#even though they’ve been married for years

[artiststarme]

Despite popular belief, Eddie was not a procrastinator. Sure, he might’ve been held back twice due to not turning assignments in on time (or at all) and a few jobs may have let him go because of his tardiness but he was not a procrastinator. He just had a bad case of ADHD that fucked with his internal clock.

As long as it was something he was hyper focused on or even mildly excited about, Eddie was on time or significantly early. He always got to school hours before every Hellfire meeting to set the drama room up exactly how he imagined so the rest of the club could enjoy it. He’d spend weeks focusing on a campaign so fun and disturbingly gruesome that it would leave the rest of the crew staring at him in befuddlement of his evil-minded tales.

When he started dating Steve, he would arrive to all of their dates and plans sometimes hours in advance just itching to start what he knew would be the highlights of his week.

And it was after he started dating Steve that he realized what was truly a procrastinator. Steve would leave for work ten minutes after his shift started to begin his fifteen minute drive, nearly gave Eddie a conniption fit every time. He’d arrive at their dates thirty minutes after it was set to start so Eddie had to get crafty with the math and plans to fool him into arriving on time. And when Steve finally started taking college classes, Eddie had to haggle him more than Uncle Wayne had ever bothered him just so he could turn his assignments in reasonably late!

However, even despite his procrastinating habits and his frequent tardiness, Eddie fell in love with him. He fell fast and well in advance, four hours into their first day of not hating each other to be exact. Steve, like always, nonchalantly took his time and only realized what everyone else already had months later after they were already dating. But Eddie was patient and he got his reward in the form of a mean boy turned golden retriever slash knight in shining armor that he’d have for the rest of his life. And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

(Although if Steve wanted to be on time for once in his life, that certainly wouldn’t hurt Eddie’s feelings.)

[quietwingsinthesky]

i do love canon amy & rory but god, does some part of me wish they really had gone with the idea of the doctor picking up a child as a companion (and then later, that child’s best friend with a huge crush on her.) with the rest of the season really not changing at all, except now it’s amelia pond with an angel in her head killing her and lost alone in the woods. it’s little rory who dies and is forgotten and becomes a toy soldier. if this is going to be a fairy tale, then let it be one. children have never been safe in fairy tales.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Hi tumblr, can you say a prayer for my Grandma who is actively dying? They think the end could be in a few days.

[wenevergotusedtoegypt]

My sister’s boyfriend asked my parents for their blessing to propose to her while she was distracted with my kids at Thanksgiving, so I guess that’s happening.

[imidori-ya]

Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros is literal hot garbage and I will die on this hill.

[greaseonmymouth]

you know those AUs that are like character A and B are both highly respected academics in the same field whose academic papers are scathing takedowns of the other’s work but actually they’re married? Or like, two colleagues at the same uni teach unrelated subjects and nobody thinks they even know each other but then that one student takes a class with both of them and realises the spouse they’re constantly gushing about is the other?

This but it’s Ed and Stede and Mary and Doug in the faculty of arts dept at some tiny uni and absolutely everybody’s got the relationship configuration wrong except for Izzy, who hates everything and glares at anybody who dares bring up the subject with him and Lucius who delights in answering in ways which only bring about more confusion

[starkidmunson]

damned if i do (give a damn what people say)

It seems Steve Harrington is back off the market

The latest news on the pop star’s love life comes mere weeks after word of a fallout with longtime beau, journalist Nancy Wheeler. While neither party has confirmed the rumors, many of Harrington’s closest friends have hinted at the end of the relationship in interviews and on social media.

One thing everyone failed to mention, however, is that Harrington appears to have moved on and is now dating Corroded Coffin front-man, Eddie Munson.

The two have been friends for years, tracing as far back as the early 2010s, though it’s difficult to put a pin in exactly when they met. Neither are particularly vocal about their personal lives and often change the subject when the other comes up in an interview; a diversion tactic they’ve been playing for years.

Still, the alleged new couple has been spotted around some of Harrington’s favorite Manhattan hot spots several times over the past week.

The rockstar has a bit of an edgier vibe than Harrington’s usual flings; more outspoken and unpredictable than the ‘type’ Steve has typically shown an interest in; at least publicly.

Only time will tell if “Steddie” (so dubbed by the fans in support of the relationship) is true… and if they’ll last.

_____

“I can’t believe they think I’m dating Eddie,” Steve grumbled into the pillow on the floor of his hotel room. With a huff, he turned his head and looked off to the wall on the far side of the room. “I mean, it’s crazy that I can’t go out to dinner with anyone besides you and not be on a date.”

Robin leveled her foot to the center of his back, before shifting her weight onto it, then grinned in satisfaction as Steve groaned and his back popped loudly in several places. “It’s not like it’s that surprising. The tabloids went feral over you and Nancy breaking up after they were convinced you guys were already secretly married.” She shifted her weight back off him, dropping to sit cross-legged beside Steve. “Plus, it’s not that much of a stretch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked, pushing himself up until he was sitting with his back against the wall, leg stretched out against Robin’s.

“It means you two have never looked at each other the way friends do. It makes sense that they’re picking that up.” Robin shrugged, brushing off her comment like it wasn’t shattering part of Steve’s bubble.

“We look at each other totally normally!”

The look Robin leveled Steve with had him pushing himself up off the floor and making his way toward the bathroom.

“I don’t have time for this right now, I need to start getting ready, but we don’t do anything normal friends wouldn’t because that’s what we are, Robin!”

“Are you trying to convince yourself of that, or me?” Robin asked and sighed heavily when Steve slammed the bathroom door closed in response.

It was only about five minutes before there was a familiar knock at the door; three in quick succession, followed by two after a short pause.

“I think we need to talk, sweetheart,” was understandable, despite being muffled by the door, before Steve was racing out of the bathroom to beat Robin to undoing the locks and letting Eddie in. “Why didn’t you tell me we’re dating?” Eddie asked through a pout, leaned against the doorframe.

Steve rolled his eyes and moved out of the way, letting Eddie follow him inside, before pointing at Robin. “See! Very much not dating!”

“Well,” Eddie started, teasingly, only to get hit in the face with a pillow from Steve’s bed. “I’m kidding, Steve. It’s not even a bad thing. I mean, they’re actually being really fucking cool about you being bisexual.”

“Being out as bi doesn’t mean that every person, regardless of their gender, is automatically my love interest just because I breathed near them.” Steve snapped, obviously frustrated despite Eddie’s attempts to ease the situation.

“Hey. Don’t get mean. You know what’s not what Eddie meant.” Robin responded. Steve looked back and forth between the two of them for a long moment, before he collapsed, face first, onto his mattress with a loud groan.

“C’mon, there’s no need to meltdown over this. If you want me to, I can post something about catching up with old friends to try to make it go away.” Eddie offered, gently, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed from Steve.

It took a long beat, but Steve eventually lifted his head from his pillows and shrugged. “I don’t want to make you do anything like that. It’s fine. It’ll all work out in the end. I'm just having a weird day, I guess.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, and when Steve didn’t elaborate, he turned his head to Robin, who shrugged.

“Nancy texted him this morning asking to not talk about her at shows and he’s been in a sour mood about it since.”

“Robin!” Steve groaned, pressing his face back into his pillow miserably.

“Have you been, though?” Eddie asked, confused. “Talking about her, I mean? I thought I was doing a decent job at getting the highlights and I have no memory of you dropping anything profound about you and Nance on any crowds.”

“Not directly,” Steve spoke into his pillow, before turning his head and staring at the wall as he answered. “I made a few comments about my songs. How to get someone back. How to gaslight someone into thinking you love them before letting everything go at the drop of a hat for one of your best friends.”

A silence settled over the room for a moment, before Eddie burst into giggles, which set Robin off. Eventually Steve joined in, turning his attention to the two of them with a heavy sigh.

“I guess I was an asshole about it, huh?”

“I think it’s justifiable.” Eddie offered, to which Robin nodded in agreement as she started toying with Steve’s hair. “If you feel like you’re going to say something about Nancy, you could always say something to me instead. Really confuse the shit out of everyone.” He teased, but Steve beamed.

“Wait, that’s actually a great idea.”

Robin looked apprehensive, holding her hands in the air. “Steve, you remember you just freaked out about this, right? And now you’re going to play into it? Publicly?”

“It’ll be fun. I’m not gonna say anything directly about Eddie. But just. References. And then we can watch the fans lose their shit on TikTok later.” Steve reasoned with a grin, and Eddie smiled back at him.

“I promise to spend the entire show dancing my ass off and singing along. For the bit.” Eddie said, his hand over his heart.

“You do that anyway, you’re just usually backstage.” Robin pointed out, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Well, obviously, I have to join you and Dustin in the family tent tonight. Duh.”

“Yes!” Steve agreed with a laugh. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“You’re both psychotic.”

_____

“Indianapolis, you're making me feel awfully special tonight.” Steve bit at his lip as he looked around Lucas Oil Stadium to thousands of people screaming back at him. “This is as close to a hometown show as I really get these days, so thank you for always making sure to remind me how special of a place home is.”

The music started to pick up again, but Steve kept talking. “I kind of spent the last few years coasting by without anyone paying too much attention, but now that I’m back on the road, everyone’s suddenly deeply invested in my life, and it's strange to be back so close to somewhere I called home for so long, in the same position I was in five years ago.” He ran his fingers through his hair, before huffing out a laugh.

“But you guys, you've always been there. Unwavering in a way I will never be able to express my gratitude for.” he paused to glance around the crowd again, grinning as they cheered. “Not many people can say the same, you know?”

“Where is he going with this?” Dustin asked, leaning close to Robin, who shrugged, trying not to have a visible reaction. There were always cameras on them in public like this. Any reaction would be taken out of context and exaggerated.

“Did you see the tabloid rumors about Eddie and Steve?” She replied, and couldn’t help but smile as Dustin’s head whipped back forward to Steve.

“I mean, there’s Robbie, the kids I used to babysit. And, uh…” he trailed off, which Eddie took as his cue to move to the front of the family tent. “Maybe someone else. This one's for you.” Steve said, leaving the “you” ambiguous enough to be open for interpretation.

Eddie, hamming it up, made a heart with his hands, before immediately starting to headbang along to the love song next in the setlist.

_____

In a surprising twist, Dustin managed to wait until the security team had moved them out of the crowd and behind the stage with the crew nearly two hours later before his outburst.

“What the fuck?!” He asked as soon as the were away from the crowd. “Why are you two playing into this? It’s just going to get more headlines and attention on the two of you, which neither of you usually like!”

“But it’s different if it’s on our terms.” Eddie responded, not even looking up from his phone as he answered Dustin.

“Is it, though? Is it really on your terms if it’s not even true?” Dustin sounded exasperated, and while Robin could relate, she was planning on sitting this one out until Eddie shoved his phone into her face.

“It’s already on TikTok. 4 videos in.” He said with a grin as Robin watched Eddie make a hand heart toward the stage before his hair started flopping all over as he sang along. The clip was captioned “steddie is real!!!”

“So you’re proud you’re deceiving fans?” She asked, which made Eddie’s grin fall.

“Don't be so dramatic,” Steve called as he approached from the stage exit. He was covered in sweat and still in his performance clothes, holding a half empty water bottle. “It’s all in good fun. They never need to know if it was real or not.”

“I think you’re downplaying this by a lot. What happens the next time one of you is seen out on a date?” Dustin pressed, and continued despite the way Steve rolled his eyes. “I mean it, an honest to god date. People are going to lose their minds, trying to figure out what broke up Steve and Eddie, when you were never even together in the first place! They’ll turn you against each other, they always do. And if you weren’t dating, isn’t that just as bad of a look?”

“Woah. Henderson. Chill. It’ll be fine, man. You’re WAY overthinking this.” Eddie said, before he grinned at Steve. “Could you see my hand heart from the stage?”

“I could. Did you catch the wink I sent your way at the end of the song?”

“I did, nice touch! I patted my hand over my heart, so maybe that’ll end up on social, too.”

“I’m going to throw myself into the White River.” Dustin groans loudly, to a round of laughs and elbow nudges.

_____

Steve could pinpoint the exact moment things finally felt out of hand two weeks later.

He was getting ready for the show that will wrap up his first weekend at his “home away from home” in 5 years when Eddie texted him about being late to that night’s show.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

Eddie had missed the last two shows in Chicago

It shouldn’t matter.

Eddie’d been there, religiously, at the 4 shows before Chicago on the tour, and 6 others before that when his band wasn’t playing their own concerts. Steve even made 3 trips of his own to Corroded Coffin shows, around his own obligations.

But it still made him frown at his phone for a moment too long. Long enough Robin caught him.

“More headlines about Steddie?” She asked, slipping the phone from his hands before he could stop her. When she read over the message, though, her expression softened. “Oh, Steve, I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal.” Steve rushed out, snatching his phone back and shoving it into his pocket. “It’s fine. I’m not upset, there’s no reason to feel sorry. Besides, he just said he’ll be late, he didn’t say he isn’t coming.”

“Would you be upset if he wasn’t coming, then?” Robin asked. Steve glared daggers at her, and sighed when she held her hands in the air, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, honestly.

___

The intro tape was just about to start as Steve was making his usual trek toward his starting point, when he heard someone running and calling his name from behind him, rather than out in the crowd. He paused and turned, to see Eddie rushing toward him.

“I’m so sorry, I just wanted you to see that I made it before you went on!” He was out of breath, his hair more wild from running than usual, and Steve…

Well, frankly, Steve was tired of pretending like Eddie wasn’t the hottest person he’d ever seen.

So Steve met Eddie halfway, threw his arms around his neck and pressed their lips together in a move Eddie seemed to have anticipated because he wasted no time returning the favor.

It was only Steve’s cue music that had him breaking away, biting at his lip and grinning at Eddie, who grinned back at him, before using the hands he’d placed on Steve’s waist at some point in the interaction to turn Steve toward the stage.

“Go, before you miss the start of your own show, superstar. I’ll still be here after.” Eddie said.

“Promise?” Steve called over his shoulder as he made his way toward the stage’s catwalk.

“Cross my heart, big boy.” Eddie drew an x over his heart for dramatic effect, then laughed and ran his fingers through his hair as he watched Steve run to make it to his place on time.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Winter Gem

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.8k

Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.

A/N: For @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

“The first snows have arrived.”

“It has come early.”

Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”

You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.

“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.

“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”

You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.

“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.

“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.

Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.

Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.

In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.

“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”

You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.

