 AM): they’re putting in my nemesis all over campus

bestie (9:09 AM): I thought they were a spring flower

you (9:10 AM): some of them are, some of them bloom in fall

bestie (9:10 AM): ugh I’m sorry

you (9:11 AM): and you’ll never guess who I ran into on the crew putting them in

bestie (9:12 AM): NO (9:12 AM): how could HCG do this to you (9:13 AM): maybe he is HCA after all

you (9:14 AM): he did look like he felt bad when I sneezed in his face 6 times

bestie (9:15 AM): what did he say

you (9:17 AM): nothing, I ran inside to get away from the flowers

bestie (9:19 AM): 🙄

you (9:22 AM): [same picture as before] (9:22 AM): look at my face and then tell me you would have done anything differently

bestie (9:27 AM): ok fair

… 

You crossed paths with him yet again later that same day, after you’d dosed yourself with allergy meds. You were heading back from teaching your afternoon class when you spotted him. He was standing back from another flower bed installation, watching over what was going on. He had his hands on his hips with his weight shifted to one side, opposite knee cocked. It did amazing things to his shoulders. And his hips. Damn. You blinked. Taking a break, maybe. He turned his head and caught your eye as you passed, and you noticed he stood straighter and ran his hand through his hair before he walked towards you.

“Why are you everywhere, lately?”

The words left your mouth before you could even think about stopping them. You could only blame the allergy meds for the way your thoughts became actual words with little, if any, oversight from you. 

He actually stopped short and grinned in response. And god, his smile. It was even better than you remembered. You stared at it. It felt physically difficult to move your gaze upwards.

“Ah, well.” He cleared his throat and you blinked. “Guess I do get all over campus, sometimes. But um, I wanted to ask. Is it just chrysanthemums that you’re allergic to?”

You nodded, a bit dazed, and added, “and their relatives. Daisies, sunflowers. Um, marigolds. Ragweed.” He hummed in response, nodding. 

“I am sorry about this, darlin’. Had no idea.” He hesitated. “I wish I could change ‘em out, but—”

You waved your hand, brushing the thought aside. “No, I get it. I can see they already bought all the flowers, don’t worry about it. Can’t change everything just because they make me sneeze.” You sniffed. “I’ll just take more allergy meds for a bit, it’s fine. It’s probably worse today because you’re moving them around so much.”

He nodded and opened his mouth but didn’t actually say anything in response. For a moment the two of you just stared at each other. Your brain fought through the drowsiness of the allergy meds for something to say.

“I’ve got to get to my office so, um. I’ll see you around, seems like.” You offered a weak attempt at a smile, and he laughed softly. “Hope so, darlin.’” You scurried away before you could let yourself think too hard about that response.

…

bestie (4:49 PM): so maybe not an asshole then

you (4:50 PM): why am I an absolute mess every time I see this guy

bestie (4:51 PM): sounds like he’s into it, to be honest (4:51 PM): he likes the mess

you (4:53 PM): shut up

…

Ellie (6:03 PM): we could rip them all up (6:03 PM): be sneaky about it

you (6:05 PM): 🙄 no thank you  (6:06 PM): why is it always straight to property damage with you 

Ellie (6:09 PM): operation kill the evil flowers

you (6:10 PM): stand down, agent Williams 

Ellie (6:11 PM): 🌻☠️

…

Friday, September 20 Fourth week of the semester

The rest of the week was a bit of an allergy-induced haze for you, but you managed. You’d almost made it a full five days with the Ellie-styled “evil flowers” menacing you from every building corner and you were ready to go home for the weekend and relax. You couldn’t wait to get away from the colorful little assholes and breathe without sneezing for two whole days. 

Your morning had been worsened by a very early planning meeting where Trevor, the Brit Lit Prick, had decided to deliver a monologue about why courses in his subject area should receive preferential schedule placement next semester. You’d slowly sunk down in your chair until Claire elbowed you and you realized you were basically hiding under the table. Everyone in the room knew he wouldn’t get what he wanted, and everyone also knew he wouldn’t stop whining about it anyway. It was exhausting just thinking about it.

In your final class of the week, your students were doing group work, chatting about the selection of poems they’d read the night before, when it started. 

D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D

A fucking jackhammer noise, right outside the windows of the classroom building you were in. Noise on campus wasn’t irregular — it was college, if it wasn’t some event or construction, the students could always make more than enough noise on their own — but this volume was yet again at a level usually avoided while classes were in session.

Everyone in the room looked up, startled, and started to peer through the windows. You did the same, walking over to the windows to try to see what was going on.

And there he was.

Back in his Hot Construction Guy outfit, complete with hard hat and yet another flannel shirt. He was standing with his arms crossed and talking to another person dressed just the same. But even from the back you recognized his shoulders and the line of his hip as he leaned to one side, knee cocked. The breadth of his shoulders really stood out, you noticed idly, with his arms crossed like that. You could see his hair curling out from under the back of his hat. He was watching the man with the jackhammer go to town on a section of the sidewalk right in front of the building you were in. You groaned and ran a hand down your face. 

“I’ll go see if they can cut it out for a bit,” you told your class. “Keep working through the activity.” You knew as soon as you left the room they’d probably just watch at the window, but you couldn’t really blame them. You’d do the same thing, after all. As you made your way downstairs you nodded at a few other professors who stuck their heads out into the hall. 

When you opened the door to the building and tried to step through it, though, you realized there was a member of the crew standing there to keep people from doing exactly that. 

“Sorry, ma’am, can’t come through these doors right now.”

“I see that. What’s going on? We’ve got classes happening right now.” You tried to sound polite rather than immensely frustrated. 

He started to respond, but a hand came down on his shoulder from behind, interrupting him. And there was your Hot Construction Guy, yet again. How did he see me?

“I got this, Cam. You head on over there.” He gestured with his chin back to where he’d left the rest of the crew. And the jackhammer. Cam, apparently, nodded and left.

Your construction guy turned and smirked at you. “Fancy meeting you here, darlin.’” He spoke loudly to be heard over the noise.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. “How long is the noise going on for, this time? We’re in the middle of classes, you know.” You didn’t bother with a veneer of politeness. Not with him.

He actually winced. “Yeah, I know. Sorry about all this, but we’ve gotta get to the water line again. Shouldn’t be more than about 20 more minutes.” You sighed and groaned, tossing your head back briefly. 

“That’s the rest of the class period.” You knew your voice was getting thin with frustration, and you tried to hide it. You knew, of course, that this man was not at fault. He was just some guy on the crew. He winced again. “Can you just tell your boss or whoever to try not to do all this during classes?” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from behind him took his attention. He looked back at you apologetically. “Sorry, darlin’. Gotta go see what that’s about.”

“Of course you do. Well, see you again soon, can��t wait to find out what shitty, unpleasant surprise you have in store for me next time.” 

As soon as the words left your mouth you regretted them — that’s not really how you thought about him. Or your unexpected run-ins. His eyebrows went up and he looked – shit. He looked like maybe that actually hurt. But he was already moving away, and you couldn’t fix it, not then. You had to get back to class.

You turned sharply and stomped away from him, mad at yourself and trying to tamp down your guilt at what you’d just said. You didn’t see the wistful look on his face as he watched you go. Or the determined set to his jaw as he nodded and turned back to his work.

