#Emerald lake trail

[cpleblow]

Emerald Lake_RMNP

©Cpleblow Photography (2024)

10k + elevation

[rewildandgrow]

Banff was incredible!

[fairene]

beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter. 

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself. 

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep.  a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own. 

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing. 

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open. 

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him. 

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head. 

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence. 

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin. 

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth. 

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things. 

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.” 

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure. 

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity. 

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun. 

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face? 

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.” 

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase. 

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first. 

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places. 

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck. 

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.” 

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door. 

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.” 

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.” 

and then he was gone. 

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly? 

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature. 

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers. 

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open. 

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage. 

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress. 

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence. 

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths. 

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat. 

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.” 

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you. 

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years. 

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him. 

you thought you were going to kiss. 

and so did he. 

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality. 

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you? 

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you. 

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase. 

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.” 

he smiled. 

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge. 

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge. 

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch. 

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you. 

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you. 

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes. 

“what? i wasn’t manly before?” 

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.” 

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms. 

“really?” 

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you. 

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner. 

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger. 

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late. 

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him. 

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth. 

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle. 

“gonna jump out on me?” 

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core. 

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.” 

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him. 

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.” 

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.” 

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would. 

“between us, then?” 

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence. 

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends. 

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute. 

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you. 

“he say anything to you?” 

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?” 

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though. 

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less. 

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with. 

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.” 

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies. 

“what?” 

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone. 

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?” 

you swallowed. nodded your head. 

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair. 

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.” 

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile. 

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’. 

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu. 

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?” you asked. 

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice. 

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all. 

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow. 

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard. 

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.” 

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?” 

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?” 

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair. 

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him. 

you still couldn’t believe what had happened. 

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he? 

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free. 

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things. 

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he. 

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked. 

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for. 

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut. 

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer. 

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from. 

he did. 

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back. 

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty. 

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.” 

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.” 

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind. 

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment. 

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?” 

you were shameless when you nodded your head. 

“so embarrassing, i know–” 

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips. 

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest. 

“what do you feel for me now?” 

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down. 

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be. 

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you. 

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his. 

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins. 

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips. 

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“some dreams just remain dreams.” 

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall. 

“do you want to dream forever?” 

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted. 

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same? 

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes. 

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.” 

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own. 

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat. 

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years. 

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you. 

he lied. 

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando. 

‘course he fucking noticed. 

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore–  black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. 

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight. 

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress. 

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own. 

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress. 

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.” 

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?” 

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs. 

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…” 

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock. 

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.” 

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice. 

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.” 

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream. 

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin. 

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.” 

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck. 

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body. 

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body. 

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice. 

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come. 

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you. 

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair. 

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?” 

you shook your head. “no– no!” 

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping. 

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself. 

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat. 

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again. 

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips. 

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you. 

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.” 

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again. 

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.” 

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like. 

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret. 

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand. 

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling. 

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes. 

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you. 

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone. 

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep. 

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister. 

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself. 

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace. 

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart. 

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is. 

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed. 

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly. 

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong? 

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words. 

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?” 

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart. 

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.” 

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped. 

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs. 

your name was sweet on his tongue. 

“what would your brother say–?” 

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down. 

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck. 

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin. 

“how much?” 

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in. 

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress. 

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions. 

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.” 

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace. 

“the one with the bows?” 

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him. 

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility. 

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently. 

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.” 

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move. 

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense. 

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck. 

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same. 

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone. 

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life. 

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning. 

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist. 

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’ 

fuck that. 

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you. 

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim. 

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately. 

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?” 

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.” 

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?” 

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction. 

“slept great.” 

you scoffed. 

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks. 

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?” 

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage. 

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning. 

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that. 

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something. 

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment? 

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense. 

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?” 

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate. 

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?” 

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste. 

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?” 

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.” 

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek. 

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving. 

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant. 

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.” 

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left. 

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

but you stood your ground. “positive.” 

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold. 

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane. 

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool. 

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack. 

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime. 

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one. 

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head. 

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over. 

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless. 

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw. 

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water. 

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands. 

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him. 

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin. 

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste. 

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.” 

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out. 

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool. 

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max. 

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention. 

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap. 

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning. 

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling. 

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at. 

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted. 

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest. 

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show. 

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.” 

“asshole.” max mirrored you. 

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind. 

though you did. 

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through. 

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word. 

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could. 

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you. 

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?” 

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall. 

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?” 

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him. 

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions. 

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.” 

but you dared to disagree. 

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?” 

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure. 

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge. 

“get your hands off me.” you bit out. 

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.” 

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist. 

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone. 

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength. 

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone. 

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock. 

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go. 

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.” 

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex. 

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair. 

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power. 

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger. 

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner. 

you had come up with the idea for dinner. 

fish. as everyone enjoyed. 

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself. 

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious. 

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.” 

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer. 

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind. 

it was an afterthought  for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot. 

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines. 

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for. 

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?” 

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.” 

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker. 

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice. 

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove. 

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days. 

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged. 

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips. 

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done. 

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table. 

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck. 

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap. 

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit. 

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone. 

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table. 

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here. 

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind. 

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit. 

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings. 

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word. 

“dessert, anyone?” 

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen. 

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go. 

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you. 

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you? 

you were. 

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends. 

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours. 

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not. 

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself. 

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward. 

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger. 

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered. 

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you. 

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall. 

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted. 

and maybe you did. 

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races. 

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand? 

the answer was undoubtedly yes. 

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it? 

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick. 

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time? 

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all. 

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean. 

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought. 

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table. 

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most. 

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in. 

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

ah

ah

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own. 

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.” 

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises. 

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine. 

“being a fucking tease…” 

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity. 

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed. 

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction. 

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust. 

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?” 

“no.” 

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were. 

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth. 

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly. 

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you. 

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?” 

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you. 

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat. 

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more. 

“just like that, baby–” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan. 

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.” 

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure. 

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes. 

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle. 

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat. 

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam. 

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him. 

he snickered. “guess so.” 

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue. 

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–” 

you shushed him. 

“on the house.” 

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes. 

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad. 

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home. 

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee. 

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms. 

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call. 

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds. 

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds. 

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night. 

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air. 

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him. 

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is. 

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching. 

and spellcasted he was. 

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper. 

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice. 

you were. 

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed. 

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper. 

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile. 

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust. 

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic. 

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you. 

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right. 

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother. 

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf. 

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him. 

“he’s a good guy.”  

lando was sitting up now. listening. 

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.” 

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter. 

“and…what did you say?” 

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them. 

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.” 

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you. 

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it. 

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity. 

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping. 

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers. 

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat. 

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.” 

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered. 

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you? 

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?” 

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons. 

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical. 

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side. 

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?” 

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age. 

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs. 

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes. 

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired. 

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.” 

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile. 

shit. 

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you’d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night. 

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top. 

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time. 

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?” 

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris. 

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had. 

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good. 

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek. 

“he’s a good lad, innhe?” 

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of. 

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful. 

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa. 

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone. 

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?” 

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could. 

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.” 

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you. 

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat. 

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you. 

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—” 

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.” 

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too. 

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan. 

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum. 

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?” 

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness. 

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.” 

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him. 

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away. 

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed. 

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—” 

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.” 

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way? 

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt. 

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom. 

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry. 

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect. 

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for. 

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling. 

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear. 

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.” 

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder. 

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend. 

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh. 

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail. 

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed. 

“am i?” 

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean. 

“think you like it, love.” 

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter. 

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered. 

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?” 

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder. 

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit. 

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine. 

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with. 

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.” 

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad. 

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table. 

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it. 

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him. 

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?” 

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words. 

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through. 

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to. 

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other. 

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end. 

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

lando hummed. 

“about us.” 

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for. 

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship. 

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for. 

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms. 

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat. 

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side. 

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[vestaignis]

Зао Онсен - горнолыжный курорт с потрясающими ледяными деревьями.

Горнолыжный курорт Зао - это уникальное место, где встречаются природа, активный отдых и традиционная японская культура. Расположенный в горах Ямагата, курорт предлагает посетителям захватывающее катание на лыжах и сноуборде, невероятные виды и расслабляющий отдых в горячих источниках.

Зимой горы Зао покрываются мягким порошковым снегом, создавая идеальные условия для катания. Курорт предлагает более 30 подъемников, включая гондолы и канатные дороги, а также трассы для лыжников и сноубордистов всех уровней подготовки. Самая длинная трасса тянется на 10 километров и проходит через знаменитую территорию снежных монстров - покрытых инеем и снегом деревьев, которые в морозные дни приобретают фантастические формы. Это природное явление делает Зао одним из немногих мест в мире, где можно увидеть такие снежные фигуры.

После дня на склонах посетителей ждут горячие источники - настоящая гордость Зао Онсен. Серные воды, известные своими целебными свойствами, не только расслабляют тело, но и улучшают состояние кожи. В деревне доступны как общественные бани, так и уединенные ванны-ротенбуро под открытым небом, где можно наслаждаться видом заснеженных гор.

Курорт Зао привлекает туристов не только зимой. Летом и осенью он становится местом для пеших прогулок, благодаря живописным горным тропам и знаменитому кратеру Окама, известному как «озеро пяти цветов». Его воды меняют оттенок от изумрудного до ярко-бирюзового в зависимости от погоды, оставляя незабываемое впечатление.

Zao Onsen is a ski resort with stunning ice trees.

Zao Ski Resort is a unique place where nature, outdoor activities and traditional Japanese culture meet. Situated in the Yamagata Mountains, the resort offers visitors exciting skiing and snowboarding, incredible views and relaxing hot springs.

In winter, the Zao Mountains are covered in soft powder snow, creating ideal skiing conditions. The resort offers more than 30 lifts, including gondolas and cable cars, as well as slopes for skiers and snowboarders of all skill levels. The longest run stretches for 10 kilometers and passes through the famous territory of snow monsters - trees covered with frost and snow, which take on fantastic shapes on frosty days. This natural phenomenon makes Zao one of the few places in the world where you can see such snow figures.

After a day on the slopes, visitors can enjoy the hot springs - the pride of Zao Onsen. The sulphur waters, known for their healing properties, not only relax the body but also improve the condition of the skin. The village offers both public baths and secluded open-air rotenburo baths where you can enjoy the view of the snow-capped mountains.

Zao is not only a winter destination. In summer and autumn, it becomes a hiking destination, thanks to its picturesque mountain trails and the famous Okama Crater, known as the "lake of five flowers". Its waters change from emerald to bright turquoise depending on the weather, leaving an unforgettable impression.

Источник://www.gltjp.com/en/directory/item/13684/, /go-japan.ru /sights/gornolyzhnye-kurorty/Zaōonsen%20sukī-ba , //www.tripadvisor.ru/Attraction_Review-g1023191-d1425459-Reviews-Yamagata_Zao_Onsen_Ski_Resort-Yamagata_Yamagata _Prefecture_Tohoku.html, /travel.rakuten.com/contents/usa/en-us/guide/ski-resort-zao-onsen/.

[pawinpersu]

when i met you in that hotel room ₊ 𓂃 venti / barbatos

🧁♡: afab!reader. reader works at angel share (lets pretend its a hotel lol) maid!reader. needy!dom!venti. consent kink. cunnilingus. pnv. mating press. slight breeding kink. pretty much fluff !! slight self loathing from venti... (he ain't been getting action and he feels old.)

staying in a room at the angel share, after buying a whole bottle of dandelion wine, venti sighs to himself in contentment. observing his land outside the window, admiring in his thoughts how that maid looked delivering his drinks to his booth about thirty minutes ago. the maid outfit looked so sinfully beautiful on you. it had been... ages since his last rendezvous esque relationship. desperate, he called himself. not that he looked old but after being thousands of years on teyvats warm shores you grow slightly unaware of things, mostly due to cutting himself off from such relationships. not that he doesnt desperately want one.

calling up service to his room, knowing it will be you. his body aches, this form becoming slightly uncomfortable. he sees your silhouette as you open the door, smiling sweetly he bids you to come in. "is there something you need, sir?" you ask kindly, an underlying gruffness to your voice. sweet thing. so precious. so overworked. must you trouble yourself with such things in a place where freedom reigns? he asks you in his head, not voicing his thoughts. "hic! i would.. hic! like some.. room service, dear maiden- hic! unngh" hiccups, he curses. maybe he has drunk too much.

he leans up on the bed with his elbows, patting with his hand beside him, looking up at you with his pretty emerald, with light greens and azures mixed in them eyes. you question, before sitting down beside him, the slightly short outfit riding up your thighs. as observant as venti is he is quite aloof to certain things, but never this. he thanks himself, reminding himself of his status, he shudders. this girl, was a mere mortal. how could.. how could he possibly be so unwavering towards her, so needy. wishing her hands were undoing his corset. his belt. his shorts. anything right now would save him from thinking so much!

his voice slightly heightens, his eyes trail down your body before looking up into your eyes again. "have.. hic!" he cuts himself off cursing the hiccups once more. he reaches out his hand, holding it towards her. as you take it, he pulls you down a bit onto the bed. "hic! you.. hic!... sweet maiden grown a match of poppies and cecelia's, my dear? you are so incredibly sweet." his words like honey, yet with a bit annoyed tone. he needs something to get rid of these hiccups! his charm!

his eyes lake over your pretty face, admiring your features. swallowing softly, hopefully that will take them away, pushing a strand of your hair out of your face. "does this feel right, my sweet flower? have i stepped to far, please, indulge my questions with your answers, whatever you need or want, i shall give it" no matter how badly he wants you. deciding now if you say get off me or, no, then he wouldnt be upset, how dare he even if he was, having just the one moment will suffice lifetimes. your softness, your face close to his, his hands able to caress yours, and your pretty face. he wants to whine. the sensations feel as if they did the first time.

you give him a shy nod, your mind and heart race. you need to go back, to clean, to do your job. but.. the way he looks at you. the way he talks to you, the way he touches you. like you're a piece of crystal, a jewel. you watch him softly, your breath hitching as he grows closer. his hand trailing down your thigh. his eyes glazed with lust and something slightly calm, and content. his fingers start making patterns on the flesh of it. "may i kiss you, sweet flower? please hear my heart for what it needs is something so delicately beautiful as you"

another nod, his words fill you with ache. no man has ever given such bold advances to you, as he kisses you his lips move against yours, making you feel light headed. his want his need is excruciating. how many years has it been since such a feeling has made him lightheaded. his hands trail up to the swells of your hips gripping them with his fairly soft hands. you're soft, delicate, and utterly gorgeous. almost sinfully he adds in his head. how long has barbatos been without shame in this very moment. not caring if others heard you outside the hotel room. or him.

whenever you get the courage to move your own lips against his, he whines. he's vocal and he's not afraid to show it, gripping your hips harder he slightly moves more on top of you, not breaking the kiss. his lips more feverish. his face hot not just from the alcohol but the slight recoil of embarrassment. afraid if he might continue he might just make a fool of himself. he whines before pulling away from the kiss seeing your eyes flutter open at him cutely, makes him longing for more. "you taste divine dear. i simply cannot get enough of you." his voice gruff, his eyes feel hazy. glazed over with something more than desire. "may i continue, beautiful girl? ill love you with care my sweet flower" he says, promisingly.

"i.. yes.. yes please" your own body is hot, the maid outfit suddenly uncomfortable. dear barbatos forgive me, you say in your head. hearing him chuckle. "ah. sweetheart, dont trouble yourself with asking for forgiveness. not when this is so right" he kisses down your neck, prying your thighs open softly, his hips grinding now against yours. "ah.. dearest me, even such small stimulation you feel amazing." saying through the kisses. he bunches your skirt up, his fingers playing with the hem of your panties, before digging his nails into your hips. grinding harder.

"hnngh.. how could i possibly let go of this.. feeling.. nngh!" he whines, biting at your neck. sucking harshly. hearing your small gasps, he kisses back up to you jaw. "y.. you're so sweet, my flower. unngh.. ahnn.." his hips buckle, his face grows hotter. wanting, needing more. "such a pretty face, a gorgeous body.. nngh.. ah- just like that" he whispers, moving a bit faster. able to feel his length through the soft and sensual grinds. he takes a deep breath before looking down at you. "im going to remove this pretty outfit, maiden, is that okay? may i?" he asks eagerly, his hips halter.

"yes.. please. please. no one has ever made me feel this way" you gasp out, you panties already slick with desire. whining a bit at the lost of the friction, you push yourself more up against him. he chuckles a bit, getting a ego boost. admiring how thirsty you are just as he is. he slowly pushes the maid outfit down your gorgeous body. seeing your lacey garments, connecting with your thigh highs. he bites his bottom lip before grazing his hand down your hips, to your ass. squeezing the flesh.

"how sinfully beautiful those look on your gorgeous skin. so soft, so pretty." he kisses your tummy. his hand squeezing at the flesh of your hips again. his head moving down to your thighs, pushing your navel to make you lay down all the way, you push up on your elbows to watch him. kissing your inner thighs, eyeing your pussy, such a delicate things. kissing your clothed cunt softly, before looking up at you seeing you gasp, he smirks, a slight chuckle vibrating against your clothed mound. he pulls down your lacey garment, down your thighs the thigh highs still on. after finally getting them off he looks up at you once more.

"mmm, such a pretty, pretty flower you have my dear maiden. may i?" always asking for consent, always considering you first. you nod impatiently. he nods, his breath warm against your pussy, before licking softly, prodding your folds open. his eyes rolling back, ah how he's missed giving pleasure to a woman. he presses your hips more to his mouth, licking the labia softly. using spit to coat more of your glistening sex as he sucks on your delicate cunt, using his jaw to give more friction. slurping your essence, you're so new to this. new to how such things work, but fuck. the way he looks up at you while he does it.

after awhile his ministration's don't stop, he needs to make you come first. he whines against your pussy, slurping lewdly against it. sucking your pretty clit, your hips buckle. gasping. "oh.. fuck! there.. there.. ah!" you cry out, feeling his lips suckle faster making you see white. your hands instinctively gripping his hair pushing him, as your back arches and hips buck, your slick coating his lips and tongue. you gasp for air, as the feelings subdue. a whine to your breathing, your elbows aching as you fall back all the way, your legs shaking.