It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.

Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.

While tracking, he lost something precious.

Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.

He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.

This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.

Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.

Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.

As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.

Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.

Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.

“Found you.”

The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.

The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.

Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.

Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.

Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.

The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.

You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.

You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.

And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.

As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.

You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.

A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.

There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.

“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“I found you, my star.”

There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.

You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.

Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.

“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.

Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.

“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.

“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.

You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”

Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”

The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”

Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”

“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.

“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.

Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.

He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”

“Thranduil—”

“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”

You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”

“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”

Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”

“Never.”

“Will you hold me?”

“For as long as you like.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom

[struggling-with-drivers]

People Watching - Lando Norris

⋗ Pairing - Lando Norris x Reader

⋗ Summary - You've never been in love, at least you don't think you have

⋗ Word count - 2k words, fluff, [Requested by Anon]

⋗ Masterlist - requests are open, this was just a short cute idea I had on my mind after getting a request. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated

You’re enjoying a nice lunch with Lando. He has a lot of things to be doing after, but for now. It’s just the two of you, a set of good friends. Your eyes wander over his face, a soft look of concentration is on his face as he tries to take pictures of you and your lunch. The way his lips are slightly strained, as he keeps fiddling with his camera. Then he rearranges your glasses, and then he puts them back, before rearranging them once more. 

“Do you need help?” You ask, a small laugh bubbling in your throat, as he can’t seem to get the shot he wants.

“No no, just keep sitting there, you look good!” He chirps up, quickly dismissing the thought of you moving from the pose he instructed you into. 

Your laugh finally makes it way past your lips, at the absurdity of the scene, your eyes close as the flash goes off once more. You don’t notice how Lando mutters, got it, nor how he takes a few more just for his enjoyment. 

“Time to dig in.” Lando scrambles to sit down and stuffs his mouth with his slightly cold food. 

You stick a bit to your food, but your gaze falls out onto the crowd of people navigating outside. So many couples are spread across the grid as all the fans gather to get a closer look at the cars. Despite your perspective from above, the thing most glaring to you seems to be all the hands clasped into others. 

“How long do you think they’ve been together?” 

“What?” Lando looks up from his plate of food, trying to follow your gaze, but he gets lost in the crowd of people immediately, not at all being able to figure out where your eyes are looking. 

“The elderly couple.” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing, as though there aren’t multiple, as though you and Lando didn’t call Max Verstappen and his girlfriend an elderly couple last weekend, despite Max barely being 2.5 years older than Lando and less than 2 years older than you. 

“Three days.” Lando says, voice full of conviction, “They actually met this Tuesday and have had the wildest sex for 3 days straight, before any of their children realise that their parents are missing from the nursery home.” 

You snort loudly, accidentally getting soda into your nose, making Lando laugh with you, as you struggle to breathe. 

After recovering from your soda mishap, you wipe your nose with a napkin, still chuckling. Lando grins mischievously, taking a sip of his drink as he watches you with amusement.

“Smooth move, right?” he teases, referring to his imaginative tale about the elderly couple. “I mean, who wouldn't want a love story like that? Beats the usual 'met in high school and got married' scenario.”

You both share another round of laughter, the casual banter making the lunch even more enjoyable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.” You sigh wistfully as you glance down at the crowd of people once more. “Not seriously. I mean, I’ve had a fling here and there, and a few you don’t know about.”

“Ouch.” Lando mocks being hurt, as he throws a piece of lettuce in your direction. Missing you completely. He’s an excellent driver, but a terrible thrower. You’re suddenly elated that he never became a handball athlete or a basketball player. 

“I just mean, I’ve never had that big grand love moment, you know. Nobody has ever done any big gestures, I’ve never had fireworks go off during a kiss. Never pictured that American suburban picket fence dream, you know?” You rattle off as Lando leans his head to the side. You can see the grin on his face before the words leave his mouth. 

“And here I thought you loved me,” he throws another piece of lettuce in your direction. It lands on your plate, and you cock an eyebrow at him, very unimpressed. “I don’t think I know anyone else that would get up at 3 am just to make the world's worst pancakes, all because it’s some pancake holiday, and I had to be out of the door at 5 am.”

The memory of that early morning springs vividly to your mind, and you can't help but chuckle at the recollection.

The night before Pancake Day, you meticulously planned your pancake surprise for Lando. You envisioned a perfect morning: the smell of freshly made pancakes wafting through the air, the joy on Lando's face as he discovered the delightful breakfast you had prepared just for him. However, the universe had other plans.

At 3 am, you tiptoed into the kitchen, trying your best to be as quiet as a ninja. Armed with a box of pancake mix, a whisk, and an optimistic spirit, you were ready to conquer the culinary world for the sake of surprising your friend.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you moved with caution, not wanting to wake anyone up. As you began mixing the ingredients, you felt a surge of determination. This was going to be the breakfast surprise of the century. You even hummed a little tune as you worked, believing that love and effort could conquer any culinary challenge.

However, in your sleepy stupor, you made a crucial mistake. The sugar and salt containers looked eerily similar in the low light, and without double-checking, you confidently poured what you thought was sugar into the mix. Little did you know, you had just set the stage for a disastrous flavour profile.

Undeterred, you moved on, mistakenly grabbing the baking powder instead of the baking soda. As you mixed the concoction, the batter started to take on an unusual texture, but you pressed on, convinced that your culinary masterpiece was just a few flips away.

With the batter ready, you heated the pan and poured the first pancake, envisioning its perfect golden-brown finish. However, the sizzle that followed was more like a hiss, and the kitchen started to fill with an unpleasant aroma. You tried to fan away the smoke, hoping that the burnt scent wouldn't reach Lando's bedroom.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As the smoke thickened, a piercing sound echoed through the apartment – the unmistakable wail of the smoke detector. Panic set in, and you rushed to open windows, waving a towel at the alarm, and desperately trying to save the surprise.

Meanwhile, Lando stirred in his sleep, disturbed by the cacophony of the smoke detector. He stumbled out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed and disoriented, only to find you amid your culinary chaos, smoke billowing around you.

“Ah, Pancake Day,” you say with a grin. “I thought it would be a fantastic idea to surprise you with a breakfast feast before your busy day. On the other hand, I gave you a free day off from having to sit in on a bunch of meetings.”

“Yeah, because my house nearly burnt down, and a bunch of firefighters showed up.” Lando waves his fork at you. “I doubt a lot of other people would have done that.”

“Tried to burn down your flat?” You mock him, as you flick the piece of lettuce back to his plate. 

He laughs, shaking his head. You’re missing his point, but he’s also not attempting to make it clearer for you. 

“What about when I stay up with you on the phone, because a sale is starting past midnight, but you’re barely holding it together and it’s not even 10 pm? Isn’t that an act of love?” He asks, but he leaves no room for you to answer his question as he goes back to eating. 

Lando can’t see the storm that’s slowly brewing behind your eyes, as you go over memories of your friendship. All the small things you do for each other. All the time you spend together. 

As the memories flood your mind, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The snippets of shared moments and small gestures between you and Lando become a cherished montage.

There's the time when he surprised you with a playlist of your favourite songs on a day when you were feeling down, the carefully curated mix capturing the essence of your friendship. You remember the genuine joy on his face as he handed over the playlist, completely aware of how much music meant to you.

Then, there are the instances when you stayed up late into the night, listening to his racing stories and sharing in his victories and disappointments. You recall the laughter and camaraderie that transcended the distance, making those late-night conversations a treasured part of your connection.

Lando smirks mischievously as he eyes the last bite of your dessert.

"Mind if I grab that last piece? You know I need the extra energy for my thrilling life as a driver."

You narrow your eyes at him, holding the fork protectively. "Oh, please. The only thrill you get is trying to beat me at Mario Kart."

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I'll have you know that being a Mario Kart champion requires skill and precision. It's practically a training regimen for the racetrack."

You scoff, taking a deliberate bite of the dessert. "Skill and precision? Last time I checked, you kept getting stuck in the void on Rainbow Road."

"That was a strategic move. I needed a better view of the stars," he replies with a grin, trying to swipe the fork again.

You playfully slap his hand away. "Nice try, but you're not getting this last piece. I already had to fight off your trainer once this month, because you keep stealing my food."

Lando feigns offence, placing a hand over his heart. "Are you saying I don't have the physique of a finely tuned athlete?"

"I'm saying you have the physique of someone who eats all the desserts that aren’t meant for finely-tuned athletes," you retort, 

He leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, at least I can burn it off on the track. What's your excuse?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I burn calories, dodging your attempts to steal my food. It's a full-body workout, really."

"Fair enough. But mark my words, next time we play Mario Kart, you won't stand a chance." Lando laughs, shaking his head. 

"Bring it on, slowpoke. I'll be waiting with banana peels and blue shells," you challenge, finishing the dessert triumphantly, savouring the last bite right in front of him. Silence falls as he starts typing on his phone, and your mind gets distracted by what he said earlier.

As Lando mentioned, the nights when he stood by you during stressful sales and business endeavours resurface in your mind. The unwavering support he offered, even when the clock struck midnight and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you, painted a picture of love in the small actions.

And of course, there are the countless times when he'd spontaneously pop by with your favourite snacks or the coffee blend you adore, just because he remembered. Those little acts of consideration spoke volumes.

Lost in these memories, you realise that love comes in various forms. It's not always grand gestures or sweeping romantic moments. It's found in the everyday kindness, the shared laughter, and the unwavering support that defines your friendship with Lando.

A thought strikes you down.

Do you love Lando?

Lando glances up from his phone, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. He meets your gaze, and there's a silent understanding between you. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of shared laughter, failed pancake attempts, and genuine care, you realise that love, in its purest form, is already present in the beautiful tapestry of your friendship with Lando.

An even more terrifying thought hits you as he looks at you with that soft smile and those shiny eyes. 

Does Lando love you?

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, I had a lot of fun writing this small piece, it was just pure fluff and enjoyment

[tayytayy12]

Espresso | CL16 x Reader

Summary - After Charles ex girlfriend leaves some sketchy comments on his post, hinting that she’s still not over their old breakup, reader releases a song in response to her creepy behaviour.

Warnings - Weird ex gf, swearing

FaceClaim - Sabrina Carpenter

Type - SMAU

Requested? - Yes

Charles_leclerc

Liked by - Yourusername, exgirlfriend and 1,982,00 others

Charles_leclerc - P2 for the team today, a good result with the best company.

View all comments

User1 - A good Ferrari result for once and half of his post is Y/n 😭 (I’m not complaining)

User2 - ❤️❤️❤️

User3 - This is a Y/n fan page atp

User4 - a Ferrari podium is free therapy

Yourusername - Woah that guys hot

Charles_Leclerc - Um I have a girlfriend 🫢

Yourusername - Damn, that girls lucky

Charles_Leclerc - No, I’m definitely the lucky one

User5 - God I’m so single

User6 - Hold up, @/exgirlfriend in the likes?????

User7 - She’s still so obsessed it’s actually scary

Exgirlfriend - Wowww, congratulations Mon Amour 💕💕

Comment was deleted by the creator of this post

User8 - BROOOO

User9 - TELL ME SOMEONE ELSE SAW THAT???

Yourusername - Impossibly proud of you, MY love 💕

Charles_Leclerc - ❤️

User10 - LMAO she saw @/exgirlfriend being weird again

User11 - Ferrari podium makes me happy

Yourusername

Liked by - Charles_leclerc, Lilymhe and 2,982,092 others

Yourusername - Surprise !!!! My brand new single ‘espresso’ is out now, and I know I like to normally leave you guys some notice before dropping new music, but this time I felt like the quicker the better. Espresso out now, hope you find it sweet 🤍☕️🩵

View all comments

User12 - IM WORKING LATE CAUSE IM A SINGERRRRRRRRR

User13 - Okay but the photoshoot????? Y/n I fear you devoured

User14 - She really said ‘fuck you exgf’ and I’m here for it

User15 - I don’t blame y/n, exgf is still convinced that Charles is her man when they’ve been broken up for like two years 😭

User16 - “I can't relate to desperation” LMAO SHE KNOWS CHARLES IS HER MAN AND HOW DESPERATE EXGF IS

User17 - My give a fucks are on vacation is my new excuse for everything

User18 - this whole song is a love letter to Charles, and hate mail to exgf and I’m so so here for it

User19 - “Too bad your ex don’t do it for ya.” LOLOLOL

Lilymhe - Ate, devoured, served, marry me

Yourusername - Waiting at the alter rn

GracieAbrams - single handedly saving the whole genre of pop again

Yourusername - You’re too kind Miss Abrams 😙

Charles_Leclerc - Think this is one of my favourites so far 🩵❤️

Yourusername - Why thank you 😙🤍

User20 - They couldn’t give any less fucks 😭

Yourusername

Liked by - Charles_leclerc, GracieAbrams and 1,982,553 others

Tagged | @/Charles_leclerc

Yourusername - My honey bee 🐝 🤍☕️❤️

View all comments

User21 - LMAO I LOVE Y/N

User22 - Don’t you guys think she’s going a bit far?

User23 - Lol no, remember the interview exgf done where she whole time all she did was insult Y/ns whole personality and appearance even though they’ve never met just because she was Charles new gf. If anything she’s being nice.

User24 - The ultimate blonde/Brunette duo

User25 - Literally pookies

PierreGasly - All my photo credits missing I see

Yourusername - Kika took them all….

Francisca.cgomez - Don’t steal my credit

User26 - The it couple of the paddock

Charles_leclerc - 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Yourusername - 💕💕💕💕

Charles_leclerc

Liked by - Yourusername, PierreGasly and 1,086,363 others

Tagged | @/Yourusername

Charles_leclerc - It is that sweet ☕️💕

View comments

Yourusername - Gosh I love you

Charles_leclerc - I love you more, you’re the only one for me 💕

////

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is afraid to propose to his girlfriend (reader)

notes/warnings: fluff, angsty-ish, cursing, typos i'm sure (i wrote it in like an hr and then lost all energy to closely proofread. sorry)

words: 1367

Simon Riley Masterlist

Forty-Two months. You’ve been together for forty-two months, and Simon Riley is no fool. He knows what he has. Through every imaginable horror, you’ve been by his side. You’ve held his hand, kissed his forehead, brushed your fingers through his hair, let him lay on top of you after a night of sex when he’d just needed to feel you and know that you’re with him. You’ve cried with him and for him. And when it’s asked of you, you’ve waited for him. 