…

bestie (12:37 PM): so let me get this straight

you (12:37 PM): ugh

bestie (12:38 PM): you told him your interactions were “shitty unpleasant surprises”

you (12:39 PM): uggggghhhhhh

bestie (12:40 PM): and he looked, what (12:40 PM): sad?

you (12:41 PM): UGH (12:41 PM): i don’t know i ran away like an asshole

bestie (12:43 PM): 😬hate to say it babe (12:44 PM): but i think you might actually need to apologize for that one (12:44 PM): i mean, if you actually want to talk to this guy. and maybe just in general

you (12:44 PM): I KNOW (12:45 PM): shit (12:45 PM): i know

bestie (12:46 PM): sorry

you (12:46 PM): no, you’re right (12:48 PM): ugh

bestie (12:49 PM): let’s talk about it tomorrow at brunch

you (12:51 PM): yeah i need a drink for this (12:51 PM): Ellie’s hanging out with Riley tomorrow, anyway

bestie (12:53 PM): one mimosa coming right up 

you (12:54 PM): 🥂

...

a/n: I know! I know, don't hate me. I promise the next chapter is a good one. prev | next

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Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

Okie dokie my lovely readers! Here is chapter Five of Dating App now it does end a little on a non suspenseful cliffhanger and I promise that the next chapter will be worth the wait!

So there is also about a three week timeskip at the start and about three days around the half way point of this chapter.

Warnings: Masturbation. Dirty minds. Semi public (in office behind a closed door).

Master List

Prompt List

One , Two , Three , Four , Six

It had been almost three weeks since you had been able to see Rafael, the two of you had messaged back and forth every day. You had learned a lot about the man, such as the fact that he needed at least three coffees a day more often than not that was the minimum requirement, one of them had to be as soon as he wakes up otherwise he is a little grumpy, and he can be a little petulant when you mention how adorable you thought he was as he complained to you about the coffee at the court house.  He even sent you a photo of himself pouting, you saved that straight away.

Rafael always messages in full sentences, with near perfect grammar and punctuation. However, you learnt that when he was beyond tired after a day of court and then spending hours preparing for cross the next day he could become adorably nonsensical with some of his messages, the perfect grammar and punctuation slowly leaving as each hour passed. The petulance would come back in full force if you gently told him that he had to go to sleep, you worked out two ways to get him to sleep, one that if you promised to give him lots of kisses when you next saw him he would go to sleep. Or you hoped he did, he stopped responding to your messages at least. The other was video calling him, and you preferred this option as it allowed you to see that he did actually go to bed and sleep, as you wouldn’t hung up until he was asleep. You were also shown the petulance in its full glory as he tried to negotiate with you, thankfully you weren’t bound by law or court etiquette so you used all the weapons at your disposal to get him to relent. Including promises of more than kisses and perhaps a continuation of what happened in his office. That would sometimes backfire, as Rafael’s eyes would darken and his voice would become a husky grumble, still tinged with sleep as he asked for evidence of these promises. In the end it still resulted in him falling asleep but it was harder to get him to agree.  

You also learned how to tell when he had been having a good day in court and when he’d had a bad day. You made sure to do whatever you could to do make his day better when court had been tough, by sending him updates of everything going on in the library, sending him photos of your different outfits and makeup for the day, as inspired by different gods and goddesses. Even though you hadn’t been unable to meet up with him it hadn’t changed how you felt at all, in fact you think it only helped your feelings grow. Although the two of you couldn’t do exactly what you guys promised on your second date, Rafael insisted that you still read the amber quartet series to him over the phone. He claimed being able to listen to your voice helped to relax him after a tough day, hearing that you were all too happy to read him a couple chapters a night.

Rafael showed that he could be romantic even without seeing you, he had sent flowers and even chocolates to the library twice since your lunch, both thanking you and apologising for not being to be meet up with you. Not wanting him to be the only one being romantic, you sent him some flowers back, with a hidden meaning. You sent him a bouquet with peonies, matthiola incana, red chrysanthemum, and carnations, trying to portray that you could see yourself falling deeply for him. Something that was already happening. The response you had gotten from that had been endearing as hell, Rafael called you right away after he got them, he stumbled over his words and he sounded flustered, you really wanted to see if his cheeks were red, because that would have been the most adorable sight.

That had been three days ago, the messages had been fewer but Rafael had told you that the court case had just gotten difficult and so he might not be able to message you. You stared at your phone and the message sitting in-front of you.

‘So, I know that your case is difficult at the moment, but when it is over I was wondering if you would like to come over to mine for dinner? And maybe, if you wanted to of course, you could stay the night.’

You hadn’t sent it yet the nerves in your stomach stopping you. Of course you knew that he wouldn’t have an issue with it, in the past few weeks there had been plenty of indications that the both of you wanted to be more intimate with each other. But there was still that small part of you that was worried he would say no, that was nervous about taking that step with him.

“Come on, pull on your big girl pants and send it,” you groused to yourself. You took a mouthful of your wine, swallowing it while closing your eyes and hitting send. “Okay, so I did that. It’s fine, it’s so totally fine.”

You drained the rest of your wine as you grabbed the bottle to pour yourself another glass, to wait for Rafael’s response. It was late but you weren’t working tomorrow so you figured you could get away with a rare late night wine session. You bit your lip as you looked through some of the photos Rafael had sent throughout the weeks. A lot of them were similar to the first one he ever sent, dishevelled appearance with more and more of his shirt buttons undone. You paused on a few of the ones he sent when the two of you had been messaging late at night when he was grumpy. He had angled the phone to capture his strong thighs clad in his suit pants, with the zipper undone and his cock tenting his boxers. You felt a curl of pleasure in your lower stomach as you stretched out on the couch, your bare legs bent and spread. You flicked through some more photos of the same vein, one with his hand cupping his cock through his pants, another showing his entire body as Rafael bit his lip and grabbed himself.

Images of what could happen the night he stayed over played through your mind as you remembered how his cock felt as you sat on his lap kissing him, his hands grabbing your ass. Your mind played out what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted, you imagined Rafael manhandling you until you were laid out on the couch, as he buried his head between your thighs, drawing moans and whimpers from you. You imagined him hovering over you as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. As these images played through your mind, you trailed your hand down your stomach, slipping under your panties and swirled your fingers around your clit.

--

Rafael could feel another headache starting just behind his eyes. This case was almost over, maybe another two days and it would be closing arguments, the defence was just throwing character witness’ at the jury, one of which had opened up a can of worms but the detectives had dug a little and hopefully found something he could use tomorrow when he cross-examined this witness. He had always had an issue when defence would have an insane number of character witnesses, but he especially felt it with this case. It had been almost three weeks, three long weeks since he had been able to see you, see his Chica. The messages and video calls had been amazing, you showed a clear concern for his health, bartering with him to get him to sleep, it was adorable to see you negotiate with him. You of course had an advantage, he was finding it very difficult to say no to you. He didn’t want to disappoint you, and it was slowly becoming clear that all you had to do was flutter your lashes, pout a little at him and use a tone that was a mixture of coy, shy and seductive.  

He was pleasantly surprised when you had sent him flowers, along with a cute little note stating that you thought men should get flowers and that you were giving him a little test to work out the little message the flowers had. He had brought up a flower language website so fast, the flowers were all about adoration, romance, bashfulness, happiness, passion, fascination and new love. Rafael didn’t think he had ever felt so flustered when he read the meanings of the flowers, nor had he ever stumbled so much over his words when he rang you. Nor had he ever felt so adored by someone before. He had worried that you would lose interest in him, finally see that a relationship with him meant going potentially weeks without being able to see him, that it would involve making plans for dates but having to cancel them and not even being able to have you come to his office. But you hadn’t shown any sign of that, you always sent him a good morning and good night message along with ones spattered throughout the day, trying what you could to help him relax.

Rafael sighed, a groan of frustration leaving his lips as he slumped into the couch at his office. He knew he should probably go home but he needed to be focused for the cross tomorrow, plus he had to go over the evidence of other cases and start on warrants for the detectives. Liv and the others had done what they could but even they couldn’t prevent how much work could pile up on his desk. His phone vibrated on the desk drawing his eyes from the papers in-front of him. God he hoped this wasn’t a message telling him one of his cases was about to blow up. Again. But all the exhaustion and frustration of the day disappeared when he saw your contact name.

