#Ways to Keep the Spark Alive in Your Relationship | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesirenisles · 4 months ago

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“I lay at your feet. Your body is my temple.

Searching for eternity within you.”

aries

FIRESTARTER These natives desire fireworks and a whirlwind of passion in a relationship. Women can be like trap-hunters, rather than warrior-style direct. They'll set the trap for their target and pounce with feral efficiency. With this dynamic, the native can possess a voracious sex drive. This is because when Mars comes into contact with Venus, it is like a kid in a candy shop! Mars asserts and Venus indulges. Inhibitions are of no worry. They are in their element. A blend of the physical and sensual. Sexual attraction, power, and even attention could be factors in the choosing of their mate. But, the power must come with ACTION. They want the spontaneous lover that pops up with plane tickets and a "Surprise! We're going on a trip!" They need high energy, vibrant lovers that are all about them. The rush of adrenaline and desire is a MUST. Being a stick-in-the-mud or boring is the quickest way to turn them off. The problem here is that when Aries does rush in and attain the object of their desire, they are often disillusioned in some way. Sometimes it isn't what they expected or... they get bored and realize it was more about the chase. And there begets the plot. There is much to learn in matters of love in this lifetime with this placement. Ideally, these lovers need someone who will join them on their explorations and keep the spark of youth alive. Motion is vital. Drama is welcomed.

taurus

MATERIAL GIRL Sugar baby indicator. Venus is in her domicile here and the energy is lovely. Lush green gardens, pearlescent royal baths, and water adorned with rose petals. Venusian vibes! This native often has a natural aesthetic, being inherently prideful of their own beauty. I notice that they aim to perfect the "barely there" makeup. Women probably ask you for advice all the time and this placement has the tips! Great skin placement, unless otherwise chart afflicted. Blessed with all of these gifts, they want a worthy suitor. A PROVIDER. This native wants security, both in spirit and the physical. Comfort. Quality. Elegance. You must be consistent to win this lover. They want the man who believes in honoring his word. (Jon Snow vibes) The love needs cannot be met with a flighty lover. In their boudoir, you can expect to have all of the senses tantalized. Good eats (does not mean they have to cook, but they def know the best food spots), soft fabrics, sweet aromas, and tender touches! They are very physically intuitive and their partner must be able to speak fluent body language and love them tenderly. They want commitment ideally. They are the mature princesses, waiting on the one with whom she can spend forever. A stable, mature, and responsible partner. No dusties! Love is just not enough to overcome financial hardship for this native & that’s fine! Adhere to your standards!

gemini

WORDSMITH With this placement, Venus grasps the caduceus and takes flight with Gemini qualities of language, trickery, and a thirst for knowledge. Got rizz? I hope so, because it takes quite a tongue to dazzle this native. Sapiosexual indicator. Party over here!! Jokes. Laughter. Witty Banter. Quite popular, they can often meet their partners among friends and engaging in diverse conversations, sometimes online. These varying social circles create new experiences and the Gemini is more than open to them. (; I imagine this placement with cupid energy! Winged love goddess, fluttering from heart to heart and making people fall in love! This can be online, in person, over the phone, by letter... they're diverse! They leave a string of broken hearts in their wake, often too busy with their laundry list of hobbies to provide closure. "It was fun while it lasted!" The Venus in Gemini native wants to survey their options. In love, they desire an open air of communication and a partner that will never judge or rain on their parade. Being closed minded or vapid is a major turn off. You must be able to hold up your end of the conversation because this native loves mental connection. No dramatic displays of emotion needed. Similar to Aries, there is much to learn here before one can settle down successfully and that’s okay! Get out there and live!

cancer

QUEEN OF CUPS Venus saunters in the sand and basks in the moonlight that beckons the tide that is her tears. Happy tears. Sad tears. Doesn’t matter. She is deeply emotional here, nurturing, and an intuitive lover. Feminine energy is second nature, but in a cardinal disposition. Venus in Cancer has the ability to create safe spaces for their lovers to feel freely. This is perfect because this lover desires, on a soul level, to be needed. They want someone a bit needy and even dependent upon them for emotional security. Cry babies are welcomed. They do not mind the mama's boy, even. This side of either lover may not even be known to others or publicly. But, those who know them personally, have witnessed the crazy displays of passion. They need emotional transparency. Their Cancer claws want to take hold of their lover, console them, and wipe their tears. Venus here is the emotional life guard coming to their lover's rescue, utilizing the moonlight to guide them through the ocean of emotions. Can you even tell if someone is crying in the ocean? No nonchalant or emotionally unavailable lovers welcome! They need an honest and open lover who is unafraid to be vulnerable. EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE is key. When young, the cancer can attract the emotionally unavailable types... but they will not fill the cups of this deserving queen. Soul bonds are formed with this placement. and people can become attached to your healing or nurturing abilities.

leo

SOVEREIGN Powerful placement! Venus struts in the rays of the sun for an adoring crowd. Gold exudes from her womanly form. She is proud and fierce. The Sun and Venus collaborate to create a dazzling energy that attracts a sea of suitors. GLITZ. GOLDEN GLOW. GLAMOUR. However, this native desires a lover who equally glows! They are looking for their royal consort.. a king or queen with whom they can rule. The aesthetics or status of their partner matter here and they prefer to have arm candy. The type that will increase their value to the public, thus flattering the Ego (sun). Extravagance. Luxury. Grand gestures of Romance lol. But, very often absolutely stunning! This native desires to be seen and adored while in love. Their coupling can be considered the "couple's goals" type. Definitely posts their love on social media. They may shower their lover with their energy, gifts, talents, and love. (Venus blesses them with an abundance of all.) But, they expect this and then some in return. DIVA. They are your Goddess and their body is the temple you worship. These purring cats demand attention, compliments, and genuine appreciation. These lovers do not desire a shy or reserved partner in matters of romantic expression. No insecurity is allowed! You must be ready to shine with the Venus in Leo native, not hold them back.