You’re absolutely everything. Of perfect quality despite your flaws. A reminder that things in this world are soft, beautiful, gentle. When he loses faith in the concepts of decency and humanity because of the things he’s seen, you refuel what has been depleted. You make things make sense in a cruel existence. And yet, he hasn’t asked you to marry him. 

Ok, maybe he is a bit of a fool.

For forty-two months you’ve watched your friends get married, cousins and second cousins, and even your mother and your aunt—all of whom began relationships with their new spouses long after you and Simon declared yourselves officially together. You’ve taken Simon to so many weddings in the past three and a half years that you’d both agreed you’d had your fill. But Simon is under no illusions that if it were for you and him, you’d manage to find the energy for one more wedding. 

You don’t pressure him or drop painfully obvious hints, and if he’s honest, that almost makes it worse. Price and Gaz and even Johnny have faced threats of their own in the past by the women they’ve been with, with varying results. Price was happy to agree. Gaz a little less, but his lady was pregnant and it was the right thing to do. But Johnny…Johnny wouldn’t marry his current broad if it meant a quick death. You, though, are a gift. Better than all of them in Simon’s eyes. You deserve to have the man who loves you acknowledge that love by asking you to be his wife. Simon just can’t bring himself to ensure that that man is him.

He attributes that roadblock to your relationship not being equal. He doesn’t provide you with everything you provide him. While he does his best to be supportive and loving and comforting, you’ve mastered those skills and he can’t compete. And how is it fair to ask you to pull that weight for the rest of your lives?

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to ask, but when the question is on his tongue, he can’t get it out. However, because you’re stronger than him, more open and sure of what you want, it turns out he doesn’t have to.

—

“Simon, will you marry me?”

You’re not looking at him. You’ve been spooning on the couch for the last three hours watching mindless TV, and he’s refused to let you up from your spot. At the question, his hand under your shirt that has been lazily fondling your breast freezes. He’s half hard and was about thirty seconds from trailing that hand down your body and into your sleep shorts, but now he can’t. 

Simon swallows. “W-What?” he asks, though he absolutely heard you. Does anyone mistake those words for anything other than what they are? 

His pounding heart clogs his ears, but to his surprise, his cock gets a little harder. 

After too many beats of silence, you guide his hand out of your shirt, and with a sigh, you stand, round the couch, and go into the bedroom. In your absence, he sits up, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath. 

What just happened? He thinks. And what the fuck did he just do? He didn’t answer the way he should have and now you’re gone. He’s hurt you, and he’s so focused on his fuck up that he doesn’t notice you come back until you’re standing directly in front of him. 

A black band is trapped between your thumb and index finger. You’re not smiling. There’s no glimmer in your eye. You simply hold the ring, staring at it. 

“I just want to marry you,” you say, your voice dripping with the disappointment he knows you’re expecting. “And you haven’t asked me.” 

“Love–” he starts, but then you drop to your knees, calves folded under your thighs. 

His heart cracks right down the middle, jagged and splintered. A few pieces fall into his gut. You still won’t look at him, so he reaches out a hand, cups your cheek, and turns your face up to his. 

“You don’ kneel to me, Love,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

Half-heartedly chuckling, you say, “Sometimes I do.”

Simon lets his lips curl into a slight smile because his girl is still in there. Despite the forlorn look on your face, he didn’t completely break your spirit with one unanswered question. And thank fuck for that.  

He doesn’t mean to, but he forces you to sit in limbo as he thinks. The woman he loves is on her knees asking for something that she so evidently believes she isn’t going to get. And yet, it’s from that risk—that display of your love for him and the leap you’re willing to take to prove it—that Simon snaps out of every negative thought that has held him back. 

Hand dropping from your face, he rises from the couch and, just as you had, makes his way into the bedroom. He has no idea where you’d hidden his, but yours has been in a dresser drawer for nearly a year, tucked behind the socks that are never worn because he has too many pairs. 

When he returns, he stops dead in his tracks because you’re still sitting there but your head is down again and a teardrop falls onto your bare thigh as you fiddle with the ring, and that is unacceptable; his behavior is unacceptable. And now he’s more sure than ever. 

Simon discards the box and goes to sit back on the couch. Your embarrassment is palpable, and he hates himself for yanking that out of you. Shame is the last thing he has ever wanted you to feel in his presence. 

Ring between his fingers, Simon lowers his hand until he’s sure the diamond is within your line of sight. 

Your gasp is faint but he catches it—a master at catching every little sound you make and savoring his ability to have you make them. Your head shoots up, eyes wide as they connect with his. 

With his free hand, Simon brushes away the tears that have yet to fall from your cheeks. 

“Switch,” he says. 

“What?”

He takes your hand, pulling you with him as he rises to his feet, and turns your bodies. “Sit,” he says, and you do. Then he eases onto one knee, ignoring the crack of his bones, and holds out the ring. “I’m so sorry it came to this, Love. I didn’—” he shakes his head, “’s my fault.”

Your head cocks to the side. “Your fault?”

“My fault,” he nods, his brow pinching as he decides how to say what he needs to. “You’re my wife,” he says. “I know you’re my wife—I’ve known it—but I get in my head and I start going through the list of things that I don’ think I deserve, and you’re the Queen of that list, Love. You make everything else on that list seem so unimportant that they have no right bein’ there.”

“Simon…”

“But I’ll make you a deal,” he continues. “I’ll marry you, if you marry me.”

You snicker and, excluding the tears he’d caused, your face does exactly what he’d hoped it would do wherever he imagined proposing. The only detail unaccounted for is your answer, which he supposes is fair. He hadn’t directly given you one either. 

But then you say one the best damn things he’s ever heard leave your mouth. 

Your pretty lips part and you tell him: “Yes.”

A/N: I don’t think love has to be affirmed in the form of a proposal and wedding, but for the sake of the fic…

[cmncisspnandmore]

All hands on deck.

Pairings: Poly!141 X F!reader.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of pregnancy complications (not in detail)

Word Count: 3209

Part 2

“Can you guys please stop screaming at each other?” You call out as you press your phone to your ear. The sounds of children yelling continued down the hallway, clearly they didn't care what you had to say. You let out a frustrated sigh, as the line continues to ring. 

Where the hell were they?

It rings another 3 times as you lean against the bathroom counter, closing the door to try to block out the sounds from down the hall. It was going to cut to voicemail soon, just like the last 3 times you called. You start to pull the phone from your ear when it finally stops ringing and a very breathless voice answers.

“Sorry Mo Chridhe, I didn’t hear my phone ringin’” Johnny breathes.

“It's fine,” you mumble into the receiver, your hip bumping into the smooth quartz counter. 

“It’s not, you sound defeated, what's wrong?” He asks, the sound of a bag clinking filters over the phone call. 

“They just won't stop fighting, they’ve been at each other's throats all day, i don't know what to do anymore.” You sniffle, your eyes filling with tears, you blink them back staring at the ceiling light in effort to keep them at bay.

“They’re just kids, Love, siblings fight. Is that really all that's botherin’ you?” 

You chew your bottom lip, “yeah I guess,” you sniffle.

There's another noise on the other line, followed by a gruff voice, “Who are you talking to Sergeant?” Price's voice is slightly garbled over the line. 

“Oh just some bonnie lass,” Johnny replies cheekily.

“Hogging the wife all to yourself?” Kyle's voice is there too.

“Ain't hoggin nothin! She called me,” Soap defends himself. There's more static over the phone call. “Hey! Gimme back me phone LT!” 

“Love?” Simon's gruff voice fills the line. 

“Hi, Si…” you whisper, as the others bicker in the background. Johnny and Kyle arguing over who gets to talk next, and Price’s firm voice telling them to shut up.

“What's wrong?” Simon asks, “are the kids okay?”

“Yeah god, sorry, they're fine, they just won't stop fighting. It's driving me nuts, I think they just miss you guys.” You sigh as there's a loud crash from the living room, followed by even more yelling. “They’re gonna destroy our house..” 

“We’re coming home,” and suddenly the line goes dead. You pull the phone away from your ear and look down at the screen. Your home screen staring back at you, it was a picture of the 5 of you. You were at the beach, Simon sitting under an umbrella with a book in his hands. You lean back against his legs, as one of his hands twirls a strand of your hair. You’re looking over at Johnny who was burying Kyle in the sand. Price standing behind them watching the whole thing with a smile on his lips. 

You remember that day like it was yesterday even though it was almost 7 years ago now. It was the day that they all asked you to marry them, they had presented you with a large round diamond ring, the band containing their birthstones, each of their initials engraved on the inside. You had sobbed hysterically when they proposed. Each man took a few moments to tell you how you impacted their life in the best way. You never imagined you would marry one of them let alone all of them. While most people didn't think it was conventional and you often got strange looks when you told people you had not 1 but 4 husbands, you didn't care. Each one of your husbands gave you something you needed, and you did the same for them. 

A child crying pulls you from your thoughts and you yank open the bathroom door. Your eyes landing on your 4 year old son, Theo running down the hall. His bottom lip is bleeding, as tears roll down his light brown cheeks. He runs to you, small arms up in the air as he wails. 

“Theo what happened?” You lean down catching his small body as he crashes into you, smearing blood, snot and tears onto your baby blue t-shirt.

“Issly hit me!” he cries, his little hands coming to wipe at his eyes. You gently pull down his bottom lip, seeing only a small cut on the inside. A frown on your face as you glance back up at the doorway in which Theo ran from. 

“Isla!” You call, picking the small child up and resting him on your hip. He presses his face into your shoulder, his messy brown curls tickling your chin. It only takes a moment for Isla to come around the corner, her blue eyes cast down at the ground. Shoulders slumped, light brown hair covering her face as she walks down the hallway towards you.

“Why did you hit Theo?” You sigh, and she looks up. She was pretty much a mirror image of Price. She had his blue eyes and nose, and if it wasn't for the shape of her lips you wouldn't think she was even yours.

“I didn't mean to hit him! He wouldn't stop climbing on me, I asked him to stop 3 times,” she looks at Theo, and then back to you. 

“Isla you’re 6 years old, Theo is 4, he’s a lot younger than you, if hes doing something you don't like and he won't listen to you, you come and tell me. You don't use your hands to hurt someone. It's not nice. Now take Theo into the kitchen and help him clean up.

“Yes, Mama,” she nods, and takes Theo from your arms, carrying him past you to the kitchen. You sigh, running your fingers through your hair as you walk down the hall to the living room. It was a disaster, couch cushions on the floor, toys all over the place. A vase of flowers knocked over. A curtain rod half pulled off the wall. 

“Seriously?” You mutter, your eyes flickering about the room and finally landing on Joseph and Kira. Kira sits on the coffee table, a book open in her lap, blonde hair pulled back into a messy french braid. Joseph sits next to her, poking her which she ignores.

“Kira, c’mon, stop reading your dumb book and come outside with me!” Joseph whines at his twin. 

“It’s not dumb, you’re dumb.” She snaps back, neither having realized you're standing in the doorway. 

“I’m gonna tell mom you're being mean to me again,” Joseph pushes her harder, and she snaps her book closed. 

“Then I’ll tell Da that you're the one who broke his Rugby trophy.” 

“You’re so boring! I hate you!” Joseph yells.

“Enough!” You snap, and both children's eyes meet yours. Joseph’s blue eyes wide as he realizes you heard their conversation. Kira’s brown eyes looking between you and Joseph. 

“Kira, Joseph you are 7 years old. Can you please start acting like it? When i tell you to watch your younger siblings i mean it, but yet somehow Isla hit Theo and gave him a split lip and my living room looks like a bomb went off. Not to mention all of you have been fighting for the last week and I‘m not putting up with it anymore!” You press your hand into your forehead, a headache starting to pound behind your eyes.  You shake your head slightly looking back at your twins. They were fraternal twins, but had two fathers. Kira was clearly Simons with her light blonde hair and brown eyes, Joseph resembled Johnny, right down to his mischievous personality. They were the first children to be born into your family. Their very existence became known on your wedding day. 

You weren’t overly surprised that it was twins either, they ran in your family. The only real shock was when they had their newborn screening after they were born and they had wildly different blood types. Kira was B- Positive, like Simon, and Joseph was O- Positive like Price and Soap. Even though it didn't matter to you who their father was, you still had genetic testing done for each child. Just in case something happened and they needed blood, or god forbid an organ. 

The doctors had called them Heteropaternal Superfecundation, an anomaly when twins have two different biological fathers. Now as you stare at Medical anomalies, you sigh. They were your oldest, the ones you counted on to help out with small things. “What is going on with you two lately?” You sit on the edge of the table.

“We miss Dads…” Kira mumbles, looking down at her book.

“We all do,” Joseph adds. 

Tears well in your eyes, “I know it's hard when they’re away, and I know I'll ask you to help me more when they’re gone. I miss them too. But I think theyre coming home, at least that’s what Daddy said.”

“They're coming home? All of them?” Kira asks, her brown eyes widening.

“I think so, I called Da, and then I heard Dad and Papa, and then suddenly it was Daddy on the phone, as he said that they were coming home.” You shrug, and your children brighten at the fact that their fathers were coming home.

“ISLA! THEO! They’re coming home!” Joseph yells as he scrambles off the coffee table. Two sets of small feet race down the hall, and soon four of your children are standing in the messy living room. 

“Theo, you pick up your toys, Isla help me put the couch back together, Joseph you can clean up the vase,” Kira turns to you, “Mama could you help with the curtain?”

“Oh so you want to clean up since your fathers are on their way?” You raise an eyebrow, and all of your children nod. 

“Please mama, They’ve been on base for a month now..” Joseph blinks at you with his big blue eyes. 

“Fine, I'll fix the curtain but it doesnt mean youre off the hook for your behaviors.” 

It only takes an hour for the living room to be put back in order, it was amazing what your children could get done if they had the motivation to do so. You walk up the stairs to the second floor of your home, and gently push open the door to one of the bedrooms. The room is dark, and cool, a sound machine humming in the corner. You peek into the dark room, the light wood crib in the middle of the far wall, a small figure sleeping in the middle on their back. Hands up by their head as they sleep. 

Your youngest, Hope, was 9 months old, she was your miracle baby. You had always wanted a large family, to give each of your husbands as many children as they wanted but it hasn't worked out that way. While you were pregnant with Theo you had some severe complications that had left you on death's doorstep. You had actually died once while in labor with him, causing him to be born by emergency C-Section. You woke up to 4 very concerned Husbands who spent the next 2 months by your side as you recovered. They had all been hesitant for more children after that. Each of them worried that your body wouldn't be able to handle another pregnancy. But after a few years you had convinced them that you would be fine, you wanted more kids. It took almost a year of trying and a few miscarriages for you to get pregnant with Hope. 