"mmm.. absolutely luscious." he licks his lips. pushing up on his hands crawling back on top of you. kissing your lips, tasting yourself as he moves his tongue into your mouth. the sensual kiss making more blood go to his aching cock. roughly pushing his shorts down, making his dick slap against his tummy, removing his corset and top, cursing at himself. why does he wear so many layers, fuck. he lifts your legs, pushing them to your chest, holding them with one hand, stroking his cock softly. "anngh.. you look angelic. my little flower, is this what you want? please. i need to fill your pretty pussy up, so... bad. nn.." his hips falter, getting even more aroused by his own words.

as you consent, you cover your face. feeling his other hand move down to spread your sensitive cunt apart, rubbing the tip softly against it, he whines. not able to take it anymore, he softly pushes against warm and tight channel. his eyes roll back, his other hand still holding your legs up, before his other grabs your hand, holding it softly. "oh.. fuck!" he breathes out, his hips going in slow thrusts, but needing to go faster, needs to breed this small pussy. gods, how badly has he needed this, fuck. he looks at you, pulling away from holding your hand grabbing the other on your face. "shhh... sweet cecelia, dont hide your pretty face."

he starts going faster, his face contorts, his braids move rapidly, as well seeing your breasts move with each thrust, makes his insatiable need grow. he whimpers, gripping the flesh under your thighs again, being slightly sloppy. "hnngh.. fuck.. you're so.. so gorgeous my windblume, im.. mmm.. feel s'fucking good.. so good" his insistent compliments and feverish thrusts of his cock, makes you feel crazy. his words, his body, his touch, everything about this man was.. so.. good. so so good. no one has ever made you feel this way. you whine, looking up at him, your mouth parted as you breath in gulps of air, breathy moans making him ache. needing to see you come on his cock, needing to see your face as he fills you up. needing it, craving it.

".. ah! please please.. s-shit!.. ah.. oh fuck.. gonna.. gonna breed you.. gonna.. fuck! make this pretty flower all.. all mine..!" he grumbles, positioning his hips harder, before whining feeling your pussy gush and tighten around him making his thrusts sloppy, he falls on top of you. still gripping the muscles under your pretty thighs. he hears you gasp, feeling your nails into his shoulders suddenly as your cunt flutters around him, your slick gushing down at each press of his cock. "ah! ohh.. please, please please!" you whine, before it turning into cute mewls.

fucking hell, he liked that. oh he needed that, he pushes your knees up more, going deeper, feeling your velvet walls clench as the lasting moments of your orgasm hit you, he whimpers his hips faltering once more before picking up the pace again. "holy.. hnnghh... my pretty cecelia.. im.. nngh.. im.. gonna.." he pushes his face in the crook of your neck as his hips grow sloppy, his cock throbbing as fills your pretty pussy, feeling it bulge your cute tummy. he whines, panting against you.

"f.. fuck.. fuck.. fuck.. mmph! filling you up, so." thrust "good, nngh.." his climax subsiding, still tenderly thrusting inside you, as he catches his breath he looks up at you through his lashes. "my sweet, gorgeous flower." he says softly, giving you small kisses now. before catching his strength to slightly lift up, brushing your glistening hair from your face. having a content smile on his face, he cups your chin seeing your fucked out gaze, assuming he has the same look. "don't you look exquisite, so, so pretty. sucha good girl. my pretty windblume" he giggles, squishing your face. bending down once more kissing you, a soothing lullaby to your exhaustion.

ᑦ꒰ྀིྀི ྀྀི꒱ᐣ ©pawinpersu 🍩 please dont steal repost or translate.

♡an: omg this is the longest small fic ive ever done, i locked in. LOLL.. hope u all like it :3 for @astronomerzin

[slytherin-princess-x]

Slytherinmas story day

Toxic games

Summary: this is a toxic enemies with benefits story but when you end up kissing mattheo’s rival something in him..snaps

A/n: kissing, swearing

Chapter 3: Poison & Pleasure

The emerald sheets beneath me were cool against my heated skin, a stark contrast to the inferno that was Mattheo Riddle hovering above me. Shadows from the floating candles played across his features, turning him into something almost otherworldly – a demon dressed in Slytherin robes, come to collect his due.

"Look at you," he breathed, trailing a finger down my throat. "So fucking perfect, spread out on my bed like you belong here."

I arched an eyebrow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his touch affected me. "Careful, Riddle. That almost sounded like a compliment."

His hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just resting there – a reminder of the power he thought he held. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending I don't notice you."

"Pretending?" I laughed, the sound hollow in the space between us. "Is that what we're calling your obsession now?"

His grip tightened fractionally. "You're one to talk about obsession. I saw how you watched me all night, even while you were kissing Pucey." His free hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher. "Did you imagine it was me?"

"You wish." But my voice betrayed me, coming out breathier than intended.

A knowing smirk curved his lips. "I don't have to wish, y/n. Your body gives you away every fucking time."

To prove his point, he pressed his lips to the spot just below my ear that he knew drove me crazy. I bit back a moan, but couldn't stop my hands from clutching his shoulders.

"I hate that you know me this well," I whispered, the words falling like poison between us.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, and for a moment, the masks we both wore slipped. "I hate that I want to know you better."

The admission hung in the air, too honest, too real for whatever this was between us. We didn't do vulnerability. We didn't do truth. We did anger and lust and power plays.

So I did what I did best – I destroyed the moment.

"Shut up and kiss me properly, you pretentious prick."

His eyes darkened, masks sliding back into place. "As my lady commands."

But this kiss was different from our others. Still rough, still demanding, but there was something else there now. Something that felt dangerously close to need.

My fingers worked at his shirt buttons as his mouth traced patterns of ownership across my collarbone. Each touch was a claim, each kiss a brand. We were marking our territory, though neither of us would admit that's what this was.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded against my skin.

I dragged my nails down his now-bare chest, relishing in his sharp intake of breath. "Make me."

Challenge accepted, his hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, and suddenly he was everywhere – his touch, his taste, his scent overwhelming my senses until I couldn't remember why I was supposed to be fighting this.

"Say it," he growled, his control visibly slipping.

And maybe it was the way moonlight filtered through the lake water outside his window, casting us both in an ethereal green glow. Maybe it was the lingering firewhisky in my veins. Or maybe I was just tired of pretending.

"I want you," I breathed, the words feeling like surrender and victory all at once. "I fucking want you, Mattheo."

His eyes met mine, and for the first time since this toxic dance began, I saw something that looked almost like reverence in them.

"Good," he whispered against my lips. "Because you're mine now. Whether you like it or not."

As his mouth claimed mine again, more possessive than ever, a terrifying thought crossed my mind: maybe I'd been his all along.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd been mine too.

[To be continued...]

Tag list: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred

[shadowdaddies]

Anywhere

Fenrys x Reader fluff

A/N: dipping my toe back into writing to see if I can still do it before I try to conquer requests

Soft wisps of clouds drifted lazily across the vibrant blue skies of Terrasen, the gentle breeze that blew along with them granting a cool contrast to the sun on your skin. 

Pushing your arms above your head, toes pointed as you stretched the muscles throughout your body, a gentle yawn following along with your satisfied smile. 

“Beautiful,” Fenrys whispered next to you, watching as you hummed in agreement. 

Your hands twined in the blades of grass beneath them as you savored the feeling of the emerald earth against your skin. “It is a beautiful day,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you moved your arms to fold behind your head.

The feeling of warmth from the sun gave way to a different, familiar warmth as Fenrys’s body turned into your own, a broad hand sliding across your waist. “I wasn’t talking about the weather,” he murmured, voice rough and low from where his mouth settled at your throat.

Heat rose to your cheeks, breath drawing shallow at the feeling of his knowing grin spreading across the sensitive skin, canines dragging lightly down to rest on your collarbone. Faster than you could process, Fenrys pulled away, onyx eyes taking in your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks and chest heavy with want.

“Fenrys,” you half-scolded, half-pleaded as your hand reached to brush golden curls from his face. With a low laugh, your mate, caught your hand with his, eyes still locked on yours as he pressed a tender kiss to your palm. 

“Care to join me for a swim?” he questioned, eyebrow arched as he glanced between you and the sparkling lake that lay just down the hill. Unsure if it was the clouds that had slowly disappeared from the sky, or the way Fenrys was looking at you, a wave of heat coursed through your veins. 

You nodded swiftly, allowing Fenrys to draw you to your feet just to throw you over his shoulder as he began bounding towards the lake. Your weak, laughter-filled protests had no effect on the warrior, setting you back on your feet when he’d reached the water’s edge. 

Stripping off his shirt, your mate flashed you a lopsided grin as his hands reached for the ties of his pants. “Are you going to join me, or do you prefer to watch?” he teased, nodding at the dress still covering your body.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled up at him. “Of course, I’ll join you anywhere,” you promised, pushing up onto your toes as he met you for a kiss. 

“Then allow me,” he murmured against your lips, his mouth trailing down your jaw and lower, towards where his hands deftly undid the laces of your dress. The warm sun bore its heat upon your newly exposed skin for only a moment before Fenrys’s hands found your backside, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist while he carried you into the cool lake.

“I love you,” you whispered, arms locked around his neck, head laid against his chest where you listened to his heartbeat. 

Lips pressed against the top of your head, and lingered there. “And I love you.” Lowering you to where you stood in the water, chests pressed against one another, Fenrys’s arms wound around you once more, a cocoon of solace into which you gratefully relaxed. 

You simply stood there for awhile - enjoying the closeness of one another, the oneness with your mate and with nature - before finally stepping out of the water. As Fenrys helped redo the last ties on your dress, his dark eyes grew soft - a look that you knew all too well at this point. 

His gaze shone with sincerity, with the same devotion he’d shown as he spoke his vows on your wedding day. Dark eyes grew soft, his hands winding through your hair to tilt your gaze to his. “Thank you, for just being with me,” he smiled softly.

Returning his smile, you brought your hands to his cheeks. “Every day, I don’t know how I could love you any more than I already do. Yet every day, I fall for you a little more. There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side. On the best days, on the worst days, on these quiet days. I’ll go anywhere with you.”

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Playing for Keeps | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter 2

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~5,300

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Seventh Year, Female MC, No Y/N, Slytherin MC, Enemies to Lovers, Trope-y, Slow Burn, Humor, Coming of Age, High School Drama

The faint light of dawn filtered through the emerald curtains of your bed in the Slytherin dormitory, casting muted shadows across the stone walls. You blinked, disoriented for a moment before remembering: Hogwarts. Your first night in Slytherin had been fine—overwhelming, but manageable.

The dormitory was more extravagant than expected, its arched ceilings and serpentine décor exuding an eerie elegance. The soft green glow from the enchanted windows overlooking the Black Lake gave the room an otherworldly atmosphere you were still adjusting to. Thankfully, you already had Imelda, whose blunt humor and confidence were comforting, as well as Grace and Nerida, who’d stood by you earlier when Sebastian had been insufferable.

Of course, there were others.

Violet McDowell introduced herself first, her polished demeanor and neatly tied hair making it clear she came from an old wizarding family. “So, what’s Beauxbatons really like? Is it as uptight as everyone says?” she asked, her tone almost challenging.

Before you could respond, a petite girl with chin-length curls and bright eyes chimed in. “I’ve heard their students dance everywhere instead of walking. Is that true?” Clara Vane, bubbly and chatty, seemed more interested in myths about Beauxbatons than the actual answer.

Ethel Prescott, quieter but no less curious, had glanced up from her spellbook just long enough to add, “Do they really care that much about posture, or is that just Witch Weekly nonsense?”

The questions came in waves: Was perfect penmanship enforced? Could you actually speak French? Croissants or pumpkin pasties?

Later, the common room was no less daunting. More Slytherins introduced themselves, their names and faces blending together in a blur: Marcus Flint, Ava Vaisey, Natalia Gardner, Quincy Lloyd. Each seemed more self-assured than the last.

Still, you were grateful for Imelda and Ominis. Imelda’s sharp wit and unapologetic presence acted as a shield, while Ominis’s smooth interjections subtly steered conversations away from anything too intrusive. Between them, the chaos of your first night felt just a little less overwhelming.

You were thankful they were both already at the table when you entered The Great Hall for breakfast, the hum of conversation mingling with the clatter of silverware. You slid into the seat beside Imelda, who was already halfway through a plate of toast and bacon.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she observed, not bothering to pause mid-bite.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” you said dryly, pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I’m fine. Just adjusting.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Imelda said with a shrug. “Or you won’t, and you’ll spend the whole year complaining. Either way, you’ll survive.”

Your lips twitched in reluctant amusement.

Across the table, Ominis glanced up from his copy of The Daily Prophet. “First class is Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he said, his tone polite but matter-of-fact. “It’s with Professor Hecat. She can be... something.”

“Something?” you asked, curious.

“You’ll see,” Ominis replied cryptically before turning back to his paper.

Imelda grinned, clearly enjoying your curiosity. “Hecat’s a hardass,” she said. “But if you’re good, she’ll respect you. If you’re bad, well…” She trailed off with a wicked smirk.

“Sounds promising,” you muttered, taking a sip of tea.

Imelda shrugged, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. “Hecat doesn’t coddle, that’s for sure. You’ll either love her or hate her by the end of the week. No in-between.”

Ominis lowered his paper slightly, his pale eyes flicking toward you. “She values precision and discipline. If you’ve got those, you’ll manage.”

“Good to know,” you said, feeling a small flicker of relief. If there was one thing Beauxbatons had drilled into its students, it was discipline. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Imelda tilted her head, studying you as if trying to gauge your confidence. “You’ll be fine,” she said finally, nudging your arm. “Just don’t let her catch you daydreaming or slacking off. She’s got eyes like a hawk.”

“Duly noted,” you replied, though your thoughts were already wandering as your gaze drifted across the Great Hall.

The morning sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, casting warm golden hues over the long tables and filling the room with an energy that felt almost tangible. Conversations ebbed and flowed, bursts of laughter punctuating the steady hum of activity. You spotted a few familiar faces at the Slytherin table, but there were dozens more you didn’t recognize, their faces blurring together in a sea of green and silver robes.

Your eyes swept across the other tables, where students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff mingled in their own lively clusters. The sheer number of them was overwhelming. After six years at Beauxbatons, where you’d known nearly everyone by name, Hogwarts felt like an endless sea of unfamiliar faces, each with their own stories and alliances. It left you feeling adrift, like a visitor who hadn’t quite found her footing.

And then, across the room, your gaze caught on a familiar shock of red hair.

Garreth Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table, his easy grin lighting up his freckled face as he animatedly recounted a story. The girls beside him—Cressida among them—listened with rapt attention, laughing at his punchlines. He leaned in closer, hands gesturing broadly, clearly basking in the attention.

To his left, Leander Prewett lounged in stark contrast, his chair tipped back at a perfect angle that somehow didn’t upset the impeccable press of his robes. Not a crease marred the fabric, and his hair, combed with meticulous precision, caught the light as if it had been styled moments ago. He sipped casually from his goblet, his gaze flicking toward Garreth now and then, a smirk playing at his lips like he was waiting for just the right moment to interrupt—or outshine—the scene.

When Leander’s eyes landed on you, the smirk shifted, softening into something warmer, more playful. He tilted his goblet in your direction—a subtle gesture of acknowledgment—before turning back to Garreth, leaning closer like the two were conspiring about something.

Imelda, ever observant, caught the exchange and smirked. “Looks like Prewett’s already taken a shine to you.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and quickly looked down at your tea. “I doubt it,” you said, trying to sound dismissive. “Bu um… Am I allowed to go over there, or... is there some kind of unwritten rule about Slytherins and Gryffindors fraternizing?”

Imelda chuckled, leaning back in her seat with an air of amusement. “Allowed? It’s not like you’re sneaking into their common room. Unless it’s a formal meal, you can sit wherever you want, Chouette.”

Ominis lowered his paper slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with a faint smile. “The rivalry is overstated,” he said smoothly. “Mostly about Quidditch and family legacies. It’s not as though there’s a ban friendship and conversation between houses.”

“Conversation, no,” Imelda added with a smirk. “But someone might throw a roll at you if you bring up Quidditch stats. Just don’t start a fight over breakfast.”

“So… you wouldn’t mind if I went to say hi?” you asked cautiously, your fingers fidgeting with the handle of your teacup.

Imelda waved a hand lazily. “Why would we care? Go on. Socialize.”

Ominis tilted his head, the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But do be careful. If Garreth ropes you into one of his brilliant ideas, you’ll end up spending your first class in the hospital wing.”

Imelda snickered at that, but you ignored her, carefully picking up your tea and rising from your seat. With a small nod of acknowledgment to the pair, you turned toward the Gryffindor table, your heart beating a little faster as you crossed the room.

“Hi,” you said, your voice slightly breathless as you stopped near the edge of the Gryffindor group.

Garreth’s head shot up, his freckled face breaking into an immediate grin. “Chouette! Fancy seeing you over here.”

The girls beside him looked up as well. Cressida smiled warmly, scooting over to make room. “Garreth mentioned you,” she said kindly. “Join us!"

“I’m Natty,” The other girl added, her lilting accent kind. “It’s lovely to meet you. Sit down!”

You hesitated, glancing briefly at Leander sitting across from them. He offered you a polite, easy smile.

“I’m Leander Prewett,” he said, his voice smooth as he extended a hand. “You must be the famous Chouette.”

The nickname coming from a stranger made you falter for a moment, but his expression was open and friendly. You shook his hand briefly. “That’s me,” you said, sliding onto the bench next to Cressida. “Nice to meet you, Leander.”

“Likewise,” he said, leaning back slightly. “Weasley’s been talking about you nonstop since last night.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to Garreth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Garreth said with a laugh, spreading his hands in mock defense. “After Natty, you're the only other new student we've ever had in our year.”

“It’s true,” Leander chimed in, leaning back slightly with an easy grin. “You’re something of a novelty, Chouette. Fresh blood in a group that’s been together since we were eleven? Naturally, everyone’s curious.”

“Curious, sure,” Natty said with a smirk, her tone teasing as she glanced at Leander. “Some more than others.”

