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neptuneiris · 5 months ago

Text

Champion | (One-shot)

Everybody is a Ferrari Fan

pairing: driver!aemond (Formula One) x wag!reader

summary: runs in the family to get into the F1 fanaticism, where you not only learn about engines, racing teams, championships and drivers, but you also meet a certain driver who is currently getting a lot of recognition; Ferrari driver, the Sapphire Prince, Aemond Targaryen.

words: 12.5k

my masterlist

sé que prácticamente ya será Febrero, pero feliz año nuevo atrasado! espero que les guste esto, pero primero quiero agradecerle a mi bestie @silverdragonfly for giving me the idea to write this Formula One AU, she also writes amazing stories so go support her ❤

also, if you don't know anything about F1, don't worry, you can still read it since i didn't add so many terms and if there are, i made sure to put a simple and easy to understand explanation. still, the fic is more about the relationship between the driver and his wag. enjoy!

warnings: language, sexual content, smut.

The Formula One has won over thousands of fans all over the world with its incredible races where drivers compete and fight to be the world champion.

It is one of the most expensive, exclusive and prestigious sports in the world, where unforgettable experiences are lived in the world of motor racing with ten teams and two drivers belonging to each one, for a total of twenty drivers.

The sport has gained more popularity in recent years with its impressive and thrilling races. Not to mention the talented drivers. Your family, especially your dad, has always had an interest and fascination for the sport.

And who knew that you would also become a fan once you really paid attention and your dad would also explain the basics of understanding racing and how it works.

But not only that… the sport also literally took over your heart.

It was last year, at the Monaco Grand Prix near your home in France, that you went with your dad to experience it. Your dad, being a millionaire businessman, can afford such luxuries. And at that time you were on vacation from college, so why not?

Your dad got a paddock pass for him and for you. A whole VIP experience with a privileged location over the garages of the teams, with a view of the starting grid, the pits, access to the backstage area and also with the opportunity to see and meet the drivers.

You really only went to that Grand Prix knowing the basics. And being right there, watching the race live, helped you understand more concepts and moves, and it was a truly amazing experience.

Until, of course, your dad wanted to meet the drivers and take a look at the garage of his favorite team; Red Bull.

It was in that area that you saw him, Aemond Targaryen. Number 08, Scuderia Ferrari, the Sapphire Prince.

You already knew the drivers. And you weren't excited to meet any of them in particular. Until, well, you saw him and the urge to talk to him, get close to him, at least ask for a picture, was too much.

Seeing him in pictures and videos was one thing but now seeing him in person…it was breath taking.

Silver hair, pronounced jawline, pointed nose, sharp and very well detailed features, besides a charming smile making him look like some kind of Greek God… you fell for him.

Everyone is a Ferrari fan. And at that moment, you understood very well why. Not just because of the famous team, but because of the drivers who represent it. And Aemond Targaryen represents it just right.

His talent for motor racing keeps him as one of the best drivers of the last seasons. So far this year, in most Grand Prix he had stood on Podium as third or second place and in other races, he had already won four.

“Oh, it's that boy… Targaryen.”

Your dad had said next to you, pointing him out into the short distance.

Aemond was signing some T-shirts and hats with fans, so your father slowly approached and you followed him, watching him captivated and attentive, inevitably starting to feel quite nervous without knowing exactly why.

Roger, your dad's friend and also one of the many important workers in Formula One, leads you both in the direction of him to introduce you.

The fans suddenly disappear and the next thing you see, he's shaking hands with your dad.

“…businessman in France, big fan of Formula One and Red Bull,” Roger introduces them, ”And Aemond Targaryen.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Aemond tells him politely, with a small gentle smile on his lips.

“The pleasure is mine, lad. You are indeed incredibly talented.”

“Oh, thank you so much. That means a lot,” he holds a hand to his chest, ”Red Bull huh? But you're also a Ferrari fan,” he says amused, making the conversation more enjoyable.

“Well, it's inevitable,” your dad confesses with a shy little smile.

You both laugh and you're still like… watching him in slow motion.

You watch as he runs a hand through his silver hair, which shimmers in the sunlight, tossing it lightly with those long, pale fingers. And his captivating smile, his blue-gray eyes, the way he speaks, his tone of voice, how good he looks in the red sports suit, everything about him is truly captivating.

“This is my daughter, Y/N.”

Suddenly your dad's voice brings you out of your trance, also as the three of them and especially he watches you inside the small circle you are in.

You quickly compose yourself, about to have a nervous breakdown. Then you smile kindly and extend your hand to him, which he takes instantly.

And if it weren't for the fact that he's holding you and also because you're embarrassed, you would have already fainted the moment he smiles at you.

“Aemond, nice to meet you,” he says smiling at you.

“Nice to meet you.”

You let go of his hand and your dad watches you the whole time with a curious little smile.

“Still no scudder takes hold of her. But I'm slowly getting her to follow in her dad's footsteps.”

´Oh God.´

“Is that true?” Aemond asks you, amused, “Did you already join the Red Bull team after watching the race? Because we can still make a spot for you on the right team.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling your cheeks flush.

“If I join Ferrari, you'll have to teach me all the special moves,” you tell him, with a condescending smile.

“It will be my pleasure,” he tells you, without even hesitating.

And it was at that moment that you liked him the most and you were struck by Aemond Targaryen. You also understood why he has so many fans and the media is so interested in him.

His very genuine personality, his kindness and charisma makes so many people fall for him without even trying.

“Will I see you both again soon?” he asks you and your dad, “We're halfway through the calendar and I'd be happy to see you around again.”

“Sure, we'll try to make a space,” your dad nods.

Obviously the drivers' job is not only to race, but also to attend a lot of interviews, meet a lot of people, attend to their fans and a lot more on each qualifying and race day.

So you and your dad say goodbye to him and Aemond leaves, where instantly people surround him, like his assistant, manager and so on.

“It doesn't look like he had an accident.”

Your dad says suddenly and you watch him almost instantly, talking to Roger.

“Surgeries and rehab.”

“But he hadn't lost his eye?” your dad asks confused, ”That one he has isn't fake?”

“No, it's just rumors. He couldn't see out of that eye for a while, but he didn't lose it. The surgeries saved it. Also with surgery he was able to cover the ugly scar he was left with.”

“Oh,” your dad nods, thoughtfully, ”And how old was he when that happened?”

“Ten.”

This definitely gets your attention but you don't ask your dad any questions. At least, you don't until you're both on your way home, on the plane.

Apparently, in his early days and when he was just beginning to discover his talent for motorsport, Aemond was involved in an accident at the age of ten.

Aemond's dad, the late Viserys Targaryen, was a world champion in his time. He had impressive skill in his youth, being a driver for Williams, then Mercedes and finally Red Bull.

Yes, he was amazing, but only for a time. Still, he was a bad dad.

Scandals were known to surround him regarding his wives and children. Terms like negligence and lack of responsibility always haunted him, even to this day despite his passing.

And Aemond, in an attempt for him to appreciate him and prove to him that he would be a great driver someday, took his car unsupervised to practice and suffered the accident, where he almost lost the sight in his left eye when he was cut with metal from the car in the middle of his face.

You didn't notice anything strange about his face either. But Roger was right. Since he was a little boy he underwent surgeries to forget that accident that almost killed him and almost made him never drive again.

But not only did you keep this information about your dad, you also researched more online about his life and accident, suddenly captivated by Aemond Targaryen.

After the accident and his rehabilitation, at the age of eighteen, he signed a contract for the Hass team in Formula Two.

The difference between Formula One and Formula Two is that in Formula Two the cars are different in terms of engines and power, which are not as powerful as in Formula One. There is also a lower speed limit in the races.

And this is intended to demonstrate the true skill of the drivers at the wheel, rather than the ability of the teams to build superior cars as in Formula One.

Then, he ascended to Formula One to become a driver equally for Hass and finally, he ascended to Ferrari after demonstrating his incredible skills so young and scoring points for both the team and himself, where he has been racing for them for two years.

This and more is what the internet tells you about him and his family. You also learn of an affair he had with a woman, Alys Rivers, apparently older than him and a Formula One worker.

It was a scandal for a while, as the woman is too much older than him and it was supposed to be a secret, until they were discovered.

You also read apparently rumors of ´infidelity´, firing of that woman and that he didn't really claim to have a serious relationship with her or anyone else, so he's single.

You also stalk him a bit on Instagram and unable to help yourself, you follow him. But what you least expected is that he was going to follow you back.

As you get back to college and walk out of one of your classes, you look at your phone and the notification of Aemond Targaryen has started following you pops up.

It was silly to get excited about it as a little girl but you did it anyway. And soon after, the Italian Grand Prix is announced. Races always take place on weekends, so you and your dad again attend a race at Monza, the home of Ferrari.

The whole trip, knowing you'd probably see him again, kept you excited. Until it finally happened.

Walking through the paddock, you spot his silver hair in the distance, obviously with a lot of people around him, with half an hour to go before the start of the race. Your dad is walking next to you and when you are in the same area as him, you pretend not to see him and focus your eyes on everything around you except him.

Totally ridiculous but you want to play it cool.

“Mr. Y/L/N.”

You try to control your emotion and finally look at him, where he politely addresses your dad and you.

“Mr. Targaryen,“ your dad greets him, extending his hand towards him, “How nice to see you before the race.’”

“Aemond, please,” he shakes his hand, then looks at you with a small smile on his lips, ”Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile softly at him.

“How are you feeling, lad? Ready to win today?” your dad says to him, smiling.

“Oh, well, that's the plan,” he nods, letting out a long sigh as he looks around briefly, ”Lots of pressure today.”

“It's Monza, the home of your team. Last year you made it, today you can too, and with a teammate like Sainz, you'll make it.”

“Very kind of you, sir,” he says, holding a hand to his chest, ”Thank you.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you.”

Then, at that moment, you decide to speak.

“You'll come out in third,” you speak softly, your voice quiet but confident, ”You have a good chance.”

He places his small, soft smile in your direction again.

“So you saw the qualifying?” he asks you, his tone playful but curious.

“Yes, we were here,” you reply, without missing a beat.

“Really? I didn't see you around.”

Alert!

Your mind immediately tells you the moment he continues with his eyes so strikingly set on you and that fucking smile on his lips. The way he addresses you, so close, so direct. His smile, his stare, his posture, it's all too much.

“Well, you'll see us from over there…” your dad points to where your seats are, “on the last lap celebrating when you win.”

Aemond suddenly pauses, his eyes darting first to your dad and then to you.

“And you don't want to celebrate in our garage?”

The question hangs in the air, as you stand in shock and disbelief.

You know that those who are allowed in the garage are obviously the whole team and people who know someone within the team who can get them in. Sometimes, celebrities are also allowed access if the team invites them, also the family of the drivers.

And also their girlfriends, or also as they are known; wags.

“Can we?” your dad asks him a bit skeptically.

“Sure,” Aemond says immediately.

“We don't want to get you in trouble—

“It won't be any trouble, sir,” Aemond again assures, ”Besides, it's my chance to make you a Ferrari fan… and your daughter too.”

He adds, giving you a smile and a subtle look that makes it clear that he is playing with being in front of your dad, but he means it.

And you just stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him, where the moment seems to stand still in time. It is so intriguing, so striking, and it envelops you completely. When your dad's voice brings you out of your little trance.

“Well, it's not every day that a Ferrari driver invites someone to his garage,” your dad says, enthusiastically, ”We can't turn down the opportunity.”

Aemond, upon hearing the affirmative answer, smiles in a way that makes his face light up with a confidence that only a driver of his caliber could have.

“Great. It will be my pleasure. Follow me.”

After a few minutes, you and your dad find yourselves in the Ferrari garage, led by the Sapphire Prince.

The atmosphere is electric and striking. The air is charged with concentration, but also with an adrenaline rush that can be felt in every corner of the place.

The roar of the engines in the background, the bustle of engineers and technicians in their suits working on the single-seaters, and the sound of orders traveling through the red headphones with the Ferrari logo create a unique atmosphere.

Everything is perfectly organized in this little chaos that draws you in.

You are both fitted with a new collar with a new card that specifies the rest of your stay to watch the race through the screens right here in the garage. You are also given a complimentary cap and jacket, all in the team's representative color, red.

Aemond guides you through the restricted area, where he watches you over his shoulder as you walk, making sure you follow him without missing a beat.

“So this is the heart of the racing team,” your dad says, in awe, looking at everything around him.

“It's impressive,” you agree, looking around curiously.

You inspect every corner, letting the place envelop you. The red single-seaters, seeming to take on a life of their own under the intense lights.

The glow of the engine, the precise touch of the mechanics' hands, the engineers' strategy… all this is part of a whole that only true fans can understand.

Obviously it's a privilege to see how the whole team prepares for the race and you enjoy it, while Aemond talks to your dad and another man and they explain everything in the garage.

You, on the other hand, stand back a bit and head towards the screens where you can watch the race, which is no different than watching it from the comfort of your own home.

Still, the atmosphere here is totally different.

You stare at the screens, analyzing how they work and seeing that each screen shows a different shot, but they focus more on the two Ferraris. You receive several curious glances from some people who are here, but you don't give them importance.

You look at the clock and it's fifteen minutes before the race starts, so you go back to inspecting all the technical equipment.

“Impressed?”

Aemond's voice comes to you suddenly, causing you to turn to him. He stands next to you and looks at the screens with the same intensity you do.

“Yes,” you admit, with a small smile as you pull back a little so he can see what you're looking at, ”Everything here is so… different.”

“It's just the beginning,” he assures you, ”When the race starts, the whole place gets intense. Especially today.”

You nod, understanding, since they're at Monza and expectations are sky high.

“Nervous?”

“I'd be a fool not to be,” he tells you slightly friendly.

“Sure,” you let out a small laugh, ”With Russell and Norris in the lead and Verstappen right behind you, it's going to be tough.”

“I thought you said I had a chance,” he tells you, a slight smile playing on his lips, but not the typical arrogant one. It's more like a friendly challenge.

“You've got it,” you assure him without hesitation, feeling the rush of confidence wash over you, ”If you do it right.”

He lets out a small laugh.

“Okay… what would you do in my place?” he asks you suddenly.

“Oh n-no, no, I couldn't tell you any of that,” you say instantly, flustered and embarrassed, ”It's not like I—

“Please,” he interrupts you, taking a step closer to you, “I want to hear you.”

You think about it for a moment, watching the grid projected on one of the screens of the F1 TV channel, the perfect medium for those who follow every race from home.

And it's not as if you're an expert on the subject, obviously there are people who are in charge of analyzing all this for the team, the options and the possibilities, deciding which is best to win.

Still, it's not quantum physics, it's something that can be solved with strategy and reasoning.

“Someone of the two has to hold Verstappen off, your teammate or you,” you start to say, pointing at the screen, ”Although moving up from eighth to fourth for Sainz won't be easy either. As for the top positions, Norris is trickier than Russell. He definitely won't want to give way.”

Aemond nods, watching the screen as you do next to you.

“Yeah, it's a tough grid.”

“You could do an undercut,” you suggest, “Or gain even one more position on the grid and leave Norris to Verstappen. But holding those two off, it won't be easy. You'll have to be very fast,” you say, ”What has your team told you?”

He gives you a smile, watching you.

“The same thing you did. Only in different words.”

You let out a small laugh.

“You do know about this kind of stuff, after all,” he adds.

“You don't need to be Einstein to understand either,” you say amused.

“True,” he nods, “Although we'll need a miracle if I want to pass Norris and outrun Verstappen,” he points again to the screen showing the grid.

You take a second, deciding to change the atmosphere.

“What about your lucky charm?” you ask with a light smile, hoping the touch of levity will break the tension a little.

He hisses, bringing a hand to his chin, watching you in amusement.

“Actually… I don't have one.”

“What?” you say instantly, surprised, ”But everyone has one, don't they?”

“I know, I know,” he smiles softly, shrugging, “It's a sentimental thing,” he says nonchalantly, “And I haven't found that something that brings me luck, yet.”

That's unexpected, but it doesn't surprise you. Everything about him is always calculated, logical. And luck never seems to enter into his equations. But then, his gaze softens and he looks at you with a look that you don't quite understand, but still catches your attention.

“Although, maybe…” he says, his tone lower and more personal, “knowing that you'll be here, watching me at all times…” his finger points toward the screens, “that might bring me luck.”

Alert! I repeat, alert!

Your mind again screams as your cheeks flare like never before and you can't help but smile as you lower your gaze, completely flushed.

You can't believe this is really happening. Him flirting with you? You didn't expect that to happen. But it is happening and you don't want to make him see that you've already fallen at his feet since the first time you saw him and talked to him.

So you quickly pull yourself together and look at him with a knowing look and a genuine, subtle little smile.

“Then don't look bad.”

“I won't,” he replies, his tone full of determination.

He looks you up and down as that fucking grin appears on his lips that almost makes you faint. But before he or you can say anything else, at that moment a man calls out to him, announcing that the race will start soon.

“I'll see you when it's over, then,” he tells you before leaving.

“I'll be here,” you assure him, smiling softly.

“Hm…” he cocks his head thoughtfully, watching you, “yeah but you'll need one of these,” he says suddenly, picking up one of the red Ferrari headphones attached to the screens, “So you can listen to them announce my name when I win.”

You're already blushing enough without him telling you this too. And as if that wasn't enough, he puts the headphones on you himself, while you allow it and watch him attentively at all times with your little soft smile, trying not to melt.

And when he's done, he watches you with that satisfied look.

“Much better.”

'Don't faint. Don't faint.'

“Thank you,” you say as you arrange them better in your ears, ”And good luck.”

He gives you a last grin to finally walk away, while you see him in the distance finishing his preparation, where like an expert racer, he puts on the red helmet with the Ferrari logo and finishes making some adjustments to his racing suit to finally get into the car.

As the hours go by, all the Tifosi in Monza go crazy. Red Bull, MacLaren, Mercedes and Ferrari put up a great fight. The race is very intense and exciting, where everyone in the garage is on the edge of their seat to see their two drivers in the lead.

You don't miss a single detail, while your dad next to you also watches the screens with his red headphones on.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't just watching Aemond, but that's what you're doing. You don't know if what he said, about you being his lucky charm, he's taking it seriously but you are, looking forward to seeing him on the podium and as the winner of the race.

Then, there comes that moment where they're in the final laps.

And finally, after an eternity, you hear through your headphones with a huge smile on your lips: Started third on the grid, the Sapphire Prince, is the man of Monza! The tifosi are roaring him home! And for the second time in his career Aemond Targaryen is the winner of the Italian Grand Prix!

Everyone in the garage applauds and hugs each other excitedly, while you watch through the screens as Aemond celebrates and runs towards all his people waiting for him at the starting line, while all the Tifosi out there are shouting and celebrating.

Your dad next to you shakes a few hands, while you continue to watch all the celebration, feeling very happy for him.

You don't expect him to come here. It's impossible. He has interviews to give and he also needs some rest. Then he has to go up to the podium and celebrate. You don't know if you will see him again, but you know it won't be possible on this day.

And even though the thought makes you feel disappointed, you accept it.

You take off your red headphones and together with your dad, you leave the garage to enjoy the podium. The screams and victories of the tifosi fill the air. From where you are you can't see much, so you walk a little further through the crowd, looking for a better place to witness the awards ceremony.

“Excuse me.”

You hear behind you and someone taps your shoulder, so you stop and turn around, seeing a blonde-haired girl with a tablet in her hands and formal attire.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes?” you say, somewhat confused.

You watch her carefully, as you get the impression you've seen her before, but you can't quite remember where.

“Mr. Targaryen apologizes for not saying goodbye personally,” she says, extending a small card to you, ”But he asked me to deliver this to you. It's the invitation to tonight's victory party. He says he hopes to see you there.”

You take it carefully, surprised. Your gaze rests on the card for a moment before returning to the girl, now remembering that she is his assistant.

And you nod to her gratefully, though your mind is still processing everything that's happening.

“Thank you,” you say, with a small smile.

She nods politely and disappears into the crowd, leaving you with the invitation in your hands. The tumult of tifosi, the shouts and general joy seem to fade for a moment, as if the whole world is focused solely on that card and what it implies.

You glance at your dad, who throws you a questioning look and you, for your part, hold up the card with a slight blush coloring your cheeks.

“That boy likes you, doesn't he?” your dad finally says.

“Dad,” you say embarrassed, not being able to help but grin like a fool.

“You could see it all over his face when you were talking in the garage.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Will you come with me?” you ask him to somehow avoid the subject.

“Me?” he inquires pointing to himself, ”The winner of the race has asked for you. Not for me.”

“Dad,” you reproach him softly.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, my love,” he smiles at you, ”I like that boy.”

'Oh God.'

The night in Monza is perfect.

The lights of the buildings and establishments near the ocean reflect on the water like glints of falling stars and in front of you, docked at one of the most exclusive piers, is the luxurious three-deck yacht where the Ferrari victory party is being held.

From this distance, you can already feel the atmosphere of celebration, laughter, music and the sound of glasses clinking.

You watch the walkway that connects the dock to the imposing yacht, uncertain. You also watch as people continue to arrive at the party, people who look important with their fine clothes and expensive accessories.

And seeing everything, as well as the people already aboard the yacht, you feel insecure.

You mean, you don't feel inferior, this is your world. It's nothing you're not used to. Besides, Aemond Targaryen himself has invited you. However, the feeling of being an outsider among all those people who already know each other is what makes you feel insecure.

You just hope that once you're up there, you won't be all alone.

Finally, you take a deep breath, adjust your dress, steel yourself and walk up there. You wait for the people in front of you to move forward, who are being held back by security men.

You wait patiently and step forward when it's your turn.

“Good evening, miss,” the big man says kindly and you nod with a small smile, ”Name?”

You tell him your name and he checks on the list he has in hand, then nods and gestures to the men behind him to let you in.

“Welcome. Enjoy the party.”

“Thank you.”

The second floor of the yacht is a spectacle in itself, with marble floors, crystal chandeliers hanging like cascades of light, and walls decorated in a modern but warm design.

All around you, animated conversations fill the air, interspersed with the soft clinking of glasses and background music. Guests are spread out on different levels, forming small groups of family, friends and team members.

As you advance, one of the waiters offers you a glass of champagne from a tray and you thank him kindly, taking it.

You continue on your way while looking around, looking for a corner where you won't be in the way. So you head to the small bar, while you pick up your phone, looking at the notifications on your screen and read some messages from your college friend.

You're already there?

Praying for something to finally happen with the sexy driver🙏🏽

Girl, you've got him totally crazy!

You let out a small chuckle under your breath and reply to her message, telling her that you doubt anything will happen because there are too many people. And she quickly replies to you not to be negative, fingers crossed.

You are about to respond when, suddenly, you feel a peculiar and intense gaze fixed on you. And as if you are used to it, you recognize him instantly. You know it's him. Excitement takes hold of you and you turn slowly, looking around you.

And there, a few meters away, next to a group of people, is Aemond.

Pants and a formal black shirt, highlighting his silver hair and the beautiful color of his eyes, as well as his expensive branded watch and a silver chain around his neck, he watches you with a discreet smile and his burning gaze on you.

He looks so handsome and so elegant, that your nerves completely overcome you. But you compose yourself, telling yourself that you just have to be yourself.

When your gazes meet, he says a brief goodbye to those around him and starts walking towards you with a confident stride, as you wait for him with a small soft smile on your lips.

“You came,” he says placing himself in front of you, smiling at you.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you tell him softly, “And congratulations on the victory. It was amazing to see you win, especially here in Italy. The people love you.”

“Thank you. The tifosi are unique. But today they made it special.”

His words, though simple, are loaded with meaning. There is a brief comfortable silence between you, broken by his gaze that seems to study you carefully.

“Also…” he says suddenly, leaning a little closer, his voice taking on a more serious and personal tone, ”I think I've found my lucky charm.”

This catches you off guard and instantly, heat rises to your cheeks before you can control it. Aemond smiles at your reaction, his lips curving into an expression that mixes amusement and tenderness.

“So you meant it,” you tell him softly.

“Of course I meant it,” he tells you, slightly confused, ”You didn't believe me?”

“Yes I did,” you confess, ”But I always had a suspicion that maybe that's what you always tell your conquests.”

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“No.”

Then he takes a step closer to you, the space between you reduced to almost nothing. And he speaks again, his voice low and soft, laden with a sincerity you feel in every word.

“Only to the pretty girl that I first saw in the paddock at Monaco.”

The way the words slip out so naturally, they disarm you and take your breath away. The intensity of his gaze, that mix of curiosity and as if he's making sure you understand what he really wants to tell you, creates a brief silence between you. Not awkward, but charged with a connection that seems to speak for itself.

“I-I—

“Darling.”

A voice comes toward you, breaking the moment and the silence, as you and Aemond turn your heads instantly, seeing a brown-haired woman with a tall black-haired man at her side.

“Mom,” Aemond says to her at your side.

“Sorry to interrupt but they need you to take some pictures,” she tells him in a soft voice.

Her name is Alicent. You saw her in pictures when you googled Aemond and in person, she is even more beautiful. Her elegant demeanor and intense gaze make it immediately clear that she is a woman accustomed to this kind of event.

And waiting for Aemond to speak, she watches you with a small warm smile and you return it, again feeling instantly nervous.

“Mom, this is Y/N,” Aemond introduces you, “Y/N, my mom Alicent and family friend, Criston,” he points to the man next to him.

“Pleasure to meet you, dear,” she says, extending a hand toward you.

“The pleasure is mine,” you reply, trying to sound as calm as she seems, shaking her hand.

You shake the man's hand as well, smiling kindly.

“She comes from France. She and her dad have come to the races,” Aemond tells her.

“Oh, nice,” she nods, “And your dad has come too?”

“No, he's resting,” you tell her softly, ”We fly back to France tomorrow.”

“Oh, then another time I will have the pleasure of meeting him. What is his name?”

You tell her his name and at that moment, you know what she is doing. In this world, it is of relevance to know what kind of people the driver is interacting with. It's obvious she wants to make sure her son isn't around just any girl and after Alys Rivers, you suppose all the more reason.

And honestly, you don't blame her. Your mom and dad are exactly the same. They want to see you next to a man who is on the same level as you or more, who can contribute. So it's no surprise but still, it makes you nervous.

“I'll be there in a moment,” Aemond tells her, over the photos, “I'll continue to introduce Y/N.”

“Don't be too long.”

She walks away along with that man and he starts directing you around the second floor of the yacht, pointing you out to his coworkers, telling you their names along with a few friends and distant relatives.

“She's my sister, Helaena,” he points out to you in the distance to a beautiful girl with silver hair, talking to a girl with black hair, “She comes with me on every race. She's in love with Oscar Piastri.”

You let out a small laugh, as you both slowly make your way over to her.

“I didn't see her in the garage.”

“She was in another section. She doesn't really like being in the garage,” he explains to you.

