#LIGHTNING FLASHED JUST OUTSIDE MY WINDOW

[myvirtuesuncounted]

BESTIES THERE IS A VERY COOL THUNDERSTORM RIGHT NOW

[peachessndreamss]

A Dark & Stormy Night

Summery : A storm rages over Winterfell and the Stark children look for comfort with their parents.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings : None

Word count : 1K

A/N : Short and disgustingly sweet. All my Cregan pieces can be enjoyed alone but are all interconnected and feature the same Lady Stark their children.

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

Night was falling early on the North, and before the final rays of watery daylight had leached from the sky Cregan Stark had looked out from the highest chamber of the Library Tower and seen the tops of the ancient Wolfswood trees disappearing into the great grey swell of clouds that rolled over the land and lay over it like a blanket. 

When the night had fully fallen and an eerie stillness settled over the land. It was the hour of ghosts and Cregan was finally ready to sleep. He closed the heavy tome he’d been reading from and placed it back on it’s shelf, the beeswax candle he’d been using to read by was now spluttering and spitting as it came to the end of its life, he took the candlestick in his hand as he moved from the library, through the halls of the silent castle, to the bedroom he shared with his wife. 

Lady Stark was already asleep, only the top of her head visible from where she’d buried herself so deeply under the furs on their bed. Cregan set the dying candle on the table next to his side of the bed and quickly stripped off his outer clothes and slipped beneath the furs in just his undershirt. He sighed contentedly, finding the bed warm from his wife’s sleeping body and the air heavy with her scent, he pinched out the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness and closed his eyes. 

Cregan felt like he'd been asleep for  seconds when he woke suddenly. On first waking he had no idea what had roused him but after a few seconds of confusion the sky outside the window was split by a bright fork of lightning, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Cregan groaned softly and rolled onto his side, slipping one arm over his wife’s waist, and splaying his hand across her warm stomach. 

A second, louder rumble of thunder rolled through the sky and rattled the glass in the Winterfell windows. Cregan sighed quietly, closing his eyes again, ready to sink back into sleep. There were more flashes of lightning that he could see through his closed eyes, and deep rolls of thunder that made the earth shudder. Lady Stark slept on, completely untroubled by the storm that raged outside her window, Cregan was envious of her deep sleep and he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. 

He was almost asleep again when there was a new sound which had him fully awake in less time than it took to blink. The creek of the bedroom door had the Lord of Winterfell sitting bolt upright and reaching for the dagger he kept beside the bed. 

Cregan was just about to demand who was entering their chambers when a flash of lightning illuminated the room and he saw the two frightened faces of his children huddled in the door, clinging to each other. The fear that had gripped his heart vanished and instead of reaching for a weapon he held his arms out to the children. 

“Come here, it’s all right,” he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the dark just enough to see the two small children shuffling toward him. 

His daughter, Aly, led the way, her hand holding tightly to her younger brother who followed behind, his thumb in his mouth and his eyes still full of sleep. 

“We’re scared,” Aly said. 

Cregan rather thought she was the one who was scared and had dragged her younger brother along for moral support. 

“Come up here then,” Cregan soothed as they reached the foot of the bed. 

Aly helped her younger brother, who was still new to walking and unsteady on his feet onto the bed before climbing up after him. Their son made a direct line to Lady Stark, who had finally woken up and rolled onto her back to see what was going on.

“What’s the matter darling?” she asked softly as she reached out to the boy, pulling him toward her. 

“Scared of the storm,” Aly answered as she wriggled up the bed toward the space in between her parents. 

“Would you like to sleep with us then?” Lady Stark asked as the boy settled his head against her chest and closed his eyes. He made a few small noises as he snuggled his face into the crook of her neck and grabbed at a handful of her hair. 

Lady Stark glanced at Cregan who was holding the furs back as their daughter crawled in between them and rested her head down on the pillows. 

“Will you tell us a story papa?” she asked as Cregan relaxed back on his pillow, tucking the furs around his little girl. 

“No my love,” he said softly, “it’s very late so you should just close your eyes,”. 

“What about the storm?” she asked with a pout. 

Lady Stark had relaxed back against her own pillows, the weight and warmth of the child against her chest making her sleepy again. 

“You'll be safe with us,” Lady Stark said softly, kissing the boy's forehead. 

Another fork of lightning split the sky followed by a great roar of thunder, a look of fear crossed Aly’s face and  she cringed away from the window and against her father. He wrapped one arm around her slight frame and pulled the child close. Letting his chin rest on the top of her head. 

“Papa, I'm scared,” she whispered, her voice only loud enough for him to hear. 

Cregan smiled to himself, he dreaded the day when he'd wouldn't be able to protect his children from the things that frightened them, but a storm he could keep them safe from and he gave Aly a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“I've got you,” he breathed, “I'll keep you safe,”. 

He wrapped his hand around her tiny fist and brought it to his lips, kissing her tiny fingers as her eyes closed and she started to breathe deeply. 

Cregan glanced over at his wife who was already sleeping with their son curled against her chest. There was another bright flash of lightning but the thunder sounded distant, muted and unlikely to wake the sleeping children. 

When he awoke again the wintry sun was streaming through the windows, the sky clear and bright with no sign of the previous night's storm. He brushed at his face, pushing his daughters hair from under his nose and tucking it back behind her ear as she slept on. He turned his head and caught his wife's eye from the other side of the bed. She gave him a sleepy smile.

“Did you sleep well my love?” She asked softly, stroking their sons back as he slept on. 

“Never better,” Cregan replied with a smile.

PS: Well done on finishing this truly dreadful and worthless piece of fanfic Ten kisses for you.

[katsu28]

rain, rain, (don't) go away

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: you put your trust in a handsome stranger in the midst of a bit of bizarre wet weather. what could go wrong? (4.6k)

warnings: minimal swearing

a/n: not quite the summer lando series i've been working on but the idea for this came to me in a dream a while ago lmao

It doesn’t often rain in Monaco. Especially not during the summer. 

So when you feel a drop splash against your forehead, then another, you’re wildly unprepared. You squint up at the rapidly darkening sky like it's personally wronged you, and you’re met with another raindrop, this time in your eye. 

Part of you wonders if you could try and make it home before it starts to pour. The other part knows it would be an impossible feat given your lack of a car and how far you’d have to run in such a short amount of time. Even as you ponder the thought, the occasional drops turn into a heavy drizzle. 

You barely make it under the nearest awning before it really starts to come down. All around you are people scrambling to get out of the rain and somewhere dry, caught off guard by the unexpected downpour like you are. 

“Crazy rain, huh?” You startle at the sound of a voice from next to you, gaze snapping to your left to see a man huddled under the same awning, most likely having come up with the same idea you did. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologizes, holding his hands up in surrender. “I take it you weren’t expecting rain when you left the house today either?” 

You scoff, chuckling. “Was anybody?” 

You tear your eyes away from the sky to look at him once more, and to say you’re pleasantly surprised is an understatement. 

Your awning buddy is awfully attractive, and looks to be around your age too. A form-fitting black sweater stretches across broad shoulders, paired with baggy blue jeans that might not have worked for everyone, but definitely suits him well. He’s smiling at you too, a lopsided grin that has you intrigued by him. “The one time I didn't check my weather app before I headed out.” 

“You actually check the weather app?” He chuckles, tilting his head. 

“You don’t?” 

“Can’t say that I do. Usually I just trust the vibes when I look out the window. Didn’t really work out today, though.” He holds his palm out from under the makeshift shelter, letting the rain pool in his hand before dumping it on the ground, flicking his fingers to rid them of the excess drops with a scrunched nose. “Is this your first time in Monaco?” 

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I live here. You?” He bobs his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s never rained like this though, especially this time of year.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I reckon it’ll stop soon. It’s usually pretty quick—” 

A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky right at that moment, followed by a clap of thunder not five seconds later. If it continues on like this, you might be stuck here forever. 

“Huh! Maybe not.” The man sounds amused, aiming a sympathetic smile at you. You can’t help but chuckle, and you notice it makes him perk up a bit, looking pleased with himself. “Hope you don’t have anywhere to be.” 

“Honestly? I don’t. But I’d rather not be standing under this awning til the storm lets up. Could be ages, by the looks of it.” 

A stream rushes its way down the street, carrying a sad swirl of leaves down the storm drain at the corner along with it. It seems everyone else has come to their senses and found somewhere warm and dry to wait out the sudden storm because when you look around, the two of you are the only ones still outside. 

As if the man can sense what you’re thinking, he speaks. He’s smiling hopefully at you, head tilted invitingly. “There’s a cafe down the block that was open before it started to rain. Care to join me?” 

Normally, you’d be wary about a handsome stranger inviting you to an unknown location. This seems like one of those situations you’ve been warned about, but right now you can’t find it in yourself to care. It’s about time you put yourself out there, take a chance for once. You’re pretty sure he won’t try to kidnap you. 

“I’d love to.” You reply. You peer out at the dreary grey sky again, lips twisting into a grimace. “Is it just me or does it seem to be raining harder?” 

“I say we make a break for it. Run like hell on three.” He says firmly. You nod and he does the same, holding out his hand. You slip your fingers through his without a second thought. “One, two, three—go, go, go!” 

You both take off in a wild sprint down the sidewalk, splashing through puddles on your way. He giggles the whole time, peals of laughter bouncing off the cobbled street that sound gleeful. You’re laughing too, because who would’ve ever thought you’d be running through the rain hand in hand with a guy you’ve only just met?

He tugs you along, leading the way to your destination confidently. Well, as confident as one can while being half-blinded by a torrential downpour. 

You nearly slip as you make a poor attempt at a sudden stop when he finally slows, and you probably would’ve ended up flat on your ass if he hadn’t grabbed you by your forearms, steadying you with an infectious grin that you can’t help but return. 

The bell above the door rings when the two of you stumble inside, soaked to the bone even in the very short time it took to get down the road. But you know what they say, when it rains, it pours. 

He shakes the rainwater from his hair not unlike a dog would shake out its fur, and in the process splatters you with the droplets. Normally you wouldn’t be too happy about it, but you’re already drenched and he’s very cute, so you don’t mind. 

The place is pretty much empty when you look around, save for a handful of other patrons doing their own things. It’s cute though—cozy and warm, the smell of coffee beans and something sweet floating through the air. You never noticed it before, but it’s exactly the kind of cafe that you love. 

The man seems to notice that you’re still holding hands, because his cheeks turn pink and he drops it, smiling rather bashfully. 

“Sorry. I’m Lando, by the way.” He introduces himself softly, rubbing the back of his neck. You tell him your name and he repeats it, testing it out on his tongue. You’re not ashamed to admit you like the way it sounds when he’s the one saying it. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” 

“I’m gonna go order something so they don’t think we’re loitering. Preferably something hot, because I’ve got water in places water definitely shouldn’t be.” He shudders, pulling his soggy sweater away from his torso as proof. “Do you want anything?” 

You ponder for a moment before responding. “A latte sounds amazing right now. I’ll pay you back, of course.” 

Lando shakes his head, backpedaling towards the counter. “My treat. You just sit there and look pretty.” You roll your eyes playfully at him, but smile nonetheless. “Oh look, you’re doing great already!” 

That makes your cheeks grow hot. You’ve just met Lando and he’s flirting with you, and you don't mind at all. In fact, you have half a mind to flirt back. 

He finds you at a table soon after, balancing two cups and a concerningly large paper bag. You pop to your feet, carefully grabbing the bag to ease the load, and peer into it. There’s at least five different pastries inside, all of them looking absolutely mouthwatering. 

“I hope you’re hungry. Got convinced to buy a few things by the lovely old lady at the counter.” Lando says sheepishly, sliding into the seat opposite you. “Very persuasive, she is.” 

You shrug. “I could eat.” 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, chatting with each other like you're the only two in the world. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to him too. He’s funny and quick-witted and he talks very animatedly with his hands, you notice. You find it cute. 

Lando tells you about himself, asks about you and your life story, and you find yourself settling in nicely with his friendly nature. This isn’t a date by any means, but he makes it feel like one by the way he truly pays attention to you and what you're saying, nodding along closely with rapt attention. As far as listeners go, he's a fantastic one. 

You’ve also learned a lot about him. He was born and raised in the UK, but moved here a few years ago for work. What exactly did for work, he wasn’t too forthcoming with, but you don’t pay it any mind. You’ve just met, after all. You’re not expecting him to tell you his whole life story. 

But it also doesn’t feel like you’ve just met. You aren’t sure why, but Lando has this way of making you feel like you’ve known each other for ages, of making you feel comfortable and at ease with every word out of his mouth. 

Your clothes and hair have just started to dry out a bit, and you’re having a great time. Such a nice time, you don’t even notice the girl approaching your table. Lando sees her before you do, and he smiles politely. 

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you guys, but are you Lando Norris?” She asks hopefully. She looks young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her eyes flick to you, and you can tell she’s nervous, so you smile back. You’re confused to say the least, but you remember what you were like at her age. She reminds you a bit of yourself. 

Lando nods. “I am, yeah. What’s your name?” 

“Valeria. But everyone here just calls me Val. I’m the owner’s granddaughter, so I work here all the time.” 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Val.” 

She looks positively starstruck now, hands trembling as she holds up her phone. “Would you mind if I got a photo with you? You can totally say no if I’m interrupting something, I—” 

“You’re alright, love, don’t worry.” Lando stands, moving into selfie position next to her. The poor girl’s arm shakes so much you’re positive the photo won’t turn out clear at all, so you slide out of your seat too. 

“Here, let me.” You take the phone gently, motioning the two of them to scoot closer to get them in frame with each other. 

Val looks a combination of relieved and grateful, while Lando gives off nothing but a cool, albeit reserved, confidence. The same kind of confidence a celebrity might have when approached by a fan of theirs. But certainly Lando couldn’t be famous…right? 

You shake away the idea, snapping a handful of photos before passing it back to her, figuring there can never be too many to choose from. She beams bright, hugging him quickly, then to your surprise, gives you a hug as well. 

“Thank you so much! I’ll get out of your hair now. Enjoy your food!” With that, she hurries away with a bounce in her step, disappearing into the kitchen. 

You turn to Lando with arched brows. “That was interesting.” 

“So interesting.” He echoes, but his tone makes it sound like he doesn’t quite agree. 

“What are you, famous or something?” You mean it as a light jest, but Lando looks guilty for some reason. He beckons for you to take your seat again, sliding back into his own before offering you a sheepish smile. 

“Um, there might be something I haven’t told you yet.” 

“Shit, are you actually famous?” 

“...Yeah, kinda.” You arch a curious brow, and he sighs, but not in exasperation. “I’m a Formula One racing driver. For McLaren.”

Formula One…racing…it all sounds slightly familiar, but you can’t quite place it. Then it dawns on you. 

Lando isn’t just a local celebrity—he’s literally world famous. 

You’ve heard your friends talk about the races before, a few of your relatives who keep up with the sport, but you’d never paid it any mind. It just wasn’t something you could see yourself being interested in. That really famous race that takes place here in the streets every year that makes traffic an absolute fucking nightmare the whole week, Lando drives in that race, and countless others around the world, if you recall your limited knowledge correctly. 

He’s…cool. And he’s sitting right here with you in a tiny cafe, and you had no idea who he was. 

“Oh my god, you must think I live under a rock or something! This is so embarrassing, I—” 

“No, no! I’m not—I don’t go around expecting everyone to know who I am, I swear. It’s just that most people usually do recognize me, and it saves me the whole ‘having to tell them I’m famous’ thing, which always just makes things really awkward, and…yeah.” 

“Things don’t have to be awkward.” 

“No?” 

“No. We don’t even have to talk about it.” 

“We don’t?” He sounds a tad wary, but when you nod, the tension in his posture melts away. Relief floods his features at once. “Thank you. It’s actually quite nice to meet someone who has no idea what I do. Makes me feel normal for once.” 

“Glad my lack of sports knowledge makes you feel like a regular guy,” You joke, nudging his foot with yours under the table. He gives you a light kick in return, infectious smile back in full bloom once again. You quite like it when he smiles. 

You’ve just moved on to a new topic that has nothing to do with Lando’s job when his phone buzzes, making him jolt in surprise. He digs it out of his pocket, and when he sees the name flash across the screen, his eyes go wide. 

“Sorry, hang on. I’ve gotta get this.” He says, hitting the answer button. It’s a quick phone call, and you try your best not to eavesdrop, but whoever is on the other line has Lando worked up when he hangs up. 

“Everything okay?” You ask lightly. Lando bobs his head quickly. 

“Yeah, it’s—I, uh, I’ve gotta go. I forgot about a work event, apparently. That was my press officer, wondering where the hell I am and how fast I can get there.” He sounds disappointed, smiling almost sadly. “So much for feeling normal.” 

You try your best not to let your face fall when you nod. “I should get going too. Get home before the next freak summer rainstorm.” 

It’s nice when you step outside. You tilt your face up towards the sky, feeling the sun warm your face. This is the Monaco you know and love. Though if it hadn’t rained, you would’ve never met Lando. 

He turns to face you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for the nice afternoon. I had a good time.” 

“Me too.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

“Maybe you will.” 

“I certainly hope so.” He says softly. You shift slightly on the balls of your feet, suddenly feeling awkward. You’re not sure how to leave things with him, and it looks like he feels the same by the way he mirrors your actions. “Um, I really should leave, so…goodbye, I guess?” The look on his face tells you that leaving is the last thing he wants to do, but he has to. 

“Bye, Lando.” 

“Bye.” He echoes, one more time before turning away from you to head down the street. 

You can only bring yourself to wait a few seconds before you call his name again. He turns around instantly despite his hurry, meeting your gaze. You want to say something to him that’ll make him remember you, because chances are you’ll never cross paths again. If you were brave enough, maybe you'd even ask him for his number. But you’re not, so you don’t. Instead, you just smile at him. 

“Thanks for the latte.” 

If he’s disappointed, he hides it well. He smiles back at you, warm and bright like the sun beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. “Of course.” 

You watch him walk away, fighting that pesky little feeling in your gut telling you that you’re making a mistake by letting him go. It’ll go away soon, and you’ll go on with your life like you’re meant to. 

-------

You find yourself going back to the same cafe often, whenever you're out and want a little treat before you go home. The pastries are always still as delicious as the first time you had them, and you’ve become well acquainted with the staff as the time goes on. 

Oh, and that feeling you had when you let Lando leave without a word? 

It never went away. It’s still here, worming its way into your thoughts every chance it can get. 

You’re a little embarrassed to admit that every time you walk into the cafe, you hope you’ll see Lando. It’s wishful thinking more than anything, hoping he’ll be there when you go. He’s probably busy doing his thing anywhere but here, busy racing around in the world to the tune of thousands of screaming fans. You’re not sure if he even remembers you, or the afternoon you’d spent together. 

Why would he? In the world of Lando Norris, world famous Formula One driver, you’re probably just a speck of dirt in his rearview mirror. 

The thought gets pushed to the back of your mind as you step up to the counter to order. Val beams at you from behind the register. 

“Hey, Val,” You greet the young girl warmly, returning her smile. You’ve become quite fond of her and her youthful energy, and she always brightens your day. “How’s business going?” 

“Oh you know, same old.” Val waves an absentminded hand in the air as she keys in your usual order with the other. Her smile turns mischievous at the same time, like she knows something you don’t, and you narrow your eyes at her, already knowing what she's going to ask. “Have you heard from Lando?” 

“No, I haven’t. How’s summer school going?” 

She makes a funky face at you, rolling her eyes. “Boring. Way to change the subject though.” Before she can press any more about Lando, someone calls her name from the kitchen. “Ugh, I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfy, wait for your order, you know the drill!” 

You chuckle to yourself, heading straight for your usual table by the window to wait for your name to be called. 

You like to sit while you enjoy your food and drink, watching the people and cars go by outside. The streets of Monaco are always busy and bustling, but being in here feels like a pocket of peace. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

Your brow crinkles at the sudden voice, because you know for a fact there are at least four or five other empty tables available other than the one you’re currently sitting at, but this person chose to to ask you. 

Pocket of peace…disrupted. 

You let out a short sigh through your nose, turning your head from the window to politely tell them to find another seat, preferably at a table that isn’t yours, and that’s when you see him. 

Lando is grinning at you when you look over, lopsided and endearing just like the first time you met him. 

“Oh fuck!” You can’t help the expletive that falls from your mouth at the sight of him, even though there’s a thousand other things you’d told yourself you’d say to Lando if you ever saw him again. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he’s rocking on the balls of his feet slightly like he’s nervous as he waits for you to do something other than curse at him. “Lando! I—you—hi.” 

“Hi,” He echoes, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. All you can do is stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief. “Mind if I sit?” 

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, you can sit.” You fumble over your words like you’re not used to speaking, feeling your cheeks flame embarrassingly hot. Lando just chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you. “Um, so how’ve you been?” 

He rubs at the back of his neck, bobbing his head. “Good! Bit busy. We had a triple header the last three weeks, so it’s just nice to be home again.” 

“Oh, I bet. I don’t think I’d be very good company if I couldn’t sleep in my own bed for three straight weeks.” 

“That’s fair. Though to be honest, I’ve gotten scarily good at falling asleep anywhere. If it’s a flat surface, I can nap.” 

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.” 

“Impressed would be mint. Otherwise I just sound like a dumbass.” 

You laugh at that, and in this moment, you realize just how much you’ve missed Lando. No matter how many times you’ve tried to convince yourself to forget about him, to convince yourself that there was no point in pining after someone you’d only spent a few hours with, it all came back to this. You missed him because you like him. 

“I need to tell you something.” He blurts suddenly, bracing his elbows on the table. 

You nod, expression turning thoughtful. Whatever thoughts you’re having about liking Lando can wait. “Sure, go ahead.” 

“This is gonna sound unbelievably weird and maybe even a little bit creepy, but I need to get it off my chest or else I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Lando looked nervous. The bouncing of his leg you can feel under the table and the way he plays with his fingers supports your theory. 

You cock your head at him, reaching across the surface to steady his fidgeting with a hand over both of his. His gaze snaps down to your touching hands, and you can see him visibly gulp. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay, is something wrong?” 

He shakes his head quickly. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything is…the opposite, really. Everything is right. Meeting you, finding my way back to you—here of all places. I don’t believe in fate or anything like that, but this sure feels like something along those lines.” 

“Lando, I—”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that afternoon. I tried everything. Nothing worked. I couldn’t get you out of my head.” He confesses. His fingers curl around yours gently, thumb stroking over the ridges of your knuckles. “If I’m being completely with myself, I think it’s because I didn’t want to get you out of my head. And I just got off the plane an hour ago, but instead of going home and passing out like I usually do, I came here, hoping that somehow, you’d be here too.” 

“Can I say something now?” You ask lightly, stifling a giggle. 

His cheeks flush an embarrassed pink, and he motions for you to go ahead. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I talk too much when I get nervous. I’m working on it, I—fuck, sorry again. You go. I’ll shut up.” 

“I still think it’s cute.”

“Is that the only thing about me you still think is cute, or…?” 

That gets another laugh out of you. You chuckle, giving his hand a squeeze. “Not at all. I still think all of you is cute, and…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. We haven’t known each other long, but I really like you, Lando.”  

“I could kiss you right now.” 

“What’s stopping you?”

You don’t have time to second guess your newfound confidence before he’s leaning across the table, sliding a large hand over your jaw and pressing his lips against yours. Lando kisses you softly—gentle, like he’s worried you’ll pull away if he’s too forward with it. 

You’re fully aware that you’re smiling like a madman against his lips, but in your defense, he is too. His eyes open slowly when you pull away, almost tentatively as if he’s not quite sure what just happened actually happened. 

He leans back just enough to study you, letting his gaze flit around your face, taking in every detail he possibly can. All while he grins larger than Cheshire cat, like he’s a kid whose parents just told them they could get whatever they wanted at the candy shop, instead of kissing you for the first time. 

“I was gonna be nice and bring you your order, but it looks like you’ve already got something sweet.” Val’s voice cuts through the moment, and when you look over at her, she looks over the moon. 

“Lando, you remember Val, right?” 

“Uh huh,” Lando hums, holding out his hand for a fist bump that she happily gives him. “Thanks again for the heads up.” 

“Hold on, what? What heads up?” 

The two of them share a look, like they’re debating whether or not to tell you their secret. Then Lando sighs, giving her a go ahead nod, and she squeals, setting your food down. 

“Okay, so you know how you come in here all the time after work? Well me, being the keenly observant, brilliant young mind I am, noticed a pattern. You come on the same days, at the same time, and you never stray.” She explains excitedly, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. You aim a questioning glance over at Lando, who just gives another amused nod.

Val continues excitedly, “So I’m expecting you today, right? But then the door opens and guess who walks in? Lando! He asks me if you’ve ever come back here after that one day and I’m like oh my god, you have no idea! So I tell him to wait a half hour for you, and now you’re both here and my matchmaking skills can be put to rest.”

“Are you being serious right now? Really, I can’t tell.” 

She tilts her head, popping a hand on her hip. For the same girl who’d been so nervous to meet Lando just weeks ago, she’s got a surprising amount of sass in his presence today. “Why would I not be serious? I’m basically a genius, and I expect to be invited to the wedding. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

“Alright, that’s enough, cheers, Val!” Lando blurts, shooting her a pointed look. 

“Can I get paddock passes for making this whole thing happen? Preferably Monaco but I could probably make it to Monza too. Imola is a little far.” 

Lando blinks at her for a few moments, probably seeing if she actually means it. When all she does is raise her eyebrows, he concedes. “Maybe. I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.” 

“Fantastic. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone!” 

You both watch as she all but skips happily off, then turn back to each other. 

“She’s…definitely something,” You sigh, shaking your head. Secretly, you owe her everything. 

“Eh, I dunno. Kid’s growing on me.” He reaches across the table, lacing his fingers through yours with a fond twinkle in those pretty eyes of his. 

“How serious are you about those paddock passes?” 

“I mean…she did help me out massively. I’d have missed you if it weren’t for her.” Lando shrugs, rubbing an absentminded thumb over yours. “I hope you know I would’ve come back until I found you again. Everyday, if I had to.” 

“Me too.” 