Leander shot her a playful glare, his grin unwavering. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Right,” Cressida said, dragging the word out as she exchanged a knowing look with Natty. “Friendly.”

You felt your cheeks warm as the group’s attention lingered on you, and you quickly looked down at your teacup. “I didn’t realize I was such a big deal.”

“Modest, too,” Garreth said, grinning. “Anyway, don’t worry. Hogwarts has a way of making people feel right at home—sometimes a little too much.”

Cressida nodded, her expression softening. “Give it a few weeks, and it’ll be like you’ve always been here.”

“Hopefully,” you said, smiling faintly. The warmth in their words eased some of the tension in your chest, though the weight of being the new face in a tightly knit group still lingered at the edges of your mind.

“Chouette is such an interesting nickname," Natty said, turning to you with a curious expression. "Where does it come from?”

“Oh,” you you laughed awkwardly. “It’s something Imelda started calling me when we were kids. I wrote an essay about owls when I was in a Muggle primary school because I was fascinated by wizard post... she thought it was hilarious, so the name stuck.”

“That’s adorable,” Cressida said with a laugh. “Better than some of the nicknames people come up with around here.”

“Agreed,” Leander said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he grinned. “It suits you.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks again, and you quickly turned to Natty. “Are you all taking Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning?”

Natty nodded. “We are. First period.”

Relief flooded you at the idea of not having to navigate the castle alone. “That’s good to hear.”

“Stick with us,” Leander said, his smile easy. “We’ll make sure you don’t get lost—or end up in detention.”

As you sipped the last of your tea, your thoughts began to wander toward Defense Against the Dark Arts. You, of course, had six years of class under your belt from Beauxbatons, but it had always been carefully structured and precise, with students practicing spells on enchanted dummies or theoretical exercises. Actual dueling had been rare, restricted to the secret dueling association you’d been fortunate enough to join during your later years.

Would Hogwarts’ approach be different? You hoped so. Everything about this place felt rawer, less polished than Beauxbatons, and you hoped that extended to its curriculum.

The trek to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was brisk, the corridors of Hogwarts teeming with students. You kept close to Garreth, Natty, and Cressida, your eyes darting around as you tried to memorize the layout. The castle was as sprawling and maze-like as you’d expected, every turn revealing another staircase, corridor, or portrait that moved just enough to throw off your sense of direction.

“It’s like a labyrinth,” you muttered under your breath, glancing up at a painting of a knight who waved enthusiastically as you passed. “How does anyone find their way around here?”

“You don’t,” Garreth said with a grin, leading the group confidently down a corridor. “Not at first, anyway. You’ll get lost a few times, end up in a secret passage or two, maybe even a broom cupboard...”

“Reassuring,” you said dryly, though his cheerfulness was infectious.

Natty smiled, walking alongside you. “The trick is to remember key landmarks,” she offered helpfully.

Cressida chimed in, “And never trust Peeves to give you directions.”

You nodded, trying to take mental notes, but the sheer size of the castle was overwhelming. You were grateful to have them guiding you, especially as you climbed a narrow spiral staircase that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. By the time you reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, your legs were burning, and you made a mental note to pace yourself better in the future.

The classroom itself was impressive. Rows of desks were arranged in neat lines, and tall windows let in streams of golden light, illuminating shelves filled with spellbooks, artifacts, and jars of peculiar ingredients and specimens. A faint hum of magic seemed to linger in the air, subtle but unmistakable.

Professor Hecat was already at the front of the room, her presence commanding as she surveyed the students with sharp, hawkish eyes. There was an air of expectation about her, the kind that made you straighten in your seat without thinking.

Garreth nudged you lightly as you slid into a spot near the middle of the room. “This is going to be fun,” he whispered, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

You raised an eyebrow. “Fun?”

“Trust me,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his voice conspiratorial. “First class with Hecat is always good. You’ll see.”

Natty and Cressida sat nearby, offering encouraging smiles as the last of the students filed in. Before you could settle completely, your gaze was drawn to the back of the room where Sebastian sauntered in just before the door swung shut. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his posture was as relaxed as ever, though his sharp brown eyes flicked across the room like he was sizing everyone up. He slid into a seat near the back with the other Slytherins—Ominis and Imelda among them—and leaned back in his chair as though the classroom belonged to him.

You couldn’t help but notice the brief look exchanged between Sebastian and Leander as the latter slid into the seat behind you. It was subtle but unmistakable—the narrowing of Sebastian’s eyes and the sharp tilt of Leander’s head, his easy grin firmly in place but carrying a faint edge, almost like a challenge. The tension between them hung in the air, unspoken but palpable.

Your thoughts drifted to the carriage ride with Imelda the day before. Sebastian Sallow—Hogwarts’ most persistent heartbreak. Next to Leander Prewett, of course.

The faint smile that tugged at your lips was involuntary. Beauxbatons had its own version of this rivalry—Étienne, the effortlessly charming Quidditch captain, and Hugo, the razor-sharp dueling star. The two had been locked in a constant battle, always trying to outshine one another in accolades and romantic flings. It had been amusing to watch from the sidelines, though exhausting to imagine being caught in the crossfire.

Now, watching Leander and Sebastian, the similarities were uncanny.

Professor Hecat stepped forward, her voice cutting through the room like a whip and breaking you out of your thoughts. “Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she said, her tone clipped and no-nonsense. “If you’re expecting an easy year, I suggest you rethink your priorities. This class is not for the faint of heart or the lazy. You will be tested, challenged, and—if you work hard—rewarded.”

The room was silent, every student sitting up a little straighter under her piercing gaze.

“Today,” she continued, pacing slowly, “we will begin with a practical demonstration. Theory has its place, but to kick off the semester, you will learn by doing. Wands out.”

There was a collective rustling as everyone reached for their wands. Your pulse quickened as you gripped yours tightly, the weight familiar and reassuring in your hand. Garreth was right. This would be good; it was the moment you’d been hoping for. Real practice, real dueling, not just theory or practice dummies.

Professor Hecat’s sharp eyes swept the room, her gaze lingering on each student as if she could see straight into their thoughts. When her eyes landed on you, they narrowed slightly, a spark of curiosity flickering in their depths.

“You,” she said sharply, pointing her wand in your direction. “Miss Beauxbatons.”

You blinked, startled at being addressed so directly. “Yes, Professor?”

“I’d like to see what you can do,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s get a sense of where you stand in comparison to the rest of the class.”

The room murmured softly, a ripple of interest running through the students. Garreth shot you an encouraging grin, but you could feel the weight of every eye on you as you stood.

Professor Hecat flicked her wand, and the room transformed in an instant. Desks slid to the edges of the room, creating an open space in the center. The floor shimmered briefly before solidifying into a raised dueling platform.

You climbed onto it, your wand feeling heavier than usual in your hand. The hum of magic in the room seemed louder now, or maybe it was just the pounding of your heart.

“Now,” Hecat said, turning to the back of the room, “we’ll need someone to test her mettle.”

You had a sinking feeling you knew exactly who she was going to call on. Mister Duelling Prodigy himself.

“Mr. Sallow?"

Sebastian, who had been lounging in his chair with all the grace of a cat stretched in the sun, straightened slightly. His expression shifted from mild boredom to faint interest as he stood and strolled toward the platform with a slow, deliberate gait.

The room erupted into whispers, a mix of excitement and curiosity rippling through the class. It was clear this wasn’t the first time Sebastian had been called upon for a demonstration, and judging by the looks on his classmates’ faces, he had a reputation to back up his arrogance.

You shifted slightly, your grip tightening on your wand. The platform suddenly felt much smaller as Sebastian turned his attention to you, his brown eyes sharp and assessing. His smirk widened just enough to set your teeth on edge.

“Try to keep up," he said lightly, his tone almost teasing.

You could feel the weight of the class’s collective attention pressing down on you, their excitement palpable. He was clearly used to this—being the center of attention, being the best.

But you had something to prove.

Professor Hecat stepped between you, her voice cutting through the whispers like a blade. “The goal is to disarm your opponent. No spells beyond fifth-year curriculum, no excessive force. Do I make myself clear?”

“Bien sûr,” you said firmly, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and determination.

Sebastian gave a lazy nod, his smirk never faltering. “Crystal.”

Hecat stepped back, raising her wand. “Bow.”

You both dipped into formal bows, though Sebastian’s was laced with a mocking flourish that made your jaw tighten. As you straightened, his wand was already at the ready.

“Begin!” Hecat commanded, and the duel was on.

Sebastian struck first, quick and confident, his Expelliarmus streaking toward you like a red arrow. You twisted your wrist, deflecting it with a sharp Protego, the spell rebounding harmlessly into the air.

“Not bad,” he said, moving fluidly into a Flipendo, the knockback jinx aimed squarely at your chest. You sidestepped, countering with a precise Stupefy that forced him to block with his own Protego.

The spells came fast and relentless, the platform crackling with magic as the duel intensified. Sebastian was good—no, he was excellent. His movements were smooth and calculated, each spell flowing seamlessly into the next. He pressed the offensive, forcing you to rely on quick reflexes and defensive spells to hold your ground.

But he wasn’t the only one who’d mastered his spellwork.

You quickly found your rhythm, slipping into the familiar flow of a duel. At Beauxbatons, the secret dueling association had taught you to think two steps ahead, to anticipate your opponent’s moves and exploit their weaknesses. And Sebastian, for all his skill, had one glaring flaw—his arrogance.

He expected you to falter, to stay on the defensive. So you didn’t.

A well-timed Depulso sent him skidding back, his balance momentarily compromised. Seizing the opening, you cast Arresto Momentum, slowing him just enough to fire off a rapid Stupefy. He blocked it with a grunt, his smirk slipping as he realized you weren’t just keeping up—you were pushing him.

The class murmured in astonishment as the duel raged on. You could feel their energy feeding into yours, the thrill of the challenge sharpening your focus. Sebastian’s smirk was gone now, replaced by a look of concentration, his brown eyes narrowing as he adjusted his strategy.

“You’re full of surprises, Chouette” he said, his voice slightly breathless as he dodged a Rictusempra.

“And you’re full of yourself,” you shot back, firing a precise hex that grazed his shoulder.

He retaliated with a powerful Incendio, the flames licking dangerously close, but you countered with a quick Aguamenti, extinguishing them mid-air. The crowd erupted into cheers at the display, their excitement fueling the competitive fire burning in your chest.

Sebastian lunged forward, attempting another Flipendo, but you deflected it, your wand moving like an extension of your arm. With a sharp flick, you cast Expelliarmus again, putting every ounce of precision into the spell.

This time, it hit its mark.

Sebastian’s wand flew from his hand, spiraling through the air with a sharp twirl. Without thinking, you reached out and caught it mid-flight. The room erupted into cheers and gasps, the sound crashing over you like a wave as you stood there, both wands in hand.

Sebastian froze, his expression flickering between disbelief and something far more reluctant. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, his sharp brown eyes locked onto you. The smirk he so often wore was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, you simply stared at each other, the hum of victory vibrating in your veins.

"Holy shit," Imelda’s voice cut through the cheers and murmurs, loud enough to carry across the room. “Sebastian just lost a duel.”

The words seemed to ripple through the crowd, and the excited murmuring grew louder. Students leaned toward each other, exchanging wide-eyed whispers, their gazes darting between you and Sebastian.

“Has that ever happened?” someone asked.

“No way,” another voice replied. “Sallow’s supposed to be the best in our year.”

“Well, not anymore,” a Hufflepuff piped up, her tone equal parts amused and impressed.

Sebastian didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you as though trying to reconcile what had just happened. Slowly, he extended his hand, his expression shifting to something you couldn’t quite place.

You stepped forward and handed Sebastian his wand, your fingers brushing briefly against his as you leaned in, your voice low but clear. “Try and keep up next time.”

The words hung in the air and Sebastian’s frown deepened. For a moment, you thought he might fire back a retort, but instead, he closed his fingers around his wand, his jaw tight as he stepped off the platform, his shoulders stiff.

The room was still buzzing with chatter as Professor Hecat raised her voice, attempting to restore order. “Enough,” she barked, her sharp tone cutting through the noise. “This is a classroom, not the Quidditch pitch. Pair up and prepare to spar. I expect focus, not theatrics. Otherwise, I'll have to read for the rest of class."

The class scrambled to comply, but the energy in the room was electric, the whispers continuing in hushed tones. You stepped off the platform, the adrenaline still thrumming through your veins, and made your way toward Imelda and Ominis.

Imelda was grinning from ear to ear, her expression equal parts amused and impressed. “Well, look at you,” she said, nudging your arm. “First day, and you’ve already knocked Sallow down a peg. That’s one for the history books.”

Ominis, standing beside her, tilted his head in your direction. “I’ve never seen another student best him in a duel,” he said evenly, though there was a note of disbelief in his tone. “Not once.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off as casually as possible, though your cheeks were still warm from the attention. “He’s good,” you admitted. “Really good. But not good enough.”

Imelda laughed. “Oh, he’s never going to live this down. You’ve officially unseated the king of dueling.”

Before you could respond, several students began approaching, their eagerness evident as they jostled to catch your attention.

“That was incredible,” one Ravenclaw boy said, his blue robes swishing as he stepped forward. “Would you mind partnering with me for practice?”

“Partner with me!” another Hufflepuff chimed in, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I want to learn how you pulled off that Arresto Momentum combo.”

“I called dibs first,” a Gryffindor interjected, earning a glare from the others.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden influx of attention as Imelda smirked, crossing her arms. “Looks like you’re in demand, Chouette.”

Ominis inclined his head, his tone dry. “If I were you, I’d choose carefully. Some of these students are less… coordinated than others.”

Professor Hecat clapped her hands again, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. “If you’ve found a partner, take your positions. If not, you’ll be paired randomly.”

You glanced around at the eager faces vying for your attention, but your gaze ultimately landed on Ominis. “Would you like to pair up?” you asked, keeping your tone casual but hopeful.

Imelda let out an exaggerated gasp, her hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “What’s this? You’re skipping over your oldest friend?”

You shot her an amused look. “No offense, Imelda, but you’ve always been better on a broom than in a duel.”

Imelda laughed, clearly not taking it personally. “Fair point,” she said with a grin. “I guess I’ll go find someone who can appreciate my ‘less polished’ technique.”

Ominis quirked an eyebrow in your direction, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure? I’m certainly not as talented as you and... I'm not exactly flashy.”

“That’s perfect,” you replied, your voice low enough for only him to hear. “I’ve had enough theatrics for one day. Besides, I get the feeling you’re more talented than you let on.”

His smirk widened slightly as he inclined his head. “Well then, I'd be happy to partner up.”

Together, you stepped into the center of the room, finding a spot to practice. Unlike the duel with Sebastian, there was no buzzing anticipation from the class or weighty pressure hanging in the air. This was practice—a chance to focus, to refine.

As you anticipated, Ominis moved with deliberate precision, each spell measured and exact. You quickly fell into a steady rhythm with him, the exchange of spells flowing smoothly. There was no animosity, no urge to win—just the shared goal of improvement, and it was almost relaxing, except for the occasional awareness of being watched.

You could feel Sebastian’s eyes on you.

Though you didn’t look in his direction, the weight of his gaze was impossible to ignore, like a smoldering ember pressing against your back.

You hardly noticed how much time had passed until Professor Hecat called out, her voice sharp and commanding, “That’s enough for today. Well done, everyone. You’re dismissed.”

The room filled with the clatter of students packing their bags and murmuring amongst themselves, the electric energy of the earlier duel still lingering. You lowered your wand, offering Ominis a small smile. “Thanks for pairing up with me,” you said, genuinely appreciative.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone warm but composed. "Perhaps we can do it again next time we have duelling practice."

Imelda sauntered over, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “So, Chouette, are you planning to take over the whole school, or just Defense Against the Dark Arts? Because at this rate, you’re going to have everyone eating out of your hand.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m just trying to survive my first week, Mel.”

The two of you began making your way toward the door, the noise of the dispersing class surrounding you. You were almost at the exit when a voice cut through the chatter.

“Wait.”

You turned to see Sebastian standing a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his robe pockets, his expression carefully neutral.

Imelda raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “This should be good,” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms as she leaned casually against the doorframe.

He ignored her, keeping his attention fixed on you. "Has anyone told you about Crossed Wands yet?”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “No.”

“It’s a dueling club,” he said, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth just enough to feel like a challenge. “Unofficial, but it’s where the best duelists go to push themselves. If you’re looking for more of what you got today, it’s the place to be.”

You hummed noncommittally, tilting your head as if weighing his words. “And I suppose you’re the reigning champion?”

His smirk deepened, leaning fully into his usual arrogance. “Naturally.”

Imelda scoffed from where she stood beside you, arms crossed. “And yet, someone just knocked you off your throne.”

Sebastian shot her a look, but it lacked his usual bite, as though he couldn’t be bothered to engage. His gaze returned to you, a flicker of challenge in his eyes. “Well, not officially,” he said, his smirk tugging wider. “But I’m always looking for a good challenge. If you’re interested, introduce yourself to Lucan Brattleby in Gryffindor. He runs the club. Just tell him I sent you.”

You raised an eyebrow, studying him carefully. “I’ll think about it."

Sebastian nodded once before turning back toward the remaining students, his usual self-assured air firmly in place. Imelda wasted no time tugging on your arm, leading you out the door with a grin tugging at her lips.

As soon as you were out in the corridor, she let out a low chuckle. “Well, well. It seems Sallow likes you, after all. You've been here a day and the school's most coveted guys are all over you.”

You scoffed, glancing at her like she’d grown a second head. “Come on, Mel. Get real.”

“I'm serious,” she said, her grin widening. "Seb’s definitely interested. Did you see the way he kept looking at you?”

“I don’t care how he was looking at me,” you shot back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Within five minutes of meeting him, he insulted me. I’m not holding my breath for some big redemption arc.”

Imelda raised her hands in mock surrender, though the mischievous glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t dropping the topic anytime soon. She opened her mouth to retort, but you cut her off with a shake of your head, your tone firm and exasperated.

“Believe whatever you want,” you said, “but I have zero interest in trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. I’m here to focus on school, not Sebastian Sallow.”

“Alright, whatever you say,” Imelda replied, her grin still firmly in place. “But don’t come crying to me when he’s suddenly dueling other guys for your honor.”

“That’s not happening,” you said flatly, quickening your pace to move ahead of her. “End of story.”