“And you have other siblings?”

As if you didn't know.

“Two brothers, Aegon and Daeron,” he nods, ”Aegon is the eldest and doesn't like to draw attention to himself. He decided to live his life quietly, away from all the press, social media and events, but he still supports me. Daeron is the one who wants to become a driver and for now he's practicing.”

“And he's the youngest?” you ask attentively.

“Yes,” he nods, “We have another sister, half sister actually. But we don't see her much, we're not very close to her and her own family. Still she supports us.”

The two approach towards Helaena and you are instantly captivated by her presence. She seems an absolute contrast to her mother, looking more like Aemond. Her silver hair falls in soft waves and her gaze has a dreamy gleam to it, as do her eyes.

“Hel,” her brother calls to her.

Helaena turns to you instantly, her lips curving into a sincere, warm smile.

“Oh, hi.”

“This is Y/N.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand to her.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking your hand.

“Targaryen,” speaks a fourth voice.

The three of you turn your heads and see a man dressed just as formally as the other men here. He says nothing, just watches Aemond and he seems to understand instantly, turning to his sister and you.

“I have to go talk to some people,” he says, then turns to Helaena, ”I'll leave her with you, okay?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I'll be back soon,” he tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Sure,” you nod, trying not to show how much that gesture affects you.

He leaves and you are left alone with Helaena, who smiles at you.

“Come,” she says kindly, leading you to the railing on the second floor of the yacht.

You follow her, enjoying your glass of champagne, as the soft clinking of glasses and distant laughter fills the air. Afterwards, the two of you lean against the railing, gazing at the lights of Monza reflecting off the water.

“Monza is beautiful, isn't it?” she asks you.

“Yes,” you nod, admiring the scenery, ”Really beautiful.”

She sighs.

“I wish it could all be like this,” she says delusionally, longingly, ”Just enjoying the world, without all these sophisticated people, the parties, the press and the constant pressure. Sometimes I feel like I'll never get used to it.”

“Really?” you look at her in surprise, ”But your family has always dominated this world.”

She laughs softly.

“Well… yes, of course, since my father's time,” she nods, “And now Aemond… in his early days, it wasn't easy. He just couldn't quite fit in with so much attention and so many eyes on him, until he did. Now he seems so flawless, so confident that even Daeron is following in his footsteps as well. But I…” she shrugs, “Despite growing up in all of this, I've never felt like I quite fit in.”

“You don't seem to,” you say, sincere, ”You have a very… calm presence. Like nothing can affect you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, ”Though I think that's more because I live in my own world most of the time.”

“It must be hard,” you murmur, admiring her honesty.

“It is,” she nods. “But it has its moments, too. When I'm traveling with Aemond, I feel like I can do something for him. Support him, be there when he needs it. That makes it all worthwhile.”

That makes you smile.

You thought about asking her why she didn't choose to walk away, just like her brother Aegon. But now that she has spoken to you like that about Aemond, you have an idea why she didn't.

You wish you could understand her better too, but you have no brothers or sisters. You're an only child and your dad's only heir.

“And speaking of my little brother… what's up with you and him?” she asks you interestedly, smiling softly.

This catches you off guard and again your cheeks burn, lowering your gaze for a moment.

“N-no, nothing,” you say nervously, ”We've barely met.”

“Still, he doesn't invite hardly anyone to these parties,” she points around, “He doesn't invite just anyone to watch the race in his garage either. Especially not anyone who isn't from the team or family.”

You take a sip of your champagne, nervous and blushing.

“Well… maybe he meant to be nice.”

“Maybe,” she cocks her head, ”But Aemond doesn't do anything just out of kindness. If you're here, it's because he wants you to be here.”

You watch her intently and curiously, that especially getting your attention.

“He's really not playing games with me?”

“No,” she smiles softly “Aemond can be… intense,” she confesses to you, “But he's a good man.”

The next few minutes, Helaena's company is delightful. You both talk about everything; the tifosi, Formula One circuits, some travel, anecdotes about her family, she asks you about yours too and you both get to know each other better. It's easy to chill out in her company and she doesn't make you feel lonely.

She also introduces you to a couple of people, making you feel more comfortable and included.

You see Aemond in different parts talking to different groups of people. He looks busy and also taking pictures, so you don't bother him. You continue touring the party with Helaena, even taking a couple of pictures and enjoying different cocktails.

Afterwards, Helaena is asked to take some pictures too, so she leaves you alone for a few moments. While she finishes, you decide to go up to the terrace on the third floor, where there are no people, to clear your head a little.

With a mojito in hand, you lean against the railing, admiring the view. The cool breeze caresses your face and, for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the party seems a distant echo.

You think the same as Helaena; you wish you could stay like this forever. But tomorrow you have to go back to France, to college and take care of your responsibilities.

“Running away from the party?”

Aemond's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, not expecting to hear him. Turning, you see him in front of you, his hands shoved in his front pockets and his gaze fixed on you.

“Not exactly,” you reply, smiling softly, ”I just needed some air.”

“Hm,” he says, then approaches you with nonchalant movements, placing himself next to you “You scared me for a moment,” he says as he admires the view, “I thought you were gone.”

You frown slightly, curious.

“Why?”

He shrugs.

“I don't know, it's too many people down there,” he points with his gaze, leaning against the railing, ”It can be overwhelming.”

You understand what he means and honestly… it surprises you.

There's something in his tone, in the way he's there with you, that makes you feel like this is the real Aemond, away from the cameras and the expectations. And you can't help but wonder; is he feeling this too?

This… whatever it is, so sudden, unexpected but intense and real.

You don't know what he's done to you. You're so interested in him. Too much. And not because of his job, his money, his importance and name recognition. But for just him and this side of him that he rarely shows to everyone.

You feel wanted for him. And you want him too.

“I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye,” you say, your tone soft but firm.

Aemond turns slightly to you, studying your face with that look that seems to disarm you every time.

“Tomorrow you return to France,” he says, his voice laden with something that sounds like resignation.

You nod slowly, averting your gaze to the water for a moment, trying to hide the mix of emotions boiling inside you.

“Yes,” you murmur, trying not to sound disappointed.

The thought of not knowing when you'll see him again, if ever, makes you feel more disappointed than you expected.

The schedule goes on. He has to keep working, keep racing in different parts of the world, attending interviews and races almost constantly, practicing and training. And you, you have to go home, focus on college and now update through social media about him and the results of each race.

And you can't be constantly traveling to the cities where the races will take place. You can't neglect your responsibilities.

“I have to go back to college,” you say later, forcing a smile that you hope will make the conversation lighter, ”Attend some of my dad's work events and all that.”

“What are you studying?” he asks you interestedly, cocking his head to the side.

“Business management.”

He nods, with that little sideways grin on his lips.

“Sure, how I didn't think of it.”

You let out a small laugh.

“It was obvious.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You both laugh softly, as the sound of conversations down there and the music slowly fades like a distant echo, making this little space of the two of you, alone and with this beautiful view, more enjoyable and comfortable.

“Well, that makes sense. But it sure can't be as bad as being on the road almost all the time, having to talk to a lot of people a day, attending events, taking pictures and having people recording everything you do either at work or on the street.”

You look at him, studying the contours of his face in the dim moonlight. There is something in his tone, a kind of hidden vulnerability, that he rarely allows himself to show.

“No, maybe not,” you murmur honestly, ”But still, it's exhausting to always maintain a good image at all these events and to be smiling all the time. You're seen as the most important, influential people with so much money and power that you simply can't make a single mistake.”

He is silent for a moment, as are you.

Equal worlds, different circumstances.

You both understand each other. There is nothing about each other's world that you are not used to. You understand all the attention that's on him, as well as the pressure and expectations, just as you are, in your business world.

“And yet, I can imagine you leading something important,” he says next, getting your attention.

His comment, as unexpected as it is sincere, warms your chest. And you smile softly, lowering your gaze. You are about to say something when he speaks again, leaning slightly toward you, watching you with renewed interest.

“Will I see you again?” he asks, his tone lower and more attentive.

Your lips part, but the words don't come out right away. You don't know what to say to him because, honestly, you don't know.

“I don't know,” you murmur, watching him intently.

“You don't know?” he repeats, his voice almost a whisper.

There's something about his tone, softer, sensual and almost hypnotic, that makes the air feel heavier. You can't help but swallow, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

He takes a small step toward you, and though you could back away, you don't. The little distance between the two of you begins to shorten imperceptibly, as if something larger and you don't understand is pulling you toward each other.

“Remember, you're my lucky charm,” he says, leaning toward you, ”And I need it.”

The confession takes your breath away, but you don't have time to process it. And before you can say anything, with alarms in your head going off to keep you from passing out, you don't know who closes the distance first, him or you.

But the next thing you know and you feel, it's his lips on yours.

A slow kiss that starts soft and exploratory, with Aemond testing the waters, trying to know if it's what you want too. And you lean closer to him, lifting your hands and placing your arms around his neck, being signal enough.

Time seems to stand still. The sound of the sea, the distant music of the party, everything dissolves. The only thing that matters is the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hands wrap around your waist in a firm and demanding way, drawing you even closer to him.

Your fingers, stroking his silver hair, and you cling to him as if you fear this moment could vanish at any moment.

You completely forget where you are, you completely forget about the party and you both simply focus on that moment. That moment… where it all began.

The next day, you had to return home, but the distance was not an obstacle. Communication with Aemond was not lacking.

He had to keep racing and you followed him at all times through the social media, you also talked to him by text or FaceTime, where you not only talked about work, but also about seeing each other again.

The break time between races varied. Sometimes it was a week, sometimes two, or even a month, and during those times, you both took the opportunity to see each other. Whether it was him visiting you in France or you traveling to London.

Soon, you started attending some of his races. You were excited to watch him compete, but you weren't prepared for the attention that began to surround you.

The media noticed your presence in the Ferrari garage, where you were always with your red headphones on, following Aemond's every move. Cameras caught more than once moments of you talking, laughing or sharing glances at post-race parties.

Ferrari fans and especially Aemond's followers began to speculate who you were. The interwebs were filled with questions, theories and pictures of you in the paddock.

At first, the photos were just captures of the two of you talking or walking together. They never took a video or a compromising photo of you with him, but everything changed the day someone captured the moment you kissed him before a race.

The video was posted almost instantly and social media exploded.

Then, there was no longer any doubt that you weren't the new girl he was dating. People had already found your Instagram and you decided to make it official, posting a picture with Aemond.

It didn't take long for the attention to intensify. People not only wanted to know who you were, but they started digging into every aspect of your life: your age, your country of origin, what you studied, your parents' jobs and their names.

Messages of support started pouring in, as well as messages of hate and criticism. It was something Aemond told you about from the beginning.

It was no surprise and eventually you stopped caring if people accepted you or not, nor what they might think and say about you because you both know what you are worth, not just for being his girlfriend, but for yourself.

And so people not only started to recognize you, but also to call you wag.

At every race, when they saw you in the Ferrari garage with the red headphones, the cameras would focus on you. On the giant screen, your name would appear next to his: Aemond Targaryen's Partner.

At first, you were uncomfortable with the attention, but gradually you realized that it didn't matter what others thought.

The only thing that mattered was what you shared with him, that bond that had begun on a magical night and that, against all odds, grew stronger with each passing day.

The British Grand Prix.

Every Formula One fan in the world is looking forward to the next big race at Silverstone, which starts in less than five hours.

You stretch as you yawn and immediately feel your boyfriend's strong arms around you holding you close to his body, still in his sleep.

You smile softly and turn your body towards him. His face is inches from yours, his eyes closed and breathing softly. You leave a soft kiss on his lips and then bury your face between his chest and neck, inhaling his clean, masculine scent, so characteristic of him and completely comforting.

You know today is a great day. He knows too. So there will be a lot of pressure today, both on him and on the whole team.

“You have to get up, my love,” you say finally, knowing he's not awake but not fully asleep either.

“Mgh,” he says reproachfully and sleepily, locking you more firmly in his arms.

You let out a small laugh.

“Come on. Today's a big day.”

“I don't want to,” he says in his hoarse voice, “Five more minutes.”

“Frederic will kill you,” you warn him amused, “And I don't want to be left single.”

He doesn't say anything. In fact he doesn't even move anymore, because he's trying to go back to his sleep. And you sit up a little, lying on top of his body, starting to run your lips all over his face, leaving resounding kisses.

“Hm,” he murmurs, his eyes closed.

“Come on,” you croon.

“No,” he says like a little boy, pouting.

You repeatedly kiss his cheek, then his forehead, his eyelids, his nose and finally his lips, not stopping and more in a way to tease him.

“That feels good,” he murmurs afterwards.

You let out a small laugh.

“Should work.”

Your next target is his neck and the moment your lips brush the skin of that area, you instantly feel his skin bristle and he cocks his head, giving you more access.

“You're not exactly making me want to get up with this, Y/N.”

You raise your gaze to him, with a smile.

“I'm not?”

“Hm…” he murmurs, placing his hands on your waist, ”No.”

“I have my ways.”

You sit up and swing one of your legs over his hip, sitting on top of him. You place both of your hands on his bare chest and this particular action gets his attention, finally getting him to open his sleepy eyes.

You smile like an angel and lean into him. As he watches you curiously and suddenly interested.

“This is supposed to make me want to get up?” he inquires you, now slightly amused.

“Did it work?”

“Well, I'm awake now. But for me to want to get up, having you on my lap like this, of course not.”

You let out a laugh, bringing your lips close to his, nuzzling his nose with yours.

“And how do you have me, exactly?” you murmur.

“So beautiful completely naked,” he says hoarsely.

“But you've woken up, haven't you?”

“You reminded me of what we did last night.”

He tells you in a completely different tone, and as you watch his eyes, you see that glint in his gaze.

You smile softly, looking him straight in the eye, not taking your gaze from his, to again sit up, still sitting on top of him, allowing him to have a perfect view of your bare breasts, right in front of him.

You push your hair aside so it doesn't get in the way of the view and he immediately groans. His burning, intense, desire-filled gaze makes you feel completely sexy and desired.

He purses his lips, his pupil dilated in desire, watching you completely, as if it's the first time he's seen you like this.

“We don't have much time,” you tell him later, leaning into him again.

“Five minutes seems enough to me,” he says, taking you by the waist, ”The perfect time to repeat last night.”

You don't reproach, you don't refuse, and you immediately accept his kiss.

He leans into you too, where one of his large, firm hands takes you by the nape of your neck to hold you exactly where he wants you, kissing you deeply and slowly.

You gasp softly into his mouth and bring both hands to his neck, clinging to him completely, moving your lips in rhythm with his. Then his tongue makes its way inside your mouth, making you feel a curious sensation in your lower belly.

It doesn't help that you're naked, completely. And the only thing he's wearing at the moment are his boxers.

You feel how your desire increases every second for wanting to feel his closeness, also that little tingle in your between your legs. You kiss him with more need, enjoying his warm, consuming lips, not wanting to stop and needing more.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps into your mouth.

You settle better into his lap, specifically just above his friend, where you instantly feel the hardness beneath the fabric of his boxers.

“Someone's already awake too,” you croon against his lips.

Aemond moans into your lips, feeling that heat expand in his chest again, just as he feels a fire begin to grow inside him. Not wanting to waste any more time, he holds you more firmly by the waist, wanting to lift you up and place you under him.

But noticing his intentions, you stop him instantly, placing your hand on your chest and pushing him back, leaving him right where he is, him against the mattress and you on top of him.

“Stop right there.”

“What?” he looks at you confused.

“Stay like this,” you tell him softly, ”Just this once.”

He doesn't understand at first, since he's usually the one who always takes control, because that's how he likes it and that's what he's used to. It's not like you weren't in control before either, but only for a few moments and then he does all the work.

Although… now, the idea of you being in complete control, he doesn't dislike.

“Now do you want to lead the race?” he asks you with a smile, placing both hands back on your waist.

“I want to take care of the winner of the race,” you tell him with the same tone he is using, amused and mischievous, ”Give him his trophy. Because he deserves it.”

Without wiping away his smile, he begins to trace small circles on the skin of your waist with both hands, moving down your thighs and the cheeks of your ass from time to time.

“The race hasn't happened yet.”

“But we already know who will win,” you say condescendingly.

“So we're celebrating in advance?”

You let out a small laugh.

“Yes.”

“And if I lose?”

You lean toward him, watching his lips.

“You're still the champion to me.”

With your hand around the edge of his jaw, you pull his face close to yours to kiss him again. His warm, moist mouth welcomes you back, kissing you needily and deeply with wet sounds.

His hands gently caress your curves as you again settle on top of him, with purpose. And both he and you moan as your naked pussy rubs against his covered cock, demanding to be released so it can be properly serviced.

You slide one of your hands down his neck, inhaling deeply to reciprocate his demanding kisses, as he continues with his hands on your hips, squeezing and rubbing you against him, letting you feel what's happening inside his boxers.

You let out a moan as you feel his stiff, hard, hot cock beneath you rub against you, where instantly your juices begin to flow and you feel your pussy begin to throb, sending waves of aching pleasure throughout your body, needing something inside you, soon.

“Hm,” Aemond gasps into your mouth.

Then he pulls his lips away from yours and begins to leave soft, wet kisses down your neck, starting a trail, making you gasp loudly and tilt your head to the side to give him more accessibility.

You begin to roll your hips on top of him and he grunts into your neck, then squeezes both cheeks of your ass and move harder on top of him back and forth, needing that friction for his relief.

You bite your bottom lip and moan, closing your eyes, feeling your desire coursing through you.

“So pretty, so fucking sexy,” he murmurs hoarsely, his warm breath hitting your bare skin.

You lower your gaze to him with your parted lips and breathing hard, still moving, watching as he focuses on your breasts and brings both of his hands to cup each one, kneading them in gentle motions, making you moan and arch your back towards him.

“I love my trophy,” he says to then take a nipple into his mouth.

He knows exactly how you like it when he licks and kisses your nipples with need, grunting in between his licks.

“Yes, like that, p-please,” you whimper, arching your back more and bringing one of your hands to his hair to push his face further against your breasts.

“Yeah? Like this, baby?” he says sensuously against your skin, to again draw your nipple into his mouth as he kneads your other breast with possessive, demanding motions.

“Yes, like this,” you say in gasps.

At the same time, you stop your movements and raise your hips a little, bringing one of your hands to touch his cock above his boxers.

Aemond's breath catches and he stops licking your nipple, continuing to knead your breasts as he watches you with his lust-filled eyes and parted lips.

Finally, you free his huge, hard, hot cock from his underwear and immediately wrap one of your hands around it from the base, caressing it with deep, long strokes.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts, watching you all the while with pleasure and utter voraciousness, especially feeling that pleasure every time your thumb brushes his sensitive, red tip.

Aemond bites his lower lip as he watches your entire naked body. He shamelessly watches your pussy glistening with your juices, then your face and finally your perfect breasts with the two hard nipples that make his cock throb in a painful but delicious way at the same time.

At least he's getting relief and friction from how you're touching him, but he needs more.

“I can't take it anymore,” he tells you, breathing hard, ”I need to be inside you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod immediately.

He sits up a little, his face right in front of your breasts, reaching out and sneaking one of his hands straight to your exposed pussy, stroking his long, pale fingers up and down your entrance, checking how wet you are.

“Oh, fuck,” he says with recognition, pleased, “You're dripping, baby. All this for me, right?” he lifts his gaze to you, still touching you.

He brushes his lips against yours, as he curves his fingers and they enter you, making you gasp into his mouth as you feel the ease in which they have entered you, so slick they make you close your eyes in pleasure, moaning.

“My pretty girl,” he murmurs fondly, “So good for me, ready to squeeze my cock in your pretty pussy, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you moan, then he kisses you deeply.

You wiggle your hips against his hand, needing that and more from him, but for now settling. No sooner does your boyfriend break the kiss, however, than he also stops inserting his fingers into you and instead brings them to his cock, soaking its red tip with your juices.

You bring his hand also to the base of his cock, stroking its tip with the lips of your pussy, moving your hips back and forth without taking it inside you yet, biting your lip.

“Fuck,” Aemond says in a whisper.

He bites his lower lip as he watches the way you play with him. Then he places both hands on either side of your body, watching you expectantly and in pleasure.

The feeling of relief makes a pleasure run through his whole body, accompanying the fact of seeing you like this; your slightly sweaty body, your perfect breasts with both hard nipples and your expressions of pleasure that only he causes in you.

Then, slowly, still holding the base of his cock against your pussy, you begin to descend, entering all of him in you.

“Oh m-my god, Aemond,” you moan loudly, feeling him open all of you as you close your eyes in complete delight.

You both moan and grunt deliciously. The sensation is too delicious and makes you feel wetter and wetter.

Aemond grunts and holds you tightly by the waist, letting out shuddering sighs, watching the way your pussy squeezes him all over.

“Squeezing me so fucking good," Aemond moans, "Fuck, baby."

“So good,” you praise, completely drunk with pleasure, ”So fucking good.”

Only he fills you like this, being exactly what you need. And without waiting any longer, you begin to move your hips against him.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he growls, ”Just like that.”

He lifts both hands and fondles your breasts, giving your hard buds attention with his tongue as you begin to bounce on his cock.

You gasp and moan at the sensation of his cock thrusting in and out of you and his hands caressing and kneading your breasts with possessive movements that send shivers down your spine.

You continue to move back and forth, moaning his name, feeling his warm breath against your breasts. You lower your gaze to him and watch as he releases your nipple with a wet pop and looks down at you with that twinkle in his eyes, still kneading them.

“Do you like it, baby?”

“Yes,” you murmur, rocking your hips on his cock, ”I love it.”

He takes the other nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as the last, as you moan at the delicious sensation.

Then he releases it with a wet pop and kisses you, as he moves his hands down to your ass, kneading both cheeks and squeezing the skin appreciatively, while you this time move your hips harder.

He grunts again and lets out a curse in your ear, hugging you tightly around the waist as you bounce on top of his cock.

You feel only more surges of pleasure that his cock calms as you watch his gorgeous face smooth but slightly contracted from intense pleasure, with a few strands of his short hair sticking to his forehead from his light sweat, looking so sexy.

Each drag of the head of his cock sends electricity throughout your body and a feeling of euphoria. His breathing is just as fast as yours, also hearing the slapping of your ass against his thighs each time you push him deep inside you again.

“That's it, baby. Just like that, fuck,” Aemond's voice cracks with a growl, from the intense sensations.

“Yes, yes,” you moan in his ear.

You rock against him, tightening around his big cock every time your skins meet.

“Fuck, you're so fucking tight,” he moans, moving slightly to get a better angle, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

And the next thing he does as he feels your walls contract around him, he wraps his arms around you and clasps his warm hands around you from the small of your back, grunts and begins to accompany your movements as he too thrusts his hips upward in hard, fast thrusts.

The air completely disappears from your lungs again and you moan louder.

“Fuck!” you whimper, closing your eyes in complete pleasure, ”Oh my-”

“I'm not going to last long the way you're squeezing me, baby,” he growls.

Your pussy squeezes him harder, making him grunt and curse with his brows furrowed in concentration, his cheeks flushed with heat and his lips half-open, breathing hard.

“Fuck, fuck,” you say quickly, clinging to him tighter in desperation.

He is driving you to the edge of the abyss, as he continues to ram your G-spot repeatedly and at the same time you feel one of his hands descend between your legs and begin to stroke his thumb over your bud with just enough pressure to make you moan and feel more pleasure on the verge of exploding.

“You've fucking ruined me,” he tells you between grunts and gasps, ”This is all I'm going to think about the whole race. You, my perfect girl,” he croons in your ear, ‘And my tight, little, perfect pussy."

As if the situation itself couldn't affect you more, his words do and you move with more fervor on top of his cock.

“D-don't say that,” you speak as best you can, “The team needs his driver. Especially to win on his own house. Oh fuck.”

“Believe me, I'm feeling pretty victorious right now.”

You bite your bottom lip and kiss him.

You feel like you're on fire, the sensation engulfing you completely. His hard cock hitting your exact spot is too much and makes you roll your eyes behind your skull.

And with three more strokes of his thumb over your clit, you get goose bumps and collapse on top of him.

You moan his name and every muscle in your body tenses at once, you tingle and your mind goes blank as you let out a high pitched moan louder than the previous ones and you see stars behind your eyes as a wave rolls all over your insides.

You feel the euphoria all over your head and you shake for a moment, almost aching from it all, feeling too much as Aemond continues to fuck you during your orgasm, reaching his own peak.

“Oh, fuck,” you hear him moan and with one last hard lunge, the hot, liquid stream of his cum filling you from the inside.

You watch as he drops his head back, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed, his cheeks flushed, his skin burning and the light sweat all over his body and forehead. Truly a sight that steals your breath away.

Pleasure burns all over you, it courses through your body and you gasp, breathing hard. Time seems to stop completely, as you both slowly begin to come down from the high, even with him inside you.

Then, you feel him leave a loving kiss on your shoulder, then move up your neck, your face and finally your lips. You laugh softly against his lips as he smiles at you and you kiss him deeply, loosened and weak, just as he does.

But you both know you can't be late for his work today. So once you are both recovered, you get out of bed and get ready for the day.

The time for the race finally starts.

There are cameras everywhere. All the people around the circuit with direct views of all the cars are excited. Fans are dressed in the merch of their favorite teams and holding big banners or flags while shouting the names of their favorite drivers in support.

All the people in charge of projecting the race live make the whole moment more exciting. The entire team of mechanics is ready. All the equipment is ready and the race will start in less than ten minutes.

You are in the garage, as usual, with Helaena at your side. She prefers to be in another section, but considering that you are in her and Aemond's country, she wants to bring all the good luck for her brother to win at home.

Not only she is here, there is also Aemond's mother Alicent with her two brothers, Aegon, who you finally have the pleasure to meet personally, Daeron and his grandfather Otto.

Even Aemond was surprised when they let him know that his older brother would be coming to support him.

That only added to the stress of knowing the great expectations that are upon him on this day, but it also made him happy to know that he will have his whole family supporting him from here.

You watch the screen in front of you, focusing on Aemond inside his red car, positioning himself on the grid just like the other drivers, ready to start the race.

Helaena places a hand on your shoulder in support mode and you smile softly, placing your hand on top of hers, as you both watch the screen that focuses entirely on Aemond.

You are both positive today, even if he doesn't win, everyone knows what a great job he has done and will still be very proud of him.

Aemond's dream has always been to win at Ferrari's home as well as his own in the same year. He has not managed to win at home, this would be the first time if at all.

Starting from fifth place, it's not too bad and you have to hope he can do it.

Then finally all the cars are perfectly positioned on the starting grid. Everyone in the place is attentive and ready. The countdown to the start of the race ends and the lights start to show their colors at the same time you hear through the headphones the voice of the presenters.

“We all set for the start of the British Grand Prix halfway through the 2025 season and… lights out!”