‘So, I know that your case is difficult at the moment, but when it is over I was wondering if you would like to come over to mine for dinner? And maybe, if you wanted to of course, you could stay the night.’

Rafael stared at the words on the screen. He swallowed as heat coursed through his body, you wanted him to stay the night. He thought that you might be interested in moving things forward from the conversations you had had, including some of the incentives you had given him to get some sleep. And you weren’t necessarily shy, although you could ask for what you wanted he found that you would get a little bashful about asking. He wondered how long it took for you to send this message.

‘That sounds like a fantastic way to celebrate the end of this case. And there is nothing more I would like to do then spend the night. Hopefully, this case should be over in about three days but I will keep you updated, of course.’

He sent through his response, adding a heart emoji onto the end of the message. And with that Rafael couldn’t focus on his trial prep, all his mind could think of was spending the night with you. He tried not to let his mind get away, but after some of the video calls the two of you had shared he found it incredibly difficult. He knew what you would look like above him, but now he was imagining what you would look like underneath him, stretched out head thrown back in ecstasy and what noises he could drag from your lips. He felt himself harden, his cock straining against his pants as the images played through his mind. He felt his body heat as he palmed himself to relieve some of the tension, a soft groan slipping from his lips, he glanced briefly at the door trying to remember if he had locked it after closing it.  

“Fuck it,” he muttered deciding that it was too late for anyone else to still be around. He quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants to pull his aching hard cock out.

He didn’t have any lube available so he closed his eyes and licked his hand, imagining that it was you licking his hand, sucking on his fingers. He wrapped a hand around his cock slowly stroking himself as he allowed his mind to go where it wished to. He saw you on your knees in-between his legs as you teasingly sucked on the head of his cock. Your gorgeous eyes staring up at him, a beautiful red flush on your cheeks. He bit down on his other hand in an attempt to quiet the noises coming out of his mouth. His phone was beside him on the couch ignored as he focused on his pleasure until it started to buzz consistently. He wanted to ignore it but he vaguely recalled having messaged you and he didn’t want to ignore you, even for his own pleasure.

­--

You had just considered getting up to get one of your toys when your phone buzzed.

‘That sounds like a fantastic way to celebrate the end of this case. And there is nothing more I would like to do then spend the night. Hopefully, this case should be over in about three days but I will keep you updated, of course.’

You grinned at Rafael’s response glad that he was excited at the prospect of spending the night. Your pleasure hadn’t ebbed away when you read his response, it instead grew as the possibilities you had played in your mind as you fingered yourself suddenly became a lot more possible. You dragged yourself up from your couch and travelled to your bedroom, glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other. You quickly set up your room, lighting some candles and turning on the fairy lights you had strung up over the canopy of your four poster bed before you dug around in your drawer for your external vibrator. The wine had gone a little bit to your head, as you took a photo of your bed and your room all set up to send to Rafael. You sent another one with a towel and your toy sitting on top of it. And then other one after you had changed into a green set of lingerie that you thought would be perfect to wear for your first night with Rafael. You had purchased it as soon as you saw it, as you believed it would almost match his eyes.

‘I thought a little preview was in order. A little gift for you. My poor man is working so hard.’

--

‘I thought a little preview was in order. A little gift for you. My poor man is working so hard.’

“Fuck Chica,” Rafael groaned his hand speeding up as he stared at the photo of you in the most gorgeous set of lingerie he had ever seen.

A gorgeous green, with lace trimmings and a sheer, gauzy material that almost showed everything but it was designed to hide the parts of your body that he longed to see. His stomach tensed as his pleasure reached its peak as he imagined you laying under him in that lingerie set as he mouthed at your breasts and teased your clit through your panties. His cum covered his hand, some drops on his pants that had it been a different situation he probably would be frustrated but he didn’t care. He cleaned up the mess his cock had made before he took a photo of his face showing his flushed skin, lips red from his teeth having bitten them.

‘Chica, you are going to drive me insane.’ He attached the photo and sent his message off before he saved all the photos you sent. Your bedroom looked exactly how he thought it would, cozy and romantic. And he desperately wanted to see it in person. He would actually consider murdering the defence if they did anything to make this trial go any longer than three days. But he would kiss them if they stopped calling witnesses and allowed the trial to end earlier. He decided to call it a night, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate at all now.

--

You stared at the photo that Rafael had sent you and a part of you just knew that he had taken this photo after he had cum. His cheeks were flushed just so and his lips looked bitten and his eyes, god his eyes were burning and had a satisfied look in them that you desperately wanted to see as he hovered above you.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as the heat inside you built, you held the vibrator against your clit, hips rolling in pleasure. You sat your phone done so you could tease your breasts altering between them as you pulled at your nipples.  You imagined Rafael above you, thrusting inside you and biting at your neck, the imagine was all you needed as your pleasure reach its peak, your walls fluttered as your clit throbbed as your orgasm flooded through you.

You breathed deeply allowing the last thrums of pleasure to roll through you before you removed the vibrator. Humming you opened your phone again to the photo Rafael sent, bit your lip. You weren’t a religious person but you prayed that the case would be over in three days or less. The need you felt for Rafael was like nothing you had ever felt before, it grew and grew every single day.

--

“Girl you need to get laid,” Lily muttered after you had snapped at some teenagers making a mess.

“I’m trying to,” you snarked.

“Wait…you guys haven’t?” Lily walked beside you on the way to the break room.

“I haven’t seen Rafael in three weeks, this current case apparently become a shit show,” you shrugged. “He’s going to stay the night after the case is over.”

“And that is?”

“Hopefully tomorrow night,” you groaned. “Lily, that man is making me feel things I haven’t felt for someone before.”

Lily grinned wrapping an arm around your waist as she pulled you close.

“And what about Rafael? Any indication that he feels the same?”

“Yes, I think so at least,” you nodded, a soft smile pulling at your frown as a soft blush swept up your neck to your cheeks. “We’ve messaged a lot, including video chats and he is definitely interested. I had a bit too much wine the other night and may have sent a spicer photo then normal and he definitely enjoyed that.”

“Ooh girl, who are you?” she teased.

You shrugged grinning at Lily as you briefly wondered that yourself. You have never sent a photo like you did to Rafael, you had never felt comfortable enough for that. But Rafael made you feel comfortable and safe, you couldn’t explain why after only a short time you felt that way. But honestly you didn’t care. You liked how Rafael made you feel, and you didn’t want it to go away.

“I don’t know but I kinda like it,” you giggled.

“Well, let’s  hope you get laid tomorrow cause you seeing you death glare teenagers dressed as Athena is a little terrifying,” Lily patted your head. “And we can’t go scaring people from our library.”

“Hm, let’s hope,” you hummed in agreement.

--

Rafael barely waited long enough for the Judge to leave, barely waited enough for the victim and their family to thank him before he rushed out to the courtroom and to his office. Ignoring the detectives, he briefly waved over his shoulder when Liv called his name.

“Can’t stop, dinner,” he rushed out. His pulse was thundering as he quickly packed his office, telling Carmen to not interrupt him under any circumstances for tonight and tomorrow. Maybe even the next day, he hadn’t quite decided that. He paused only long enough to send you a text message letting you know that he would be over to yours by 6 at the latest.

‘I can’t wait to see you Rafael, I’ve missed you.’

Rafael grinned at your reply as his uber arrived, he continuously tapped his leg in a little anxious pattern until he arrived at his apartment. He didn’t think he had ever rushed quite so much packing a bag as he did tonight. He debated having a shower and changing but after a quick look in the mirror he decided against it. He knew you thoroughly liked how he looked dishevelled in a suit and figured he could have a quick shower at your place, maybe with you. That would be incredibly enjoyable.  He ordered another Uber to get to yours, stopping to pick up some flowers on the way.