Imelda trailed after you, her smirk firmly in place but, for once, choosing to keep her thoughts to herself. For now. Instead, she focused on guiding you through Hogwarts’ maze-like corridor.

Sebastian Sallow might have everyone else’s attention, but as far as you were concerned, he could keep it. You had far more pressing matters to focus on—like making it through your first day unscathed.

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

[nowayimbored]

Same As It Ever Was

Summary: You had tagged along with the Winchester brothers for a few years at this point, and had yet to take a vacation. With a break in between cases, it seems like the perfect time. However, the vacation turns into anything but a break when you go missing.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, platonic!Dean Winchester x Reader

WC: 6,100

Notes: This idea has been gnawing at me for DAYS a reasonable amount of time. Pardon the length, I have a lot to yap about. I was inspired by the song 'Once in a Lifetime' by the Talking Heads. :) Enjoy!

TW: Angst! Fluff! Brief moment of "suicide" & mentions of death.

It seemed like you and the Winchesters never got a break. Everything was always heavy on your shoulders, your communal burden to bear. However, there was a break in between cases, a rare phenomenon these days. You were in desperate need of a mini vacation. Pitching it to Dean, however, might have proved to be the hardest part.

“Please Dean! We deserve a break, something nice for a change. Don’t you agree, Sam?” you looked over to the taller brother. He nodded, but put his arms up in defense. “I’m staying out of this. But she does have a good point…” Sam trailed off, a certain tone in his voice. Dean rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation, “Fine.” 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard convincing him. 

You knew everything was taking a toll on him too, but he was always so stoic on the outside. You could only imagine what was going on behind his emerald green eyes.

“Where to?” Dean asked as you slid into the front seat of the Impala, trying to flee the Texas heat. Sam slipped into the backseat, yawning. “Don’t care, but preferably somewhere with smooth highways.” You chuckled, looking back to see Sam propping himself up against the door already, cozying himself enough to take a nap. “I could use some sun and water. Fishing, swimming, suntanning, the whole nine yards!” you replied excitedly. “Good enough for me,” Dean responded, smiling over at you. 

And with that, you were off, headed towards the nearest lake. Sam’s soft snores could barely be heard over the music Dean had put on, a band you were unfamiliar with. Every once in a while, you would sneak glances at Sam, reveling in his peaceful, sleeping frame. He almost seemed too big for the backseat in the position he was in, but you knew it had always been his comfort spot, right behind the passenger seat where Dean used to sit.

You had a small crush on Sam for a little while now, but you knew it would be foolish to act upon. You were sure he didn’t see you more than a best friend or little sister, just as Dean had. After the third or fourth glance of yours toward Sam, Dean piped up, “You know, you should tell him.” You flushed, looking out the window at the passing of shrubs and blurry road lines to hide your face. “Tell who what?” You tried to deny, putting as much cluelessness in your voice as possible. 

Dean scoffed and let out a chuckle, “That’s some great acting. Almost like Rooney Mara in A Nightmare on Elm Street.” You sneered and rolled your eyes. “Dean, there’s nothing to tell him,” you dismissed, shaking your head. “I see the way you two look at each other, like two beat puppies. It’s a little gross and sappy, even for me,” he quipped. You opened your mouth to reply, but settled on a playful middle finger shot his way. He smiled, a chuckle his only response.

You had never noticed Sam looking your way, was Dean right or just egging you on? That question had you pondering for the rest of the ride to Canyon Lake, a little way outside of San Antonio. Dean had pulled into a shabby motel on the outskirts of town. It looked slightly run down, but you couldn’t complain. At least it was a room to yourself and a mattress to sprawl out on. 

Dean went inside to reserve two rooms, one for you and one for them. Sometimes, to save on costs, you three would share a room if they had a pull-out couch or cot available. You always insisted on taking the latter, but Sam would never let you win the argument. One time, he went as far as to move you to his bed while you slept, while he took your spot on the couch. 

Sam was awake now, thanks to Dean slamming the door on his way out of the car. “Mornin’ sunshine,” you greeted in a thick, terrible Texas drawl. “Morning,” he croaked, sleep still heavy in his voice. “Where are we?” You opened up the passenger side door and swung your legs out, “Canyon Lake, Texas. Dean’s grabbing us a couple of rooms.” You made your way to the trunk, closing the Impala’s door lightly. 

Sam exited the car as well, joining you to grab his duffel. “How’d you sleep?” you asked as you grabbed your bag from the car. Before he had a chance to respond, Dean walked up. He handed you a key, “Number 27, we’re right next to you in 28.” “Thanks,” you said, wrapping the keychain around your finger. You found your room quickly, there wasn’t very many to pick from. 

The motel room wasn’t anything to write home about. It was small, outdated, and the paint was faded. There was a queen size bed in the middle of the room, covered in threadbare sheets that look like something that came out of your grandma’s house. The air was stale and dusty, making you sneeze as you walked in and shut the door behind you. You opened the single window the room had and turned on the AC to get the air circulating. 

You laid on the bed, lost in your thoughts, still focusing on what Dean said earlier. Did his words hold any truth or was this just a play to try to get his brother laid again? The air conditioner struggled, whirring and squeaking, the only noise besides your quiet breathing. 

It was almost like meditation, getting lost in your thoughts of Sam. 

Your stomach gurgled, breaking your concentration. You sat up, looking out the window. The soft breeze rustled the sagebrush in front of the motel. The sun was lower now, nearing its end of service for the day. You slid off of the bed, combing your fingers through your hair prior to making your way out the door. You knocked on Sam & Dean’s door before entering, not waiting for them to answer. 

“Hey, I’m hungry, who wants pizza?” You asked as you walked in, closing the door behind you. “I’m in,” the brothers said in unison. “Jinx, you owe me some pie!” Dean called out with a huge smirk. Sam smiled and shook his head, hair ruffling with the movement. You googled the nearest pizza place and placed an order for delivery, you didn’t need to ask what they wanted after spending as much time with them as you had. 

“Anybody in the mood for a movie?” Dean asked. Sam looked up from his book towards you, seemingly trying to read your mind. “Depends, what movie?” you ask, shooting Sam an inquisitive look. Dean scrolled through the TV guide mindlessly, naming off each movie. “…The Truman Show, Forrest Gump, Click, Groundhog Day… c’mon make up your mind! I’m running out of movies,” Dean complained, eyes flicking between you and the screen. “Forrest Gump, I haven’t seen that in a while,” you decided, only half interested in the movie. “Finally,” Dean muttered under his breath, selecting the option on the screen. 

The pizza was delivered shortly into the movie. You made yourself comfortable on Sam’s bed, laying on your stomach with your arms propping you up to get a better angle of the TV. You swore you felt Sam’s eyes rake over your body several times, but decided it was your overactive imagination. After all, you were wearing an oversized shirt and athletic shorts, not exactly your definition of eye-grabbing or sexy.

After Forrest Gump was over, Dean insisted on watching Se7en for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. By then, the sun had set and the pizza was gone, only some crusts of Sam’s and crumbs left. Your eyes grew heavier as the night went on, parts of the movie skipping as you came in and out of consciousness.

You were awoken by a blanket being draped over you. You sucked in a breath and stretched, rolling over to your back to see Sam, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, you looked cold,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “No, thank you. I should probably get back to my room, though,” you said in a sleep-laced tone. “No, if you’re comfortable here, I can take your room,” he replied.

You thought on it a second, before Dean’s snores interrupted you. “No thanks, you can tune out Dean better than I can,” you chuckled, slowly sitting up and stretching your arms above your head before gracefully bringing them down on either side of you. Sam smiled and let out a soft, breathy laugh in response. You stood, joints cracking and groaning, silently making your way towards the door. Sam followed, opening the door for you, “Sweet dreams.” “Goodnight Sam,” you replied as you brushed a hand against his shoulder. 

A blush grew in your cheeks, but you ducked into your room before he had the chance to notice. You locked the door behind you, tiredly plodding over to your rented bed. You flopped down, your head barely hitting the pillow before falling asleep. One of your many talents.

The next morning, you awoke to a knock on your door. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! Let’s get some grub,” Dean’s voice called from the other side of the thin wood. Leave it to Dean to always be thinking of food. “Be there in a minute!” you called through the door, already on your way out of bed. You ruffled through your bag, trying to decide what to wear. You didn’t have many choices to pick from, so deciding on a shorter sundress came quickly. 

You didn’t have many clothes, let alone nice clothes, so this was a treat. You scrounged up your bathing suit from the bottom of your bag, slipping it on underneath your dress. You struggled for a moment to tie the top of your bikini, but finally managed after contorting yourself around in the mirror. You opened your door to Sam, standing right in the doorway. “Hey, uh, Dean asked me to come get you, said you were taking too long,” he mumbled, looking down at you. 

“Here I am!” you smiled playfully. “Did you grab your swimsuit?” He shook his head no, then quickly dipped back inside his room. He reemerged a few moments later, Dean and swim trunks in tow. The three of you started off towards the Impala, the sun already almost unbearable. ‘The perfect kind of day for a swim’, you thought to yourself as you loaded into the car.

Dean drove to a grocery store just a few blocks from the motel. You picked up sunscreen and food for lunch, you planned to have a picnic on the sandy shore of the lake. Dean grabbed a donut for breakfast, while Sam grabbed a protein bar. You were never much of a breakfast person, but you grabbed a smoothie from the premade section as something to tide you over.

You checked out and headed over to the Impala, the sun blaring down. The drive to the lake was short, or perhaps you were just very excited. It had been a while since you’ve taken a break and even longer since you went swimming. Dean parked his baby in a shady parking spot, toward the end of the lot. You hopped out of the car, towel and cooler in hand, and eagerly headed towards the water. 

Sam and Dean headed toward the changing area as you searched for a spot to claim for the day. Finally, you found a nice area close to the water with a bit of shade and soft sand. You gently laid your towel down, placing the cooler next to it. Sam and Dean had caught sight of you and headed over as you opened the cooler, grabbing a beer for everyone. It was five o’clock somewhere! 

When they had reached you, Dean grabbed a beer with a soft “Thanks,” as he popped the top and took a swig. You tried not to stare at Sam, but he was shirtless and the sun was hitting his frame perfectly. He looked sublime, like an angel sent from above. Sam smiled, “Starting a little early, are we?” You returned his smile, breaking your gaze off of his toned chest and teased, “When in Rome, Samuel,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, grabbing a beer from you, “It’s Sam.”

Dean laid his towel a few feet away from yours, taking a seat in the shade. You popped the top off of your beer, taking a swig before setting the bottle in a cupholder on top on the cooler. The breeze carried the smell of lake water, earthy and inviting. You took a deep breath, inhaling in the refreshing smell before sliding your dress off, revealing your bikini underneath. 

“I’m gonna hit the water,” you called out behind you, towards the boys as you skipped across the hot sand towards the water. You couldn’t look at Sam, getting lost in his muscular build was too tempting. You could feel his eyes, though, staring at you from his vantage point by the cooler. 

You slowly waded into the semi-clear water, its small waves lapping at your ankles, then your shins, thighs, all the way until you were finally submerged at the chest. You turned around, looking towards the shore at the brothers. Dean had already invited himself to your neighbor’s spot, chatting up a cute girl. Sam was sitting in the shade, next to the cooler, watching you. You waved at him before turning around, pushing off from the last spot you could touch on the lake’s bottom. 

You swam further out, a few hundred yards from shore. You could see Sam still, but he looked like a little blurb on the horizon, Dean was nowhere in sight. You dove underneath the calm surface, looking to get your hair wet so it was out of your face. Something brushed against your leg, almost tangling against you. Your heart skipped a beat, even though you told yourself it was probably a fish or some sort of plant. 

You quickly reemerged from the lake’s murky drink, treading water and wiping the hair away from your face. You looked around, but your surroundings seemed…off. Was there this much foliage? You started swimming towards shore, which seemed closer than before, but with each stroke of your arm your worries faded further away. After all, you needed to relax, that’s what your mini-vacation was all about. 

As you got closer to shore, you stood up, walking up to the bank. A corgi bounded up to you, clearly very excited. You smiled, bending down to pet it, “Hi pup, where’s your family?” The dog barked happily in response, running around your legs. “Eve! Let your mom get out of the water,” a familiar voice called out. You head swiveled around to see Sam, shirtless and gleaming in the soft sunlight. 

You smiled at him, a soft blush creeping up in your cheeks. “Hey honey, here’s your towel,” he said, offering you a neatly folded beach towel. You gladly accepted, covering your frame with the oversized cloth. You looked around the recreation area, it didn’t feel nearly as hot as it did before you got into the water and it wasn’t as crowded. You told yourself it was just the chill from the lake, but something seemed off. 

Sam bowed down to kiss your lips, too surprised to move or reciprocate, you stood there, eyes open as he brushed his lips against yours. “Woah, that…” you managed to squeak out. “After all this time I still take your breath away, huh, Mrs. Winchester,” he chuckled, brushing a stray wet strand of hair behind your ear.

When did you two get married? Hell, when did you start dating? “What are you talking about?” you questioned, backing a few steps away from Sam, or what seemed to be him. “Honey, are you okay?” he asked, concern laced in his deep voice. You paused, trying to take everything in. The water lapped at the shore, quietly crashing into the bank. A wave of calm washed over you, quelching any worry you had.

“I think I’m just tired,” you dismissed your feelings, placing your head on his muscular shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you protectively and kissed your forehead. “Let’s go home then, sweetie,” he cooed into your ear, kissing the top of your head once again before breaking his embrace. 

He called the dog – Eve, that was her name, right? – and she came bounding over, small legs working overtime. “Let’s load up, pup,” he said, walking over to a white Chevy Silverado. He opened the door before grabbing the dog and placing her in the vehicle. He closed the door, walking around back to close the tailgate before opening up the passenger door. You had stood in the same spot he left you in, a slight headache starting to form.

Something was off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You slowly walked over to the truck, barefoot and still wrapped in the beach towel. Sam stood, still waiting by the passenger door, a smile plastered on his face. “Hop in, pretty lady.” You picked up your pace a bit, quickly closing the gap between the two of you. Holding the towel with one hand, you used the other to hoist yourself into the tall truck. Sam shut the door after you, making sure you were fully inside before doing so. 

Sam walked around the front of the truck, opened the door and gracefully slid into the driver’s seat. With one push of a button, the truck roared to life, and you started on your way down the road. The first part was bumpy, but quickly smoothed out as the gravel transitioned into pavement. You spent the entire ride looking out of the window, semi-familiar surroundings passing you by. 

‘Eve, I’ve a feeling I’m not in Texas anymore,’ you thought to yourself as you pulled up in the driveway of a sturdy two-story residence designed without the least bit of personality, a white picket fence spanning the perimeter.

Again, you heard water lapping around you, just faintly enough that it seemed like a memory. Your head throbbed for a moment, before another wave of calmness washed over you, curing your headache. Everything was going to be okay.

Sam cut the engine and looked over at you, seemingly studying your face. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he observed, reaching a large hand towards you. You nodded, trying to ease his worry, “Yeah, I think the sun sucked out all of my energy.”

He chuckled, placing his hand over yours, fully engulfing it. His hands were soft, not at all hardened by scars and calloused like you remember. You made a mental note to ask him about his moisturizer routine. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, shutting the truck off with his other hand. He removed his palm from yours to undo his seatbelt buckle from the lock, with a click he was free.

He opened up his door, swinging his legs out, feet hitting the pavement with a soft thud. You unbuckled your seatbelt, head still fuzzy, in the same motion opening the truck door. “Woah, almost got me there!” Sam called out, dodging the opening door. “Shit! Sorry,” you apologized, reaching out to grab the door, but missing as it swung further open. “Don’t worry about it, honey,” he soothed, offering his hand to help you down.

You accepted, taking his hand in yours and slid out of the truck. Eve hopped into the passenger seat, taking your place, tail stub wagging. She leaped at you and you quickly caught her, loosening the towel you still had wrapped around your body. “Woah, be careful,” you told her, scratching her neck with the hand closest to her head. Sam closed the truck door behind you, fiddling with the fob in his hand to lock it. 

You slowly walked up the driveway, ditching the towel along the way, Eve still in your arms, Sam just behind you. He stopped to pick up your fallen cover, gently draping it over his arm. The porch creaked as you climbed up the steps towards the front door. Sam fiddled with his keys, metal on metal softly clanking, until he found the right one and opened the lock. He pushed open the door and gestured for you to go first. “Thank you,” you smiled to him, setting your dog down before entering the house. Eve disappeared around the corner as Sam closed the door behind you two.

The entryway was cozy, perfectly designed to your standards. Looking towards the living room, the stylistic choices carried, inviting a certain warmth and cohesiveness to the space. “Wow, this place is beautiful,” you whispered to yourself. “I know, you did such a great job. It’s not as beautiful as you, though,” he replied, slipping off his shoes. You blushed at his compliment, before mumbling a quick “Thank you.” 

You didn’t remember designing a house. Hell, you didn’t remember buying a house. Thinking back to seeing Sam at the lake, you didn’t remember seeing any of his scars across his body, or his tattoo on his chest. What the hell was happening? How did you get here, in this bizzarro world?

The sound of waves breaking against shore suddenly slammed back into your head, sending you reeling. You tried to steady yourself against the wall, but reached out to nothing. Sam had caught you instead, steading your frame against his. The sound of waves ebbed away slowly, replaced by a massive headache and a wave of tranquility. 

“Honey, are you okay? Do you need to lie down?” Sam asked, his voice distressed. “Yeah…maybe that would be good,” you agree, steadying yourself. “Hold on tight,” Sam commanded before quickly lifting you up, bridal style. He gave you no time to react, typically you would protest but with everything going on, being in his arms made you feel safe. 

Sam carried you up the stairs and down a short hallway into a bedroom, you assumed it was the one the two of you shared. Pictures of your wedding day, Eve, and family dotted the walls. The bed was soft, molding to fit the shape of you. “Can I get anything for you? A glass of water? Tylenol?” Sam offered, brushing his hand softly against your cheek. You nodded, head pounding with each movement. 

Sam disappeared out of the room; you could hear his footsteps quickly descending down the stairs. You climbed under the flannel bedsheets, the warmth making you feel a smidgen better. Your husband quickly returned with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting both on the nightstand closest to you. You propped yourself up on one elbow to grab the Tylenol. You popped two into your mouth, then took a swig of water to wash them down. 