The driver speaks through your headphones and all the people out there scream in excitement as they watch all the cars start, beginning the race.

You watch Aemond intently and hopefully, watching as he takes advantage of passing the drivers in front of him on the starting grid, going from starting fifth, to second.

The applause and cheers are not long in coming, as is everyone in the Ferrari garage and Aemond's family. But they are not singing victory yet. It's only the first lap, fifty-one to go and anything can happen.

You don't know if he's thinking about what you both did this morning even though he said he would. You certainly are as you follow his footsteps across the screen. You can't see his face but when he takes off his helmet and you see him in his sports suit, it sets off all your alarms in you.

But… you know he was thinking about his prize you gave him this morning, when after two hours, you see and hear: “He is about to head to victory as he comes into the final corners here at Silverstone, the crowds are going crazy! Aemond Targaryen wins the British Grand Prix!”

The deafening roar of the crowd fills the air, mingling with the thunderous sound of the engines. The commentator continues to narrate with excitement as your eyes remain fixed on the screen.

Your heart is pounding, watching every movement of the red car representing Ferrari, representing Aemond.

The moment is surreal. You watch as it crosses the finish line, the car glistening in the Silverstone sun as the checkered flag waves. You can barely hear the commentator's voice amidst all the shouting and cheering from the crowd out there.

“Aemond Targaryen takes his first-ever victory at home! The Sapphire Prince has done it!”

The garage erupts in celebration. Everyone hugs, jumps and shouts as if they were the ones behind the wheel. You can't help but smile, eyes shining with pride.

You hug Helaena, Alicent, Aegon, Daeron and shake hands with Otto, as everyone smiles and is congratulated by more team members, proud of Aemond completely, as are you.

Finally the first three places arrive on the grid, Piastri, Verstappen and Targaryen. Photographers pile up, capturing every second, and you can barely contain yourself. You want to run to him, hug him, kiss him, but you hold back… for now.

Finally, you see him get out of the car, strike a pose, strike a pose, celebrate and run to his entire team, launching himself at all of them, as they all scream, celebrate and hug him.

You watch still from the garage, knowing full well that he has to take a drink of water, rest a bit in the middle of all the celebration and do a little interview. Afterwards, he has to wait with the other two winners for the awards ceremony to be ready.

Certainly, you can't get close to him until it's all over. But you see him at all times. Proud, attentive and completely happy.

You watch as he takes off his helmet and his silver hair, now damp from the effort, falls messily over his forehead and the smile he wears makes the air around you become unreal.

Then, you watch with pride as they place the gold medal around his neck, he holds his trophy above his head as he waves and smiles at everyone, finally culminating the award ceremony by opening the bottle of champagne and throwing the foam to his coworkers, at the same time that they also soak him.

And when it's all over… you finally go to him.

You hug him tightly, feeling his heartbeat still racing from the adrenaline of the race. You don't care that they're probably filming you, you just want to kiss him, hug him, celebrate with him, let him know how proud you are of him.

And that's what you do, you kiss him deeply and hold back your tears of emotion.

“You did it,” you say with your contained emotion, placing your forehead against his.

“No, we did,” he tells you, clinging to you with both hands on your waist.

You laugh softly and again kiss him, unable to get enough of him.

After all, he will always be the champion for you and you will always be his lucky charm.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #hotd aemond #modern hotd #au modern #modern aemond #aemond one shot #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut

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maudie-duan · 5 months ago

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Summary: Just Harry reeling over his Ex...All the angst Warning: 18+ Language, Major Angst, Mentions/Mature Content. W/C: 2.2k

I didn’t shed a tear the day you left.

I don’t know what you were expecting of me when every piece you took was a persistent reminder, a dull ache of all the missing parts of myself I could never get back.

Once, you told me, “Sometimes…I don’t think this is going to work, but then I see you, your face, and you make me forget about every fight we’ve ever had, and that scares me.”

Those words falling from your mouth as I held you, our naked bodies tucked beneath the sheets, me, watching the tranquil rise and fall of your chest, our flesh and bones lay heaped together.

Once easy lovers.

I felt your words spurring a fight within me, and I held my tongue, knowing I was seconds away from ruining the moment.

And there were so many fights, weren’t there?

How many nights did I spend waiting for you in hotel rooms, knowing it would end in tears, but I had to see you? I was hopeless for you. How was it that you managed to become the center of my universe, yet I was merely a turn in the revolving door of men that would soon follow—after us, after the inevitable…

When you screamed, “I hate you! I hate this—I hate who you’ve become…” Did you mean those words?

Because we were never going to last.

I can’t tell you how many nights I held you, thinking you could be the one that sticks, the one that lasts, and I never told you that. Was it my pride? No, I was a coward. I was scared to death.

Everything about you frightened me; my love for you was bigger than anything I’ve ever felt. You left a lasting effect, like black magic; you left me trembling at your every whim. How did you do it? How did you walk away and never look back?

How has it been nearly a year, and I still haven’t heard from you? Did you run? Did you see me becoming the flesh you said I was, all the demons you fought and kept at bay? Did you see them rising, swallowing any good you’ve ever made of me because you were the reason for any light that ever rose to the surface.

I wanted to reach out and tell you about the time I ran into your friend Samantha, how she turned into a loathing pit of self-sabotage. I didn’t care if I dug the hole further; your silence kept me anxious, repeatedly toeing the line between right and wrong, and I know there’s no excuse for why I did it; it just happened.

You know I never liked Samantha. You must admit I was patient with her. Her constant presence aggravated the shit out of me, not to mention she was one of your worst friends, yet you kept her around—why is that?

When she approached me at a party, cornering me in the kitchen, she asked if we had talked. It had only been four months then. I thought it was strange for her to be talking to me. It made me question her loyalty to you because I don’t think I have ever held more than a short conversation, maybe in passing, I don’t know, but I had nothing to say to her.

I was still bitter then, still angry with how you left.

When I dodged her question and asked what she had been up to, attempting to be polite, she must have taken it as an open invitation to monopolize my time, and as I nodded my head, barely listening to a word Samantha said, she started getting closer.

And then, there were more drinks, and I found myself laughing, which was weird because I couldn’t stand the person standing before me.

At some point, I caught sight of her wrist, that tattoo, the matching one you guys got on your 21st birthday. It was another reminder, agitating my thoughts with the idea of your absence, a gut punch that we no longer existed.

That’s when the tattoo became my focal point, pulling me under, and I downed another drink as the boundary between acquaintance and interest began to blur, the world around me faded into a faint chatter.

How many times had I kissed the soft, delicate skin of your wrist, that same tattoo staring back at me?

Sometimes, that black ink danced in my vision as you caressed my cheek, that same tattoo blurring into moments of passion, your wrist pumping up and down every time you stroked my dick, time and time again, the memory sharp across my vision, and I’m drowning in it—drowning in another drink, then Samantha’s hand is on my arm, no longer toeing that line.

I promise all I could see was that damn tattoo, and then in an obscure blink of an eye, it became yours because you were all I could think about, and when Samantha offered me another drink. I felt weightless and numb, my mouth barely moving, and I swear all I did was blink, and when I opened my eyes, Samantha was closing a door.

Another blink, and she’s on her knees, someone knocking on the bathroom door; I had no clue how we even got to that point.

Every blink became a distant memory of the seconds passing me by. Everything that was happening in that moment would solidify our ending.

Blink, hand, wrist, blink, hand, wrist, blink…until Samantha’s face had vanished—her head bobbing, moans slipping past my lips as the room spun, my vision dizzying, clouding into scattered motions, because I think I’m pulling my pants up now, me trying to focus on that same hand swiping the corner of a mouth that isn’t yours.

Then it’s all disappearing, and I’m closing my eyes, the world spinning way too fast, reeling away until I don’t even recognize the voices calling out to me—and like the miserable excuse for a human I am, I’m waking up in my bed, alone, just like before.

Unforgivable, I know—This is what I’ve become without you.

Maybe you think I haven’t shed a tear, but if you only knew how every thought has been for you, perhaps you would have changed your mind—I deserved the silence; I asked for it, but do you not think of me at all?

How was it so easy to move on?

Tell me, do you search for me in every facet of the men you meet?

The tiny similarities that are undeniable, or am I arrogant enough to believe you’d even care? You would never tell me, but I’ve seen it in the men you keep. That one guy that only wore Gucci, the other one swimming in tattoos, the current guy laughable because you said you would never date another Brit.

He was bold enough to take you on, but will he be bold enough to keep you?

I heard you sold your house, and now you live in London, prancing around the same streets that I walk. I wonder if you ever go to our same places if every landmark that grows more and more familiar will always have my face attached to it.

Remember when I begged for our future and told you I would buy you any house you wanted, and you cried, tears streaming as we yelled, the desperation suffocating us both? You said I would never commit, that my career would always come first, and I know it felt that way at the time, but why couldn’t you see that I was trying to think of our future? In my mind, you were always going to be part of that.

You called me materialistic, but how is a house, not a commitment?

A house is a house, but you would have made it a home; you were home for me—You were the milestone, a constant in the haze in which my days slipped past me. Watching as the seconds ticked away, seconds waning into time lost—The minutes may have passed us by, but at least we had each other.

Why was that never enough?

And now it seems like you’re the one running while I wait idle, watching you run circles around the life we could have had. Tell me, are you dizzy yet? You’ve almost changed everything about you; did you do it for him? I heard you’re busy now; never a moment to stop. Does it get exhausting waiting for the world to catch up?

Sometimes, when I walk the streets at night, going to our old places, I wonder if I’ll see you or if I’d recognize you. Have you seen me around? Do you want to see me?

I left you a voicemail the other day. Did you get it?

Just the other night.

Did you look at the date that morning and think of me? It would have been our four-year anniversary, and I know you weren’t a fan of celebrating silly made-up days…a silly day you called it. You never needed a specific day to celebrate our love because you were always good at that—thoughtful—I’m sorry if I never made you feel like you weren’t enough, because I think about it now. All the ways I could have been better, and isn’t that so fucking cliche?

I’m sorry that I called you drunk; one long message of me crying for a love you probably no longer feel.

Was he there? Does he know that I called? Did you see the message and wait until you were alone? Savor the sound of my voice pleading like you always wanted. Did it make you feel anything? When he held you in his arms that night, did you bask in a sense of belonging, or did you wish it was me? Because you’re all that I can think about. Why did you let me shine for so long, building us up, brick by brick, all the work we did, only to let it crumble under a foundation I thought would last forever?

We were more than the fights; tell me you remember the good. Tell me you wanted it to last. Tell me something. Please, just give me anything to believe in because I don’t think this is over.

Even if it’s been days since I called, tell me you’ve been thinking about me and what I said. I meant every word, drunk or not; they were still my words. Maybe you hate me? Because that, I could understand, because then there would be a reason as to why you never called. Listen, you have every right to hate me but just say one thing. Tell me anything; just don’t leave me in the dark forever.

The last thing you said to me was, “Harry, I love you, but love isn’t always enough…”

What wasn’t enough?

Do you want me to give it all up? It could all go away right now if that’s what you wanted, but I don’t think that’s it because I know you. We’re the same. You would get bored, and then I would get bored, and we would fight, and there would never be an answer, something to satiate that constant drive pushing you forward, and what is it that you wanted?

Why couldn’t you tell me?

I keep thinking back to the last time we made love. Did you know it would be the last time? When I laid you down in our bed, and I pressed my lips to yours, you pulled away, gazing up into my eyes, and whispered, “I love you…” that delicate look upon your face, that look that stole my breath as I pushed inside you. I heard you moan a soft sigh into my ear, moving our bodies to a rhythm that was ours, sinking into a sacred place that only we knew when our bodies pressed as one.

Where space between us didn’t exist.

A primal give and take, an exchange of breath, where roaming hands sought the purchase of familiar skin, we lay flesh to flesh, where shame never reared its ugly head. In a place where you knew me better than I knew myself, safe from the world, in your arms as our bodies moved and hardened, taking pieces of each other every second we could, with no thought of how those missing pieces would become the collective hurt that would haunt us in our days to come.

Is it better? Does he make you come? Do you ever come together? Does he make you come undone the way you like, the way you said no one else could do? Tell me, when he pushes in and out of you, is there a longing? A reminder of a missing piece. When it’s good, and you’re calling out his name, do you almost say mine?

What about me?

Does he drive you wild, push you to the edge like I did? Do you miss me at all? Do you miss anything about me? Tell me he’s a distraction and that all you needed was space because if you came back, nothing else would matter; all the time that’s stretched out between us, the bodies that have filled our beds, the temporary high of another was never enough, I promise, because when we were at our highest, there could be no another.

And as I pick up my phone, your name flashing across the screen, I’m desperate enough to answer, and then your voice fills the line, and I’m right back in that hopeless place, thinking maybe, just maybe, you’ll take me back.

A/N: Just a quick little story for whoever needs a little angst in their day. Harry down bad always gets me.

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alsofoundinpeas · 6 months ago

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A Gift of Belonging

Summary: Y/N often avoids family holidays due to her strained relationship with her family, who favors her brother. When Spencer Reid invites her to spend Christmas in New York with him and his mother, she discovers a new sense of warmth and belonging, making it the best holiday she’s ever had.

Requested fic!! 🥳: I was wondering if I could ask for a Spence and Y/N in which Christmas is approaching and Y/N usually spends it alone because she has a complicated relationship with her family that always favors her brother.

Maybe he has plans to go spend it with his mom and because they are in early times in their relationship he didn’t think to invite her, but once he finds out she’s alone, he takes her to meet his mom and they all have a really good time!

I was thinking something angsty, fluffy, and maybe smutty in the end? I don’t know, you’re the mastermind behind these beautiful creations, so whatever makes you feel inspired haha

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Very brief mention of alcohol. Strained relationship with family (repetitive I know). Oral (m!receiving), unprotected PinV sex (birth control is discussed beforehand but said conversation isn't actually in it), creampie (I wince every single time I type that). Fluffy holiday smut!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: Reupload because I'm a bingus head and accidentally deleted when editing FORGIVE ME PLS!! I loved writing this request!! Huge thank you to @dalamjisung for the request. I hope you like it :') The song mentioned in the fic is December by Ariana Grande btw, but it's only mentioned because reader listens to it, it isn't mandatory for the fic. I have a few more requests lined up after this one, so as for right now my requests are closed until all of them get posted. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all!!! :) <3

Y/N sighed as she stared down at the text from her mom, re-reading it a few times before tossing her phone to the end of her bed with a frustrated groan.

Mom: Hey sweetie! Are you planning to come home for Christmas this weekend? If not, I completely understand. Honestly, I’m just happy your brother will at least be here. I think he’s bringing his new girlfriend, too, so that’s exciting! He’s always so good about making time for family. But again, no pressure if you’re too busy. I know you have a lot going on!

Her excuses were starting to wear thin, seeing as she had played the flu card for last year’s Christmas party and faked a work emergency to skip Thanksgiving. But the thought of attending her family’s Christmas only to spend the night listening to her brother's achievements, followed by the inevitable barrage of condescending questions about her life, was unbearable. Call her a Grinch or a Scrooge, but the holidays had become her least favorite time of year for this very reason.

Unfortunately, it didn’t even matter if it was a holiday or not. It never changed. Her family had always favored her brother, even when they were kids. She had a never-ending list of chores and rules, while he breezed through life with no curfew and no accountability. Any mistake he made seemed to fall on her, and heaven forbid she stayed out five minutes later than she was supposed to with her friends.

Despite their constant claims that there were 'no favorites,' it was painfully obvious who the real favorite was.

Y/N lay staring at the ceiling, weighing the pros and cons of skipping Christmas this year. On one hand, it would be nice to see her grandmother—the one person who had actually kept her promise of no favorites. But she could always visit her grandmother separately and avoid the hassle of sneaking away just to have a real conversation. On the other hand, her family was already used to being disappointed in her. What was one more excuse? She could always make it up next year.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity of indecision (though it was really only five minutes), she finally decided to skip Christmas again this year and stay home. Her family mostly gave money as gifts now that they were all adults, so she wouldn't be missing much—just a meal (takeout had never let her down) and some forced small talk with extended family (who never really seemed interested in her life anyway).

Y/N: Hey, mom! I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to miss this year too. There’s a bug going around at work and I’m worried I caught it :(

Her mom’s answer was immediate, and the guilt lifted from her shoulders as she rolled her eyes at the response.

Mom: Poor thing! You just have the worst luck when it comes to holidays huh? Your brother must have taken all the good immune system genes or something LOL!! That’s okay, dad and I will mail your gift and I’ll send you lots of pics. Hope you feel better soon!

After firing off a quick 'Thanks, love you!' Y/N rose from the bed, let out a sigh, and wandered to the kitchen for a bottle of wine.

She’d tried to convince herself that her parents' indifference no longer hurt, but what had dulled into a constant ache over the years flared into a sharp sting during the holidays. No one wanted to be alone at Christmas, but she knew she had to prioritize her peace of mind—and that meant avoiding an entire day spent deflecting passive-aggressive jabs while her brother soaked up all the attention.

The one person who could make her feel better was across the country, tied up with a case. She wasn’t upset with him—far from it. Y/N admired the work he did and the way he dedicated himself to saving people without ever getting the recognition he deserved. Still, it had been over a week since she’d last seen Spencer, and all she wanted was to curl up in his arms and hear him tell her that everything would be okay.

As if the universe had picked up on her tension, a knock at the door startled her, causing her to jump with a racing heart. She froze, eyes darting to the door, considering whether she should quietly move toward the knife block in case a dangerous stranger stood outside. It was barely 8:30, and she hadn’t been expecting anyone.

After a second round of knocks, relief washed over her as a familiar voice called "Y/N? Sweetheart?" She rushed to the door, unlocking it as quickly as she could and flinging it open to find an exhausted-looking Spencer standing on the other side.

“Spence!” Y/N cooed excitedly, wrapping her arms around him tightly before pulling him inside. “When did you get back? I thought you guys wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night?”

Not that she was complaining at all. She loved any time she could spend with Spencer. They’d only been dating for a little over two months, but she’d already fallen hopelessly in love with the sweet genius that she met when he accidentally stumbled into her while in line at their favorite coffee shop (she later found out it was no accident and that Morgan intentionally shoved him into her because Spencer was too afraid to make the first move).

“Technically we weren’t supposed to be, but we ended up getting a confession so it took way less time than we anticipated to finish the case. And with Christmas coming up this weekend, Gideon figured the sooner we got home the better,” Spencer explained with a small, tired grin as he slipped off his shoes and sat his satchel down. “I hope you don’t mind that I showed up, I just really missed you. I tried to call beforehand, but I thought maybe your phone was dead or something...” His eyes caught sight of the wine bottle on the island and paused, arching a brow before glancing back down at her. “Rough night?”

Y/N blew out an exasperated huff of air, nodding as they made their way over to her couch. She cuddled into his side immediately, relishing in the feeling of finally being able to do so. Spencer had been hesitant when they first started dating with physical touch, but once he pushed past the initial discomfort, he couldn’t get enough of her affection.

“Yeahhh. I had to tell my mom that I’m not making it home for Christmas again this year and it just… stressed me out a bit.”

Spencer’s face scrunched in confusion, looking down at her worriedly. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. Are you not feeling good? Or what’s stopping you from going?”

Right. They hadn’t had the whole “I love my family from a distance because they act like brother is Saint Michael himself” talk yet. Y/N nibbled at her lower lip, fidgeting with her hands before sighing.

“I… um, it’s complicated. I just prefer not to see my family around the holidays because they’ve always had this weird favoritism for my brother and as I got older I just decided it wasn’t worth sacrificing my peace for.”

Spencer frowned, nodding in understanding before his face lit up with realization.

“Well, if you’d like, you could join me and my mom for Christmas? If you don’t want to be alone, that is. Not that I’m trying to pressure you into meeting her! I just planned to check her out of the sanitarium this weekend and bring her to New York City since she’s been doing better on her medication. I’m sure she’d love to meet you, and I, of course, love any time I get to spend with you—“ Spencer began, his words tumbling out nervously as his face flushed and his voice pitched higher.

Y/N’s heart skipped at the invitation, her face lighting up into a wide grin as she gently cupped his face, halting his nervous rambling. He met her gaze, and she smiled softly. "Spencer, I’d love to join you and your mom for Christmas—only if you’re really sure you’re okay with it."

Spencer had first mentioned his mother's illness on their third date, explaining himself after abruptly excusing himself to take a call from her nurse. It was also the night of their first kiss—he had started panicking, flustered and trying to explain his sudden exit, and Y/N thought he might cry. So, she kissed him to calm his nerves. Once he’d settled down, she reassured him that it was completely fine, that she understood how important his mother was to him, and that she’d love to learn more when he was ready to share.

That night, Spencer realized, without a doubt, that he was falling in love with her.

"It’s settled then," Spencer said with a grin, leaning forward to kiss her quickly. "I’m so excited to spend Christmas with my two favorite people. I was actually thinking we could get tickets to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center—"

Y/N listened intently, her heart swelling as she gazed at him with stars in her eyes, enchanted by his excitement as he shared the plans he’d made for the weekend. Although a little nervous, she couldn’t wait to share Christmas with him and his mom. They continued to plan the weekend, finalizing details between sleepy kisses and small yawns until they finally caved to their exhaustion and went to sleep.

The weekend arrived faster than she expected, and nervous excitement washed over Y/N as she waited for Spencer to pick her up from her apartment. She was packed and ready, excited to meet his mom and see New York City sparkling with Christmas decorations. For the first time in years, she felt something other than dread for the holiday, and she couldn’t be more grateful for her sweet boyfriend because of it.

Spencer had picked up his mom the day before, carefully explaining the plan to her during the drive home and making sure she felt well enough to go ahead with it. Diana was overjoyed at the idea of Y/N joining them for Christmas, assuring him she was feeling fine and could hardly wait to meet her.

For the first time in ages, Spencer felt like he had his mom back, her treatment progressing far better than he'd hoped. All it did was make him even more excited for the weekend ahead, his anxiety easing with each hour spent in the car on the way back to his apartment. It was comforting to open up to her about Y/N and to share what had been happening in his life beyond the letters he wasn’t sure she even remembered receiving.

The weekend turned out even better than Spencer had hoped. Diana and Y/N hit it off so well that Spencer found himself mostly on the sidelines of their conversations, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. It filled him with happiness to see his mom and the woman he was now certain was the love of his life getting along so effortlessly.

They had packed in every Christmas activity they could think of: admiring the lights, sipping hot cocoa, watching The Nutcracker... anything that felt festive was crossed off the list. By the end of the weekend, Diana was almost pleading with Spencer to make Y/N her daughter-in-law on the drive back to the sanitarium. Spencer could only laugh nervously, promising to do his best to make it happen.

Once Y/N got home, she knew she had to find a way to thank Spencer—not only for giving her the best Christmas of her life but also for being the most amazing boyfriend she could ever have hoped for. He was going to come back to her place tomorrow so they could exchange their gifts for each other, so whatever she did, she had to do it then before he inevitably got called in for another case. The real question was: how could she possibly show him just how grateful she was?

With a sigh, Y/N turned on her playlist and settled onto the couch, trying to brainstorm ideas. It felt like the harder she thought, the less her brain worked. After agonizing over ideas for nearly fifteen minutes, Y/N was at her wit's end, ready to settle for a card and a lengthy essay to express her gratitude, when the lyrics of the song playing suddenly grabbed her attention.

Merry Christmas, here I am, boy

I'm the present and you know it, here I am, boy

She sat up suddenly, a victorious grin spreading across her face as the perfect idea popped into her head. She and Spencer had yet to make it past second base, not for lack of desire, but because the opportunity never seemed to align—each time they got close, his phone would ring or something would interrupt, stopping them in their tracks. Tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity to finally take that next step and for her to show her appreciation for the sweet genius.

There was a perfect dark red satin lingerie set at a nearby boutique that would bring her vision to life, but it closed in just thirty minutes. Y/N threw on some clothes, making sure she looked presentable, then grabbed her keys and purse and rushed out of the apartment.

The cashier shot her a glare as she approached the counter, and Y/N internally groaned. She already felt like an asshole for being there so late, but she did still have fourteen minutes to spare before they actually closed. The guilt vanished when she met the cashier’s icy stare, and she grabbed her purchase with a mumbled thanks before she hurried out of the store. Sue her for wanting to look sexy for her boyfriend on Christmas.

The next day seemed to drag on, with Y/N anticipating the surprise she had planned for Spencer.

She cleaned the apartment until it was spotless, setting the perfect mood with scattered scented candles and dimming the lights. The room was softly illuminated by her Christmas tree—one she had convinced Spencer to help decorate at the start of the month—and a few strands of lights she had strung up. All of the presents were ready and waiting to be unwrapped.

Now all she was waiting on was Spencer himself.

Three firm knocks echoed at the door, marking his arrival—right on the dot at 5:00. As punctual as ever. Y/N opened the door with a thrilled smile, eagerly tugging him inside.

"Woah, hey! Hello to you too, sweetheart," Spencer chuckles loudly, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, so excuse my enthusiasm,” Y/N said with a soft laugh. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry. We can do presents first and then eat, or eat and then unwrap them—whatever you prefer. I honestly could do either, it doesn't matter to me and of course, you're the guest so—”

Spencer grinned as she nervously rambled, her hands gesturing wildly as she listed off options. It was oddly comforting to him that she got just as nervous around him as he did around her. Even though she had quickly become the person he felt most at ease with, a part of him still felt those nerves—after all, she was the most incredible woman he’d ever met, and the thought of messing things up and losing her terrified him.

“How about we eat first and then open presents? Is that okay with you?” Spencer suggested, offering a small smile.

The tension in Y/N's body eased as she returned the smile, nodding in agreement. "That sounds perfect."

Dinner passed with casual conversation, both Y/N and Spencer chatting between bites about everything from the new book she was reading to the latest research paper Spencer had discovered and found fascinating. They ate more quickly than usual, both eager to exchange the gifts they had carefully picked out for each other. It wasn’t long before they were done, clearing the table and loading the dishes into the sink before heading into the living room.

The two of them sat together in front of the tree, feeling as giddy as a couple of kids as they finally began to exchange presents.

Spencer slowly unwrapped his first gift, his eyes softening as he revealed the delicate, intricately designed watch she'd chosen for him—a gift that held both practical value and deep sentimental meaning. He glanced up at her, a shy but sincere smile spreading across his face, and she felt the warmth in his gaze. “This is… perfect, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. I’ll wear it every day, I promise."

“Always, Spence. I’m so glad you love it,” Y/N murmured, her eyes filled with affection as she watched him. She recalled how devastated he’d been when his previous watch had broken a few weeks ago. Though hers wasn’t as extravagant as his old one, it meant far more to him—because it came from her.