In what felt like hours he arrived at your apartment. Taking a deep breathe he keyed your apartment number into the buzzer and waited for you to answer.

--

The sound of your intercom going off set your heart racing. You hesitated briefly before answering.

“Hello? Rafael?” you asked, there was no-one else it could be.

“Hey Chica,” Rafael’s voice soothed something inside of you. The nerves calming a little.

“I’ll buzz you up, I’m the fourth floor, left after you get out of the elevators and near the end,” you breathed hitting the unlock button.

“Thanks,” Rafael said before you heard the sound of the door opening.

You rushed to your room, checking yourself one last time in your mirror making sure there wasn’t anything out of place. Your hair fell loosely down your back, you decided to forego make up tonight, and chose a formfitting dress with just the peek of green lace showing at the top. In a short time a knock on the door had you wondering back to the entrance. Your eyes cast over the candles that you had lit throughout your apartment, the kitchen table set for two, a bottle of wine and a glass of scotch waiting. You also had your aroma diffuser going with the scent of cherry blossoms. You smoothed down the front of your dress, taking one last breathe before you opened the door. And that breathe rushed out of you the second your eyes saw him.

It looked like he had run here straight from court. A bag held in one hand and white rose held in his other. His green eyes simmered with a heat as he took you in, the simmer growing when he saw the green lace peeking out the top from your dress. He was man enough to admit that he struggled to pull his eyes away from your cleavage but he managed to if only because your eyes caught his.

“My eyes are up here, Sir,” you teased opening the door wider to allow him in. “Come on in.”

“Thank you Chica,” he grinned, as he passed you he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You look ravishing tonight.”  You smiled ducking your head a little as pink dusted your cheeks.

“So do you,” you tried for a similar tone in your voice that Rafael had but you didn’t quite succeed. Your voice was breathless, because Rafael did look…delicious. With his suit not quite perfect, the tie loose and buttons undone. His hair ruffled and messy.

You watched as Rafael took in your apartment, you kept it clean and tidy. You had bookshelves along the back wall of your open floor plan, the shelves had fairy lights and fake plants decorating them. More fake plants decorated your coffee table and other little nerdy items were scattered throughout your apartment. You felt comfortable and happy in your apartment and never second guessed any of your choices for decorations. Rafael did a small circle noting a glass of scotch waiting beside a plate on the table, you grinned as you noticed the slight hitch in his eyebrow and the soft look on his face as he took everything in.

“You have a lovely home,” Rafael walked towards you. “I picked these up for you.”

“They’re gorgeous Rafael, thank you,” you said reaching out to take them from him but you didn’t step away from him right away. You stepped closer, looking up at him through your lashes, before looking down at his lips and then back up to his eyes.

“Is there something you want carino?” He asked hands taking hold of your hips and tugging you softly.

“Hm, I thought it was you who wanted something,” you countered. “Last I checked it was you who petulantly begged for kisses.”

“Petulantly begged?” Rafael whispered lowering his head until his lips hovered over yours.

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “You going to deny it?”

“Do I get a kiss if I agree?” he asked.

“Well, I mean you did bring me gorgeous flowers,”  you started, purposefully biting your bottom lip. “And I heard you won your case as well.”

“Oh, does winning get me a kiss then? Even if I deny that I begged?” Rafael grinned.

“We both know that you did beg but I will still give you a kiss for winning,” you nodded. “Plus I haven’t seen you in three weeks.”

“Which is just far too long, I’m sorry-”

“Ah no, there is no need for that Rafael,” you smiled cupping his cheek with your free hand. “I was fully aware that this could happen. You’re here now.”

He opened his mouth, probably to try and apologise again but you were not having it. You decided the best way to get him to stop and to distract him from even thinking about it was to kiss him. You pressed your lips against his, causing him to startle a little at the sudden contact, a huff of air escaping him as his lips curled up into a smile, before he started kissing you back. You pulled away before it could get too heated, as you had cooked a rather nice meal and as much as you wanted to finally get him naked you wanted to have a nice meal and talk with him first.

“You hungry?” you asked pulling away, Rafael followed your lips for a second before he opened his eyes a soft whine leaving him.

“Starving,” his green eyes no longer just simmered with heat, they burned.

“Later,” you promised, a similar heat burning through you, and your eyes telling Rafael that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “I made Casareccica Alibrandi, and I got you some scotch. I hope it’s one you like. Also please make yourself at home, you can put your jacket on the coat rack just over there.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rafael watched as you pulled out a vase to put his flowers in before sitting them on your coffee table, his eyes were glued to you as you walked back past him into the kitchen. It was only when the rest of your sentence entered his brain that he looked over to the a little nook in the wall just after the entrance into the apartment. He quickly took off his suit jacket and tie hanging them up and leaving him in his shirt and suspenders. He undid a few more buttons and rolled up his sleeves.

 “I know, I wanted to though,” you smiled over your shoulder at him as you pulled the pasta dish out of the oven where you had placed it to keep to warm without overcooking anything, feeling your throat constrict a little when you saw him rolling his sleeves, exposing those forearms of his that you had dreamed about. You forced your eyes away and tried to remember the rest what you had wanted to say. “You’ve had a tough three weeks and I wanted tonight to be as relaxing as possible for you.”

“Carino, you are something else,” Rafael whispered as you served up the dish gesturing for him to take a seat. The first thing he did was try the scotch, he wanted to assure you that the scotch was good. And it was, it was really good. “This scotch is really good.”

“I’m glad, I hope the food is good,” you smiled shyly placing a bowl down in-front of him.

“It smells delicious and looks it too,” Rafael caught your hand before you could move to your chair. He brought it up to his mouth to place a kiss on your knuckles. “Thank you Carino, this night is exactly what I need. You are what I need.”

“Rafi,” you whispered squeezing his hand, leaning to place a kiss on his cheek before slowly dragging your hand from his and taking you seat. You stretched your legs out entangling them with his, not wanting to stop touching him.

Rafael smiled at you, taking a bite of the food and could barely stop the groan of appreciation that left his mouth the minute the tastes hit his tongue. It was amazing. Your eyes were stuck on his mouth, as he took another bite, tongue darting out to catch a drop of the sauce. Another hum leaving him. Your body heated as you noticed that his tongue would poke out a little as he took a bite of food.

“Chica, this is amazing,” Rafael focused back on you to see that you hadn’t taken a mouthful yet. “Chica?”

“Hm, what?” you shook your head trying to clear away the images that had taken up residence there. “Oh, um, good, that’s good, I’m glad.” You quickly took a mouthful trying to pretend you hadn’t been staring at him this entire time.

“A bit distracted?” Rafael teased he slipped off one of his shoes and lightly ran his foot up your leg that was entangled with his. You gulped down some wine at his action, surprised at it. “Because I have been distracted by you since you opened your door. Seeing that lacy bra peeking above that gorgeous dress that hugs your curves. Those curves that I have been wanting to kiss and run my tongue all over, tasting you.”

“Rafael,” you gasped, a shiver running through you, your heart picking up at his words.

“My desire for you has grown Carino,” Rafael stood up from his chair, placing one hand on the back of your chair and the other on the table beside your bowl. “Carino, look at me.”

Your eyes trailed up his arm, his throat until you finally looked him in his eyes. The green in them was darker then normal, you were taken back to the day in his office when the two of you made out on his couch like teenagers. You wetted your lips, subconsciously pushing your chest out a little, you felt a little surge of pride and victory when you noticed Rafael’s eyes darting down to stare at your chest before he looked back to your eyes. That small little victory you felt however, withered under the look on Rafael’s face. The hand that had been on the table moved to trail up your stomach and over your chest and up your neck before he gently cupped your face. His touch was the complete opposite of the hungry look on his face, a look that was almost feral. A look that finally made all those descriptions in your fantasy books seen possible. The plan for a nice slow evening had gone out the window and you found that you didn’t quite care as much as you thought you would. You could always talk with him in the morning.