Thankfully your pregnancy had gone smoothly, no complications, and she was born on christmas day. Now she was a happy and healthy 9 month old, one of the easiest babies you had. She slept through the night almost immediately and rarely fussed. 

She stirs as you walk into the room, her little blue eyes blinking open, a smile forming on her little lips as she sees you. She gives you a gummy smile, two bottom teeth on display proudly as she turns over in her crib, pulling herself up to stand in her crib. 

“Well hi baby, did you have a good nap?” You smile at her, as she bounces in her crib. Tiny baby hands gripping the bars, as you walk over to her. You scoop her up into your arms, baby babble filling your ears as she claps.

“Your dads are on their way home! Papa and Daddy and Da and Dad, yeah, are you excited to see them?” You kiss her chubby cheek, and she laughs. 

The sound of commotion downstairs makes you pause, a chorus of voices floating up the stairs. They’re home. 

“Daddy! PAPA!” Isla yells.

“DA! DAD! PAPA! DADDY!” Joseph and Kira join in.

“Dadadadada!” Theo’s tiny voice is there too, his screeches growing louder as you get to the top of the stairs.

“Where's your mother?” Price asks, his commanding voice cutting through the excitement of the group.

“She went to get Hope up from her nap,” Joseph responds, your footsteps on the stairs. You round the corner into the front entrance of your home. Simon holds Theo in his arms as Theo pulls the skull balaclava over his head. Joseph and Isla hang off Kyle and Johnny, their arms wrapped around their waists as they hug them. Kyle strokes Islas hair back from her face as he smiles down at her. Joseph's face is pressed into Soap's stomach, as his hands gently squeeze his shoulders. John is crouched in front of Kira, he smiles at her, his fingers tapping the tip of her nose as she smiles. 

“Hi Lovie,” Simon is the first to speak. His brown eyes search your face before they settle on Hope who is in your arms, chewing on her chubby little hand, drool trailing down her chin and soaking her onesie.

“Hi,” You smile, your eyes burning with unshed tears. Your gaze trailing over each of them as they reunite with their children. 

God how you missed them.

“Joseph, Kira, Isla, take Theo and Hope to the backyard and play for a few moments. We need to talk with Mama, okay?” Kyle says softly, and the older children nod. Kira comes over and grabs Hope from your arms, she quickly walks Hope over to each of her fathers and allows them all to kiss her on the head before she brings her out to the garden. Joseph, Isla and Theo follow after them. Theo holding onto Josephs hand as he asks him to push him on the swing. 

The door to the garden closes with a soft click and the room is quiet for once. You stare at each of your husbands for a moment. Your throat tight, eyes burning, lower lip wobbling. It’s Soap who moves first, boots echoing on the tile floor as he grabs your waist and pulls you into his warm chest. 

“No tears Mo Chridhe, we’re home now,” he speaks into your hair, dropping a kiss onto your head. He squeezes you tightly before his hands come up to cup your cheeks. He gently kisses your lips, and then moves to the side. Allowing Kyle to take his place, Kyle's soft hands slip into your hair at the base of your neck as he studies your tearful eyes.

“Why didn't you say something sooner Baby?” He asks softly, his lips brushing over your closed eyes.

“Didn't want to bother you guys… I know your training recertification is important…” You sniffle.

“Nonsense,” Price grumbles, coming to stand next to Kyle. Kyle releases you and John pulls you into him. His beard tickles your cheek as he leans down to press his lips against your neck. He places feather light kisses along your neck up to your jaw and then finally your lips. “You are far more important, all you had to do was call and I would have made arrangements to do it at a later time.”

“I know.. I just.. I don't know,” you look down at the socked feet. 

“Johnny and I will go watch the kids in the garden,” Kyle says, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze. 

“Don’t forget that you’re important too, if you need us tell us. You can't shoulder everything alone. If you need a break you have to tell us Darling,” Price looks into your eyes, and you nod. “I’ll go fix us some dinner, yeah?” 

He kisses you again, before the three of them disappear into the rest of the house. You can hear the children laughing as Kyle and Johnny join them in their games. The faint sound of the radio coming from the kitchen as John starts to cook dinner for the family. Only you and Simon remain in the front entrance. 

His brown eyes study you as he leans against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. To anyone else they would think he was angry, his expression blank as he looked you over from head to toe. You shift under his gaze, and wipe the stray tears from your cheeks. You finally let out a small breath, your eyes meeting Simons. 

“How do you know everytime?” You finally ask, and the corner of Simon's mouth ticks up.

“Don't know what youre talking about Lovie,” he grumbles as he pushes off the door and crosses the room in a few easy strides.

“Yes you do, you always know when I'm at my breaking point. I said 2 sentences to you, and yet you knew I needed all of you home,” you look up at him. The height difference between the two of you forcing you to crane your neck.

“I just know you, the others do too. We all knew something was wrong after we realized we had missed calls from you. I just wasn't going to listen to you try to tell us you’d be okay. They’re far more considerate of your wishes than I am.” Simon muses, his hand coming to brush a strand of hair from your face. 

“What about your training?” You ask, leaning into his palm.

“Laswell will take care of it. We have more important things to take care of.”

“Simon…” You start to argue but he cuts you off, his hands coming to your waist as he yanks you closer, his lips on yours, silencing your argument. 

“I was given orders to prepare you a hot bath,” he pulls away. “And then we’re all going to eat dinner together. Your husbands will bathe and put the older children to bed as you feed Hope her last feed, and then I’ll put her to bed. While i put her to bed, the others will be taking care of you. Okay?”

“You don't have too… you’ve all been bus-” 

“Lovie, enough. We might be busy at base, but youre taking care of the most important things in our lives everyday. Without break. We work a lot, but you never get to stop. Your job is never ending, let us take care of them for tonight. Let us show you how much we appreciate you. Besides, we’ve missed you… so please, let us.” Simon cups your face, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.

You give a small nod. “Okay.”

Part 2

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Chapter 1

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 1 | When We Were Young

SUMMARY | She leans on the doorway and watches as Aemond Targaryen takes a lengthy drag out of his cigarette - tiny embers of the burning tip being the only light in all the space around him. He is withdrawn and lost in his own thoughts, always - just as she knows him to be.

It is at this moment that it strikes her.

It's him that she's in love with. It's always been him.

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst with a Happy Ending; Grooming; Attempted Rape/Non-Con; Blood and Injury; Violence

WORD COUNT | 6.9k

Check out the lovely artwork my friend @azperja has made for this fic, HERE!

They’ve known each other a long time; almost their whole lives. It's hard for her to pinpoint the exact moment that she fell in love with him in the past many years. 

But if she has to say it, the story would go something like this.

[VISENYA TARGARYEN MEMORIAL PARK, RED KEEP TOWN]

AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-SEVEN, Alicent Hightower was intimately familiar with the feeling of loneliness. 

Even in the midst of a bustling crowd, she often found solace only in the company of the voices in her head. At nineteen, she had an affair with her best friend's father, and at twenty, she became his wife. Over the years, she has given birth to four children whom she loves with all that she has — yet her marriage has continuously held her back, fueling her self-destructive tendencies.

She couldn't entirely blame Viserys, though part of her did. It was hard to expect much from a marriage with a man still emotionally tied to a wife who has been dead for almost a decade. 

Loneliness pervaded every waking moment of her life.

Just then, she caught sight of Daeron, who smiled at her from his spot a few steps away, sitting on a blanket beneath the shade of a tree. The gap from his missing tooth showed when he giggled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile in that solemn, upside down way that she always did. Aemond, snuggled at her side, sought comfort from the surrounding noise in her arms. She held him tightly, realizing that perhaps she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

She wasn't entirely certain if she liked her children, but she loved them deeply. Their presence alleviated her loneliness, and she knew she would cherish them fiercely for the rest of her life. As the mild afternoon sun kissed her face, she eagerly anticipated the return of her older children - Aegon and Helaena - from school. Their chatter and presence provided her with a reason to keep going.

While Aemond nestled closer to her, less welcoming to other children compared to Daeron, Alicent noticed her youngest playing with a little girl of the same age. Witnessing the joy on her son's face as he made a friend warmed her heart, although she couldn't recall the last time she had a friend of her own.

She had one friend, and then she lost her when she married said friend's father.

But she won’t think about that.

Suppressing the memory, she resolved to find out who her son's new friend was. In the exclusive community of Red Keep Town, where most of the Westerosi elite lived, privacy was paramount and everyone seemed to know of each other. News traveled swiftly, yet Alicent always seemed to be the last to know anything.

A woman approached her, and Alicent's lips curved into a smile as she recognized her. "Jeyne!" She murmured, rising to her feet before she could even comprehend her actions. "How many years has it been? Are you and Jasper back in King's Landing?"

Jeyne Wylde, a warm woman with a maternal aura, enveloped Alicent in a friendly embrace, rekindling an acquaintance from years ago. "Alicent Hightower, as I live and breathe! Just as beautiful as the last time I saw you!"

They kissed each other's cheeks before she continued. "Didn't Viserys tell you? Jasper has a seat on the board now! We're here permanently this time! We've refurbished Jasper's grandfather's home here, the Rain House!"

Didn't Viserys tell you? No, Viserys had not told her; he never does. 

Clutching Aemond closer, she forced the reminder of her isolation to the back of her mind. Each time her husband dismissed her inquiries or refused to engage with her, it felt like a dagger twisting deeper into her heart.

"And who is this little gentleman here? Such a well-behaved boy!" Jeyne cooed as Aemond nestled into Alicent's neck, his silver hair tickling her. "My third. A bit shy," she motioned toward where Daeron sat with the babysitter, playing with another child. "That's Daeron, my youngest."

Jeyne laughed at Aemond's shyness, her joyful expression lighting up the world around her like she always did. "Oh, how wonderful! He's already made friends with my daughter!"

A friend. Her son had found a companion, and she couldn't help but find it amusing that it was the youngest Wylde daughter, whose mother had once provided her with a sense of camaraderie before her marriage.

Somehow, it all came full circle.

Daeron called out to her, beckoning her to meet the little girl, and both Jeyne and Alicent hastened to join their children under the shade, surrounded by scattered toys. Aemond, still clinging to his mother's neck, refused to let go and join them - but he watched with great interest.

As the children smiled at her, Alicent's heart warmed in a way she didn't think possible. Daeron's infectious smile, the babbles of the infants, and Jeyne Wylde's cheerful chatter momentarily pulled her away from her inner turmoil. As the little Wylde girl giggled at Daeron's attempt to balance a dried leaf on his nose, Alicent felt a sense of companionship, dispelling her loneliness, at least for a while.

Years later, when Jeyne Wylde begged her to keep an eye out for her child before she died, Alicent Hightower promised with her whole heart that she would.

How could she not do it for her only friend?

[SIX YEARS LATER; ALYSANNE TARGARYEN PREPARATORY SCHOOL]

IN THE BUSTLING HALLS OF THE PRIVATE TOWN'S only high-profile school, where fights between kids were as common as homework assignments, a scene was brewing. 

Daeron Targaryen, a spirited boy with an unruly mop of silver hair and bright violet eyes, found himself caught in an unexpected skirmish with his nephew Luke Velaryon, a mischievous troublemaker known for his penchant for causing chaos.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon when the incident unfolded. She was engrossed in a book under the shade of an oak tree when she felt a sharp yank on her pigtails. Daeron was playing football with some of his other friends when it happened, and he was quick to angrily run over to her, ready to retaliate. The fiery tug sent a jolt of pain through her scalp, and her eyes began to water - causing her to whirl around and notice Daeron, running towards her to help, with fury blazing in his eyes.

He had always fancied himself a bit of a hero.

They were only eight years old - too young to know better. Lucky for him, she never saw him as any less.

Daeron lunged at Luke, delivering a swift punch to the Strong boy's nose. A surprised cry escaped Luke's lips, and he made sure to lunge at Daeron - pushing him down onto the ground. The warmth of the newly formed bruise and the blood that now coated the skin above his eye made him want to get another punch in. But before the altercation could escalate further, Principal Lyonel Strong arrived on the scene, flanked by stern-faced staff members.

With practiced efficiency, the adults separated the brawling little ones, and Luke was reluctantly pulled away, a triumphant smirk still playing on his lips. Daeron's face bore an unusual darkness, a stark contrast to the innocence expected of a child. He muttered almost inaudibly, with bitterness bleeding through each word.

"Of course the Strong boy's grandfather helped him out."

She had never seen him look so angry before. It scared her more than the fading pain in her head did. She never knew what to do when the Targaryen boys found their Velaryon nephews - they always fought, and she was always left feeling scared.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower were summoned to the school to address the unruly behavior of their children. Daeron sat on a bench outside the principal's office, nursing a sore nose that throbbed with pain. He longed to visit the school nurse, but he knew he had to wait until the adults finished their heated discussion. Luke was there right now as well, and he'd rather wait for him to finish than be in his presence. She walked up to him, hands clasped behind her back, and he smiled, the red blood looking very out of place on his usually happy face.

She loved it when he smiled.

Her eyes brimmed with empathy as she extended her hand - revealing colorful band-aids, some of them crushed in her hold. "I'm sorry he hit you," she whispered softly, concern etched across her innocent, young features. "Does it hurt?"

Daeron, with the facade of an eight-year-old trying to look tough, puffed out his chest and said, "No." But as he tried to hide the wince that briefly flickered across his face, it was clear that the pain was real.

With a shy smile, she held out the band-aids, each one boasting bright colors. "You can pick whichever you like!"

After a moment's consideration, Daeron chose a bright blue band-aid adorned with pink hearts. The other boys would tease him for it for sure, but he didn't care. He’s always loved blue.

In the days that followed, many of their classmates teased Daeron mercilessly for his seemingly incongruous band-aid choice. Yet, he never removed it, always keeping it on where she could see.

His forever messy hair always got stuck to it sometimes, and it peeled off and almost fell to the ground before he stuck it back. But he never threw it away, even when the teasing continued tirelessly. And until his wound healed, he always came to play with her with her band aid on and a huge, mischievous grin on his face - a smile so infectious, she couldn't help but smile back.

She knew right then.

That’s when she fell in love with him.