The water felt good on your parched tongue, you didn’t realize how thirsty you were. You finished off the glass of water in a few loud gulps, Sam watching your every move as if you would break with the slightest touch. “Can I get you anything else?” he offered. You shook your head, laying back down, cozying yourself into the covers. “Okay, just let me know, I’ll be downstairs,” he cooed, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

You smiled up at him, everything was perfect. 

You slept until the morning, soft rays of sunlight illuminating the room. You stretched, your body faintly aching. You looked over to the other side of the bed, but it was empty, except for Eve. She greeted you happily, licking your face. You ran your fingers through her soft fur, scratching under her collar. Her tags jingled, catching your attention.

You grabbed onto her nametag out of curiosity, it was a simple red tag in the shape of a heart. Her name was on the front in a typewriter-esque font. On the back, your and Sam’s phone number with an address: 817 Pleasant Street, Miles City, Montana. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, but you couldn’t place why. Something just felt…off.

The feeling quickly faded, replaced by something softer, seeing Sam emerge from the walk-in closet in a suit and tie. Hot was the only word that came to mind. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greeted you with a soft smile. “How do you feel?” “Better,” you replied, sleep making your voice scratchy and deeper than normal.

“Good, I was starting to worry about you,” he admitted, making his way over to the side of your bed. You smiled up at him, stretching, your creaking bones thanking you. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be home for lunch today. I have court and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day,” he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. You heart beat harder in your chest, “What did you do?” you asked, worry creeping into your tone. 

He chuckled, “Very funny. It’s for the Mills case.” “Right, the Mills case…” you confirmed, unsure of what he was talking about. “I love you so much,” he murmured against your ear before giving you a sweet peck on the lips, just short enough to leave you wanting more. He stood, raking his eyes over you before turning towards the bedroom door. He picked up a briefcase from beside the door and with that, he was off, bounding down the stairs and out the door. 

You slowly climbed out of bed, making your way to the attached bathroom. You came face to face with yourself as you flipped the light switch, a warm glow illuminating your frame. You decided to take a shower. The warm droplets pounded against your skin, which made you feel a bit better. Even the bathroom was decorated beautifully, black with golden accents shining through. 

The rest of your day was spent with Eve around the house, a welcome distraction in this slightly off world. Maybe the world wasn’t off, you started to think. 

Maybe you were. 

You quickly cleared the notion from your head, it was probably your migraine from yesterday lingering in your brain, jumbling things around. 

Sam arrived home a bit after 5:30, but you were prepared. Dinner was set out on the table, tonight you were having chicken and broccoli alfredo. The two of you sat at the table in the dining room, chatting back and forth about your days. This is how you figured out your husband was a criminal defense lawyer. “How was work?” Sam inquired, piercing a broccoli floret with his fork. “Work? Uh, work was…” you trailed off, trying to find some words to fill the space. “Are the Issacs’ still giving you trouble? Why can’t they pick out a tile color?”  Sam playfully jested, rolling his eyes. 

The perfectly curated house made sense now, you were an interior designer. You let a breathy laugh escape your lips, trying to mask the confusion. Your headache slowly snaked back, lapping at your temples. You thought your ears picked up on water purling again but instead you pushed the annoyance to the side, deciding to spend the evening winding down with your husband and dog. As the moon started to rise, the both of you decided to hit the hay before it got too late.

The pattern continued for a few weeks, then weeks bled into months. Your headaches slowly diminished over time, by now you rarely even got a whisper of pain. 

~

It was a Saturday, your favorite. It meant that Sam was all yours, no work for either of you, just an endless day of relaxation and fun. Fall was coming to a start, so you had decided to spend the weekend deep cleaning instead of out on an adventure like you typically would do. Dusting was first on your list, admittedly it had been a while. You started in the entryway, running the Swiffer over the pictures that hung on the walls. Actually, you never stopped to look at them on your way out the door. 

A face stuck out to you, but who it was seemed fuzzy around the edges. You just couldn’t place him. You shook the feeling, continuing on your dusting journey, which took up most of the morning. You met Sam in the kitchen around noon, his back was turned as he prepared a salad for the two of you, a quick and easy lunch. “Hey, who’s picture is in the entryway? He’s got short tousled brown hair, green eyes…” you trailed off on your description, noticing his shoulders tense. “Babe, that’s Dean…remember?” he said, turning around. 

It rung a faint bell, but you weren’t quite sure where to place him. “Yeah, right, sorry,” you apologized, deciding to drop the subject to save him from discomfort. He let out a small, sad sigh, “I miss him every day.” You walked up, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, hoping it would say what words couldn’t.

The rest of the afternoon continued like normal, the both of you caught up in books, Eve between you, cuddled tightly into a ball. Afternoon dripped into evening and the two of you started getting ready for bed. Tonight, however, sleep evaded you. Sam’s soft snores echoed throughout the bedroom, but that had never bothered you before. You tossed and turned, hoping for sleep to overcome you.

Finally, it occurred to you.

Dean was Sam’s brother. Dean wasn’t dead. He was alive, you had just seen him a few months ago in Texas. You shot up, body drenched in a cold sweat.

This was not your house.

Sam was not your husband.

What was going on?

Before you could think deeper into the conundrum that you faced, the sounds of water violently slapping against shore, churning, angry, made your head pound. It felt like you were right next to the sea as a bad storm rolled in, pounding the coast, only the coast was your head. Your hands flew up to your ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but to no avail. 

You stumbled out of bed, disoriented by the pounding in between your temples. Bleary-eyed, you staggered down the stairs, eyes scanning over the key holder before you found what you were looking for: the truck keys. You hastily made your way out of the door, leaving the door open to not risk waking Sam. 

Or whatever was pretending to be him.

You gripped the side of the house tightly, the sounds of water growing into a symphony of a tsunami, a loud roaring, hissing, terrible noise. The siding was rough under your fingertips, paint chipping off as you dug your fingernails in. This confused you even more, the house seemed real. However, you knew deep down that it wasn’t.

None of this was real, it had to be a dream. 

Right?

You pulled yourself together just enough to clamber into the truck, pushing the button to start it. It roared to life and you spent no time to let it idle before throwing it into reverse and high tailing it out of the driveway. You sped off into the night, head pounding and vision burring. ‘Thank god it’s the middle of the night’, you thought, ‘Nobody is out on the roads.’

You followed the highway to where it began, the lake you and ‘Sam’ had visited months prior. It was empty, of course, except for a few frogs that called the water their home. You could have heard their calls if your head wasn’t still reeling, the water turbulence getting impossibly louder, despite the calm lake.

Tears fell down your face, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. This life was perfect, was all you ever wanted…almost. You battled with yourself, head throbbing through it all, clouding your judgement, were you right? Were you wrong? What was going on? Deep, steady breaths did nothing to calm you. 

Staring out at the lake from the driver’s seat of the truck, nothing was clicking, the pieces still impossibly jig-sawed. Then it dawned upon you, an old wives’ tale.

If you’re about to die in a dream, you’ll wake up.  

The idea was half-cocked at best, but you had nothing else to go off of. If nothing else, it would make the throbbing stop. You buckled your seatbelt and made sure it was secure before rolling down all of the windows in the vehicle. The pounding was causing spots to blur your vision, your head feeling on the verge of exploding.

You took another deep breath, exhaled until your lungs were empty, then floored the gas pedal, heading straight for the lake.

The truck crashed into the water, sinking impossibly fast. Water poured in through the open windows, icy cold. You tried to take a deep breath, but inhaled nothing but the murky waters.

‘My God, what have I done?’ you thought to yourself, silently choking, lungs burning. 

The sound of beeping surrounded you now, slow and steady. One of your hands felt heavy and warm, while the other was cold. “Please, please, wake up. I need you, dear God, I need you. I love you, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry,” you faintly heard a familiar voice beg, your arm raised up by an unseen force, hand placed against something scratchy. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but you managed to squint, the bright lights blinding you. Weakly, you turned your head, trying to get away from it.

Was this the bright white light everyone talked about?

“Hey, are you with me? Please,” the voice sounded clearer now. “I’m here, it’s okay, I’m never going to let anything hurt you again,” the voice, now recognizable as Sam’s, promised. You managed to open both of your eyes to half mast, sneaking a peek from under your eyelashes. 

He looked worse for wear. His face looked older, deep purple bags under his tired, sunken eyes, beard scruffier than a five ‘o’clock shadow. He breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank God, you’re awake.” You took a shaky breath and slowly exhaled, forcing your eyes open all of the way. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did, you could see you were in a bleak hospital room. “What happened?” you tried to muster out, but all that fell from your lips was a weak, “What…” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the tired man reassured you, gently patting your hand. “It was a djinn; it swept you under the water. Turns out, there’s an underwater cave he was using for his lair. You were there for a few days, we thought we had lost you forever.” You exhaled a short breath from your nose, turning your head to face away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he pleaded. You slowly turned your head back over, obliging his request. “I need to tell you something, and I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I need to get it off my chest.” Sam stated, his grip tightening on your hand. Before you could say anything, you meekly cooed, “I love you too.” in a scratchy voice. Sam smiled and wiped away a tear that was forming in the corner of his eye, “I love you so much more.” 

~

It was a rough week of recovery, but you were finally ready to ditch the hospital gown for your regular loose-fitting flannel and jeans. Doctor’s orders were to take it easy, and between the two brothers, especially Sam, you knew it would happen. Sam threw your bag into the trunk of the Impala, slamming it shut. “Ready to hit the road?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of your back. “Moreso than ever,” you replied, placing a kiss on his cheek. “C’mon lovebirds, daylight’s a wasting!” Dean called out, dipping into the driver’s side of the car. 

You chuckled, smiling from ear to ear as you made your way to the passenger seat. Sam raced in front of you to open the door, shutting it behind you after you slipped in, sliding on the leather seat. Sam took the seat behind yours, squeezing your shoulder as Dean turned up the radio, classic rock blaring.

Everything was the same as it ever was, maybe even better.

[valentine-cafe]

A strawberry and rhubarb crumble with a key lime pie, please?

(Male Reader)

Imagine that Alessio has been noticing that Talisen is bringing home cookies. Where is he getting these cookies? Alessio doesn't know, but they're good cookies, so he asks Talisen and he explains that he's been getting them as offerings recently from the reader (kingfisher hybrid) who has a cabin near the lake he resides in.

Sooner or later, reader finds himself with two rhytraari at his door, wanting more treats and possibly the reader as their husband.

Would that be okay? Sorry if this request is weird, feel free to ignore it! Thank you so much ❤️ love your works!

˖⁺. ﹙ snake god x male reader x sorcerer god. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . warm kind of love !! 🍒 :  talisen: snake god ˖ siren ˖ alessio: sorcerer ˖ forest eldritch﹙ verse 164 talisen & alessio. ﹚

talisen finds out that alessio was gifted cookies and decides to follow the trail back to your sweet self 

𖹭. ps : this request was sooo cute <3

“Can’t you take me there.” Alessio asks, throwing himself over his husband in all his dramatic glory. Face twisted to seem as though he weeps.

“Pray, hush thy tongue, Alessio, for I dost labor.” The taller man responds with his cooing voice, tapping at a vial to inject magic into it for a little test with his cult for later. Though a soft hand does move up to gently stroke at the base of the sorcerer’s horn in affection.

Pouting, the sorcerer moves off of the man’s back and moves towards one of the entrance windows to the grand cottage. That is veiled to look ever broken down and worn from the outside.

Emerald eyes move to gaze longingly at your cottage. While his hands cup at the underside of his face.

“I just want cookies…”

“Oh the horrors. Verily.” Alessio’s gaze moves from your abode to his husband’s form putting away his work to make way towards him, taking his hand gently and tugging him out of the cottage.

“Thus shall it be. I shall convey thee to the humble abode by the lake.”

. . .

You are baking. Busying around the kitchen. The kingfisher birds of your abode flying in and out of the expanse to aid you with the new project you’ve set to make. Cookies with brownie bits. You had some leftovers from the other day when guests came to your cosy cabin.

The usual audience consists of regular sanguinist cultists, sometimes wildmagic sorcerers. You’ve gathered quite the friend group— Though your favourite visitor would be the god within the lake you gift goods to.

You’d be lying if you said part of it wasn’t so you could make sure he kept allowing you to live by the lakeside. . . Many of those around the forest-y area weren’t as bright and fresh as this one, and the freshwater life within was so very delicious.

“Hand me three cups of flour and then some sugar— you know the measurements, don’t give me that look huh?” You chuckle to one of your smaller friends.

To you, these kingfishers are family. Always have been. Followed you around since you were a baby.

Soft humming was about to fill the kitchen, until the first note was interrupted by knocking at the door. To which you stare back at for a bit. Confused at the sudden appearance of visitors.

You hadn’t invited anyone over?

“Yvonne, take care of the mixing for me, yes?”

With the notice to the nearest bird, you make your way towards the door and open it. Only to gulp in slight surprise at the familiar sight of Talisen and his husband, whom he always speaks of.

“I bid thee welcome with naught but calm, mine dear. Thou shalt not be cast forth.” He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. Causing you to feel flutters of warmth in your own.

“Oh I’m not assuming you’d be evicting me either, MR. Zhào,” you stifle a small giggle. Directing your eyes to the man next to the lake god, giving him a small nod and smile.

“And you must be MR. Agresta, pleased to meet you. Your sorcerers and husband all speak fondly of you.”

The rhytaari’s eyes light up and almost sparkle at the mention of his cult members.

“Oh?” He hums, “you are accquainted with my sorcerers?”

“Quite! They are good friends of mine! Aided me with my abode.” You watch as the man before you melts into his husband, yet his heart eyes remain on you.

Your attention diverts once more, when the taller man clears his throat and smiles at you.

“Pray, dost thou desire assistance in the art of baking?” The question bubbles away at the happiness in your tummy, making it explode with fluster and excitement at the same time.

“Well I see why not!”

“And would you perhaps be willing to marry as well.” The horned man asks with a smug smile, sending you into a downwards spiral of all sorts of emotions hitting you left, right and centre. Blabbering inchoherently to in your attempt to process the question.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Femslash February Day 3! Mountain wingmanning at a lesbian bar (his greenhouse) (Sfw!)

Ok look, I don't know how many consecutive days of writing and posting I have in me. But I'm going to try my hardest to get so much Femslash out this month. I'm not following any set prompt or challenge list. Just my heart. And my pu-

"I need help." Mist says. 

Mountain sets down his carefully trimmed bonsai and looks at her over the rim of his glasses. She's fresh from the lake, with clothes sopping wet from being tugged on right away. Her fingers twist around a tarnished old pendant (skull, eyes set with emeralds). And, most intriguingly, the barest hint of a blush on the apples of her cheeks.

(And slung over her shoulders what is quite possibly the largest pike he's ever seen in an impressive display of prowess but that is neither here nor there. She's not asking for help with the fish.)

"I understand." Mountain replies, having seen that same look on Aether after he met Dew. 

"There was an Air sunning herself on the dock," Mist says. "I've seen her around but I don't know her name."

“What did she look like?” He asks patiently. Cirrus had a fondness for hellebore and datura, but she was usually practicing keyboard with Zephyr this time of day. He glances at a pot of white lilies and nods to himself, even before Mist tells him.

“Big.” Mist says. “Big body, big poofy hair, big sunglasses. I think I splashed her when I jumped out of the water.”

It's the most flustered he’s ever seen her, the way she paces back and forth, trailing her hand in a tub of water lilies.

"I had the fish. In my mouth. When I jumped up on the dock. And I scared her. And I didn't apologize cause my mouth was full of fish. I just walked away and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary."

“Joe cool.” He says suavely and earns a flat glare. He meets it with his own carefully blank face until Mist rolls her eyes and flicks water at him.

“I know her.” He says as an olive branch. “Cumulus. She'll be a backing vocalist and keyboardist on our next tour. Real sweet.”

“Is she the type to be bothered by how I acted?” Is Mist’s next question and Mountain thinks about it. Plenty of ghouls became “domesticated” once they were up top, vastly preferring the convenience of Abbey kitchens and a set menu to a more traditionalist approach like Mist enjoys taking.  From what he's seen, Cumulus had adored the luxuries of the Topside like bubble baths and ice cream. But she still politely asked to have raw meat whenever she ate in the cafeteria. She enjoyed organs and eyeballs, cutting daintily into her meal and chewing methodically before swallowing.

He spares a glance at the pike. It's a decent size, almost as tall as Mist’s scant five feet and from the looks of it, hadn't gone down without a fight. It might be good sliced into fillets with lemon pepper and celery salt. He doesn't think Cumulus has tried raw fish yet.

“You’ll be fine.” He says. “So. Let’s start with the focus of the bouquet.”

“Don’t you start with that flower language.” Mist warns him. “I think it’s ridiculous. I just want something pretty for her to look at without any second meanings for her to guess. I don’t like codes.”

“Alright.” Mountain says, humoring her. “So, lets just start with flowers that remind you of her. Take a look at what calls you.”

Mist beelines for the lilies and Mountain smiles to himself. Mist isn't the type to be sentimental and he hardly expects her to verbalize her thought process. It would be more practical than poetic anyway because that's just how she was. He just guesses and watches and waits while she goes from flower to flower, brow furrowed in thought. 

“I like these.” She says about a pot of bullthistle he’s been nurturing from seed. It's on it's second year and growing tall, fine shoots that promise to bear nasty, thorny leaves. He's got an idea about how the species might be used to strengthen the borders of the abbey but he's worried about how fast it spreads. So it sits, with its purple crowns atop tiny thorny heads. 

“Thank you.” Mountain says. “For the bouquet or just to admire?”

“Just to admire.” Mist admits. Shifting her weight to still keep ahold of the pike, she thrusts her bouquet before him for inspection. Dominated by the lilies, she's added sprigs of lavender and fat peonies. Ferns have been tucked here and there to break up the flowers and Mountain gives her a silent thumbs up. There's no doubt Cumulus will love it.

"Thank you." Mist says gratefully. “I…I really appreciate it, Mountain.”

“Go get’em tiger.” He says as she nods to herself and heads out to find her girl, toting a gorgeous bouquet and her freshly slaughtered kill.

And no sooner do her footsteps fade when Mountain picks up another pair heading to the back of the greenhouse.

"I'm sorry." He says to the bonsai. "We're just doomed to always have interruptions in our alone time, it would seem."

The bonsai forgives him. It was a patient tree. It could wait a little longer.