virgo

WIFE Venus is a gracious girl boss in Virgo. She brings beauty to daily routines and acts of service and values these activities. These are the hardworking hotties that manage to make it all look so aesthetically pleasing. Fresh-fruit infused water. High-quality skin care. Matching workout fits. Strict exercise regimen. These natives can quite literally spend their lives working to be the ideal Venus. The ultimate maiden. Very natural aesthetic, similar to Taurus. ORGANIZED. MATURE. FEMININE. Venus in Virgo loves to check off her task list. “Finding the perfect partner” is at the top. It'd be a lot easier if she wasn't so picky. A keen eye for detail makes for an unusual journey in love. (Think: Charlotte from SATC. Dumped a guy on the SPOT because his home decor preference was different than her own.) This native often believes that she is not picky at all and does not like to waste time. This is because she feels that these requirements are something every bachelor should have. COMPETENT. STABLE. RESPONSIBLE. She desires a type that completes their daily task list efficiently while managing to be a consistent lover. A PRACTICAL and sensible partner. No overly grand gestures are needed (chart could vary). Small actions hold the greater weight here, because the Virgo notices and appreciates the details. Well-Spoken. Honest. Book Smart. An intelligent, mature, and stable partner is ideal. Someone who can help or assist them in someway, making their lives flow easier. The intense or emotionally heavy relations are not typically for them, unless otherwise influenced in the chart. They want to be apart of something steady and trustworthy, in regards to long term relationships. Being of service & being serviced by a great partner.

libra

PRINCESS Venus is in her other ruled sign here, making for a harmonious placement. Venus in Libra attracts people like flies to honey & takes on the role of socialite here. Blessed with charm, the native impresses others in one on one contact. This opens many doors and begets many opportunities! They are the must-have on the guest list. They will come dressed, classy, and add value to the social atmosphere. They even dress aesthetically going to bed. This energy also begets followers! There is great social media potential here. In love, they desire someone with class or attractive status in some way. CLASS. AFFLUENCE. LUXURY. They like those who can create connections. Open doors. Authorize Purchases. Good manners. Proper dress. INTELLIGENCE. Charm and social skills are a must. Social status is even better. They want to be a wife to a powerful man usually, due to Sun's unfavorable positioning in Libra (in fall.) Marriage could be a foundational value. That means they are a bit picky. No dusties. No boring people. If you're a homebody, this is not the person for you. This placement can also be a bit shallow, preferring a partner that they feel a physical attraction to. Others must find them fine too! This reflects back on the Libra’s ego. They need open and clear communication to establish some kind of balance in their relationships. Equal partnership. Cardinal energy here is all about the pursuit of fine living, EXTRAVAGANT social experiences, and LAVISH settings. The lover must be an asset to this. These are the folks who post from Barbados on a Tuesday. We love to see it!

scorpio

SORCERESS Venus rises from the black waves of the Underworld reborn when in the sign of Scorpio. BOW DOWN. Your Goddess has entered the room. BEWITCHED. SPELLBOUND. Possibly many secret admirers. Many suitors are drawn to this native, for reasons they can’t explain. This native demands abject loyalty. They desire every ounce of affection, love, commitment, and passion within you. Even if that comes with obsessive tendencies or public professions of love and fealty. Venus becomes a savant in the world of sex, death, and regeneration. This native desires intense emotional exchanges. They want you to prove that you love them, but never with just words. This sorceress excels in the transmutation of energy. POWERFUL stuff. The witch is in the room. Screaming. Shouting. Crying. They welcome the emotions. Their love can render you a slave to their whims. They conjure emotion out of you, command your energy, and then proceed to have incredible makeup sex. WHEW. "I can't live without you." -A Scorpio Venus outside your house at 3AM. (the witching hour). These natives need a devoted lover who can offer security and good sex. Match their freak. Someone powerful but lowkey is ideal. The lover is ideally not loud, but commands respect and attention in other ways. Plutonian energy likes those silent, but deadly vibes. They do not tolerate the meek, timid, or disloyal for long. It wouldn't be smart to double cross these natives. One word. Vengeance. There is much to learn here, being in such a heavy sign. They are here to transform in love, while also transforming others. You will never forget this placement!

sagittarius

GLOBETROTTER Venus leaps upon the back of a magnificent stallion and rides through the annals of wisdom collected by Jupiter. She is a collector of wisdom, interesting artifacts, and exhilarating experiences. Venus stationed here is an indication that the native will have to undergo a travel or journey (Sag) in order to find love (Venus). This could be literal travel or mental enlightenment. Both are profoundly powerful and significant to the development of this soul. ADVENTURE. EXPLORING. TRAVEL TO FOREIGN LANDS. STUDYING ABROAD. Venus values learning from experience and expanding the mind here. Their lover must be a student or even teacher of life. Wise. Sagacious. Confident. Venus in Sagittarius brings luck (Jupiter) to the natives love life. They attract those who can seemingly teach them something, that assists them on their life path, and creates opportunities. This person must be incredible and one of a kind. A practical homebody will not cut it. They need a fascinating best friend and adventure partner for their odyssey through the splendors of this Earth. They possess the globetrotter energy. Passport ready. Spontaneous personalities are a plus. Surprise this native with tickets or an activity. Invest in their higher education. Their lovers can often be foreign in some way or attracted in the educational space.. where this native shines!

capricorn

MATRIARCH Venus in Capricorn moves with an air of royalty. She is almost too aware of the cosmic hands of time (Saturn) and she is serious about not wasting a second of it. "Do you have a savings account? Do you have any assets? Do you want to get married and have kids?" This is small talk for this native! You're not on a date, you are on a job interview and you can assure there are prerequisites! Venus here may present in the old money aesthetic, if not a classic look. She is WOMAN. Queen of Pentacles. AMBITION. STABILITY. SUCCESS. MATURITY. These natives desire a steady lover that promises structure and some type of status. They desire to build and create something great. Something ENDURING.Something for others to envy. "The Power Couple." Even if the lover does not have status, they must possess the desire to attain power by any means necessary. CUTTHROAT. BUSINESSMAN. MOGUL. TYCOON. Venus in Capricorn is looking for that fiery ambition in someone and they are attracted to those who show this potential. She desires to be by their side in support, but also adding her own value to the union or "business deal" LOL, These native do not like games or unserious characters that live for "exhilaration". They need physical, financial, and emotional stability to be fulfilled in love. They are looking for their life partner. Saturn tasks them with waiting for the one they desire. But, this will be worth the wait. Quality and true love.