Y/N cherished every gift he gave her: a whimsical coffee mug to add to her collection, a journal with a playful inscription from him that made her laugh—promising she'd have a place to rant about her family when he wasn’t around to listen, a couple of books from her wishlist, and, lastly, her absolute favorite: a delicate locket on a thin chain, holding the first picture they’d ever taken together.

Once all the gifts were unwrapped, Y/N smiled and stood up, holding her hand out to Spencer. He looked at her in confusion but took her hand without hesitation, allowing her to lead him to the couch.

“Keep your eyes closed and stay right here. Your final gift is in my room,” Y/N instructed, a mischievous smile curling at her lips. As soon as his eyes were shut, she darted down the hallway to her room, stifling a soft giggle at the surprise she was about to unveil.

When she came back, she positioned herself between his legs, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “Alright, Spence… you can open your eyes now.”

Spencer opened his eyes, nearly choking as he took in the sight in front of him. Y/N was standing there in a beautiful lingerie set, the bra designed so that it was a bow that he could untie to reveal her... Just like a present.

“Holly shit,” Spencer breathed, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the rare curse slipping from his lips. Spencer hardly ever swore, so hearing it from him spoke volumes about how much he liked what he saw.

"So I take it you like it?" Y/N arched a brow, resting her arms on his shoulders.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Spencer stammered, looking up with wide eyes as Y/N climbed into his lap.

Y/N settled into his lap with a coy grin, reveling in the feeling of his hands coming up to grip her waist. She leaned in, brushing her nose lightly against his before softly grazing her lips across his.

"I wanted to show you my appreciation..." Y/N whispered, placing a brief but tender kiss on his lips before trailing kisses along his jawline. "...for giving me the best Christmas ever."

Spencer blinked hazily, her words taking a second to process in his mind as the sensation of her lips now sucking a mark into his skin became the center of his focus. His grip on her waist tightened imperceptibly as his fingers flexed against her warm skin. He swallowed hard before finally mustering up an answer.

"Y-you don't have to thank me, baby. All I ever want to do is make you the happiest you've ever been—"

Spencer's words came out as a squeak as she rocked her hips once against the erection now straining in his slacks. His head fell back onto the couch with a soft thump, a quiet whimper slipping from his lips at the friction. The scent of her perfume enveloped him, a fragrant haze that clouded his thoughts and left him feeling lightheaded, as if he were drowning in its sweetness.

The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, the sight of his dilated pupils stirring more in her than she was willing to admit. Y/N smirked, repeating the motion to hear the soft noise fall from his lips once more. She lifted a finger to his lips, shushing him before she moved to kneel between his legs.

"I want to, Spence. Please?"

Spencer nodded so vigorously it almost looked painful, his wide eyes locked on hers in stunned disbelief. He couldn't believe this was real... that he not only had her to begin with but that she was on her knees begging to make him feel good. The breath rushed from his body as her fingers trailed up his thighs to the button of his slacks, popping it open while she kept her hungry gaze on his.

His body trembled in anticipation as Y/N dragged the fabric down his legs, tugging them off once they reached his feet and casting them off to the side. He whined as she leaned forward to mouth over his aching cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, his fingers twitching from where they rested beside himself. His breath hitched in his throat as she dragged her nails down the inside of his thighs, a smug grin on her face as she watched him dig his nails into his palms.

Y/N decided she'd teased him enough, placing a kiss on his hipbone before swiftly removing his boxers. Spencer's hips lifted from the couch, jerking toward her mouth instinctively as she wasted no time in leaning forward to lick a thick stripe up the side of him before taking his swollen head between her lips.

"Oh—" Spencer gasped, his eyes struggling to stay open as he watched her begin to swallow his length. "Oh my God, Y/N—"

Y/N smirked around her mouthful, taking him as far into her throat as she could before wrapping a hand around what couldn't fit. She began to bob her head slowly, easing him into the sensation. The feeling of him—hot and hard and filling her mouth so perfectly—had her squeezing her thighs together as she began to move more vigorously.

Spencer writhed beneath her as her mouth and hand began to work in tandem, his eyes fluttering shut despite his efforts to watch her every move so he could burn the sight into his memory for later use. His hips bucked up when she took him into the back of her throat, a guttural groan falling from his open mouth at the gag that emitted from her from the motion. His eyes shot open as he began spewing out apologies, but his words died in his throat as she pulled off of him to shake her head vehemently.

"Do it again," Y/N croaked, taking him back into her mouth and reaching up to guide his hands to her head.

Spencer whimpered pitifully, exhaling sharply before tentatively repeating the motion. His heart nearly fell out of his ass when Y/N moaned around him, encouraging him to keep going. His hips thrust rapidly into her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut now as moan after moan spilled from his lips.

"I-I'm close— sweetheart, please," Spencer groaned, lights flashing behind his eyes as she all but sucked the soul from his body. "Can I— Can I fuck you? Please? Wanna make you feel good, too."

Y/N moaned loudly around him at that, pulling off of him with a slick 'pop' before nodding vigorously. She was drenched, the sounds Spencer made having turned her on more than most men had in the past with their entire bodies. She hurriedly climbed into his lap, not even bothering to take her panties off and instead pulling the fabric to the side as she lined him up at her entrance.

They'd previously agreed that since they were both clean and she was on birth control they'd skip using a condom. They just never had the chance to actually get on with it... until now, anyway.

The sight of her swollen lips and watery eyes had Spencer captivated as his hands automatically found their home on her thighs, rubbing gently as she eased herself down onto him. If someone had told him six months ago that he'd ever be lucky enough to experience this—having the most beautiful woman he'd ever met as his, riding his cock like she was made for it—he would have laughed in their face. But now, all he could do was sit back and watch her in awe as she took every last inch of him into her core, speechless as he marveled at the sight. His brows pinched together as her walls enveloped him, his mouth gaping open as she bottomed out with a loud moan.

Y/N's head tipped back as a moan wrenched its way from her throat, her hips moving in small circles as she adjusted to the stretch of him inside of her pussy. She had never felt so desperate for someone before, but she wasn't surprised. It was Spencer—the man she admired more than anyone. The man who treated her like she was everything, simply for being herself. The man who reminded her every day that she was worth more than she’d ever believed.

Neither one of them was going to last long, a realization they both came to as she lifted her hips and dropped them down into his lap as she began to ride his cock. But that was okay. They had all night to make each other feel good.

“How does that feel, sweet boy? Hm?” Y/N panted, falling forward to rest her face in the crook of his neck as she rocked against him with frantic, needy movements.

All Spencer could do was whine loudly as he clung to her, planting his feet on the ground and moving his hands to cradle her back as he began to rut up into her. He was borderline delirious with pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him driving him mad with the need to make her fall apart in his arms. The movement served to drive him repeatedly into her G-spot, the both of them crying out and latching to each other as Y/N trembled above him.

"So good," Spencer finally grunted, moving his hands up to hastily unwrap the bow restricting his access to her breasts. His lips latched onto her right nipple, sucking and nibbling as his hand came up to pinch her neglected bud. "You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart." He mumbled against her skin, laving over the pert bud and groaning.

Y/N cried out, her hands tangling into his hair as she rode him harder. It was almost feral the way they moved together, needing each other in a way words couldn't describe. The couch creaked beneath their movements, but she couldn't care less. She only cared about making the man underneath her feel the best he ever had.

Her walls began to clench around him as she whimpered into his shoulder, signaling her impending climax. Spencer slid a hand down from her breast to instead rub at her clit, lifting his head to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. It only took a few circles of his skilled fingers before Y/N was chanting his name into his mouth like a prayer, her eyes squeezed shut as she came hard around him. Spencer's orgasm was almost simultaneous with hers, the sensation of her walls squeezing his cock triggering his climax almost violently as he pumped into her with soft sobs.

Their chests heaved as they slumped against each other, caressing each other with gentle touches as they caught their breath. Once Y/N could sit up, she lifted off of his softening cock with trembling legs, a giggle spilling from her lips as he whined in discontent. She placed a lingering kiss on his lips, effectively shushing him before she stood from the couch to go get a rag.

When she came back, Spencer reached for her with needy hands, wanting to feel her against him once more. They tended to each other with soft murmurs of praise and gentle kisses, their love unspoken but evident in every touch and gesture. Once they were cleaned (and Spencer had all but shoved her toward the bathroom so she could pee to avoid getting a UTI), they stumbled into her bedroom and into her bed.

It was in Spencer's arms, as he drifted off to sleep, that Y/N finally understood just how special the holidays could be—made all the more meaningful by the sweet genius she was fortunate enough to call hers.

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x self insert #Spencer Reid x you #criminal minds smut

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qatarsprint2023 · 9 months ago

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𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗇!𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

trying for a baby with businessman!rafe — soft!rafe, allusions to sex and infertility word count: 1k

Rafe and you had been engaged for about half a year when the subject of kids first came up. It wasn’t really a question of if but more of when. You both knew you wanted a family, and there was no doubt in either of your minds that one day you’d be parents.

Your life seemed almost perfect—successful careers, a beautiful home by the water and a love that ran deep. The only thing left, besides finally becoming husband and wife, was to start a family and the thought of that brought a new kind of excitement into your life.

At first, trying for a baby was thrilling. It meant sex— lots of it. Rafe would come home from work, and you’d be waiting for him in the kitchen while making dinner, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of panties.

You were so sure it wouldn’t take long before the two of you would have that joyful announcement to share. Every few weeks, you’d take a pregnancy test, and even though each one came back negative, you shrugged it off. It was still early, after all. These things take time, right?

As your wedding day approached, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself walking down the aisle with a small, adorable baby bump, visible under the gorgeous, gorgeous dress you and Rafe had spent a pretty penny on. In a way, you'd secretly hoped the timing would be perfect and all of your guests would be congratulating you on the happy news.

But even after your two weeks of honeymoon, which, if we're being honest here, pretty much consisted of finishing every day off on a sweet, sweet high in the bedroom, ended with yet another negative test, the first flickers of worry set in.

The two of you read countless books on fertility, tracked your ovulation cycle meticulously and tried every tip, trick, and old wives' tale you could get your hands on. But as the months of trying turned into a year, your optimism began to wane.

The casual "When are you two finally going to have a baby?" questions from well-meaning friends and relatives became increasingly painful and you found yourself withdrawing from social events, dreading the inevitable baby talk.

Rafe, meanwhile, threw himself into his work, trying to distract himself from his growing anxiety by working until almost midnight and leaving early in the morning on some days.

The, what had once been joyful, anticipation of parenthood had turned into a constant source of stress for him and sex started to feel like a chore— scheduled and not with the intention of pleasure but the goal of finally getting pregnant after so many months.

Every negative pregnancy test ended in tears, with Rafe holding you close, whispering reassurances you weren’t sure either of you fully believed anymore. You knew hope was fragile and yours was crumbling.

You began to dread the sight of that single pink line, and eventually, the thought of taking another test became unbearable. You were tired of the heartache, tired of the constant hope only to be met with disappointment. Maybe, you started to think, the universe had other plans. Maybe, no matter how much you wanted it, parenthood just wasn’t in the cards for you and Rafe.

It was a warm evening in July, and Rafe had come home from work about half an hour ago. The weight in your chest and that familiar lump in your throat refused to disappear even as Rafe gently encouraged you to take one last pregnancy test over dinner. You had lost count of how many you’d taken by now, and the idea of seeing another negative result filled you with dread. You didn't want to try anymore... it wasn't fair.

And now, as you were standing in the bathroom, you didn’t expect anything different than the last dozen times. Your hands shook like crazy when you picked up the test, trying not to feel hopeful and get your heart shattered like every time before.

It took a moment for your brain to process what your eyes were seeing.

Two lines. Two.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stumbled out of the bathroom, the test trembling in your hand.

Rafe looked up as he sat on the living room sofa, his face full of uncertainty, and when he saw the look on your face, the world seemed to stop.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice low and cautious, eyes searching yours for some kind of answer.

But you couldn’t speak. The words were stuck somewhere between disbelief and joy, your throat tightening with emotion. All you could do was nod, a shaky smile beginning to form as your hand trembled, holding the test out toward him.

Rafe stood up slowly from where he had been sitting, a nervous, hopeful laugh escaping his lips. "No... no, you’re kidding. You’re kidding, right?"

His hands reached out, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His eyes were wide, scanning your face as if he was waiting for you to say it was all a joke, something too good to be true.

You shook your head again, unable to find your voice, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

"Lemme see..." Rafe whispered, his hands moving from your face to the pregnancy test still clutched in your fingers. He took it from you, his own hands trembling now as he looked down at the small plastic stick.

It took a moment, then, in a rush, the realization hit him. "Oh my god..." His voice was barely more than a whisper at first, then louder, more excited, as the truth sank in. "Oh my god, baby... oh my god!"

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight and warm, lifting you slightly off the ground as he buried his face in your hair. His laughter was mixed with tears, and you felt the hot, wet drops on your shoulder as he held you close and whispered sweet words over and over again.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him just as tightly, your heart soaring with a mix of happiness and disbelief.

The two of you stood there for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, soaking in the moment and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

#qatarsprint2023 #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe x reader #businessman!rafe #pregnancy #infertility

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red-dye40 · 2 months ago

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LOOK EVERYONE BEE'S MAKING ANOTHER LONG TEXT POST!

LET'S ALL READ IT AND REALLY REALLY ABSORB EVERY LAST WORD!

Hello, it's me, Bee. I'm typing with proper capitalization to show you how serious this post is.

Recently, and especially yesterday, I've been getting increasingly upsetting and alarming engagement from fans (it feels stupid saying "fans" but also maybe my overfamiliarity is part of what's biting me in my huge ass.)

I am always of the mindset of letting people do their freak shit, never yucking anyone's yum, etc etc, but I think I have to start being a lot more explicit about where I stand on some things.

First of all, I want to specify upfront that Newfag Runs The Gauntlet is a work of fiction, and what's more, it's very explicit social commentary. You are Not supposed to root for Newf. He is purposefully Not A Good Person. That goes for pretty much everyone in NFRTG in fact; like, yes the CrowdSauce posts are funny and ridiculous, but if you find yourself reading some of the more violent and disturbing parts of those threads and being like "woah that's just like me!" then I urge you to understand that it's not a Good thing.

NFRTG isn't written to be representation for paraphiles or radqueers. I in fact do not use either of those terms to describe myself, because I personally am deeply uncomfortable with how broad and vague and muddy the definitions are, and how it invites and potentially encourages some really unsavory behavior. NFRTG is a cautionary tale first and foremost. It's a horror novel because it is SCARY how willingly all these characters agree to ruin people's lives for a laugh. It's also FUNNY because I am very funny :) and it's HOT and you can think it's HOT because I do! And definitely write parts of it to be hot and horny! That's part of the horror, too! Not knowing whether you're disturbed or disgusted or aroused! But please please please know that these characters are Not the good guys. There are really no good guys to be found. Intentionally. And that's not a Good Thing.

I'm going to take a big big BIG step back from fandom engagement for my own sake. There inevitably comes a point where creators kind of can't afford to keep up intense fan engagement and I think I'm there, so I'm gonna untrack my tags and let you all have your fun without mommy breathing down your neck. If you want me to see something, you can tag me or submit it to the site for sure! I WANT to see your art and writing and theories and all that! I LOVE it! I just don't think I need to be privy to ALL of it.

My closing remark is I am so grateful and so lucky to have gotten such a following so fast. Pretty much everyone I've interacted with has been very kind and sweet and curious, and I so admire that. What a lucky little bug I am! I want to keep feeling positively about my work and the impact it's having on others, so I urge everyone to approach NFRTG with a critical eye, understand that I am very much Pointing Out A Problem when I write characters doing or saying terrible things, understand that I very much Don't want people to kill themselves or each other, that I don't think these behaviors are just things we should turn our backs to. I was once a deeply suicidal, nihilistic, self-entitled channer who frequented gore sites and watched awful shit for fun. That was not good, and it took years of therapy for me to even START to unpack that and crawl out of that hole of self destruction. But I'm so much happier and healthier and better off now that I'm away from all that, and I will always encourage people to do the same. I really really would prefer it if people stayed alive and helped themselves and didn't harm others. That is my ask.

Thank you for your reading and I love you and I LIKE you. Please be safe and good :)

#nfrtg #newfag runs the gauntlet

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triplefrontierbabe · 24 days ago

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Undressed

summary: life as you know it, crashes and burns.

pairing: Logan Sargeant x f! reader (Kyle Kirkwood's younger sister)

warning: angst, hurt, language, 2024 Dutch GP...

a/n: this is part one of a multi-part series In This Life?

part two | part three | part four

August 2024

Your life crashed and burned fast. And so did his. There were already rumors that he wouldn’t finish the season but you— or anyone— hadn’t imagined it would be that abrupt of an ending.

You watched the race from your and Logan’s place back in London, since you were in a busy season of work. And worse of all, you saw practice and Logan’s crash. Deep down, you understood that given all the rumors that were swirling that this inevitably threw a larger, heavier wrench in his career.

Even once Logan returned home, there was still that heaviness. The unspoken knowing that things were about to take a sour turn. He barely spoke to you, and you didn’t want to pry so you kept some distance.

In order to take your mind off things, you opted to go out to a cafe to try to distract yourself. That was until your brother called.

“Did you see the news?” Kyle asked the moment you answered the call.

Your heart dropped faster than you could catch it.

“You don’t mean-”

“Williams dropped him.” Your brother said matter-of-factly.

What do you say to that? The whole purpose for Logan’s life was just cut short, just like that. Immediately dropped and quickly replaced.

“I have- uh I have to go.” You responded while ending the call as you frantically gathered your things and made a quick exit from the cafe.

Before you even stepped foot in your home, there was this dark cloud of dread that was hanging over you. There were hundreds of words running through your mind on how to approach Logan for when you walked inside.

The next few moments were a blur until you saw him standing in the living room, facing the window.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” Was all you managed to say when he turned around to look at you, his eyes red and puffy.

And he just stood there and said nothing for a good two minutes. His eyes were blank, brimming with tears that he furiously kept blinking back.

“I can’t believe I actually thought this would work.” He began to say, his voice wobbling. “I’m such a fucking idiot. Day after day, I kept telling myself this would turn around and that I’d at least make something of myself, but I couldn’t.”

As his voice raised with each word, tears pricked your eyes as all his emotions finally boiled over.

“I’ve worked my entire life for this and now it’s gone. The only thing I’ve ever loved was just ripped out of my hands— and they’ve already moved on.” Logan said exasperatedly, dropping his hands at his sides.

You knew he was running on pure adrenaline but hearing him say the only thing he’s ever loved was racing cut hard. Your relationship didn’t begin when you started dating; it extended beyond that. Logan started out as your older brother’s best friend who you harbored a crush on after one too many group fishing trips.

You’d seen Logan through all of his rising career as a driver. When he secured a seat in Formula 1, after 3 years of dating, you made the big move to London with him. In that much time you had put a lot of your life on pause to be with him in all the ups and downs of motorsports. You got a crappy desk job that sucked the life out of you. You spent many weekends alone in London since work didn’t allow much vacation time. You moved away from your friends and family which ultimately made it hard for you to make lasting friendships. You pushed your feelings aside day in and day out to allow space for Logan’s ongoing frustrations with Williams. This life wasn’t yours anymore, it was his.

You wanted better.

“I guess it just wasn’t meant to work out.” Logan said as he sighed, trying to come to terms with being dropped from the team.

“I guess not.” You finally said after staring at Logan for a few moments.

In your mind, you knew that “it” meant racing but deep down, you couldn’t help but think “it” also meant this relationship. To be frank, the relationship had been on the rocks for months but neither of you wanted to bring that part to light.

A cloud of mutual understanding settled amongst the two of you at those words. He knew. You knew.

“I can tell in your eyes that you want to leave.”

“No, Logan, I don’t-”

“We can’t beat around the bush anymore, we can’t keep doing this.” He stated in defeat.

You didn’t want to leave but you knew you couldn’t stay either. The last few months made you feel trapped. Like Logan was the lamppost to which you were tethered; never too far from him but never close enough to feel truly connected.

That night Logan went out, you went to bed. When you awoke the next morning, Logan was just returning. Slowly but surely, after a few days, your shared home was bare. Devoid of any life, emotion, love.

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

taglist: @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you @bernelflo @meglovesmclaren @r0nnsblog

#triplefrontierbabef1 #triplefrontierbabeinthislife?Ls #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant #williams f1 #williams racing #kyle kirkwood #f1 x reader #f1 fic #Spotify

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cynthiav06 · 1 year ago

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As toxic as Percabeth is, they’re still teenagers and there’s a chance that they could grow past that and Annabeth would overcome it. Heroes of Olympus makes that feel unlikely though.

I hold that belief because my relationship with my spouse started out unhealthy- I was extremely codependent due to not having many friends growing up and never quite getting the emotional support I needed from my family. But we grew past that and 11 years later, we’re approaching our 7 year marriage anniversary with our biggest goals as a couple (besides raising our kids) is to always communicate and it’s working well for us.

Annabeth in particular never maturing and growing past it doesn’t have to be what happens. They’re still teenagers, she could grow past it.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem like she’s going to grow and so many people act like the toxic relationship they have is normal and I’m just like…. No. Never mind, I don’t want to read Percabeth. Maybe I’ll ship Percy with Apollo or no one then.

I also thought of it that way. Annabeth would mature and come to understand the error of her ways, and since Percy means so much to her, she would reflect on all the things she says and does and change her ways in order to pursue a more healthier and long lasting relationship.

Then I read the Chalice of God and Read.Riordan. entries, and lost all hope. Annabeth is a character that you think cannot devolve more, and she surprises you in the worst possible way.

I have completely given up on Percabeth, and I will be reading any incoming books just for Percy as I always do.

Perpollo is a new but great ship that has so much potential but I am not really too in it yet but at least due to Apollo, Percy might ascend to godhood which is something I think is inevitable for someone of Percy's stature and power.

Right now, I think I am all for Perachel only. It's the best possible ship for Percy and for Rachel, and if you are interested, you should check out those posts.

But seriously, between their shared prophetic abilities, creative quick thinking minds, fun and easy going personality, and a deep care and affection for each other, Percy and Rachel are literally meant to be.

The Spirit of Delphi is extremely ancient and free and given Oracle of Delphi was once in Poseidon's domain, she could change alliances and freely date Percy, but my favorite headcanon is that Percy becomes a God and Rachel decides to swear allegiance to him instead.

Also, if you have any Perpollo recommendations or posts to share, please do.

#percabeth is not it #anti annabeth chase #anti percabeth #perpollo #percy and Apollo #percy and rachel #perachel #god percy #percy ship

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izzy120 · 6 months ago

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Cute but dangerous

Part 2

First chapter, the meeting

Pairing: Melissa scemmenti x fem y/n

Summary: you just came from your old school to Abbott Elementary to be Melissa’s co-teacher. But she has been being a total bitch for not even half the day to y/n making her angry. So y/n may or may not have pepper sprayed Melissa in the eyes!

Warnings: cussing, more than usual mean Melissa, I think that’s it, tell me if I missed something!

Italian sayings in English

I’m going to kill that kid: “Sto per uccidere quel bambino”

Idiot: Idiota

Kid: Bimbo

Fucking piece of shit: Cazzo di pezzo di merda

Y/n isn’t quite sure how she ended up here. One moment, she was talking to the principal of her old school, and the next, she’s somehow in the halls of Abbott Elementary. Apparently, one of the teachers needed a teaching assistant—or as some like to call it, a “co-teacher.” But let’s be real, that title felt like a stretch. With a resigned sigh, Y/n adjusted the strap of her small bag, which held all the “essentials”: chapstick, makeup wipes, extra shirts (for inevitable kid-related messes), pepper spray, and a pocket knife. You know, the basics.

Pushing through the school doors, she approached the front desk with a polite smile and a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “Hi, my name’s Y/n, N/y/n. I’m here to see Principal uh, Ava…I think that’s her name?” Y/n giggled awkwardly, already feeling out of place. Forgetting the principal’s name on day one? Great fucking start. She glanced at the two women behind the desk, who were now staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head.

The silence made Y/n shift uncomfortably, her nerves creeping higher. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, glancing between them. One of the women, dressed head to toe in maroon—a cardigan over a floral blouse, matching slacks, and perfectly styled hair—looked like she could be Y/n’s mom. Well, if her mom exuded the perfect balance of warmth and authority. The second woman, though… oh boy. Strict, sharp, and undeniably intimidating. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Dear,” the maroon-clad woman said with a motherly smile, snapping Y/n out of her spiral. “I’m guessing you’re the new co-teacher?”

Y/n blinked a few times before nodding quickly. “Yes, ma’am! That’s me!” She accepted the woman’s outstretched hand, shaking it politely.

“I’m Barbara Howard,” the woman introduced herself warmly. “I’m the kindergarten teacher here. And this,” she said, motioning to her work wife, “is Meli—”

“Ms. Schemmenti,” the second woman cut in, crossing her arms and giving Y/n a once-over with a sharp glare.

Barbara sighed and placed a calming hand on her work wife’s shoulder. “Her name is Melissa, dear.”

Y/n nodded, trying not to let the intensity of Melissa’s stare rattle her. “Oh! Wait—are you the person I’m co-teaching with? I got an email about who I’d be assisting, and I think it mentioned you…”

Melissa scoffed and looked away. “Yeah, that’s me. Ava stuck me with two classes this year, so she figured I’d need a little help managing the little eagles.”

Y/n’s face lit up at the nickname. “That’s adorable! Do you give each second-grade class a nickname every year?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “No, Idiota….Now, come on, let’s get moving, Maddie.”

“That’s not my name… it’s Y/n!” Y/n called after her, rushing to keep up.

Melissa groaned, clearly unimpressed. “If you last more than a month, maybe I’ll remember your name. Until then, Rick.”

Y/n gasped, trailing after her. “That’s not even close! That’s a guy’s name!”

Inside Melissa’s classroom, Y/n was hunched over, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. “Wow…hah…you’re a…hah…really fast walker!” she wheezed, still recovering. Melissa shot her a half-smirk, half-frown, clearly trying not to laugh. “Maybe don’t be so slow Bimbo,” Melissa replied dryly before heading to her desk to grab some papers.

Y/n’s exhaustion vanished in an instant as she squealed and rushed over to Melissa. “Is this your desk? Do I get a desk? At my old school, I had the cutest little desk, and I absolutely loved it!” she gushed, smiling proudly. Melissa raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, you’ve got a desk.” She walked to the back of the classroom, nudged one of the kids’ desks with her foot, and smirked. “Right here. Happy?”

Y/n wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “Well, I was kind of expecting more of a—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, kid,” Melissa interrupted, walking up to Y/n and pressing a firm finger to her chest. “I’m not your friend. You’ve gotta earn the right to be friendly with me. I won’t remember your name, you’ll call me Ms. Schemmenti, and you’ll sit at that desk with no complaints. This is my classroom, which means my rules. Got it? Capeesh?”