"Mountain?" Comes Cumulus' frantic voice. "Mountain, you have to help me."

She bursts into the greenhouse, a gorgeous mess of floppy curls and chiffon as she presses her hands to her rosy cheeks. Her sunglasses are askew, her hat is about to fall off and he's never seen her so far from neatly put-together in her entire time with them.

"There was a water Ghoulette." She begins softly. "Caught the biggest fish I've ever seen. So stoic! Such a huntress!  Mountain, I think I'm in love."

"I understand." He says soothingly. "Why don't you take a look at those water lilies while I grab some thistle? Wouldn't want you hurting your hands."

[distant--shadow]

“It’s freezin’!”

Imogen finds her toes inadvertently curling as if they could retract into themselves like a snail in its shell.

“It is! But you do get used to it!” The Lady turns to her and that grin is back on her face that often shares its graces - though now perhaps too comfortable - occupying more space of the decorous recline of skin onto sharp cheekbone, freshwater pearl white teeth exposed like skirts ridden too high to expose alabaster leg in manic casual-ty, and those skirts are still held in the grip of her laced palm, not fruitless but maybe turning, over-ripened sweet musky and mushy, their tails laying on the surface of the lake in a bride’s trail behind her.

Imogen had turned her trousers at the cuff, the brush of their cotton at her knees feeling like burlap in comparison to what she imagines of the silks and laces now gaining weight in water behind the Lady.

The pebbles under her feet are slightly slimy from the cling of emerald algae (or at least some sorta plant life) - she hopes she does not slip over them, the thought of being submerged even on this fair day being a thought too undesirable, undesirable like her linens in comparison to the Lady’s silks

-impractical as they may be-

The skin on the inside of her knees says otherwise.

She had ‘gotten used to it.’ She had only known it.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 7 - The Power of God and Anime

Y'all make friends.

On AO3.

You kinda jinxed it, huh? Y’all’re threading carefully down a scraggy, narrow trail—eying the branches overhead that move a little too much like they’re trying to grab you—when Wyll makes a sound. He’s at the front, torch in hand. Beside him, Scratch stands stiff-legged with his fur all on end. Sweetums, who’d been tagging along behind, bolts back for the safety of your legs.

Word filters back along the line: torches. Voices. There’s people up there. Or possibly “people” as in muppets with shadow hands up their asses. Or cultists.

You got half a mind to suggest staying quiet and going around. But Wyll looks unsettled when he cranes around in your direction. Says, “The Emerald Grove tieflings.”

Oh. Fuck. They went this way, you vaguely remember. They was talking about taking a road that led through here.

“Is this really our problem?” Shadowheart says.

You try not to side-eye her. Try not to read in what you know about her now.

Fail both.

“What if we just look?” you say. “If they’re assholes or them cult fuckers, we slink off.”

Astarion rolls his eyes but draws both his knives. So there’s that, at least.

“If those istik cannot defend themselves, let them perish,” Lae’zel says. Earns her a begrudging nod from Shadowheart. Great. They’re bonding over being edgelord lesbians. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“The curse grows stronger with everything it takes,” Halsin says. “It would be wise to check.”

“That,” you say. Send him “thank you” eyes.

Which predictably annoys both edgelord lesbians, as they like tactics that fuck over an enemy (which, they’re not wrong, but in this case?).

It ain’t goblins. It’s a group of humans (or near enough) carrying torches, all lightly armored and armed. Except for the one writhing around on the ground.

“Yanos!” one of the women says.

“Fuck him!” snaps another. “The shadows have him. We need to go!”

And shadows do have him. It’s hard to see the guy in the magic darkness; just the hint of a silhouette twisting and flailing. Bending wrong.

“Oh lord,” you say, too quiet for anybody to hear. If you was on Earth, anyway. Because Yanos the Shadowman snaps up, hollowed face pointed at the cluster of trees y’all crouch behind. He raises an arm—moving wrong, wrong—and screams in your direction.

“Fantastically done, darling,” Astarion says before shadows lift out of the gloom and come alive.

Things go to shit shockingly fast. Everybody explodes into movement. Light flashes. A thunderclap shockwave blasts through your ribcage. Karlach roars and lights on fucking fire to chop a shadow monster in half. Vertically.

You stay out of the way.

All the bombs and potions you was hoarding got swept off or stolen down in the Underdark. You got your supply of dirt potions, a cache of health potions, a cursed dagger, and some rations. You briefly got another whacking stick—courtesy of more dead duergar—but lost that one in a lava lake a while back.

It works pretty well, staying on the fringes. Plastering yourself flat against a tree and staying (relatively) small and quiet.

Until it don’t. Until Yanos Shadowman himself lurches outta the dark like a frothing zombie, reaching for you.

You catch a flash of his face: tendrils of shadow bursting out around his eyes, from his nostrils, from his gums like worms in the dirt after a hard rain. The skin of his hands splits open as more shadows spill out of him. And you know, on a cellular level, that if he touches you, you’re next.

A sound tears outta you. Then you’re running. Past Wyll and Karlach tag teaming…is that a fucking grim reaper? Past Shadowheart as she shouts with her new mace and blasts another shadow in the face with a bolt of pale light.

Somewhere safe, somewhere safe, where’s Astarion?!

Them people y’all found are busy—trying not to get bit or infected or taken by other shadows. And Yanos howls after you. A rabid dog. A feral thing.

Weapon! You need a weapon! Not the knife, too short, too close—

A woman drops at your feet. Damn near trips you. Her front is ripped clean open, white fingers of broken ribs jutting out, through her skin, the gaping cavity that used to house her guts—

Nope. Not looking. Not thinking. Not today, Satan.

But she drops a spear. One that glows yellow. Like light. Light that keeps monsters away.

You don’t actually think. Just scoop it up. Whirl around. A hum sweeps through your palms, winds up your forearms like that time you accidentally stuck your finger into an electrical outlet. You taste…caramel corn?

Then Yanos is on you, and even those trace thoughts vanish. Everything is cold. Calm. His body rushes you.

The spear is long. The handle solid. His middle is wide. Squishy. Leather vest, thin enough. A good target.

So you jab. The point hits. Resists the leather for a second, but his own momentum pushes him forward and it punctures. Slides into flesh. Scrapes over bone.

He’s still coming. That’s physics. You got more mass than he does, probably, but he’s got movement. Kinetic force. Can’t absorb all that energy barreling at you.

The ground can.

No thoughts. No reason. No emotion.

Just cool observations as you shove down. Wedge the back of the spear into the ground and brace your body against it.

The physics of Faerun seem to hold true to Earth ones. Yanos’ mass channels into the lodged weapon. The shaft bows, but the earth takes up all the slack and throws it back through the wood and into the point of the spear.

In less of a second, Yanos hits, sticks himself, and then his feet leave the ground as he impales fully through into the air.

His dead mouth falls open. Eyeballs melt to ooze as you watch (shouldn’t watch, shouldn’t look at the face, the face increases trauma he’s an it not a he). Then the spear flashes bright. Like lightning. And when you blink again, the lights gone out.

Yanos, the former man, hangs off the spear. Slack. Dripping. Heavy.

You let it fall.

Your chest hurts. Your lungs hurt. You can’t feel your hands or your feet or your face. Just the screaming need to breathe. To claw enough oxygen into your convulsing lungs the edges of your vision stop going gray.

“Still alive down there?”

Karlach. A couple feet up the slope (where even are you), peering down in concern.

The fight is over. A quick head count, and they’re all here, plus extras. And there. Silver hair. Astarion wiping down his knives as he makes his way over to you, stepping daintily over bodies. He looks to the dead man you stabbed. Hums softly.

“Well done, darling,” he says. Then steps in close. Hooks a finger under your chin and turns your face this way and that, studying you. “And you still have your nose.”

Right. That…yeah.

You stand there and shake. Astarion lights another torch and holds it out for you. But your hands is still meat paws, and you fumble it a few times before he frowns.

You’re probably in shock. Which is almost funny? It’s bullshit, is what it is. You killed people here. Freaked out about it, yeah, but not like this. Nothing like this. Not since…

Yanos the Former has a dark beard, pointed at the end. Dark hair pulled into a half tail.

He must have had kind, brown eyes before they oozed out as sludge.

Like Gandrel.

Oh god.

“Darling?” Astarion says.

You’re shaking hard now. Almost seizing. Teeth chattering so hard you almost bite your tongue when you manage, “N-need-d t-to res-st.”

Astarion’s gaze goes sharp. Worried. Then he twists around. “Cleric! Get over here!”

[castlebyersafterdark]

what do you think are mike’s thoughts when he sees will naked for the first time? what do you think are will’s thoughts when he sees mike naked for the first time?

Expressing this concept vaguely through some random drabbles. Stream of conscious, unedited. Not my usual writing style. I never really write in this tense? Kind of ran far away from the premise of this ask, veered more into thoughts of attraction and firsts in a relationship, but this was fun! One drabble is about Will observing Mike during a trip to the lake pre-getting together and the other is some fun had in Mike's basement. I had a third part planned featuring Mike and 🍑😜 - ya know. But I'll post that another time because this post got pretty long. Enjoy? Under the cut...

"At the Lake"

Will sits on the edge of the old wooden fishing dock, feet swinging in the warm summer air, toes barely skimming the water below. Summer vacation began with the last ringing of the bell the afternoon before and as tradition stood - the party always spent the first day of summer at the lake. He's hesitant to jump in, and always is, despite the heat. What's below the water? What's lingering below the surface? The water looks freezing. He's not a fan of the cold.

It's so hot out - he can already feel sweat gathering at his temple and sliding down the back of his neck. He wishes the guys would hurry up and get in the water, proving that it was safe to dive in and swim. He turns his head at the sound of heightened commotion and braces himself as Dustin and Lucas finally decide to barrel forwards, racing each other to be the first one to jump into off the dock. Lucas wins by a long-shot and Will smiles fondly to himself as Dustin complains about an 'unfair head start' just as he cannonballs from the dock. His own gripes are cut off as his head goes underwater, but immediately continues where he left off as he resurfaces. They swim out further into the water, away from where Will remains seated and conflicted about following.

Will turns back once more and spots El and Max laid on on towels in the grass, sunbathing before braving the still-cool lake waters of early June and - oh. All thoughts fade away when he approaches. Mike. Will doesn't think he's going to survive another summer full of Mike Wheeler's skin and legs and arms fully on display. He's a vision. He's everything Will wants. And with summer and the lake and the heat and the frequency of the party's visits to their favorite hangout away from their houses, he's going to have to see a lot more of the boy he's obsessed with, smitten with, in love with. Who he wants in every way you can want another person.

He's liked Mike forever and has always thought he was the most beautiful person in any room. But as they've gotten older? It's entirely unfair. And Will is a weak, weak boy. He blushes as his eyes linger on his chest, follow the dark hair that trails from navel to swim trunks (emerald green and tight and showing so much pale thigh.) Will turns away, fingernails pressed hard into his palm to center himself and calm the fuck down. It's just Mike.

Hysterical understatement.

"Hey, Will. Still waiting for me?" Mike asks with that soft grin and soft voice that makes Will's heart skip a beat and stutter if he speaks too quickly in response. Get a grip. You've known him your entire life. Can't you be normal about him by now?

"You know the plan," Will sighs. "Sorry."

"Don't be, I get it. It's going to be fucking freezing, always is - but, whatever you need. I got this."

He hates the cold so much. He loves Mike for indulging every one of his ridiculous idiosyncrasies.

Mike jumps in with flailing limbs and an awkward landing, sputtering water when he come back to the surface. He cranes his head back and shakes the water from his face and hair like a dog in the rain. Will stares and stares as Mike curses the stinging in his eyes before chattering on about how the temperature isn't that bad. He tips back, swimming in place. Will's eyes dart everywhere, trying not to linger too long on any one thing as to not get caught, not seem weird. It is a challenge. He wants to commit everything he's seeing to memory to keep him company on lonely nights. And mornings. And showers. And afternoons when the house is empty. Shut up - he's sixteen and horny literally half of the time he's conscious. And most of the time he's unconscious, too. If it's not a nightmare, then he's doing unspeakable things to his best friend in the relative un-safety of his mind.

Whatever. He'll feel guilty another time. Mike is mostly naked and wet and smiling and laughing for him and only him at the moment. He's enjoying this.

Lithe muscles, sparse chest hair. He's pale, but so beautiful against the dark water. As an artist, Will adores a dramatic contrast. Like the way Mike's red lips stand out so much against his skin, with the lake water clinging to them, making them shine in the early summer sun. Will wants to slip into the lake and kiss him and kiss him and taste the lake without having to dive underwater to get the effect. He wants Mike to hold him close, cradled in those deceptively strong arms, keeping him afloat. He wants to trace those prominent collarbones first with the tips of his fingers, then with his tongue, maybe leave a mark. How easily would that pale skin bruise? It would be so thrilling to mark Mike up and let everyone know he was his. If only he was. But he wasn't.

Will sighs again and slips off the dock. The water is frigid and he gasps as it surrounds his body with goosebumps and embarrassing fear. And then Mike is close, there if Will needs a steadying arm as his body adjusts to the extreme temperature change and staves off panic.

"Are you ok?" Mike asks, and places both hands on Will's arms. They're close enough for their legs to entwine, treading water as their feet seek purchase on the shallow bottom of the lake.

Will swallows and forces his brain to focus on breathing and not on the way the water clings to Mike's dark eyelashes and bow of his top lip. He breathes in and out, and nods, forcing a smile that Mike immediately returns.

"Cool. You're alright. Race you out to the guys?"

"You're on," Will responds, and starts swimming out before Mike can say go. ---------

"In the Basement"

They've been making out for the better part of an hour, movie on the old television in Mike's basement long forgotten for things much more interesting. Will cannot get enough of his boyfriend. His boyfriend. They've been together for a little over a month and the thought - the reality of what they are - still sends a shiver down his spine and makes the ever-present butterflies in his stomach whip up into a fluttering frenzy.

Mike moans into his mouth after Will bites at his lip, and Will drinks in the sounds with a matching groan of his own and a pointed swivel of his hips from where he's seated in Mike's lap. His tongue darts out to soothe the place where he'd gently ran his teeth and is intercepted as Mike deepens the kiss, sucking on his tongue, so hot and wet and slick. It's heady, addicting. Will's fingers grip at Mike's hair, slide through his scalp, and Mike pulls away to gasp and groan and mouth at his neck. His hands have fallen from Will's waist to grip lower, and Will takes the bold initiative to guide them where he desperately wants them. They're still hesitant together at times, falling into the novelty of their relationship, in awe of what's now allowed between them.

Will loves Mike's big hands. He wants them all over his body, and he wants Mike to put them where he wants and maneuver him however he pleases - but it's embarrassing to say that out loud. He reaches back and guides them to rest on the swell of his ass, nodding his head when Mike pulls back to look him in the eyes and silently ask permission. Mike runs his hands up and down, squeezes the supple flesh, and takes Will's hard press forward as the go-ahead to explore and take what he wants. Mike pulls him forward, rocking up while Will rocks down, both so hard for so long now that they both feel as if they're going to burst sooner than they'd like. It feels so good, having their bodies this close, seeking pleasure from the person they feel so deeply for, and both long to chase the sensation as long as they can.

Mike seals his mouth back against Will's, licking inside again when Will whimpers open-mouthed at a particularly perfect thrust, clothed cocks dragging together through too much denim, though the friction is mind-blowing. He tips his head back and smiles in a hazy daze at the series of wet kisses placed along his jaw, down his neck, and journeyed in reverse to his parted mouth. He's so lost in pleasure at the feeling of their frantic, slow grind that he nearly jumps from where's he's straddled over Mike's lap at the feeling of a hand brushing his clothed dick.

"Sorry, sorry. Adjusting. My stupid zipper," Mike explains in a hurried, hushed tone as he removes his hand from where he'd been palming between their connected groins. He takes in Will's pleasure-drunk expression and arches an eyebrow. "Unless?"

Will smirks, eyes half-lidded as he shifts back and stares at the tented bulge straining the uncomfortable zipper of his boyfriend's jeans.

"Can I try something? I have a better idea."

Mike sucks in a breath, having a feeling that he knows where this is going. They've made out pretty much every day since they've gotten together, whether that be on afternoons like their current situation, hidden away in Mike's basement, or on the nights that Mike sneaks over to the Byers' house to crawl through the window and kiss and kiss until they either drift to sleep or lazily grind together until they come in their briefs. They've yet to explore further, with no barrier between them, and Mike tries not to immediately finish at the mere thought of Will's hand on his unclothed cock.

He doesn't expect Will to slide off of his lap and settle between his knees on the floor, despite the way they seem to spread instinctively at the sight of his boyfriend situating himself there.

"Oh, fuck," he moans as Will slides his hands up his thighs, shaky but determined to do this. He was prepared for a hand job and would have settled for that.

Part of him wants to be courteous and tell Will that he doesn't have to do this, but judging by the hungry look in his eyes, clearly Will wants to. He wants him. And honestly? Mike really wants this, too. He's only human after all, and he simply caresses a hand down the soft curve of Will's jaw, hoping the gentle gesture expresses how much he cares for and appreciates and loves Will, even if all the sappy, saccharine things he wants to babble are caught deep in the back of his throat at the sight of his boyfriend on his knees. He further chokes on his words as Will cups his bulge, palming it once, twice, then slowly pulls down the zipper. He lifts his hips as Will grabs his jeans and works them down his thighs to pool at his ankles, then are slipped off entirely. Will's eyes flick up to Mike's as he palms his cock again, reveling over how hot he feels in his hands, taking in the shape, the length. Will's mouth waters at the reality of what he's about to do. He's fantasized for so long about getting his mouth on Mike, finding out what he looks like. Before he can chicken out, he peels back the briefs, slightly damp from where Mike's been steadily leaking into the fabric, and moans low in his throat at his first glimpse of his boyfriend's frankly perfect fucking cock.

"Fuck, Mike," he moans, to which Mike makes a sound low in his throat, so rare to hear Will lose his composure and swear like that. Will can't stop himself any longer and shifts forward to press a tentative kiss to the exposed skin, inhaling the coarse hair tickling his nose with a pleased little sound, growing even harder himself at the scent of boy surrounding his senses. He circles his hand around Mike and strokes slowly up the hot length in his hand, thumbing at the soft, slick tip with near-reverence. "You're so big."