aquarius

PEOPLE'S CHOICE Venus is high above the clouds in her sky castle within the heavens of Aaru. Here, the Goddess has the ability to charm the ENITRE collective at once. Social media potential! This native also has a ton of friends. Possibly several best friends. INNOVATION. GENIUS IDEAS. REBELLION. Uranus and Saturn convene with Venus on the matters of humanity. Venus in Aquarius is in love with humanity, while also being the love of humanity. They desire a lover who does not mind sharing their time when they feel the need to be a humanitarian. This is a true INDIVIDUAL. Their expression of Venus is unique and one of a kind. They may even redefine what the themes of Venus mean to them in this lifetime. In love, they desire a best friend. A confidant. They need a soul partner who is not overly emotional, but cool as a cucumber & light. LAUGHTER. LOGIC. FUN. Friends to Lovers. Someone ready to learn and explore NICHE topics. Someone who they can discuss literally anything with.. from conspiracies to futuristic world ideas. Uranus and Saturn create a very evolved character in matters of creating, but in love... there is much to learn. Love may not be high on the priority list. However, Venus rules balance and this native must learn to balance their lover vs the world. There may be something eccentric or unique about their lover, but this does not have to mean blue hair. It can simply be someone cut from a completely different cloth than they are used to.

pisces

SIREN Venus meets Neptune in a sprawling grotto. The primordial waters of Nun enrich Venus with a knowledge of all the signs. Venus is exalted here and she morphs into the perfect lover. Venus here has the ability to recreate (Primordial) herself into the likeness expected of her (water). SHAPESHIFTER. SIREN. GLAMOURS. Her sense of love is fluid. She inherently understands what all of the signs need. This is the Venus who can be an immaculate lover to every single one of the signs. Venus here is love incarnate. The catch is that Pisces cannot be fulfilled by all types of love. She may flirt with the idea of belonging to extremely different types of people. Venus here is a sensitive, PSYCHIC, and SPIRITUAL soul. She is in tune with the unconscious thoughts of the collective. Water can be soothing with regenerative qualities for this native after being drained. But, they usually willingly give this power up, due to weaker boundaries. This is the lover who already knows what to say, where to kiss, and what hurts. So much energy can be spent on their partner. Their love is potent and transcends the realm of physical feeling. When this person comes into your life, it’s most likely because you truly needed unconditional love. In a lover, this native needs someone to be their rock! They need a steady and consistent lover to bring stability to the waters of Pisces. More importantly, they need a SOULMATE. This yearning for soul connection can lead to rose-tinted glasses. The lover must be sensitive, spiritual, and in tune with the emotions of the Pisces Venusian. Their love must be a fated one, full of understanding. These lovers must beware the energy leeches and manipulators. Venus' energy here is SO potent, that a disturbed few may try to possess or capture it. Fatal attraction and even envy from others is possible.

Thank you for reading!!

Check out my blog for more in-depth astrology and mythology posts!

@thesirenisles | masterlist | venus mythology

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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Ao3 . Ko-fi

ASTARION

⤷ Book - Astarion comes across an interesting book and decides to share the knowledge with you. Quite literally.

⤷ The Arrangement (on-going series): masterlist

⤷ Lockpicking - You ask Astarion to teach you how to lockpick and things get... out of hand.

⤷ Pointy Ears - You accidentally find just how sensitive Astarion is when it comes to a certain part of his body…

⤷ Curiosity - Astarion wishes to satisfy his curiosity when it comes to breastfeeding... and comes up with a proposition that is mutually beneficial.

⤷ Oral Fixation - Astarion is quite sure you are going to drive him insane from how adorable and clueless you are when eating those juicy fruits around him... and he just has to do something about it.

⤷ Unexpected - Astarion has barely ever considered starting a family with you in the old-fashioned way, but an unexpected conversation might just trigger that urge.

⤷ Breathe - Astarion is more than eager to show you the perks of not breathing.

⤷ Questions - Your curiosity drives you to ask Astarion a very unexpected question, and he's more than happy to give you a proper reply.

⤷ Patience - You are too eager to ride Astarion, and he proposes a solution to your impatience. After all, experience is the best teacher and impatience its fiercest enemy.

⤷ Backfire - You should have known better than to make Astarion jealous, and now you are left to deal with the consequences.

⤷ Reading Session - Astarion walks in on you reading a rather suggestive book, and far be it from him to interrupt your learning process.

⤷Trance - Astarion is having a hard time trancing, and you offer to help him out in more ways than one.

⤷ Fever - You're running a fever, and Astarion offers to cool you down… only to make things a whole lot worse.

⤷ Everything - You're used to staying still whenever Astarion feeds on you. This time, he wants you to feel everything.

⤷ Comfortable - Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

(LINKS ARE CURRENTLY NOT WORKING - I'LL FIX THEM SOON 🙏)

MIGUEL O'HARA

✫ 18+:

⤷ Tension - Miguel walks in on you late at night doing something unexpected, which makes things really awkward afterwards…

⤷ For Science - There has been a rumour circulating in regards to Miguel’s venom. It has to be too far-fetched, right?

⤷ Intimacy - Lack of intimacy after childbirth can weigh a relationship down. Thankfully, Miguel always finds new ways to keep the spark alive.

⤷ Perfect Morning - Miguel’s definition of a perfect morning involves a comfortable bed and being buried deep inside you.

⤷ Comfort - Miguel has been having nightmares as of late and seeks a level of comfort only you can provide.

⤷ Breakfast in Bed - Miguel wakes you up to breakfast in bed.

⤷ Stress Relief - Peter B. Parker should know better than to swing by unannounced.

⤷ Sharing is Caring (I) - (II) - A mission has both Miguel and you sharing a room… what could possibly go wrong?

⤷ [COMPLETE] (0) Sweet Girl , (1) Frustration , (2) Suit Up , (3) Obsession , (4) Consequences , (5) Discovery , (6) Double-edged Sword , (7) Confession , (8) Devotion - Miguel’s desire for you has been taking a toll on him, and he really has no other option…

⤷ Second Intentions - You’ve been tense lately, and Miguel offers a massage. Quite thoughtful of him… except you know exactly why.