“Ask me,” Rafael demanded as he slowly lowered his face to yours. “And tell me to stop, tell me if you don’t like anything I do.”

“Rafael, please kiss me,” you voice was quiet.

“And?” Rafael insisted, you smiled up at him you hands reaching to grab hold of his suspenders.

“And I promise I will tell you to stop if I need to and I will be clear if I don’t like something,” you responded.

“Good. Girl.” Rafael cooed just before his lips took yours.

#writing #imagine #law and order svu #imagines #fluff #law and order svu imagines #rafael barba #rafael barba x you #Female reader #fem reader #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fluff #rafael barba x female reader #rafael barba x y/n #Rafael Barba is spicy #Rafael Barba just wants to ravish reader #Build uo #Totally gonna be worth it #Rafael Barba is a little desparate #Rafael Barba is romantic

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—01. all american girl —word count: 6.4k —warnings: none :) —a/n: this is queued so I'm sound asleep right now but trust when I wake... I will be throwing up about having posted this

It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and the kindergarteners at Robinson Elementary are getting picked up from the gymnasium and taken to their classroom to start their day. It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and their teacher, Chris Elliott, is running four minutes late to the first day of the U.S Grand Prix. Her fingers flatten down stray flyaways, working in tandem with the extra strength hairspray she found in the back of the Walgreens beauty aisle last night. Her makeup is strewn about in chaos atop the stark white marble countertops, a single folded piece of toilet paper in the trash can, remnants of her lipstick kissed onto the fibers. 

She played it safe on the outfit today, still hasn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what the dress code for this race is supposed to be. Her Dad has been no help–he can get away with wearing jeans and a short-sleeve button-up just about anywhere he goes. More is expected from her, though. Three days, three outfits, always walking the line between casual streetwear and Kentucky Derby without a fascinator. She settled for something painfully classic and American, figured a European sport would be eating up the concept of everything being bigger in Texas. Levi’s, a white tank top, and a beat up pair of cowboy boots should do a good enough job at letting anyone curious know she’s authentically American, without screaming out for attention. That’s the goal for the weekend; blend in and keep Dad company. 

Dad, who is not-so patiently tapping his foot against the floor, watching pre-race coverage of the Dixie Vodka 400 on his iPhone 7,  is a guest of honor for Ferrari this weekend. It was a classic Bill Elliott commitment, one he makes and then forgets about until he’s getting sent an email a month ago to remind him. One he makes when he forgets his son is racing the same weekend. That’s how Chris ended up here with him, instead of her Mom or instead of Chase or Chandler. They’re all in Florida for the Cup Series. Well–Chandler isn’t. Chandler’s at her hot-shot job in the big city living her life blissfully away from racing. 

She can count on a single hand the amount of times her dad has missed a Cup Series race in the years since his retirement. Even if he’s moved on from driving the track, racing is in Elliott blood. It comes easier to them than breathing does. Chris won’t be the first to admit it, but she's the NASCAR nepotism equivalent of a Baldwin baby. She’s no Kennedy, the first-families of NASCAR are closer to the Petty’s and the Earnhardt’s, but, you ask a NASCAR fan about the Elliott Clan and you’re sure to get an earful. Champion, Hall-of-Fame inductee father, supergenius transmission and engine mechanic uncles, and a superstar fan-favorite older brother, the Elliott family racing history spans generations of fans.

Never the Danica Patrick-type, Chris has always preferred to watch the races rather than compete in them, but she still grew up at the track and was always up for a trip to visit her dad at the auto-shop. 

“Mums,” her dad says, peeking his head around the corner into the hotel bathroom. It’s a stupid nickname, Mums, Chrysanthemum. She’d roll her eyes if it was anyone but Bill still calling her by it. “We gotta go, darlin’.” Chris nods at him in the mirror, flattens her hands along her thigh and tucks one final strand of her bang behind her ear, and then they’re finally leaving the hotel for the track. 

It’s a strange kind of first for Chris, in that it’s not really a first at all. She’s been to COTA before, multiple times. Hell, she watched in the garage when Chase won the inaugural Cup Series race here in May last season. She’s even been to the U.S Grand Prix before, back when it was still in Indianapolis, when Chris was too young to remember if it was big or if she was just little. She’s used to the crowds, spends almost every weekend with upwards of fifty-thousand people, but this? This is the kind of crowd she can’t fathom being among, and it’s only Friday. If it takes them an hour and a half to get through traffic on a practice day, she can only imagine what the next two mornings have in store for her. 

“No antics today,” Bill tells her in the car. “They’re not like us. Trust me, I know.”

Last time you went to one of these races, you were still a driver, she wants to tell him, but doesn’t. He doesn’t take well to the implication he’s an old man. Walking into the paddock with a yellow pass hung around her neck, FERRARI-GUEST-17 and a picture of the team logo popping up on the screens at the turnstiles, she’s beyond taken back by the pomp and circumstance of it all. She’s barely through the entrance and she’s already spotted half a dozen people who could buy her without it making a dent in their pockets. It’s nothing like walking around a NASCAR track. There isn’t a single Bud Light knight or backs sunburnt into American flags or t-shirts turned muscle tanks. It’s just… rich people. Lots and lots of rich people. 

In the Paddock Club tent, Bill manages to find a couple of his old buddies. Guys he raced with back in the day who’ve turned up for whatever with whoever this weekend. It’s unsurprising, stock car racing is nowhere near as exclusive a club as Formula One. They aren’t any of the guys Chris remembers being a part of her childhood, none of them pseudo-uncles in the way some other drivers were. You’re all grown up, they tell her, note her height and her features and one of them even asks if she’s in college yet. She plays along, pretends she remembers them fondly and that they haven’t been on the recipient list for the annual Elliott family Christmas newsletter for the past thirty or so years. His buddies are much more comfortable talking about Chase, anyways, about his racing and his fiancee and his little boy than they’ve ever been talking about Chris or Chandler. The concept of a quote-en-quote girl dad wasn’t such a thing in the nineties.

Chris makes small talk with one of the wives. They can’t be that far apart in age, she’s definitely of a different generation than her husband. Gross. Chris lets the woman lead the conversation; she talks about the polka dots on her skirt and Chris’ cowboy boots that are, apparently, perfectly authentic. 

They separate from the group of former NASCAR drivers and their child brides within the hour. Bill has to be in Ferrari hospitality by one o’clock for a special meeting. He’s still not sure what he did to get selected for this specific group of people who get to do a hot lap with one of the Ferrari drivers, but he isn’t about to ask any questions that might get him out of it. He sets off to hospitality and Chris sneaks out of the paddock and into the rest of the track. 

There’s only so much to see inside the paddock. Hospitality after hospitality after hospitality, just in different colors with different modern structures with pictures of different cars. She wants to experience the event, not just the rich people who can pay their way into the upper echelon of the pinnacle of motorsport. If she’s going to be on her own for an hour and a half, she might as well be fully and truly on her own. 

She ends up in the beer garden. More specifically, the bar tent. You can’t separate a NASCAR fan from the Natty Light. The pass around her neck gets her into the VIP area of the tent, which… feels like an antithesis of itself.  Her phone buzzes in her back pocket when she’s waiting on her bottle from the bartender. It’s her dad. 

Brad Pitt is here. Crazy. 

She makes quick acquaintances with a couple who looks about her age. She compliments the girl’s denim jacket and then she’s in. The DJ is playing country music with a techno backtrack at the other side of the tent and they all three spend a good fifteen minutes trying to decide if they love or hate the set. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” the guy says. 