Mike's arm flies down to grab at the base of his dick as his hips involuntarily thrust forward, cock sliding through Will's grip.

"Shit, Will. Fucking hell, I was about to come. Jesus, baby."

Will chuckles to himself, grin manic and astounded with pride over the unintended effect his words and words alone had on Mike. The reaction is one hell of a confidence booster. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to the wet head poking through his fist.

"Just being honest. You're perfect," he says and moves to cover Mike's cock with his mouth, sinking down the first few inches.

Will moans around him, inexperienced but loving the new sensation of being so full, mouth stretched wide, immediately obsessed with the weight of Mike's cock against his tongue. He struggles to breathe as he sinks up and down, too keyed-up to focus on both sucking dick and taking in air through his nose. After a short few minutes, he pulls off with a wet pop and a gasp, and switches to running his tongue from base to tip as Mike whimpers and moans above him, head thrown back against the top of the couch. One arm is gripping the cushion hard, fingers strained against the fabric, while the other rests with barely any pressure on top of Will's soft hair. Will thinks about Mike grabbing him harder, pushing him down, mind filled with a thousand filthy ideas at lightning speed, but he refocuses and guides the tip of his dick back between his lips.

It doesn't take too long after that, before Mike's moans and whimpers grow frantic as he taps Will's cheek to hopefully beam information into his brain that he's about to come. Will doesn't stop, bobbing sloppily as saliva pools and drips down the side of his mouth, eyes wet with unspilled tears from the effort. It's intoxicating, being the bearer of this much pleasure for the man he loves and adores. This is his new favorite activity. Will knows Mike is close from the way his thighs clench and tremble. With a humming confirmation to let go and a devastating combination of hollow-cheeked suction and an inspired twist of his wrist on the upstroke, Mike is coming, filling his mouth in bursts.

Will pulls away with tear streaks down his face and the release he couldn't fully swallow lingering at the corner of his lip. It's too much, it's far too much, and Mike has to kiss this boy immediately. He hauls Will up onto his lap, crashing their mouths together, plunging inside and moaning when he tastes himself on Will's own tongue.

"You're amazing, wonderful, fucking hot, and ughhh. Will! Baby."

Before Will can respond with words, he yelp as he's flipped onto his back on the couch. Mike shoves his shirt up to his neck, out of the way, to kiss down his chest, stopping at the waistline of his jeans with a wicked grin.

He unclasps Will's belt and says, "Your turn."

[lathalea]

Wild Strawberries

Moodboard by @linasofia 😍

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x f!OC Warnings: smut, pure smut, so help me Mahal Rating: E (18+)

Summary: Several years after Erebor is reclaimed, Thorin decides to celebrate his beloved wife's birthday... and is very enthusiastic about it. A/N: This story is a birthday gift for @legolasbadass from Linasofia and yours truly. Once again HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LB! 🎉🎁🎈

You can find this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Bunnelê - my treasure of treasures

Leaving the northmost spur of the Lonely Mountain behind him, Thorin entered the forest at its foot. The lush, dark emerald sea of pine trees surrounded him; each of them at least as tall as two grown Men—their rapid growth being the result of the magic the elves of the Woodland Realm bestowed upon this land in exchange for goods only Erebor could provide them with. It was a bright summer day and the sun speckled the undergrowth of the forest with gold, as if someone scattered countless coins across it. A small smile curved up Thorin’s lips at the recollection of that very profitable agreement with the Elves and the role his clever wife played in hammering it out a couple of years ago. Anila… Ah, his sweet Anila and her talent of finding useful information in ancient tomes and musty treaties. Then, her cunning negotiation tactics side-blinded the Sylvan negotiator, driving every single clause home. The precedent she found—dating five hundred years ago—was instrumental in cornering the Elves and making them agree to their conditions. There was nothing better than the taste of flawless victory… especially if followed by a private but intense celebration that took place in his marital bed. 

Taking in a deep breath, Thorin allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the tension leave his body. Being the king of a prosperous Dwarvish kingdom was a great privilege, but also a sizable burden; one that could have felt almost unbearable at times—if not for the assistance of his royal consort. Thank Mahal for the ancient tradition that required the king to take a wife. At first, this was to be an arranged marriage but one day spent in Anila’s company when they met for the first time, a year after Erebor was reclaimed, was enough for Thorin to know this would be an union of both hearts and minds.

Today was a special day: his wife’s birthday. Thorin’s most trusted companions and aides were working deep in the mountain, at the shore of the underground lake, preparing the celebrations for the evening: there were hundreds of candles to be lit and put onto minuscule boats that would float on the lake; countless flowers to decorate the caverns; dozens of dishes to be served, music and dances to be planned, and many other surprise attractions to be planned. Thorin’s task was to divert Anila’s attention until it was time for the celebrations—and diverting his lovely wife’s attention happened to be one of his favourite pastimes.

And so he found himself on the forest path, with a full picnic basket in his hand, on his way to Anila’s favourite hideout. From time to time, she would disappear with a thick roll of parchments and a quill and then return hours later with a mysterious smile on her face and ink-stained fingers. Thorin would take her hand into his, place an ardent kiss over her knuckles and ask what she had been up to. The smile on her delicious lips would widen, she would hide that roll of parchments behind her back, rise up on her tiptoes, peck his cheek, and murmur into his ear, “It is a secret of the state, my king.” The sultry tones in her voice would make his blood sing in his veins—that was a clear invitation to flirt, and with Anila, that game two of them played often ended with their clothes scattered all around, and them panting, their bodies entangled, in the most unusual places of the Mountain.

That was his Anila, an incandescent mix of fire and tenderness.

Today, she mysteriously disappeared before he woke, and now he was finally on her trail. He took a few more steps ahead among the brambles, careful not to make any noise, when he saw a familiar silhouette sitting on a blanket. It was Anila; her back was turned towards him, but he would recognize the dress she wore, one of her favourites, and the silky waves of her beautiful hair everywhere, dark as smoky quartz, the braids that adorned it, and the marriage beads with the sigil of his house he offered her over the marriage anvil on the day of their wedding. Her hair was side-swept to the right, uncovering the column of her neck, and Thorin licked his lips at the sight, wanting to press them against that smooth skin and taste it.

Later, he scolded himself. He was on a mission, after all.

After slowly placing the basket on the ground, he soundlessly kneeled inches behind her. Whatever Anila was doing, she was clearly focused, so much so that she did not notice his approach. Only when his hands covered her eyes from behind, she squeaked in surprise.

“Guess who…” Thorin murmured straight into her ear, his voice low and sensual. He was very much aware of the effect his voice had on her and he was determined to make a good use of it today.

“Thorin…! You scared me!” she chuckled, looking anything but frightened. Anila turned her face back towards him, taking his hands into hers and lowering them onto her lap. He still held her in an embrace and did not plan to let her go.

“Have I?” He lifted his eyebrow in amusement, moving his lips closer to hers. “May I remedy it somehow?”

Anila blinked, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“That would depend on the remedy, my king,” she offered.

He brushed his lips oh-so-lightly against hers. They were as soft as he remembered, and she smelled like those blue flowers he never remembered the name of, so sweet and innocent, like the break of a new day. When she held her breath as their lips joined for a few heartbeats, a sign that he had her full attention, Thorin deepened the kiss with as much tenderness as he could muster, his hand delving into her cascading hair, until he felt her body pressing against him in anticipation for more. A large part of him wanted to continue, coaxed by her dizzying closeness and that little sigh she gave, but he needed to follow his plan. It was his wife’s birthday and this day needed to be perfect—just like her.

He moved back slightly, giving her cheek a slight caress with his fingertips and trying to ignore the wave of arousal he felt looking at her slightly swollen lips, like fresh raspberries, her shining eyes, and her heaving bosom. She wore a green dress, one of her favourites, that happened to be one of his favourite garments of hers as well due to a generously revealing neckline. Mahal, this plan of his was more difficult to carry out than he thought. He was supposed to be the one offering distraction, not the other way around.

“I brought the remedy with me, my queen,” he hummed, placing the heavy basket between them and sitting down beside it. It contained the best delicacies the royal kitchens had to offer.

“A lunch?” she peeked under the colourfully embroidered piece of cloth that covered the basket. “It smells lovely.”

“I cannot allow my wife to starve, can I?” Thorin replied, taking in the way she looked at that moment—with a playful smile and golden specks of sun kissing her face, one of them dancing at the tip of her nose. He wondered whether his plan of having a romantic midday meal with his wife would be ruined if he was to kiss that very spot now.

“You are a very attentive husband. Let us eat, then!” Anila decided, putting away a stack of parchments from her lap to the side. Her fingers were stained with ink.

“May I ask what you were working on?” Thorin said, taking out all kinds of food from the basket. Freshly baked bread, three kinds of cheese straight from Dale, white radishes, a jar of honey, hazelnuts and a bottle of good wine from his private cellar.

“You may,” Anila reached for the bread. “But I will not tell you. Not yet, at least. It is not yet finished.”

“So it is as I feared. You are writing a memoir of our scandalous marriage,” Thorin crunched on a radish with gusto.

He adored making her laugh and the way her laughter found its way to her eyes.

“I doubt Erebor is ready for such a read,” she uttered between giggles. “Besides, technically speaking, the events pertaining to our marriage are a state secret and therefore cannot be made public.”

“Perhaps it is for the best. I do not think I would be happy if our whole kingdom would know of my wife’s talents,” he cast her a meaningful glance. “I would rather keep to myself the things you can do with your… ouch!”

A piece of bread hit him right in the middle of his chest as Anila cleared her throat loudly.

“... brilliant mind. I meant your brilliant mind!” Thorin explained, trying to make his words sound as sincere as he could.

“Truly? Is that what you are thinking about at this very moment?” she teased.

“What else? I am still in awe about the way you handled those envoys from Minas Tirith,” Thorin hoped he looked like an embodiment of innocence at the moment.

“Oh? Remind me?” Anila tilted her head and gracefully licked her honey-covered fingers. It made Thorin swallow hard. That vixen. She knew very well what she was doing to him, but he was going to be strong and so he continued this charade.

“That expression of shock on their faces when they understood they would be discussing matters of state with a woman! And the realisation that you completely outwitted them!” Thorin could not help himself but chuckle at the memory.

“Ah yes, I seem to remember something along these lines,” she admitted, lazily taking another bite of bread and looking into his eyes. A drop of honey landed on her shapely bosom, making Thorin lick his lips as it glistened in the sun.

“And so you should, bunnelê. You used their greatest weakness against them marvellously. I will never understand why the People of Men underestimate their women so,” he reached out to take her hand and placed a kiss on it. Not over the knuckles, oh no, his lips found the centre of her palm and pressed against her skin. She smelled like flowers in bloom and tasted like honey. Despite the food they ate, his hunger was far from satiated.

“Cultural differences, my love,” Anila replied, cupping his bearded jaw before freeing her hand from his. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers brushing against his beard. “One of our greatest assets when dealing with Men.”

“Exactly as I said, brilliant mind,” he gave her a playful smirk that coaxed a silvery burst of laughter from Anila.

This atmosphere—and their mutual teasing—reigned throughout the whole meal, accompanied by the twittering of the forest birds and gentle rustling of trees. You are a lucky Dwarf, thought Thorin, enjoying the feeling of content, laying on his side, his body weight resting on his elbow as he admired the sight in front of him. A beautiful day spent with a companion who is not only beautiful but also smart… to the point of putting your willpower to a test with her merciless teasing. And she happens to be your wife. Just look at her, the way the summer breeze plays with her hair, the way she takes a sip of wine, her sensual lips wrapping over the edge of her cup, or the way her fingers seem to dance in the air as she explains something about that newest decree on mining safety. And the way she speaks your name, with so much feeling and softness in her eyes. Is she not perfect? The true queen of your heart?

Thorin would never put these thoughts into words, of course. His wife would surely think him ridiculously mawkish and overly sentimental. The king of the Khazad of the Lonely Mountain should be anything but ridiculous. The best course of action was to keep such maudlin thoughts to himself.

“I think a dessert is in order,” he decided after a few more moments of his reverie.

“A dessert? I feel so full, I do not think I can eat even a bit more,” Anila sighed.

Thorin simply said, “Wild strawberries.”

“What?” she gasped.

He placed a small woven basket in front of her, its contents covered with peppermint leaves.

“How…? This forest is too young for wild strawberries…” she whispered to herself, removing the leaves and seeing small, oblong ruby-red shapes laid out in layers. “They smell delicious. It has to be magic!”

“Try one and see for yourself,” Thorin gave her a triumphant smile. Surprising his wife was something he never had enough of. Perhaps it was also partially because of the enthusiastic way she showed their gratitude, but even a king could be self-indulgent from time to time, he decided.

“A rider from the Woodland Realm brought them at the break of dawn,” he divulged his secret, admiring the way his wife put one of the berries into her mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed approvingly.

“You asked King Thranduil for a handful of the first wild strawberries of the season?” she then asked.

“Aye.”

“And he agreed?”

“Aye.”

“And sent a messenger to you in the middle of the night?”

“As you can see,” he pointed at the berries in front of them.

“Are you truly telling me you had a peaceful conversation with Thranduil during which you agreed on something? Without shouting and cursing each other’s ancestors five generations back? I think I will go with the ‘magic’ explanation,” Anila shook her head, but Thorin noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes.

“I did not say there was no shouting involved,” he humoured her.

“If you say so,” she chuckled and took another berry. “Mmmm… They are very sweet. Have you tasted them yet?”

Thorin shook his head.

Without a word, she put the berry into his mouth and let him close his lips over her lingering fingers a moment before she retreated them.

“Very sweet indeed,” he admitted, still feeling her caress against his skin. “Just like you.”

Now it was his turn to take a berry and offer it to Anila. Her lips opened a bit and she gently took it between her lips, the tip of her tongue brushing against his fingertips. A wave of heat passed through him, a multitude of thoughts flooded his mind, but not a single one of them was mawkish.

Before he had a chance to react, she put another berry into his mouth and sealed it with hers. A low purr escaped him when their lips met, her kiss even sweeter than the fruit, and he tasted her to his heart’s content. There was tenderness and gentleness in that kiss, but the song of her supple lips dancing against his spoke of fire kindling inside her—and in his mind, Thorin agreed that it was time for another kind of distraction. He covered her cheeks with a myriad of feather-light kisses, whispering words of adoration into her ear as her fingers ran through his hair, caressing his scalp, eliciting a groan of pleasure out of him. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, revelling in the way she responded to him, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips on fire. Then his lips traced a smooth trail along the line of her jaw, and found the way to her neck. Each of his kisses aimed at claiming her skin, every single inch of it. She tilted her head back invitingly and he continued his explorations, his lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear, and then adorning that place at the juncture of her neck and shoulder with kisses, precisely the way she liked it. When she rewarded him with a moan, he felt her body tremble in anticipation. Thorin was still hungry, hungry for her, even hungrier than before, and he refused to restrict himself any longer. Not on a day like this. 

He lay her on the blanket, her eyes shining, her cheeks slightly flushed, the round peaks of her breasts rising and falling, her hair scattered around her head, glowing in the sun like a halo or richly veined marble, and he found himself in need of stealing yet another kiss.

“Anila,” he murmured, “you are breathtaking.”

She did not reply—busy with stealing a kiss from him this time and wrapping her arms around his neck—while his hand travelled down until he felt that round, supple softness under his palm and the warmth that seeped through the thin fabric of her gown. He played with the idea of simply ripping her bodice—her whole gown—apart and feasting on her naked body until dusk and beyond… and then wrapping her in his cloak and smuggling her back into the mountain for a long and eventful bath, the birthday celebrations be damned, but this tempting plan had to wait. Instead, he gave her breast a gentle squeeze and proceeded to undo the front of her bodice while his lips slipped down her neck and found the sweet spot on her left breast that tasted like honey.

“The High Council…” Anila gasped as his tongue swirled over her skin and then his lips closed over the spot again. “That meeting tomorrow… They will be scandalized when they see that hickey, my love…”

“We both know they will not say a word about it,” he chuckled. “Just as it happened last month, remember?”

“I forget what a clever strategist you are. Yes, I remember, Master Finulv was speechless, Balin pretended not to notice anything, and you could barely keep awake during that council meeting. That high collar doublet suited you very well, by the way,” she admitted, helping herself to the buttons of his tunic.

“It was my attempt at covering the proof of my wife’s fiery temperament,” he smirked, observing Anila’s nimble fingers at work. “I do not think I was successful. Master Bragi did not dare to lift his gaze from his notes even once.”

His wife’s only response was a chuckle just before she covered his lips with hers.

Among the kisses and caresses generously bestowed upon each other, among their whispers and sighs, they eagerly shed most of their clothes. Thorin gave out a satisfied hum, admiring Anila’s sun-speckled skin, the alluring curves of her body glowing as if imbued with the light of thousands of Ereborean diamonds. He was certain there were words that could describe this vision of ethereal beauty before him, but he could not find any. 

“My king seems to be lost in thoughts,” he heard her say playfully. “Allow me to help you.”

Anila lowered herself in front of him and her hands started roaming his body, releasing him from his trousers. Her kisses burning a bold path on his lower abdomen, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off her; of her nimble fingers wrapping around his already hardened manhood; of her hair like silk between his fingers, of her lovely lips that closed over his tip, of her sultry gaze, of the soft heat he was delving into, of her palm that…

“Anila… Mahal…” His wife knew him so well and she knew exactly what would please him, but today was not about him. “Allow me to take care of you first.”

“I was under the impression that you were in the mood for dessert,” she looked up at him innocently, licking her lips. Vixen. Merciless vixen. And he wanted more of her.

“Oh yes, I do,” he smiled, moving towards her.

“A dessert…” she gave out a chuckle when his lips greedily closed over her nipple, lavishing it with attention. Between the gentle nibbles and soft kisses scattered over her rosy peaks, among her sighs and his praising murmurs, his hands painted devout patterns along her body, in an act of physical worship. Thorin did not wish to stop; he craved to cover all off her body with his kisses, to bedeck it with his caresses, to offer his queen endless ecstasy. He wanted to offer her as much pleasure as he could and revel in her rapture. Soon she was stretched beneath him, pleading for more, her fingers entangled with his hair as his tongue drew spirals around her navel, his lips covered the softness of her lower belly, his hands caressed the roundness of her hips.

When his kisses finally moved to her thighs, and his hot breath skimmed the mound between them, Anila whispered, “Have mercy...”