⤷ Tracking - You find out Miguel has been tracking something that concerns you… and him.

⤷ Gentle - Miguel shows you how gentle he can be during your pregnancy and how worthy you are of it.

⤷ Backfire - The math is simple: you make Miguel jealous + push him past his breaking point = hot rough sex. Too bad Miguel doesn’t do simple.

⤷ Side Effect - Miguel has been acting off lately and you find out why… the hard way.

⤷ Stubborn - As far as you’re concerned, you just want to stay in bed all day, admiring Miguel’s glorious chest.

✫ Fluff/Comedy/Comfort/Hurt/Angst/Misc:

⤷ Memories - You are ready to tell Miguel he is going to be a father… but he isn’t.

⤷ Revelations - Miguel asks you to keep a secret, so naturally everyone is about to find out.

⤷ Solution - Period cramps always leave you feeling miserable, so Miguel offers a solution.

⤷ Tiny Spider - Your daughter has a few questions, and you suspect Miguel might just open a portal to another dimension.

⤷ Another Chance - You go into labour and all you know is that you need Miguel more than ever.

⤷ Broken - You wonder if Miguel is broken beyond repair, because he surely believes that.

⤷ Family - Miguel is a natural when it comes to being a father.

⤷ A Series of Firsts - You and Miguel are ready to become parents and you must now go through a series of firsts together.

⤷ Appreciation - Miguel catches you staring at a very specific part of his body…

#astarion #miguel o'hara

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thevillainswhore · 8 months ago

Note

You Look Good On Camera, Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Bucky’s not letting you leave the photobooth, not until he’s had his way with you.

Warnings: Established relationship, teasing, kissing, smut, public sex, p in v, quickie, finger sucking, uses panties to keep reader quiet, creampie.

Author’s note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics by @rookthorne

Aaand all of a sudden we have another oneshot. Sigh. This one has actually been on my mind since these pictures were first released so a big thank you to Lana for finally giving me the push to make it happen 🤭 really enjoyed this one 🤍

“Here?!” you screeched.

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged, unfazed. “What’s wrong with that?”

You choked on your own spit at his nonchalance, how carefree he was about this. “W—What do you mean what’s wrong with fucking here, Bucky? We’re in a damn photobooth!”

The blank expression on his face was unchanging. “So?”

The words on the tip of your tongue died out. Your boyfriend could be a little freaky in the bedroom sometimes and you were all for it. Never had you both risked the danger of public sex, however.

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think we’re doing it in public,” you scoffed before beginning to make your way out of the stall.

But you were quickly stopped in your tracks as Bucky slammed his arm against the opposing wall, effectively blocking your path. “We’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you.”

A shudder of arousal ran down your spine at the gruffness of his voice. “Baby,” you laughed nervously. “I know we like to experiment sometimes, but this is a little far, don’t you think?”

The air between you was thick with tension, especially with a pair of bright blue eyes staring you down so intensely you imagined the burning embers of a fire raging behind them.

You gulped as Bucky slowly licked his lips, giving you a once over that made you feel too exposed in an already revealing sundress. There was a short distance between you, and your boyfriend’s stature was towering and beefy, taking up a large presence — his imposing nature made the hairs on your arms stand up.

He walked you backwards slowly, step by step, until you hit the far wall of the booth. Pressing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarled. “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now and if I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna haul you over my shoulder and take you out there in front of the whole damn mall.”

You thought you could tamp down the moan trapped in your throat, but you were sorely mistaken when it unleashed without remorse. Your chest heaved with exhilaration and your fingers twitched excitedly at the prospect of something so scandalous.

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? In this photo booth with a little privacy? Or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your choice.”

You had not expected this outcome when you had dragged your boyfriend over to the booth. You wanted to take cute pictures and add them to your keepsake memory box. Now you were deciding your fate; whether you would be leaving your dignity in the tiny stall or chance getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of the shopping mall.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, awaiting your answer.

“In h—here,” you whispered in anticipation.

The cheshire cat grin you received in return spiked your nerves even further. “Clever girl.”

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, Bucky hoisted you up into his arms and smothered your squeal of shock with his lips. He wasted no time snaking his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance like always.

“Mmph!” you moaned when he flicked his tongue against yours. A zing of electricity shot down to your pussy and you threaded your fingers through his long hair, pulling it tightly.

Even after so many years, the spark between you and Bucky was still alive. Throughout the trysts of your sexual experiences together, the attraction to each other had only intensified. He was sexier now than ever before. And even if he came up with outlandish ideas that made you step out of your comfort zone, you held so much trust in him that it was easy to follow him to the depths of sin.

A string of saliva connected between your lips as Bucky pulled away for air. While he was reckless for suggesting such a depraved idea of public sex, he was smart enough to realise the two of you were short on time to make it happen.

“Hold on,” he warned before handling your weight over to one arm. With the other, he unzipped the fly of his trousers and shuffled them down just past his ass until his cock bounced out.

You gasped at the sight. Bucky really was hard for you already, if the angry looking vein straining from his thick length was anything to go by. He was throbbing, you could see his dick viciously twitching with need and your thighs clenched around his waist with hunger.

Your boyfriend squeezed your hip. “You like seeing me desperate for you, huh baby?”

You tightened your lips to try and hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “Can’t say I mind it so much.”

Bucky growled with a smirk. “You’re a fuckin’ tease, girl.”

The amusement was quick to wipe from your face when he reached down and ripped the panties covering your mound. “Bucky!” you scolded. “Those were new!”

He rolled his eyes playfully, trying not to laugh at the way the shredded material now hung from your ankle. “Oh, hush. I’ll buy you some more.”

You huffed. “What? So you can rip them off me again?”

Bucky chucked under your chin condescendingly. “Look at you, learning so fast.”

Smug bastard, you cursed internally.

“Gonna stop complaining and let me fuck you now, doll?”

You scowled and poked his chest with your finger. “You better watch the way you speak to me— OH!” The retort on your tongue cut off as Bucky sheathed the entirety of his length inside of your pussy in one smooth thrust. Your nails dug harshly into the firm muscle of his shoulders and you buried your head into his neck. “H—Holy shit.”