“It’s definitely not the best, though,” Chris winces, spots a Ferrari pass hanging with the VIP one around the girlfriend’s neck. “Are you guys here with Ferrari?” She asks. 

“Oh, “ she says, looks down at the pass and fiddles with it for a moment. “Yeah, Will’s a golfer and they invited him for a tour and to do this golf event with ESPN.”

“Oh, that’s sick!” Chris nods. “Have you guys ever been here, or is this your first time?”

“We’ve come every year for…” Will starts, looks to his girlfriend for the rest of his sentence. 

“Four years,” she nods. “What about you?”

“This is my first time,” Chris explains, leaves out the technicalities because she barely cares about them, doesn’t expect a stranger to even half-care. “My dad’s here with Ferrari, and I’m here to babysit my dad.” She laughs. 

The woman nods, makes a quiet ah sound. Will asks for clarification. “You guys lose each other, or something?”

Chris nods. “Or something.”

Charles sees her before he hears her. She appears in his peripheral on the top floor of Ferrari Hospitality, moving swiftly through the groups of strangers with a confidence that makes you think she owns the place. He half-prepares to excuse himself from his current conversation–not that he’s understanding more than forty-percent of the words coming out of this guy’s mouth–to take a photo with the short brunette bee-lining it over to him. 

“Excu–”

“I think I saw Brad Pitt on my way here,” she says, and the man he’s been talking to for fifteen minutes laughs. Oh, he thinks, that’s mortifying. She’s not here to intrude on his conversation and ask for a picture. She’s here with this guy. 

“This is my Chris,” Bill says. 

“Hi,” Chris says. Chris. Chris. Chris is a woman. A woman extending her hand, thin and well manicured with a single ruby ring, for him to shake. “Chris.”

“Charles,” he says, hesitates. “You are not what I was expecting.” 

There wasn’t much he understood from Bill Elliott during their hot lap, not that Bill didn’t talk. Charles just didn’t have the focusing capabilities to drive the car in an entertaining way while also deciphering the thick southern drawl of the man sat in the passenger seat. It was thick, heavy, and sounded like maybe he’d smoked a pack a day for a few years. That, or he was straight-up making up words in a bit that only he was in on. One thing he did understand, though, was the kids’ names. I have three, he’d said, Chandler, Chase, and Chris. He’d assumed all boys. Chandler, Chase, and Christopher. Christian. Cristiano. The last thing he was expecting was a beautiful girl with a firm handshake. 

“You were expecting me?” She asks, and her voice is a million times easier to understand than her father’s. 

“No, no. He just,” He gestures absently to Bill. Chris doesn’t break eye contact. She has wonderful eyes. “I thought Chandler, Chase, and Chris are three brothers.”

“Oh,” She laughs like it’s not even close to the first time she’s had to follow behind her dad and correct the miscommunication, and a piece of her bangs falls loose from its tucked position behind her ear. She fixes it without thought. “Well, you’re one for three.” 

She asks Bill about the hot lap, asks if he had fun and he laughs. They’re very laugh-oriented people, he’s noticed. Laughy and almost intimidatingly good at holding eye contact. He’d always heard Americans had an issue with eye contact, and if that really is the case, these two practice their active-listening skills enough for the rest of the country. Their kindness is in their expressions, soft eyes and small smiles that keep you from feeling like an intrusion on the conversation. He notes all of his findings internally, categorizes them together as if he’s spent the last ten minutes looking at anyone but her. 

She’s horrendously his type. It’s painfully apparent with every passing moment. The hair and the face and the build and the smile. Just, God.

“Why didn’t you do one?” He asks, “A lap?”

“The need-for-speed bug skipped the women in my family, unfortunately.” She tucks her hair again. He wonders if she’s growing it out or if she always keeps it at such a length that it’s just too short to stay where she wants it to. 

“We could go slow,” he offers and she chuckles, closing her eyes long enough to roll them without him actually seeing them roll. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” He’s never been good at flirting, always found it off-putting in the beginning, trying to walk the line between what one person finds fun and another person finds horribly uncomfortable. Once the dust settles, he can manage, but making those first few moves? He might as well be a deer in headlights. Semi-truck headlights. 

“I don’t know,” she says, drags out the vowel sounds and he’s oblivious to whether or not she can tell he’s only making this offer as a chance to spend more time with her. He’ll get an earful for it, no doubt, but if she agrees it’ll be worth it. Bill chimes in, eggs her on with a guilt trip. You should do it, don’t be a party-pooper. Charles wonders if Bill can tell he’s flirting with his daughter. Probably not, he’d bet. “Okay,” she says, and his stomach does a celebratory flip. Before he can say anything more, Mia is pulling him off somewhere. He hadn’t even seen her coming, but he fills her in on the walk.

“Domani c'è un'aggiunta al programma dei giri veloci.” There’s an addition to the hot laps schedule tomorrow, he says. Mia glares at him and he pretends not to notice, flashes her a toothy-grin as an unapologetic apology. 

When she’d agreed to do a hot lap with the gorgeous racing driver standing a foot away from her, she assumed it would be forgotten the moment he stepped away from the conversation. She never would have agreed to it if she actually thought it was going to happen. Chris was sorely mistaken though, when later that afternoon, a man dressed head-to-toe in Ferrari red finds her to gather her information. 1:10, he tells her through a thick Italian accent, be in hospitality at 1:10. 

It was wonderful, really. Perfect, fantastic, great, legendary. This is an amazing opportunity. She isn’t going to regret agreeing to this, no chance. Even for the queen of optimism, this one is hard to put a positive spin on. 

There is no underestimating just how much Chris hates going fast. She’s never liked it, spent the majority of her childhood getting carsick in a vehicle maxing out at forty miles an hour. Her sister and brother used to think she was faking it just so she could always ride shotgun. She’s not even allowed to drive the car if she’s with her dad or her brother because they can’t bear it. To her, a speed limit is just that, a limit. To everyone else, it’s a minimum. 

Her only hope is that she doesn’t vomit all over an expensive supercar at 1:10 tomorrow afternoon, or worse–the cute guy driving the car. 

In the meantime, she can distract herself with the Green Day performance and remind herself that only so much can happen in five minutes. Anyone can survive five minutes. 

– – –

They eat the continental breakfast at the hotel the next morning. Bill has pancakes and Chris has cereal because, as she’ll tell anyone, there’s just something about cereal from a plastic container. She’s also three coffees ahead of where she was this time the day before, all of her nerves personifying themselves as desperation for caffeine. She’s responding to a work email on her phone while Bill has a call with Chase. 

Somewhere on a race track in Florida, Chase is calling between practice and qualifying sessions. They talk every day during a race weekend–Bill and Chase–and it’s almost never about racing. Her dad might drop an occasional that’s not what I would’ve done or a well, that looked like fun, but that’s usually the end of race-talk. They used to fight like cats and dogs about driving when Chase was younger, so much so that Chris’ mom banned them from talking about racing inside the house for three straight years. The who of them are better now, now that Bill’s been able to let Chase find his own way and go through his own racing journey. 

“Your sister is doing a Hot Lap today,” Bill says, and Chris can hear Chase’s laughter from the muffled speaker. 

Bill and Chris are driven to the track on Saturday because traffic is so bad. It’s hot and windy and Chris has her window rolled down the entire drive, her fingers dancing through the dry air. She’s always loved the heat, the sun shining down on her skin, kissing her in a million different places all at the same time. She loves the heat, and the heat loves her. 