Y/n blinked in shock, a little hurt by the sudden harshness. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, unsure of how to respond.

Melissa gave her a quick once-over and added, “Also, you might wanna change before the kids get here. You look like a pink unicorn shit on you.” She turned back to her desk as if the conversation was over.

Y/n glanced at the small desk Melissa had pointed out and dropped her bag onto it with a huff. “I don’t have anything else to wear that isn’t… my style.” She glanced down at her outfit: a light pink, fluffy dress with ruffles on the shoulders and hem, paired with knee-high white socks, pink ballet flats, and a white bag with a gold heart. Sure, it was a lot of pink, but who cared?

Clenching her fists, Y/n huffed. “You know what? I’m not changing.”

Melissa turned back with an arched brow. “What did you just say

Y/n crossed her arms and glared. “I’m not changing! The girls are gonna love this outfit anyway! And you clearly don’t understand fashion styles if you’re judging me for it.”

To drive her point home, Y/n flipped Melissa off. “Fuck you!” she shouted before storming out of the room in a dramatic exit.

Melissa stood there, stunned. But seconds later, Y/n came rushing back in, grabbed her bag with a sheepish look, and bolted out again, leaving Melissa shaking her head in disbelief.

When the second graders finally arrived, Y/n begrudgingly returned to the classroom to help, though she stayed at the back with her arms crossed, clearly sulking. Her glare was locked on Melissa throughout the lesson, earning her the occasional glance from the older woman.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, Y/n eagerly led the kids to the cafeteria and made her way to the teacher’s lounge. She realized too late that she’d forgotten to put her salad in the fridge that morning, thanks to the fight with Melissa. As she opened the door, she spotted Barbara and Melissa already there.

Y/n immediately perked up at the sight of Barbara, grateful for her warmth and kindness—so unlike Melissa, who seemed determined to make her life miserable. Sliding into the seat next to Barbara, Y/n beamed. “Good afternoon, Barbara!”

Barbara smiled warmly. “Good afternoon, Y/n, dear. Have you met the rest of the staff yet?”

Y/n shook her head. “Not really,” she admitted with a small smile.

Barbara chuckled and began pointing out the other teachers. “That’s Janine,” she said, gesturing to a petite woman with a questionable sense of fashion—not that Y/n could judge right now. “And over there are Gregory and Jacob. Oh, and that’s Mr. Johnson. He’s not a teacher; he’s our janitor.”

Barbara continued introducing the rest of the staff as Y/n nodded along, chuckling. “They all seem so nice. Thanks for telling me their names—I would’ve felt so awkward not knowing them.”

Y/n giggled, but her amusement was cut short when Melissa muttered something under her breath. Turning to glare at her, Y/n pouted. “What did you just say?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, her expression indifferent. “Hmm?”

Y/n scowled and stood up abruptly. “Ugh! You’ve been a total bitch to me since I got here!”

Janine gasped and immediately rushed over, her hands raised nervously. “L-let’s all calm down, please!” she stammered, clearly more anxious than Y/n had been that morning.

Melissa’s glare hardened. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said you’ve been acting like a TOTAL BITCH!” Y/n shot back, her voice rising.

Melissa stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. “That’s it!” she snapped, looking like she was about to lunge at Y/n before Barbara quickly intervened, grabbing Melissa by the arm.

“Melissa, do not!” Barbara scolded, forcing her back into her seat. She turned to address Y/n, only to find the younger woman had already stormed out of the lounge.

Barbara sighed heavily and looked back at Melissa, her expression stern. “What have you been doing to that poor girl?”

Melissa scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a little bitchy, but why should I be nice? She’s not gonna last a week here anyway!”

Barbara sat down beside her, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “And she’ll leave even faster if you keep acting like this.”

“Good riddance,” Melissa muttered under her breath, earning a sharp slap on the shoulder from Barbara.

“Apologize to her. Right now.”

Melissa’s arms remained crossed, her glare unwavering. “I’m not fucking doing tha—”

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” Barbara snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Melissa flinched and immediately stood up. “Fine! You didn’t have to use my whole name… sto per uccidere quel bambino,” she grumbled as she stomped out of the room.

Melissa searched the school for Y/n, eventually finding her sitting in the classroom. Rolling her eyes, Melissa walked over quietly, not wanting to make a scene. Without thinking, she placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

Y/n jumped with a startled scream and instinctively sprayed pepper spray directly into Melissa’s face.

Melissa let out a pained yell, clutching at her eyes. “I know I pissed you off, but what the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!”

Y/n froze, horrified by her own reaction. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Melissa, still blinded and livid, groaned through gritted teeth. “Cazzo di pezzo di merda!”

It’s not that good, her personality isn’t exact and this is definitely not the best I’ve ever done. But I hope that you guys liked it!

#lesbian #x y/n #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #teacher crush #love #abbott elementary #school crush #melissa schemmenti x reader #slow burn

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sacrednova · 8 months ago

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Fem!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley. Light Angst.

"Your eyes are graves to me, And I'm falling in. Empty plates and tired mouths surround the table, What we were, is just a myth, a stupid joke, another fable."

The dinner was supposed to be a simple affair—a gathering of old friends, a break from the chaos of daily life. You never expected Simon to be there. The moment you walked in, the room felt too small, suffocating. Your eyes met his, and everything—the years, the distance, the choices you both made—came rushing back like a tidal wave, threatening to drag you under. His eyes, dark and hollow, held the weight of a thousand things unsaid. And you wonder if this moment was always inevitable, as if it had been written long before either of you had a choice.

You sit down beside your husband, his hand brushing yours, a gesture of comfort that feels alien in this moment. Across the table, Simon remains silent, a ghost at a feast. The others laugh, chatter flowing easily, but every word sounds distant, muffled. The weight of the past hangs heavy between you and Simon, thickening the air.

“I don’t love. I only do war.” He’d said it to you so many times that you started to believe it. Even as he held you close, even when his lips moved against yours in a way that felt like more than lust. There was always that wall, an invisible barrier he had built long before you entered his life. And you, ever the optimist, thought you could break it down. Thought your love was the exception, that you were different. But love, like war, has casualties. And you were his.

You think back to those early days, when hope was still something tangible between you. Moving in together felt like a promise, a step toward something solid. But it wasn’t. Simon’s world was built on crumbling foundations, and you didn’t realize it until it was too late. You tried to be his sanctuary, but he only knew how to fight. He warned you, but you stayed anyway. And for a while, it worked. The late nights, the stolen moments, the way he held you like you were his anchor—it all felt real.

But it was a myth. A fable you both told yourselves to keep from facing the truth: Simon was broken, and no amount of love could fix that.

The song playing faintly in the background at this dinner pulls you back to the present. It’s ironic, how fitting the lyrics feel. “We make oaths up to a god we don’t believe in, make a choice to forge a life around a crumbling foundation.” Isn’t that exactly what you did with Simon? You built something fragile, something you both knew wouldn’t last, but you tried anyway. And when it all fell apart, it felt like the world had collapsed around you.

When the arguments started, you tried to brush them off. He never hurt you physically, but the way he lashed out in anger, the way he’d yell for you to shut up—it chipped away at something inside you. Every time he left, you’d sit in the silence, feeling the emptiness he left behind. And each time, it took longer for him to come back, until eventually, he didn’t.

You left because you had to. You left because loving Simon felt like dying a little every day. He was right—he wasn’t good for you, and maybe not for anyone. But the hardest part was that he never stopped you from leaving. He let you go, just as he’d always said he would.

The song’s refrain haunts you: “Your eyes are graves to me, and I’m falling in.” Simon’s eyes used to be your refuge, but now, they’re empty, haunted by the wars he’s fought, both inside and out. The connection you once shared feels like a distant memory, something you buried long ago. But now, sitting across from him, it’s like standing over that grave again, the past rising from the dirt to remind you of what was lost.

When the dinner ends and the others leave, Simon finally approaches you. The silence between you is almost unbearable. He looks older, wearier, the weight of everything he’s been through etched into the lines on his face.

“He’s good to you,” Simon says, his voice low, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile peace between you.

You nod, your throat tight. “He is.” And it’s true. Your husband is kind, stable, everything Simon couldn’t be. But there’s a part of you that still aches for the man you thought Simon could become.

“I always knew you’d leave,” Simon continues, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I just didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and for a moment, you wonder if you made the right choice. But deep down, you know you did. You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save either of you.

The song’s final verse echoes in your mind: “There’s a weight around my finger and it’s dragging me beneath. I’m letting go, I’m letting go, I’m letting go.” That’s what you had to do—let go of the weight Simon had become. The love you had for him wasn’t enough to keep you afloat, and you were drowning.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, though you’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. For leaving? For staying as long as you did? For loving him in the first place?

Simon’s jaw clenches, and he nods, a barely perceptible movement. “Me too.” It’s the closest he’ll ever come to admitting that he wished things had been different. But Simon doesn’t do love. He only does war, and war is all he has left.

You stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between you, a void that neither of you can fill. Finally, you step back, “Goodbye, Simon.”

As you walk away, you don’t look back. You don’t have to. You know that Simon will always be there, standing in the wreckage of what you once had, a soldier on a battlefield that never truly ends.

The past is a grave, and no matter how much you try to bury it, it keeps pulling you in. But you’ve learned to let go, even if Simon never will.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost fanfiction #fanfic #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fem reader #ghost x reader #angst #cod modern warfare #call of duty #cod headcanons #light angst #featured

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sitkowski · 1 year ago

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sweet surrender (nick folio x oc)

pairing: nick folio x harper (oc)

cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ fake dating, kinda crappy parents, vaginal fingering. doing things on a motorcycle that probably aren't realistically possible.

word count: 3.8k

author's note: this one wasn't originally started with the intention of being posted around the birthday boy's day, but here we are. i've seen enough rom-coms and hallmark movies to know anything is possible. title comes from the song by sarah mclachlan 🫶🏻 dividers by @saradika-graphics

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups

Harper’s flip flops smack noisily against the asphalt as she hurries across the parking lot. She’s already seventeen minutes late, and her mother doesn’t like to be kept waiting. The second her hand is on the handle to the restaurant door, her phone pings loudly in her purse for the fourth time since she left work. She didn’t even think of trying to go home and change, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable more.

Inside the quaint little bar and grill, Harper’s mother sits in the back at a small table, disappointment evident on her face as she approaches the table. There were many things that she considered hell, and lunch with her mother was one of them. But she knew if she didn’t go, she’d just keep bugging her until her sister’s wedding. And somewhere between work and arriving at the restaurant, Harper came up with a possibly insane plan.

“Hi mom,” she sinks down in the chair across from her and grabs a menu. “Sorry I’m late. I had to wait for someone to relieve me at the bar—”

“I already ordered you a sweet tea. I know it’s your favorite.”

Harper tries her very best not to seem shocked at that, because she knows there’s probably an ulterior motive behind it. “Um, thanks.”

“Look, I know I’m a broken record here,” her mother begins, and there it is. “But I wish you weren’t coming to this wedding alone. You’re the last of my children without a partner, don’t you feel like the odd person out?”

It takes everything Harper has not to get up and leave right then and there. She tells herself that her mom is only looking out for her, that she just wants her to be happy. But somehow, she’s always equated happiness with finding someone, having a boyfriend. Being the youngest of four, and right now the only single child, she’s heard it all so much over the years, and it’s one of the reasons why she’s kept any relationships she’s had to herself until they got serious. Which, of course, hadn’t happened in a long time.

“I have a date for the wedding.” she blurts out instead. Harper is a liar. She has nothing remotely close to a date, but she sees the way her mother’s eyes light up, and she raises her hand before she can immediately start drilling her with questions about this nonexistent date. “It’s still very new, but he’s nice. And I’ll let you meet him before the wedding, at the final rehearsal. But for now, can we just keep this between us?”

“Oh absolutely, of course!” her mom says. But Harper knows, her mom is a liar too, and the entire family will know before the end of the day. “I’m just happy you found someone, I know you’ve got to be lonely in that house all by yourself.”

Harper opens her mouth to say something else, but the waitress arrives with their drinks and to take their orders. She’s never been so grateful for the distraction. Her mother even changes the subject before their food arrives. But now all Harper can think about is the fact that she has to convince her neighbor to be her plus one to a wedding.

It’s either a coincidence or a twisted act of fate that Harper’s neighbor is outside working on his bike when she pulls into her driveway. She and Nick aren’t exactly close friends; they’re friendly with one another, she grabs any mail that comes while he’s on tour for him and makes sure his three plants don’t die. He asks her about her day if they catch each other outside at the same time, and once they shared a few beers on his porch after she accidentally locked herself out. She baked him cookies.

And now she’s got to ask him this huge favor.

She knows she could get out of this with her mom, admit she lied or say this mystery guy broke up with her. But as she gets out of her car and looks over at Nick in his driveway, wearing a fitted black tank top and his hands stained with grease, she realizes she wants to prove a point. Her shutting the car door seems to grab his attention, and he turns to wave at her. She lifts her hand in return before taking a deep breath and walking across the section of grass that separates their houses.

“Is something wrong with your bike?” she asks by way of greeting.

Nick shakes his head, wiping his hands off on a rag from his back pocket. “Nah, I just like doing everything on it myself. I’ve got the free time right now.”

“No big tours coming up?”

“Not for a few weeks,” he shoves the rag back into his pocket and pushes his hair back out of his face. “It’s hot out, you want a drink?”

“As long as it’s alcoholic, please.”

She follows him up to his porch and he disappears inside. Harper sits in on the porch swing, picking nervously at her chipped nail polish. The worst that can happen is he can say no, that’s what she tells herself. She waits for Nick to come back, holding out a glass to her. Her eyebrows raise because instead of beer, he brings her whiskey.

“You look like you could use it,” he admits, before sitting beside her. The last time they did this, it was just two beers sitting on the porch steps so she could keep an eye out for the locksmith. It’s not lost on her that this is the closest she’s been to him before. “Everything okay?”

“Just…lunch with my mom. My sister’s wedding is coming up and she’s being extra…extra.”

“She’s stressing you out?”

“More like she won’t stop asking me who I’m bringing to the wedding as a plus one,” Harper takes a sip of the whiskey and rubs her forehead. “I kind of…told her I had a date, when I didn't.”

Nick winces sympathetically, “Ouch.”

She nods in agreement before taking a deep breath and looking over at him. “So I have this stupidly huge favor to ask, and I know you’re probably busy with your band even though you said you have a break, or maybe you just wanna be left alone in which case I will finish this drink and go, but do you maybe wanna pretend to be my date to this wedding?”

She knows that she’s babbling, and she sees the way his eyes widen a little at her question. He’s quiet though, for a lot longer than she thought he’d be, and she fully expects him to let her down gently when he speaks.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I totally get it, we don’t even know each other all that well so if you don’t want to I’ll find someone who—”

“Harper, stop!” he laughs a little, reaching over to put a hand on her knee to cut off her second round of anxious speaking. She blinks and looks down at his hand and then back at his face. “I said I would. I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

She doesn’t mean to let out a little squeak and throw her arms around his neck, but she can’t help it. She lets go quickly, her face on fire. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, but thank you—”

“Hey it’s no problem, she’s obviously driving you a little insane and I don’t mind helping. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve got a few weeks off.”

“It’s seriously just two days, the final rehearsal dinner and then the wedding and reception,” she explains and he nods along. “Do you…do you own a suit?”

She doesn’t mean it in an insulting way, but she’s only ever seen him in t-shirts and jeans, and his riding leathers. That was a distracting enough image, and she quickly banishes it from her mind.

Nick doesn’t seem offended. “I can clean up when I need to. Unless you want to traumatize your mother in which case I am fully prepared to take you to this thing on my bike and make myself her worst nightmare. I’m flexible.”

Harper downs the rest of her whiskey, letting it burn all the way down her throat so that the flush that comes across her cheeks can be blamed on something else.

“Just a nice dress shirt will work,” she pauses and thinks about it. “And yeah, maybe your bike.”

She imagines her mother’s face when she shows up to the rehearsal on the back of Nick’s bike. It wouldn’t be so much the motorcycle itself, but Harper on the back of it in a dress. If this is going to be the way that she’s going to get her off of her back about dating, so be it.

“So, if we’re pretending to date, should I have a cover story?” Nick asks.

Harper hadn’t thought about that. Her mom was nosy, she was going to want every little detail of how she and Nick met, how long they’d been together, what their plans for the future would be. Even if it was just two days, she has to have some kind of details besides him having a motorcycle and being in a band.

I mean,” he seems to be able to tell that she’s struggling with what to say. “We kind of already have our story, don’t we?”

“We do?” she doesn’t let herself get stuck on how that sounds. Our story.

“We’re neighbors who became friends, you came over and had a few beers when you got locked out of your place and it just…took off from there?”

It sounds so easy, and it’s not even a lie. She nods. “Yeah, that works.”

“So when is this thing? That way I’ve got time to get my bike nice and shiny.”

The day of the final rehearsal approaches quickly. Harper spends most of the morning out with her sisters, getting pampered for the day. They ask her questions about her mystery guy, and she gives them vague but believable answers. When Nick agreed to do this for her, he also gave her a little bit of a rundown on himself in case of situations just like this. She almost wondered if he’d had to be a fake boyfriend before.

When she goes home, she puts on the green floral dress she bought for the day, and even though she knows it’s not exactly practical for the back of a motorcycle, she likes how it looks. She’s doing the finishing touches on her makeup when there’s a knock on the front door. Feeling oddly nervous, Harper goes to answer it.

Nick wasn’t lying when he said he could clean up when he needed to and he took her words to heart; the black dress shirt he’s wearing beneath his leather jacket looks really good on him. They’re kind of just standing there, staring at each other for a few minutes.

“You look gorgeous,” Nick says, and Harper blushes. His eyes drift down, and the corner of his mouth tilts up. “And while those shoes are very pretty, they’re not safe for the bike. Do you have any flats you can wear?”

Harper slips back into the house and grabs a pair from her hall closet, switching them out and putting her heels into a bag to bring with her. When she comes back out, she follows Nick down to his bike. He hands her a helmet, one that isn’t a full face like his.

“Figured you didn’t wanna sweat off your makeup on the ride.” he says, and she thinks he’s teasing her. “Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

She’d been on the back of a friend’s bike in high school, but it had been another style and she knew there was a difference between the two. “Nope.”

“Don’t worry, it’s the safest thing you’ll ever have between your legs.”

Harper’s mouth opens and closes again in surprise, before her eyes narrow. “Did you…did you just quote Girls Just Wanna Have Fun to me?”

Smiling proudly, Nick takes the helmet out of her hands, putting it on her. She holds her breath as he buckles it for her, before pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. He grabs his own helmet and puts it on. With his help, she gets on the bike behind him. She’s able to tuck the skirt of her dress enough so it won’t blow when they’re on the open road. This part she knows enough about, and she puts her hands on his sides. Nick reaches down, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling until she gets the message, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. Harper presses her cheek between his shoulder, clenching her fingers in his jacket.

There was nothing more exhilarating than being on the back of Nick’s bike. It’s not that far from their houses to the venue where the final rehearsal and wedding is being held, but she enjoys every minute of the ride. The parking lot is littered with familiar cars, and Nick parks his bike, cutting the engine. It takes Harper a minute to be able to loosen her grip on his jacket, and she can still feel the rumble from beneath her in her thighs. She lets out a shaky breath, undoing the strap of the helmet and taking it off. In front of her, Nick holds out his hand so she can lift herself off of the seat. When her feet touch the ground, her legs are still shaking.

She can see her mom and her sister Reece watching her from the alcove by the entrance, and it’s hard to miss the smirk on Reece’s face and the look of concern on her mother’s. Harper takes off her flats and slips her heels back on before fluffing out her hair. She watches Nick get off the bike, and he takes off his helmet, gloves and jacket. He’s got the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, and it shouldn’t be nearly as distracting as it is.

“Ready to do this?” he asks, holding out his hand to her.

Harper nods, lacing her fingers through his. He pulls her closer and she swallows hard, unable to avoid the smile that comes to her face. “Yeah.”

Making the introductions almost seems like the easy part. Within minutes of meeting, all of her sisters are enamored with Nick, including the bride to be. Her mother is a different story, but Harper already knew that it would happen like this. She hears the words drummer and motorcycle club and puts on the most believable fake smile she can. But Harper genuinely wants them to like Nick, even if it is pretend. And for the most part, they do.

“And your band…it does well?” her mother asks sometime between the final rehearsal and dinner, and Harper feels the evening going downhill.

“They’re viral on Tik Tok,” her grandmother says. Nick smiles that wide smile again and her grandmother winks at him. “Leave them alone, dear. They seem very happy together.”

It eases the tension for Harper, just a little. Beside her, Nick puts his hand on her thigh in a comforting gesture, and she relaxes back in the seat.

The rest of the dinner goes okay, until her mother asks to speak to her privately. She leads her off to the hallway of the floor they’re on away from everyone else. Most of the day has been a blur but Nick’s been there with her the whole time, and she’s thought that they were pretty convincing.

“I know what you’re doing,” her mom says, and Harper frowns. “How could you hide something like this from us?”

“Mom, what—”

“The way that boy looks at you, there is no way that this is new. How long have the two of you been together that you couldn’t tell me, or any of us?”

She almost lets out a sigh of relief, but her mom’s words register with her. She thinks that they’ve been together for longer than she’s said, because of the way that Nick looks at her? From what she’s been able to tell, he’s looking at her the same way he has since they met. Sure, he’s touching her a little bit more, but that was all part of the plan. Wasn’t it?

“You just met him today, and you think he looks at me like, what?”

Her mom’s look turns wistful. “Like your dad used to look at me.”

The words are a punch to the gut, and not in an entirely bad way. Her parents were deeply in love once upon a time. But she doesn’t think that she and Nick know each other well enough for that to be true. Still, her mom wouldn’t have dragged her out here and said something like this unless she saw something that Harper apparently didn’t.

“Mom, there’s something—”

“Babe,” Nick appears in the hallway, and it’s obvious that he might have overheard something that was said, because he comes over, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Jolly wants me to stop by before we head home, would it be okay if we headed out now? I know things are wrapping up for the night.”

“You two go on, we’ll see you in the morning.” Harper’s mom says, answering for her.

She hugs Harper and gives Nick a polite smile before walking back into the banquet hall. It’s not until they’re in the elevator that Harper finally asks. “Who’s Jolly?”

Nick doesn’t take her home right away, turning the bike the opposite direction that they came. Harper doesn’t question it, she just burrows against him comfortably and lets him take her wherever he wants. She’d been grateful for the rescue while dealing with her mom, but she wonders what’s going to happen after the wedding tomorrow. She assumes that things will just go back to how they were before, the two of them being neighbors. It’s something, at least.

It’s dusk by the time Nick stops the bike, in a secluded little spot overlooking mountains and trees. Harper’s pretty sure she came to this spot with a boy when she was in high school. Nick drops the kickstand and takes off his helmet, and Harper takes hers off too. But he doesn’t get off the bike, and she stays leaning into him, enjoying the quiet and the view.

“I know you heard what my mom said,” she whispers into his jacket, and she feels him tense a little before he relaxes. “I thought it was all pretend.”

“And if I said that I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for months and thought this was going to be the best way to do it?”

Harper sits up and pulls herself off the bike, and it’s just like he knows what she’s planning to do because he slides back on the seat, making room for her. He hauls her into his lap, her thighs spread over his as she sits facing him.

“I like you, Nick Folio,” she murmurs, draping her arms over his shoulders. “I mean, you’re viral on Tik Tok after all.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I like your grandma.”

“And what about me?”

“Oh, I really like you,” he says, before wrapping one gloved hand around the side of her neck and kissing her.

Harper kisses him back, fisting her hands in the sides of his jacket, trying to get him closer. But she’s worried that too much motion is going to overturn the bike. It’s probably a miracle that it’s staying upright anyway. She slides her hands beneath his jacket, pulling at the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes widen at the sight of the tattoo on his chest, and she files that away for another time when she can drag this out and trace it with her tongue.

Nick pulls back, long enough to tug off his gloves and shove them in his jacket pocket before shrugging out of the leather and letting it fall behind him. Keeping his eyes on Harper’s face, his hands slide up beneath the skirt of her dress. Her breath hitches in her chest at the feeling of his hot hands on her inner thighs, skimming upwards until they touch the edge of her panties.

It’s not lost on her that they’re out here in the open where anyone could come by and see them. That doesn’t really matter to her though, not when Nick’s scraping his teeth over the column of her throat and pulling her underwear to the side.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low.

Harper nods quickly, reaching down to wrap her hand around his wrist and guide his hand where she wants it. His fingers slide between her folds, thumb teasing over her clit. She moans, head falling back and his free hand tugs at the top of her dress, pulling it and the cup of her bra down so he can get one of her nipples between his teeth.

A sharp cry escapes her when he eases first one, then a second finger inside of her, and when his fingers curl upward, she finds herself trying to lean back into the handlebars behind her. Nick’s fingers tangle in her hair and he pulls her mouth back to his. Harper nibbles on his bottom lip, tongue sliding over his as she grinds down against his hand.

Whimpering, she buries her hands in his hair, yanking at the longer strands. She’s already on edge, and she’d be surprised that Nick’s able to work her up so quickly, but she can’t think about anything else but this. His forehead presses into hers, eyes locked on the space between them, watching his fingers rock in and out of her. He moves them faster, adding in a third, and Harper’s lost beneath the orgasm crashing into her. The cry she lets out echoes in the air around them, bouncing off of the trees.

Nick pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean. The sight and the aftershocks of her orgasm leave her dizzy. She starts to reach for his belt, but Nick catches her wrist, pulling her hand up and kissing her palm.

“Later, I promise. I kinda wanna get you home and into my bed.”

Harper can’t argue with that. They fix their clothes and she moves back behind him. As she’s putting her helmet back on, a thought occurs to her. “What happened to this being the safest thing I’ll ever have between my legs?”

“Honey, you haven’t seen anything yet.” he murmurs before putting on his helmet and starting the bike.

She grabs onto him, unable to keep the smile off of her face as he points the bike in the direction of home.

⇉ taglist:

@circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @malice-ov-mercy @baddestomens

@ladyveronikawrites @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @collidewiththesavannah

@thatchickwiththecamera

#nick folio x ofc #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #.ficbysitkowski

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slaaverin · 27 days ago

Note

Before BMPs elemental alignment reading for Jimin tomorrow, as I’ve been reading the rest and where the members are at.

Do we think Jimin actually set himself free?

It’s sometimes I’ve thought about since Face, this big anthem, one that was powerful, but did he actually follow through?

I don’t know what he meant by setting himself free, it could have been anything. But from an outsiders perspective his career and his person remains unchanged from before? So was it a mindset thing he was singing of? Or has he left Hybe or made certain demands so to speak before re signing?