If you’d told your past self that a bizarre summer rainstorm in sunny Monaco would’ve led you to where you are right now, you wouldn’t have believed it. But now, as you sit here with Lando, smiling at each other like complete and total idiots, you’ve never been more grateful for a bit of unexpected rain.

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[benjinotes]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - prologue

next.

( benjicot blackwood x daella velaryon )

don’t translate.

Rain pattered against the window of the young princess' chambers, its steady rhythm echoing Daella's growing unease. Seated by the fireplace, the warmth of the flames should have comforted her, yet her mind remained unsettled, thoughts swirling like the storm outside.

The book on her lap had been forgotten for quite some time; the only indication of its existence was her index finger absentmindedly massaging its leather spine.

The crackle of burning logs mingled with the distant rumble of thunder and the patter of rain outside, creating a slightly foreboding symphony. Daella's gaze shifted from the flames to the window, where raindrops raced across the pane. The Dragonstone Castle, usually bustling with life, now rested eerily quiet under the veil of night.

Suddenly, a strange noise caught her attention. Observing from afar, she saw a crow perched in the window, its black feathers glistening in the occasional flash of lightning. The bird watched her with intelligent, penetrating eyes, as if carrying an unknown omen.

However, what caught her attention the most was the red beak that the bird had, which seemed to stand out against its black features and, for some reason, brought her comfort.

Deep down, she knew that this was the maximum comfort she could get at that moment and for the next few days, since her mother's throne had just been usurped and her brothers had gone in search of allies to fight in a war that was to come.

Remembering that Jacaerys and Lucerys were alone out there in search of allies made Daella's heart come to her throat and made her feel a little guilty for not having followed them in search of more support for reclaiming the throne. Yet she couldn't go, not when her combat skills were almost nonexistent and not when Rhaenyra was mourning Visenya, who had died during birth.

To say Daella was her mother's shadow was an understatement. The princess was like her mother's shadow from the day she was born, following in her footsteps in almost every aspect of life. The connection between them was so deep that Daella seemed to reflect her mother's essence and values in almost everything she did.

She would do anything for her mother, and that's why she decided to stay to help her, because in addition to loving her unconditionally, she knew her; she knew that Rhaenyra was suffering, and she knew that sometimes she was too proud to admit it. That was one of the things they had in common.

"Princess Daella?!" A man's deep voice woke her from her thoughts, and she jumped a little, startled by the sudden noise that came from behind the oak door. "Princess, are you there?" The man asked again, and she recognized it as Sir Duman's voice, one of her mother's most faithful guards.

Regained her composure, Daella took a deep breath, and hurried to the door of her chambers, both worried and curious about the late-night interruption.

The first thing she saw when she opened the letter was Sir Duman's worried face. The flickering torchlight in the hallway cast shadows across his features, highlighting the urgency in his eyes.

Lifting her chin and stretching her back, Daella couldn't help but feel worry wash over her, but still, her voice didn't waver as she began to speak. "Yes, Sir Duman, I'm here. What happened?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

The old man's expression returned to normal, and the girl couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when she noticed his expression soften.

That meant he didn't bring bad news, right?

"Queen Rhaenyra is waiting for you in the great hall, my princess; she wishes to speak with you." Sir. Duman began, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the castle. "A raven has arrived with news." At those words, the Velaryom girl furrowed her eyebrows in question, curiosity falling over her once again.

"Oh." Daella said, and she bit her tongue when she realized her short and stupid answer. "Then let's go; we can't keep our grace waiting." At Daella's words, the man nodded and waited for the princess to lead the way, giving a small bow when she passed in front of him.

Even as she tried to maintain a confident posture while making her way towards the great hall, the Velaryon girl couldn't help but let some of her other concerns creep back into her mind, and the speculations of what could have happened seized her brain in such a ravenous way that she felt like she might vomit at any moment.

The queen had never summoned her at such a late hour, so the matter must be urgent.

Upon arriving at the great hall, Daella carefully opened the door, finding her mother and stepfather, Deamon, standing in front of the stone table. Strangely, none of them seemed to notice her presence there.

"Your grace." The princess spoke in a loud voice, hearing the wooden door behind her slam as she spoke. "Did you request my presence?" The girl said that, although it came out more as a questioning tone, she couldn't help but smile when she noticed her mother's violet eyes looking at her with so much love.

Without hesitation, Rhaenyra approached her daughter, a smile on her face but a tired look that made Daella's heart sink. Losing Viserys had been difficult for her mother, but losing Visenya had caused her mother heartbreak that she had never felt before.

She knew she probably couldn't endure a loss like that as well as her mother did, which only deepened her admiration for her.

"My sweet girl." The queen greeted her sweetly, and Daella couldn't help but let her smile widen when she realized that she wanted to have a conversation as a mother and not as a queen.

"Yes, māzma?" Daella questioned with curiosity shining in her eyes and got a little closer to her mother, managing to get a clearer view of her stepfather, who was currently reading a letter with an annoyed expression. The coat of arms of House Blackwood was visible on the envelope he had in his another hand. (mom)

Rhaenyra sighed softly, and when the princess saw her exchanging meaningful glances with Daemon, their eyebrows drew together in confusion. "You know we sent letters to some noble houses seeking support for the war, right?" The queen asked rhetorically and gave another sigh when she saw her daughter nodding her head hesitantly.

Daemon got a little closer to them.

For some reason, Daella's heart began to beat heavily, and she couldn't help but bite her lip, anxious for the next words the white-haired woman was going to say to her.

"The good news is that most houses have decided to join us." Daemon spoke up for the first time, sensing his wife's hesitation in bringing up the subject. He just wanted to finish this conversation.

"But?" Daella asked when she noticed the hesitation and the hesitant exchange of glances. Her head was racing. They should be happy to have such strong allies, but yet they seemed worried, and the fact that none of them told her what was happening was starting to make her upset.

"The Blackwoods have agreed to support our cause." This time, Rhaenyra spoke and placed a hand on her belly. "But they have one condition." The woman's words faded off, and Daella turned to her stepfather for an explanation.

Daemon moved a little closer and looked at his wife for permission before speaking. "They want a marriage alliance between you and Benjicot Blackwood." He explained carefully, and the princess looked at the two in shock.

The revelation hit Daella like a wave, causing her to step back in shock. She had always known a political marriage was inevitable, but now that the reality had dawned on her, she felt dazed and even a bit unwell.

"What? Why?" She asked, distressed, her heart pounding and her hands sweating as she walked backward down the hall. Rhaenyra glanced at her worried daughter before turning back to her husband and giving him a nod.

Daemon massaged his forehead, starting to get irritated. "House Bracken and House Blackwood have always been at odds." The man began to explain and once again looked at his wife for permission to continue. "Upon discovering that the Branckens were our allies, Lord Blackwood made the marriage request in exchange for his troops and services." He finished, and the princess couldn't help but give a disbelieving nasal laugh, her hand out of a simple rivalry. It was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

Noticing Daella's expression, Rhaenyra approached her daughter again, this time more carefully. "I know it's a lot to process. But it's your decision; if you don't want to get married, Daemon and I will refuse the proposal." She said, while putting her hand on Daella's face, who bit her lower lip.

She harbored an intense desire to express her refusal, to vocalize her frustration, but remained unable to do so, aware of the imminent threat of war, the critical need for allies, and her support for her mother and brothers during the approaching storm.

"The House Blackwood is important?" Daella asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, and the two adults in the room exchanged a solemn nod. Too much important.

"It's better to have them on our side than on the opposite side." Her stepfather reacted with an impatient gaze, and she couldn't help but sighed.

"I understand, I will do it." Daella said quietly, her voice steady as she accepted the reality before her, and with a deep breath, she straightened her posture.

There was no turning back now.

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged glances, a mixture of pride and concern evident in their eyes, knowing the weight of the sacrifice that the only daughter of the heir to the Iron Throne was making at this moment.

"I'm immensely proud of you, thank you." The queen whispered, planting a tender kiss on her daughter's cheek. The princess visibly softened, reassured by her mother's affectionate gesture amidst the swirling emotions.

"I will promptly dispatch a raven to Lord Blackwood." Damon interrupted , his tone brooking no delay, and Rhaenyra shot him a stern look at his brusqueness, while Daella sighed anxiously in silent agreement beside them.

She was doing this for her mother.

— i don't know how to feel about this, but i hope you like it. <3 normally my chapters tend to be bigger, but as this is just the prologue i decided to make it smaller, and this is my first hotd storie so i'm kinda scared.

— benji soon, promise. 😔

ALSO: please make me requests for: reader x character.

wattpad.

tag: @marytvirgin

[strwbwrrybunny]

rain,rain,go away. ft. my daddies, sukuna, toji, tengen , and choso!

cw 𐙚 nsfw link, oral from the back, ass eating, dirty talk!

You sit by the window, watching as the sky darkens and the first drops of rain begin to fall. The familiar knot of anxiety tightens in your chest, and you feel your breath quicken. Thunderstorms have always been your greatest fear, a relentless reminder of how small and powerless you feel. You try to focus on something else, but the sound of the rain hitting the roof is like a relentless drumbeat, each drop amplifying your unease.

You tell yourself it's just a storm, just water falling from the sky, but the logic doesn't help. The thunder rumbles in the distance, and you flinch, your heart racing. You can't help but think about all the times you've felt this way before, trapped and overwhelmed. The storm outside mirrors the turmoil inside you, and you feel as though you're drowning in your own fear.

You hate how the rain makes everything feel heavy and oppressive, how it seems to seep into your very bones. The flashes of lightning cast eerie shadows on the walls, making you feel even more on edge. You wish you could escape, but there's nowhere to go. The storm is everywhere, and it feels like it's never going to end. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but the anxiety is relentless

You hear the door creak open, and you know it's him. He steps into the room quietly, his presence a stark contrast to the chaos outside. He doesn't say anything at first, just walks over to you and wraps his arms around you from behind. His touch is warm, grounding, and you can feel some of the tension start to melt away.

He whispers softly in your ear, "It's just a storm. I'm here with you." His voice is soothing, a gentle reminder that you're not alone. He knows how much you hate thunderstorms, how they bring back memories you'd rather forget. But he also knows how to help you through them.

He leads you to the couch and sits down with you, pulling you close. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, a stark contrast to the erratic pounding of the rain against the windows. He strokes your hair gently, and you focus on the sensation, letting it pull you away from the storm outside.

“Let me ease your mind baby,”

“I love this shit,” he huffs,hands gripping your thighs holding your squirming body in place.You love when he eats your pussy from the back.His tongue dances wildly over your clit, your back arching at the sensation.His curved fingers are pressing against your cervix, a shlick shlick shlick sound filling the room as he pushes into your wet pussy.

He smirks, loving the way you writhe above him from pleasure.He knows your clit is extremely sensitive, yet he can’t stop moving his pink lips across the bud.You taste so damn good, your saltiness making his jaw clench.”S-so mm g-good d-daddy,” you whine breathlessly, acrylic nails digging into the couch.

He finds your moans pretty, they’re breathy and whiny.He loves the way you press your ass against his face desperately,and it’s hard to ignore the way his dick is throbbing against his sweatpants,”can’t wait to stretch this pretty pussy out.” he grunts.A mewl fumbles from your lips as his tongue finds your asshole,tears spilling from your cheeks.You legs quiver as pleasure rocks your mind, you’re way too drunk with the way he’s eating you to even care about the storm.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART I: HEAVEN KNOWS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part II // part III // part IV // part V

wc: 4.7k cw: guns, brief descriptions of violence author's note: ty @mirconreadzztuff22 for being my arcane encyclopedia!! This is gonna be a seven part series so buckle up!!!

You blink awake, the world slowly coming into focus as a cacophony of muffled sounds pierces your slumber. Squinting one eye open, you’re able to see shadowy figures dragging your companions away, their struggles futile against the intruders' iron grips. Your heart races, but instinct kicks in. You remain still, feigning sleep, as footsteps approach.  

Someone looms over you - in the dim light filtering through the drugstore's grimy windows, you catch a glimpse of her scarred face and steely gaze. As she reaches for you, adrenaline surges through your veins. In a flash, you slam into her, catching her off guard.

For a split second, you had the upper hand - but it's short-lived. The woman recovers with lightning speed, her combat skills levels way above yours. She easily corners you against the cold, dusty shelves, her knife finding its way to your throat. The blade's edge kisses your skin, a thin line of warmth trickling down your neck.

"Move any further, and I can end this now." she growls, her breath hot against your ear.

You raise your hands in surrender, and she roughly drags you to join the others. You're thrust into the main area, forced to your knees alongside Vander, Vi, Caitlyn, and Powder. The scene before you is horrifying - Through the front window, you see a horde of walkers slamming against the glass. Their decaying faces press against the surface, leaving smears of rot and congealed blood. 

At the fore stood the woman who captured you, her gang forming a menacing circle around your group. You noted how tall and muscular she was, her dark skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light. A red shawl draped over her left side, obscuring her arm and shoulder.  Her short, styled hair framed a face set in stern lines, but her eyes, they sparkled with something dangerous, almost predatory.

The woman’s gaze swept over your group, lingering on each face before settling on yours. "Looks like we've got ourselves some lost lambs," she drawled, her voice a low, smoky rasp.

You felt Vi tense beside you, her fists clenching. On your other side, Caitlyn's fingers twitched near her now empty holster. Powder, uncharacteristically quiet, had her gaze fixed on the panels with the undead clawing their bloody fingers at.

The air crackled with tension as Vander spoke. "We're just passing through, we don’t mean to cause any trouble."

"Do you know whose territory you're in?" she demands, her voice cutting through the moans of the undead outside.

"No… but we weren’t going to settle here, let us go and we’ll get out of your hair."

The woman's laugh is harsh and devoid of humor. "I don't care," she sneers. Her eyes scan the ransacked shelves of the drugstore. "What I care about is where the remaining medications are. Hand them over."

Your throat tightens. You know exactly where they are – hidden in your pack. "I have them."

Her gaze locks on you. "Hand them over."

"Why should I?"

In an instant, she's in your face, so close you can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Her scarred lip curls into a snarl. "Because you don't want to know what happens if you don't."

Your mind races, torn between protecting your group's precious resources and avoiding the wrath of this formidable woman and her gang.  Would she really let you go if you acquiesced? 

The tense standoff is suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. One of the woman's group members fumbles with a radio clipped to their belt. A male voice crackles through, urgent and clear.

"Sevika, the store's surrounded now. Get out before dark hits. Over."

The tall woman - Sevika, you now know - snatches the radio. "Copy that," she replies tersely, her eyes never leaving your group.

With a sharp whistle, her group springs into action. They wordlessly pack supplies, secure weapons, and prepare for evacuation. The efficiency is impressive, and you can't help but admire their coordination even when you had two of them keep their guns trained on your group.

“What about us?"  

Sevika's lip curls in amusement. "What about you?"

"Are you going to let us go?" Vander presses, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"Sure," Sevika drawls, then points directly at you. "After she gives me the meds."

"What? How the hell are we going to get out of here ourselves?" Vi protested. 

Sevika's response is cold and indifferent. "If you want to get out that bad, do it yourself."

You watch Vander's mind work, always strategizing. "You have a base, it’s obviously well-supplied based on the amount of weapons and people you have. Take us with you, we can fight and help."

Sevika scoffs. "Now, why would I do that? You're lucky enough I'm letting you go alive."

Someone in her group chimes in with a smirk, "If they can get out alive." Snickers ripple through the gang, and your stomach turns at their callousness.

As Sevika's group continues packing, she allows your group to stand. You seize the moment, stepping forward. "I've got EMT training. I know how to use the medications I took."

Sevika dismisses you with a wave. "No thanks. We've already got a doctor."

"More help wouldn't hurt."

Her patience wearing thin, Sevika snaps, "I'm not picking up strays, especially ones so easy to put down."

You step closer, your face inches from hers despite the notable height difference between you two. "We were easy to capture because we were sleeping. That's a coward's move."

One of Sevika's people moves to intervene, but she halts them with a raised hand. Her eyes lock with yours, and to your surprise, her scowl turns into a smirk. 

"Okay," she says, her voice low and challenging. "Prove to me right now that you can survive.  However many survive, we'll take them in. But anyone left behind, I'm not coming back for. You're responsible for this."

Vander nods grimly. "Fine with us."

The moans of the undead grow louder outside.  While Sevika's group finishes their preparations, your group hurries to gather what few possessions you have. 

Vi angrily stuffs clothes into her backpack. "This is bullshit," she hisses. "We can take 'em. I say we fight our way out."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "That's suicide, Vi. They outnumber and outgun us."

You kneel beside Powder, helping her gather her collection of odds and ends - Her hands shake slightly as she works.

"It'll be okay, Powder," you whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. "We'll stick together, just like always."

Powder's eyes dart nervously between you and the others. "But what if they separate us? What if-"

"Shh," you soothe, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We won't let that happen."

Vander's deep voice cuts through the murmurs. "Enough," he says firmly but quietly. "I know none of us like this, but we're out of options. We can't keep running forever."

Vi whirls on him, eyes flashing. "So we're just gonna roll over and let them take us? After everything we've been through?"

Caitlyn places a calming hand on Vi's arm. "Vander's right, Vi. We're exhausted, low on supplies. This might be our only chance at something better."

You stand up, looking around at your makeshift family. "Maybe this is an opportunity. We don't know what their community is like but it could be a chance for a real home."

Vi scoffs, but there's a flicker of hope in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they invited us out of the kindness of their hearts."

Vander steps into the middle of the group, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Listen to me," he says. "I don't trust them any more than you do. But right now, we need to play along. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready for anything. We're stronger together, remember that."

There's a moment of silence as his words sink in. Then, one by one, you all nod in agreement.

As you finish packing, you catch Sevika watching you, that same unreadable expression on her face. 

"Alright, time's up," Sevika calls out. "Let's move."

The moans of the undead grew louder outside, time was running out. With one last look at each other, your group falls in line behind Sevika's squad. 

Sevika's group snap into formation, they move with a fluid precision that speaks of countless drills and shared experiences. Sevika stands at the center, her scarred face set in grim determination as she outlines the plan to her team. You edge closer, straining to hear every word.

"Listen up," Sevika's voice cuts through the air. "Dustin, you're the distraction. When I give the signal, toss the radio into the parking lot. That should draw most of the horde away."

"Margot, Ran, Renni take position at the rear, pick off any stragglers that get too close. Conserve ammo, make every shot count.  Finn, you’ll lead - make sure everyone is accounted for, then go, don’t wait for us."

"The rest of you, we're on supply duty. Grab everything you can carry, and prioritize non-perishables." Sevika's eyes sweep over her team, then land on your group. "I'll be keeping an eye on our new 'friends'."

As the plan springs into action, adrenaline courses through your veins. You dash to your pickup truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Powder hops in beside you, her eyes wild with excitement. In the rearview mirror, you see Caitlyn and Vi taking up defensive positions in the truck bed, their guns at the ready. Vander moves with surprising agility for his size, efficiently loading supplies.

You hear hard rock playing from the blaring radio that Dustin hurls into the parking lot. The walkers' heads swivel towards the noise, their groans intensifying as they shamble after it.

Gunshots crack the air as Sevika's shooters pick off the walkers that didn't fall for the distraction. You grip the steering wheel tighter, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Sevika appears at your window. "Ready to prove your worth?" she challenges, eyebrow raised.

You’re about to respond when a voice from above steals your attention.

"Sevika!"

All heads turn to the roof. A kid stands there, panic evident on his face. Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the fuck? They forgot Ekko?" she snarls, livid at the oversight.

The momentary distraction costs you. Walkers, drawn by the commotion, shamble towards your truck. Only one corner of the store remains clear, but it's too far for Ekko to reach safely.

Your mind races, and adrenaline sharpens your focus. "I know how to drift," you blurt out. "If you guys can clear as many walkers as possible near that open corner, I can whip the car close enough for him to jump down."

Sevika eyes you skeptically. "You have an interesting set of skills…  you’re confident you can get us close enough?"

"I can do it in my sleep. So, are we doing this?" you ask.

She nods curtly. "Fine. But don't get tempted to fling me out of the car."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sevika barks orders into her radio, relaying the plan to Ekko. The air fills with gunfire as both groups focus on clearing a path. You rev the engine, calculating angles and timing in your head.

"Hold on!" you shout, then slam the accelerator.

The truck lurches forward, tires screeching. You weave through the thinning walkers horde, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the corner, you crank the wheel hard, initiating a perfect drift. The world blurs around you as the truck slides sideways, stopping just beneath Ekko's position.

"Now!" Sevika roars.

Ekko leaps, landing with a thud in the truck bed. You don't wait for confirmation, immediately spinning the wheel to face the exit. In the passenger seat, Powder whoops with glee, while gunfire erupts from behind as Caitlyn and Vi pick off any pursuing undead.

A sharp tap on your window startles you from your laser focus on the road. You roll it down, coming face to face with Sevika's intense gaze.

"Need some directions?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize you've been blindly following the road away from the store. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great," you manage, trying to mask your embarrassment.

As you follow Sevika's directions, a sight on the horizon makes your jaw drop. A gated community looms in the distance, its high walls painted with the word “Zaun” on it represent safety you haven't seen in years. Suddenly, the organized efficiency of Sevika's group makes perfect sense. This is nothing like the ramshackle shelters you've cobbled together over the years.

The convoy of trucks comes to a halt in front of the gates. You expect them to open, but Sevika raises her fist. Your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can ask, she's out of the truck, moving with predatory grace toward the other vehicles.

She stops at one truck, yanking the door open with such force you're surprised it doesn't come off its hinges. In one fluid motion, she drags out the man who was supposed to be in charge in her absence earlier, Finn, and slams him against the side of the vehicle.

"You coward," Sevika snarls, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a disgrace to this group."

You're transfixed by the sheer intensity of her anger, the way she towers over Finn despite not being much taller.   Then you see it - movement in your peripheral vision. A walker, stumbling closer to Sevika's unprotected back. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic flooding your system.

"Sevika!" you try to shout, but it comes out as a strangled whisper. Ekko's grip on your arm tightens, holding you back.

"Don't." he warns, but you barely hear him roaring in your ears.

Your mind races, unable to comprehend why no one is reacting. The walkers are mere feet away now. You struggle against Ekko's grasp, every fiber of your being screaming to do something, anything.

The walkers' rotting hands reach out, inches from Sevika's shoulder. Time seems to slow down. You're about to break free, to hell with the consequences, when-

CRACK!

The walkers crumples, a clean hole through its skull. The bullet whistled so close to Sevika you swear it must have grazed her.

But Sevika doesn't even flinch. 

"You're pathetic," she spits, her eyes boring into the man.

And suddenly, it clicks. The walker was never going to be a threat, but Finn was going to let the walker get her.  That decision was a huge fucking mistake.  

Before she let go, he leaned in to whisper something imperceptible but it had enough effect that she practically threw him onto the ground in response.

The gates begin to open, and as Sevika strides back to your truck, you can't help but feel a mix of admiration and fear.   The woman before you was no ordinary one, she was willing to put her life on the line to protect her people and weed out the weak links.

Sevika slid back into the seat next to you, her eyes meeting yours.  You feel exposed, like she can see right through you. There's a challenge there, a silent question: Do you know what you’re getting into?

You swallow hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

As you drive through the gate, you couldn’t conceal your awe. The scene before you is like stepping into a different world - one untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse you've grown accustomed to.

Neat rows of houses line well-maintained streets. Lush gardens and small farms dot the landscape, bursting with life and color. People - actual living, breathing people - stroll along sidewalks, chatting and going about their day as if the world outside these walls hasn't ended.

You count maybe 15-20 houses in total, but the sheer number of people you see is staggering. There are more living souls in this one community than you've encountered in years of scavenging and surviving.

Sevika directs you to a parking spot, and as you're climbing out of the truck, a woman approaches. She's tall and dressed in a neat uniform, with short-cropped gray hair and a face etched with the kind of hardness that comes from years of survival. Her sharp eyes remind you of a hawk's.

"How much longer were you gonna keep talking before you let me shoot?" she asks Sevika, a hint of amusement in her gruff voice.

"As long as it takes to make my point, Grayson." Then, gesturing to your group, she adds, "I picked up some strays today. Oh, and a spot just opened on my team, by the way. If anyone in your group wants to switch sides..."

"Enough of stealing my patrol, Vika."  For the first time, you see Sevika truly laugh. You notice her tooth gap, she looks almost carefree.  

“Well, looks like you survived,” Sevika says, turning to your group.

“You could say that with a bit more enthusiasm next time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips at your quip.  “It’s your turn to uphold your end of the bargain now.”  She puts out her hand.  

You retrieve the bag you stuffed under the seat, it rattles with the pills as you hand it over.  Without even a goodbye or thank you, she turns to leave, and you watch as her group immediately follows suit.

Grayson gives you a once-over, then nods. "Alright, let's give you the grand tour."

The houses were luxurious and belonged to a class you never knew. Some have solar panels on the roofs, explaining the electricity you can see being used. There's a central square with what looks like a communal dining area. The smell of cooking food makes your mouth water - real, fresh food, not the canned goods and stale rations you're used to.

You pass by a building that Grayson identifies as the infirmary. Through the window, you can see shelves stocked with medical supplies. It's more medicine in one place than you've seen since the world fell apart. You notice guard towers strategically placed along the walls - despite the idyllic appearance, it's clear this place is well-defended.

"I've got a meeting to attend but Ekko here will take care of you, though I do hope that we will meet again - my patrol squad is always looking for new members." With that, Grayson strides away, leaving you all trying to take in the scenery.

"Come on, let's get you settled in! Sky will get you guys all sorted out." Ekko waved at your group to follow.

He leads you through the streets, and you can't help but marvel at the sense of normalcy. People are going about their daily lives, talking, and laughing. It's like stepping into a memory of the world before.

"Welcome!" Sky says, her voice gentle with a hint of anxiety at the sight of your group - soot ridden and blood stained clothes weren’t the most friendly image. "We got a spare house. It’s not huge, but it should accommodate all of you comfortably."

She hands Vander a set of keys and a small map. Then, with a delicate clearing of her throat, she adds, "If I may suggest... There are showers in your new home. I think you'll find them... refreshing after your journey."