The morning flies by. They start the day with a tour of the Ferrari garage, where they’re introduced, or re-introduced, to their drivers. They end up with a couple other very important people hunched over Charles’ car while he explains how much pressure needs to be applied to the brake pedal for the car to actually brake. Bill eats the semantics up, cars and their mechanics run thick in his blood, braided deeply into his DNA. Chris, however, has always enjoyed the more delicate things in life; the pink hair bows and the dollar store makeup kits and spinning herself dizzy in a flowy summer dress. She never spent exorbitant amounts of time at Dad’s engine shop or Grandpa’s Ford Dealership, it just wasn’t in her lane of interests. She sips another coffee–her fifth of the day–and listens attentively to Charles talk, bites her smile at his wild gesticulations. He’d make a good kindergarten teacher, she thinks, with his huge personality. 

When the whole tour group is being shuffled out of the garage to be replaced by a new set of prying eyes, Charles makes a passing comment. See you later for the world’s slowest hot lap, he remarked, put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze as he moved past her. 

She doesn’t know why, but she’d convinced herself that it wouldn’t actually be him she would be doing the lap with. It was qualifying day, after all. Surely, he had about a million and one better things to be doing than driving a random girl around a track a few times. She figured it would be a driver, but not one of the drivers. 

After lunch, she makes her way back to Ferrari hospitality, to where she was told to be waiting at 1:10. She’s the only person who looks like they’re here on instruction. Nobody else is nervously picking at their cuticles or vibrating in place as a reaction to their seven coffees that morning.

She spent the night before grilling her dad about his experience, forcing him to give her a moment-by-moment breakdown of everything he remembered happening, from the safety briefing to the conversation afterwards. But, when it came time for Chris to actually do hers, there was no safety briefing warning her about the million different ways she could die. Instead, the same man who’d tracked her down the day before escorted her from the top floor of hospitality to the bottom, out the back into what she can best compare to an alleyway, and then to a red supercharged Ferrari. 

Charles is there, talking to what appears to be a personal photographer and another man dressed in Ferrari garb. She re-introduces herself for a third time in twenty four hours. “I know your name, Chris,” Charles says, smiles and shakes her hand anyway. She doesn’t like the way her brain reacts to him saying her name like it belongs on his lips. 

“Duh,” she laughs, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Right,” she nods. “Yeah, sorry.” Charles laughs out a sigh, cocks his head and smiles. Chris bites her tongue not to apologize again. It’s a reflex. She puffs out her laugh and shrugs. 

If she manages to make it out of these couple laps with her life and the contents of her stomach still intact, she’s sure to still look like a clown–a fact she realizes as she pulls the tight helmet over her head. She’s worn racing helmets a handful of times, but it’s not muscle memory to her in the way it is to him. It takes her a minute to tighten the chin strap just right and despite his genuine offer to help her, Chris turns him down and blindly works her fingers under her neck until it’s just right. 

“Why don’t you get a fun Hot Laps helmet?” She asks while she fights with the strap. 

Charles knocks on the side of his helmet with his knuckle. “Custom fit. Safety reasons.”

Chris knows, she was just messing with him. She nods like she never could’ve guessed that was the reason. “My safety doesn’t matter?” She comments, pulls the strap tight for the final time. 

“You think I’m going to crash?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I would never crash with Chris Elliott in the car.” There he goes again, saying her name all annoyingly French and nice and easy. 

“Whatever,” she says, turns away so he can’t see her squished cheeks flush pink against the polyester. He opens the passenger side door for her, knocks his knuckle on her helmet this time, and horribly mocks both her words and accent before shutting the door behind her. 

Chris has her seatbelt buckled before he can get around the front of the car and into his seat. Her leg bounces anxiously against the floor mat. Charles starts the car and moves to shift into drive, but stops short. “Are you scared?” he asks, and in a moment of vulnerable honesty, she nods. She’s more than scared. She’s terrified, and despite his brief attempt to reassure her that it’s going to be fun, her leg is still bouncing when they peel off from the group already awaiting his return. 

A hot lap, she’d come to learn in the last day or so, would be more accurately referred to as hot laps–plural, multiple, several. Three, to be exact. One out lap, one push lap, and one cool down lap. Three laps. Hot laps. They should really start referring to it as a plural. 

The best thing she can compare it to is a roller coaster. The turns share the feeling you get at the tipping point, right before your body thinks you’re free falling. Her stomach is left behind three turns back and it never really catches up to the car once they start. The straights are like that first hill, fast and crazy in a way that pulls from her lips screams she hears before she consciously chooses to release. It’s like a roller coaster, if the person sitting next to you is completely unaffected by the ride and spends the entire time trying to carry out a conversation with you between your screams and their giggles. It’s like a roller coaster, if the cart never leaves the ground. 

On the cool down lap, when they’re going at a speed that allows Chris to pick up her soul when they drive through turn four, he asks her if she’s single. It comes at her from left field. 

“Are you flirting with me?”

He laughs, takes a hand off the wheel and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes!”

“Oh,” she says softly. If he notices the surprise in her tone, he doesn’t mention it. “I am.” 

“Can I get your number?” She swears that his fingers are shakier than before as they hover over the paddle shift. They were sure-footed just minutes earlier, she’s sure of it. She’s sure of it, but there’s no way it’s a genuine observation. There’s no way she’s making him nervous. 

She laughs, because what on God’s green Earth is a European Formula One driver going to do with a small town American girl’s phone number? 

“I’m not abandoning my dad for a hookup,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, repeats the question. “Why do you want it?”

“Because, Chris Elliott,” she wants to scrape the way he says her name out of his voice box and pin it in a scrapbook. It’s like a tick, the way it burrows into her skin. Nobody should be allowed to make her name sound like that. “You are a very beautiful girl, and when a guy sees a beautiful girl, they act like an idiot and ask for her number.” 

“Oh, my God,” she giggles, shakes her head and looks out the window like it might ground her, or like it might reveal that she really is in some fever dream state and none of this is real. She’s not even in Texas, maybe. That’s how insane this whole conversation is to her. 

“Too cheesy?” He asks, grimaces. She shakes her head, holds her hand out for his phone. 

“Just cheesy enough.”

When they get back to where they started, someone asks Chris if she’d had a good time. She nods, flattens down the static-electricity charged flyaways on her head and tells them yes, even if she’ll be just a little bit nauseous for the rest of the day. It’s not a lie, either, she did have fun. She was scared out of her mind, but in a way that makes her happy she did it. 

They pose for a photo together in front of the car, the picture snapped by the only guy with a camera around his neck, the only one besides Chris not covered head to toe in Ferrari branding. When they pose, Charles’ arm wraps around her lower back and, almost like he remembers himself in the middle of the action, his hand doesn’t close around her side. Instead, it hovers just beyond her body, open and stiff and flat. How gentlemanly. “Good luck tomorrow,” she says.

He nods his thanks, “I hope I see you around this weekend,” he adds, and then they go their separate ways. Good thing, too, because she’s still blushing over it when she gets back to her dad in the Champion’s club. Bill is too distracted by the live feed on Chase’s qualifying laps on his tiny phone screen to notice Chris’ presence, much less the coloring of her cheeks. He qualifies third and they celebrate quietly with drinks from the bar and FP3 on the big screens. 

They stumble into more NASCAR old-timers while in the Champion’s Club and Chris spends the time fifth-wheeling their conversations about Chase and watching the second half of qualifying on one of the TVs. 

She doesn’t really understand the format of the weekend. In theory, she understands the basics, didn’t have to read Formula One for Dummies on the plane ride over, but the intricacies of it are beyond her. In NASCAR, drivers are split into two groups and then are only given, at max, two laps to set their qualifying times. It varies depending on the track that weekend, but it always hits some of the same points. From what she can gather from the low-volume televisions mounted on every surface around her, F1 is definitely different. 