“What do you wish for, my queen?” He lifted his gaze to her face, her eyes hooded with pleasure, her lips slightly parted, her breathing fast, her fingers playing with her nipple. What a beguiling view it was.

“I want you to please me, Thorin,” she whispered, parting her legs slightly. This was the only invitation he needed.

“Your word is my command,” he replied. Settling himself between her legs, he cupped her bottom, enjoying its round firmness. It fit perfectly in his large hands and he lifted her slightly. Anila moaned in delight when he eagerly buried his mouth between her thighs, his beard brushing against them. She writhed beneath him as he showered her most intimate places with kisses and caresses that brought her the most pleasure. His tongue explored the folds of her womanhood. The taste of her arousal made him even harder than before, made him dizzy with desire for her, but that had to wait. Now he was intent on pleasing her this way and so his lips found the most sensitive point on her body, tenderly tugging on the silky bud, and then started sucking on it. He heard her whimpers, her incoherent mewling spurring him on, and he continued his ministrations, pleasing his queen. 

He gripped her thighs firmly when his tongue sank rhythmically into her, evoking waves of elation, one after another, each of them stronger than the previous one. Thorin recognized the signs all too well, and he drove her further and further, among the heights of pleasure, bringing her closer towards the very peak of ecstasy with every caress. Purring into her flesh, he caressed her swollen nub with his thumb, feeling how she arched against him as waves of pleasure sent tremors of ecstasy through her body, and he relentlessly kept on taking her even higher until her blissful moans and praises echoed through the forest. He stopped only after Anila went completely limp beneath him, one of her hands letting go of the fistful of the blanket. 

Thorin moved up towards her, pressing his lips to her shoulder, and then brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Her eyes were shut, her face flushed, her long eyelashes casting small shadows on her cheeks, beads of sweat covering her forehead. His caress caused a small smile to bloom on her lips, but her eyelids remained closed.

“Is my queen pleased?”

“A little bit…” she muttered, smiling still. “But I wouldn’t mind a second… no, that would be a third course.”

“Insatiable woman,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her collarbone. His fingers busied themselves in lining out the shapes of her breasts and unhurriedly following the curves of her ribs. Then his tongue joined in, exploring new, exciting paths on her body, each of them punctuated by her moan. Mahal was a great architect indeed, creating such wonders as this woman beside him. Compared with the elegant lines of her body, he felt like a block of unhewn stone; and yet when she lay so close against him, it felt as if they were made from the same piece of rock. Perhaps the Creator put all of his energy into making Thorin’s life companion perfect and decided it was enough. In fact, she was more than he could ever hope for. Absent-mindedly, he took Anila’s hand into his and placed a tender kiss onto her wrist.

Anila gave out a content sigh and opened her eyes, oblivious to his thoughts.

“Insatiable? It is because you have spoiled me rotten,” she stated. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, coaxing him closer to her, and when she closed the distance between their lips, he hummed approvingly. A new fire woke in her and there was hunger in her kiss, the same hunger that had been wreaking havoc through his body since the moment he saw her alone in this place. Her hip brushed against his erect member and he let out a low growl-like moan. Patience was not one of his virtues.

Anila found his hand and placed it over her breasts.

“Make love to me, Thorin,” the words were simple, but the timbre of her voice brought a much deeper meaning with them. And the desire in her eyes met with tenderness in her gaze.

“My queen,” he murmured, offering her an affectionate kiss, the softness of her lips giving him a promise he was eager to see fulfilled.

His kisses were careful, measured, and yet thorough, each of them aiming at telling her things he was unable to say with words. One of his hands caressed her body, eliciting sweet little sighs from her, until it found the secret trail that led his fingers to the treasure she hid between her legs. The moans that filled his ears in response to his feather-light caresses sounded like music.

“Is this to your liking, my queen?” he asked while his fingers explored her boldly, dancing in circles around all her sensitive spots and enticing even more moans from her. This, combined with feeling how aroused she still was, caused his manhood to throb even more in anticipation. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself.

“You know it is very much to my liking,” she admitted, bestowing a smile upon him. “But I need more.”

Thorin could not stop himself any longer. Taking his manhood in his hand, he growled with arousal, feeling her wetness against him. Anila tilted her hips, offering herself to him and he cast her a satisfied look, devouring her with his gaze. It was not long before he pressed his tip to the heat of her core. An unhurried thrust of his hips brought him home, his torments rewarded at last. He lowered himself over her and repeated the movement, studying her face as she bit her teeth into her lower lip.

“Yes, Thorin, more,” she whispered, taking deep breaths. 

As he covered her body with his, Anila seemed so small under him, almost fragile, and yet she was perfect. He knew he needed to be gentle with her at first, and he did that gladly, anticipating the bliss that awaited them both. He could feel how snug she was around him, how an occasional tremble of pleasure came from deep within her as he carefully moved another inch forward.

As her body accommodated to his hardness, he gave another slow thrust, filling her completely. Her breath hitched and she welcomed him with a small cry of pleasure.

“My lovely, lovely Anila,” Thorin whispered, unmoving, his lips brushing against her forehead, his thumb running across her cheek. He knew his size was a challenge for her, but every single time she took him in with passionate eagerness that multiplied his arousal. “We fit so well together, do we not?”

“We do,” her melodic, dreamy voice reached him, her breath wafting against his sensitive earlobe. “I don’t think I will be able to let you go.”

With these teasing words, she wrapped her legs around him, lifting her hips slightly. That made him burrow himself even deeper into the dewy paradise of her womanhood.

“Then don’t,” he rasped out. “We can stay like this for as long as you like. Only say a word, my queen.”

“Then take all the time in the world with me,” she decided.

And so he did. With his movements slow and measured, his eyes remained on her face, revelling in the growing signs of ecstasy he noticed. Anila, his wife, his queen, deserved all he could give her—and more. Her first (or rather third) peak of ecstasy came soon, just after he changed the pace, murmuring seductive promises into her ear. Her lengthy moan rang out in the air as her body trembled with ecstasy. It took all of his resolve not to follow her over the edge at that very moment, but Thorin denied himself that pleasure. He was not finished with her, there was more he wanted to give. He paused, cradling her face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on her burning hot lips, waiting for her to recover, but Anila’s affectionate gaze once again rested on him as she asked for more.

Soon he found himself finding the perfect rhythm, sinking inside her for what seemed forever. As he drowned in Anila’s eyes, their moans intertwined, celebrating the union of their bodies. They were drifting away together on the sea of their shared passion. Every thrust was a promise of endless joy Thorin would offer her, every caress was imbued with his adoration, echoed by his whispers until they came together as one. She clung to him, responding to his every move, her nails sinking in his back, driving him forward, demanding more, and he gave it to her in a series of rapid thrusts, the waves of their bliss growing higher to finally wash over them in pure rapture.

***

“Happy birthday, sweet Anila,” he murmured as he rolled on his back, his arm wrapped around her, but she only hummed something incoherent in response and cuddled up closer to him under the clear blue sky above.

They remained in a sweet, languid embrace for an eternity—or perhaps minutes—Anila’s head resting on Thorin’s chest, her arm limp across his stomach, her hair scattered across his body, his nose full of her flowery scent. Their breaths evened out and the only sounds around them came from the birds in the trees and he found himself drifting off to sleep.

“Thorin…” Anila breathed into his skin after a longer while. 

“Hmmm?” He opened one eye reluctantly.

“You are as wild as these berries,” she pointed towards the forgotten fruits, now scattered among the grass.

“Am I?” He hummed into her hair.

“I think I will have to personally thank King Thranduil for your fervour,” she replied with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, wife… unless you’d like to be spanked,” Thorin protested.

She chuckled and he felt her hand travelling down his abdomen, “Is that a promise, my king?”

“Insatiable woman,” he managed to say before her lips stopped him from talking for a very long time. For perhaps all the time in the world.

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[taeu7]

"When we were getting married"

one shot

The hall was a canvas painted with the most exquisite flowers from around the world. Roses, peonies, and hydrangeas cascaded down the walls like waterfalls of petals, their scent a sweet symphony to the senses. The fairy lights, now like a constellation of stars, twinkled above, casting a celestial glow on the guests who were whispering in awe.

Sheer curtains, the color of the softest dawn, billowed gently, dancing to the silent music of the evening breeze. They framed the panoramic windows which unveiled a scene so serene, it could only be the work of nature's finest artist. The rolling hills, cloaked in emerald, dipped gracefully into the tranquil lake, its surface a mirror reflecting the ballet of the skies.

The guests, adorned in their finery, took their seats on chairs entwined with ribbons of ivy and blooms, their eyes reflecting the golden hour that bathed the world in a warm, amber light. The air was alive with anticipation, every heart beating in harmony with the quiet rustle of the leaves outside.

Taehyung stands resolute at the altar, his hands clasped in front of him, betraying a hint of nervous energy. The tailored beige suit he wears is a testament to his impeccable style, fitting him like a second skin. The white shirt underneath is pristine, its top button secured, giving him an air of formal elegance.

The soft strains of a violin fill the room, wrapping the guests in a blanket of tender emotion. Taehyung's eyes, usually a gateway to his playful soul, now reflect a depth of feeling, a mixture of excitement and the weight of the moment. His gaze is unwavering, fixed on the entrance, where any second now, Y/N will appear.

As the members of BTS stand by his side, they can't help but notice the subtle shift in their friend's demeanor. Jin: "Who would've thought? Our Tae, all grown up and stealing hearts." Suga: "Just don't trip on your way to forever, okay?" J-Hope: "Remember to breathe, Tae. In and out, just like we practiced." RM: "He's only the second most nervous person here. The first? The guy who has to follow this act." Jimin: "If you get cold feet, I'm ready to step in. Just kidding, you got this!" Jungkook: "Hyung, your hands are shaking. Need me to hold them for you?"

Taehyung, amidst the laughter and light-hearted jabs, feels a warmth in his chest, a mix of gratitude and the slightest hint of anxiety.

Taehyung: (with a soft smile) "Keep it up, guys. Your turn will come soon enough."

As he waits, a gentle smile plays on his lips, and his eyes well up with love. Every passing moment seems to be an eternity, yet he embraces the anticipation with a sense of joy. Friends and family observe Taehyung, recognizing the depth of emotion etched on his face as he eagerly awaits the moment when Y/N will step into his life forever.

The moment the doors open, a collective breath is drawn, and time seems to stand still. Y/N steps into the threshold, and the room hushes in reverence. She is the embodiment of a dream, a vision that transcends the mere beauty of the physical world.

Her gown, a masterpiece of design, flows around her like a river of moonlight. The fabric, a symphony of lace and silk,is adorned with intricate patterns that tell a story of timeless elegance. Each step she takes sends ripples through the air, the waterfall of fabric cascading behind her in a trail of pure grace.

A delicate veil rests upon her hair, a gossamer web of finery that catches the light, creating a halo around her. It trails behind her, a whisper of tradition and the promise of the future, all woven into its ethereal threads.

The venue's lights, soft and warm, seem to find their purpose in accentuating the radiant smile that graces Y/N's face. It's a smile that speaks of love and hope, a beacon that shines brighter than any jewel. Her eyes, alight with happiness, scan the room until they find Taehyung's, and in that gaze, a silent vow is made, more powerful than any words could ever be.

As she glides down the aisle, every step is a note in the melody of the wedding march, her presence a chorus of beauty and joy. The guests are captivated, lost in the moment that will be etched in their memories forever, a tale of love that they will recount for years to come.

As Y/N makes her entrance, a hush falls over the crowd, but for Taehyung, the world narrows down to the vision of her walking towards him. His heart, a steady drumbeat in his chest, seems to sync with each step she takes. The emotions welling up inside him are a tempest, a whirlwind of love, awe, and a touch of vulnerability.

Taehyung's eyes, always a window to his soul, shimmer with unshed tears, the joy of the moment crystallizing in their depths. He watches her, this woman who has become his everything, and feels the gravity of their journey together, the paths they've walked to reach this singular point in time.

"Y/N," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the music, "you are the most beautiful dream I never want to wake up from."

The corners of his eyes glisten, the tears held back by sheer will, not out of fear of showing emotion, but from the overwhelming desire to keep his gaze clear, to not miss a single detail of her approach.

Jimin, standing beside him, leans in and murmurs, "She's breathtaking, isn't she?"

Taehyung nods, his throat tight with emotion. "She's the melody to every song I've ever wanted to sing," he replies, his voice thick.

And as Y/N draws closer, the space between them charged with the electricity of their love, Taehyung reaches out a hand, a silent invitation to join him in the dance of their lives.

"Come, let's write our forever," he says, the promise in his eyes more eloquent than any vow spoken aloud.

Y/N takes his hand, her smile a mirror of his own heart, and in that touch, they speak a language only they understand, a language of hearts entwined, of souls united under the banner of love.

In the midst of the enchanting setting, Taehyung and Y/N stood facing each other, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights and the sweet scent of flowers. The air was filled with anticipation as they prepared to exchange vows, expressing their deepest feelings for one another.

Taehyung's Vow:

"Y/N," Taehyung's voice resonated with a depth of emotion that the very walls of the hall seemed to absorb and echo back. "The day you entered my life, the universe shifted, painting my world in vibrant hues of love and joy. Now, as we stand here, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, I offer you my solemn vow."

He took a gentle breath, his eyes never leaving Y/N's. "I vow to cherish you, to hold your heart with the tenderest care, and to support you in every endeavor. You are my confidant, the keeper of my secrets, my partner in every burst of laughter that fills our days, and my comfort in the quiet moments of reflection."

His hand reached for hers, a physical manifestation of his words. "With you, life is an endless canvas, each day a stroke of color in the masterpiece we are creating together. I promise to walk beside you on this adventure, to build a tapestry of memories so beautiful, so vivid, that even time itself will pause to admire its splendor."

"As we embark on this journey, hand in hand, heart in heart, I look forward to the lifetime ahead of us, a lifetime of discovering new horizons and cherishing each precious moment. With you, Y/N, every day is a gift, and I am eternally grateful for the love we share." Y/N, her eyes shining with emotion, responded, Y/N's Vow:

"Taehyung," Y/N began, her voice a soft echo in the grandeur of the hall, her eyes glistening like stars in the twilight of their special day. "You are the melody that has given rhythm to the song of my heart. As we stand here, enveloped in the beauty of this moment, I pledge to be by your side through every season that life brings our way."

Her hands found his, a tangible promise in their gentle clasp. "I vow to be your steadfast companion in every burst of joy, your unwavering comfort in the face of challenges, and your devoted partner in the creation of a future rich with love."

A smile, radiant and full of hope, spread across her face. "With you, Taehyung, I have discovered the true essence of home. It is not a place, but a journey with you, a journey where we will grow together, learn together, and evolve as one."

"Today, as we stand on the threshold of forever, I look forward with eager anticipation to a lifetime of shared dreams, a lifetime where each day is a new chapter in our endless story of love." As they exchanged these heartfelt promises, the room seemed to hold its breath, embracing the profound connection between Taehyung and Y/N. The vows were not just words; they were a testament to the depth of their love, resonating with everyone present in the ethereal atmosphere. The soft music played like a gentle melody, underscoring the beauty of this moment where two souls pledged their love and commitment to each other amidst the cascading flowers, fairy lights, and the warmth of their shared dreams.

The world seemed to hold its breath as Taehyung leaned in, the distance between him and Y/N diminishing with each heartbeat. The room, wrapped in a gentle hush, was thick with anticipation, every eye fixed on the couple, every heart sharing in the silent crescendo of the moment.

Their eyes closed, and as they inched closer, drawn by the invisible force of their love, the air around them seemed to shimmer with the promise of their union. The guests leaned forward, captivated by the intimacy of the moment, the very essence of romance hanging delicately in the balance.

And then, just as their lips were a mere whisper apart, a jarring blare of alarms sliced through the serenity, a stark, discordant note that shattered the dreamlike veil. The room erupted into a chaos of sound, the spell of the ceremony broken as heads turned in confusion.

Taehyung's eyes snapped open, his expression a mix of concern and surprise. The tender moment lost, replaced by a rush of adrenaline as he instinctively reached out to protect Y/N, drawing her close.

"What's happening?" Y/N's voice trembled, her words barely audible over the cacophony of alarms.

"We'll find out, just stay close," Taehyung assured her, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that now clouded the once perfect day.

As the reality of the situation set in, the guests rose from their seats, a murmur of concern spreading through the crowd. The fairy tale scene had taken an unexpected turn, and now, all awaited the unfolding of events with bated breath.

In an instant, the serenity shattered, the sound of alarms slicing through the dream like a knife through silk. Taehyung and Y/N, their moment of unity interrupted, turned in shock as the idyllic world around them began to crumble.

The alarms grew louder, more insistent, a stark reminder that reality was calling. The guests, once statuesque in their admiration, now moved in a blur, their forms dissolving into the ether of Y/N's mind.

With a start, Y/N's eyes snapped open, the tranquility of her room a stark contrast to the chaos of her dream. The wedding, the vows, the kiss that almost was—all of it had been a figment of her vivid imagination. The alarms, now identified as the mundane beeping of her alarm clock, continued their relentless call.

For a moment, Y/N lay still, her heart still racing from the dream's intensity. The images, so clear and so beautiful, lingered in her mind's eye, a tapestry of what could be. A smile, small but genuine, curved her lips as she pondered the whimsical nature of her subconscious.

And there, in the quiet of her room, Y/N allowed herself one last fleeting thought of the dream. Taehyung, her heart's chosen companion in a world spun from the threads of dreams, remained a sweet echo in the silence of the morning.

As she silenced the alarm, the smile remained, a secret shared between her and the breaking dawn. The dream was over, but the day was new—a blank page on which to write her own story, perhaps one day as enchanting as the dream itself.

Author’s Note:

Hello Readers,

I wanted to share a little story with you, one that came to me in a dream. It was so vivid and beautiful that I felt the need to write it down and Keep as memory.

I apologize if at any point the story doesn’t quite capture the magic I experienced. Dreams have a way of being grander and more vivid than any reality we can construct. But if you find even a fraction of the joy in reading it that I found in dreaming it, then I consider my mission accomplished.

Thank you for taking the time to delve into this narrative, for walking with me through the landscapes of my mind, and for allowing me to share something so personal. Your engagement with my words is the greatest gift a writer could ask for.

Thank you!