Vi snorts at the polite understatement, while Caitlyn looks slightly embarrassed. 

Sky continues, "Once you've had a chance to clean up, Ekko can show you to the pantry. We'll make sure you have enough food to get started."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Showers? Fresh food? It seems too good to be true.

As if reading your thoughts, Sky's expression softens. "I know this must be overwhelming. Take your time to settle in. It must be hard adjusting to how it is here, but this place didn’t happen overnight. Everyone here has a part in maintaining things the way it is. "

Ekko nods, gesturing towards the door. "Ready to see your new digs?"

As you follow him out, you exchange glances with your companions. There's hope in their eyes, but also caution. This place seems like a dream come true, but you all knew that nothing was ever permanent. 

The moment you step into your new house, chaos erupts. Bags fly everywhere as you all rush to claim spaces. Vi tosses her pack onto a bed, while Caitlyn more carefully sets hers down. You and Powder are a whirlwind of motion, exploring every nook and cranny.

Tears prick your eyes as the reality sinks in. A real home, after so long.

"I call the couch!" Powder shouts, leaping onto it.

Vi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bed, you know."

"Nope! This is perfect," Powder grins, bouncing slightly.

You all burst into laughter, the sound foreign but welcome after so much hardship. As the laughter dies down, you realize just how hungry you are. Powder’s stomach growls loudly, causing another round of giggles.

"I think that's our cue to hit the pantry," Vi says, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's see what they've got around here."

At the pantry, you're shoveling food into your mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "I know this is canned, but why is it so good?" you mumble around a mouthful.

Ekko chuckles. "We have fresh fish, vegetables, and fruit too."

Your eyes widen in disbelief just as Sky walks in, Sevika close behind.

"Oh perfect, we were looking for you guys!" Sky says warmly.

Sevika's eyes scan your group. "I see you're settling in already. We’ve got jobs for you."

She starts assigning roles, Vander and Vi in food gathering. Then she turns to you, Caitlyn, and Powder. "You three will be working here in the pantry."

"What? Even after all those 'interesting skills' you said I had?" The words are out before you can stop them, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"This is a serious job. Making sure everyone gets the right rations is important. Preventing theft, too." Her tone is cocky, almost challenging.

Fury bubbles in your chest. After everything you've been through, all the skills you've developed to survive, you're being relegated to... food inventory? You want to argue, to prove your worth, but the words stick in your throat. You're acutely aware of how precarious your position is here.

Beside you, Caitlyn looks equally stunned. She's an incredible shot, her skills were wasted on this task. But like you, she remains silent.

"Understood," you manage to say, the word tasting bitter. You exchange a glance with Caitlyn, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. 

The days blend into one another as you settle into a routine at Zaun. It's surreal, to be able to think beyond mere survival. Conversations here with others touch on memories, hopes, dreams - luxuries you'd almost forgotten existed.

You're lost in thought, mentally cataloging the supplies, when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

"Looks like our newest recruits are really getting into the swing of things."

You turn to see Sevika leaning against the doorframe. Her presence fills the small space, making the pantry feel even more cramped than usual.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" you mutter, trying to hide your annoyance. "Like, I don't know, running this whole place?"

Sevika chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the pantry. "Multitasking, sweetheart. I can keep an eye on you and run this place at the same time."

You roll your eyes, returning to your task. But Sevika doesn't leave. Instead, she picks up a can, tossing it from hand to hand.

"You know," she drawls, "when I brought you in, I thought you might be more... useful. Didn't peg you for the grocery store clerk type."

Her words sting more than you'd like to admit, and it was also enraging - how dare she act like it wasn’t her fault you were assigned here in the first place? 

"We can't all be badass scavengers," you retort, reaching for a high shelf. Before you can grab it, Sevika's arm extends past yours, easily plucking the item you were struggling to reach.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. Your fingers brush as you take it, and you're struck by the calloused warmth of her hand.  You mutter a reluctant thanks, hyper-aware of her proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Caitlyn watching your interaction intently from across the room. Her gaze flicks between you and Sevika, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

Sevika notices too. She turns to Caitlyn with a raised eyebrow, the casualness in her voice from earlier gone. "Something on your mind?"

Caitlyn quickly averts her gaze, busying herself with her task. 

As you reach for another box, Sevika beats you to it, effortlessly lifting the heavy container. 

"How do you even have time for this?" you blurt out, frustration and confusion coloring your voice. 

Sevika sets the box down, her eyes meeting yours. "I don’t." 

The moment stretches between you, fraught with tension. Sevika's typical scowl returns, and she turns to leave.  "Try not to burn the place down with your expert can-stacking skills," she throws over her shoulder as she exits.

These encounters with Sevika were becoming more frequent, each one leaving you more uncertain than the last. But the random checkups made sense - you don't trust her, and neither does she.  

The pantry job was a way to keep your group in check but it coincidentally became a test of patience as well. Powder flits in and out, her time increasingly spent with Ekko. While part of you was frustrated by her lack of help, a larger part was glad she actually got to enjoy her childhood.

The breaking point comes during an argument with a burly man demanding extra rations. 

"Sorry, but rules are rules," you say, trying to keep your voice level. "Take it up with Sevika if you have an issue."

His face reddens. "Screw that, I'll go straight to Silco!"

The name hangs in the air, the mysterious leader of Zaun you've yet to meet. You knew Sevika's role as his right hand, but Silco himself remains an enigma, spoken of in hushed tones.

As the man storms off, you lock eyes with Caitlyn. Without a word, you both know - it's time for a change.

You find Grayson at the tennis courts, an incongruous sight that still makes you do a double-take. She's lounging in a weathered lawn chair, a beer in hand, watching a lackluster game between two residents.

The sun beats down on the cracked concrete court, weeds pushing through the fading lines.

Grayson spots you approaching, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes a long swig of her beer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You can smell the alcohol on her breath as you draw closer, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sharpness to her gaze that tells you she's far from incapacitated.

"We need to talk," you say. "About our roles here."

"What about them?"

Caitlyn steps forward, her posture straight and confident. "I want to join your patrol team."

You nod, adding, "And I want to join Sevika's scavenging group."

Grayson snorts. "If you want to join Sevika's group, why come to me? Why not ask her yourself?"

You feel your cheeks heat up as the memory resurfaces. "I did..."

Sevika stands before you, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on her face. You've just finished explaining your request to join her team.

She laughs, the sound both mocking and somehow enticing. "If you can beat me in sparring once, sure." Her eyes rake over you. "But we both know that's not happening anytime soon, pantry girl."

"I need you to train me," you tell Grayson, determination in your voice. "Make me a better fighter. All I did was drive and fix wounds, but I know I can do more."

Grayson's eyes narrow. "How do I know I won't be wasting my time helping you two?"

Before you can respond, Caitlyn moves. In a blink, she's drawn Grayson's pistol from its holster and fired at a beer bottle perched on a table at the end of the court, shattering the bottle.

"Because we have the skills to prove it," Caitlyn says coolly, handing the gun back.

For a moment, there's silence. Then Grayson's face splits into a grin. "Alright, I'm convinced." She stands, stretching. "But today's my day off. I'll see you two at the west watchtower tomorrow morning." 

Her expression turns serious. "If you're late, don't bother asking again.  Do we have a deal?"

You and Caitlyn share a look.

“Deal.”

[sp4ceboo]

Within the Storms of Giedi Prime: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: the long awaited part two of upon the sands of the arena is hereeee

tw: 18+, smut (more than last time hehehe), p in v, swearing, Feels™, death, assassination, use of the Voice (not on feyd), less violence but still violence, i lack faith in my sequel writing abilities, blowjobs, SUB FEYDDDD, also DOM FEYDDD, sex Outside, lightning and thunder (it says storms in the title what do you expect)

wc: 4.2k

part 1

Giedi Prime is a miserable planet.

It’s evident in the choking, black smog from the factories in the dense air fused with the anguished cries of overworked slaves and the distant rumble of the still active volcanos. You’re near the Harkonnen’s palace grounds - you’re heading towards them, actually, and the promise of a… pleasant night; to your left, you can just about glimpse the looming silhouette of the great arena, squatting like a hulking beast on the horizon, waiting to swallow any poor soul that gets too close to its gaping maw.

Tonight, roiling storm clouds reign the sky, sending sheets of furious rain pounding down upon anyone who dares to be out at this hour - including you. Harsh bolts of lightning spear down, hurtling towards the ground like incensed, condensed moonlight and casting freakish shadows.

Moonlight: the colour of Feyd’s skin. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be off this sorry planet - alas, you must stay a little longer, your body already a little warm at the memory of his skilled fingers and scorching gaze. You haven’t been back since the encounter with the na-Baron in the arena months ago, and you can’t help but feel the sting of doubt in your chest, wondering if he’ll still want a second time, or if you’ll sneak into his room only to find yourself replaced by a concubine.

Not that you occupy significance to him anyway, you remind yourself. Feyd-Rautha could not replace you, because there would be nothing to replace, just ashes of a once bright fire.

Irked by the weakness of your own mind, you pull the hood of your cloak lower over your face, tightening it across your shoulders. The hem is sullied by browning blood: you disposed of your quarry just this morning, and delivered the decapitated head during the early afternoon.

Conveniently, the Bene Gesserit have left you alone for now, most likely tangled in the politics regarding the Kwisatz Haderach while trying to predict the next movement of Jessica Atreides - word is that she has burrowed her way deeper into the desert, surrounding herself and her son with the more fanatic of the Fremen as she bides her time, ready for her next strike.

It means that you’ve been granted enough time to establish yourself as a bounty hunter. For a highly trained Bene Gesserit, the work is easy, and earns you coin a plenty while keeping you on the move and as in shape as assassinating sloppy idiots attempting to run from debt and petty disagreements can.

Slipping through the palace’s perimeter proves easy enough. You use the Voice on a few guards, preferring it to cutting their throats: instructing them to keep quiet and forget you passed by causes much less of a commotion. The scaling of the ramparts that make up the circumference of the inner palace is the most challenging, due to the stone being slick with moss and rain - your fingers dig into the cracks between the weathered blocks of stone, the wind snapping and tugging at your cloak, fiercer now that you’re higher up.

There’s a narrow battlement ringing one side of Feyd’s room. You land on it silently, padding over to the window sill; curtains made of heavy black fabric layered on a dark, wispy privacy layer shroud most of your view of him. His pale skin is almost luminescent under the jagged flashes of lightning bathing his quarters, the blanket having slipped half off him during the night. He lies with his bare back facing you, although it’s hardly a vulnerability - you doubt anyone would be able to creep up on him easily enough to bury a knife into his exposed back without him tearing their throat out first.

Apart from you - hopefully.

Carefully, you ease the window open. A frigid gust of air rushes in as you climb through, and you witness the exact moment that Feyd awakens and becomes aware of your presence; imperceptibly, the muscles in his back ripple before he settles again - you posticipate the feel of them under your palms, hard, lean, perfect for sinking your nails into.

A thrill rushes through you at the sight of him, a sort of wondrous feeling, keen as a knife and just as cutting. You want him all over you, you want him to consume you until all you can remember is him and his smouldering eyes and sensuous touch.

Shrugging off your cloak, you let it pool to the floor around your feet before toeing off your shoes too; breath caught in your throat, you steal over to his bedside, your hand ghosting over the solid curve of his shoulder blade before you grip his shoulder, turning him so his back is flat against the mattress and straddling him in one fluid motion.

The cold kiss of metal meets your neck.

You almost moan at the look on his face. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes wild, frenzied almost, glittering with the same danger as before. Running your hands up his hard, sculpted chest, you smirk down at him, watching as ever so slowly, his gelid gaze defrosts with recognition, the ice giving way to those all encompassing flames, flames that you surrender to unequivocally.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ you murmur, fingers circling his wrist.

Feyd blinks, watching you as if he’s going to eat you as always. Slowly, the hand not wielding the knife roams waywardly down your spine, grabs a harsh fistful of your ass and lingers before gliding upwards and settling on your waist. He huffs, an abrupt, amused sound, but you don’t miss the way he greedily drinks up your figure with his eyes.

‘I thought I scared you away, little witch. Presumably, it was not too much for you?’

‘For me?’ You muse. ‘We’ll see.’

Knocking the blade from his hand, you ignore the screeching noise it makes as it skitters across the stone floor, instead enjoying the subtle inhale, loaded with expectancy, that Feyd takes as you lean in close to him. You hover above him for a prolonged moment, arms boxing him in, before he lurches upwards, connecting your lips with his.

A growl sounds at the back of his throat when he tastes you, licking into your mouth as his fingers press at the small of your back, bringing your lower body to meet his. Rolling his hips against yours, he tangles his fingers in your hair; you feel giddy with the feel of him against you, solid and warm and wanting, so real beneath you, so fucking insatiable.

You can’t get enough of him.

Slowly, you pull away, ablaze with the ravening craving in his eyes. The muscles in his well shaped chest flex as he tips his face up, following your lips, and you smile disarmingly at him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down.

Taking his chin in your palm, you tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes before swiping your thumb over his lower lip, savouring the way he’s putty in your hands: a man destined to be the Baron of one of the most influential, powerful Houses in the Imperium, a lethal, strikingly skilled warrior, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, humbled by your touch.

‘Let me taste you,’ you breathe - it’s almost a command.

‘Please,’ he chokes out, imploring you with his eyes.

Laughing, you press a hand to his sternum and push. He sinks back into the mattress, compliant, and you trail your lips down his neck and sternum, leaving hickeys in your wake. You're seized by the need to make him shake and beg and cry; you want to devour him.

Dragging your nails cruelly down his thighs, branding him with livid red scratches, you tilt your head to the side, a smile playing upon your lips as you listen to the groan that leaves him, the pricks of pain setting him alight with longing. There’s a devout look in his eyes - a fervent, zealous sort of lust that stirs within you with the impulse to make him forget his own name.

Curling your fingers around his hard length and giving him a few pumps, you watch him under your lashes, something akin to a power rush spinning your head around and around. Feyd is wonderfully sensitive, and a sneer pulls at your lips when his fingers scramble for purchase, fisting in his silky sheets as you press a chaste, loitering kiss to his cock head - a pearl of jet precum sits at the apex of it, dark against its rosy, delicate flush.

Dipping your hand into your pants, you collect your slick on your fingers and use it to jerk him - when you glance up, his pupils are blown wide; lips parted, he stares at you, transfixed.

Eyes locked on his, you take him in your mouth: his thighs tighten, every muscle taut as you run your tongue along the veins wrapped around the underside of his cock. His head tips back, displaying the strong lines of his neck as you hollow your cheeks, rubbing your thighs together to ease the increasing ache between them. Jaw slack, you gag when he hits the back of your throat, and he growls at the sight of your hungry eyes growing watery.

You toy with him, teasing him with your tongue and grazing your teeth lightly over his length until he’s gasping your name; the way the syllables leave his tongue is almost pleading, his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thighs shuddering, wracked with tremors.

It’s evident that he’s close, the voracity in his eyes so hot that it melts your bones, sending heat pooling in your core - you’re going to let him wreck your cunt after this; ruin you for any other man. Trembling, his pale fingers hover near your head, splaying over the expanse of your shoulder, his eyes fucking begging for permission, so you pull off him, laughing as his hips jolt forward at the loss, his cock twitching when your fingertips graze his balls.

‘Go on, Feyd,’ you coax. ‘Do as you wish.’

A tender, honeyed noise rips from low in his chest, almost a whimper, a sound you know no one has extracted from him before. It’s the only warning before he fists his hand in your hair, hips bucking as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as you gag around him, the debased moan that escapes you sending vibrations down his cock.

You almost black out when he comes down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of air reaching your lungs or the sweet pain of Feyd’s hand yanking at your hair, but you’re sure that you’ve never taken so much pleasure in someone else’s release. Slowly, you sit up, moving to lie beside Feyd, and he smiles dumbly at you, maybe a little fucked out as he leans in to kiss you, sighing as he tastes his own come on your tongue.

‘I could spend hours exploring you, my little witch,’ he says, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Feyd flips you over with only an echo of ferocity from your previous fight, disrobing you and gripping your thighs, spreading them. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, your fingers resting in the dips of muscle there, trailing down the length of his spine as his own find your slick, yearning cunt.

Outside, the storm blows harder, rain pounding down upon the planet’s surface in sheets, lightning lancing through the thick billows of clouds; it is during one of these strikes that you glimpse that Feyd’s eyes are not as dark as they seem, but the colour of glaciers and blue fire. Within them, just beneath the keenness of his electric gaze, lurks something else - something that makes you hesitate. He senses it immediately, fingers pausing their movement, so you fit your lips to his.

You kiss him to avoid the emotions roiling in his stormy eyes.

He responds immediately, and you easily dismiss the thoughts clouding your mind; he barely knows you, there’s no room for the feelings you just saw in his gaze. You seek his body, not his soul, and it is the same both ways.

‘Fuck me,’ you mumble against his lips.

All coherent sentences leave your mind when he flips you over again, this time with your stomach pressed to his bedsheets as he kneels on the mattress behind you.

‘Ass up, my little witch,’ he commands.

Something within you goes molten at the sound of his voice. You can feel his gaze straying all over your skin, greedy, so you tuck your knees beneath you and arch your back, biting down on your lower lip as his palm presses against your lower vertebrae. He chuckles; it warms your bones.

‘You’re so filthy, little witch, displaying yourself for me.’

Bolts of ecstasy shoot through you as Feyd slides his cock head through your folds, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll be left with bruises. Your breath is punched from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you, balls deep, white hot pleasure rocketing down your spine - it tears a wretched cry from you, more so when he starts a brutal, near sadistic pace, the angle destroying you with vicious bliss.

The drag of his searing, velvet cock on your walls makes your toes curl. You think your body might shatter into a million pieces, the way he plucks the euphoria from it so agonisingly, so beautifully. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, his thumb rolling endlessly over your clit; you find yourself teetering on the edge, suspended there a moment before you fall.

The way your cunt convulses around his cock as you come doesn’t stop Feyd. Unforgiving, he ploughs into you, his fingers still working on your clit, not breaking his rhythm even as you writhe beneath him, trying to jerk your hips away from his to no avail. It’s too much, the pleasure melting delectably into pain and still he can’t stop, won’t stop, his low snarl a warning in your ear as he pins you to the mattress with a hand between your shoulder blades, leaving you helpless to do nothing but take him.

Tears well up in your eyes, soaking into the sheets beneath you as he rails into you, his fingers speeding up on your clit until you’re begging him, tremors shooting through you from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His grip on your hips is unrelenting, and you sob as his pace increases, the savage friction sending you over again.

For the second time, you come hard around him, pussy clenching and fluttering, ragged cries wracking your body. This time, you bring Feyd with you, the sound he makes sharp and almost pained. He pulls out, and you mewl at the sharp tug of friction, panting as he comes on your back and ass, claiming you with his dark seed.

Breathless, he sits back on his heels as you straighten your legs until you lie full stretch, revelling in the post orgasmic rapture. Dimly, you hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but you pay them no mind, instead letting your eyelids droop as you rest your chin in the crook of your elbow.

Gentle hands encircle your ankles, carefully opening your legs. A second later, you feel a warm cloth at the apex of your thighs, and you whine, flinching away from the overstimulation. You hear Feyd’s chuckle, and the comforting sweep of his thumb against your skin as he cleans you up, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses on your back as he does; barely a moment after, the mattress dips, and strong arms pull you into a warm chest.

‘How are you, my little witch?’

You hum in response, not wanting to use words. Something niggles at your brain, even through the haze of pleasure. It’s got to do with the na-Baron’s gentleness after he fucks you; it unsettles you, the sweetness of him, and now these words, as if you’re a lover, and not… whatever this is.

One of his wide palms runs up and down your ribs, and you shove those thoughts to the side, instead enjoying his touch, the way your body fits into his, his chest pressed against your front as he traces patterns on your skin with his deft fingers; his lips brushing the nape of your neck, leaving soft kisses there. You find yourself curling away from him a little - his hands on you make something deep in your chest stir to life, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s -

A blinding flash of lightning, followed by the deep, throaty growl of thunder illuminates the room. You’re facing the door: in the crack between its solid masonry and the floor, you glimpse a shadow.

Hastily, you turn, one hand meeting Feyd’s chest, fingers falling into the dip his collarbone makes as you search his eyes, urgent. He stares back at you, not quite guarded, but not quite open any more, and you’re filled with the urge to protect.

‘Give me your knife,’ you hiss.

He sits up halfway. ‘What’s - ’

You push him back down, glaring at his resistance. You can sense the change in the air, hear the subtle scrape of someone’s boot across the stone floor and the swish of clothing behind the door - or maybe it’s just the building storm outside, the escalating charge in the sky as another bolt of lightning is generated.

‘Feyd. Give me your knife.’

Eyes quizzical, he produces it from somewhere behind him, handing it to you hilt first. It’s just in time, because the door swings open, a masked figure silhouetted there. You whirl around, covering Feyd’s body with your own.

They’re holding a knife.

It doesn’t take you a moment longer to send your knife hurtling towards them. The blade seethes through the air before embedding itself with a thunk into the assassin’s shoulder, and as they drop to the floor, you’re up in another second, poised in case there’s another. A flash of movement catches your eye - the dropped knife, retrieved and held in blood soaked fingers.

‘Stand down,’ you snap.

The Voice echoes through the room, and you pluck the knife out of the now frozen assassin’s grasp and slit his throat. Turning, you see the glimmer of amusement and awe in Feyd’s eyes; assassination attempts probably occur often, an estranged Bene Gesserit using the Voice in his room less so.

‘So many people seem eager to sneak into my bed chamber tonight,’ he remarks. ‘Although I must admit I preferred the first one.’

You laugh, collecting your clothes off the floor. ‘I’m glad.’

As you pull on your trousers, followed closely by your shirt, Feyd gets up, and you’re struck by the slow manner in which he approaches you, so much like the way he prowled towards you in the arena, but this time his eyes concerningly soft, his deadly, killing machine of a body marked with hickeys and love bites.

‘Why do you always rush to leave so fast, my little witch?’

‘I - I have places to be,’ you stammer.

He tilts his head. ‘At this hour of the night?’

‘...Yes.’

Feyd takes one step closer, close enough to kiss. ‘What are you afraid of?’

You back towards the window. ‘I fear nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he warns. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

Shaking your head, panic rising in your throat, you turn, the glass chilly on your fingers as you open the window. Feyd catches your other hand, but you whirl around and lash out, a blow to the face followed by a blow to the legs, and he staggers backwards, giving you enough time to slip out of the window and onto the battlements.

Outside, the storm has whipped up, the howling wind tearing at your hood and blowing it off, the rain immediately pouring down to soak your hair, sting your eyes, wet your face. You need to run, you need to get away from him, but the weak part of you - the part that you fear - slows your strides, tugging at you as if it’s tied to Feyd somehow.

He catches up to you easily enough.

Of course he does, he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and he is inexplicably bound to your soul in a way you cannot describe, in a way that terrifies you, shakes you to your very core. He catches your with a hand around your upper arm and presses you to his chest, your treacherous body reacting to him the way it always has as he stares down at you with those burning, icy eyes, droplets of rain running in rivulets down the moonlight planes of his chest.

Unease tears through you. You see it in his eyes, that he feels it too, and you dread the way it does not disquiet him. Your soul feels like it’s slowly rending in two - you need to get away from him, from the unguarded way he regards you, dedication clear in his unwavering gaze, but all the same, you need to remain with his arms trapping you to him, in the bewildering magnetism of his psyche.

‘Tell me what you fear, my little witch.’

You answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am not yours.’

‘You evade my question.’

You stare at Feyd, confounded. This man before you is the same man that you duelled in the arena, yet he is different; there is a certainty in his eyes, an acceptance that you yourself flee from. You’re drawn to him, even as the instincts that have kept your hollow heart intact all these years squall for you to break loose - and yet you fear that too, the evasion, because you know that if you run now, a part of you will be lost, snapped under the tension.

‘What do you - ’

You cut Feyd off. ‘Do you know what I fear, Harkonnen? I fear the look in your eyes, because it’s not just desire any more. You do not seek me in order that I inflict pain and pleasure alike upon you, you seek something else. I fear the look in your eyes because it is the same feeling that rises traitorously in my chest when I look at you, and it terrifies me.’

He’s silent.

You grab his shoulder. ‘Tell me you feel nothing, Feyd. Tell me you crave me for the thrill of adrenaline and the feel of my body - tell me and do not lie.’

His eyes bore into yours. ‘I cannot.’

‘Exactly.’

You wrest yourself from his grasp, turning and striding down the battlements. A strange feeling overtakes you, a prickle behind your eyes and a lump in your throat, an aching tug at your heart which you stalwartly ignore. It is over - you’re done. He made it harder than it ever had to be, but you’re going now.

He grabs your hand. ‘You cannot either, my little witch.’

Struggling, you snarl at him, clawing at your chest, but he pins you to the wall, his eyes aflame, searing, calling to something in you that rises up to meet him. This time, it is too strong; you cannot push it down, a part of you not even wanting to. You can feel Feyd all over you, your senses overwhelmed by him, by the way he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his gaze.

‘You do not have to fear it,’ he whispers. ‘Just let go. You’re holding on too tight.’

He dips his head, claiming your lips. You give in, yield to it, let it wash over you and carry you away on its blissful waves, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he touches you, tenderly, as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon; this is not Feyd, but this is him, irrefutably so.

You think this might be love.

It is a wild, white hot blade in your heart that twists, beauteous, enthralling. You believed that it would weaken you, shackle you, but you blaze with the glorious flare of it, the kiss of Feyd’s hips against yours stoking it further. Truly, it is magnificent.

In the only way you know how, you show him. It’s cataclysmic, the way you’re pulled to him like a comet caught in a planet’s gravity, streaking towards him, fated to collide, your hands roving over him, his over you, the taste of rain blooming on your tongue as you bite down on his shoulder, muffling a moan as he ekes sweet, tender pleasure from you. Your head tips back against the stone, eyes raised to the weeping sky, your lips parted as he fills you with his cock.

Feyd looks at you as if you are a goddess. He worships you, cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you. You do not know where he ends and you begin, nor do you want to know; you wish for your souls to meld, you wish for the two of you to be alone in the universe, unbothered by time or fate or anything.