When you think about how proud JK looked watching the mv, what’s he proud of?

I don’t mean to sound demeaning I’m genuinely curious?

I can’t think of anything that outwardly looks like he’s done what he sang about.

In his solos eyes his sophomore album still didn’t get the right promo, so it can’t be that. He still hasn’t addressed haters, mainly taking a kill them with kindness or don’t acknowledge them at all approach.

He’s still Jimin that we know. Sometimes more reserved, and BMPs last reading of him last year wasn’t overly optimistic he seemed troubled and burdened and it was showing in his sleep. I know he was enlisted but still.

So what did he do?

‘Shut up fck Off I’m on my way’

Did he mean literally just the charts?

I’m just so curious

I’m so proud of him regardless and I cannot wait for him to return to what he loves.

I believe Jimin went through a phase of transition and transformation these last few years

We know Jimin was burdened by many shadowy aspects

Yet the "set me free" statement looks like a first step towards personal liberation

It could be very well an internal shift first, without much impact on the physical

And yet

After this we got AYS - more open and free

Jikook enlisted together - a huge statement

He was also more free to create artistically with MUSE, an album with a lighter tone than the previous one, once again highlighting this internal shift

Yes things were cut short by military

Yet my personal theory is that the momentum of this shift continued in there. I believe Jimin worked through some more shadows to reach even more equilibrium, thanks to this new challenging environnement and also the presence of Jungkook helping him reframe himself and his priorities in life.

This train of thought was shown in his letter, revealing deep questions about his existence, that would inevitably lead to transformation. Letting go of certain fears could be huge.

It's like in military he was in a cocoon reframing and expanding his inner life but soon the butterfly will emerge and shine even brighter than before

That's why I suspect that when he comes out, perhaps even more liberated, we will start to see new sides from him, a new burst that will reflect his new internal state

We might be surprised by him moving forward

Maybe I'm completely off, that's just what I suspect, I guess BPM's reading will give us a better understanding

But I'm actually very positive about Jimin, his growth, and the things coming. I believe the future for him will be less burdened and way more joyful/playful.

I have full confidence in him 💜 it makes sense to me. Do you agree? 🧚‍♀️

#jimin #I'm very positive #ask

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iheartlnfour · 4 months ago

Text

when the storm breaks — will halstead

pairing: will halstead x fem!reader

summary: will has been secretly in love with fem!reader for years, but when his patience runs out, he confronts her with an angry confession.

warnings: angst, emotional confrontation

A/N: its the first time i love every men in a tv show like!!?!?! wtf?!?! ( except criminal minds )

# “And at every table, I’ll save you a seat, lover.” — Lover by Taylor Swift

Dr. Will Halstead had always been the kind of man who put others first. It was ingrained in him, from his years in medical school to his time as an attending at Chicago Med. He had seen it all—patients in life-threatening conditions, families caught in the hardest moments, people desperate for answers. But through it all, Will had found himself fiercely protecting his own emotions, burying them under the weight of duty and responsibility.

And then there was her.

The woman who had wandered into his life like a storm. Y/n Y/l/n had been a whirlwind of intelligence, complexity, and vulnerability. To Will, she was everything he could ever want in a person—a quiet strength that contrasted with his brash approach to life. They worked together closely in the ER, often side by side, making decisions that mattered more than anything else. But behind the professionalism, something else was stirring.

He loved her.

He had loved her for longer than he dared to admit. It wasn’t the obvious kind of love. There were no grand gestures, no heart-stopping confessions. It was quieter, more complicated—woven into the very fabric of their interactions. But she never saw it.

She never saw him.

Their relationship was grounded in camaraderie, in respect, in the silent understanding that came with being in the trenches of medicine together. But beneath the surface, Will’s heart broke every time she laughed at something one of the other doctors said, every time she turned to someone else for advice, every time her gaze landed on a colleague and not him.

He thought he could handle it. He thought, maybe, if he could just keep his distance, keep his feelings in check, they could both move forward. But every time he saw her, he felt that familiar pull—like gravity drawing him in with an inevitable force.

There was a moment, though, when it all became too much.

It was late in the evening, after the last patient had been discharged and the staff was starting to trickle out of the ER. Will was at the station, charting some final notes when he saw her. Y/n was at the nurse’s desk, speaking to Dr. Connor Rhodes. She laughed—genuine, unguarded, like the world was on her side—and Will’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Not because of Connor, not because of the laugh, but because he knew what that laugh meant. She didn’t laugh like that for him. She didn’t turn to him with the same warmth, the same ease.

Will’s patience had reached its limit.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile floor. He walked over to Y/n and Connor, his footsteps sounding louder in the quiet of the almost-empty ER.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice sharp, laced with something darker.

She looked up, startled, as if she hadn’t expected him to interrupt. Connor glanced between them, his brow furrowing slightly, but he wisely took a step back, sensing the shift in the air.

“Will, what’s going on?” Y/n asked, her voice soft, concerned.

He didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, he took a breath, trying to steady himself. The anger was there, but it was something else, too. It was frustration, it was desperation. It was the culmination of years of quietly carrying a burden that no one, not even Y/n, knew about.

“I don’t get it, Y/n,” he began, his words coming out rougher than he intended. “I really don’t get it.”

She blinked, confusion crossing her face. “Get what?”

“You,” Will snapped, unable to stop the words once they had started. “How is it that you can sit here and be so… so open with everyone else? With Connor? With anyone except me?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her face flushing. “Will, I don’t—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “You don’t get it. You don’t see it. I’ve been standing here, watching you, day in and day out, pretending that it doesn’t bother me. But it does. It fucking does, Y/n.”

Connor had long since retreated, giving them space. Y/N’s gaze softened, though a flicker of hurt passed across her features. “Will, I don’t understand what you’re—”

“What I’m saying is that I’m in love with you,” Will said, his voice breaking as the words poured out, raw and untamed.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them.

Y/n blinked again, as if she couldn’t quite process what he had just said. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, unsure of how to respond.

“You’re in love with me?” she repeated, her voice small, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Will nodded, his chest heaving with the weight of everything he had just laid bare. His eyes were desperate, pleading for her to understand, for her to see him the way he had always seen her. “Yeah, Y/n. I’ve been in love with you for a long time. And I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending that it’s fine, that we’re just colleagues, that I don’t want something more.”

Her face softened, but there was still a tremor in her voice when she spoke. “Will… you should have said something sooner. I— I never knew.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he shot back bitterly, a harsh laugh escaping him. “Because I’ve been too fucking scared to say anything. Too scared of ruining what we have, too scared of being rejected. But you know what? I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep standing by while you… while you fall for someone else.”

Y/n’s expression faltered, her breath catching in her throat. She took a step forward, her hand reaching out as if to comfort him, but Will recoiled instinctively, the sting of rejection still fresh in his chest.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, voice shaking. “I never wanted to hurt you, Y/n. But I’m hurting, too. I’m drowning in this.”

There was a long pause as Y/n processed his words. She seemed torn, unsure of what to say, and Will hated how vulnerable that made him feel.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she finally whispered. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Will’s gaze fell to the floor, the weight of his confession crashing down on him. For so long, he had kept this to himself, hidden in the corners of his heart. And now, it felt like everything was falling apart, like the walls he had carefully built were crumbling.

“I don’t expect you to fix anything, Y/n,” he said quietly, voice hoarse. “I just wanted you to know.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Will could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel every single second stretching on endlessly. He wanted to turn away, to leave, to escape the suffocating tension. But he couldn’t.

“I— I need some air,” Y/n finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned and walked away, her steps echoing in the quiet hallway. Will stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her go.

He had finally said the words. Finally let the storm out into the open.

And now, all he could do was wait.

The thing about confessions is that once the words are out, there’s no taking them back. No way to pretend they don’t exist.

And Will’s words had been echoing in her head ever since.

I’m in love with you.

Y/N had spent hours replaying that moment, the raw pain in his voice, the frustration in his eyes. The way his body had tensed, as if he’d been holding that truth inside him for so long that it physically hurt to say it out loud. And then the way he had looked at her—really looked at her—like he was standing on the edge of something terrifying and was waiting for her to pull him back.

She had walked away.

Not because she didn’t care. Not because she wanted to hurt him.

But because she hadn’t known what to say.

And that scared her more than anything.

Now, as she sat in her apartment, staring blankly at the TV that she wasn’t really watching, she felt the weight of it pressing down on her chest. The realization she hadn’t been ready to face in the ER, the truth she had buried so deep that even she hadn’t seen it.

She loved him too.

It wasn’t sudden, wasn’t something she had just discovered in the aftermath of his confession. It had been there all along, woven into their late-night conversations, the shared coffee runs, the quiet moments in between the chaos of the ER.

She loved the way he challenged her, the way he always had her back without hesitation. The way he cared—deeply, unashamedly—even when it hurt him. She loved the way he knew her, sometimes better than she knew herself.

How had she been so blind?

The realization hit her like a freight train, leaving her breathless.

She had to find him.

Will had been avoiding her.

Or maybe she had been avoiding him. Either way, two days had passed since the confession, and they hadn’t spoken. Not in the ER, not outside of work. The distance felt unnatural, a hollow space where he used to be.

So when she stepped into the hospital that evening and saw him across the hall, her heart lurched.

He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed with something she recognized as hurt. She had done that. She had made him feel that way.

She had to fix it.

Taking a steadying breath, she moved toward him.

“Will.”

He froze. Then, slowly, he turned to face her.

His expression was unreadable, his walls firmly in place. “Hey.” His voice was clipped, cautious.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling unsteady. But she had come here for a reason.

“Can we talk?”

He hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he nodded. “Yeah. Come on.”

He led her to an empty on-call room, closing the door behind them. The tension in the air was suffocating.

“What is it, Y/N?” he asked, his voice tired.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

His brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For walking away,” she admitted. “For not saying anything when you told me how you felt. I— I didn’t know how to react, and I panicked. But it wasn’t because I don’t care. It wasn’t because I don’t—” She broke off, her chest tightening.

Will exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Y/N, you don’t have to say anything. I put you in an impossible position. I shouldn’t have—”

“I love you.”

The words left her lips before she could stop them.

And just like that, everything changed.

Will stilled, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes widened, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. “What?”

She stepped closer, her heart pounding. “I love you,” she repeated, softer this time. “I think I have for a long time. I just… I didn’t let myself see it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Will searched her face, as if trying to determine if she really meant it. If this was something real, something he could trust.

“You walked away,” he finally said, voice hoarse. “You left me standing there after I told you—”

“I know,” she whispered, regret thick in her throat. “And I hate that I did. But Will, I was scared. You’ve been in my life for so long, and I— I didn’t want to risk losing you. But then I realized… I was losing you anyway.”

His jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to believe her, like he needed to, but he was afraid to let himself hope.

She reached for him, hesitantly resting her hand against his. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.

Will inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching beneath hers.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

She frowned. “Will, I—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice raw. “Say it again.”

Her chest tightened as she realized what he was asking. He needed to hear it. Needed to know this wasn’t a dream, that she wasn’t saying this just to fix things.

“I love you,” she said, this time with certainty. “I love you, Will.”

A shuddering breath escaped him, and in the next second, he was moving.

His hands cradled her face, his touch tentative at first, as if he was still afraid she might disappear. But when she leaned into him, when her fingers gripped the front of his scrub top like she was afraid to let go, something in him broke.

And then he was kissing her.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t careful. It was desperate and full of everything they had been holding back—years of unsaid words, of longing, of missed chances.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Will rested his forehead against hers.

“God,” he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

She smiled, her heart full for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I do now.”

And for the first time, they both knew—this was real.

This was love.

And neither of them were walking away.

#chicago med #will halstead #will halstead x reader #will halstead x fem!reader

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meiguicha · 1 year ago

Text

Long Once More - 再贪欢

Yan! OC x Reader

OC x Reader

You will always have him, no matter your vice, he will always be there

TW: Incest, manipulative and toxic behaviour, really badly written sex

//This isn't historically accurate at all and I have no idea what I wrote. If anyone has read the prequel on AO3 or Quotev, this is just a continuation. You don't have to read one or the other to get the whole plot but I can't tell you what to do sooo

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————春芯王—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

The role of Lord of Chunxin is not an easy one, perhaps made especially so by your being a woman. Times have been hectic in the recent year and with nosy officials poking in to question your marital status, you have taken it upon yourself to solve this issue.

The time has once again come for a myriad of eligible young lords and ladies to express their intention of courting, whether for reasons political or not, it is ultimately inevitable for you to receive some offers. Your suitors, of course, would have to remain in your estate and care until you came to a decision on their status. It is by no means a paltry position, for many acquiring Chunxin would mean enjoying the wealth of a merchant and trade hub as well as the strategic location that aided with its peace. No matter the fact that you are a young woman of comely features and skill to run a whole commandery on your own, there was bound to be some fool of a noble willing to try his hand at courting you.

To marry a man would mean that Chunxin would very likely be absorbed into whatever territory they ruled over, or perhaps worse still, they would deem themself more worthy to rule. It is very well said that their arrogance may cast the careful tranquillity you have crafted into the abyss, and as you have dedicated 8 years of your life into this commandery you call home, you would quite prefer for your hard work to not go to waste.

This period of receiving has a long time to end, yet you were keen to complete this phase of your life as soon as possible. To pick a suitable husband never has been such an arduous task.

Beneath the warm sunlight streaming through verdant leaves, a soft sigh escapes you as your older brother sits opposite with a tea set between the two of you. His eyes are closed, expression placid as he takes in a breath. The wind is gentle and brings about the fragrance of blooming flowers, the start of spring has arrived and it only seems fitting for the start of your toil to coincide with such a prosperous symbol.

Your attendant A’yan approaches you and hands over a bundle of letters, three in total and each more solemn than the last. She holds a hand to her chest as she bows, she affirms, “My lord, here are the offers we have received.”

Heavy in your hands, you flip through each scroll to take cursory glances, eyes scanning over surnames and territories. It mattered not their age, so long as it did not go above thirty five, you had no qualms. Though perhaps your focus was more on their date of arrivals, and knowing some of the families that have sent their responses, punctuality is to be expected and not suggested.

“How convenient that they should not arrive all at the same time, at the very least I may spend more time getting to know them,” Letting out an amused huff, your eyes look upon a certain family’s especially early arrival.

Your older brother picks up another of the scrolls, phoenix eyes narrowing in vexation for a moment before they return to his usual placidity. His voice is low, serene and sonorous, “How convenient indeed.”

As though sensing the ensuing conversation to be shared between family, A’yan excuses herself and moves to watch over the two of you from a distance. At this, you send him a knowing look as you put down the scroll in your hand.

“Will you promise to behave when they come around?”

Zhou Chen only cocks his head, long auburn hair bound loosely framing his alluring apertures along with the movement. He raises a brow and hums, “You make it sound as if I am cruel enough to burden others.” Amber eyes bearing a kind of aggrievedness as those long lashes flutter, akin to emphasising his hurt, “Meimei, do you truly think so low of me?”

You laugh at such a display, mirth pulling at your lips as you smile, “You always find something to gripe about whenever someone shows interest, am I wrong?”

His hand, slender with well-defined joints, reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the contact gentle and familiar as the cold touch of jade and gold press against your skin. You lean into his touch ever so slightly, more a sign on your accruing stress than anything else. A soft sigh escapes you, and for a moment your eyes meet.

“My dearest meimei is far too good for any person, it is only right that as your brother, I weed them out for you,” He murmurs, amity all but spilling from his words.

You breathe out, voice discordant and scraping out your throat, “Promise me, please.”

Your dearest brother, your only bastion of assuage before the chaos that is soon to emerge, whenever he speaks to you as such, it feels as though everything in this world shall resolve itself favourably.

“Anything for you.”

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————宋曦渊—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

Lord Song Ze, courtesy name Xiyuan, of Ningshan is a face you did not expect to see at your door first thing in the morning. Or rather you did not actually expect to see him at all.

The Song family were the descendents of a particularly pious monk, following more along the path of immortals than those of mortality. You could perhaps recount the last time you have seen a member of this family from your childhood of living among celestial beings, though you are not sure you have ever seen Xiyuan before.

The name is one that bears a kind of distance, one that has been cultivated through his almost ethereal appearance and deeds. When one thinks of benevolence, the image that is conjured is that of white robes and sweeping sleeves. Though the Song family has notoriously been above many of the conflicts that plague other commanderies and territories, so it is of course a surprise that they not only sent an offer, but also that the head of the family himself would so magnanimously offer himself. Their response was vague, promising only that a favourable member had taken it upon himself to make the journey to Chunxin and try his hand upon the sixth day of the month.

So you must be excused for the clear and evident shock on your face when a carriage pulls up in front of your estate only for a tall and slender immortal with a smile on his face to emerge.

“Lord Song, it is a pleasure to have you in our humble lands,” You bow as your eyes subtly shift to look for another that may indicate his being as political, as a figure to ascertain negotiations for another. Yet when no other steps down from the carriage, you take in a soft breath. “I believe this is our first time meeting.”

For a moment, you think you see a complicated emotion flash across aureate eyes, though it is quick to disappear as he urges you from your formality, “Please, no need for such courtesy, we are to get to know one another soon.”

“Of course. Then, would you be keen for some tea?”

Xiyuan nods, an elegant move that barely disturbs the strands of hair that drape upon his broad shoulders. He is so much taller than you, he must tip his head just to perceive you fully and you must raise yours, the stark difference only makes you feel small. Though you gesture for him to go ahead, when the rest of your servants come to take his luggage, he is quick to thank them, a sunny smile pulling across thin lips. His voice is light and gentle, if you must compare it then it should be to the first rays of light in the morning. Perhaps what you do not expect is that when they struggle to carry it, he reaches out and with inordinate ease, lifts what may be a few catties and instead offers to bring it to his room himself.

Throughout this entire process, you could only watch in awe as he does not show even a sign of struggle, maintaining the elegant gait as he accompanies you to your drawing room. It was almost horrifying to see, though you have little time to ponder the reason behind such ability when he has settled in his seat and is looking to you with an expectant gaze.

With a slight quirk of your lips, you inquire the reasoning behind his being here, “I am truly honoured that you have made the journey to Chunxin, though may I ask, why exactly did you choose to court me?”

Xiyuan takes a moment to answer, his expression tranquil as he gathers his thoughts. Then, he speaks, clear and true.

“You are a woman of repute, it is undeniable even in Ningshan that your ability and your generosity is rare among commandery lords.” His eyes persist firmly on yours, unwavering and stalwart. He takes a breath, and his eyes crinkle in slight mirth as that smile of his, clement as a spring’s day, remains upon his lips, “There is little I do not admire about you, and when time came around, I believed it a chance to speak with you.”

Your chest tightens, and though you respond, it comes out weak and gawky, not at all the refined lord you attempted to convey, “Well, it is very kind of you to say so. Before I may continue asking, do you have any concerns you wish to be addressed?”

He merely shakes his head, and gestures for you to resume your pseudo-interrogation, a notion you readily accept.

“I have a duty to Chunxin and so I worry that should we get married, my presence would be required most in Ningshan.”

Though Ningshan was only a journey taken by a few days, you wished not for an event where you would be forced to watch your people suffer from afar. You may be unsure of the manner in which the Song family treats spouses, however there is one thing that you are certain and that is, becoming the wife of a person as important as the Lord of Ningshan would mean dedicating your prowess and time to it, leaving Chunxin.

You would not take it, you had made that clear in your soul the moment you had to send that announcement to the world. In your heart, you already knew the answer you would receive, you merely wished that you would be proven wrong.

“I understand, and I must apologise but as my wife, you would be required to remain by my side,” Xiyuan’s response is as you expected, a slight mournful glint in his eyes.

Yet still, he is swift to reassure you, “However, I can promise that Chunxin will remain entirely under your dominion, we have no intention of absorbing or conquering your lands.”

At that, you can only let out a soft sigh, “That is a relief, I will admit.”

Though your words said so, internally you have likewise expected such a concept. The Song family would not engage in conflict unnecessarily, even if it should benefit them. You do not have much else to ask him if you had to be honest, your main worry out of the way, so you merely hold your teacup to your lips, sipping in slow practised bouts as you attempt to think of conversation.

“Do you have siblings?” Hesitantly, you broach the silence that befell the two of you.

He responds, another smile upon his lips, “A younger brother, I believe he should be around your age.”

“That’s nice, I should like to meet him one day.”

Just as stiff as it started, it ends. Truly, it was difficult to find something to talk about when you knew little of each other, made especially inconvenient by the strict courtesy that bound the two of you. Taking another sip of your tea, the floral liquid tinging your tongue. As his arrival had been so early in the morning, you had yet to break your fast and so in an admittedly, utterly embarrassing moment, your stomach grumbles. The sound is like a knife through the air, horrifically obvious with no method to hide its journey.

Though your thin face attempts to retain some of your dignity, your eye twitches just the slightest. Yet just from a minute glance, Xiyuan does not seem to scorn your break of propriety. Rather, that smile of his softens, melting into something much fonder, as though looking upon a beloved.

“I must ask, do you enjoy pastries?”

“Yes, I…” You are not sure how best to put together your response. There are a myriad of reasons yet the one you decide to share, as well as the one bearing some truth, was one that seemed to imply unwell. Admitting to an odd shyness, you let a smile creep up in an attempt to lighten the mood, “They help me with my energy throughout the day.”

He appears pleased at this response, and though you wondered the reason for such for a moment, it is quickly dispersed when he retrieves a small box wrapped in fabric. You recognise the manner of wrapping, the colour and the very wood of the container. How could you not? Whether by pure coincidence or scheme, he has managed to purchase pastries from your favourite shop.

“Well, if I am not overstepping, I have brought some for you.” He offers the gift to you, the vessel almost dwarfed in his hands.

You have little choice but to accept, taking it into your hands and ignoring the slight brush of contact you share. “Thank you.”

You had fully intended to partake of them later, however by his gesture and anticipating look, you decide to abide so, if only to fulfil his request and your insolent stomach. Unwrapping the fabric with careful fingers, you open the box to reveal delicate spheres dusted with flour, glutinous rice flour encasing a sesame peanut filling. Once again, your favourite. As elegantly as you can, you pinch the ball between your fingers and take a bite, sweet yet tastefully salty, it more than satisfies your stomach when a soft hum escapes you.

Now fully aware of the sound you made, your eyes shift to Xiyuan only to find him gazing upon you, almond eyes all but seeping his solicitous amusement. With his shoulders squared and his posture ramrod perfect, it almost made a quaint sight, that a person could truly be so kind.

Just as you place the rest of the pastry down and open your mouth to speak, you are interrupted by the door sliding open, a familiar figure blocking the sunlight that enters as he stands tall.

“Lord Song,” Your brother’s voice is placid, unlilting and impregnable of emotion.

The man in question merely smiles, not a shred of vexation or annoyance present, “Lieutenant General Zhou, I had not expected that you would be here.”

“Lord Zhou is my sister, I naturally came to check on her,” He answers. The sentiment behind his placidity perhaps enhanced by the natural monotone of his accent.

Though he says as such, he merely takes a glance at you before keeping his attention on Xiyuan. In his hands are a bundle of official documents rather than his beloved qin, so you can only assume that he fully intended to camp the rest of the day in your office either asleep or actually doing work. This quick stop of his must have been impulsive rather than any well-thought out scheme.

Before he may take his leave, Xiyuan invites him in with a lilting hum, “Do come in, I would like to get to know you better as well, your reputation precedes you.”

Your brother only glances at you, and when you send him a minute nod, he obliges. With an elegant gait marred only by the weariness of work, he takes the seat opposite of your guest’s, regarding him with a cool gaze as he speaks slow and practised.

“Yours as well, I hope that should my meimei decide to let you court her, you will not mind my presence.”

“I would not dare. Oftentimes, a brother is as good as a father,” ever the kindly soul, he reassures him.

A small huff escapes you, this good brother of yours may very well be the only male relative you had left. He who was raised by your mother, and you who was whisked away by immortals, neither of you even knew what happened to your father let alone whether he would be as obliging as Zhou Chen. Still, you keep your expression pleasant as your brother seems to think of some matter to discuss.

“I have heard that you are exceptionally talented in playing the xiao, though I am more interested in your supposed ability with the qin. It is quite prodigious to master both,” He hums, long lashes lowered as his gaze sweeps to the man’s side.

“You flatter me, surely my ability could not match up to yours,” Xiyuan deflects the compliment, instead gesturing towards your brother with a kind smile. As naturally as breathing, more praise seems to tumble out, “Is it not true that you can hear a wrong note even in a symphony of instruments?”

Just like that, you may very well be effectively barred from understanding the rest of the conversation. Terms far too technical for you to hope to understand and spoken with enthusiasm far more vigorous than you have ever seen from your serene brother, you could only hide behind your tea and pastries, hoping that this conversation will not drag too far into the future.

Lying beneath your covers as your head rests upon your ceramic pillow, you find that you have been very rudely awakened from meagre sleep due to reasons unknown. Though you have attempted to wrestle your conscious back to restful slumber, your body appears to resist any and all attempts, merely maintaining that sore strain that seems to plague your form upon awakening.

The sun has yet to peek its head from above the morning mist, the birds yet to sing and with little to do, you force yourself to rise. A breeze of cool wind caresses your skin, and it takes everything within you to not retreat back to warmth, instead dressing yourself as respectfully and warmly as possible. As you step out of your room, careful to not make much noise, you let your feet carry you to wherever it desires, eventually stopping outside the a courtyard of youthful pinks and picturesque reds, the plum blossom tree that stands tall acting as a canopy for an unexpected visitor. Though servants milled about to catch glimpses of him, he still appeared a lonely pillar.

“The morning dew has yet to drip and yet you have already awakened.”

He turns to you, a kind of wistfulness in his eyes that returns to the depths of his sunlit eyes as you approach him. There is nothing to deter you, so you come to his side as the two of you remain beneath the tree’s grace. The silence that had once been stiff and stilted, has become more tranquil in such a setting, a context that requires no conversation of grace but rather cherished the fleeting moment of respite.

“Had you remained awake throughout the night?” He inquires, gentle yet concerned.

You only shake your head, your voice still hoarse from disuse, “I could not return to sleep, and you?”

A tightlipped smile appears across his face, though it did not detract from his visage, he nods.

“May I ask what you are doing here?”

“This tree merely reminds me of old memories, when I was younger and more naive.”

There is that smile once more, bearing a kind of emotion distantly related to that gleam just a day ago. You have yet to clue in on what exactly his intentions truly are, to offer himself on a platter when he must surely have options much more willing to be Madam Song than you. Your attendants could find not hide nor hair of intent, nothing to leverage and nothing to use. Song Xiyuan is a man you could not understand at this very moment.

Why did he look at you so? For what reason did he descend if only to make connections with your paltry Chunxin?