Bucky panted breathlessly, just as affected as you. Though he still had the gall to tease you. “You were saying?”

You lifted your head to glare at him, still winded. “You’re damn lucky I love you.” And though you wanted to scold your boyfriend for his cheek, you couldn’t help but squirm on his cock. There was only so much you could take until it wasn't enough — you needed him to move. To feel the delicious scrape of his length against your tight walls. “Now shut up and fuck me before someone comes.”

“You’re so hot when you boss me around,” Bucky moaned before kissing you with urgency.

The nails of his fingers dug crescent shapes into your bare thighs, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the slow drag of his cock leaving your cunt. You whimpered as his thick girth left you inch by inch until only the tip sat inside of you.

“Gonna beg me for it, baby?” he asked.

You blew out an impatient huff and tugged on his hair harshly until he groaned. “Give me your cock, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Good enough.”

A high pitched keen was forced out of you when Bucky thrusted his hips up, the full nine inches of his dick sat deep inside of your pussy. “Fuck!”

“Should’ve begged like I asked and maybe I’d have gone a little easier on you, sweetheart,” he said tauntingly.

“If you ever think that I would want it easy then you don’t know me at all,” you clapped back.

Your boyfriend’s eyes shone with pride. “That’s my girl.”

Bucky fucked like it was the first time every time. His movements were careful and his hands were greedy; always touching you, always gathering you as close as possible to him. And while he was soft with his caresses, his desire to roughly pound his cock into your cunt, as deep as it humanely could, was another story.

“God, you’re like a fuckin’ vice around my dick,” he choked out. “Would’a thought you’d have loosened up by now, baby. But I can still barely move.”

Unable to speak without screaming, you sucked his neck, bruising his skin until it turned a dark purple.

“You markin me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?”

You nodded your head while whimpering, the nails of your fingers scratching against Bucky’s scalp.

The motion of his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass — he loved it when you got possessive. “Filthy fuckin’ girl. Don’t worry, doll. I’m all yours.”

Letting go of his neck with a pop, you loudly whined out, “So good— cock feels so good in me, baby. Fucking me just right.”

“Oh, I know. But you gotta turn down the volume, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Save it for the bedroom, alright?”

You tried, you really did. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly stroked against the sensitive spongy spot of your pussy made your inhibitions blurry and you couldn’t help moaning like a whore.

Bucky tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His lips curled up in perverse satisfaction as he shoved three of his fingers into your mouth.

You hummed around them instantly while staring into his eyes. He made you this way; a willing body for him to toy with, a woman who was quick to fall under his command and you lived for it. You gargled around his large fingers as you jolted each time he drove his cock into you, drool dripping down from your chin and landing on your boyfriend’s lower stomach and dick.

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Just have to make sure everyone knows how good it feels to be fucked by me.”

Your back slammed against the wall of the stall and the force of Bucky’s hips rocked the whole thing back and forth. His strength only turned you on more and even with the intrusion of his fingers, your noises grew louder, more unabashed.

“Shit, you sound so pretty.” His eyes darted towards the swinging panties still attached to your ankle and he quickly removed his fingers to grab them. “Such a good girl for me, baby. But I think we need somethin’ a little more efficient to quiet my eager girl down.”

Before you had the chance to whimper again, Bucky shoved your underwear into your mouth. To both of your luck, your moans became muffled enough to not draw attention. “Perfect.”

Though the volume of your sounds had been solved, the slick noises coming from your dripping cunt became the center of attention.

“Are you that fuckin’ soaked for me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s eyes rolled back as his cock throbbed at the feel of you. Even though you were wet, your walls still hugged his shaft.

“Mhm!” you mumbled over your makeshift gag. Your worries of being caught had long disappeared, your main focus now to revel in the building tension from your lower stomach creeping to the surface.

The two of you were only concealed by a pathetic thin curtain that didn’t even close all the way. It left a large gap, one that should a member of the public managed to notice, would reveal Bucky’s bare ass and your scrunched up face, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his cock.

Again, you were so far out of your realm to notice. Though Bucky did as he glanced over his shoulder and the high he got from the danger was addictive.

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Bucky discreetly reached into his jean pocket with his free hand while keeping up his momentum. He was so close to the edge, balancing on the precipice of cumming, but he strived to hold on just a little longer.

Grabbing the loose change, he discreetly dispensed it into the money slot of the machine. “You think you’re gonna cum for me, doll?” he asked, short windedly while his thighs trembled.

You whined desperately around your panties, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming thread that was beginning to unravel.

“Alright. I’m gonna count down from three and you’re gonna give it to me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

Thumping your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and nodded hastily.

“Good. Ready, baby?” he asked.

Your nails scratched the back of his neck in approval and he began.

“Three.” He pistoned his hips, fucking you with all the energy he had left in him.

“Two.” The deep dirty grind of cock into your cunt was torturing and your thighs shook as you fought to hold out.

“One.” On his final count, Bucky pinched your clit, hard. Your eyes shot wide open at the same time multiple bright flashes blanketed the photobooth and your mouth dropped on a muted scream.

“Holy— F—Fuck!” Your boyfriend’s shout echoed across the white walls while his fist slammed next to your head. A huge load of his cum shot up into your cunt, overflowing the already full hole.

Your mind swam in ecstasy from the adrenaline filled haze of your orgasm. The pure rush of your sparking nerves was a familiar thing with Bucky and yet the sensation was so deeply gratifying every single time.

You sucked in lungfuls of air on your comedown, letting your mouth hang open while your ruined panties dropped with a wet slap onto the floor. Shivers wracked through your body and before you could even notice the coldness, Bucky enveloped his warm body around you while he stroked your cheek.

“That’s it,” he cooed soothingly while he recovered from his own intense orgasm. “Take it easy, sweetheart.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you, until there was no space between you. “That was fun,” you slurred lazily.

Bucky’s tired laugh rumbled through you. “Damn fuckin’ right it was.” Lifting his head out of your neck, he kissed you delicately. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you told him truthfully. “Though you may have to help me walk because I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

He grinned, satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?”