‘You are mine, little witch,’ he intones against your rain soaked skin. ‘I am yours.’

[driverlando]

✧.* FAMILY FIRST

synopsis- In which Charles and Y/n have had enough of the paparazzi standing outside their house

before you continue: it’s been a while since I did anything for Charles, I missed this! If you enjoyed this then please reblog and give me a follow! <3

—

—

—

✧.* Charles has had enough

You glanced out the window, your heart sinking as you saw the familiar sight: a cluster of paparazzi, cameras flashing like distant lightning, capturing moments of your private lives for public consumption. You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of their intrusion settle heavily on you shoulders. Another day, another invasion of your sanctuary.

Charles entered the room, his footsteps heavy with frustration as he followed your gaze to the window. “Again?” he muttered through clenched teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“They just won’t leave us alone,” you said softly, your voice tinged with weariness as you absentmindedly rubbed your pregnant belly, the new life within a poignant reminder of your need for peace and privacy.

Charles kissed your forehead tenderly, a silent reassurance before he strode purposefully outside. His jaw was set in determination as he approached the nearest photographer, who greeted him with a mocking smirk.

“Hey, dude! Got any news for us?” the paparazzi taunted, his camera clicking away relentlessly.

Charles’s temper flared, a surge of protective instinct coursing through him. In one swift movement, he closed the distance, snatching the camera from the man’s hands with a firm grip. “I’ve had enough of this,” he growled, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. With a forceful gesture, he tossed the device to the ground, the clatter of impact punctuating his frustration.

The photographer stumbled back, momentarily taken aback by Charles’s sudden assertiveness. His eyes widened in surprise as Charles stood tall and unwavering, his presence commanding respect. “Get out of here,” Charles commanded, his tone brooking no argument, his stance a formidable barrier against further intrusion.

The paparazzi hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he begrudgingly began to retreat, muttering under his breath as he moved away. Charles watched him go, a mix of relief and lingering tension evident in his posture, before he turned back to you.

“We’ll figure this out,” you reassured him gently, her touch a soothing balm against the raw edges of his frustration as you placed a comforting hand on his arm.

Charles sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility for their family’s well-being pressing heavily on him. Pulling you close, he buried his face in your hair, his cheek resting against yours. “I just want our family to have some peace,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and determination.

You stood together in the quiet of your home, finding solace in each other’s presence amidst the turmoil.

—

—

✧.* the boys show their support

—

charles_leclerc

liked by lewishamilton, yourusername and 156,478 others

charles_leclerc To the tabloids and paparazzi lurking outside: here’s your exclusive! a never seen before picture of me holding my son for the first time, hopefully this will stop you from spending day and night outside my house.

view all 14,628 comments

yourusername well they’ll have no choice but to leave us alone after the lawsuit 🫢

user1 omg crazy how this was 3 years ago and now yall are having another baby 🥹

user2 dad Charles is everything to me

user3 im glad they have gained some control, hopefully the paps leave

landonorris cutest baby (I’m not talking about you Charles)

—

—

Charles Leclerc’s Explosive Confrontation with Paparazzi: A Battle for Privacy

By: Sasha, Rumour Radar

In a gripping saga that has captured public attention, Formula One star Charles Leclerc and his influencer wife Y/N Y/L/N have found themselves embroiled in a fierce confrontation with paparazzi over their family’s privacy. The couple’s determination to protect their young son and their unborn child has led to heated exchanges, a broken camera, and a looming lawsuit against intrusive photographers.

The First Signs of Trouble

The tension reached a boiling point when Y/N tweeted a stark warning to the paparazzi:

“Hey paparazzi, here’s a tip: stop scaring my son. Respect our privacy or lawyer up.”

Charles Leclerc, known for his calm demeanor on the race track, showed a different side of himself by retweeting her post with his own impassioned message:

“I’ve reached my limit. It’s exhausting having to explain to my 3-year-old son why there are grown men waiting outside our house with big cameras. Please respect our privacy or be prepared to deal with the consequences. Nothing matters more to me than my family’s peace and security, and it’s my duty as a father and husband to shield them from any intrusion, especially now that my wife is pregnant.”

Forced to Reveal the Pregnancy

The couple, who had hoped to keep the news of their pregnancy private for as long as possible, felt compelled to make an announcement after the initial confrontation. The public reaction was overwhelmingly supportive, with fans expressing outrage at the paparazzi’s disregard for the family’s privacy.

Despite the couple’s plea for respect, the relentless paparazzi returned a few days later, once again besieging their home. The situation reached a critical point when Charles, frustrated and protective of his family, confronted the photographers and broke one of their cameras.

Charles’s Bold Statement on Instagram

In a bold move to address the paparazzi directly, Charles posted a poignant message on Instagram alongside a never-before-seen photo of him holding his son for the first time:

“To the tabloids and paparazzi lurking outside: here’s your exclusive! A never seen before picture of me holding my son for the first time, hopefully this will stop you from spending day and night outside my house.”

The post quickly went viral, with fans and fellow celebrities rallying behind Charles and Y/N, applauding their courage and condemning the paparazzi’s invasive behavior.

Legal Action Looms

Y/N followed up with a decisive announcement that the couple would be pursuing legal action against the photographers:

“We have had enough. Our privacy has been violated, our son has been scared, and our peace has been disrupted. We are taking legal steps to ensure this stops. Thank you to everyone who has supported us and respected our privacy.”

The news of the lawsuit has added another layer to this dramatic story, highlighting the ongoing struggle between celebrities seeking privacy and the relentless pursuit of paparazzi.

Public and Celebrity Support

The public reaction has been largely supportive, with social media flooded with messages of solidarity. Fellow drivers and celebrities have also spoken out, condemning the paparazzi’s actions and expressing their support for Charles and Y/N.

Carlos Sainz tweeted, “Absolutely unacceptable behavior from the paparazzi and it needs to be stopped. Charles and Y/N deserve to share their happy news on their own terms and to live their lives without being hassled. Congrats on the baby, my friends!”

Lewis Hamilton chimed in with, “Proud of @/Charles_Leclerc and @/YourUsername for standing up for their family. Privacy should be respected. Congrats on the new addition ❤️”

Moving Forward

As Charles and Y/N prepare for the arrival of their new baby, they continue to advocate for their right to privacy, setting a powerful example for other public figures facing similar challenges. Their story underscores the importance of respecting personal boundaries, even for those in the public eye.

This ongoing battle between the Leclercs and the paparazzi serves as a stark reminder of the toll that media intrusion can take on a family’s peace and well-being. As the lawsuit unfolds, it will be a pivotal moment not only for Charles and Y/N but for the broader conversation about privacy and respect in the age of instant celebrity.

Stay tuned to Rumour Radar for the latest updates on this unfolding story and more celebrity gossip.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗟𝗬𝗡

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where a storm is happening and Y/N is afraid of thunder, making her seek comfort in her best friend's brother arms, Matt.

WARNING: Thunderstorm.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Nick's room was a welcoming haven for Y/N. The walls decorated with frames and posters and the rustic wooden furniture provided a feeling of security and comfort. She had spent countless nights there, in his soft, cozy bed, surrounded by the familiarity of her best friend.

However, that night, the tranquil atmosphere was abruptly interrupted by the distant roar of thunder. Y/N curled up under the sheets, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She has always been afraid of storms, ever since she was a child. The thunderous sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning in the black sky left her petrified with fear.

With each thunderclap, she could feel the anxiety building up inside her, squeezing her heart like an iron fist. Her body shook involuntarily, and she struggled to control her rapid breathing. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to move, as if she were trapped in an endless nightmare.

Y/N knew she needed to calm down. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the frightening sound echoing through the top floor window. The girl took a deep breath, trying to find some inner peace, but fear continued to envelop her like a relentless shadow.

Deciding to seek comfort, Y/N reached out into the darkness, searching the comforting warmth of the boy beside her. She tried to shake him gently, whispering his name in an urgent tone. However, Nick remained motionless and sunk into a deep sleep, only a light mumble escaping his throat.

Frustration and despair began to build within her. She couldn't face this storm alone. The girl tried to curl up against his back, but her body exposed to the room had no effect in calming her down, Nick remaining oblivious to her silent call, lost in distant dreams.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. She felt so small and powerless in the face of the force of nature outside. The sound of thunder seemed to grow louder, echoing in her mind like a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, determined to get help. She knew exactly where to go.

Sneaking out the white door and down the stairs, careful not to make any loud sound, Y/N arrived at Matt's bedroom door, knocking softly on the wooden surface. She waited for a moment, her heart beating nervously in her chest as her right leg bounced incessantly in anxiety until she finally heard a sleepy murmur coming from inside the room.

The door slowly opened, revealing Matt's silhouette on the threshold. His eyes were downcast and sleepy, his brow furrowed in confusion and anger at being woken up, but his expression immediately brightened upon seeing Y/N standing there.

"Y/N, hey, what are you doing here? Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice soft and concerned as his eyes took in the way her body was shaking.

Y/N swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. She moved slightly closer to Matt, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

"I... I can't sleep with this storm, Matt. I'm so scared, and Nick won't wake up." The girl confessed in a shaky whisper, her chest burning with embarrassment for waking him up with something so... trivial. "I'm sorry for-"

Without hesitation, Matt wrapped Y/N in a comforting hug, interrupting her sentence while pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders with just the right amount of strength. He could feel the tremors that ran through her body, almost sensing the palpable fear that consumed her insides.

"It's okay, sweet girl. I'm here now." Matt whispered, gently stroking the girl's hair with his right hand. His presence was like a balm to Y/N's grief-stricken soul, slowly dispelling the shadows of her fear. "Come on."

The boy took a few steps back, eventually pulling her along before slowly closing the door. He kept his left arm firmly around her shoulders as he straightened his posture, beginning his slow steps towards his unmade bed.

With his free hand, the brunette pulled the duvet down before gently guiding Y/N to the mattress, helping her lie down on the side he didn't sleep on. He adjusted the strands of her loose hair so that they were not on her face, watching her eyes blink slowly in sleep, her eyelashes trembling with each thunderclap.

Matt quickly walked over to his own side of the bed, laying down on the still warm surface, right where he was previously lying, before pulling the duvet up, tucking it tightly around Y/N's body so that not a piece of her skin covered by thin pajamas would be exposed to the freezing air.

He laid down on his side and rested his head on his pillow, extending his left arm - which was against the mattress - and, with his free hand, gently pulled Y/N, encouraging her to get closer. The girl quickly got the message, pressing her cold body against Matt's warm one and laying her head on his outstretched bicep, her legs shrinking and her knees pressing against the boy's abdomen, a sigh of relief escaping her nose almost instantly.

Matt encircled her torso with his right arm, bringing her closer - if that was possible - and lowering his face, sealing Y/N's forehead with his lips tenderly, conveying a sense of safety and protection that she so desperately craved. The brunette caressed the warm skin of her face with the tip of his nose gently, whispering small words of affection and reassurance, muffling the sound of thunder against Y/N's ears while his hands caressed the back of her shoulders.

As the night progressed, Y/N gradually felt calmer and more serene in Matt's arms. The sound of thunder still echoed in the distance, but now she was no longer alone.

"Thank you, Matty." Her voice, now sleepy and low, came out of her mouth in a whisper, her eyes gradually closing as the sound of slow breathing and rhythmic heartbeats that echoed from the his larger body acted as a natural tranquilizer for her.

"Anything for you, petal."

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[peachessndreamss]

Thunderstruck

Summery : When a scorching hot summer a thunderstorm wakes you and Eddie and gets the two of you worked up

Characters : Eddie Munson x fem!reader. no use of y/n

Warnings : explicit sexual content including, oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex, canon typical drug use

Word count : 3.2 k

A/N : Previously posted on my now deleted page. Honestly just re-sharing because I still love this idea and this character. And I'm willing the summer to start here.

Is there anything sweeter than a summer thunderstorm? The weather had been oppressively hot for two weeks now, the grass was dead and yellow with the lack of rain and the soil in every flower bed deeply cracked and dusty. The town pool was full to bursting every day of the week with children and adults alike trying to escape the heat. 

Eddie's home often became so hot in the day it was physically impossible to stay inside for more than a few minutes without feeling like you were being cooked alive in an oversized tin can. You’d spend the hours of sunshine sitting outside on old and creaking sun loungers listening to music on Eddie’s stereo, reading or dozing. Eddie would strip down to his boxers and stretch out his slim, pale body in the shade but only after you’d smothered him in sunscreen and he was so greasy with it he looked like a professional wrestler. 

At night the trailer was a little cooler, but still every window needed to be flung open wide to coax in the almost non-existent cool breeze that danced on the warm night air. You’d sleep under a thin, cotton sheet, as anything else would have been too uncomfortable and even then, with Eddie running hot, he often abandoned the sheet all together and just slept naked and uncovered. 

It had been an easy Saturday, nothing to be achieved and nowhere for either of you to be. Band practice had been cried off due to the heat and D&D wasn’t until Tuesday so you and Eddie had spent the day on the sun loungers. Eddie was re-reading The Hobbit, his copy battered and bent at the spine from the many times it had been opened and poured over. He would read his favourite parts aloud to you, giving every character their own distinct voice, he’d read it so many times now he was reciting it from memory rather than reading. 

After a dinner of take away pizza enjoyed outdoors with Uncle Wayne before he headed off for his shift , and a few joints to see the day home, you and Eddie had climbed into his bed, laying as far apart as possible as to not make each other warmer than necessary. 

It was very early in the morning when you were woken up, the room was still dark, not even a hint of the dawn in the darkness so it was the sound that had disturbed you and after listening for a few seconds you heard it again, the deep, rolling roar of thunder. It lasted for as long as 10 seconds before fading into a heavy silence. Then the rain started, a gentle plink-plonk at first but within moments it was a downpour. Heavy rain drops slamming into the roof of the trailer and bouncing back up only to fall again. Then another rumble of thunder and a flash of bright white lightning. 

“Eddie,” you whispered, grabbing at his arm and tugging gently, “Eddie, wake up,”.

Eddie snorted and shifted onto his back, turning his head and squinting at you. 

“Was it?” he grunted, confused and upset by being woken up. His nose scrunched up and his eyes struggled to open. 

“Listen,” you insisted quietly, grabbing hold of his forearm. His skin was hot to touch and clammy. 

It took him a few seconds to realise what you were talking about, as he listened, his brows unfurrowed and his eyes eased open. He cocked his head to one side, the tangle of curls under his head crackling on the fabric of his pillow. 

“It’s raining?” he asked, glancing at you. 

“It’s a thunderstorm,” you replied with a grin. 

“Awesome,” he said with a grin as he sat up and flung himself off the bed and across the small room to the window, yanking back the light curtain and taking in the scene. 

The sky seemed to glow dark red and stormy grey, the clouds low and flat, hanging over the town like a wet blanket. The rain that was falling was fast and heavy and the clattering, pattering sounds it made caused a shiver to run up Eddie’s spine. Suddenly there was a deafening roll of thunder, so loud it felt like it was happening inside your head, it was followed only a second later by a fork of lightning that illuminated the whole sky as it raced toward the ground. 

“Shit, that’s close,” Eddie said over the sound of the rain. 

“It’s so cool,” you replied, standing next to him at the window. 

The air outside was now much cooler and it whipped into the open window, bringing with it a smattering of rain. Eddie slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him. The two of you watched three more lightning strikes, Eddie was certain that the last one must have hit his favourite picnic bench because the strike had been so close. 

You were now a little bored with the weather and your attention turned to the man standing beside you. You turned your head and placed a gentle kiss on his jaw, then another soft kiss on his cheek before bringing one hand up his naked back and shifting his curls away from his ear so you could kiss the lobe of his ear. You felt Eddie shudder and watched his eyes close as you let your lips linger on such a sensitive spot for him. 

"It's cooler now isn't it?" You said softly, turning your whole body so your front was now at his side, you placed one hand on his stomach, feeling the warmth and softness of his skin and the slight rasp of the hair that led down to his groin. 

"Yeah, a bit," Eddie swallowed as your hand moved a little lower down his stomach. 

You moved your head forward and snuggled into Eddie's neck, catching the smell of his sweat from his hair and his skin as you dragged your teeth against the soft skin. 

"Let's go back to bed Eddie," you mewled, your hand slipping even lower on his stomach, feeling the distinct change in his body hair, from the loose curls of his happy trail to the tighter and coarser curls of his pubic hair. 

Eddie swallowed hard, his cock already hardening and thickening at your touch. In less than an inch you'd be able to wrap your hand around the root of his dick and find him so ready to fuck. While the weather had been as hot and uncomfortable as it had been sex had been completely off the menu, neither of you liking the idea of any additional physical exercise than was strictly necessary. 

Eddie grabbed hold of your wrist before you reached the apex of his thighs and brought your wrist up to his mouth, biting gently at the soft underside of your wrist where a few delicate veins rose up from under your skin, almost imperceptible to the eye but Eddie knew they were there and how it made you squirm when they were touched. 

A thrill of pleasure ran around your naked body as his teeth caressed the delicate skin at your wrist before he kissed it softly. 

"Bed please, my love," he whispered before letting your wrist go and giving you a little bump with his hip in the direction of the bed. 

You smiled sweetly as you slipped out of his embrace and stepped back to the bed. Climbing on the end of the bed, glancing back over your shoulder while on all fours, finding Eddie watching you with his mouth open and a hungry look in his eyes. 

"Like this?" You asked, wiggling your hips from side to side. 

Eddie shook his head as he started to gather up his curls into an elastic he kept around his wrist. 

"On your back baby," he replied as he tightened the bun at the back of his head.

You grinned, feeling your body’s Pavlovian response to seeing his hair tied back like that as you flipped over onto your back in the centre of the small bed, your head resting on the pillow as Eddie positioned himself comfortably between your thighs. He'd settled himself with his cock trapped between his stomach and the mattress so when the mood took him he could grind down on the mattress. 

He ran his tongue over his lips as he looked up at your face, one of his forearms slipping around your thigh and lifted it onto his shoulder, your foot now resting on his back. His other hand pushed your other thigh aside, pushing your sex open for him. He made a sound of appreciation deep in his chest before he used two fingers to spread your slick lips open, exposing you even more intimately, giving him unlimited access to your clit, your entrance and with a tilt of your hips he'd have access to your tight asshole too. But right now, Eddie only had one thing on his mind. 

"Hey sweetheart," he cooed softly, dipping his head forward and placing a soft, closed lip kiss just above your clit.

"I've missed you," he continued in a soft, lilting voice, placing another kiss just below your clit. 

You made a soft purring sound, lifting your hips up a little, urging him to get to the main event. Eddie chuckled and gave you a very gentle slap on the thigh. 

“Don't rush me," he insisted, lifting his head to speak to you, "we need to get reacquainted and she's shy," he added before touching the pad of his thumb to your clit, the sudden direct contact making you jerk your hips off the bed and your hands claw at the bedsheet. 

"See?" He said with a grin as he cocked his eyebrow at you, "she's skittish,". 

Eddie returned his attention to your pussy and continued his slow torture, kissing around your clit, occasionally giving a small lick either side but never touching it directly. In what felt like hours to you, but was only 2 minutes in reality Eddie had you rocking and twisting your hips, trying to force him to give you the contact you wanted. 

"Eddie please, please please," you moaned as your hands fisted at the bedsheet. 

Eddie chuckled softly, rubbing his chin against the thigh he had hooked over his shoulder. 

"Needy, needy girl," he whispered sweetly before finally kissing your clit. 

The bud was tight and thumping in time with your heartbeat and Eddie's wet mouth created an explosion of pleasure and pain as the thousands of nerve endings were stimulated in unison. You gave a strangled cry, bucking your hips up and bringing one of your hands down on the back of Eddie's head, holding him in place, rocking your hips against his open mouth, feeling the hot, wetness of his tongue as he danced it over and around your clit. There was no consistency to his movements yet so while pleasure rolled around your body you knew he wasn't trying to make you come yet. He was still holding back. 

You moaned and bucked again, pushing Eddie's head down harder, feeling the press of his nose into your pubic mound. 

"Eddie, fuck, Eddie," you groaned as you noticed for the first time the slow, undulating movements of his lower body. 

You lifted your head up and watched his hips pressing and grinding down against the mattress, the muscles in his bare ass popping as he rolled his hips and clenched his glutes and thighs. The sight of him fucking at the mattress sent your body and mind spiraling as you dropped back onto the pillow and moaned loudly, your whole body suddenly more alive than ever. 

Eddie's tongue was now constantly licking at your clit, his lips fixed around it  creating a hot, wet seal around the bud. Eddie let you buck and grind and hold his face down all you needed until you finally reached your peak. Your voice disappeared for a few seconds as you felt nothing but hot pleasure rushing around your body.

As your muscles clenched and stars exploded behind your eyes a streak of lightning raced across the sky, turning the room as bright as your body felt for a few seconds. Your hand released Eddie's head and he moved a little, not enough to break contact but to ease up on your clit, stopping the intense licking and changing back to soft kisses to draw out your climax until you were shaking and writhing, nothing but soft mewling noises coming from your mouth.

"Oh god," you moaned softly as Eddie moved his kisses to the inside of your thighs, his eyes travelling up your body to your face. 

"That was so cool baby," he whispered, "you came so hard there was lightning,". 

You gave a soft laugh, lifting your head to look at the sweet man between your legs, he was looking up at you, his big brown eyes looking soft and loving. 

"Get up here and fuck me," you said, twisting a curl of his hair that had fallen loose around your finger. 

"Fuck yeah baby," Eddie replied as he clambered up, crawling up your body, pushing your thighs apart and bringing his hard cock right to your waiting entrance.

You were both beyond ready so Eddie sank into you easily, placing his hands on your thighs and drawing them up his body so you cradled him either side of his chest. He rested with his forearms either side of your head and kissed you deeply and he pressed his hips forward, filling your body with his, making you whole and creating a passionate fusion of your two bodies and your two souls. 

You broke away from his mouth and moaned his name, your hands clutching at his back, your nails digging deep and leaving red marks in his alabaster skin. Eddie hissed at the burn of your nails in his flesh but the hiss quickly turned to a laugh as he dipped his head and licked up the column of your neck to your chin before kissing you again, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he drew his hips back before driving forward again.

You broke away from his lips, taking a deep gasping breath as the head of Eddie's cock hit right against your g-spot. As the lights burst behind your closed eyes the sky seemed to shake with a huge rumble of thunder, it was so loud and so close it felt like it might have made the trailer shake but it was hard to tell if the shaking was the weather, or Eddie as he picked up his pace. 

He moves from drawing out and pushing forward to grinding, keeping his cock buried deeply inside you and rocking his hips back and forth, meaning he was able to constantly stimulate you internally as well as externally, your clit now being rubbed by the muscles of Eddie's pelvis. You clawed at Eddie's back, crying out as you felt your second climax starting to build deep inside your belly. 

"Eddie, oh God, Eddie," you breathed. 

You moved your hands from his back to his face. Catching his cheeks between your hands and bringing his face close to yours, pressing your foreheads together. His face was sweaty and so was yours, your two sweats mingling on your skin. 

You felt so completely connected to him it was overwhelming, Eddie was everywhere and, in that moment, he was everything as well. The intimacy of it all aided in pushing you over the edge very quickly, your orgasm burst outward with the power of an exploding star. Your legs gripping Eddie's chest and your arms dragging his upper body closer to yours so it was impossible to tell who skin was who's. 

With a stuttering and guttural cry, taken by surprise by your suddenly gripping, milking pussy Eddie came, hard and deep. Filling you up as another rumble of thunder and flash of lightning split the sky. 

The two of you seem to float, for a while, suspended in space and time, your bodies both corporeal and ethereal, human and divine. You come back to the sound of the pattering rain and the tickle of Eddie's curls, the weight of his body feels safe and the heat of his skin feels comforting. 

"Eddie baby?" You said softly, stroking your fingers down his spine. 

"Yeah?" He mumbled, his face pressed deep into the space beside your neck. 

"You okay?". 

"Baby," Eddie sighed, lifting himself up to look at your face, "that was the best," he grinned. 

You giggled, more of the physical sensations of post sex coming back to you. An ache in your hips, a stretch between your thighs, and warm wetness on your thighs. 

"It was good," you agreed. 

"I think we should always have sex when there's a thunderstorm," he said sleepily as he moved, withdrawing his softening cock from you and flopping down beside, patting a spot on his chest where he wanted you to put your head. 

You wriggled toward him and placed your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around your body and the two of you kissed deeply. 

"I feel like we just conceived the anti-Christ or something," you said with a giggle. 

Eddie scoffed and shook his head. 

"Don't even joke," he replied, kissing the top of your head tenderly. 

The rain seemed to be slowing and the rumbles of thunder sounded further away, the storm seemed to be rolling on, maybe waking up other young lovers as it went. 

Eddie dropped off to sleep after a few minutes, his body and mind completely relaxed and satisfied. You stayed awake a little longer, the day was getting lighter by the second and Eddie's features were being revealed to you in glorious golden morning hues. You were contemplating how much he looked like an angel from a painting when you dropped off to sleep yourself. 

The two of you woke up a second time when Wayne came home from his shift with paper bags of hot and greasy breakfast food. The three of you sat around the small table and ate. Wayne was tired from his shift and you and Eddie were dozy from being up half the night enjoying each other's bodies. The day after the storm was cooler, the air fresher. The plants seemed to be greener and the sky bluer and even the people seemed more friendly, Eddie's usually sullen neighbour greeting you when you stepped out of the trailer to find your rain soaked sneakers. 

Eddie brought his guitar out that day and he sat beside you on the same sun lounger and strummed chords, humming tunes and making up nonsense songs. Songs about his D&D campaign, songs about summer, songs about love, and one about passionate nights while lightning splits the sky. 

Hearing him recount the night before in his deep, rich singing voice sent shivers down your spine. 

"You're not sharing that one with the band are you?" You asked as he came up with a lyric about how the sound of the thunder was second to the sounds you make when he’s inside you.

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. 

"This one's just for you and me baby,".