[PRESENT DAY; MAEGOR’S HOLDFAST, THE TARGARYEN RESIDENCE]

THE DINING ROOM, once vibrant with the chatter and laughter of the Targaryen children, has now fallen into comparative stillness and silence. The words in her book remain incomprehensible, slipping through her thoughts like the ghosts of better days. The wind toys with the loose pages of her book, causing her to bite down on the end of her highlighter in frustration. Her gaze drifts to the empty chairs surrounding the table, each one a silent testament to the void left by the absent older Targaryen siblings. She never knew Rhaenyra, but the Hightower children, however...

Aegon, the adventurous one, has forsaken the comforts of his privileged upbringing to pursue his passions as a photographer. He started in fashion, capturing the glitz and glamor of the Westerosi fashion scene for many renowned brands. He’s dated and photographed many popular models for the covers of The Kingslander and Dragon Eye. Now, he is out of the country, photographing the ancient ruins of Sarnor alongside his archaeologist girlfriend, Sara Snow. 

She can't help but smile at his audacity and recklessness. It was such an Aegon thing to do - to embark on a globe-trotting adventure with someone he had known for only three months, just for the thrill of it. But she'd met Sara once, and she seemed like the girl who’d keep someone like Aegon engaged and on his toes - which is a feat on its own, given how much of a wavering mind she knows him to have.

Helaena had departed for the University of Oldtown two years ago to pursue her passions in microbiology. She never relied on her family's influence to secure her place there, her determination shining through from the beginning. She remembered Helaena watching them all from the sidelines while they played, bug in hand as she spoke to it; she believed they'd speak back when they were younger. Her passion translated fluidly to theoretical learning - next thing she knows, she's at the top of her class. 

Aemond - now in his final year of school - was reserved but had made an effort to join in, always. However, that had changed forever after the fateful accident - the one that had cost him his eye. The tragedy had unfolded during a heated family football game, a quarrel escalating into a devastating brawl. Aemond had hurled the ball at Luke's head, and in response, Luke had grabbed the first thing he could find - a shard of broken glass, forever altering Aemond's life. The incident had been the breaking point in the already strained relationship between the two branches of the Targaryen family. 

She still vividly remembered Aemond curled up on the floor, howling in pain. It had terrified her, and she could not sleep for days until she got to visit him. Weeks later, the doctors had prescribed a prosthetic eye, and it had taken her breath away - the contrast of the natural violet and the striking blue prosthetic was a constant reminder. She found it striking, but she knows better than to mention it to him. Aemond had grown weary of discussing his injury, and his entire demeanor has shifted, allowing little patience for anyone around him. He had gradually distanced himself from the crowd and only bothered when his mother forced him to.

The dining table, once a hub of laughter and joy, had slowly succumbed to the passage of time. Now, it was just her and Daeron, attempting to make headway with the biology assignment before them. Daeron, ever the dependable and witty presence, tried to keep the atmosphere light, just as he had in their childhood. 

She sighs, her thoughts drifting back to a time when Aegon would crack ridiculous jokes that left her in fits of laughter. Helaena, with her fascination for beetles, would have a distant look in her eyes while Aemond sipped on juice, offering shy, subtle smiles. Daeron, the master of wit, would keep the banter flowing, ensuring the fun never ceased. Those were the days when Maegor's Holdfast had echoed with life and character, exactly as Alicent had once admitted to cherishing. 

But now, the echoes have faded, replaced by the hollow silence that surrounded her, a gaping hole filled only by Daeron's chatter. She glances at him and manages a small grin. It seems like all she could manage around him are quiet words and shy smiles. He disarms her and thinks her awkwardness is endearing, and yet he remains completely ignorant of the fact that he is the one causing it.

She loved him. Slowly but surely, over the years, she had fallen in love with him.

Every one of his easy smiles have melted her heart, and he never even had to try. It was in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed; the warmth of his hand enveloping hers on chilly evenings, and the way he listened intently to her stories as if each word she uttered held the secrets of the universe. Her heart would skip a beat when he entered a room, and she couldn't help but smile when his name appeared on her phone. 

It was in the quiet moments when their eyes meet, and the world fades away, leaving only the two of them in a world of their own. She loved him when they did their first class project together, when he held her hand through her mother’s funeral, and when she slept over in his room for two weeks after the burial - her father needed time to recuperate from being a man expecting another son with his wife to becoming a widower with a daughter that he had to raise alone. 

She loved him through it all. It was constant, a calm wave that never dissipated. It grew, and grew, and grew. 

But she is afraid. Afraid of jeopardizing the friendship they have meticulously built together. Afraid of the uncertainty that comes with letting the boy who illuminated her world know that she loves him more than anyone else around him. Afraid of being rejected and left behind by him. So, for now, she cherishes every stolen glance, every shared laugh, and every moment they spend together, hoping that someday, Daeron Targaryen might see the way she has grown to love him - slowly but surely. Normally, she would thank the Seven for giving her time alone with him, but today, she is agitated.

If anything, she was devastated - how could she not be when the boy she loved for years was going on and on about someone else?

“I asked Floris Baratheon out, and she said yes!” She's been listening to him go on and on about the third Baratheon sister - a senior that was older than them both by a year, same year as Aemond - for months. Ever since she moved to King's Landing, Daeron had been absolutely smitten with her. He looked at Floris the way she wished he'd look at her, and her gut twisted each time she heard him gush about her. 

What did Floris Baratheon have that she did not? What about her did he like so much that she had him captivated in just a few months?

As he continued to talk about Floris, she feels herself being sidelined - as she did often these days. Their everyday conversations are now filled with stories of Floris's adventures and their shared interests. She feels discarded, but she chooses not to say much. She could not risk it, after all. 

She picks up the words pretty, smart, and absolutely kickass and she wants to retch. Or hack her pretty little head off. Or empty a bucket of pig's blood on her.

She’s going through a horror movie phase.

It’s not nice of her, but she cannot help it - she’s loved him for too long to be okay with watching him slip away from her like water between her fingers. She comes out of her reverie when she notices the time and she absentmindedly says, “I’ll see you Sunday afternoon, then.” She swings her backpack over her shoulder and loosens the straps a bit before she takes a step, only to have her heart broken by what he would say next.

“Yeah, hey… about that,” he interjects, and the tone of it has her scared. 

“What?” Her voice wobbles slightly, and she hopes it does not show.

“I told you, my date with Floris is on Sunday night…” 

“Sunday night… But that’s…” She rubs a hand over her mouth, trying to make sense of how he hadn’t even bothered asking her if she was alright with it. Sunday lunch at the Targaryen’s place, followed by pancakes at Chataya’s for dinner was their weekly tradition - one among many - one that they hadn’t strayed away from, ever. 

It’s only a silly dinner , she tells herself. It’s just a silly girl going out with her silly blind best friend and having silly breakfast pancakes for dinner . 

But it’s not. It’s more, more, more.

“Pancakes, I know. Sorry. She was available only then - her parents are taking her out this weekend so…” 

He puts a hand on the back of his neck - a nervous tell, she knows all his tells - as he tries to reason with her and justify breaking a six-year-old tradition for a girl he fancies. She bites the inside of her lip, trying not to let her frustrations show.

“It’s… alright. I can still do lunch on that day. We still have your birthday night next.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to –” 

“It’s fine.” 

Her heart breaks at how detached the conversation sounds. They’ve not even gone on their first date yet, and somehow he’s already pulling away from her. “Don’t be like that, come on.” She wants to fume, shake some sense into him and make him see how he’s hurting her. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” 

“Thanks so much. I owe you, big. I swear I’ll make it up to you!” He then smiles, that charming smile that steals a piece of her each time he pulls it off. “Jason Lannister’s been asking about you, apparently. Maybe you should give him a chance. Then we can go on a double date!” 

“Sure.” She smiles weakly, and she wonders how clouded he must be by Floris that her sadness seems to completely escape him. It convinces him, and she wonders if she’d believe it herself if she keeps saying it. She tries to salvage what’s left and suggests getting ice cream together. He apologetically declines, saying he’s going to get coffee. The way he scratches his head in his awkwardness is endearing yet depressing at the same time to her. 

He hates the smell of coffee, detests the way it tastes. She knows him like the back of her hand, and it's peculiar to her how he thinks she’d believe his lame attempt at a lie. She knows he is going to the cafe because Floris Baratheon would probably be there, and he would want to act like he had no idea and eventually spend time with her. It makes her sick, how eager he seems to have her out of the way. 

Is he completely blind to how sad he’s making her feel? How could he be?

She feels a pang of sadness and jealousy but says nothing as she pretends to be fine and packs up her stuff. She’d stay normally - long-dead mother and absent workaholic father making for an empty home, the hollow silence of which she did not prefer. But right now, she cannot bring herself to. Not when she feels the walls closing in on her, on her long-treasured and nurtured feelings, and how it seems to her that the boy causing it all is completely ignorant. 

She walks out to the door just as his older brother Aemond walks in. She gulps as she looks straight at his chest, refusing to look up and into his eye - partly because of how they’ve drifted apart over the years, and partly because she worries he’ll notice her misty eyes. Somehow, the idea of Aemond Targaryen seeing her crying makes her physically sick, but she cannot bring herself to move. It makes her uncomfortable, how he is almost catlike and seemingly dead - his chest rises and falls very, very slightly that if she wasn’t so close, she wouldn’t know. She cannot remember the last time she’s been in close proximity with him, given how he’s taken to staying away from almost everyone ever since the loss of his eye. “Everything alright?”

She opens her hands and then clenches them once, twice, thrice and then gulps. She taps her foot on the floor until he moves, possibly frustrated by her. She does not have the patience for him right now. 

He murmurs her name in his slow, whispery voice, and she only nods her head from side to side, hoping that it would perhaps cause her the tears pooling in her eyes to dry. She’s so close to him that she can smell him - coffee and cigarettes, both of which Daeron hates. The youngest Targaryen brother smells like lemon and wood, and it also holds a peculiar feel of home - but it doesn’t feel as such right now. 

Almost as if he senses her discomfort, he moves away and her foot stops its incessant tapping. She inhales a quick gust of air and stalks forward with all her might, trying not to look like the hot mess that she is in front of him. She sees Aemond’s motorbike - one that he’s very pompously named Vhagar - by the corner of her eye as she goes. 

She doesn't notice him as he quietly turns around to watch her walk away. 

Her feet have never felt heavier than they do right now on her walk back home. She opens the door to her house, the emptiness of it engulfing her almost immediately as she steps in. Alayne, one of the longtime housemaids, welcomes her while dusting off the shelves. 

“Shall I set the table for lunch, miss?” She asks, her words laced with the Essosi accent that has now come to feel like home. 

“No, I’m not hungry right now, Alayne. Thanks.” 

The maid smiles and she does too. Somehow, she doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

“Are you alright, miss?” 

“I will be.” 

In her room, she looks at all the Oldtown University posters, stuck onto the surface with precision that only a perfectionist could exhibit. Daeron has them in his room too, stuck on the walls of his room in an identical fashion to hers. They have dreamt of going there together for years.

The idea doesn’t seem as enticing to her right now, not as it did in all this time.

As she gazed at all the merchandise with misty eyes, she wondered if Daeron Targaryen would ever fall in love with her the way she did him. The uncertainty gnawed at her heart, but for now, she clung to the hope that their friendship might someday turn into something more. She falls onto the bed back first, her hands covering her face as she tries to make sense of how they’re drifting apart, despite how much she’s loved him. 

What else can she do, anyhow?

SHE LOVES HER TIME AT THE LIBRARY.  

It's a quiet, safe place where she can lose herself in her studies. When Daeron joins her, it's even better. He sneaks some candy bars in his backpack, and they hide them under the desks, laughing as she pushes him to work.

Today though, she finds Daeron already seated - but not alone. Her heart sinks as she spots him sitting across from Floris Baratheon, their heads bent close together, laughter heard through the room and mischief in their eyes. 

They're deep in conversation, their fingers brushing as they pass a book back and forth. They seem so at ease together, laughing and sharing notes, as if she doesn't even exist. An invisible wall springs up between her and Daeron, and she feels like an intruder in her own world. She hesitates, watching them, a mix of sadness and frustration bubbling up inside her. Finally, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving the library without a word. The tears threaten to spill, but she holds them back, determined not to let anyone see.

She can't help but wonder if she crosses his mind even once. Back home, she settles into her room, textbooks and homework spread out in front of her. But her mind is far from the equations and essays. She can't shake the image of Daeron and Floris together, the sense of exclusion and heavy rejection gnawing at her. The weight of unspoken words hangs in the air, and it feels like her heart has been left behind in that forsaken library corner. She buries herself in her books, pouring her frustration into her assignments, and the hours slip away.

As the evening turns into night, a soft chime signals an incoming text message on her phone. She glances at the screen, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Daeron's name. Part of her yearns to respond immediately - to pretend like nothing happened. But another part of her, a stubborn one, resists.

Hey. Didn't see you at the library today. You ok?

She stares at the words, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. After a moment's hesitation, she decides to leave him on read, the cursor blinking ominously in the chat box. She knows it's mean not to respond, but it's her way of telling him that she deserves better than being sidelined for someone else, that her feelings are not something to be taken lightly. In the silence of her room, she turns off her phone's notifications and goes to bed, with only her thoughts to keep her company as she slowly learns to go from being the main priority to an afterthought.

Is he thinking of Floris right now? Is he texting her too? Did Floris respond to Daeron? Should she? 

Sleep evades her that night.

THE MILD EVENING SUN CASTS WARM, golden rays through the arched windows of her room.

She always cherishes this time of the day when she can escape into her own little world, free from the distractions of campus life. But today is different. Today, she can't escape the feeling of loneliness that gnaws at her since that fateful library encounter.

With a sigh, she picks up her phone and scrolls through her contacts, finally landing on Daeron's name. She misses him terribly, and she can't bear the thought of another lonely evening. She battles with herself for a while, going back and forth between wanting to call him and saving her pride and ignoring him just as he's doing to her. Her finger slips, and she gulps, hearing the phone ring. She wants to cut the call, but the loneliness eats at her, and she really wants to talk to him. 

Who else does she have? 

The phone rings for what feels like an eternity before he finally picks up.

"Hello?" Daeron's voice sounds distant, distracted.

"Hey," she says, trying to sound cheerful despite her sinking heart. "It's me."

"Hey," he replies, but there is a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his tone, one that she has never been on the receiving end of until recent times. "Sorry, I've been a bit busy lately. What's up? How have you been?"