You lightly smacked his chest, even if you couldn’t contain your own cheesy smile. “Nope. I’m not inflating your ego more than it already is.” Turning your head to the screen of the booth, your eyes widened upon what you saw. “No you did not.”

“Oh, but I did.” Bucky said proudly. “A little souvenir of our sexual awakening.”

“Oh my god.” The shock of it rendered you speechless.

“I know, right? Now you have the photos you wanted.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Looking back at your boyfriend, you shook your head. “I wish I could tell you off.”

“You can tell me I’m a bad boy later,” he suggested with a wink. “For now let's get outta here.”

Once he gently placed you down, making sure you were steady on your feet, the two of you sorted yourselves; tidying the mess of your sex hair and straightening the wrinkles out of your clothes. Bucky made sure to pocket your panties from the floor, leaving no evidence of your fun.

“Come on, you.” He lightly slapped your ass before ripping the curtain open. “We’ve still got some shopping to do.” He stepped out, whistling to himself like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless and held his hand out for you to take.

“You want to go shopping while your cum is literally leaking down my legs as we speak?” you hissed as heat crept up your neck from the thought.

Bucky leaned his shoulder against the booth and smirked. “Well, we do have to buy you some new underwear. Remember, doll?”

You so desperately wanted to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. “You wait until we get home, you little shit.”

An excited gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Can’t fuckin’ wait, baby.”

With a huff, you exited the photobooth, begrudgingly sliding your hand into Bucky’s. Before you left to continue your shopping, however, he plucked the Polaroids from the outside dispenser.

Your boyfriend admired the photos, each one a debauched image of you with heavy, hooded eyes with your mouth hung open on a scream.

“You look good on camera, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We should make a film next.”

Trying to clench your thighs together to keep his cum from dripping down your leg, you swatted his arm. “Pfft—you wish, big boy.”

But Bucky smirked, a wickedness in his expression. “I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade you somehow.”

Author’s Note: There may be huge potential for a part two 🫣

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot

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verstappenverse · 1 month ago

Text

Between the Laps

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader Enemies to Friends to...

Summary: When a rookie driver finds herself paired with the reigning champion Max Verstappen, sparks fly. Ambition clashes with undeniable chemistry, as their rivalry and relationship evolves throughout the intense F1 calendar.

Author's Note: Here it is, now just shy of 9k words! This fanfic is significantly longer and more narrative-driven than anything I’ve written on here so far. I really hope you all enjoy it, and I’d greatly appreciate any feedback you might have, thanks!

8.8k words / Masterlist

Race Weekend 1 – Bahrain Grand Prix

The paddock was alive with a low hum of tension and excitement, the air saturated with the distinct scent of burning rubber and gasoline.

You had been here before, in different categories as a rising talent in the motorsport world, but Formula 1 was a whole new arena. Walking through the Red Bull Racing garage you felt the weight of the world pressing down on you. This wasn’t just a race, it was your first F1 race weekend, and to top it off your teammate was none other than Max Verstappen, the reigning World Champion.

Max's reputation preceded him. The fierce competitor, a driver with an almost inhuman ability to push his car beyond the limits, appearing to be in a league of his own. Now he was your teammate or, more realistically, you were his teammate. It was his team, his title on the line, and you were just the rookie fresh to the team and to some extent an uninvited guest in his house.

As you stepped into the garage you caught a glimpse of Max. He was sitting with his usual air of intense concentration, eyes fixed on the telemetry data on his tablet as if he could solve every on-track issue with sheer force of will. His dirty blonde hair peeked out from under his cap. For a moment your eyes met, and a flicker of something passed between you. It wasn’t friendly. A short, curt nod was all he gave you before returning to his data, as if you were a distraction not worth his time.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves gnawing at your insides. No one said this would be easy. Max was a World Champion, he didn’t have time for rookies.

Your debut race weekend came at you fast, a blur of press conferences, strategy meetings, and practice sessions. The eyes of the motorsport world were on you, and the pressure was immense. You had qualified a respectable eighth, but Max was on pole. It wasn’t just a gap in pace — it was a chasm. Still, for your first race it wasn’t bad, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Sunday, and the garage was bustling with energy, staff buzzing around like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew their place. Everyone except you it seemed.

You were sitting in the team motorhome, staring at your race strategy when Max finally broke the silence between you.

“Nervous?” he asked, though the way he phrased it didn’t leave much room for a simple yes or no. His tone was casual, but his gaze remained laser-focused, almost challenging.

You looked up from your tablet, startled. He hadn’t said more than a few words to you all weekend. “Not particularly,” you replied, keeping your voice even.

Max’s lips quirked into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. “Good. Nervous drivers make mistakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if this was advice or a thinly veiled insult. “I’ve been racing a long time Max.”

“This isn’t F2,” he replied smoothly.

“I know how to drive,” you shot back, feeling a flicker of irritation rise up inside you.

Max studied you for a moment as if weighing his next words carefully. “Sure. Just don't get in my way.”

And with that he stood up, grabbing his helmet and walking out of the motorhome without another word. You watched him go, your jaw clenched. He was right this wasn’t F2, but you weren’t going to let him dismiss you like someone who didn’t belong here.

The race itself was brutal. Max dominated from start to finish, winning with the same ruthless efficiency that had earned him the title. Meanwhile, you struggled. The car felt unbalanced, the tyres didn’t last as long as you’d hoped, and you made a few rookie mistakes costing you valuable positions. You finished with just one measly point, a disheartening tenth place.

As you walked back into the garage, still buzzing with the adrenaline of the race you could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Max was already there sitting with his engineers discussing his race. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even glance in your direction.

You slumped into your chair, exhausted and frustrated. Everyone tried to cheer you up telling you it was a good effort for your first race, but the disappointment gnawed at you. You didn’t come here to finish tenth. You wanted to be on the podium, fighting for wins, not languishing in the midfield.

From across the garage, Max’s voice cut through the noise. He was talking to his race engineer, but his words stung as if they were meant directly for you.

“They need to focus on my initial concerns,” he said, his tone casual but firm. “We don’t have time to worry about the rookies issues right now.”

You clenched your fists, the frustration building. It wasn’t just about the race anymore. It was about proving that you belonged here, that you could stand toe-to-toe with him. Max might be the reigning champion, but you weren’t going to let him walk all over you.