[shaisuki]

📌 day twenty-three: stepcest + choso kamo

it was a stormy night.

the windows rattled at the strong winds hitting, followed by the sound of rain drops splattering over the glass before dews trickled and disappearing until being replaced with a new ones. lightning flashes across the sky and there's the murmur of a distant thunder before erupting into a deafening boom.

along with the sounds of the stormy weather outside was the low pitches of your voice, morphing into soft whines and gasps. the room is cold but your choso-nii's touch is warm.

“lick my pussy more, choso-nii....” choso groans at his stepsister's request. his eyes narrowed, the red of his eyes seemingly glinting at the dimmed room. watching through tired eyes of his at his stepsister laying in her back. head propped up on the pillows, that flimsy top decorated with red cherries rests just above your round stomach.

biting your index fingers to keep your voice at bay like it was a sin to moan for your big brother that settled between your legs. cuddling your pillow like it was the only salvation from the pleasure he was giving you.

a slurp and lick sound being emoted as his tongue touches the smooth texture of her plump folds. the mixture of his saliva and the slick drooling from your fat cunt adding to the desire for his little sister. he takes a long stripe to your cunt from his tongue. starting from your dripping hole until it reaches the engorged bud. tensing the soft pink muscle of his before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue before wrapping it with his lips.

the soft squelch can be heard despite the clap of thunders and your mewls mixing. he grabbed both of your thick thighs that was spread in the bed. placing both of it in his shoulders. using it as a leverage like he was holding the rind of a watermelon.

a touch of warmth is being sprinkled to the pale complexion of his skin. warm is your thighs wrapped around his head and face being warmed by your fat pussy. long and slow licks as he delved between your folds. tasting the sweet essence of his sweet little sister.

“'m close choso-nii....” you didn't need to tell him cause the trembling of your thighs against his cheeks and the low pitched of your voice. you were close.

choso continue to greedily lap at your folds. the strokes of his tongue doubling in effort to get you near to the edge and with a harsh suck. a loud mewl coming from you and the sudden gush of the slimy, clear liquid coming from you, he knew you came.

he continued to lick prolonging the orgasm as you ride it. choso hears your heavy breaths turning shallow as you recovered from the intense orgasm.

choso pressed a chaste kiss to your inner thigh before slowly rising. watching you with every move as your eyes gets heavier and your chubby face turning in a calmer one. you weren't frightened by the storm anymore as you drift into a dreamless sleep.

cute. choso mutters. thinking that even at the tender age of 24, when you already had achieved so many things in your life. you always still look for him for comfort when thunderstorms rolled around.

you were always going to be his sister and comforting you with his tongue just like you sweetly asked of him, he will always do it. all for his little sister sleeping soundly at the comfort of her fluffy blankets.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 13: The Regrets Are Useless] [Series Finale]

A/N: Below are your final predictions. Let's see how you did... 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Whatsername” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Rain pours outside the cabin, mist-shrouded pine trees and still dark water, a place in southern Oregon called Lake of the Woods. The twin-sized bed with a thin foam mattress was once used by kids attending summer camp, capture the flag and s’mores, hikes and scary stories, but now the children are ghosts and the monsters are real, stumbling down streets and lurking in dark places, licking blood from what’s left of their lips.

Aemond is here but he’s also not, a castaway on an island where the world never ended, his hands in your hair as you straddle him, your hips moving tentatively, his lips and teeth at your throat, the sharp points of his canines like fangs.

“Am I doing this right?” you murmur doubtfully. “I feel like I’m definitely not doing this right…”

“Shh, you’re great, you’re incredible.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to do everything already, I’m sorry you have to teach me—”

“Stop,” Aemond commands, a sharp sigh through your hair. “I love this. I love you. I want to teach you things until the day I die.”

The nervous tension in your muscles unravels—peddles thrown into water, campfire smoke vanishing into indigo night—and now his hands are on your hips, steadying you, guiding you. You link your fingers around the back of his neck and try to find a cadence that isn’t uncomfortable, ungainly, effortful. You wanted to try this. You want to experience everything with him.

“Take your time,” Aemond is saying like it’s difficult for him to keep a train of thought, his eye closed, his cheeks flushed, blood-colored blooms like a dusk sky. “I’m fine down here, don’t worry about me…”

Rain drums against the windows; lightning flashes in the sky and thunder growls. From the front porch of one of the other cabins, you can hear the indistinct droning of conversations and Aegon strumming the acoustic guitar he brought from the beach house. It’s something you’ve overheard him singing before, one of his strange midcentury darlings, a song that should be too old for him to know the words to.

“All you big and burly men who roll the trucks along

Better listen, you’ll be thankful when you hear my song

You have really got it made if you’re haulin’ goods

Any place on earth but those Haynesville Woods…”

Your skin gleams with a cool sheen of sweat; there is a draft through the cabin walls that makes you shiver as you cling to Aemond. You roll your hips a certain way and he moans—suddenly, involuntarily—and you know you’ve found the right rhythm.

“It’s a stretch of road up north in Maine

That’s never ever ever seen a smile

If they’d buried all them truckers lost in them woods

There’d be a tombstone every mile

Count ‘em off, there’d be a tombstone every mile…”

Aemond is kissing you deeply, desperately, trembling hands and gasping shallow breaths. And there is not just euphoria written into the lines of his face; there is disorientation, there is wonder. He barely manages: “Alright…um…if you want me to last longer than about thirty more seconds, you should probably slow down…”

“No,” you tease, grinning as you bite at his full lips.

“When you’re loaded with potatoes and you’re headed down

You’ve got to drive the woods to get to Boston town

When it’s winter up in Maine, better check it over twice

That Haynesville road is just a ribbon of ice…”

Aemond cries out, louder than you’ve ever heard him before—you’ve never had privacy, you’ve never truly been alone—and then again, a helpless ecstatic sound, pleasure so overwhelming it almost starts to feel like pain.

“Quiet!” you whisper, giggling, touching two fingers to his mouth. “Everyone’s going to hear you.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He falls back onto the mattress and brings you with him, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheeks and your forehead as the two of you lie there panting and entangled, his blue eye astonished. “Okay, okay, I need a minute. I think I just burst an aneurysm.”

“I killed you?” you purr with feigned distress, basking in your conquest.

“You can kill me whenever you want. You can kill me five times a day.”

“When you’re talking to a trucker that’s been haulin’ goods

Down that stretch of road in Maine they call the Haynesville Woods

He’ll tell you that dying and going down below

Won’t be half as bad as driving on that road of ice and snow…”

Aemond stares up at the ceiling—a steep gable roof, a motionless fan—and now you can tell he’s thinking about his family again, discorporate screams, misplaced trust. Otto Hightower’s bones were found in the shower, meaning he likely died before or not long after their power failed and water would have run out in the municipal system. They were probably killed before you and Aemond ever met, distant galaxies lightyears away, remote long-dead stars. And so all the blood you paid to get to California was wasted.

“Do you ever think about the people you have saved?” you ask gently as your fingertips trace the ridge of his scar. “You stitched yourself back together. You healed Aegon’s burns. You sutured Cregan’s arm. You got me and Rio down from that transmission tower.”

“I guess I did,” Aemond says, but his voice is ambivalent, as if none of these things count. He has not found someplace safe for you yet. His job is not finished; his triumphs may only be temporary.

“Aemond…back in Pennsylvania…why did you decide to help us?”

“Luke spotted you guys, and we all talked it over. If it had just been Rio, honestly, I wouldn’t have taken the chance. A man his size, and possibly armed…could be trouble, you know? But I figured since he was traveling with a woman and you seemed to be with him by choice, he was probably okay. And then when we first met, he was so protective of you…didn’t want me touching you, didn’t leave you alone…I realized he had to be a good guy.”

“He was,” you say solemnly. I was supposed to remind him about the racks. I was supposed to warn him. But you didn’t warn Rio about what was waiting to kill him in that sand-swept grocery store in Winnemucca, just like you didn’t warn Jace about radiation or Baela about the way the rungs of the ladder that ran up the side of the grain bin were rusted and creaking, and maybe there is more than enough blame to go around.

“And then after Battle Mountain, as soon as we found the gasoline and ammo, I knew we had to go back for you. It hit me all at once. I couldn’t protect you by leaving you with Rio and Cregan. And I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never had something like this before. I didn’t know it existed. I told the others we were turning around, and Aegon said: Thank fucking God. Rhaena took off sprinting towards the car.” Then Aemond kisses you again, but tenderly this time, slowly, like you’ll have forever and there’s no need to rush. “I’m going to get you to Odessa. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

The rain is stopping; there are still a few hours of daylight left.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Chip Skylark. Check it out,” Aegon says, grinning at you from where he’s sprawled on the wet dock and smoking a cigarette, wearing his neon green plastic sunglasses, his left leg finally freed from its bandages and on full display. You’re all wearing the same things, stolen t-shirts and shorts, sweatshirts at night when it gets cold, sneakers you can walk hundreds of miles in; but Aegon won’t give up his Sperry Bahamas. “It’s nature’s tattoo.”

You sit down beside him and admire the scar tissue, red knots and white cords, jagged terrain like a mountain range, organic highways and bridges and trails. “It’s a roadmap.”

“That’s appropriate.”

You’ve been traveling on foot for two weeks since Criston’s white Tahoe ran out of gas and was abandoned in the town of Mad River, California. Now you are only about ten miles from Odessa, close enough to reach in half a day but too far to get into town before nightfall. This time tomorrow you’ll be there, and it will either be a haven or a wasteland, and if Rio’s parents’ community in Odessa has disappeared then so has your last idea for where to go. Absentmindedly, you skate your fingerprints over the bumps and grooves of Aegon’s leg like a blind man reading braille. He shifts and clears his throat; you’ve made him uncomfortable somehow. You lift your hand away.

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

“Nah. I can’t really feel anything besides pressure. The nerve endings got fried.”

“Oh.” But now you don’t know what you did to upset him. Aegon doesn’t provide an explanation. Down the dock a ways towards the shore, Rhaena is reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and listening to the pink Sony Walkman formerly owned by a little girl named Ava. Inside whirls Green Day’s 2004 album American Idiot, which Aegon took from his bedroom at the beach house to add to his CD collection, a cultural archive, a gift for posterity. Cregan is teaching Daeron to fish with poles he found in one of the cabins; Helaena is bringing them worms. Aemond and Luke are gathering things dry enough to burn—books and wooden chairs from inside the cabins—and piling them up so Cregan can cook dinner once it’s caught.

“So,” Aegon says, changing the subject, scrutinizing you as he puffs on a Marlboro Gold. “Everything going okay?”

You know what he means; he must have heard Aemond earlier. “Yup.”

“Got it all figured out?”

“Sure did.”

“Great. I’m happy for you,” Aegon says, and yet there’s a twinge of melancholy he’s trying to hide. It must be hard for him; he and Daeron are the only single ones.

“We’ll find you some suitable candidates for your harem when we get to Odessa.”

He chuckles. “Oh, come on.”

“Guys, girls? Do you have a preference?”

He’s smiling wistfully down into the water, a dark rippling mirror. “I have too specific a preference, that’s the problem.”

“Yacht girls in bikinis. Golf cheerleaders.”

“There are no cheerleaders in golf, you yokel.”

“Okay, well…I’m sure you’ll be very popular with the lonely, traumatized, widowed women of the apocalypse.”

Aegon gazes morosely out over the lake. He pitches the end of his cigarette into the water, and your eyes catch briefly on the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. “I don’t know. I’ve been sober for two weeks and now everything is annoyingly clear.”

“What’s bothering you?”

He waits a while before he answers, evasive. “I’ve never been good at anything.”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes. Luke thinks he’s not good at anything either.”

“But Luke’s nice. I’m a rat bastard.”

You laugh. “You’re kind of nice, Aegon.”

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously. I like being around you. You make me feel better. You’re like…” You ponder how to word it. “I feel like I could tell you whatever and not worry about being judged for it.”

He snorts. “As if you’ve ever done anything judgeable.”

You shrug, peering out over the lake. “I abandoned my family. I stopped sending them money, I stopped calling. And when everything happened…the zombies, the world ending…I didn’t even consider going back to Kentucky to try to help them. I went west with Rio instead. And now they’re probably all dead and it’s my fault. That’s evil. I couldn’t have gotten away with that level of betrayal. I must be cursed.”

Aegon is watching you, eyebrows raised. He has never heard this before. “But your family sucked, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I think it would be hard to argue they didn’t.”

“So fuck ‘em,” Aegon says simply.

You smile at him, touched, grateful. “Okay. Fuck ‘em.”

“I’m relieved my family’s gone,” Aegon confesses, something so brutal he’d never tell anyone else. “I mean…I feel kind of bad about my mom and Criston. But as long as they were alive, I’d always be the person they raised. And if I could bring someone back, it wouldn’t be any of them. I’d pick Rio.”

“I would too,” you say softly, staring down at the faint burn marks on your palms from when you were stranded on that transmission tower with him, talking him out of suicide, so adamant that both of you were going to make it to Oregon. And you were wrong.

“So if you’re cursed, Pita Chips, sign me up because I’m right there with you.”

Rhaena pulls out an earbud and says to Aegon: “I don’t get this album.”

“What?!” he exclaims.

“It’s so good!” you concur. On the shore, Cregan is spearing several gutted rainbow trout on sticks so they can be roasted over the fire. Ice is gleefully gulping down fish organs.

Aegon continues: “Whatsername! St. Jimmy! Jesus of Suburbia!”

Rhaena blinks, glancing between you and Aegon. “But neither of you grew up in the suburbs.”

“It’s not about the suburbs, Rhaena!” Aegon replies with frenetic hand gestures. “It’s about being disillusioned and angry and failed by all the adults in your life, and self-medicating, and losing love every time you get a taste of it, and wanting to burn everything down and start over. It’s about hating the world and the world hating you back.”

“Okay, sure. I still don’t get it.”

You say: “You might have had too happy a childhood.” And you and Aegon burst out laughing.

“You guys are so weird,” Rhaena says, but she’s smiling. She stands up, gives Aegon back his Walkman, and walks to the end of the dock where Cregan is cooking the rainbow trout. Aemond and Daeron are gathering up the aluminum buckets found at the campground and set outside earlier today to collect rainwater. There is one five-pound bag of trail mix left to share, and then all the food is gone. If Cregan doesn’t kill something, you won’t eat.

“We should go help them with dinner,” you tell Aegon.

He groans. “Should we really?”

“Yeah. We should.”

“Fine.” He takes your hand when you offer it and struggles to his feet. Then you inhale a lungful of the scent of roasting trout, and startlingly powerful nausea punches through your stomach, so repellant you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from retching.

There has to be something wrong with the fish. It’s never smelled like that before.

Aegon seems baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does the trout smell right to you?”

Aegon sniffs the air like a labrador. “I guess…? I barely smell anything.”

“Well you probably destroyed your nose cells with all the coke.”

“That’s discriminatory. Addiction is a disease.” But his brow is furrowed with concern. “Seriously, are you okay? You look awful. Not like that. You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine; but everyone down by the fire is chatting and joking around nonchalantly, and surely if there actually was something wrong they would have noticed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perplexed.

You hurry past the others and take refuge in the cabin you’re sharing with Aemond. Inside the trout smell isn’t so strong. You sit at the edge of the bed and suck in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, willing the confounding wave of nausea to pass.

Did I eat something bad, did I get bit by a spider or something…?

You are checking your arms and legs for little raised bitemarks when Helaena enters the cabin and shuts the door behind her. When she opens her burlap messenger bag to root around inside, you glimpse photographs she must have taken from the beach house, the frames left empty on the mantle of the fireplace. Then Helaena pulls out a pregnancy test, just one, Clearblue.

You gawk at it. “What are you doing?”

“You look sick,” Helaena says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that.”

She is puzzled, wide innocent blue eyes. “Why not?”

“Well…I mean…that would be freakishly quick, wouldn’t it? Like…quick as in immediately. People can’t get pregnant the first time they have sex, right?”

“Huh. They really don’t have sex ed in Kentucky,” Helaena says, and leaves you alone with your pregnancy test. You don’t feel so nauseous anymore, but you sneak around the back of the cabin to take it anyway, because now you’re thinking about the possibility with a vividness you’ve never experienced before: a round blossoming belly and tiny handprints and Aemond cradling his child in his arms. And by the time you get the result, you aren’t even shocked. It feels like something that’s supposed to happen.

You and Aemond don’t have a moment alone together until after dark, sitting on the porch swing outside your cabin for first watch, everyone else asleep, Ice dozing serenely by your feet. The only sounds are the breeze through the pine trees, cool and damp, and the hoots of owls, and the chirping of crickets and cicadas.

“So guess what,” you say casually as moonbeams float rippling and fractured on the surface of the black-glass lake.

Aemond smiles drowsily, not expecting anything. “What?”

“In approximately eight months, I might be having your baby.”

At first, he doesn’t speak; he only studies the test when you hand it to him, and then looks at you like he’s not convinced you aren’t angry, like he can’t quite bring himself to believe that you’d want this with someone like him. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” you answer honestly. Maybe you should be, but you aren’t. “I’m hopeful. I feel like as soon as I realized it, everything got brighter. And now I’m thinking about the future instead of the past.” They’re not going to grow up like I did. They’re never going to think they aren’t loved. “What should we name it?”

“Not Otter.”

You laugh, trying to muffle it so you don’t wake anyone. Ice lifts her head and stares at you curiously, her shaggy grey ears straight up.

“I don’t know, I’m terrible with names,” Aemond says; and now he’s smiling again, a wide radiant smile, and you know he’s thinking about the future too. “Hope or Peace or something. Something happy. Something about starting over.”

You take his hand. “I can’t wait to start over with you.”

“Just one more day,” Aemond says.

One more day.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So what am I going to do in Odessa?” Luke asks as the eight of you—nine, if you count Ice—trek eastbound on Route 140. You are about five miles from Lake of the Woods and halfway to your destination. It’s only 80 degrees and overcast, good walking weather, although there is a looming threat of rain, occasional rogue drops and far-off rumbles of thunder. “Everyone has valuable skills except me. Chips has great aim and can build things, Daeron has his compound bow, Aemond is basically a doctor, Rhaena is learning how to shoot guns and treat injuries…”

“Aegon has skills?” Cregan jokes, casting him a good-natured grin. Aegon acts like he’s going to whack Cregan with his golf club, which he’s spinning around haphazardly. Both his Marlin .22 and acoustic guitar are slung across his back. There aren’t many bullets left, but everyone has a few.

“Aegon can navigate,” Luke says. “And probably impregnate ten women a day. Very useful during a population crisis.”

“We don’t need that in the gene pool,” Rhaena notes.

“You wrote stories in college, right?” you ask Luke.

“Screenplays, yeah,” he says hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t say I was super talented or anything.”

Aegon claps him on the shoulder “Well I’ve got good news for you, kid. A big chunk of the world’s screenwriters are probably dead now. So you’ll look so much better in comparison!”

“Thanks…?” Luke says.

“What I mean is,” you continue. “You could write books for people to read, since there aren’t really libraries or Barnes & Nobles anymore. And you could interview people to get their life stories and then record them so they aren’t lost forever. The next generation should know what the world was like before the zombies.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says as he pets Ice. “Someone has to tell them about blue raspberry Icees, right Blue Raspberry Icee?”

“Maybe,” Luke says thoughtfully, and you notice that he’s smiling a little.

Ice begins whining, and there is a rustling in the woods to the north, low-hanging branches of bigleaf maple and dogwood and Douglas fir trees being forced aside. “Zombie!” Aegon announces, pointing. Immediately, Daeron nocks an arrow and then releases it, and the figure draped in the shifting shadows of foliage drops to the ground.

“Hey Aegon,” Daeron says after a few seconds.

“Yeah?”

“That was actually a zombie, right?”

“Totally,” Aegon replies, but he doesn’t sound certain.

Aemond turns to his older brother accusingly. “How sure are you?”

“Like…50%.”

“Aegon!” Rhaena cries, petrified, and everyone rushes off the road to investigate.

Blessedly, the felled creature is long-dead, a former park ranger whose tan uniform hangs in gore-stained tatters. The nametag reads: Underwood. The arrow pierced its soft rotting skull and remains lodged there until Daeron pulls it out to be used again, giving Aegon an impatient scowl as he does.

“Close call,” Aegon tells him. “Think they would have charged you as an adult?”

“Lord almighty, that gave me a scare,” Cregan says, chuckling. Helaena spies a blackberry bush and begins picking a handful, and Cregan goes over to join her. Rhaena and Luke are telling Aegon that he needs to be more responsible and should have waited for Luke to confirm it was a zombie with his binoculars. You exchange a glance with Aegon: he rolls his eyes, you offer a smirk of commiseration. Ice is already trotting back towards Oregon Route 140.

You haven’t told anyone else that you’re pregnant yet, but eventually they’re going to notice that Aemond won’t leave your side. He sighs and asks you: “Have you had enough of this little field trip?”

“Definitely.” You head for the road. Aemond walks with you, placing you not on his left side but on his right where he can see you. You ask, smiling: “You don’t trust me to watch your blind side anymore, huh?”

“I prefer the view the way it is.”

You are only a few steps from the black artery of pavement that cuts through the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, a 114,000-acre preserve of wilderness that somehow—although it is 2,500 miles away—reminds you a bit of eastern Kentucky, endless emerald forests, the omnipotent shadows of mountains. And because you are on Aemond’s right side, he can look down and see something just in front of you on the earth strewn with knobby roots and pine needles and dead leaves.

“Don’t!” he shouts, snatching your forearm and yanking you backwards, and he’s never touched you like this before—so forcefully, so violently—and you stumble and almost fall, and your arm burns and aches where he grabbed you, and people are asking what’s going on, and you peer up at Aemond with confusion, fear, mistrust.

“Why…?”

And then you hear it rustling from the same place where you were standing a moment ago. The others yelp and dash out of the way as the snake escapes into the woods, a drab spotted olive green, a rattling tail, an angular skull like an arrowhead.

“Aemond?” you say, because he hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound. He looks down, and your gaze follows his. On his right calf, just a few inches above his ankle, are two small puncture wounds from the snake’s fangs, each dribbling a thin river of blood.

“Northern Pacific rattlesnake,” Helaena says, her voice shaking, tears welling up in her horrified eyes. “Venomous.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has one arm draped across Cregan’s shoulders, the other over Aegon’s. He’s moving slower, or is that just your imagination? His steps are less steady, his breathing more labored. His leg is swelling, a deep blue phantom of a bruise spreading beneath his skin, so tight it looks like it might split open.

“We’re almost there,” you say; you keep saying it, because hopefully that will make it true. “We’re only a few miles from Odessa, and we’ll find people who can help us.”

“Aemond, you’re a doctor,” Luke says.

Aemond’s voice is weak, pained, hazy. “I’m not a doctor.”

“You know what I mean!” Luke yells, frantic. “How do we fix you? What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says listlessly. “There’s nothing you can do without a hospital. I’ll either get better or I won’t.”

“People in Odessa will know how to help,” you insist. “They’re outside all the time, they hike, they hunt, they fish, they’ve seen snakebites before. They must have. They’ll have treatments.”

“Aemond,” Rhaena breathes, and you turn to see there is blood running from his nostrils. You scream, and Aemond touches his fingers to his face and then watches as they come away bloody.

“Put me down,” he tells Cregan and Aegon.

“No—” you begin, but then his knees buckle and he’s on the pavement anyway, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, blood filling up his right eye. Cregan walks to the shoulder of the highway, his head in his hands. Aegon stays beside Aemond, and you’re kneeling there with him, both of you using anything you have to clean the blood from Aemond’s face: the corners of your shirts, your bare hands.

He’s covered in blood, you think. Just like Jace, Baela, Rio.

“Can’t clot,” Aemond is murmuring. “The venom causes coagulotoxicity. Internal bleeding too. I feel like…like there’s all this pressure inside…”

Rhaena is taking Aemond’s pulse like he taught her to, fingers on the underside of his wrist. “It’s really faint,” she says quietly.

You grab a plastic Gatorade bottle filled with rainwater out of your backpack and tilt it against Aemond’s crimson-stained lips. He manages to swallow some of it. “Aemond, listen to me,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’re so close. We’re almost there. I need you to hang on a little longer.”

He shakes his head, slow dizzy motions. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They might have doctors in Odessa.” This is a fantasy, but you can’t resist it.

“Even if they do, there won’t be any antivenom. And it’s too late anyway.”

“No,” you say savagely, a sob ripping through your throat. “We didn’t cross 3,000 miles so you could die here. I won’t let you. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fair.”

“Aegon,” Aemond says, reaching for him, drained and fumbling.

Aegon catches his hand. “I’m here.”

His eye—crystalline blue corrupted with red, blood in clear water—drifts to his brother. “You have to get her to Odessa. You have to help take care of everyone.”

Aegon is weeping. “Man, it’s supposed to be you. How can I still be here if you aren’t?”

“You can do this,” Aemond says.

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Aemond,” Aegon says, then crawls away on his hands and knees and collapses on the pavement, gutted, inconsolable, hemorrhaging grief instead of gore.

Everyone is crying and touching Aemond—his face, his hands—saying goodbye, accepting tasks, and they come away stained with red, and rain has begun to fall from a dark sky growling with thunder. Rhaena takes his medical kit. Helaena takes his Glock and stows it away in her messenger mag. Then Aemond looks for you, and now you are alone with him here in the middle of the highway, two golden lines on black asphalt, and with your thumbprint you whisk away the rivulet of blood that is spilling from his eye.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers as his heart fails, as his lungs fill with blood instead of air, as his pores leak rust and ruin. “Odessa will be everything we hoped for. I just won’t be there with you.”

“You can’t leave me,” you’re saying as rain patters against the road. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Love,” he sighs, almost too softly to hear. “I don’t want to.”

You lie down on the pavement with him and rest your head on his chest, feel it rise and fall beneath you as the rain descends in sheets. And then Aemond exhales, deep and rattling, and he never tastes oxygen again, never speaks, never touches you. You don’t move from where you’re lying. You’re there until you’re drenched to the bones with rain and the world is a cold mist of pine trees, of wilderness, and you can never go back to any of the places you’ve been before, you can never get back the people you’ve left there.

Aegon is shaking you. “We have to keep moving,” he chokes out through tears.

You reply without looking at him. “I’m giving up now.”

“No you’re fucking not. We have to walk to Odessa.”