Her heart sinks a little further at his distracted response, but she pushes on. "I just wanted to talk, you know? It's been a rough couple of days, and I miss you."

Daeron's voice softens. "I'm sorry I haven't been around as much as I used to be."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not fine. Give me a moment, let me step out."

She starts sharing the events of the past few days, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that has settled in her chest. As she speaks, she can't help but overhear snippets of conversation in the background on Daeron's end of the call. There is another voice - a voice she recognizes all too well.

"Oldtown," Floris Baratheon says, her voice clear and unmistakable. "Dream university?"

Her heart skips a beat, and her grip on the phone tightens. She knows those posters. They are the ones that she helped him put up in his room when they were younger, when they were more than the passing ships that they have become now. The realization hits her like a tidal wave - they are in his room, together.

"Kinda," Daeron replies casually, his voice laced with a warmth that used to be reserved for her. "I put them up a while ago."

Those posters mean so much to the pair of them, and it pricks at her that he never mentioned that they put them up together, or that their shared dream was more than just a weak non-response. Tears well up in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. Her throat tightens as she listens to them talking, laughter and camaraderie flowing easily between them. It is as though she has been replaced, erased from his life without a second thought.

She can't bear to hear any more. She doesn't want to be the silent witness to their closeness, to the memories they are now creating in his room—the room that used to be hers too. Her voice trembles as she stammers out weak excuses about being tired.

"I should go," she says, her voice barely a whisper.

Daeron's tone shifts, concern creeping into his words. "Are you sure you're okay? You sound upset."

"I'm fine," she lies, her voice breaking. "Just tired. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Without waiting for his response, she ends the call, tears now streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to reach out to him, to seek solace and understanding, but instead, she found herself on the outside looking in, a painful reminder of what used to be.

AEMOND HATES THE SOUND OF HER FEET TAPPING. 

He's never been one for much noise, as it quickly gives him a headache. The ache swiftly reaches his scarred eye, leaving him in a foul mood for days.

Despite his dislike for the sound of feet tapping, he doesn't say much when he sits next to her each week for Sunday lunch. His face never betrays his feelings on the matter, as he hopes Daeron's friend, the youngest Wylde, will take the hint. She never does.

Today is no different. Her incessant tapping bothers him to no end, and he wants to press his hand into her knee, or scream at her, or grab her by the shoulders and shake her so hard that she'd see how annoying she is being. However, he doesn't. Bothered as he is, he is always very perceptive. Today, the tension between the almost paradisiacal pair of friends is palpable at best.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. 

It surprises Aemond that no one seems to have noticed. His mother sits at the table, picking at her fish and salad, while Criston, the bodyguard and the only present father figure he knows, stands near the wall with his hands behind his back. They've both watched her and Daeron grow into what they are today, and somehow, neither of them seems to have picked up on her discomfort. And if they have, they're really good at hiding it - which he wouldn't be surprised by.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

The unusual quiet at the table seems to bother his mother, and she tries to break it as best she can. When she needs help with anything - anything at all - she turns to her reliable friend and longtime bodyguard, Criston Cole. He has been more present in their lives than the elusive Targaryen patriarch. So much so, that Aemond sometimes wonders if there's more to their relationship than meets the eye. 

He doesn't know how he feels about the possibility, but he does know one thing - his mother smiles wider when she looks at him, and that's all that matters. She doesn't smile often, his mother. She always appears tired and wears an indifferent gaze when Viserys Targaryen is around. Aemond has seen that look and decided long ago that he prefers seeing her smile much more.

"Criston," she begins, her voice light, "you don't have to be so quiet during lunch. It's just us. You can talk."

Criston shifts uncomfortably, clearly not used to speaking while on duty, despite all the years. But after a moment, he smiles.

Aemond watches his mother closely, noticing the warmth in her eyes as she interacts with Cole. It's a warmth he has never seen her extend to their father, Viserys - who is away on business meetings at Dragonstone, no doubt favoring Rhaenyra and acting as though his family here does not exist. Aemond has grown indifferent to his father's absence over the years, appreciating Criston for being there for his mother when Viserys couldn't be. If anything, it has only fueled his fire to be an indispensable part of his father’s company when he’s ready - anything to prove his mettle, and represent his mother and siblings. Anything.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Her annoying feet tapping is never-ending, and he is at the edge of his patience as he grips his fork tightly. He's convinced he'd lodge it in her thigh if she doesn't stop right now-

"Aemond, do you have a date for the school dance?"

If he needed a distraction, this was it. The question of whether he has a date to the dance is one that his mother is very curious about and always reminds him of. He always struggles for an answer. How does he tell his mother that he's broken up with his girlfriend, only to end up sleeping with a woman older than his mother herself? He doesn’t quite know how to justify it to himself.

He’s often wondered what it is about Alys Rivers that attracts him so. He shouldn’t be so bothered, given how the woman has seen him grow up and could be old enough to be his mother. Soon, he’d realized that it was her ability to understand him - most children his age had stayed children, while he’d been forced to grow up when he’d lost his eye. She understood him, his ambitions, his emotions - she got him like nobody else, and complemented his drive. If anything, he admired her. 

The sex, he supposes, is a bonus. A very good one at that.

Aegon often jokes about Aemond and the older woman, and that was only after he walked in on them during Aemond’s 18th birthday dinner. Alys has haunting green eyes that pull him to her like a moth to a flame, black hair that he loves pulling on when she gets down on her knees—

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Arianne and I are going together.”

“Oh, are you two back together then?”

“No.”

He hasn't asked Arianne. He hasn't asked anyone. He’d rather not go, really. 

But he doesn't want to hurt his mother. The lies tumble out of his mouth easily whenever he senses even an inkling of worry in her voice, or in the peculiar raise of her eyebrow, or the way she begins clawing at her cuticles.

Perhaps she knows he doesn't want to speak further about it, or she senses that Daeron and his friend need to be nudged away from their pathetic and obvious awkward rift—but his mother is quick to seamlessly transfer her conversational attempts to the two of them instead.

Alicent continues, "You two will get to go next year, won't you?" She looks at Daeron expectantly. Daeron nods, a hint of excitement in his eyes. "If all goes well, I could be going this year. Floris Baratheon may take me with her. We’ve got a date tonight, actually!"

That’s when Alicent Hightower’s seeking and inquisitive gaze falls on Wylde, and he knows that his mother has figured it all out.

“I thought Sunday nights are pan-”

“Yes, mum. I know. She’s been…” He turns to his friend. It's pathetic to Aemond how she still looks at Daeron like he hung up the sun, even though he's hurting her, “... she’s okay with it. I owe her one!” He smiles widely and engulfs her by the neck with his right elbow as he stands behind her after taking the last bite of his lunch.

She looks like she'd rather fling herself off the balcony than owe him for letting him go out with someone else on their weekend night. Alicent’s neutral and hospitable mask falls for just a moment and her smile falters at the realization - her youngest is so blind that he cannot see how long his friend has been in love with him. Almost as though she can sense the realization in Alicent’s eyes, her feet tapping picks up its pace (he didn’t think it was possible). This time, her left hand is on her knee, and her gold charm bracelet - moons and stars - jingles along with the movement of her foot.

Tap, tap, clink, tap, clink, clink, tap, tap, tap, clink, clink, tap, tap, clink.

The conversation flows on, and lunch eventually comes to an end. As they all prepare to leave the table, Daeron turns to the Wylde girl with a cheerful grin. "Hey, would you mind helping me pick out a shirt for the date?"

Alicent's smile is still in place by the skin of her teeth, but Aemond sees his mother’s discomfort clear as day. She has considered the youngest Wylde one of her own for many years, especially since her mother passed away, and she is certainly not alright with how her own son is hurting the girl more than anyone ever has.

The last he hears of them is the sound of her shoes, tapping away in the distance as they make their way to Daeron’s room, leaving Aemond with a quick moment of pity for the snubbed best friend. He has been largely indifferent to her over the years, but he isn't blind. He sees the way she looks at him, and it weighs on him for a good moment.

Must it hurt to love someone who doesn’t love you back?

The pair of them walk away, and Aemond is left alone with his mother at the table. They eat in mutually appreciated silence as their guardian, friend, and companion watches, his sunglasses sharp against the bridge of his nose, hands tied together onto his front.

When he eventually stands up, Alicent is quick to remind him to pick out a suit so the butler can have it pressed for him. He nods absent-mindedly as his mother walks away. In his haze, he hadn't noticed Wylde come back to the dining table. She murmurs something about forgetting her books and gestures towards the stack she left on the table. He watches as she takes them all in her hands.

He’s not quite sure what pushes him to do so, but he takes hold of her elbow, leaving her obviously confused. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. The unspoken words are left for her to comprehend on her own.

About Daeron. I’m sorry he’s hurt you. I’m sorry he doesn’t love you back.

“What for?” she asks, as though her yearning eyes were not obvious to everyone in the room. She walks away before he can respond, and his feet stay planted on the dining room floor as she leaves once more. It is all he can do to not laugh at her vehement denial.

Soon after, he makes his way to his bedroom too, removing his black leather jacket as his steps pick up speed along the corridors. “What do you think of this one?” he hears Daeron ask as he walks past his room. Over the years, he has been a witness to countless conversations of theirs as he passed by, and in each one, her excitement almost always matches his brother’s.

Today though, it does not.

“Looks good,” she murmurs, and Aemond barely hears the words. Her detached answer tells him all he needs to know and confirms all his suspicions. The poor thing loves his brother, and she’s not doing a thing as he slips away from her.

If it were him, would he stand by and watch too?

SERIES MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. Please follow and turn on notifs for @randomdragonfics for my fic updates!

[chahnniesroom]

for better, for worse

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst, mention of a car accident, mentioned death of a minor character

a/n: originally this was going to be part of a longer fic, but i will never write that longer fic, so i decided to post it! the name of this fic is what inspired me to create the till death do us part collection. i hope you enjoy!

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Minho had never really thought that he’d be married before the age of 30. Sure, he knew that his parents would likely expect it of him, but he prioritised work far too much to have a meaningful relationship with anyone. So it’s not exactly a surprise that when his parents announce that they’ve arranged a marriage with you, Minho doesn’t suddenly become an attentive and doting partner. In fact, even a year later, he still hasn’t gotten very close to you.

Minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he’s lacking, but you haven’t exactly been the perfect wife either. Behind closed doors, you seem openly resentful of this whole situation and do your best to avoid Minho altogether. 

Honestly, Minho doesn’t blame you. If he thinks about it, which he tries not to, you have it even worse off than him. You’re younger by a couple years and had been in the process of rising through the ranks of your family’s company when you’d been forced into becoming a dutiful housewife instead of an executive. 

You had tried at first, texting him good morning, staying up late to wait for him to get home from work, and making sure the staff always had fresh and healthy meals prepared. Minho feels guilty thinking of how often he had brushed you off, but he had just been promoted and a lot of the executives, your father included, were just waiting to see him make a mistake. The overwhelming pressure had led him to spend more nights than not at the office and when he did go home, his thoughts still revolved on the work he had left to do.

You haven’t done anything drastic to express your dissatisfaction yet, but it feels like it’s only a matter of time.

Tonight would be the perfect way to do so. The two of you are expected to be present for an event, one that Minho has been invited to speak at. His assistant, Jiyu, tells him that it’s the opportunity of a lifetime and stresses how important it is for everything to go according to plan.

Minho heads to the event straight from the office and isn’t surprised that you’re not there before him. Even 30 minutes after the event has officially started, he still doesn’t mind since it’s just been mingling so far, something that he knows you detest. It’s when they sit everybody down to start serving the meal that he starts getting impatient, his temper starting to make itself known.

You know that this night is important for Minho and he’s told you multiple times that he expects you to be there. He knew that you had been picked up on time since he’d even sent his personal driver, Jeonghoon, to get you and Jeonghoon had sent assurances that the two of you were on your way.

You're frustratingly convincing though, Minho has never been able to say no to you and he knows that you've charmed all the household staff as well.

He'd texted Jeonghoon once to check where you were, but hadn't gotten a reply and he just hopes that it's because traffic is bad and not because you're plotting something.

When Jiyu pesters Minho about the lack of your presence, he gives in and calls your cell phone. It rings for a while, and Minho is about to hang up when you finally answer.

“Minho!” you say, sounding delighted. Minho is instantly suspicious. “You’re calling me.”

“Where are you?” he demands coldly. “It’s late.”

“I-I tried to call,” you continue to babble. “This time, I was good, really. I remem-remembered to call Jiyu-ssi instead of your phone. She said you were busy and not to bother you. But they needed someone to come help and I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

“Y/n, are you- are you drunk?” he asks in disbelief. If he sounded cold before, his voice is absolutely frigid now. Someone happens to walk by and they look frightened by whatever expression is on his face based on the way that they scurry past while trying to avoid eye contact.

“No!” you deny vehemently, even though there’s still something odd about the tone of your voice. “I didn’t drink anything! They didn’t let me. They won’t let me do anything. They just gave me this thing and-”

“Where are you.”

“I’m at the hospital,” you say plainly.

“What?” Minho stands up from the table, uncaring of the way that everyone swivels to look at him. He had stayed quiet enough before to prevent eavesdropping, but forgets to keep his voice down reacting to your matter-of-fact response. “What happened?”

“We were driving to the hotel,” you say in a small voice. “I didn’t want to be late. I- I don’t know what happened. There was another car- they were in a rush too.” You stop to hiccup.

“Y/n-” Minho is at the entrance to the ballroom and doesn’t even wait for the staff to heave the doors open, opting to push through them himself. He knows he's making a scene, but he couldn’t care less about anybody else in the room at the moment. 

“He’s gone,” you interrupt, sounding hollow. “Jeonghoon. They couldn’t even get him out of the car. I saw it. Him. What was left. There was so much blood.”

It feels like Minho’s stomach drops right to the floor.

“Y/n-”

He can barely hear your reply, instead the rush of his pulse in his ears drowns out any other sound. He's suddenly aware of how shaky his breathing has gotten, shallow gasps that barely provide any oxygen to his lungs.

“It doesn’t feel real,” you say, subdued. “They keep saying that I was really lucky, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Are you hurt?” Minho’s almost afraid to ask.

“Oh,” you sound surprised. “Me? I- Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry? Never mind, just tell me what hospital you’re at. I’m on my way.” Minho has forgotten that you're particularly skilled at deflecting questions, even ones that are direct.