Race Weekend 4 - Japanese Grand Prix Qualifying

You stormed into the garage ripping off your helmet in frustration. Your heart was still pounding, not just from the high-speed laps but from the seething anger simmering under your skin. No matter how much you pushed yourself, Max was always one step ahead. The gap felt minimal, fractions of a second, but it might as well have been a canyon.

Max was already there, cool and composed, his pole position nothing out of the ordinary. He was talking with one of the engineers, a slight smirk tugging at his lips like he had already forgotten about the rest of the field. About you.

You could feel your blood boiling. The way he acted so untouchable, so certain of his superiority. Without thinking you marched toward him, your voice sharper than you intended.

"What's your secret Verstappen?" you asked, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Is it the car, or just pure luck?"

Max glanced over his shoulder, his expression unbothered. He raised an eyebrow that infuriating smirk growing. "Luck? Is that what you're going with?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "I’m just trying to figure out how someone so smug manages to stay on top."

He turned to face you fully now, a look of mild amusement playing across his features. "Maybe it's not that complicated. Maybe I’m just better."

The arrogance in his voice was like fuel to the fire, and you took a step closer, your jaw clenched. "Or maybe you’re just used to coasting because no one’s challenged you here. You’re not untouchable, Max."

Max’s smirk faded slightly his blue eyes narrowing as he took a step toward you. "You think you’re the one to change that? Face it, you're good, but you're not there yet. You’re reckless, always pushing too hard. It’s gonna cost you eventually."

His words cut deeper than you expected. They weren’t just taunts they felt like a judgment, like he had already written you off. But you weren’t about to let him get inside your head.

"At least I’m not afraid to take risks," you shot back.

Max’s eyes flashed, and for a moment something darker crossed his face, something serious. "This isn’t a game you know. There’s no room for mistakes here. You’re playing with fire, and if you keep going the way you are you’re going to burn out."

His words hung in the air between you, the tension crackling like static. He wasn’t mocking you anymore, this was something else, something more intense. You didn’t know if he was trying to warn you or challenge you, but either way you weren’t backing down.

"I’d rather burn out than fade away," you said, your voice hard.

Max didn’t reply immediately, but his eyes locked on yours, unblinking. There was something unreadable in his expression, like he was seeing you in a new light, but it was hard to tell if it was respect or frustration.

"Just stay out of my way," he finally said, his voice quiet but charged. Then he turned, walking away, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and your fists clenched.

You watched him go, the frustration and anger still swirling inside you. He was wrong about you—you weren’t going to burn out. But something about his words stuck with you, lingering long after he’d walked away, like an unwanted echo in the back of your mind.

Race Weekend 6 - Spanish Grand Prix

The race had ended hours ago, but the irritation still churned in your chest. Sitting in the team briefing room, the air between you and Max was thick with tension, as had become the norm. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart, still replaying the near-collision between you and Max in your head.

Max sat across the table, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. It was like nothing got to him, like the chaos on the track didn’t even phase him. The way he remained so calm, so detached, only made your anger burn hotter.

Most of the engineers finally left the room and the door clicked shut behind them. The silence that followed was suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Next time," you snapped, your voice cutting through the quiet, "try not to run me off the track."

Max didn’t even flinch, he looked at you his expression infuriatingly calm. "You’re exaggerating."

"Exaggerating?" you exclaimed, your voice rising. "You practically forced me off the track at Turn 8! If I hadn’t backed off, we’d have both been out of the race."

Max sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. "It’s racing. Hard racing. If you can’t handle it, maybe you should reconsider what you’re doing here."

You clenched your fists under the table, every muscle in your body tensing. You knew part of the anger was stemming from knowing there was truth to his words, but you weren't going to admit that anytime soon.

"I can handle hard racing just fine," you shot back. "What I can’t handle is you acting like you’re the only one who deserves to be here. I’m your teammate Max, not your punching bag."

Max’s eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw something else behind his cool exterior—annoyance, maybe even anger. "Teammate?" he repeated, his voice colder now. "You don’t act like one. You drive like you’re the only person on the track."

You laughed bitterly, unable to hold it in. "That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve spent this whole season so far treating me like I’m not even worth your time. It’s like you can’t stand the idea of someone else being good enough to challenge you."

Max stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. His sudden movement startled you, but you didn’t back down.

"Challenge me?" he said, his voice low but sharp. "This isn’t about some petty rivalry. You’re reckless. You don’t think about the bigger picture. You only care about beating me, and it’s going to get someone hurt—probably you."

His words stung more than you expected. It wasn’t just that he thought you weren’t good enough. It was the way he said it, like he didn’t believe you’d ever be more than a threat to yourself.

"You think I don’t know what I’m doing?" you asked, your voice shaking with anger now. "You think I’m just some rookie who’s out of their depth?"

Max didn’t answer right away. He just stood there staring at you with those piercing blue eyes, like he was trying to figure you out but couldn’t. The silence stretched on heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally, he spoke. "I think you’re talented," he admitted, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "But you let your emotions get the better of you. You take unnecessary risks because you’re trying to prove something."

His words cut deep, hitting a nerve you hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just criticising your driving anymore, he was questioning you, the way you handled everything. And what stung the most was that part of you feared he might be right.

You stood up, matching his stance refusing to show any weakness. "I don’t need a lecture from you Max. You’re not perfect either."

Max’s jaw tightened, and for a split second, you thought you saw something flicker across his face, hurt? But just as quickly it was gone, replaced by that familiar steely expression.

"Maybe I’m not," he said.

The room felt like it was closing in on you, the air thick with unresolved tension. You wanted to say something, anything, to break through the wall between you, but the anger and frustration clouded your thoughts, you could feel his gaze on your back as you walked out of the room. You slammed the door behind you, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.

Race Weekend 8 – Monaco Grand Prix

You and Max had barely spoken during practice, though the tension was undeniable. He still had that smug look on his face, his confidence oozing off him as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. You could feel your heart beating just a little faster, though you’d never admit it was anything but adrenaline.

As you sat down in the garage, peeling off your gloves, Max passed by.

"Not bad, rookie," he said casually. "Though, I almost expected you to spin out in Turn 4. You were practically kissing the barriers."