“Everyone’s dead in Odessa. Everyone’s dead everywhere. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to stay in a world like this.”

On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon glancing at the others, standing just off the highway and under the canopy of the pine trees. He seems defeated, he seems lost.

Then suddenly Aegon turns back to you. “Hey!” he screams, so loudly you jolt upright, your palms on wet pavement, rain dripping from your hair. “I’m still alive. You’re still alive. This isn’t over yet. I said I would get you to Odessa, so that’s where we’re going. Stand up. Right now.”

Aegon holds out his hand. Thunder booms, lightning strobes, and then you take it. He pulls you to your feet and hesitates, as if he didn’t think he would get this far. Then he throws his arms around you, a crushing desperate embrace, a wordless devotion, a silent vow, sobbing into the curve of your neck, tasting the copper and iron of his brother’s blood on your skin.

“We have to keep moving,” he says again, like an apology, like he understands how impossible it feels. “The storm’s getting worse. It’ll be too dark to see soon.”

“We can’t leave him alone like this.”

“That’s not Aemond anymore,” Aegon pleads. “Aemond’s gone. And he would want us to live.”

Now the others are here on the road too: Daeron, Helaena, Cregan, Rhaena, Luke, Ice whimpering and licking scarlet stains of blood off your hands. You’re all holding each other; you’re all any of you have left. Cregan carries Aemond off the pavement and on a patch of grass alongside Route 140, the seven of you cover his body with branches of pine needles and white petals from dogwood trees. Rhaena is the first person to begin walking again, heading east. One by one you follow her. The downpour is torrential; if you are attacked now, you are nearly blind. Aegon stays beside you no matter how slow your steps are. You think if he disappears, you will too; the strings that tie you to the earth will fray and unweave and your bones will turn to mist, your voice will only be the wind howling down mountainsides. You have no way of knowing how long you’ve been walking or how many miles are left. You wonder what will happen to Aemond’s child if there is nothing for you in Odessa.

The rain is stopping. Now you can hear crows, woodpeckers, formations of geese honking in a foggy sky and squirrels scrabbling up tree trunks. Falcons perch watchfully on dead power lines. Rare aisles of sunlight are breaking through dissipating clouds.

They rise up out of the verdant jungle, a tangle of Pacific ninebark and blue elderberry: four figures in green camouflage, two men and two women, all wearing tactical sunglasses and wielding assault rifles, M16s you’re fairly sure, automatic and with 20-round magazines. Daeron moves to nock an arrow and then stops when he sees you’ve put up your hands. The others follow your lead: palms empty, willingly surrendering.

It’s them, you think dazedly. The people in Odessa. They’re alive, they’re real.

“Please cooperate and hand over all your weapons,” one of the women says, fifties, muscular, alert hawkish eyes.

No one moves. Then you unholster your Beretta M9—received from the U.S. Navy almost exactly five years ago, a different lifetime, a different world—and hold it out to the woman in your open palm. And now everybody else is giving their weapons over too: Aegon and Luke’s .22s, Rhaena’s Ruger, the spare Ruger and Aemond’s Glock hidden in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag, Daeron’s compound bow, Cregan’s axe. Ice peers up at Cregan anxiously, her yellowish eyes wide, but she wags her tail when he runs one of his large, calloused hands over her rain-soaked fur.

Aegon is still clutching his golf club. One of the men stares at him, incredulous. “You can keep that, son,” he says.

The woman nods to the men. “Nick and Glen will escort you five miles up the road, and then return your weapons. We ask that you keep moving and do not turn around. We don’t want trouble, but we can defend ourselves. Don’t think you can double back tomorrow and try to loot us or anything. This is your only warning. Do you understand?”

Aegon nudges your hand with his knuckles, then taps you harder when at first you’re too shellshocked to notice. You have to explain. You have to tell them why you’re here.

“I…I…” You begin, unable to make the words leave your lips, rats from a sinking ship, plummeting bodies from a burning building. Here you stand on a precipice, and with so many other people to save. “I served in the Navy with Bryan Osorio. We left Saratoga Springs together. He told me it would be safe here.”

Now they are interested. Slowly, the woman lowers her M16. “You know the Osorios?”

“I do.” I’ve known them for half a decade.

“Could any of them identify you and verify what you’re saying?”

“His wife, Sophie. She’s blonde, and she likes elephants, and she had a baby recently.”

The woman is scanning the faces behind you. “And where’s Bryan?”

“He’s not here anymore,” you say, and now you’re sobbing again. Aegon is squeezing your shoulder, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help him get home. I was supposed to warn him, I was supposed to stop it from biting him, but I didn’t and now he’s gone—”

“Okay, okay.” The woman motions for you to calm down, but her voice is kind. “Who are these guys? Your colleagues, your friends?”

“They’re my family.”

“You can vouch for them?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll all submit to searches for bitemarks?”

“Yes.”

The woman turns to the men she called Nick and Glen. “Take them inside, will you? Get the ID verified and then we’ll process everyone.”

“Got it,” the older man says. And then, to you and your companions: “Follow me.”

Nick and Glen lead you into the forest, the canopy of pine needles so thick the daylight turns to dusk, and you think of lightning bugs, of firelight, of drinking Guinness on the beach with Rio on Diego Garcia. There are several patrols, groups of four or five, that approach to stop you until they see Nick and Glen and wave you through. Then the trees open into a meadow of buttercups and daisies and pink fawn lilies, and beyond that an immense village, some houses decades old, others currently being constructed with logs from pine trees. There are hundreds of people tending to livestock, hanging up laundry to dry on clotheslines, digging in gardens, making candles and soap and butter. There are children playing without fear, giggling as they chase after scampering dogs, challenging each other to games of kickball and Uno.

In front of one of the houses that predates the apocalypse, brick with a screened-in porch, there is a small blonde woman standing in a garden, smiling and chatting with a middle-aged couple. The baby she carries against her chest in a blue sling has dark curly hair like Rio’s.

Sophie and the baby are here. They’ve been alive the whole time.

You rest a palm on your belly without realizing you’re doing it. “What happens now?” you ask Aegon.

“The rest of our lives.”

It is unimaginable, it is impossible, it is so full of luminous potential you feel like the light will spill out of your pores like blood, it’s an oasis, it’s a second chance, it’s an island in the vast lethal untamed blue of the Indian Ocean.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says softly, taking your hand and leading you across the field of wildflowers, kaleidoscopic blooms in the last days of summer.

[leahrintarou]

Suna with an s/o who's really scared of thunderstorms pls?? Your work is always so awesome btw-

✩₊˚.⋆ SAFE & SOUND - suna rintarou

CW: y/n is scared of thunderstorms ofc, suna being a sweetheart, fluff, she cries just a teeny bit, reader with she/her pronouns.

Word Count: 1k

Author's Note: hi guysss, i hope that you enjoy reading this! i found it sweet and cute to write so i hope you enjoy it anon. (i'm so happy that you like my works btw!) ty for reading ;D show your support by leaving a like or reblogging :P

ever since she was a child, a mere girl in grade school, the reverberations of thunder and the harsh flashes of lightning that bled through her window panes had filled her with dread, a fear that dug deep into her very being. the tremors of anticipation, the oppressive silence before the crackling sky split open, and the way the air itself seemed to hold its breath—all conspired against her peace, robbing her of sleep. those sleepless nights became a constant companion, gnawing at her young mind with a persistent unease that lingered long after the storm clouds had passed. tonight was no different.

y/n lay beside suna, her eyes wide open, pupils dilated against the darkness. exhaustion weighed heavy on her bones, yet her mind refused to surrender. though her body ached for rest, her thoughts churned restlessly, denying her the release of slumber. beside her, suna embodied tranquility, his form rising and falling with each untroubled breath. he was a man who could sleep through any chaos—be it the squabble of the twins or even the catastrophic shockwave of a sonic boom. he seemed impervious, shielded from the disquiet of the world by some blessed indifference.

his arms were folded beneath his pillow, his broad back exposed and facing her, a silent wall between his peaceful dreams and her waking nightmare. his head, cushioned against the soft fabric, was turned away, as if even in sleep, he sought to shield her from his contentment. the room lit up briefly as lightning cast spectral shadows against the walls, and y/n stiffened, every muscle bracing for the inevitable roar that would follow. the thunder did not disappoint, crashing through the silence like a judge’s gavel, making the house shudder beneath the sound. her hands trembled as she curled into herself, seeking comfort where there was none.

she stole a glance at suna, his features serene and undisturbed, and guilt twisted in her gut. he had been through so much this week—long hours, relentless days—and waking him for something as trivial as this felt selfish. she should have outgrown this irrational terror; it was a childish fear, something to be dismissed like nightmares in the light of day. yet, here she was, her heart racing with each peal of thunder as if it were some primordial beast come to claim her. each fresh rumble tore another sob from her throat, her arms tightening around herself in a futile attempt to hold it together. her breathing was ragged, panic prickling at her lungs, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, spilling over to stain the sheets below.

a sob broke free, soft but sharp, piercing the quiet. though suna was impervious to the clamor of the world, there was one sound he could never ignore. his eyelids fluttered open, his gaze bleary and unfocused, drawn to her shape beside him. “sweetheart?” his voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges, like sandpaper against silk.

for a moment, confusion clouded his eyes, but comprehension dawned swiftly as the storm outside roared its fury, shadows of the tempest dancing across their room. “shhh, it’s alright. you’re safe, y/n,” he murmured, the haze of sleep dissipating as he reached for her, drawing her trembling form close. his voice, though still laced with fatigue, was warm and reassuring, an anchor in the midst of the storm.

“it’s so loud,” she whispered, her tears falling freely now, soaking into the pillow they shared. he felt a pang of guilt, a knife twisting in his chest, for her suffering. “why didn’t you wake me, sweetheart?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing away the wetness on her cheeks.

“you’re tired,” she mumbled, shaking her head, her voice laced with resignation.

he huffed, a sound that was half-amused, half-exasperated, and he found her chin, tilting her face up towards his. “and so are you. how long have you been up?” she shrugged, the movement small and helpless, and his hand slipped beneath her shirt, tracing soothing patterns along her lower back.

“a few hours,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a breath.

suna cursed himself silently, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. he should have known. he had been aware of the storm’s approach, but the knowledge had slipped away, lost in the depths of his exhaustion. another roll of thunder reverberated through the house, and y/n flinched, pressing closer to him as if seeking refuge. he pulled her nearer, her head resting against his bare chest, his heart beating steadily beneath her ear. “it’ll pass soon, okay?” he promised, his voice a low murmur against the crown of her head.

she wanted to believe him, to let his words soothe her frayed nerves, but it wasn’t about how long the storm would last. it was about the fact that it was happening at all, that the fear was still there, alive and pulsing, even after all these years. suna’s hand left the warmth of her skin, and she looked up, startled, as he placed both palms gently over her ears.

her world muffled, the roaring tempest outside reduced to a distant murmur, and she blinked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. the thunder rolled again, a muted tremor through the house, but the sound did not reach her. only the soft vibration of the walls registered, the storm’s voice silenced by his touch. “better?” he asked, his lips brushing against her temple.

she nodded, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. suna leaned down, his breath warm against her skin, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead and then to her lips, the gesture gentle and comforting. he guided her back down, her head resting once more against his chest, his hands still shielding her from the storm’s wrath.

she could hear his heartbeat, a steady, soothing rhythm beneath her ear, even as his hands softened the world around them. “thank you, rin,” she whispered, her voice heavy with fatigue.

he hummed, a deep, resonant sound that she felt more than heard, the vibration echoing through his chest and through her, anchoring her in the present moment, safe in the circle of his arms. for the first time that night, the fear began to ebb, her eyes growing heavy as the storm raged on outside, distant and far away, a mere echo of the terror it once was.

“get some sleep now, sweetheart. I’ve got you."

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[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:12」 — c.jongho

» ateez menu | jongho menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ incubus!Jongho × fem!Reader wc: 2.5k summary: To pass his final incubus test, Jongho must visit the human world and seduce a sleeping person. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is closed! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: well this was fun to write. i hated the beginning initially but i worked it out in the end! this is Jongho's birthday piece as well as especially written for my bestie Sky. i hope you enjoy your incubus!Jongho! thank you for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), somnophilia, mind break (f receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dom!Jongho, sub!Reader, I think I got all of them but of course let me know if I missed something! kinks: Somnophilia + mind break dialogue prompt: ❛❛ I’m going to have you screaming by the end of the night. ❜❜

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It wasn’t exactly his idea to become an incubus but it seemed like a better idea to Jongho than sticking around in the Underworld and torturing souls so he signed up quickly. He had gone through all the usual training that came with the role but now it was time for his final test, one he’d been dreading since learning about it.

Seduce a sleeping person.

Jongho’s task was simple: invade the mind of a sleeping person, seduce them while they were asleep, and seal the deal. It sounded simple and it should have been but he was beyond nervous as he stood on the summoning circle, waiting for the portal to open.

“Good luck,” were the last words he heard before the edges of the circle started to glow, energy spinning and swirling around him as the portal glowed and just like that, he was standing in a dark bedroom. He glanced around and took in his surroundings.

Lightning flashed outside, a deep rumble following in the distance as rain pelted the glass windows. The room was a decent size with a queen size bed in the middle. The white comforter was tangled as the form of a sleeping person lay there. The sound of their breathing was the only thing he could hear as he focused entirely on their being.

As he drew closer, he realized the one sleeping was the one he’d been practicing everything else on. He had met you on the street as part of the plan. Meet a troubled soul with a history with sleeping problems, establish himself in their mind and slowly influence their thoughts as he visited them night after night.

He didn’t know why he expected his subject to be anyone else but he was glad it was you.

He moved slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you sleep soundly. It seemed to be the first deep sleep you’d had in a long time and deep down he hated having to interrupt it but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

He reached out a hand slowly, fingers skimming over the white bedspread as he moved towards the top of the comforter. His hand stopped as you sighed out softly, turning your head in your sleep. Once you stopped moving, he continued, sliding his hand up your arm, brushing your skin with the back of his knuckles. His hand trailed up to your forehead where he pressed two fingers against your temple.

He shut his eyes, a warmth enveloping him as he entered your subconscious, taking in your dream-like state.

Opening his eyes, he found himself standing in the same coffee shop he’d met you outside of. He glanced around, everything moving slower than it normally did as he scanned the blurry faces of the shop inhabitants. His eyes landed on you sitting at a table by the window. Your face was the only one not blurry. He walked over slowly, moving at a normal pace as the world around the two of you seemed to drag on.

He reached your table and you looked up at him, a smile spreading across your face. “You came,” you said softly. Jongho took a seat, clearly you had been expecting him. “Hey,” he said, his voice sounding much more cheerful than he felt. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to show,” you said softly, looking down at your mug, your fingers wrapped around the ceramic and taking in the warmth.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jongho asked, tilting his head. You looked up to meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “I thought you might stand me up.” Jongho studied your movements. ‘Stand you up? Was this a date?’ 

“Why would I stand up a pretty girl like you?” he asked, noticing the way you fidgeted in your seat. You were nervous but receptive to his advances. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. “So,” you said, shifting in your seat and looking up at him.

“Tell me about yourself.”

The scene shifted again, the world around him turning into a blur of movement. You disappeared, fading away as the location changed. The lights dimmed and Jongho found himself standing in the middle of a crowded club, the bass shaking the floor as lights flitted across the floor while people danced.

Jongho squeezed through the crowd, side stepping couples as his eyes landed on you, dancing with your friends. This was the perfect setting; you were more open to him here. He walked up behind you as you took a step back into him and he caught you gently. You turned quickly, ready to apologize until your eyes met his and instead, he grabbed your hands, pulling you away from your friends and further onto the dance floor, the crowd pressing in on you as he pulled you close against him.

No words were exchanged, only eye contact as you swayed to the music, hands sliding up his chest over the front of his shirt to rest on his shoulders as his hands moved to your hips. Everything you could have possibly said out loud you said with your eyes instead.

You turned, back pressing against him, your ass grinding against his crotch as you continued to dance. One of his hands moved to your stomach, pulling you back against him more, head ducking down to whisper in your ear. “You want to get out of here?” You leaned your head back against his shoulder and nodded, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

The scene changed again, the crowd dissipating as Jongho found himself in your bedroom, a heated exchange of kisses and hands pulling at each other’s clothing until you were left in nothing but your underwear. Jongho standing at the foot of your bed.

Jongho opened his eyes, the dim lights of the city illuminating your dark room as the rain continued to patter against the window. He stood up to remove his suit jacket, dropping it to the floor as he reached up to loosen his tie. He quickly rid himself of the tie and kicked off his shoes before climbing onto the bed, crawling over your sleeping form.

Back in your subconscious, you reached up, taking his face in your hands. “Touch me,” you whispered, your voice echoing slightly. Jongho leaned in, taking your lips in a searing kiss as his hands slid down your sides to your hips. His fingers dug into your skin as your lips parted, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, as one of his hands slipped between your thighs.

Back in your room, Jongho pulled back the covers, taking in your body clad in a silk nightgown. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving under his weight as he slowly climbed over your sleeping form.

In your dream state, you let out a moan as you felt his fingers drag against you through the thin material of your panties which were already soaked. Jongho slipped his thumb under the material, pushing it aside as he slid his fingers between your folds, pads finding your clit quickly. “So wet already,” he murmured, sliding his hand down and dipping the tip of his finger into your entrance.

“I could slide right in,” he added as he watched your face. You moaned in response, thighs spreading further as your body outside of your subconscious responded the same, legs parting as Jongho’s fingers teased your entrance. Without another word, he slid his fingers into you, two at a time until he was knuckles deep in your cunt.

You let out a mix between a sigh and a moan, back arching as your walls welcomed the intrusion. Jongho let out a huff of breath before slowly moving his fingers in and out of you slowly, keeping an eye on your sleeping expression. He curled his fingers, making you moan softly. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of your hole, slowly building up your orgasm.

In your dream, you were much louder, more responsive as your eyes rolled back, wanton moans leaving your lips as he fucked you with his fingers faster and faster until your thighs started to shake. As quickly as it started, he stopped, pulling his fingers from your hole.

You whine at the loss of contact until he brought his hand to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, watching in awe how you reacted in your sleep, lips parting and taking his fingers in your mouth with a moan as you tasted yourself on your tongue. Jongho pulled his fingers from your mouth and sat back on his heels, moving to grab your panties and slide them down your thighs.

This next part was going to be difficult as he quickly rid himself of his clothes, tossing them on the floor with the rest. He stared down at your sleeping form, the thin strap of your nightgown slipping down your shoulder. He grabbed the front of the silk and gently pulled it down, exposing your chest.

He leaned over, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue curling against the bud as he sucked, enjoying the soft whimpers and moans you let out as he teased the sensitive skin. He repeated the same thing to the other, pulling back to blow softly on the raised skin before he bunched the bottom hem of your nightgown up past your waist and kissed down the expanse of your stomach until he drew level with your dripping cunt.

He gave you one lick, enjoying the way your body shuddered before he gave you another, tongue dividing your folds and lapping at your clit. You responded in a series of gasps and soft moans as he licked and sucked at the nub, taking it in his mouth with quiet, wet slurping sounds and teasing it with the tip of his tongue.

You started to stir in your sleep and Jongho froze, waiting to see if you were about to wake up but you simply let out a hum and settled back into slumber. He resumed the motions, flattening his tongue as he pressed against your clit, dragging his tongue slowly over the nub as it started to harden.

When your thighs started to tremble again, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He crawled over you, taking you back into another passionate kiss, letting you taste more of yourself on his tongue with a groan as his tongue danced against yours.

In your subconscious state, he pulled back, staring down at you with glowing red eyes. “I’m going to have you screaming by the end of the night,” he growled, a smirk starting to form as you pleaded with him to fuck you.

He pushed your thighs against your sides, scooting into place. Taking his cock in his hand, he lined the tip with your sopping entrance and pushed into you easily. You let out a long, low moan as he slid into you, bottoming out easily until he was buried fully inside your walls.

He let your body adjust for a moment, enjoying the way your warm walls fluttered around him. The first thrust was shallow and he hardly pulled back but the next was rougher, deeper as he pulled back and slammed into you. You let out a moan, head lolling to the side on your pillow, brows furrowing in pleasure as he set a steady but hard pace, fucking you against the mattress.

He knew he wouldn’t last long and it wasn’t the point to last long. He was supposed to seduce you, fuck you, and fill you with cum. That’s all he was supposed to do. His hips snapped forward, ramming his cock into you repeatedly as he chased his high. Your walls clenched around him rhythmically as your own orgasm approached. He moved a hand to your mound, thumb circling your clit quickly.

It wasn’t part of the plan to get you off but he didn’t see the harm in it.

Your back arched off the bed as you came around his cock in your sleep. He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips as he started to slam into you repeatedly, ready to burst at any second. His eyes fluttered shut and when he opened them, he was back in your dream state.

You were splayed under him, fingers digging into the plush of your comforter as he fucked into you roughly, eyes following the bounce of your breasts with each rough thrust. The room filled with the sound of his skin hitting yours, your wet cunt and your whimpers of pleasure as you were sent hurtling back to another orgasm

“Jongho,” you whimpered, brows knitted together like your sleeping form. “M’gonna cum,” you warned. Jongho nodded. “Beg for it,” he said, slowing his pace as you whined in protest. “Beg me to let you cum.” 

You whined, eyes fluttering shut as you whined, begged, and pleaded with him. Your words mixed together in incoherent babbles as he fucked you through your orgasm before finally letting his own wash over him, thick ropes of cum painting your walls as his hips stilled.

As soon as he finished, Jongho pulled out of you, pulling your nightgown back in place and pulled the covers up before grabbing his clothes and dressing in silence. He glanced back at your sleeping form as he tightened his tie and grabbed his jacket, brushing the fibers from your fluffy white rug off it and pulled it on. He leaned over you, tracing from your cheek down to your jaw and giving your forehead a kiss.

“Thanks for helping me pass my test,” he murmured. 

He walked over to the spot where he had first entered the room and waited. After a few moments, a circle of light started at his feet before swirling energy engulfed him and in a flash, your room was left empty as the rain continued to pelt against the window, lightning flashing and thunder rumbling in the distance.

You awoke with a start, gasping as you looked around your room.

It was morning, gray skies as the tail end of the storm passed by, only soft rain falling over the misty city. You looked around your room before pulling back the covers and moving to get up, your thighs aching as you moved. You’d had vivid dreams of that same stranger again last night only they were much more intense and you felt like you’d had sex for hours if the burn between your legs was anything to go by.

As you entered the bathroom, you turned the light on and looked at your reflection, noticing the dark circles under your eyes that indicated you didn’t get much sleep the previous night. You sighed as you moved to the shower, turning it on and letting the water heat up. As you waited, you felt something warm and sticky run down the inside of your thigh and quickly reached down to wipe it away.

Bringing your hand up to inspect it you saw a runny whitish fluid, coating your fingertips, eyes widening as you stared at it. It looked suspiciously like…

Just what the fuck happened last night?

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[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 7✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language, angst, fluff

Word Count: 7413

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

Around 3 in the morning, you were abruptly awakened by a loud clap of thunder that rattled the windows and reverberated through the small motel room. Your heart jumped in your chest, the sudden noise yanking you out of the comforting embrace of sleep. The storm outside was fierce, the wind howling and the rain pelting against the glass like tiny hammers. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room for a split second, followed by another deafening boom that seemed to shake the walls.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but the fear that gripped you was almost paralyzing. Thunderstorms had always terrified you, something you’d never quite been able to shake. It was irrational, you knew that, but the fear was real and overwhelming.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to bury yourself in its warmth, but the noise was too loud, the flashes of lightning too bright. Sleep seemed impossible, your mind racing with every crash of thunder. You lay there, your body tense, your heart pounding in your chest, desperately wishing the storm would pass quickly.

Dean was still beside you, his presence a small comfort even though he was fast asleep. You could hear his steady breathing, a calm rhythm that contrasted sharply with the chaos outside and the turmoil inside you. You wanted to wake him up, to ask for comfort, but you hesitated, not wanting to disturb him. You knew he’d probably brush off your fears as something silly, and the last thing you wanted was to feel even more vulnerable.

But as another flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a particularly loud clap of thunder, you couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips. The sound was so quiet, you weren’t sure if Dean had heard it, but to your surprise, he stirred beside you.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, his senses quickly alert despite the grogginess of being woken up in the middle of the night. He immediately noticed the tension in your body, the way you were gripping the blanket like a lifeline. His brow furrowed in concern as he turned toward you, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“(Y/N)?”, he murmured, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “You okay?”.

Another rumble of thunder shook the room, and you flinched, your body involuntarily curling in on itself. You didn’t answer right away, but your reaction was enough to make Dean understand. He had seen this before—the way you tensed up during storms, the way your bravado disappeared when faced with something as simple as the weather. He knew you’d never been able to shake that fear.

Without thinking, Dean shifted closer to you, his protective instincts kicking in. “Hey, it’s alright”, he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s just a storm. You’re safe here”.

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made you feel a little less alone in your fear. You still didn’t say anything, but when Dean’s hand slid from your shoulder down to your arm, giving it a comforting squeeze, you felt a small measure of relief.

Dean hesitated for a moment, then pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a protective gesture. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t try to talk you out of your fear. He just held you, offering his silent support in the way that only Dean could.

You felt yourself relax a little, leaning into him, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart calm your racing thoughts. The storm was still raging outside, but with Dean’s arms around you, it didn’t feel as terrifying. You knew he was right—you were safe here, with him.

“Try to get some sleep”, Dean murmured, his voice close to your ear. “I’ve got you”.

You nodded against his chest, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of his breathing, the feel of his arms around you. The storm was still there, but it seemed a little more distant now, its fury muted by the comfort Dean provided. And slowly, despite the thunder and the lightning, you felt yourself beginning to drift off again, safe in the knowledge that Dean was there with you.

The next morning, you woke up to the soft, golden light filtering through the thin curtains of the motel room. It took you a moment to orient yourself, the memory of the stormy night coming back to you in fragments—the loud thunder, the flashes of lightning, and the way Dean had held you close.