“What? No! You can’t leave, you have your speech-”

“Y/n,” Minho says gently. You're starting to sound panicked and since he still doesn't know what your condition is, he doesn't want you to be any more stressed than you already are. “It’s okay, I’ve already excused myself.”

“I know tonight was really important to you,” you say miserably. “I ruined it. I’m sorry. Oh I- Someone’s here, I have to go now. Don't come, please. I’m fine, really. Stay at the event.”

The call ends abruptly and Minho is left staring at his phone.

“Minho-ssi,” Jiyu hisses from beside him. Her heels clack as she tries to keep up with him. Minho's already halfway across the lobby, but he can still see into the ballroom where a number of people are still staring after him. They must think he’s gone crazy. There’s a smile on Jiyu's face, but the tone of her voice is anything but friendly. “What are you doing? They're not finished serving dinner and you have to be on stage soon.”

Minho doesn’t even bother to answer, starting to dial for a car to come pick him up before he realises, dismayed, that he’s pulled up Jeonghoon’s number. He shakes his head for a moment before calling someone else.

Jiyu grabs at his elbow, pulling him to a stop. Even through the layers of his clothes, her nails are sharp pin pricks that dig into the flesh of his arm.

“Minho-ssi, you can’t just leave!”

Minho wrenches himself from her grasp and turns to scowl at her. She stumbles back at the force of his glare for a moment before reaching out again.

“Y/n’s in the hospital,” he explains. That should be enough explanation, but it still doesn’t seem to affect her. "I have to go."

“Tonight is critical if you want to win over enough people for the contract that you’re negotiating. Don’t waste any time worrying about her. If she's at the hospital, there’s nothing that you can do to help Y/n, she’s already being taken care of,” Jiyu says coolly. “Some things are more important.” 

Minho stares at her for a long moment.

Jiyu has worked with Minho for a significant portion of his career. Her analytical and no-nonsense way of handling things is part of the reason that he’s been able to make it as far as he has. For the longest time, he had admired her ability to set aside her emotions to make logical, objective decisions.

Now he wonders if she’s just heartless.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho can see a car pull up to the doors and he makes his own decision.

“Yes," he agrees. Jiyu lets out a sigh of relief and reaches out to tug him back to the ballroom. Minho steps away to avoid her hand. "Some things- some people are more important. I didn't see that before and I won't make that mistake again. Jiyu-ssi, give everybody my apologies that I was not able to stay and then you may go home. Thank you for your service all these years, but I will not be needing you as my assistant any longer."

He doesn't look back.

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[fan-goddess]

Hi! I saw your kinktober post and I was wondering if you could do Aemond and a wife!reader with the breeding kink? Like they’ve been married for a while and they’re trying to have a baby now? Thank you and have an awesome day or night!

Authors Note: You’re very welcome love hope you yourself have an awesome day or night too! ♥️

This is shorter than usual, but hey it’s my fic!

Warnings: P in v sex, breeding kink, hints at possible issues to conceive, dirty talk, possible exhibitionism (if i miss any let me know!)

Taglist: @sofiyathecunt, @marvelgirl123, @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

Your marriage to the Prince Aemond Targaryen, much to the surprise of many in court, was quite fruitful.

His touch possessed a softness that no other man had ever showed to you before, and his words showed nothing but pure devotion to you and your well-being.

It was a marriage that you had never expected to find love in, and yet not even a couple weeks after first meeting your betrothed, you and him found yourselves hiding between the tall looking bookshelves in the library, whispering loving words to each other in between sweet kisses placed on each others lips.

Eventually, when the night of the wedding finally came round, it felt as though you were truly witnessing the release of Aemonds inner dragon. That night, he made you feel things you would’ve never thought you would ever experience before. Love being one of them, and true lust and pleasure coming soon after.

His actions and words made you wish for the two of you to possess a physical embodiment of yours and his love for each other. It made you wish every night for a child.

Only it was now nearly a year since the night beginning your marriage, and no child bared fruit. You visited the maester every three weeks, and yet every time you visited you were greeted by him with a face of sympathy and a containment of bad news.

It was what you were walking back from now. Your head held low and your hand placed on your empty womb as familiar news weighed on your head for the unknownth time. You walked solemnly into Aemonds welcoming arms as he stood there waiting for you, and he softly stroked your back with a comfortingly fiery warm palm.

“Was it the same ñuha vēzos.” Aemond murmurs, his lips hovering over the top of your head as he kissed random areas of skin with a tenderness none other than you would truly know of him to possess.

“Yes ñuha jorrāelagon. But it is alright! For we may always try again and again! Until we know for certain your seed has taken root inside of me…” You say back, smiling slightly as you feel aemonds hands grip tighter slightly at your skin, while you yourself practically whisper the words in his ear.

“Do not go about teasing me like that ñuha vēzos, for if you continue I will not be a kind man tonight like I know you so love me to be…”

“Well maybe I wish you to be rough with me tonight my love. Maybe I want you to restrict me on our bed and fuck me till you are certain my womb is filled to the brim of your seed, and and that a child has been conceived. What if I was to want that, my dearest husband?” Your smile shows none of the sadness it held earlier, only of the depravity you wish to indulge yourselves in. Aemonds however, his usual face of neutrality holds does nothing to conceal the lust he feels in that moment.

“Then I suppose you will get it then, like the needy little whore you are…” Aemonds hands grip your waist firmly as he all but pushes you towards the bed, making it so you to fall onto it with a small surprised gasp.

His actions though only serve to make you more aroused as practically tears your clothes straight from your body, revealing yourself to him entirely whilst he himself is still fully clothed.

“Aw, is my little whore needy for my cock?” He grins, slowly beginning to undo the laces of his trousers, chuckling at the way you cannot stop yourself from staring at his erect cock.

“Come on little whore, answer me!” Aemond demands, leaning forward to brush his lips on your own, yet reviling when you try to connect them and his hand that somehow made it to the back of your head, makes it so you cannot. He even chuckles when you lightly whine from frustration, and the slightly pleasant burning sensation on your scalp from him pulling on your hair.

“I-I’m needy for your cock husband! I wish to have you fill me completely with your seed, however you may wish to do so!”

“Good answer…” Aemond growls, leaning back to undress himself entirely before sitting back up on the bed. He moves you slightly, but then comes the hot and heavy feeling of Aemonds cock filling you, and it all feels right again.

Your own moans are practically illegible. All of them involving heavy words that slide off your tongue like silk, with a couple odd moans in between.

Aemond though doesn’t have this same issue, as he continues to grunt dirty words and groans into your ear that makes you more desperate than ever for him.

“I’m going to breed you tonight ñuha jorrāelagon! I’m going to fill your whorish hole with my seed till it’s full and dripping of me, and your womb holds possession of our child. Our son and heir… do you want that ñuha jorrāelagon? To be filled with me? You know I love you, yes?”

“Yes! Yes! I-I love you too ñuha jorrāelagon! Of course I want that! I want that so much please fill me valzȳrys!” You whine. The pronunciation for the Valyrian on your tongue was weak as it drips of your tongue like a heavy slur, yet the meaning does not go to waste, as Aemond growls in approval at it and somehow manages to thrust harder and faster into you. Your whines and moans almost overpowering the sounds of yours and Aemonds sweat covered skin smacking against each other again, and again.

Your voice may have sounded wanton before, and yet with Aemonds new found passion and determination currently coursing through his veins, his cock manages to find and bully that rough patch deep within your cunt and suddenly, you reach a whole new level of volume.

It’s so loud in fact, that Aemond feels the need to place his rough palm over your mouth, which does very little to silence you.

“As much as I love your noises my love, I do not wish to share your glorious sounds with the guards who wait outside our chambers at this very moment. Do you think you could be silent for me ñuha jorrāelagon? Or do I need to help silence you the rest of the night?” It’s so condescending, so shameful to think that the guards could hear you outside these walls. Yet at the same time, sick thrill also manages to find its way up the length of your spine too.

If anything, it almost makes you want to be louder to show them all that it is your husband who you belong to you. It’s only him who owns your body and your love.

Your breath becomes heavy as Aemond continues to restrict your breathing with his palm, and yet if anything you find yourself loving it way more than you should. The feeling of Aemond overpowering you, controlling you in this way, was one of the best feeling you’ve ever felt in your marriage. In your life even.

“Oh… does my little wife like this? Her husband taking what he wants? Her husband taking her tight little cunt and leaving his seed deep inside of her?”

You can only nod quickly in agreement, yet when Aemond removes his hand you take in a few sharp breathes before quickly speaking.

“Yes husband, I love it! Please husband, I think I’m gonna cum! Please leave your cum deep inside of me, I need it so badly!” You whine, and the feeling of everything crashes down on you, as you cum hard on his cock. Aemonds beautiful groans being the only thing able to pierce the ringing in your ears as you can feel his own peak take over him, and his hot cum flooding your insides.

He holds you tightly, unrelenting in letting you fo from his grip. Even when you try to move to grab a nearby cloth.

“Aemond!” You whine. Not from frustration, but from amusement, as he huffs his annoyance at your movements into the skin of your neck. “I need to clean myself up! I’m all sweaty and disgusting!”

“That is where you are wrong ñuha jorrāelagon. You could never be disgusting in my view. You are beautiful…” His words are accompanied by small kisses on the spots he knows are your weakness, and if you were standing currently, your legs would have at this point given up on you. “You are gorgeous.. which is why, I am so obliged in keeping my cock inside of you, to make sure my precious seed stays inside your pretty cunt. All stuffed inside being held in only by my cock… I suppose I will need to fuck another load of my seed inside of you though. To make sure it takes…”

You feel like a whore as you nearly outwards moan at your husband words. He knows where to hit where you’re most sensitive, both with his words and with other things…

You cannot even dare to breath as you merely nod enthusiastically to his proposal. Smiling as you begin to moan once more from his cock, which has already managed to achieve full hardness, and now bullies that special spot inside you. Your lips move to claim his neck, and it all feels right as Aemonds sighs brush against your ear.

It most certainly feels right, as the next month when you visit the maester again, and he reveals for the first time with a smile, that you’re with child.

It most certainly feels right, as you hold yours and Aemonds daughter in your arms, moving so the both of you could affectionately kiss the top of her head, that already is littered with gorgeous silver curls.

“She’s beautiful…” Aemond murmurs, unable to take his gaze from her as she sleeps peaceful in your arms. “She takes after her mother in that…”

“Oh no dear husband…” You deny, choosing to lovingly look at the sight of him gazing at her with such rare softness. “She takes after you in that...”

[verstappen-cult]

WAVE OF YOU, C. LECLERC.

PROLOGUE — NEXT CHAPTER. [ SERIES MASTERLIST ]

PAIRING. charles leclerc x female reader.

CHAPTER ONE SUMMARY — It looks like any other shift at the coffee shop until the presence of a brown haired boy with dimples changes everything. The same boy you meet at the beach several days ago — the one who stood you up.

CONTENT WARNINGS. female reader, use of Y/N, alcohol use, fluff & friends being a menace.

GWEN’S RADIO MESSAGE. OH MY GOD! i'm so sorry it took me so long, but i was in the worst writers block of all times and couldn't get out of it :( but i forced myself to finish this today and ta-dah! i really hope you like it, your comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. remember that if you want to be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post, send me a dm or leave it in my ask box!

“Come on, girl! We can’t be late today.” You groan in frustration, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watch Daisy shake the sand out of her fur. She sits and looks up at you with her tongue out, head slightly tilted to the side. “Good girl.” You say, giving her one of her favorite dog treats. You put the collar on her and she happily starts walking by your side. 

It’s a short walk, around ten minutes, from the beach to the coffee shop you started working at just two months ago. You like it so much that you probably spend more time there than in your own apartment. It’s cozy and family owned, and there is always a pleasant atmosphere even though there are always people coming in and out, one of the perks of having the shop so close to the beach. 

And everyone loves Daisy too, so you’re allowed to bring her with you. While you work behind the counter, she chills by the door in her bed with her favorite bunny plushie. She brings joy and bright smiles to every single person that visits the coffee shop.

You can’t believe this is your life. 

It wasn’t easy at first but making the decision to drop out of school and travel around the world wasn’t as difficult as breaking the news to your parents. And after everything you went through in these two years you deserve the good things and peace that is coming your way. 

It was all worth it, missing your family, waking up in the middle of the night wondering if you made the right decision, the good and the bad… it was all worth it. You wouldn’t change a thing because it brought you to this; to Australia and to the wonderful people you’ve met. 

“Good morning, Fred.” You say to the owner of the flower shop right next door to where you work. He smiles, waving goodbye to a client, before walking out to meet you. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” His smile is contagious. You like to pass by him before going to work everyday because seeing someone be so happy and positive every single day is exactly what you need. “How was the beach today?”

“I had to drag her out of there before she got into the water.” He laughs, crouching down to pet Daisy and, in return, she licks his face. 

Fred laughs and stands up, grabbing a bouquet of tulips. “These are for the shop,” He says before turning around and grabbing a single sunflower. “and this for you.”

Fred is a French man in his fifties that came to Australia following the love of his life. He didn’t have a plan, he just left everything behind; they’ve been married for thirty years. 

“Always so sweet, Fred.” You place a kiss on his cheek, waving goodbye with the promise to bring some coffee for him later. He watches you walk away with that same big smile on his face.

You open the door of Brew’d Awakening, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries welcoming you, as well as the bulldog resting next to the door. 

“Hello to you too, Roscoe.” He huffs like telling you to hurry up. You let Daisy go and she immediately finds comfort next to Roscoe. 

There aren’t many people — it is still pretty early — just a couple of regulars that like to grab their first cup of coffee before heading to work or the beach. 

As you make your way to the counter, you find Kika sitting at one of the tables enjoying a cup of coffee while typing away on her laptop. 

“What are you doing here so early?” You ask, plopping down on a chair next to her. 

“Lewis wanted to discuss some things about the social media content,” She leans slightly to give your cheek a kiss. “and you’re meeting my boyfriend today.”

You gasp, turning to look at her with wide and surprised eyes. “What do you mean I’m meeting him?”

“I told you he’s gonna spend the summer here.” 

“Yes, but I also remember you telling me that he had to go back?” Daisy nudges your leg with her nose, and you immediately know what she wants. “So, he’s back then?” Kika hums while you look for Daisy’s plushie in your bag. 

“He’s coming because I left some things at his apartment.”

“So that’s why you didn’t come home last night.” She blushes, sticking her tongue out. “Whore.” Kika gasps, hitting you in the arm. 