They head back to the hotel directly after qualifying to ‘beat the traffic’ which is code for Chris is still nauseous and they’re both feeling a little too heat exhausted. They stop for dinner on the way back, at a barbeque place right by their hotel. Bill orders the chopped brisket with potato salad and Chris gets the pulled pork sandwich with a tomato zucchini salad. 

Chris has been really busy with work, with settling into the new routine with her new group of students, and Bill wants to hear all about it. She always struggles in September and October, feels inadequate every time the other teachers find their footing with their new class weeks before she does. It’s the first time alotta ‘em have been in a school, Bill reminds her and she shrugs it off, tries to find something more upbeat to talk about. 

Chris and Bill have really gotten close over the past couple years. Growing up, she and her sister Chandler were massive daddy’s girls, had him wrapped around their little fingers from the moment they came into the world. But, when Chase started to really take racing seriously, the girls lost a lot of their dad to their brother and spent the majority, if not all, of their time with their Mom. As a teenager, Chris did what all sixteen year old girls do and rebelled against any and every rule in the book. While Chandler was touring colleges and getting 1550s on her SAT and singing in the church choir, Chris had other plans. Whether it was stubbornly refusing to clean her half of the shared room with her big sister, ratting Chase out for coming home at 2am drunk, or sneaking out of the second-story window to go out with her all-too-old boyfriend, she tested all of the waters. It wasn’t until college, until she moved away to Athens and was out of the house for the first time in her life that she realized just how important family was to her. She’s been attempting to make up for lost time since. 

That night when she plugs her phone into the charger and shuts it off for the night, she realizes she’d been half expecting a late night text from Charles. It didn’t come, and disappointed isn’t the right word for the tiny little pit in her stomach because she wasn’t really expecting anything to come from typing her number into his contacts.  It’s not disappointment, it’s something closer to acceptance or rejection, maybe. It’s not like he would’ve been searching out anything but a hookup, anyways, and Chris made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t into that idea. 

She would never hear from him again, and that’s how it should be. The whole interaction turning into anything but a story she can tell in a couple months when she’s drunk would be entirely too complicated of an outcome. 

She doesn’t let herself think about it any longer, leaves her phone face down on the side table and tucks herself into bed. 

– – –

Traffic on race day is true-crime inducing. They’re driven, again, escorted and still spend an hour and a half in the backseat of an SUV. Bill and Chris watch from the VIP stands and Chris has never seen anything like this, especially not at COTA. Even Talladega and Daytona barely hold a candle to this spectacle. 

If she has one critique, it’s that F1 should really hire some B-List at best celebrity to scream drivers, start your engines! At the start of the race like they do in NASCAR. It would really add some flare, she thinks. 

She and Bill share Chris’ airpods, one in each of their ears listening to the NASCAR broadcast. Charles starts twelfth, for whatever reason. She can’t be bothered to look into it, knows it’ll probably be a penalty she doesn’t understand and she’ll be tumbling down a rabbit hole before she knows what’s happened to her. 

While it’s not Chase’s best race–he finishes fourteenth with a single sigh from Bill–Charles puts on a show, fights his tires all the way up into third. 

They watch the podium celebrations on the TV screens and nobody looks happy to be up there. They look miserable, almost, and she understands it to an extent. It’s hard to have energy after a race, she’s witnessed it first hand more times than she can count. It’s hard, especially at the end of the season. Burn-out is real, but still. They look bored. She didn’t know spraying champagne could look so tired. 

Bill grumpily flies them home to Georgia late Sunday night. He’d wanted to wait until Monday morning, after all the billionaires and their super-jets take off right after the race, but Chris refused to miss another day of work this early in the school year, not when she was already going to be missing time in December for her brother’s wedding. 

Bill’s been flying planes since before any of his kids were born. His most recent purchase is a Cessna Conquest II that he uses to fly the family around for short distances. In another gene that skipped the females in the family, Chandler, Chris, and their mom all prefer to be passengers. Chase, however, followed in Dad’s footsteps once more in becoming an avid aviation fan. 

By the time they take off, any thought Chris had of getting a text from Charles has faded far into obscurity. He’d probably gotten dozens of numbers from girls this weekend. He was probably at a club somewhere right now still pulling women. Women more his type, probably. He seems like he’d be more into the refined type, the girls without the ‘cheap’ accents who were all worldly and spoke seventeen languages fluently and had long legs that carried them down runways across Europe every other weekend. 

Little southern girls get texts from little southern boys, that’s how it goes. That's how it’s always gone, and Chris is beyond naive to think anything different for even a moment. 

She grades papers on the flight home. Purple pen, because she thinks that color is fun and red is too cruel to grade with. Puffy stickers for everyone, even the kids who aren’t anywhere near the right track because she doesn’t want anyone to feel less than just because they struggle a bit more. Chris has always been a firm believer that the student is never the problem. If someone isn’t learning what she’s teaching, she needs to adjust the way she teaches it to cater to their learning style. 

It’s her job to teach them, not their job to learn. 

Joris has been laughing at Charles from the hotel room armchair for fifteen minutes now, beyond entertained by his best friend’s restless pacing, providing absolutely zero aid to his current predicament. This act has been going on for some time now. Charles, pacing for five minutes before pulling out his phone and typing up an opening message to Chris. Each time, he starts to read it out to Joris and then stops himself short, deletes it, and paces for five more minutes. 

Hey, Chris. This is Ch–no, that’s stupid. 

Sorry it took me a minute to text–absolutely not. 

What’s up? It’s Charles, how–someone should just stop him from speaking to women all together. 

There’s half a dozen renditions before Joris breaks. “Mate? What is your problem?” He finally asks. “It’s just a girl.”

“I know,” Charles sighs, “I know.”

“Then why can’t you send her a text?”

“Because.” He doesn’t really know why he can’t land on a message, why everything he types sounds entirely too casual or formal or nothing at all like what he would say to another human being. This isn’t a problem that he’s used to having. It’s the in-person flirting that fucks him up, not the texts and DMs and comments. She was just… he doesn’t know what she was. She was just. End of sentence. 

It’s no help that he doesn’t know American texting culture, unfamiliar with how long he’s supposed to wait to send a message or what he’s supposed to say in the opening text. 

“Here,” Joris says, holds his hand out for the phone. “I’ve got the perfect text.”

“Don’t send it,” Charles warns, but passes the phone to his friend. 

“I… won’t,” Joris says slowly, struggling to multi-task. He doesn’t type for more than a few seconds and then hands the phone back to Charles, with the message already sent. Charles’ look of sheer panic is met with a smile and a chef’s kiss from Joris. 

She turns her phone off while Bill is shutting the plane engine down in the hangar. Because of his love of aviation, Bill had bought some land out in the woods a couple decades ago and turned it into the family’s private airstrip for their planes.  Elliott Field, they coined it, stored all their extra vehicles out on the property. She slips it into her back pocket as her and Bill disembark and lock up the place, and the entire time she can feel it vibrating, the notifications from the hour and a half flight catching up now that she’s on the ground again. 

It’s not until she’s in her car that she checks them, pulls her phone out to plug it into the aux and play some music for the drive back to her house. Right at the top of the dozens of notifications is a message from an unknown number with an unfamiliar area code. 

[one unread message] the notification reads. She unlocks her phone to check the message. 

She closes the messages app on her phone and opens up Spotify, shuffles her favorite playlist. She doesn’t reply to his text, doesn’t know if she wants to or even what she might say back. She’s sleepy, more than ready for bed after a long weekend in the sun, excited to be back with her students bright and early tomorrow morning. 

The text from the cute race car driver can wait for another day. An issue for tomorrow, maybe. 

masterlist next chapter>

#ma&thbp #AHH FUCKKK #BOO #im scared #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #formula one #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fic #f1 fanfic #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fandom #f1 2023 #jumpscare #I hope I forget this is in the queue #so when it flops I dont have to bare the suffering of it