As your senses sharpened, you became acutely aware of how tightly you were pressed against Dean’s body. His arm was still draped around you, holding you close to his chest, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your back. But there was something else too, something that made your heart race and your stomach churn in the best possible way: the unmistakable press of his morning arousal against you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized just how intimately the two of you were tangled together. The thin fabric of your sleep shorts and his sweatpants did little to diminish the sensation, and the heat of his body against yours was making it difficult to think clearly. Your mind raced with a mix of excitement, nervousness, and something deeper—something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.

Dean was still asleep, his breathing deep and even, oblivious to the effect he was having on you. But you couldn’t ignore the way your body was reacting to his, the way your heart pounded in your chest, the way your skin tingled where it pressed against his. You felt a surge of desire, so sudden and intense that it took your breath away. The rational part of your mind told you to move, to put some distance between you before he woke up and realized what was happening, but your body seemed unwilling to comply.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity, your thoughts spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the closeness of him. It was a heady, intoxicating feeling, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he would wake up soon—if he would feel what you were feeling.

Finally, you decided to move, as carefully as you could, trying not to wake him. But as you began to shift, Dean stirred slightly, his arm tightening around you for a brief moment before he relaxed again. You froze, holding your breath, waiting to see if he would wake up. When he didn’t, you let out a slow, shaky exhale, your heart still racing.

But even as you lay there, still pressed against him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between you—that the line you’d both been so careful not to cross was becoming more and more blurred. The weight of his arm around you, the heat of his body, the way you fit together so perfectly—it was all too much, and yet not enough.

Again you shifted slightly, trying to create some distance without waking him, but as you did, Dean stirred once more. This time, his hand flexed against your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious move, as if he didn’t want to let go. Your breath hitched, the sensation of his body pressed more firmly against yours making your pulse quicken. The morning sunlight cast a warm glow across the room, but all you could focus on was the heat radiating from where your bodies touched, the undeniable connection that had formed between you.

Dean mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, his voice low and gravelly, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. You wondered what he was dreaming about, if he was even aware of how close you were, how intimately you were wrapped around each other. Part of you wanted to wake him, to see how he would react, to know if he felt the same way you did.

Just as your thoughts began to spiral, you felt him stir again. His hand, which had been resting gently on your waist, tightened for a brief moment before his breathing changed, signaling that he was waking up.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the rush of adrenaline making it difficult to stay still. You felt the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck, and for a split second, you considered pretending to be asleep to avoid whatever awkwardness might come next. But before you could make a decision, you felt him shift behind you.

Dean blinked a few times, his mind still foggy from sleep as he became aware of the warmth pressed against him. It took him a moment to register that it was you, and when he did, his body tensed slightly, the remnants of sleep quickly fading as the reality of the situation settled in.

His grip on your waist loosened, his hand hovering as if he wasn’t sure whether to pull away completely or let it stay there. He was acutely aware of how close you were, the way your body fit perfectly against his, and the soft scent of your hair filling his senses. It was both comforting and maddening, stirring emotions in him that he had tried so hard to keep at bay.

“(Y/N)?”, Dean’s voice was husky with sleep, and you could feel the vibrations of his words against your back.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to figure out how to respond without making things even more awkward. “Yeah?”, you whispered, your voice coming out softer than you intended.

Dean hesitated, his breath warm against your neck as he searched for the right words. “We should… uh… probably get up”, he said finally, though there was a reluctance in his tone that matched the conflict he was feeling inside.

You nodded, though you made no immediate move to pull away. Part of you didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to lose the closeness that had somehow brought you both a sense of peace, even if it was just for a little while. But you knew he was right—staying like this would only make things more complicated.

After a few more seconds of hesitation, you gently moved to sit up, feeling the loss of his warmth the moment you did. Dean followed suit, pushing himself up to a sitting position, his back leaning against the headboard. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep and the emotions that had come with waking up so intimately entwined with you.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with everything that neither of you were saying. You both knew that something had shifted, that the line between friendship and something more had become even more blurred. But neither of you seemed ready to confront it, at least not yet.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Sleep okay?”, he asked, his voice still a little rough.

You gave him a small, hesitant smile. “Yeah… I did”, you replied, your heart still beating a little too fast. “You?”.

Dean nodded, though he didn’t quite meet your eyes. “Yeah. Better than I expected, actually”.

The two of you sat there for a moment longer, the tension gradually easing as the reality of the new day began to set in. Whatever had happened between you during the night was something you would have to figure out eventually, but for now, there was an unspoken agreement to take things one step at a time.

Dean moved to get up, but as soon as he did, he became acutely aware of the uncomfortable tightness in his pants—a reminder of the arousal that had lingered from waking up so close to you. Panic flashed through him as he quickly turned his back to you, hoping you hadn’t noticed, or worse, felt anything. He mumbled something about needing to use the bathroom, his voice tight, before he practically fled the room.

Inside the bathroom, Dean closed the door behind him and let out a strained groan, leaning heavily against the sink for a moment. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror, his face a mix of frustration and something deeper—something he wasn’t ready to confront. The last thing he needed was to deal with this on top of everything else.

He forced himself to focus, to push the thoughts of you out of his mind as he moved to stand over the toilet, trying to will his body to relax. It was easier said than done, especially with the vivid memory of how it felt to have you so close, your body fitting perfectly against his in a way that made him ache with a longing he’d been fighting to suppress.

As he stood there, waiting for his body to calm down enough to actually pee, his thoughts kept circling back to you. He couldn’t shake the image of you lying there in bed, the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you fit so perfectly in his arms. It had been so natural, so easy, that it scared him.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the tension in his body began to ease, and he was able to relieve himself. But the frustration, the confusion, and the lingering desire were still there, gnawing at him as he washed his hands and splashed some cold water on his face, hoping to clear his mind.

He leaned against the sink again, staring down into the basin as he tried to collect himself. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not with you. You were too important, too close, and he couldn’t afford to let his feelings complicate things any further.

But as much as he tried to push those thoughts away, they kept coming back, stronger and more insistent than before. He knew he had to get a grip, had to figure out a way to deal with this before it spiraled out of control.

Taking a deep breath, Dean straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the lingering frustration. He couldn’t avoid you forever, and he knew he’d have to face you again in just a few moments. He needed to act normal, to pretend like everything was fine, even if it was far from it.

With one last look in the mirror, Dean turned and headed back out into the motel room, hoping that whatever tension had built up between you two would ease with time—and that you hadn’t noticed just how affected he really was.

Half an hour later, the two of you were back in the car, the Impala rumbling to life as Dean turned the key in the ignition. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape, but inside the car, the atmosphere was still heavy with the unspoken tension from that morning.

You sat quietly in the passenger seat, your hands fidgeting slightly in your lap as you stared out the window. The events of the night before were still fresh in your mind—the way Dean had held you, the comfort you’d found in his arms, and the way the morning had brought a confusing mix of emotions that you were still struggling to process. The silence between you was thick, and you felt the need to say something, anything, to break it.

After a few moments of gathering your thoughts, you bit your lip and turned to look at Dean, your voice quiet and a little hesitant. “Thank you… for last night”, you mumbled, the words feeling both necessary and awkward at the same time.

Dean glanced over at you briefly, his expression carefully controlled, though you could see the hint of something softer in his eyes. He nodded, his gaze returning to the road ahead as he tried to find the right words. “You don’t have to thank me”, he said, his voice a bit gruff, but with an underlying gentleness. “I’m just glad I could help”.

You offered him a small, tentative smile, though the nervousness in your stomach didn’t entirely go away. “It… it really meant a lot”, you added, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “I don’t think I would have made it through the storm without you.”

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, and he took a deep breath, trying to keep his own emotions in check. The truth was, holding you last night had meant more to him than he was willing to admit, even to himself. It had felt natural, right, in a way that both comforted and terrified him.

“Anytime”, he replied, his voice softer now, more sincere. He risked another glance at you, his heart clenching at the sight of your uncertain expression. “I mean that, (Y/N). I’m always here for you”.

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best possible way, but it also made the tension between you even more palpable. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything more without revealing just how much his presence meant to you, how deeply you were beginning to feel for him.

The car fell into a more comfortable silence after that, the tension easing slightly as the two of you settled into the familiar rhythm of the road. But even as you drove, the unspoken emotions hung between you like a fragile thread, a connection that neither of you were quite ready to sever, but both were too afraid to fully embrace.

After a few hours of driving in relative silence, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the miles seemed to stretch endlessly before you. Eventually, the inevitable need to relieve himself forced Dean to pull the Impala to the side of the road.

As the car rolled to a stop, Dean gave you a quick glance before he muttered, “I´ll be right back” and opened the door. You nodded, using the opportunity to stretch your legs after being cooped up in the car for so long. The highway was quiet, a small mound of earth just off the road providing a bit of privacy.

You got out of the car and stretched your arms over your head, the muscles in your back and legs appreciating the movement. The air was fresh, with a light breeze that made you close your eyes for a moment and just breathe in. It was a simple moment, but it felt good after the emotional tension of the morning.

Dean walked a little way from the car, his back to you as he found a spot near the mound. You could see his broad shoulders relax slightly as he unzipped his jeans and spread his legs, taking care of business with as much privacy as the side of a highway could offer.

You turned your attention to the sky, letting your thoughts drift as you tried to process everything that had happened between you and Dean. The night before, the way you’d woken up in his arms, the tension that had followed.

Dean finished up and zipped his jeans, turning back toward you with a small, almost embarrassed smile.

Dean caught the small chuckle you let out as he walked back to the car, and it brought a slight smile to his face. The tension from earlier in the morning had started to ebb away, replaced by a more relaxed, easygoing atmosphere between the two of you. It was a relief, and Dean was grateful for the small moments of normalcy you both could find amidst everything else.

You shook your head slightly, still smiling, as you both climbed back into the Impala. As you settled into your seat, you pulled out your phone, checking for messages. Almost immediately, you saw a new notification from Sam, and as you opened it, you found a picture of him, Jody, and the girls sitting by a lake, their feet in the water. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the scene, and you could almost feel the coolness of the water just by looking at it.

You couldn’t help but groan softly, a mix of envy and amusement tugging at you. “Look at this”, you said, turning the phone toward Dean so he could see the picture.

Dean glanced over as he started the engine, his smile widening at the sight. “Well, doesn’t that look like a postcard”, he commented, his tone light. “Guess we’re missing out on all the fun”.

“Yeah”, you agreed, a hint of longing in your voice. “But hey, at least they’re saving us a spot, right?".

Dean chuckled as he pulled back onto the highway, his gaze focused on the road ahead. “Yeah, they better. After this drive, I’m diving headfirst into that lake”.

You both laughed, the image of Dean cannonballing into the water flashing through your mind and making you grin. The thought of finally reaching your destination, of relaxing by the lake with everyone, felt like the perfect way to unwind after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days.

As the miles continued to roll by, the conversation between you and Dean flowed more easily. The tension from the morning was still there, but it was quieter now, buried beneath the familiar rhythm of your interactions.

A few hours later, the conversation between you and Dean had settled into a comfortable silence, and the miles on the highway seemed to blur together as your eyes grew heavy. Before you knew it, you were drifting off, the tension from earlier melting away as sleep overtook you.

Dean glanced over at you occasionally, a small smile playing on his lips as he noticed you dozing off. He was glad to see you finally relaxing, especially after the morning you’d both had. The road stretched out before him, and for a while, he let you sleep, content to let the quiet moments pass by.

Eventually, the Impala’s fuel gauge dipped low enough that Dean decided to make a quick stop at a gas station. He pulled off the highway and into the small station, careful not to wake you as he filled up the tank. Afterward, he headed inside the convenience store, picking up a few snacks and, on a whim, a box of fries from the small fast-food counter.

By the time he got back to the car, you were still fast asleep, your head resting against the window, your breathing slow and steady. Dean couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself as he got back in, the box of fries in one hand.

Leaning over slightly, he wiggled the box of fries in front of your nose, hoping the smell would rouse you. “Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty”, he teased, his voice gentle.

The smell of the fries hit your senses first, and you stirred, blinking groggily as you realized what had woken you up. It took a moment for your eyes to focus, and when they did, you saw Dean grinning at you, the box of fries practically under your nose.

“Figured you might be hungry”, he said, his tone light. “Can’t have you starving on me”.

You couldn’t help but smile, the combination of his teasing and the smell of the fries quickly shaking off the remnants of sleep. “You know, this is probably the best way to wake up”, you mumbled, your voice still a little thick with sleep as you reached for a fry.

Dean’s grin widened as he watched you eat, clearly pleased with himself. He snacked on a few fries himself, doing his best to keep his thoughts focused on the road and not on the complicated feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for days. For a while, it worked. The peaceful drive, the light conversation, and the occasional shared smile all helped to maintain the calm atmosphere.

But as you both settled back into the rhythm of the road, the miles ticking by, you suddenly remembered something that had been on your mind. “Hey, Dean”, you started, your tone casual but tinged with a bit of excitement. “My birthday’s in two days, you know? I was thinking… is there any bar near the lake where we could celebrate? Maybe have a drink, or… I don’t know, just do something fun?”.

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, the ease he had managed to maintain slipping just a bit at the mention of your birthday. He hadn’t forgotten, of course. The date had been on his mind for weeks, a constant reminder that you were getting older, that you were no longer the little girl he’d once known. But hearing you talk about it so casually, asking about celebrating at a bar, made it hit home in a way he hadn’t expected.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep his tone light. “Yeah, I remember”, he said, glancing over at you with a small smile. “I’m sure we can find a place. There’s gotta be a bar or two around there where we can celebrate properly”.

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened further as he thought about what your upcoming birthday really meant. For most of your life, he had been able to push down the complicated feelings he harbored for you, chalking them up to his protective nature, to the bond you shared after everything you had been through together. But as your 18th birthday approached, those feelings had started to shift, to transform into something he had desperately tried to ignore.

He knew that once you were officially an adult, the line that had kept him in check for so long would blur so much more, and that terrified him. The idea of taking you to a bar to celebrate, of watching you step into adulthood, only made it worse. How was he supposed to protect you when he was fighting a battle within himself, a battle against feelings that he had no right to feel?

Dean stole a glance at you, taking in the excitement in your eyes, the way you seemed so eager to embrace this new chapter of your life. It should have made him happy, should have made him proud to see you growing up, becoming your own person. But instead, it filled him with a sense of dread and self-loathing that he couldn’t shake.

He had always been good at compartmentalizing, at pushing down the things that scared him, that made him uncomfortable. But now, with your birthday looming on the horizon, those feelings were becoming impossible to ignore. It was as if they had been lying in wait, biding their time until you were old enough for him to acknowledge them, and now they were threatening to overwhelm him.

Dean hated himself for it. He hated that he was even thinking this way, that he couldn’t just be happy for you without letting his twisted emotions get in the way. You were still the same person you had always been, the same person he had watched grow up, had protected and cared for. But now, everything was different, and it was his fault.

He forced himself to keep his voice steady, to keep the conversation light. “Yeah, we’ll find a place”, he repeated, his words almost mechanical. “We’ll make sure it’s a birthday you won’t forget”.

But even as he said it, the weight of what was unsaid hung between you, a silent reminder of the storm brewing inside him. Dean knew that he was walking a dangerous line, that he was playing with fire by letting these feelings fester. But he didn’t know how to stop it, how to go back to the way things were before everything had changed.

The rest of the drive passed in a blur, with Dean trying his best to keep the conversation focused on anything other than your birthday, anything other than the emotions that were threatening to spill over. He cracked a few jokes, talked about the music on the radio, anything to keep his mind off the one thing he couldn’t afford to think about.

But no matter how hard he tried, the thought of your birthday, of what it meant, lingered in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of the line he was dangerously close to crossing. And as much as he hated himself for it, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once that line was gone.

After what felt like an eternity on the road, the Impala finally pulled up to the lake house, its tires crunching softly on the gravel driveway. The clock on the dashboard read a little past 11 PM, and both you and Dean were exhausted from the long day of driving. The house was dark, save for the soft glow of a few outdoor lights, signaling that everyone else had already gone to bed.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling at you. The excitement you’d felt earlier in the day had long since faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that made it hard to keep your eyes open. You glanced over at Dean, who looked just as tired as you felt, his features drawn and weary from the hours behind the wheel.

“It took us way longer to get here than we thought”, you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Dean nodded, his eyes still focused on the house. “Yeah, the drive was a beast”, he replied, his voice low and gravelly. He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the fatigue that had settled over him like a heavy blanket. “But we made it”.

You both sat there for a moment, neither of you moving to get out of the car. The quiet of the night was almost oppressive, broken only by the soft rustling of the leaves in the trees and the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. The stillness of the house seemed to mirror the stillness between you and Dean, a calm after the storm of emotions that had raged through the day.

Finally, Dean let out a tired sigh and turned off the engine, the sudden silence inside the car making your ears ring. “Come on”, he said, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s get inside and get some sleep”.

You nodded, too tired to argue, and pushed open the car door. The cool night air hit you, waking you up just enough to gather your things from the backseat. Dean did the same, and together, you made your way up the front steps of the lake house, your footsteps muffled on the wooden planks.

The house was eerily quiet as you stepped inside, the only sound the soft creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet. The others were clearly already asleep, the living room empty, and the lights in the hallway dimmed to a soft glow. You were grateful for the quiet, for the chance to finally rest after the long day.

“Your room’s the first one on the left”, he said, gesturing down the hallway. “Mine’s across from it. Get some rest, alright?”.

You nodded, your body already craving the comfort of a bed. “You too, Dean”, you replied, offering him a small, tired smile.

You and Dean exchanged a final, weary look before you both headed to your respective rooms. The weight of the day pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, and all you could think about was getting out of your clothes and into bed as quickly as possible.

Once inside your room, you wasted no time. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, you began to strip off your clothes, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. Your limbs felt heavy, your movements slow as exhaustion pulled at you. Within seconds, you were down to just your underwear, the cool air of the room brushing against your skin as you crossed over to the bed.

The bed was soft, the sheets cool against your warm skin, and you let out a sigh of relief as you crawled under the covers. The day’s events swirled in your mind, but sleep was already tugging at the edges of your consciousness, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were out. You closed your eyes, allowing the comfort of the bed to lull you into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Across the hall, Dean was going through the same routine. As soon as he was in his room, he shut the door and leaned back against it for a moment, letting out a long breath. The drive had been grueling, both physically and emotionally, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed and forget about everything for a few hours.

He shed his clothes just as quickly as you had, not bothering with anything more than his boxers before he practically fell into bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sprawled out, his body finally relaxing after the tension of the day.

Dean stared up at the ceiling for a moment, his thoughts drifting to you in the room across the hall. He knew you were probably just as exhausted as he was, and he hoped you were able to get some rest. The day had been long, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow would bring its own set of challenges.

With a final sigh, Dean rolled over, pulling the blankets up over his shoulder as he settled into the bed. Within moments, the exhaustion overtook him, and he was asleep, his breathing evening out as the night stretched on.

The next morning, the lake house was filled with the warm, inviting smells of breakfast. Bacon sizzled in a pan, eggs were being scrambled, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air. Sam, Jody, and the girls had been up for a while, chatting and laughing softly as they worked together to prepare a feast.

Jody was at the stove, expertly flipping pancakes while Sam poured orange juice into glasses and set the table. The girls, Claire and Alex, were busy slicing fruit and arranging it on a large platter. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a golden glow over everything.

They were careful not to make too much noise, knowing that you and Dean had arrived late and were likely still asleep. Jody glanced toward the hallway, a knowing smile on her face. "Think we should wake them up soon?", she asked Sam, her tone teasing. "Or let them sleep in a bit longer?".

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "Let them sleep. They had a long drive, and I’m sure they need the rest. Besides, it's nice to have some peace and quiet before Dean comes in and eats half the breakfast".

Claire laughed at that, adding a few more slices of strawberries to the platter. "Yeah, I can’t wait to see him try to argue over the last piece of bacon".

Jody smiled, flipping another pancake. “Well, we’ll just have to make sure there’s enough to go around”.

As they continued to chat and prepare breakfast, the house remained peaceful, the sounds of nature outside blending with the comforting bustle of the kitchen. The birds chirped, and the lake’s gentle waves lapped against the shore, creating a serene backdrop for the morning.

Meanwhile, upstairs, you and Dean were still deep in sleep, both of you completely unaware of the lively preparations going on below. The exhaustion from the day before had taken its toll, and the quiet of the lake house offered the perfect conditions for deep, restorative rest.

Dean was sprawled out in his bed, the blankets tangled around his legs, his breathing deep and steady. In your room, you were curled up under the covers, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and warming your skin.

The sun climbed higher, its rays gradually brightening the rooms where you and Dean slept.

Dean was the first to stir, his internal clock, honed by years of hunting and early mornings, pulling him from the depths of sleep. He blinked a few times, disoriented for a moment as he took in his surroundings, then remembered where he was. The exhaustion from the long drive still clung to him, but the smell of breakfast wafting up from downstairs was enough to get him moving.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The events of the previous day flickered through his mind—everything from the tension in the car to the stormy night. He shook his head slightly, trying to push the thoughts aside as he got up and grabbed a fresh shirt.

Meanwhile, in your room, you were still wrapped in the warmth of sleep, the comfort of the bed and the exhaustion from the long drive keeping you cocooned under the blankets. It wasn’t until you heard the faint sounds of laughter from downstairs that you began to stir, the scent of breakfast coaxing you slowly awake.

You opened your eyes, blinking against the morning light as you tried to remember where you were. The lake house. The memory brought a small smile to your lips, and you stretched out under the covers, enjoying the last few moments of rest before you forced yourself to get up.

Dean was already dressed and heading toward the hallway when you finally emerged from your room, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He paused when he saw you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Morning", he greeted, his voice a little rough from sleep.

"Morning", you replied, your voice still soft and sleepy. You gave him a small smile in return, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence wash over you. Despite everything that had happened, despite the complicated feelings you were both grappling with, there was something grounding about seeing Dean first thing in the morning.

“Smells good downstairs”, Dean remarked, nodding toward the stairs. “You ready to face the chaos?”.

You chuckled, nodding as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m starving”.

With that, the two of you made your way downstairs, the sounds of the others growing louder as you approached the kitchen. The sight that greeted you was warm and welcoming—Sam was finishing up setting the table, while Jody was pouring coffee into mugs. Claire and Alex were arranging the last of the fruit platter, and the whole scene looked like something out of a family breakfast in a cozy cabin.

“Hey, look who finally decided to join us!”, Sam called out with a grin as he spotted the two of you. Jody turned around, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Morning, you two!”, she said cheerfully. “I hope you’re hungry”.

“Starving”, you admitted with a smile, your stomach growling in response to the delicious smells filling the room.

Dean nodded in agreement, his mood lifting at the sight of the spread laid out on the table. “Looks great”, he said, grabbing a mug of coffee and taking a sip before heading over to the table. He felt the warmth of the moment settle into his bones, pushing away the lingering tension of the past few days.

As you all gathered around the table, the chatter flowed easily, the warmth of the lake house and the comfort of being surrounded by friends and family easing the tension that had weighed on you and Dean. For a little while, everything felt normal, like the complexities of your relationship had been put on hold, allowing you to enjoy the simple pleasure of a shared meal.

But even as you laughed and talked with everyone, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about the way Dean had looked at you that morning, the way his presence had felt like an anchor in the swirling sea of emotions you were trying to navigate. The feelings were still there, just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise again.

As the breakfast continued, the conversation flowed naturally, touching on everything from recent hunts to the beauty of the lake.

At one point, Jody glanced over at you with a knowing smile. “So, I hear someone’s got a big day tomorrow”, she said, her tone playful but with a hint of excitement.

You looked up from your plate, realizing she was talking about your birthday. You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of anticipation and a bit of shyness creeping in. “Yeah, I guess I do”, you replied, trying to downplay it even though you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest.

Sam, who was sitting across from you, grinned as he leaned back in his chair. “Eighteen, huh? That’s a big one. We’ve gotta do something special”.

Dean, who had been sipping his coffee, kept his gaze on his mug, though you noticed the subtle way his shoulders tensed at the mention of your age. He was doing his best to keep his emotions in check.

Jody nodded enthusiastically, her smile widening. “Absolutely! We should celebrate. There’s that little bar down by the lake—nothing too crazy, but it’s nice. We could have some drinks, play some pool. It’d be a fun way to ring in your birthday”.

You smiled at the suggestion, liking the idea of a low-key celebration with the people you cared about. “That sounds great”, you agreed, the thought of spending your birthday in such a beautiful place with everyone lifting your spirits even more.

Claire, who had been listening in, chimed in with a grin. “And maybe we can get you to do some karaoke”, she teased, nudging you playfully.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Don’t count on it”, you said with mock seriousness, though the idea of a fun night with your friends was becoming more appealing by the minute.

As the conversation continued, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Dean. He was listening quietly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as he watched the interaction unfold. You knew he was happy for you, but there was something else there too—something he was keeping to himself.

Eventually, Dean caught your eye, and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away. There was a depth to his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the fact that tomorrow wasn’t just any birthday—it was a milestone, one that would change the dynamics between you both in ways you were only beginning to understand.

But before you could dwell on it too much, Jody’s voice brought you back to the present. “So, it’s settled then”, she said with a finality that made everyone chuckle. “Tomorrow night, we’re celebrating (Y/N)’s birthday at the lake bar. Drinks, pool, and maybe—just maybe—some karaoke”.

The room buzzed with excitement, the plans for your birthday celebration setting a cheerful tone for the day. You felt a warmth spread through you, a mixture of gratitude and anticipation, and you couldn’t help but look forward to what the night would bring.

Dean, meanwhile, was doing his best to keep his emotions in check, determined to make sure your birthday was special, even as he struggled with the thoughts that had been plaguing him ever since the tension between you both had started to build.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 8

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed @kr804573 @c1gs-coffee @fyegyall

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 6-Cumming in Pants-Illumi/Reader

Notes:  I have never actually sewed a mens suit, because 1. Tailoring is REALLY FUCKING HARD and finicky as hell 2. I'm a woman who has no need for one, and 3. I hate sewing mens clothes their boring

Anyway, enjoy. Also btw 70,000 jenny is about 700 usd

also title is from 'English Love Affair' by 5sos

...