“I had this tree grown here in honour of my master, I am unable to visit him as often so knowing there is some part of him I can pay homage to is…” Your gaze averts towards the ground, and even you are not sure what, who, you are trying to avoid looking at. Still, you manage to whisper out, “Comforting.”

“The immortal Xu Yuanzhen, yes?”

His reveal of information, a detail that only your most intimate knew of you takes you more than just off guard. Turning to him, it is unease that pumps through your veins and rushes to your head. For him to have acquired such an aspect about you, there was little explanation for retrieval.

“You would be right,” You breathe out, your eyes wide and your chest tight.

Still, you manage to continue, “How do you know that?”

He glances away for only a moment, only a second before they redirect to you. His hands clasp together in a mock of nerve as he took in a breath. When he speaks, finally speaks and removes you from your disquiet, it is quiet.

“I fear that I may have been keeping some matters secret from you, but I suppose it is only right I tell you.”

In an attempt to maintain your composure, you meet his gaze. He starts his story, speaking with a soothing cadence as he recalls a time long gone, “When I was younger, my uncle took me to a conference and it was there that I met this girl. She was younger than me and was holding the hand of a man with pale apertures and garbed in white robes.”

“She cared not for my status as the Song family heir, and though she was shy at first, it took little for us to start talking.” A kind of mirth tinges his words upon this reveal, fondness practically overfilled.

“I had little contact with other children, and the time I spent with her was exhilarating. When we had to leave, she gave me the string bracelet she had around her wrist and made me promise to play with her again.”

From his wide sleeves and many layers, you see it. The thin little string of dull yellow peeking from behind robes of white, tightly entwined around his wrist and pulling memories from a time you thought lost to you.

“I never saw her again, not when her master rarely descended nor my family’s preference for isolation. I was ready to spend the rest of my life unbound, if only because she had taken my heart with her all those years ago,” He admits with a kind of sardonic irony, one made only more wry by the soft smile on his lips.

“When the news came of Chunxin’s incident, I had an inkling that it could have been you.”

He turns to face you fully, that wistful gleam now one you recognise as sentiment. It is now that you may behold him, the ethereal Lord Song deemed a man too kindly to be mortal, is only so, so very human. Peach blossom eyes that have beared weariness unknown to so many, the subtle wrinkles upon thin lips, the unevenness of his lashes. Human, so wonderfully human and so horrifyingly adoring of you.

“Xiyuan…” Your voice seems to betray you, breathless and stupefied.

For a moment, his hands move as though they sought to hold yours within them, yet even that is suppressed. He pleads softly, anymore and he would have been begging, “Please, just call me Song Ze.”

“I have waited for you for 17 years,” His confession is quiet, as every part of his longing has been yet still contained an ardour that finally breached the surface of the abyss called time. “I do not know how much longer I can wait now that I know you have always been so close.”

“I will ask your brother for permission, if not I will wait outside Lianyue Pavilion for your master’s.”

Under the falling leaves of the perennial plum blossom tree, Xiyuan’s eyes of sunlit gleam. You step closer towards him, allowing yourself to bask in his presence as the sheer attention he gives you, so freely offers to you, almost makes you scared. That though his very presence, a bubble of allaying sandalwood and incense, should bring about some kind of solace, your head only squeezes in ache.

“You barely know anything about me, you would find me appalling if you knew what I have done.”

He shakes his head, and when he finally takes your hands in his, you find that they are extraordinarily warm, like sunlight shining upon your skin. He only smiles, “But it is still you, and I am willing to spend the rest of my life learning everything about you, if you will only let me.”

A part of you wonders why exactly your heart tightens at the sight of his paradisiacal vulnerability.

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————陈伯裕—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

By the fourth day, it seems the entirety of Hedong has arrived at your estate. Stuffed into a singular carriage, the whole Chen family had been all but ecstatic, rushing out of the little vessel to swarm you and your brother. Perhaps if this was another noble family, you would have been more inclined to accept the affection, however, every single one of them just had to be freakishly robust.

Before you can be questioned by the lord and lady, you greet their three children with a small bow and light smile, “Boyu, Zhongyuan, Jiaxiang.”

It is just as you finish your pleasantries that Madam Chen scoops you into her embrace as she wraps her arms around you, leaving you so breathless that you can only manage a breathy and wheezing, “Lord Chen, Madam Chen.”

“Have you lost weight? Oh look at you, it must have been so hard handling everything on your own,” She notes, her voice tinged with concerned as she pulls away, soft hands placed on your face as she scans over you

Lord Chen, an older man with smile lines and crow's feet decorating his face, only enhances those features when he points out their gifts, “Not to worry, we brought some pastries just for that.”

“Oh, and we just couldn’t help bringing some extra things, just a little bit though.”

While you are all but smothered by the two, practically engulfed if you will, you notice your brother likewise receiving the same treatment by the three Chen children. Wrapped up in a hug by the eldest son and the youngest daughter, the middle son was the only one who abided by the rules of propriety and greeted him as usual.

“Yijin!” The sound of a boyishly charming voice rings through your ears, his words enhanced through the natural draw of his youth.

Another one sounds, a young girl’s playful tone ringing through the air as clear as bird song, “Zhou-ge!”

“Shifu.” The last is controlled, a young man’s calm lilt among the chaos.

Equally helpless to the vigour that is the Chen family, the two of you can only let yourselves be asked of everything under the sun and have your ears rambled off. Still, you take it all with a pleasant gleam in your eyes and liveliness befitting such people. When the revelry dies down just the slightest, you have one of your attendants, Xue’er, show the family to their rooms while A’yan settles their bountiful luggage. Lord and Madam Chen drag your brother off at the first notice, asking of this and that while their younger children bicker and tease.

Though, there seems to be one exception to your arrangements. As the carriage departs and the dust settles, you are left completely and utterly alone with the little tyrant of the south, boyish Chen Boyu. Illuminated by bright sunlight, you must look up to meet his gaze, soft brown peach blossoms eyes bearing joy and gaiety, the corners of his lips deep with a smile.

When you look upon him, it is hard to determine the emotions you feel. Though there is one that you can accurately pin down in that labyrinth you may call a head.

An emotion distantly related to playfulness tinges your voice as you hum, “I see you’ve decided to try again.”

“I won’t be giving up anytime soon,” He responds, equally spirited as his voice takes on a pitch just the slightest higher.

At this, you let out an amused snort. With mock aggrieve, you roll your eyes as you whack him, the back of your hand being met with the musculature of his arm.

“You certainly have more noteworthy competition this year.”

Boyu, ever the dramatic, puts a hand to his chest as an offended expression takes form onto his face. Deep eyebrows raised in shock and eyes wide, there is still a smile on his lips despite this, a cheeky lilt to his words, “But compared to them, surely I’m much better?”

“If you want to compete with Lord Song and Qiugu’s general, go ahead,” You bite back, the corners of your lips tugging upwards.

“They don’t have what we have though,” With his musing, he turns away from you. Though it is one that is brief, a moment of drama for an otherwise playful moment. “A bond.”

On instinct, you only shake your head and let out a soft sigh, your eyes squeezed in amusement as you walk ahead of him, at least not before turning back to direct him to his room.

“Go rest up, we still have time before dinner.”

Your relationship with Boyu is not one you say you dislike, nor one you absolutely adore. While you are appreciative for the aid and protection that allying with Hedong has given you, given that you had very little armed forces, there has been a profuse shame welling within your very form since the day you met.

You have never been unaware of his feelings for you, the adoration that seemed to spring from his very being the moment he laid his eyes upon yours. One look and he had suddenly turned from the confident young warlord to a stuttering blushing mess, it was illogical and irrational. Six years of collaboration and his attempts to court you, spend more time with you and get to know you, it granted a relationship akin to bosom friends yet that was only your perception.

You bore no possibility for affection, no room in your heart for him and for all your cruelty, you could not break such news that you could not see him as such. A political marriage may very well be an option but you knew he desired affection, some kind of companionship you could not give. It is because of that very fact that you worry what may come of this moment.

When you return to your office, you find your brother waiting for you, his pipe in hand as languid tendrils of smoke escape his rosy lips. His eyes are closed, but when he hears your steps upon the wooden floors, he directs his gaze to you. There is a weariness to his features, dark circles beneath his eyes and yet that did not detract from his beauty. Approaching his seating by your desk, you pour yourself a cup of herbal tea.

“Why do you look so tired, hm?” You ask, sending him a side glance from the corner of your eye.

He only hums, voice low and steady, “I was up late finishing official documents.”

As you place down your cup, you raise a brow as a concern tinges your voice. From outside and through the window, you see Jiaxiang and Xue’er chatting away, the rest of the family very clearly not resting and rather seemingly, having managed to drag Xiyuan into conversation. Though you are unable to hear exactly what is being said, you can hear snippets of praise being exchanged.

“Do you want to take a nap? We have about two shichen before dinner.”

“No,” He sighs, closing his eyes as he takes another inhale from his pipe. The sweet smell of tobacco fills the room, broad shoulders rolling back before his long lashes flutter open, a detached gleam in his eyes as he looks out to the busy courtyard. He only notes with steady lilt, “They won’t let me anyways.”

Your heart does not quite ache for your brother, but more so tightens. You have seen the kind of work he must do, to the point that he had apparently brought it with him when helping a friend at a matchmaking session. Rest did not come to him easily, not even when in your estate. Your brows raise in helplessness, shutting the window before rising to shut your office doors.

“Sleep. If I say I won’t take guests, they won’t push it,” Humming, you take his hand in yours.

Zhou Chen only lets out a soft breath, though he is quick to lean his head against your shoulder, his chest rising and descending in rhythmic pattern before eventually, the only thing that fills your ears is your brother’s exhales.

Dinner is at present, an event hosting the Chen family, you and your brother. Small tables arranged in perfectly linear fashion, evenly spaced and in fine wood. Atop each and every single one were seasonal dishes as prepared by the kitchens, planned ahead of time down to the very presentation. Though you have yet to partake in the meal,

“This really is quite generous of you to give so many things, I cannot possibly return your favour.”

“It's nothing, we aren’t lacking anything!” The older woman is quick to dismiss your excessive humility, though it is as if a new thought springs to her mind as she brings up a sleeve and a knowing gleam glints in her tawny eyes, “Although maybe we are lacking a daughter in law.”

Quicker still, she corrects her previous statement, “Even if you don’t marry our Boyu, it's still nice to see you.”

“Mooomm, don’t say that!” Jiaxiang whines with clear mock aggrievedness.

Lord Chen only sighs with the kind of resigned fondness every father has for his daughter, “She has such good options, don’t pressure her.”

Your gaze shifts between all of them, briefly lingering to make contact with each member before it eventually lands upon a pair of brown eyes, even still filled with fondness that uneases you. You still do not know how you will tell him, whether you will tell him. You turn away, bringing your tea up to drink as your sleeve conceals your expression. He does not look away, but does so when the conversation turns to focus on your brother.

“Yijin, how have you been?”

Zhou Chen hums, his voice less severe and softer, yet still that gentle smile upon his lips bore a distance unknown by others, “Good, I’ve been busy with work.”

“With the way you keep coming over here, we thought you abandoned us,” Lord Chen laughs, a hearty sound that comes from his lungs.

Lowering his eyes, there appears to be a contrition in his next words, his Adam's apple bobbing as he speaks.

“Forgive me, my sister has little confidants.”

His admittance has a few eyes turning to you, that burning feeling of pity brought upon your form as you vaguely hear Madam Chen’s sympathies fall from her lips. You do not quite understand why he has to mention your lack of advisers, though you suppose there was no other reasonable explanation for a lieutenant general to maintain such costly travels. Still, though you move to say something, you are interrupted by a condoling voice.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Boyu is all but swift to prevent your rueful formalities, bringing up a hand as a blithe smile appears across his lips, “If I could, I would have rushed over to help.”

“How could we? Ai, we all heard about the incident and yet look at the town, everything’s back to normal,” Lord Chen notes, and though you had not wished to say it, that pride he has in his voice, it would make one believe you were his daughter.

With a tender-hearted quirk of her lips and her gentle tone, Madam Chen is the last and yet the most salient of the three to speak, “You must have worked very hard.”

“So don’t worry about taking Yijin for a month or two, we still have the others.”

A kind of excessive sentiment seems to fill your chest, an emotion you are only most familiar with another. It was quite common for your brother to throw all caution to the wind and come to Chunxin for long periods of time, extending discussions that usually lasted a few days to weeks, dragging diplomatic visits from weeks to months. As if he had no obligations to fulfil back in Hedong, though you have always worried and though he has always reassured you, hearing such comfort from them was perhaps more than you needed.

Nodding, you thank them and thankfully, dinner passes without much issue. Albeit, perhaps that is a statement only applicable to the unique situation of the Chen Family. For instead of having to replace four low desks and multiple candleholders, only one has been smashed in the ensuing mayhem that is sure to happen with them. You can only thank the gods that your brother did not bring his qin, lest you find yourself comforting him on his deescalation methods.

With the moonlight shining upon your courtyard and the cool spring wind blowing, the family has since retired to their quarters in preparation for slumber. Your attendants likewise have been dismissed, sent to rest early while you take a walk around the estate. Your footsteps are light, the only sound that came from your movement coming from long robes fluttering along. Each room that surrounded the courtyard dimmed, low candlelight illuminating from within before eventually being snuffed. There is only one room that remains at the very end, your office, doors shut and candles flame put out yet at the very front are a pair of conversing figures.

The two are of similar heights, the one just slightly taller bearing more visible musculature while the shorter of the two bore a more regal physique, no less stalwart than one or the other. They speak in low tones, and from your admittedly distant position, you are scarce to hear only bits and pieces of their conversation. Boyu speaks, posture much tenser than you have ever seen as your brother pulls his pipe away from his lips.

Low in your ears and bearing a vulnerability so easily come to him, the young heir entreats his closest friend, “Will you grant me your blessing to court your sister?”

Clouds of smoke leave his flushed lips, his eyes closed as he takes a breath. His lord waits expectantly, to no avail, for your brother remains steadfast in his notions of your suitors, no matter their identity and no matter their abilities.

“No.”

Zhou Chen turns to him, those eyes that once bore amity glazes over, freezing to a cool mirror as he speaks. His voice maintains his usual monotone lilt, and it is such that you can tell that this was a decision he has made long ago.

“You excel in war and combat, yet when asked to settle civil matters you are unable to be discrete nor courteous.”

“Have you not noticed how every discussion in the household always turns to a screaming match or violence?” He raises a brow, ignoring the way Boyu attempts to stammer out a response. He continues, “Will you bring my sister into such a place?”

His next inquiry is further still loaded, the dulcet tones of his voice growing ever agitated at the edges of his words, “Though Chunxin has remained safe from invading territories despite the raging war of succession due to our intervention, what happens when you must aid my sister with laws and merchantry?”

“Will you come to me, your lieutenant generals?”

He takes another drag of his pipe, the weariness he has been burdened with now all the more visible under such a situation. His shoulders rise and fall, descending to forcibly calm himself lest he acts impromptu. His friend does not interrupt him, yet still his figure that had been hopeful now has slumped ever so slightly with each new dig your brother brings up.

“There will come a day where she will face public contention, when the time comes, will you defend her?” Your brother asks, the question nonplussed yet seemingly targeted. For this is the inquiry that has his eyes, beautiful amber which reveal nothing of the internal tempest that must rage within him seep just the hint of it.

Quick to answer, such a request is nothing short of obvious to the young man, “Of course I would!”

“Even above the threat of Hedong’s collapse?”

Yet, this last query is the one that stumps Boyu, and to no wonder. For someone who grew up in the rivers and towns of Hedong, to protect the place that loves him or to protect the woman he adores, it becomes the ultimatum only your brother would think to spring upon him. It is cruel, yes, but for men who rule, it is necessary.

When he does not respond, Zhou Chen only places a hand on his shoulder and tips his head, long brindle hair falling to act as a curtain, concealing his delicate apertures from your gaze. Though you still manage to hear his last words to his lord.

“You are a good general, but I will not let my sister marry a man who cannot devote his very being to her. Good night, Chen Fu.”

At this, he glides away from the man, paced and even steps that bring his form to you. His eyes soften and he pats your head with a gentle hand before he pulls away, disappearing into the estate with nothing but a glance. Your friend seems to notice your presence then, his eyes lightening up and his posture straightening just the slightest. Yet, he kept that defeat with him. You approach him, despite everything you find yourself unsure on how to comfort him. Stood so close, you can smell just the hint of his scent, fresh and clean, it hurts your head.

You keep your voice soft, calling for him with a tone hushed as your brows raise in concern, “Boyu.”

“Do you think he hates me?” He asks, just as quietly if not more so. It is as if any more and he would have been tried for public disturbance.

Shaking your head, a soft sigh only escapes you, “You know he doesn’t.”

“I just don’t…” For once, genuine and actual forlorn stains his very being. His usually squared shoulders almost hunched in dismay and his voice soft, so much softer than you were used to. Thick brows furrowed in worry, the hint of a glassy quality seems to form over his bronze eyes, the plump of his cheeks rosy from the wind and emotion. His voice loses that usual higher pitch, “Understand why he’s never approved of me.”

A strained expression comes across your visage, your hand resting on his forearm as you make a comparison, “See it this way, if he tried to court Jiaxiang for so long without success, you’d be a little iffy too, right?”

His face twists into dismay, then disgust before finally landing on exaggerated understanding. He nods yet it does little to actually lighten his mood. Boyu’s desire for your brother’s acknowledgement is understandable, yet it is his consistency and persistence that worries you. Though you have never actually expressed it, he picks up on your palatable concern.

“You’re right, it's just that he’s important to you, and he’s your older brother. So I want to be doing this right,” Confessing, a helpless smile tugs at his lips.

A reticence falls upon the two of you, and in the distance you hear the soothing melody of a xiao, humming a gentle tune that merely appeared sonorous in such a moment. Though you have turned away from each other, and though you had intended to leave the conversation in fear of buried sentiments being brought up, he once again takes the opportunity to make you face your unspoken regrets.

“Will you be honest with me?” That boyish voice has long lost its higher pitch, and you wonder when exactly you started missing it.

“In our six years of knowing each other, have you ever thought of me romantically?”

You should have seen this moment coming, you should have known that you would have to eventually tell him. To lie to him that you have and yet to turn around and deny his affections would be far crueller than to tell him the truth, and yet still the truth was but a stone in your throat, lodged within and scraping to vomit out. Meeting his gaze with a glance you are not sure is kindly or forthcoming, you let yourself speak.

“You are dear to me, but to call it love is…” Your voice trails off into the night wind, doing everything in your power to keep your throat from closing up and to maintain the composure you tried so hard to display. Yet when you look at him, look at those wide brown eyes so filled with youthful ardour, you are just unable to. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m the problem here.”

“For all the years we’ve known one another, I’ve always felt this gnawing guilt,” You admit though a cracking voice, the weight of such a burden finally lifted yet it was not a relief that flooded, but rather more contrition that had no rational reason to exist within you.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Boyu insists, he shakes his head as his eyes, wide and just the slightest teary, seem to bear the determination he has always had. “You don’t have to love me back.”

“You never had to love me back.”

He pleads, desperate and all too willing, far too willing, “If you’ll just let me stay by your side, I’m okay with that too.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

Staring at him, the truth of your relationship has finally come to light, yet it is his devotion that remains steadfast. For how much of it is true, you do not know and you only fear that it is far more truthful than any facade you have played.

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————蔡奉汐—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

The third and last suitor arrives late into the seventh day, there is no rumble of carriage wheels that announces his arrival, no thumping of luggage against wood, the only sign of life is the howling wind.

You are resting in your room, eyes scanning over the last remains of the pile of documents once amassed in your office. The skillful plucking of a qin fills your ears, low notes strum to perfection from just a few footsteps away. Zhou Chen plays with a languidity, almost lazy despite the dulcet melody that he plucked. Your eyes, which yearn for rest yet remain awake in accordance to the brain, flutter between open and close. Words of ink seemingly meld together into a blurry mess, yet you continue.

There is a knock at your door, a crisp interruptance that has your head snapping towards it. The tune stops just as abruptly, and A’yan shifts the door open just the slightest, enough for you to acknowledge her presence and for her voice to travel in.

General Cai Fengxi, The Devourer of Qiugu has arrived.

Garbed in dark robes and holding the reins of an even darker horse, this man that stood before you bore nothing else beyond a small pouch and the cloak around his shoulders. With not even the moonlight to illuminate his apertures, the sharp and almost gaunt features you could make out had almost sent a chill down your spine. The general’s eyes almost seemed to glow, a deep gold set in pale skin and peeking from behind pin-straight hair, still as dead waters as A’yan guides the horse towards the stables.

“General Cai, it is an honour to have you here,” Your welcome is stilted and stiff as though to pair with your rigid bow. You notice how needly his fingers are, skin stretched taut over the bones. When you rise to meet his eyes, you find that he has yet to move, expression forbidding. Still, you gesture for his entrance, “Your room has already been prepared, please let me show you to your quarters.”

It is only then that he shows some signs of response, following your steps as his footfalls land inaudibly. You would dare say it appeared more so as gliding than walking. His very presence loomed from behind you, intimately feeling the heavy burden of his severe regard upon your form. In an attempt to spurn such a notion from your mind, you open your mouth to speak.

“Was the journey from Qiugu difficult?”

“It was fine,” He responds, curt and low. A deep bass that seems to rumble from within his chest, though quiet you could distinctly feel it in your bones.

You send him a polite smile, “That is good.”

There is no additional effort made to continue such a stiff conversation, not when even your own eyelids have been threatening to shut down against your wishes, let alone what the general must be feeling after making the lone journey. When you arrive to his room, you take it upon yourself to open the door for him, yet he merely looks upon you. You do not know how best to respond, yet it is by instinct that you continue.

“Have a good rest, I shall come visit you in the morning,” You smile once more, bowing before taking your leave.

Scarce to notice his entrance, your return to your room is swiftly granted and one that is very much preferred. A sigh escapes you, and your brother, kindly as he is, remains in his languid seat. As though one with a slug, you slump over and make your way to his side, resting your head on his lap facefirst as you close your eyes.

“I assume the general has arrived,” He hums, voice soft as his fingers remove the pins and stick from your hair.

Through mumbled words and fabric, you are surprised he still managed to discern your sentences. “Might as well have not arrived at all, he only said two words to me.”

“And here I thought men these days would have basic manners at the very least..”

You turn your head to face him, shifting your body so you could behold that face which women envy and men covet. Fine apertures still placid with that hint of fond aggrievedness, your brother’s attempt at cool tranquillity surely did not disguise the snide undertones.

“What are you implying?” Your brow raises as your voice takes on a derisive tinge.

Zhou Chen responds, speaking as though his answer was the most natural concept to humanity, “That men are merely beings of simple lusts, and that my meimei deserves better than that.”

Letting out a yawn, you squeeze out a stray tear as your voice fights to remain audible. It is hard to, especially when one wishes for nothing more than to slumber after a long day and a guest as startling as the general. Still, you think you catch your brother’s sweet laugh when you manage a response.

“If you keep this up, the only person you’ll ever approve of is yourself.”

When morning comes, you are informed that the general has yet to awaken, and that no matter what is done, he will not rise. This news does not surprise you, the ride from Qiugu to Chunxin is approximately 15 days worth of travel, and based on his appearance, he must have rode ceaselessly and through the nights. Waving off their concerns, you assure them of his well being and instead have them call to inform you when he does.

Your brother and his student, Zhongyuan, have been promptly kidnapped by Jiaxiang since his awakening, which leaves you to entertain your three suitors. Dressed in lighter robes for the day, half your hair is bound in a bun and put together with a simple hairstick, suitable for a casual outing that you may hopefully partake in today. You plan to bring the general out to see the town, perhaps try to spark some conversation that will not start and end dreadfully.

As you make your way to the guests’ quarters, you notice Xiyuan and Boyu talking, discussing some matter of thing that even you are not sure pertains to what. Bearing similar heights, you find that the two of them bear an uncanny likeness. Not in visage but rather in bearing, the kind of people who attract admiration effortlessly. They walk into a room and immediately the only kind of attention they receive is kindly.

With a princely gait and visage to match such a form, you have found yourself wondering how exactly Lord Song has yet to marry despite his supposed devotion to you. Likewise with Boyu, boyishly handsome and well-to-do, there was little to dislike. Their very presence in the courtyard brings people to them, passing servants taking their time to stare and talk, with poorly hidden smiles and flushed ears. You only wonder what virtues you may be able to extract from the general.

Approaching the pair, you greet them with a slight bow of your head, “Boyu, Xiyuan, good morning.”

“Good morning to you as well,” Xiyuan greets in response, his voice forbearing with the lilts of his sentence.

In contrast, Boyu only chirps, “Morning!”

You inform the two of them of your upcoming schedule for the third suitor, a tad more occupied as compared to theirs due to discussions of military provisions and arrangements. With a regretful tone, you squeeze out a strained smile as you could only apologise for the inconvenience.

“No worries, we’ll see each other for dinner, right?” The younger man asks, with hopeful eyes as even his companion appears to join in the invite.

“Yeah,” You smile, a huff of breath escaping you when his eyes light up. Keeping your tone fairly cordial despite your amusement, you reassure them, “If we venture out, I’ll come visit when I return.”

Shaking his head, Xiyuan merely responds, “Do not force yourself, you must take care of yourself.”

“Of course.”

It is then that you finally notice a figure looming from behind you, a shadow cast above your vision, and perhaps it is also by Boyu’s slight adjustment of his eyes that has you realising exactly who it is that was behind. Your feet swivel around to face the general, his form still severe as last night. Under the sunlight, you could make out the harsh contours and angles of his face, tall nose and sharp willow eyes. You met his eyes for just a moment, looking down upon you yet the very burden it placed was momentous, a sinner in the oceanic depths.

Ever kindly, Xiyuan greets him with a bow and a pleasant expression, sunny eyes squeezed and hands put together, “General Cai, it is good to see you awake.”

“If you didn’t get up, I think we would’ve just taken her out ourselves,” Boyu jokes, his puerile tone making it only all the more light-hearted.

“Ah…” A breath escapes you, perhaps a sign of your hesitance. Yet, the general does not move, remaining perfectly still as he awaits your input. Involuntarily, you feel that maladroit laugh appear on your lips, “General, could this one perhaps–”

“Fengxi.”

You had not heard wrong last night, what you thought was possibly too low, too harsh for human voice, reaches your ears once more. He speaks as though biting, words escaping from abyssal maws to behold for mortal perception.

When you do not react, he speaks once more, “Call me Fengxi.”

“Of course, Fengxi, would you like to join me for a trip around town?” Quickly recovering from the blunder, you finally make your offer with an outstretched arm and open hand, an invitation.

Yet rather than actually responding, he merely takes your hand, cold bony fingers wrapping around yours. The mere action sends a million warning bells to your head, yet you can only smile and carry on, bringing him towards the carriage that is soon to be prepared.