“Hello, pretty ladies.” Your co-worker, who practically lives in your apartment now, leaves an iced latte in front of you. 

You take a sip of the drink, looking directly into his eyes. “I’m surprised I didn’t hear you sneak out this morning.” 

“What do you mean? I wasn’t there this morning.” 

“Alex, I literally heard you and Lily laughing at three in the morning,” Alex groans, sitting in front of you. 

“In my defense,” He points a finger at you and really tries to think of something, but comes out with nothing. “Whatever, you like me too much to kick me out.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right.” You stand up when the door opens and a new customer enters.

“Good morning, kid.” Lewis gives you a pat on the back when you join him behind the counter, you kiss his cheek in return.

You spend the morning taking care of the customers while Alex and Lewis are responsible of preparing and serving the orders. It is a quiet and nice morning, like most Saturdays are, and you love it. You owe Kika everything, because if it weren’t for her you wouldn’t have found the coffee shop in the first place. She recommended you and it was all Lewis and Nico needed to hire you. 

Lewis and Nico are a gay couple that, just like you, decided to settle down in Australia after traveling to different parts of the world. They opened Brew’d Awakening just five years ago but it’s going so well they have the opportunity to expand, but refuse to do it, knowing that the warmth and coziness of the Brew’d will be lost. You respect them for that. 

You’re about to swap shifts with Alex when Kika shows up in front of you, a shy smile on her face. 

“He’s here. I like him, okay? So, be nice.”

“I’m always nice!” You exclaim a little offended. 

“I know, sorry. It’s just — I’m nervous.” She looks around before leaning closer. “He brought his friends because apparently we’re doing this ‘trade’ thing where I meet his friends and he meets mine.” 

You hold your laugh, “Cute.”

“Stop making fun of me and come here or I’ll go mad.”

“I’m taking my break, is that okay?” You ask your boss, at which he nods, giving you a thumbs up. 

You take off your apron as you walk around the counter. Kika is waiting for you in the middle of the shop, looking like a nervous wreck. 

“I’ve never seen you so nervous before.” You place a hand on her shoulder, massaging to help her relax a little. 

“Meeting the friends is a big deal.” 

Well, she is right. You just didn’t realize how serious her relationship actually was until now. 

Daisy wags her tail as she makes her way to you. And you immediately lean forward to scratch behind her ears. 

You’re too busy to pay attention to the guy wrapping his arms around your friend and kissing her lips as a greeting. It is only when Kika clears her throat, kicking your leg to draw your attention, that you force yourself to let Daisy go.

“This is Pierre.” She says as you straighten back up. “Pierre, this is my friend Y/N.”

You look at the guy in front of you for a couple of seconds. His blue eyes are a little too familiar, but the more you try to remember from where you know him, the more you think that is probably just a coincidence. 

“Oh my God, you’re Y/N!” Pierre laughs, making you and Kika frown. “This is fantastic.”

“What is fantastic?” A voice draws your attention, making you look behind Pierre.

Your heart skips a beat the second you see a pair of green eyes.

The green eyes of the surfer boy you met a few weeks ago at the beach. 

Charles; who you never saw again.

It turns out that Charles wasn’t at the beach the next morning. You sat on the sand longer than necessary, thinking that maybe he was running late. But he never came. You didn’t see his friends either, so you simply picked up what was left of your dignity and walked back to your apartment with Daisy by your side. 

The morning after that you decided to confront him, but he wasn’t there. 

He never showed up at the beach again. And for a minute you thought it was all in your head, but that option was discarded when you bumped into the group of teenage girls sitting on the sand, wondering why the hot guys weren’t there. 

At least you weren’t the only one looking for them. 

You hadn’t thought about Charles in several days. 

And now he’s standing in front of you with a big smile on his handsome face.

Ugh, you had forgotten the dimples. 

“Y/N?” He asks, taking a step forward. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” You mutter bitterly, not wanting to engage in a conversation with him. 

It’s childish, you have to admit it, but why is he gonna ask to see you just to not show up? And, okay, you were going to the beach the next day either way but you got all excited for nothing. You really wanted to get to know him, maybe even ask for his number. He seemed like a nice guy and his accent made butterflies erupt in your belly. But that was before he stood you up. 

Kika looks between you and Charles with a confused expression on her face. You make the mistake of making eye contact with her because the next moment she’s gasping, her eyes wide as she finally puts the pieces together. 

“Charles is the boy you met at the beach?!” You want to cover her mouth with your hand but you can barely move. You love her, you really do, but right now you want her to shut up. 

Even from a distance, you can see the way his blush spreads over his cheeks. Charles runs a hand through his hair. You would pay a million dollars just to tangle your fingers in it to see if it is as soft as it looks. 

You’re dragged back to the present when the doors open and Charles’ friends walk inside. 

“Oi look who’s here!” One of his friends says — the curly-haired one — and they wave in your direction before walking to a nearby table. Daisy recognizes them, even though they were barely a few minutes in her presence, and she walks over to them. 

“Nice to meet you, Pierre.” You plaster on a smile, turning to face him and Kika. “I wish I could stay and get to know you better, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” Pierre smirks, nodding along. “Now, if you excuse me, I need to get back to work.” 

You walk back to the counter without looking at Charles again. Lewis looks at you with a raised brow and you shrug, that must have been the shortest break of all times. 

You’re putting on your apron in front of the cash register, a line of customers ready to order, when you see Charles joining the line and waiting for his turn. 

“Is that Kika’s boyfriend?” Alex whispers next to you while making an order. You look at where they’re sitting, the same table where all of Pierre and Charles’ friends are. They’re actually cute, unable to keep their hands to themselves. 

You nod, busy writing the last order. “Hi, welcome to Brew’d Awakening, what can I get for you?” When you look up you’re met with Charles' blushed face, a small smile directed at you. 

“Can we talk?” He looks genuinely nervous, and you feel a little guilty for making him feel that way. He’s the last one in line, so you nod. “I’m really sorry,” Charles breathes, closing his eyes. “I really wanted to be there the next morning but Pierre had to fly back to France and I couldn’t leave him alone.”

Your expression softens. He didn’t mean to stand you up then.

“We came back literally two days ago.” 

You feel really bad now. 

“Oh my God,” You let out a laugh, feeling embarrassed and so, so guilty. “I’m sorry. I guess I was a little hurt because I thought you stood me up — not that it was a date and we explicitly agreed to see each other.” You feel blood rushing to your face. 

“I wanted to text you but I didn’t have your number,” Charles frowns, a nervous smile dancing on his lips. “and I couldn’t find you on Instagram.”

Your entire body shivers and the corners of your mouth curl up. “You really looked me up on Instagram?”

“Yea’,” He chuckles, shrugging. “I wanted���no, I want to know you. You are really pretty—cool, I mean.”

“So you don’t think I’m pretty?” You lean forward, hands resting on the counter and supporting your weight. 

Charles' cheeks heat up as he tries to think of something to say, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. 

You take him out of his misery by giving him a little push on the shoulder. 

“I’m joking.”

Charles looks at you for a second, and then says, “You are. Pretty, I mean.”

It is your turn to blush furiously. You have to look away if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him. 

“Are you gonna order or not?” 

You both turn to look at the person standing behind Charles, clearly annoyed for having to wait too long. He apologizes before turning back to you. 

“I’m gonna,” He points to the table where his friends are, and you nod, disappointed for being interrupted. 

It’s a little awkward because he stands there for a whole minute just looking at you before waving goodbye and walking away. 

The customer clears his throat and you’re dragged back to the present one more time. 

You hear Alex and Lewis laughing behind you. 

“Hey, we’re going to the club tonight.” Kika says as you clock out. 

“Who is we?” You ask, grabbing your purse and the iced latte you made for the ride home. 

“Pierre and a couple of his friends,” She takes a sip of her own matcha latte and sits on the counter. “You, Lily, Alex.” Kika pokes Alex’s ribs, who’s cleaning the counter next to her.

You chew on your bottom lip, the question is hanging from your tongue but you’re not able to voice it out. Kika must see the struggle on your face. 

“Charles is coming too.” She has a knowing look on her face, but doesn’t make fun of you or ask what is going on with his boyfriend’s best friend. “So, are you coming?” She knows you’re going even before you nod your approval. “Someone left this for you.”

Kika hands you a napkin with a number written on it, a “Charles x” underneath a phone number. 

Your heart starts hammering in your chest and you waste no time in pulling your phone out of your pocket to save his contact. You hesitate whether to message him or not when, suddenly, your screen lights up with a new message. 

If you can’t stop smiling on the way home from the coffee shop and while you get ready for a night out, nobody (besides Kika) needs to know. 

On the way to the club you think about every little moment and decision that has led you here, to this uber with your friends ready to spend a good night with new friends, and a pretty guy who’s clearly very interested in you. If someone would’ve told you two years ago that this was going to be your life, you would’ve laughed. 

You feel nervous, getting out of the car and walking into one of your favorite clubs in the city. 

The first thing you notice is the mass of people dancing along to the loud music. You think you’re gonna make your way to the bar as you always do the minute you walk inside but, instead, Kika guides you to where all the VIP booths are, near the back of the club and the DJ.

“Baby!” Pierre shouts over the music, drink in one hand. “And baby’s friends!”

“Oh my God, I think he’s already drunk.” Kika groans, making her way to her boyfriend and kissing his cheek before whispering something in his ear that makes Pierre blush. Okay, gross. 

There are a lot of people in the booth. You recognize some of Charles’ friends and a few other people you’ve never seen before. Everyone’s talking with everyone and you’re wondering what to do when someone places a hand on your back. 

“I was waiting for you.” Charles whispers with a low voice, and you feel weak in the knees immediately. 

You turn around to face him and are blinded by his bright dimpled-smile. 

“Hi.” You say, looking into those two green orbs you’ve missed. Just a little. “All my friends dumped me,” Looking behind Charles’ shoulder, you see Lily and Alex making out in the middle of the dancefloor, while Kika is sitting next to her boyfriend and talking with some of his friends. “so you’re stuck with me for the whole night.”

“Ugh,” Charles says, bringing his hand to his heart and pretending to be affected. “that’s horrible. Stuck with a pretty girl all night? I’ll just have to deal with it.” 

You lean your shoulder into Charles’ side playfully and he moves a little closer, his hand still on your back. Apparently, blushing comes like a second nature to you ever since you met Charles.

“Wanna grab a drink?” 

He doesn’t need to ask twice. 

Charles guides you to the bar, keeping you close with his hand that has dropped from your back to your waist. His closeness is intoxicating and you can’t help but lean closer. Charles seems comfortable with the proximity, so you stay glued to his side as you walk to the bar, where you’re forced to pull away.

He asks the bartender for your drinks — after asking, very politely, what you’d like to drink — and leans against the counter with you by his side. 

You tilt your head and observe him for a little while, Charles too busy grabbing your drinks to notice the attention. It is only when he turns to hand you the glass that he notices your gaze on him, his cheeks heating up immediately but his eye contact doesn’t waver. He just stands there with two drinks and people bumping into him, looking at you as if you’re the only person in the world.

You shake your head, grabbing your drink. “Thank you.” 

You don’t really know how much time you spend at the bar chatting with Charles, but you don’t want it to end. Charles tells you about his life back in Monaco, you learn that he came very close to the racing world before his father passed away and he decided to quit — not his younger brother though, who is currently racing in Formula 1 — and dedicate his life to his other passion: architecture. And in return you tell Charles more about your decision to travel the world and not going to college, he shares some of your opinions and you’re surprised how easily you’re able to share things about your life with him. 

“I don’t know where life would take me,” You take a sip of your second drink, resting your elbows on the counter. “but I’m happy where I am right now.”

“You should think about visiting Monaco, I’m sure you’ll fall in love with it.” Charles has a strange glint in his eyes that forces you to look away. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” A guy throws his arms around yours and Charles’ shoulder. You recognize him as one of his beach friends. 

“Dani.” Charles groans, but relaxes against his friend’s chest. “Where are Max and Lando?”

“With the DJ,” You both turn to look at the DJ booth, and right there next to him is Lando and, to his other side, the blonde guy you remember as Max. Both of them look very drunk. “Oscar wants to take them home but I said that as long as neither of them throws up, we’re good.” 

Dani asks for a couple of drinks and makes small talk. He’s absolutely hilarious and doesn’t stop making fun of Charles. 

“He kept asking us if we’d seen you. Every. Single. Day.” Charles pushes him away but that doesn’t stop him. “And sent like a thousand selfies pouting and trying to bribe us to look for you around the city.”

“Daniel!” Charles exclaims, mortified. He squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head forward. 

Dani just laughs and, once his drinks are ready, walks away. Still making fun of his friend. 

“It’s cute.” You confess, feeling brave enough to lift his chin up with your hand. “I’m glad you were trying to find me, even though I thought you had forgotten about me.”

“How could I?” He smiles, his dimples on full display. “Afraid of sounding like a complete psychopath, I’m gonna confess that the only thing on my mind while I was away was our interaction at the beach.” His cheeks are blushed as he plays with the buttons of his shirt. “And how sorry I was for not asking for your number.”

You’re one second away from falling to the floor and melting onto it. 

Charles is definitely not helping with the racing of your heart and the need to be a normal and a functional person. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles’ voice is gentle.

“Don’t be,” You place a hand on his forearm and squeeze softly before letting go. “Afraid of sounding like a complete psychopath,” You repeat his exact same words which makes him laugh, his whole face lighting up. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it either. Well, until I was beginning to get angry at myself for thinking about it even after you stood me up.”

Charles groans, putting his face in his hands. 

“I’ve a lot to make up for.”

He looks back up and you make eye contact until Charles glances down at your lips, then back up at your eyes. And the room suddenly feels too crowded and too hot. 

“You’ll have plenty of time for that.”

𓇼 — WAVE OF YOU, TAGLIST: @lovrsm @itsjustkhaos @evie-119 @sadbeautifuleva @c4tc0re @sargeantdumbass @brune77e @arian-directioner @lavisenri @starsnxva @a1leexxa @therealcap @anniee-mr @kakorrhaphiophobia @madd1115 @toxicdreamer296 @coffeebae0 @tempo-rary-fix @luca-is-a-pengu @charleslover24 @vettelsbees @iienstein @mehrmonga @ferraridepartment @fictional-l0v3r. 𓇼 [cursive means i couldn't tag you]

© verstappen-cult, 2024. — do not repost plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.