As a seamstress located in Yorknew city, you got a large volume of clientele. Be it wealthy businessmen wanting a high quality suite or spoiled princesses shopping for their next dress, you pride yourself in your high quality work and your range of designs. You made sure to treat each and every patron of your business with respect, even the strange characters you often received. Because of course, as the wealthy clients wore their clothes to gatherings, you gained a reputation for your quality and openness. And of course, the odd ones took notice.

The first hunter you had ever tailored clothes for had been kind of normal, only requiring a special waterproof fabric. But the weirdness had increased and increased and now you regularly got a parade of weird guests after weird guests.

From simple garments that required special skills or fabrics, to gravity defying outfits that any designer would turn down, you took them all. At a handsome price, of course. 

It was raining. Thunder rattled the glass windows of your shop, rain hitting them so hard you worried for a moment they might break. It was dark outside, the blackness only momentarily illuminated by flashes of lightning. You hummed along with the headphones in your ears, carefully cutting the black fabric laid across your cutting table. Cutting was probably one of your least favorite parts, but it was ok right now, the music in your ears and the rain a faint lovely sound on your windows. 

Your shop and studio were the same, situated in a nice part of town. Your shop was in a pleasant little street, filled with mom and pop shops and cafes, and off the beaten path far enough that you might half to know where to look. You weren't looking to incur any damages, and you especially didn't want robbers or crime near your precious creations. You did have a hunter's license, in order to hunt certain types of hides, and you were moderately powerful and would be able to protect yourself in a bad situation, but you didn't like fighting. You would prefer it if you didn't have to defend yourself at all. 

Rain hits the long windows of your shop with a loud pattern, thunder cracking in the background. You humm, a calm russian pop playing through your airpods, dancing around your cutting table. You have certain songs you like playing during rain storms, just to give the right vines. Right now your favorites are В последний раз, and Goodnight Moon—

Your front door opened with a slam. You jump, one of your airpods falls out of your ear and onto the cutting table. A figure stands in your doorway. The figure is tall, with long flowing hair flipping wildly in the wind. Rain hits the hardwood floor a few feet in front of him and you push your shock and fear away and glare at the stranger.

“Can I help you?” You say, standing tall and crossing your arms. “You're getting rain all over my floors.”

The man tilts his head, backlit by the lightning, but you can kind of make out his face. He has pale skin, and big dark eyes, as dark as the night behind him. After a moment of consideration, he steps forwards into the light, letting the door close behind him. 

You bend down, picking up your airpod and carefully putting both of them away before you can lose them. 

The man in your doorway doesn't attempt to shake himself dry or remove the wet hair soaking water on the princess sleeves of his odd green outfit. It takes you one careful look over him to realize he's a hunter. The one lesson you’ve learned in your work with hunters over the years is not one of them dresses normally. Fastest way to spot a hunter in public is to look for the person wearing a discount spirit Halloween jester outfit or wearing what could only be described as a tree cutout robbed straight from a middle school play.

 The man in the doorway tilts his head. 

“You are a seamstress.” He says. It takes you a moment to realize that was a question. “You were recommended to me by my father.”

“I am a seamstress, yes.” You say, eyeing him carefully up and down. “But I'm closed right now.”

“Oh,” The man says, and then continues to stand still as a statue a few feet in front of your door. He looks a bit like a drowned kitten with big black eyes, surrounded by long black hair that sticks to his face, his clothes, his arms. He looked uncomfortable.

“I have a shower,” You say, trying to sound inviting. “You can use my dryer as well if you’d like.”

The man tilts his head slightly, black hair cascading in a wet curtain down his back. You wince as water hits your previously clean hardwood floor. He looks a bit like a porcelain doll, his face mostly eyes and confused blank expression. Finally, he speaks.

“Yes, that would be nice.” He says, stepping farther into your room. You hold out your arm to stop him.

“Stop, you're gonna get my fabric wet,” you sigh, motioning for him to stand still by the door. “Just wait here, I'll be right back.”

The man looks down, lifting his arm experimentally, as if he just remembered he's soaking wet at all. Water cascades off his arm, forming a small puddle beneath him.You sigh, massaging your forehead as you go and fetch some towels from your linen closet. When you return, the man is still standing still by the door. You hand him the towels, trying for a friendly smile. You're very tired. 

“Try to dry off as much as you can,” You say, turning back to your cutting table. No reason not to get some work done. You're almost done cutting out the mock up when you feel a tap on your shoulders. 

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to finish cutting out the piece you were in the middle of cutting. 

“Where is the shower,” The man says from behind you. 

“Oh, I'll show you.” You say, turning around. The man has rolled his long hair up in one of the towels you had handed him. In his hands, he's holding a bundle of green and yellow fabric. Fabric the almost exact color his clothes had been. You drop your scissors with a clatter, abruptly closing your eyes.

“Why are you naked?” You ask, trying to remain calm. You had only gotten a glimpse but the man looked pretty built. 

“You told me not to track water on your fabric.” The man says, sounding very confused. You take a deep breath and massage your temples, keeping your eyes closed.

“I didn't mean–you know what, never mind.” You say, turning back to your cutting table and opening your eyes. In the foggy reflection of the window opposite you can catch some glimpses of skin and muscles, but you do your best not to look.

“Follow me,” You say, moving towards the back stairs, the ones that lead up to your small flat. The sound of wet feet hitting your hardwood floor follows you, so you assume the man is following you.

“Are you afraid of the human form, Miss…” The man asks. You scoff. You would assume he was mocking you, but the total lack of emotions in his voice gave away the fact that it was a genuine question.

“Name, and no, obviously not.” You say, “I just didn't expect you to be naked. What's your name again?”

“Illumi,” The man, Illumi says. “I apologize for startling you.”

You sigh, opening the door to the back stairs and starting up. Illumi follows you.

“It's fine, Mr Illumi.” You say, reaching to the top of your stairs and opening the door of your small apartment. “You can leave your clothes on the table. I'll put them in the wash.”

Illumi doesn't say anything, but you assume he nodded. The door closes behind him, blocking out the sounds of rain. You flip on the lightswitch, and golden light floods the small living room of your apartment. You slip off your shoes, and move deeper into the apartment. 

“You have a nice house,” Illumi says, and you hear the wet slap of his clothes hitting your kitchen table as he continues, “although your security is poor.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You say, choosing to brush off the last comment. “The bathroom is this way.”

You walk past your open bedroom door, silently praying Illumi does not see what a mess it is, and open the small door of your bathroom, switching on the lights. 

“Here we are,” You say, turning around and abruptly being reminded that he's only wearing two towels. You yank your eyes from his abs and stair at his drowned face. “You can use whatever you want in there.”

Illumi nods his head up and down, the towel on his air bobbing comically. He blinks his big eyes slowly looking at you with what can only be categorized as curiosity.

“Why did you help me?” He asks. You frown in confusion.

“What?” 

“Why did you let me into your home?” He asks again, tilting his head. He really does look kinda sad and pathetic, if you ignore the rest of his mostly naked body.

“Uh…” you say, thinking for a moment. “I felt bad for you? You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Oh,” Illumi says, frowning. Then after a pause, “thank you.”

“Your welcome,” You laugh, leaning past him to grab a large towel from your upstairs linen closet, and pass it to him. He takes it and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

You're digging through your clothes drawers for some of your ex-boyfriend's clothes you know you kept when you hear the shower switching off. You hurry, grabbing some soft gray sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts and knock on the bathroom door.

“Illumi? I have some clothes for you to borrow.” You say, folding them and stacking them neatly into a pile. The door flips open and you avert your eye, shoving the clothes in his direction until you feel them leaving your hands. The door doesn't close though, and you close your eyes as clothing rustles, until the rustling has stopped for at least ten seconds. Only then do you open your eyes. Illumi looks much less drowned rat now, his pale skin still a little pink from the shower. His hair is wrapped up in a towel, and you're happy to note your ex-boyfriend's stuff fits him fine. 

“Your stuff will be done in about ten minutes,” you say, turning away and leading him back down the small hallway and into your living room as you continue. “You mentioned you had business with me?”

“Yes,” Illumi says as you move into your kitchen, starting the kettle. He's still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room like an odd statue when you turn around. You giggle.

“You can sit down,” You say, urging him into motion. He obeys, sitting upright in one of your armchairs, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes,” Illumi says, and you pull two mugs out of the cabinet as he continues. “I was told your work is excellent.”

You select a chamomile tea out of the tea cabinet and put a tea bag into each cup. 

“It is,” You say. “Who said that though.”

“My father,” Illumi says. You scan your brain for anyone he could possibly be referring to and come up empty. 

“Did you need something made?” You ask instead, pouring the hot water into the mugs and putting a plate over them to let them steep. “I'm a bit swamped right now with an unusual request, but if it's easy I can totally make something for you.”

“Mother told me my suit is too small.” Illumi says, still sitting stiff and unnatural on one of your cushy chairs. You grab both of the mugs, placing one on the coffee table in front of Illumi.

“A suite, huh.” You say, taking a sip of your chamomile tea and letting the warmth sooth your bones. As far as normal garments go, Suites would probably be one of the hardest garments ever. Making a suite was one thing, making a well tailored suit in a small time frame without five hundred fittings was quite another. But, in your profession you had long ago learned that there were worse things you might be forced to make than a suite. This one time, this guy had shone up and requested to have a ball for a waist, and be able to use it in combat. You had done it, somehow. At least he had been hot, if very fucking weird. You shake your head, taking a ship of your tea.  

“I can make you a suit, yeah.” You say as you place your cup on the coffee table. “Let me get my schedule book and I'll write you in.”

“Im busy,” Illumi replies, sitting bold upright in your chair, tea clutch between his pale fingers. “Can you do it now?”

“Sew a suit, right now, while you're here?” You ask incredulously, sitting back into your chair. 

Illumi nods jerkily, taking a robotic sip of his drink and setting it on the table.

“Please,” he says.  The room sinks into silence for a moment as you take a few deep breaths, holding back a laugh. 

“I have inconvenienced you.” Illumi says, and you decide to take pity on him. 

“Is there a specific time frame you need to suit?” You ask, reaching forward to pick up your tea. “I can schedule you as soon as possible.”

“Mother says in two weeks,” Illumi says, a few strands of hair falling from the towel turban he put his hair in. in the distance you hear your dryer beek aggressively, signifying Illumis clothes have finished drying. You stand, moving towards your small laundry room, shouting over your shoulder as you continue.

“You said your father recommended me, right?” 

Illumi nods, taking another sip of camomile tea. “He said he gets his work clothes from you. He said your work holds up under extreme stress.”

“I make a lot of specialty clothes for hunters,” You say, bending down to pull Illumis dry clothes out of your front loading washer. “So it kind of has too. Is your father a hunter?”

“Assassin.” Illumi says. You nod, holding his warm clothes and slamming the laundry room door with your foot.

“Ah, you must be Silva’s son then.” You say, handing Illumi his warm, staticky clothes. He takes them, tilting his head to the side.

“How did you know?” he asks, big eyes blinking slowly. 

You giggle, taking his empty cup from the coffee table and putting it into your sink, along with your own half full one. 

“I don't get many assassins for clients.” You say, running water into the cups and putting them into your almost full dishwasher. You make a note to start it after Illumi leaves.

“You know, your dad has a fitting in a couple days.” You start, grabbing your appointment book from the countertop and moving back into the small living room as you flip through it. “ How about you come with him and I'll take your measurements? That sound good?”

Illumi sits still, head tilted as he blinks slowly, considering. 

“Alright,” Illumi finally answers, and you nod, writing it into your book. 

His clothes are still resting in his lap and you hop up, grabbing a bag from your closet. It's an old plastic take out bag. You take his clothes from him again as he thinks, putting them in the bag and handing it back. 

He looks at it in confusion. You smile, handing him a paper bag filled with the weird pins that had been stuck in the front of the clothes, and what looked like an id of some kind and a phone. 

“That way your clothes wont get wet,” You say with a smile, glancing at the clock. It's getting pretty late at night, around ten forty five. The sound of Illumis phone ringing cuts through the silence, and you jump. Illumi pulls an archaic looking flip phone out of the paper bag, flipping it open with a satisfying snap.

“Yes?” 

Someone's voice can be heard on the other line, yelling rather loudly. You pretend not to pay attention out of politeness, but strain your ears to hear something. Unfortunately you can catch anything and Illumi hangs up, rising to his feet abruptly.

“I have to go,” he says, “where should I change?”

“No knead,” You say, standing up and getting your appointment book on the table. 

“But your clothes,” He says, gesturing down on himself. You smile. 

“Dont worry about it, there my ex boyfriends old things.” You say, moving towards the front door. “I was just gonna donate them anyway.”

Illumi follows you, silent but for the rustling of the bags you had provided him. His footsteps made no noise, you hadn't noticed before because of the rain. Opening the door of your flat you step into the much colder stairwell and shiver. 

“I'm sorry i don't have a jacket for you,” You say, bare feet padding down the concrete stairs. “It's quite cold out.”

“As an assassin, I was raised to withstand below zero temperatures,” Illumi informs you blankly as you reach the button of the stairs, opening the door into your shop. 

“Well that's good.” You say, holding the door open as Illumi steps through, into the barely illuminated back room of your shop. A few mannequins standing in the corner look threateningly like real humans, and you giggle as Illumi stops still, staring at them before moving on.

“Jump scared by the manquines?” You ask. Illumi frowns, shaking his head. 

“No.” He says, walking a little faster. You giggle, he must be embarrassed. 

“So, you’ll be back in a few days for our appointment, right?” you ask, standing a few feet away from the front door. Illumi, holding two plastic bags of clothes and nicknacks against his chest, nods.

“Yes,” He says, and then a second later, “I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

You giggle. He's a bit cute, in a wild animal kind of way. You move closer, reaching up to yoink the towel from his head, watching his long hair tumble over his shoulders. He shakes his head like a dog, his long silky hair falling into place. His ears are red as he opens the door, stepping into the rain. You wave, and he nods in response as the door shuts with a heavy clunk. 

You smile all night as you lock up your room, shutting the doors and securing the windows and waving goodbye to the threatening dress forms in the corner. 

Tonight certainly was interesting. 

🪡🪡🪡

The sun is shining across your floors, when Illumi and Silva arrive for their appointment. The door opens with a chime of bells, and you look up from your design sketchbook and grin.

“Ah, there you are.” You say, putting your sketchbook and the table and rising to greet the men touring by the door. “I almost thought you wouldn't show up.”

“I apologize, Miss Name,” SIlva says, smiling down at you. He really does tower over you, in stature and height. “Be polite and apologize for the inconvenience, Illumi.”

Illumi, standing a bit behind his father, nods. 

“I apologize Miss Name,” He says, looking somehow both lost and sincere at the same time. You laugh.

“It's no biggie, you guys were only a few minutes late,” You say, leading them both into the main area, and grabbing the outfit Silva had requested. “I made the alterations we talked about last time, so hopefully everything fits this time!”

You hand Silva the formal suit jacket he had requested, and motion for him to change. He nods. 

“Where can my son sit while we finish this up?” He asks. You nod, turning to look at Illumi who has been standing awkwardly in the middle of your studio with a laugh.

“Illumi, you can take a seat over there if you like.” You say, gesturing at the comfy chairs off to the side of your studio. Illumi nods, moving towards the chairs and sitting down with a thump. His hands fold over his lap and you giggle.

“Your son has great manners,” You whisper, leaning over in Silva's direction. The large man chuckles, brushing his long hair out of the way as he slips the black suite over his white button down. 

“My wife has taught him well in that department,” He grins as you survey the fit of the jacket. “Although we have our concerns.”

“Oh really?” you ask, probably more interested than you should be. “How is the fit?”

“Good,” Silva says, raising his arms above his head. “Well as Illumi has gotten older, Kikyo and I worry he'll never marry.”

You stifle a giggle, subtle looking at Illumi as he sits still in your chair, looking around at the framed sketches on your wall. You frame designs you were especially proud of, with proof pictures of course. You turn back to Silva, a little confused.

“Really? He's quite handsome,” You say, checking the back seam as Silva flexes his muscles. The suite stays intact, not even straining. Silva looks at you oddly.

“You think,” He says, smiling slightly. “Well, lately he has expressed interest in a certain woman. Kikyo and I are thrilled.”

“Oh, really?” You say, your heart sinking in your chest a little. When had you even realized you were attracted to him? Maybe you were just disappointed that a handsome man was off the market. “That's just great.”

Silva nods, smiling a secretive smile as he sheds the jacket, handing it back to you. 

“The fit is lovely,” He says, “I'm quite satisfied.”

You smile, your heart feeling a bit odd, and turn to grab a bag, packing his suit jacket up carefully and neatly, tossing in a free sample handkerchief as you usually do, all the while feeling a bit sad. You don't quite want to admit why as you hand Silva the package, turning to Illumi sitting in the armchair with a sigh.

“Alright Illumi, let's get those measurements done.” You say, turning away to grab your measurement book and your tape measure. When you turn back, Illumi is standing a few feet in front of you. You hadn't heard him move at all. But you supposed that was expected for an assassin. 

“Your shop is nice,” Illumi says, voice stilted as you move closer, wrapping the tape measure around his chest. You ignore the beating in your heart as you take the measurement, noting it down in your book. 

“Thanks,” You say, turning back around to take the second measurement. “I try.”

Silence falls as your slightly trembling hands take the waist measurement. Illumi shifts slightly as you turn, noting the measurement in your book. Silence falls as you take the next few measurements, careful not to touch his body more than necessary. The shoulder, arm, and back measurements are all taken in awkward silence, until Illumi speaks again.

“The designs on your walls,” he says, “I recognize one.”

You have your back turned, writing down measurements and you turn to follow his pointing finger. He's pointing at a design you're rather proud of. The man who had decided he wanted a ball for a waist. You grin, proud of it as you turn back.

“Ah, Mr Morrow's design, one of my favorites.” You say, leaning down a bit to wrap the tape measure around his hips. “That design was a pain in the ass but it turned out so well.”

“You have sewed for Hisoka?” Illumi asks, shifting slightly as your hands pass over his hips, taking the measurement down mentally and turning around to write it on the page. 

“Yes!” You say with a grin, “Pain in the ass design, but he was handsome and so I guess it was worth it.”

Illumi frowns slightly, shifting as you drop to your knees, taking the length of his legs. Faintly in the background, you hear Silva muffle a cough. You had forgotten for a moment he was there. 

“You took his measurements?” He asks, frowning down at you. You look up in confusion, still on your knees with a tape measure in your hand, poised to do the inseam measurement.

“I take everyone's measurements?” You question, confused. “I had to do some really finicky stuff for that outfit, and it involved some odd and somewhat emberassingmeasruments.” 

You explain, knees still firmly planted on the floor as you lower your tape measure. Illumi frowns, hands falling over his chest. 

“I hope he did not inconvenience you.” He says, blinking very slowly. He sounds almost upset, but you shove it aside with a grin as you pick up your tape measure again.

“Oh, it wasn't too bad,” You say, gently taking the inseam measurement, careful not to brush any sensitive parts as you continue. “The costume was a pain, but he was very lovely to work with. His pretty face definitely helped. And the money, obviously.”

Illumi shifts slightly as you carefully take the inseam measurement.

“You guys friends?” You ask, finishing your inseam measurement and turning to write it in your book. Illumi coughs, shifting behind you with a rustling of fabric.

“I guess,” he says, a certain malice in his voice that you can't place.

“How nice,” You say, turning to write your final measurements, your heart feeling a bit heavy.

🪡🪡🪡

Silva and Illumi pay the whole 70,000 jenny upfront. You protest, but Silva waves it off with a grin, as he and Illumi disappear into the sunlight.

You hate to admit that you're really attracted to Illumi. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the whole wounded animal thing he was going on, or maybe it was his awkward nature and stilted conversation, but you were quite enamored with him. 

But thanks to Silva, you now knew you had no chance with him. 

The next few fittings with Illumi were an awkward mix of attraction and arousal on your end, and awkwardness at his end. He tried to make small talk with you, and you replied, but every conversation made you more and more sure he would never be attracted to you. 

He was even kind enough to bring you a lovely bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath, and apologize for the night you had first met. Every kind gesture made your heart hurt, but you accepted them with a smile. Every time you saw those roses, your heart hurt.

🪡🪡🪡

It was around seven when the events started. You were bone tired, body flopping onto the bed after a long day of standing over a table. Your back ached as you sighed, closing your eyes. 

Your phone lay beside you, digging into your back slightly as you relaxed. But you couldn't quite relax. There was a familiar, thrumming energy running through your body. You were horny.

Sighing, you stroked your nipples gently through your thin shirt, already having shed your bra as soon as you entered the room. Your other hand slowly winds down, stroking your pussy gently over your panties.

You're so horny. Maybe it has something to do with Illumi’s fittings. Having your hands all over him in a professional manner was too much. He had such a fit physique, you longed to grip his muscled shoulders, free of the fabric between your skin. You whimper, pressing a finger knuckle deep into your pussy with a sigh. You roll over slightly, back pressing into your phone. 

You can't be bothered to take it out from under you, even when you hear a faint click.

Illumi happens to be near your shop when his phone rings. He answers it quickly, holding it up to his ear as he stands in the middle of the darkened sidewalk a few miles from your shop. 

“Name?” He asks, standing a foot away from the ring of light cast by the sidewalk. The sweatpants he's wearing hang low on his hips. The sweat pants you had given him. They still smell like you still, and Illumi is ashamed to admit how hard he gets when he takes a whiff of their scent. Re refuses to relieve himself, as not to sully your name. It's become hard as of late, with your figure plaguing his dreams, your careful professional fingers brushing his skin. Illumi sighs, taking a deep breath.

You don't respond, the only sound he hears is a faint groan. Illumi starts moving towards your shop, worried.

“Illumi?” You say over the phone. Your voice shakes, sounding a bit odd. “Oh god Illumi!”

Illumi frowns, moving faster and faster towards your house. You sound like you're in some type of distress. 

“Name,” He asks again, “are you alright?”

No reply, only a faint groan leaking through the phone. Illumi’s dick twitches in his pants as he races towards your shop.

“Oh Illumi, you’ve got to help me!” You exclaim through the phone. Your voice shakes lightly, heavy breathing coming through the speaker as Illumi picks the lock to your shop.

“Are you ok, name?” He asks again. You groan, and then the phone disconnects with a click. Illumi dashes through your darkened shop, up the concrete stairs, and opens your door as quietly as possible. If someone is hurting you, he’ll kill them in an instant. 

You have two fingers shoved up your cunt when the door opens with a slam. You shriek, trying to hide the evidence of what you were doing as illumi stares down at your mostly naked body in shock. He's standing in your doorway, wearing the sweatpants you had given to him and a black muscle tea, and staring at your body in shock. 

He looks so delicious, as he takes you in, his face looking a bit bewildered. You trace his body, your eyes catching on the obvious bulge in his pants, and grin.

“Illumi,” You coo, spreading your legs with a grin. He visibly gulps. “I need something from you.”

This all feels so sudden, the tension hanging in the air between you, the way his expressions of lust spell so plainly on his face. How could you have missed this. You wonder if you had missed other signs.

Illumi moves forward slowly, the door closing softly behind him, feet making no sound on your bedroom floor. He stands at the end of the bed awkwardly, dick twitching in the gray sweatpants he wears. You gulp down saliva, scooting a bit farther onto the bed. 

“I want you to eat me out,” You say, bringing a hand down to spread your pussy lips. You watch Illumi gulp, want him crawls towards you on the bed until his head is positioned over your dripping pussy, his hair tickling your knees and thighs as he leans down. 

“I apologize if this is unsatisfactory,” illumi says, his voice still as robotic and clinical as ever, even as his eyes tremble with arousal. “I lack the necessary experience to—”

You interrupt by gripping his hair, and shoving his face into your pussy. His body collapses on the bedspread, hands winding around your hips and waist, as your hand winds into the base of his long hair.

You groan, your back arching as he licks a long strip along your pussy, tonge passing gently over your clit. 

You reward him with a tug on his hair, and he muffles a small groan into your pussy. The resulting jolt of pleasure runs through your spine, and his name escapes your mouth.

“That's good, so good.” You pants into the air, the hand not tangled in Illumis long hair notting into the white comforter around you. Illumi whimpers quietly, his own hips grinding into the carpet as you moan.

He's showering you with pleasure, his mouth going to town on you as your back arches, and your orgasm threatens to overwhelm you. You whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Oh god, I'm gonna cum.” You shiver, body jolting and jerking and Illumi fucks your whole with his tongue, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. 

“Me too,” he murmurs into your pussy, and you watch as he grinds helplessly into the comforter, completely occupied with driving you mad with pleasure.

It's that sight that pushes you over the edge. His hair tangled on your legs, his hands gripping your body like you’ll disappear in an instant, the desperate thrusts of his hips into the comforter.

Your body tenses as you cum, back arching and hand pulling the hair knots in your hands. His voice is on your tongue as you orgasm, stars bursting in your eyelids, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Illumi also tenses under your grip, muffling a faint moan of pleasure into your pussy, only prolonging your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, hazy from cumming and take him in over you, you feel more arousal running through your body.

He's looming over you, big doll eyes filled with lust, clothes long discarded. His hair falls over the two of you like an intimate curtain, hiding the outside world from view. His dick is bobbing back to life, big and ready to be inside you. A small, nervous smile is curing across his lips.

“Be my wife,” Illumi says, eyes darting anywhere but you. You grin, a feeling of elation running through your body as you reach up, gripping his face with your hand and looking deep into his eyes as you reply.

“Yes,” You say, and Illumis mouth devours you in a kiss so full of happiness you almost cry. Almost, until you feel that hardness pressing against your stomach and you reach down, storking it gently. Illumi moans into your mouth, choking slightly and you grin.

“You aren't busy, right?” You coo into his mouth. Illumi shakes his head.

“Good,’ You say, body twisting into his. “Because I think I'll have you occupied for the next couple hours.”

Illumi responds by kissing the breath from your lips. 

...

Endnotes:

I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! 

Anyway, If you cant tell i would love to be a tailor/seamstress for a living, but alas my parents unfortunately raised me to have expensive taste and it's just not sustainable as a career. So it's a hobby for now.