Left behind in the remnants of confrontation, Xiyuan and Boyu can only look to each other, a kind of disoriented confusion filling them. While Xiyuan had never interacted with the general before, let alone been so up close, he had not realised that there was such a heavy truth to the rumours. Boyu likewise had never seen him as such, only having seen him in the battlefield, looming and quiet, cold dead eyes as the general commanded an army of the dead. At least, that is what they call it.

“Can he actually speak? Or is he just going to be standing there when she talks to him?” He asks the young lord, his head tilted in slight confusion.

Xiyuan looks at him, his voice almost nearing a reprimand if not for the strained smile on his lips, “Boyu.”

“I’m just asking. Besides, I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t have done that.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“The general is likely not as well-versed in noble etiquette, you can’t blame him.”

Rather, ever full of vigour, he crosses his arms and asserts, “No, I can and I will. He should know better.”

Xiyuan can only sigh at that response, a helpless gleam in his eyes. He shakes his head, the people of Hedong are certainly intriguing.

It is while this conversation is happening that you are left with the ever envious task of collecting some errands and messages to be sent to some townsfolk by your servants. A few are easy enough, visiting merchants to pass along lists or merely to send word of their well-being, that being said there was one establishment you would have to visit and you could only hope that the general would not mind.

At the very least, you hoped he would at least voice out his rejection. The carriage ride towards town might as well have been for the dead, for he stared into your form as though you had committed a great crime upon the heavens and he were the jade emperor. You could not describe the situation as anything less than maladroit, any lesser person would wish to crawl into a cave and die when faced with such an individual.

Still, you remained strong and kept a serene expression, maintaining such that even when you broached the idea of your plans, he merely responded with a hum and a gesture. The general does not speak even when you bring him to sellers and farmers offering their wares, remains silent when you visit families and receive baskets, speaks not a word even as he now has realised that the building ahead of you is one of debauchery.

The women of Yunliang House, upon seeing your face rush from within to greet you, their painted lips quirked into smiles as their eyes squeezed in mirth. One of the women grabs you by the hands as she squeals with excitement.

“My lord, it's been so long since you’ve come!”

Another woman leans in closer to your visage, eyes scanning over with objective precision. The scowl on her face is not one that bears good news, “Ahh, look at you, your skin has gotten so dull. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Ai, ladies, our lord doesn’t have the time we do,” A voice comes from behind the crowd, a basket in her arms and a natural sway to her steps. Boxes of rouge and pins, bolts of fabric and assortments of fruits and pastries lay in the basket’s wooden cradle. She turns to the general and hefts it over to him, not before making the same old excuse, “Come, some idiot gave us too many gifts again.”

“I’ll make sure to pass it to them back in the estate,” You laugh, made especially all the more obvious when the ladies fuss over him to ensure nothing falls from the basket.

That same woman only huffs and crosses her arms, rolling her eyes as she remarks, “One of these days you’re going to have to accept these from us.”

“That day shall come when it comes, thank you.”

With that last bow, you are waved goodbye by the ladies and set to return to the carriage. Surrounded by a sea of people all milling about the marketplace, the sounds of haggling and advertising fills your ears, grilled meat and rich spices wafting through the air as even children weave between your forms. When a young child, no older than six years old, takes a small tumble and falls into you, you are quick to help her up. She looks up to you with wide and shaky eyes, yet tears do not fall, instead she thanks you rather loudly than scurries off, her laughter continuing to reach you.

Fengxi decides to speak, and though you believed the very surroundings too much, too loud for his voice, again you are proved wrong. “You treat your people well, it is undeniable that they hold affection for you.”

“Many thanks but I am merely doing for them what I should,” You shake your head, a huff of amusement escaping you.

“You would be surprised.”

As though lost in thought, the general finally moves his gaze away from your form, that heavy weight placed upon your shoulders lifted. His lashes accompany the slow blink he takes, cocking his head ever subtly as sleek pin-straight hair follows along the movement. He does not slow in his pace, the overflowing basket of gifts likely weighing nothing to him, and yet there appears an odd melancholy to him. You do not know what there is to ponder, what exactly has captured that enigmatic mind that a pensiveness should take over. It is when the crowd amasses to that of mountains and seas that he decides to open his mouth once more.

He hums, eyes still looking off into the far distance, “Chunxin is kindly, with clement weather and conditions.” Then, Fengxi redirects that heavy focus back upon you, a dark thin brow raised in jest. “It is no wonder my lord has received such warm suitors.”

“And have you not as well?” You remark, cocking your head as you send him a glance.

For the first time, actual amusement is visible on his face, lips pulling back to reveal pearly teeth as he barks in laughter, “Not many women are keen on becoming the wife of a Qiugu general.”

You notice how sharp his teeth are, perhaps no different than a normal person’s upon first glance, but the narrower tips had sent an odd feeling down your spine. The Devourer, a title earned from war-torn savagery, soldiers tearing through enemy ranks without care of life nor death, and their general who not so much as leads but lunges into battle as eager as his soldiers, ravenous beasts who tear into the throats of men with claw and teeth.

You do not understand him. He is 34 years of age, and has previously held no interest in any sex. There have been rumours that those who have tried, those who have attempted such underhanded tactics would find themselves spurned at best, and in pieces at worst. He says such words, and yet he will ride ceaselessly from Qiugu just to arrive at the soonest possible moment. Why even bother with the effort if he will only act as such?

“Yet you sent an offer to me?”

He does not respond, and the crowd seems to have noticed this gap in conversation, for it grows so congested that you must pull the two of you into an empty alley to prevent either of you from being swept up. In such a constrained space, you keep your voice soft and ask him once more, meeting those severe eyes as a tinge of trepidation grips onto your tendons. Unlike Boyu or Xiyuan who provide warmth upon close contact, there is no heat that radiates off of him, only frigid cool.

“Fengxi, did you send an offer because of some reason unpolitical? Or is this an excuse to soon discuss offers of grain and iron?” Your murmur is gentle, yet he hears it all. A gleam of mirth glints within those eyes.

The general meets your gaze, lowering himself so that he may be eye level with you. “At the start, I did wish to court you out of reasons purely detached, yet...” His words trail off yet it is not out of hesitance but ponderance.

“When I saw you, there was something within you that sparked an interest,” His breath is warm, fanning across your neck. It takes everything within you to not flinch away, look away from those eyes which bear abyssal depths. Rumbling from within his chest with gravelly quality, he hums, “The way you treat your servants, the rest of your suitors, and your townspeople.”

“There is something about you that I cannot put my finger on, yet there is something oddly reminiscent of your very being.”

“It is as though we have known each other for a time yet I doubt it is so.”

You manage a response, your voice even and unlilting despite your unease, breathing, “Perhaps in a past life.”

You do not like the way he looks at you, the way he sizes you up like something to be eaten, peering over every pore on your face, every wrinkle and every curve. His words only confuse you, there is no feeling of familiarity when you think of him, no interest, no knowledge. You do not understand that abyss in human skin, and you hate it. It hurts your head, the sheer inability to understand, you hate it. You hate this feeling of being unable to get under his skin, you hate not knowing what makes him tick.

“Perhaps so.”

“I wonder what it is,” He hums, voice low and rumbling from within that chest of his. Though his face displayed no sign of amusement, that flash of teeth, Fengxi seemed almost all too pleased by your tense shoulders and quickened breath, “Shall we find out together?”

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————春芯王—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

As A’yan and Xue’er comb through your hair, removing pins and hair sticks that relieve the tension on your head, an almost audible sigh of relief escapes you. Another long day of entertaining and appeasing, you had certainly thought yourself capable of an act as simple as talking yet you always find yourself beyond exhausted when night falls. It is as though your bones have liquified and your head squeezed tight with a circlet, so these little moments between you and your attendants have been nothing but a consolation for your troubles.

Xue’er, her smaller hands slick with fragrant oil, parts portions of your hair to reveal scalp, rubbing it into the skin with the heel of her palm. The force she places into each action is perfect, not quite practised but rather habitual. While she is doing so, she puts up a query, her mellow voice soft in your ears.

“My lord, Yongjie has been recovering well. Do you want to visit her tomorrow?”

Meeting her gaze through the bronze mirror, you hum, “I think I may be able to, how is her condition?”

“She can hold conversation, A’yan-jie talks to her when she can,” She notes, glancing towards A’yan who has busied herself with putting away your current pins and preparing tomorrow’s.

Upon this referral, your dearest attendant averts her gaze, speaking low and gentle, “She asks about you, whether you’re taking care of yourself and whether you’ve started a great scandal yet.”

You can only laugh at this. Yongjie would certainly have your head if she knew the kinds of impiety that you have committed. Yet though she has always placed your reputation and image above all else, her query for your wellbeing likewise tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, she will know when I come to see her. General Cai will understand.”

Xue’er’s expression immediately sours when she hears you mention him, the shift instantaneous. The manner in which she rubs the oil into your head changes as well, a tad more forceful than before.

She sneers, “I don’t like him, he’s weird and he always just stares at me when I have to do things.”

“Xue-er,” A’yan warns.

“My lord, please tell me you'll marry Lord Song,” Her voice is filled with hope, her wide eyes of ivory all but begging you. Almost reminiscent of a puppy, she cites her rather reputable evidence, “At least he always helps us when we need it.”

“A’yan-jie, who do you think our lord should marry?”

Turning her attention towards the stalwart woman, she waits with earnest for her opinion. A’yan approaches your seated form, brushing your oiled hair to one side. Through the fabric of your thin robes, you feel the callouses that litter her hands.

She merely answers, her voice is clear, “Whoever she deems best, no matter who it is, we should support her.”

“You’re right, but still…”

A tired sigh escapes you as a smile that reeks of exasperation tugs at your lips, “Ai, let’s not talk about marriage now. It’s all I’ve had to think about for the past two weeks.”

The two women only snort, but do not press the topic any further, continuing with their respective task until eventually, as all things must do, they finish and rather eagerly take their leave. In fact, Xue’er does not even wait to leave the premises before she is rambling into A’yan’s ear about how much she finds General Cai offputting and how marrying Lord Song or First Master Chen would be far better for you. Perhaps the ongoing betting pool you have caught wind of has likewise found conversation for Xue’er.

You can only let out an overfond huff as your finger plays with the gold band around your finger. It is a wonder that none of them have mentioned the obvious signs of courtship upon your very being, jade bangles, gold hairpins, delicate necklaces and the gold ring wrapped around your finger. They seem to believe the other responsible for such gifts, friendly and courteous with one another yet too prideful to ask.

To be a young woman in today’s society is to have a metaphorical clock above one’s head, ticking away at every shichen she exists without a husband. 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24. As each year passes, the demands grow louder and louder. Though you rule among men, you are still seen as a woman, above all you are a woman.

Yet when the one person you desire most remains forever unavailable to you, so close yet just out of reach, there is little choice on what action to take, little choice to discourage the masses that call for your betrothal.

Though you despised deception, it is necessary.

It has always been a necessary cruelty.

Perhaps it is more cruel of you to admit it so easily, but you have not come to your station by being soft-hearted, not bearing the title Lord of Chunxin by disclosing personal affections.

They are decent men, just not ones you can see sharing your treacherous life with.

So you decided that if you were to remain unwed, you would make it so that no other man that breathes upon this earth would deem you desirable. Invite them into your home and lead them on a little game, let them fall into your hands and into the deception called ‘love’. Then, you would simply rebuff each and every single one of them. The more visible the better, Lord Song, the Chen family heir, the general of Qiugu, a selection that may eventually find their dreams shattered. They shall call you fickle and cruel, a woman undeserving and undesirable.

No matter the notion that these men spoke their flowery words, spilling their heart out as you return those heartfelt gazes with a gleam only distantly related to fondness, let them take your hands in theirs as they swear and swear it can be only you, there was nothing but the yawning abyss within that chest of yours. It mattered not of how much they could attempt to satisfy that avidity, it would not be so unless it was with him.

Yet that did not mean you would not regret hurting them

A yearning that shall go unfulfilled,desires born of spring-time affection that shall be spurned in favour of another far more profound.

Song Xiyuan shall find that his desire to learn all you have to offer, all that you are and all that you have been, snubbed. Ningshan takes but 7 days to travel on lone horseback, and to become Madam Song would therefore mean a partial absorption of Chunxin into Ningshan’s authority. This directly contradicts your terms, and though you enjoyed his presence, his company, you would not allow yourself to separate from your dearest home.

Chen Boyu will see another year of failure, another year of shame to be hung with the previous years. Though he wishes for nothing more than your company, nothing more than to stay by your side, you could not give him what he truly wants. You know him as much as he knows himself, you are after all, most bosom friends. Perhaps you shall offer a sworn oath of siblinghood, and he will accept it, because he is nothing if not adoring.

Cai Fengxi shall return to Qiugu with not marriage but an offer of alliance. He and his army shall swear to serve you and Chunxin, yet remain stationed in Qiugu. A general and his lord, he may discover the truth behind his fascination without tying himself to a title that holds no weight. His loyalty, steadfast and undying, will be useful. To the devourer who has no rival, you can only hope his interest remains so.

And your brother? Your brother will get what he has always wanted.

It is as he desires, always as his desires. Because they are as much his, as they are yours. It is only a question of whose is so iniquitous that it should deem you eternally lay in the land of tenderness.

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————周羿瑾—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

There is something about your brother that you wonder whether is as visible to an outside eye as it is to you.

To outsiders, your brother bears a kind of beauty that men desire and women envy, a kind of appeal that men covet and women long for. After all, with a face such as his, alluring phoenix eyes of warm amber with lashes long enough to kiss the apples of his cheeks, his tall nose and thin rosy lips upon jade white countenance, it is hard to not admire him. When he speaks, it is low and steady, a tune with no discerning cadence. Of course, one could not deny the appeal of his form, garbed in long robes that trail along his path, a tasteful yet scandalous peek of his chest that only enticed the observer for more.

Slender fingers capable of playing the most euphonious melodies and a mind that can memorise a tune with just a single listen, he has always had that talent for musicality. Three rounds of drinks in and he may still pick out a wrong note in a piece. Yet beyond his physical allure, there is perhaps one description you have heard of him that has remained most prominent in your mind. ‘Being with Zhou Yijin is like drinking the finest of wines, you get carried away and before you know it, you’ve become utterly drunk.’

It is a rather apt sentence. Though your brother very often does not enjoy unnecessary ramble, there was a charm to him, an undeniable magnetism to his intellect and mannerisms. Your servants find his visage enticing, so perpetually irresistible that they shall grasp any situation to look at him. Your attendants adore his doting nature, that your vanity be filled with gifts and your desk occupied with pastries at all times. It would explain why Xiyuan has become so enraptured in conversation with him, why Boyu would continue to be with him despite his harsh words, why even Fengxi may engage in drink with him.

Your brother is the perfect image of a noble character. And the perfect brother.

Beyond his surface niceties and nobility, your brother is the person who knows you best. He is the one who understands your heart and stomach, that every blood vessel and bone in your body is known completely and utterly to him. To others, he maintains societal chivalry, but to you he is gentle. With warm hands that seem to be able to hold the world and an adoration in his every action, there is no other man like him.

Since the day you reunited, since the incident, since the day you almost lost him, you have never desired for another to accompany you. Entertaining men you have no interest in courting, no desire to know beyond exchanges of grain and iron for military might, when the day ends and you must retire, it is his embrace you return to.

Within the candle-lit room is your brother and your three suitors, indubitably intoxicated beyond relief, or perhaps more accurately, your three suitors are so drunk that when you open the door, you are greeted with a rather loud greeting and utter chaos. A table has been shoved aside and the floor is littered with empty jars of wine, the sweet yet wheat-like aroma wafting from the room, under the warm lighting, perhaps one might mistake your hall as a cheap brothel than a room in a lord’s estate. You are only surprised that there is nothing more broken than the cheap qin you keep, entirely smashed in as courtesy of a certain someone’s impulse issues.

In the very corner, Fengxi had apparently gotten so inebriated that he is now face first onto the low table, his cup still in hand as his chest rises and descends in slow rhythmic pace. Boyu has since grasped onto your brother’s sleeve, fat tears rolling down his pink cheeks as he begs for something. Xiyuan, the one who called for you with that joyous ring of your name, is flushed from his neck to his ears. Excitedly waving you over, even the wide sleeves of his robes seem to adopt that exuberant aura, his smile wide and unabashed.

In the middle of it all is your brother, his cup still full as his once frigid eyes soften when you approach them. As though a bodhisattva among mortals, he maintains his flawless complexion and upright form, even if he is attempting to console Boyu, who is rather preoccupied with sobbing into his leg. Sitting by Zhou Chen’s side, you cup the young master’s face into your hand as you smile upon the way his watery eyes light up at your presence. He immediately switches to clinging to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist while he looks up to you.

“Boyu, go rest,” You coo, your thumb rubbing his cheek in assuage.

He merely hums, nodding his head as he falls limp into your lap. Your brother clicks his tongue at such a display, and with a quick look to the crowd of help outside, a few rush in to carry Boyu back to his room, at least not without some kind of struggle. With the rather obvious issue out of the way, Zhou Chen rises and offers a hand for you to take, one you accept but it is soon that you realise that another has come to grasp the ends of your long robes, tugging on the ends of it the same manner a child does to his mother.

Xiyuan, his sunlit eyes you are so accustomed to seeing squeezed in mirth, has widened to liken him to a puppy pleading to be let onto the bed. His voice loses the drunken enthusiasm yet retains that same vulnerability, imploring, “Stay a while longer, please?”

“I shall see you tomorrow, alright? It is late now and I would rather you be well rested.” Your hand comes to rest atop his head, an innocent brief pet that he chases after when you pull away.

The lord manages to grasp that hand of yours despite the drunken coordination he has adopted, holding it as he once again pleads, “Promise?”

“Promise,” You smile, a huff of amusement escaping you when he beams as your response. When he has loosened his guard, you are quick to retract your hand, a notion your brother clearly approves of when he pulls you closer towards him, practically encased in his presence.

“Please have them escorted to their rooms,” You turn to your attendants and servants, a few of which wince when they realise that they must soon heft the unconscious general to his room. Still, you muster a smile and bow to them, “Thank you.”

At this, they get to work with swift action, one of the perhaps luckier ones rushing over to the still giggly Lord Song to help to his chambers. You are not sure of what else occurs, for your brother is even swifter to bring the two of you back to your bed chambers, a notion that thankfully has remained innocuous to your people.

His hand rests on your waist, and though the journey back passes by in but a blink of an eye, every moment away from his touch, away from having his sole focus on you is torturous. Only ever in the privacy of your room, tucked away in your office, in spaces that you may never be perceived as Lord Zhou of Chunxin, only then will you be merely you, your older brother’s dearest meimei.

Kept at the farthest end of the estate and in its own little paradise, your bed chambers are lit up by candles emitting their gentle light. Despite your simple attire, you have yet many tasks to settle at your vanity, sitting atop the sandalwood stool as you free your hair from its binds, thick and flowing past your shoulders. Just as your hand places your hairpin down, a larger one comes atop it, far cooler in body temperature.

You say nothing to this. Instead, keeping your voice low, a huff escapes you as you raise a brow in suspicion, “How convenient that you’ve gotten them all so drunk.”

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice is stolid, he tips his head to face you, a hint of amusement along the corners of his eyes.

Zhou Chen maintains his guileless demeanour, letting you fuss over him instead as you urge for him. He places himself between your legs, kneeling obediently as you remove his own hairpin and jade hair-beads that provide his blithe comeliness. Your hand reaches to brush his hair back, remaining atop his head as he looks to you with those warm eyes.

“How did you even manage to get them to drink that much?” You mutter, your eyes lingering on his soft lips.

He hums with not a hint of his usual snide, “They’re eager to impress.”

“Even Fengxi?”

The sudden change of reference, the new intimacy as he perceives it, is not as all welcomed. He furrows his brows as a wronged expression appears on his handsome face. It would be almost cute, such a noble man showing an emotion oft relegated to neglected concubines or petulant children, you cannot help the scrunch of delight that manifests.

“Calling him by his name now, hm?” He huffs with narrowed eyes.

No matter how much mirth you feel from his misplaced discontent, a soft breath escapes you. Watching him ascend from his position, you likewise rise, your footfalls rushing towards him despite his clear stay. When faced with him, you could only sigh, “I know you don’t like me spending so much time with them but I have to.”

Zhou Chen’s expression mellows, returning to that visage of tender concern as he pulls you into a loose clutch, staunch arms enveloping your form. The familiar smell of sweet and spiced tobacco clings to his skin, a creamier note of sandalwood urges you to press your nose against the crook of his neck and doze off. It springs that welling sentiment of assurance, reliance on him.

“I thought we said you’d spend your days with them, not your nights as well yet…”

Twisted with disquieted aggrieve, his voice is soft among the night wind, “...We’ve been having less and less time for each other now.”

“It's only for a few more days,” You sigh, brows furrowed as he rests his hands on your hips, his rings digging ever so slightly into the fat of your flesh. An aggrieved lilt tinges your words, “Can’t you hold on until then?”

He merely raises a brow, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against one another. “Don’t you know how hard it is for your brother? Watching you run around with simpletons, watching you give them that smile of yours so easily, watching you touch them without care for propriety.”

His lowered lashes flutter as he lowers his head, murmuring against your lips, “It makes me want to smash their heads open.”

“Childish,” You scoff, yet with not a single shred of actual vexation could be found in even a blood vessel of your form.

“Do you like them that much?”

“Of course not,” You mutter against his lips, voice soft. It is not hard to tell him your wants, not hard to spill every amorous thought you have of him, not when it is for him, never when it is for him. “The only person I need is you.”

Your brother’s lips are warm when they capture yours, so unlike the rest of his body. He cups the side of your face as though your skin were delicate porcelain, as though any more and you would shatter before his very eyes. And though you have griped over his subtleties, you have missed him more than anything that this world could possibly offer atop a golden platter.

It comes as no shock when you press against his lips harder, and your brother, your perfect brother who always knows how best to hold you, pushing past your lips with his tongue, starved of a hedonism so often indulged. You let him take and take, seizing everything you have until there is nothing but bleary fog in your head.

“You’re so needy, have I been neglecting you?” The raspy quality of his voice only seems all the more sensual so close to your ear, warm breath brushing against the tender shell that it may straighten your tendons.

At this moment, you could only playfully hum, a coy lilt to your voice, “Then, gege will take good care of me, right?”

He smiles, he obliges.

Through moonlit rays and candlelight warmth, you are the sole beholder to the beauty that lies beneath heavy robes. Hidden from prying eyes, an active life campaigning alongside a warlord has allowed him a nearly perfect toned figure. Well-defined collar bones and long lean limbs, broad shoulders and a slim waist, it is difficult to not admire him.

Yet perhaps most surprisingly, your brother’s length is equally beautiful as he is, as though carved from the highest quality of mutton fat jade, the slight flush to the head only made it as alluring as the rest of him. Each protruding vein is almost perfectly placed, that so every time you see it, you cannot help but think that it would be without peer if not for the excessive thickness and length.

How you yearn to revere him as he always does you, always you.

“Gege–” You moan, drunk off need and pure adoration. Glancing down at the way you are stretched for him, letting him in, so intimately intertwined that it seemed almost seamless, the turbid wet mess that now stained your bodies only elicited another tight squeeze.

Hips flush against yours and your legs splayed widely around them, it rips another shameless, ragged sound from your throat. He has already pushed himself into the depths of your body, filled so much of you that you could only heave and beg in choked sobs, beg for more, beg for him. Because you have only ever yearned for him, that his insistence to shallowly rock into you is nothing but torturous. Your swollen bud aching for some attention yet left completely and utterly alone, it hurts despite his very proximity.

Your brother sighs, his usually steady voice thick with desire, “Such a lustful body, how can anyone else satisfy you, hm?”

He pulls out entirely, leaving only the very tip. In instinctual desperation, you can feel yourself squeezing once more, confusedly trying to pull him in. With a coquettish whine, you spread your legs ever wider, his large hand gripping onto the soft plush of your thigh, devoid of the jade and gold that usually decorate his slender fingers.

“Only you…” Softly sighing, you reach for him with what little energy you can muster, eyes watery and begging. He does not oblige you. “Gege… it can only be gege…”

Only then does he react, bending further to press a light kiss to your lips. Yet perhaps what contrasts such a tender action is the harsh buck of his hips, the pace he sets desperate and frenzied, the precision he has always had over your form does not falter, repeatedly hitting that spot as his hand squeezes hard into your skin.

“So good, hah–” He praises, his other hand slipping to grasp onto yours, holding onto you tight as his form presses against yours.

“You’re always so good for me, meimei.”

Under overwhelming pleasure borne of hours of being played and toyed with, your thoughts have been reduced to bear nothing but him and the feeling of him, your brother’s harsh thrusts only pushes broken, needy moans and tears to fall from your eyes. Yet, he is still your perfect brother, kissing your tears away as he tells you how well you are doing, how you are clamping on him so tightly, how much he adores you, how you’ll always be together no matter what happens. No matter, you rely purely on instincts to twist your form to cater to his desires, a mindless smile pulling on your lips.

And then it hits you, far too sudden and hard you barely realise you have reached that peak of pleasure again. How many he must have plucked from you that even now you could care less about the obscene noises that leave your lips. Your toes instinctively curl, yet it is only briefly before your legs hang uselessly in the air.

He does not stall, rubbing against you in that merciless pace before he is smearing hot and messy kisses against your jaw. He pushes his hips flush against yours in one final, gentle thrust as you arch into him, the remnants of your pleasure still searing through your body now only intensified by the thick streams that spill out between the gaps of your legs. Zhou Chen remains within you, pulling back to look at you with a soft sentiment within those amber depths.

Cuddled next to each other, your brother places another kiss to your lips, brushing away the tousled hair from your face with his slender fingers, again chaste yet so filled with the very reverence the two of you work so hard to keep hidden. Wrapped into his embrace and pressed close to his chest, you can hear how his heart beats, thumping in slow rhythmic pace. It beats only for you, He lives only for you.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” He mutters beneath his breath, amber eyes peering into yours.

Just as quiet as he had once done so himself, you respond with what little voice you have left, “Promise.”

Zhou Chen holds you closer, as though wrapped in the embrace of a mother you never got to have, you feel the ghost of his lips atop your head, pressing a kiss filled with exaltation true and raw.

You wonder whether an outside eye can truly see the depths of your brother’s affection for you, whether they can see how unfailingly and adoringly he loves you with every fibre of his being. You wonder whether they have realised those eyes that never leave your form, hands that have wrought tragedies and a mind that has long foreseen every possibility. Composing this world with fingers of jade-white excellence, this shall be one that bears only the two of you, one that shall forever ensure your happiness, one that shall never end.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #oc x reader #x reader #original writing #tw inc*st

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