You raised an eyebrow, not willing to let him get the better of you. "Almost, huh? Shame you weren’t close enough to see the whole thing. Maybe you could have learned something."

He snorted, leaning against the wall next to you. "Oh, trust me, I got the best view. Though I’m still not sure if you're brave or just reckless."

You gave him a sideways glance smiling "Maybe I’m both."

Max's eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, and you could feel the weight of it. He sat back in his chair, watching you, and the silence between you grew comfortable. You caught him glancing at you again, that smirk back in place, but this time it felt... different.

"You know," he said, voice teasing, "you should smile more often. You look less intimidating when you do."

You glanced up, confused for a second. "I’m not the one people are intimated by."

"Maybe not," he said, eyes glinting, "but you’ve got your own way of getting under people's skin."

"Well, I learned from the best," you shot back without missing a beat.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "Touché."

Race Weekend 11 – Italian Grand Prix

As the season wore on, things began to shift slowly. You had found your rhythm, steadily improving race by race. You weren’t on Max’s level, not yet, but you were consistently finishing in the points, and at times, you had even managed to challenge him during practice or qualifying. But the dynamic between you remained strained. Max was still focused on his championship, and while the outright hostility had faded there was still an undeniable tension between the two of you.

The Italian Grand Prix was one of the most iconic races of the season. Monza, the Temple of Speed, with its long straights and tight corners it was a test of both car and driver. You had qualified fourth, but once again Max was on pole. It was becoming a frustrating pattern.

After qualifying you found yourself alone in the paddock, sitting on the steps outside the motorhome. You were replaying your lap in your head over and over, trying to figure out where you could have found more time.

“Still overthinking?” Max’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his helmet under his arm.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Just trying to figure out how to be half a second faster.”

Max walked over, sitting down beside you on the steps. “You’re pushing too hard,” he said after a moment, his voice surprisingly soft. “You’re overdriving the car.”

You frowned, not sure if this was another dig or actual advice. “I’m trying to make up the gap.”

“You can’t drive like that here,” he continued, his eyes scanning the empty track. “You have to let the car come to you. If you keep forcing it, you’re going to keep making mistakes.”

You looked at him genuinely surprised. This was the first time he had offered anything resembling constructive advice. “Why are you telling me this?”

Max didn’t meet your gaze, instead looking out at the paddock. “Because I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to have everything to prove.”

You paused, his words sinking in. For the first time, you realised that Max wasn’t just being arrogant. He had been in your shoes once, the young driver trying to prove himself in a world that was constantly questioning if he was good enough, if he was ready.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice a little quieter than usual. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Max nodded, standing up and stretching. “Don’t get used to it,” he said with his familiar smirk. “I still want to beat you.”

You laughed, the tension between you easing just a little. “I’ll keep that in mind too.”

The race at Monza was chaotic as expected. The high-speed circuit, combined with the aggressive nature of the drivers made for a thrilling but nerve-wracking experience. Max was fighting for the win as usual, while you were locked in a battle in the top five.

In the closing laps you found yourself side by side with a McLaren, both of you fighting tooth and nail for fourth place. It was intense, wheel-to-wheel racing, and you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. But Max’s earlier words echoed in your head. Don’t overdrive. Let the car come to you.

With a deep breath you backed off slightly, biding your time, waiting for the right moment. And when it came, you seized it, pulling off a clean overtake and securing fourth place. It wasn’t the podium you wanted, but it was solid result.

After the race you were exhausted, but satisfied. It wasn’t a win but it was a step in the right direction. As you walked back into the garage you caught Max’s eye. He didn’t say anything, but there was a subtle nod of acknowledgment. You had his respect even if he wasn’t going to say it out loud.

Race Weekend 13 - British Grand Prix

It was late in the evening, the team had thrown a small celebration after a particularly challenging but successful race for both of you. The atmosphere was relaxed, and after a few drinks you and Max found yourselves sitting together away from the others. The competitive edge was still there, but the rivalry was fading, replaced by something you couldn’t quite name.

You stretched out leaning back on your hands as the warm night air brushed against your skin. Max sat next to you, closer than usual, the dim light casting soft shadows across his face.

“Do you ever feel like it’s all... too much?” you asked suddenly, surprising even yourself with the question. You weren’t even sure why you asked it, but something about the late night and the quiet moment made you feel like maybe you could.

Max looked over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “Sometimes. More than I admit to most people.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You turned to him, genuinely curious now. “Really? You always seem so in control...so unfazed.”

He gave a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s all part of it, you know? The cameras, the pressure... you just get good at pretending.”

You looked at him for a moment, seeing past the champion exterior, catching a glimpse of something more vulnerable underneath. It was oddly comforting, knowing he wasn’t as untouchable as you’d thought.

“Well,” you said softly, “you’re pretty good at it. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone’s really in control. Not out there.”

Max turned his head to look at you, his expression softer, more open than you’d ever seen before. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe you’re right.”

There was a pause, his eyes lingered on yours, and you felt your heartbeat pick up. You quickly looked away feeling the tension crackle between you.

"Maybe you’re not quite as annoying as I first thought," you said with a light nudge, trying to break the tension with a small smirk.

Max laughed softly the sound low and surprisingly warm. "High praise coming from you."

But the way he looked at you in that moment made it clear that something had shifted between you. Neither of you said anything else for a while, just sitting there in the quiet night, side by side.

Race Weekend 14 - Dutch Grand Prix

You leaned against the railing of the team’s paddock area, the noise of celebration and chatter swirling around you. It was hard not to smile. You’d just finished in an easy second, your best race yet. It was a personal victory, a testament to all the hard work you’d put in.

But even with the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, a knot of conflicting emotions twisted in your stomach. You had to talk to Max.

As if he sensed your thoughts, you turned to see him walking toward you, a small grin on his face. It was a mix of confidence and camaraderie, and for the first time in a while, you felt less inclined to roll your eyes.

“Great race today,” he said, his tone genuine as he leaned against the railing beside you.

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I actually thought I might’ve had a shot at you there.”

He chuckled softly, and you felt your heart flutter at the sound. “You were close. Just need to find a bit more speed in those corners, and you’ll be there.”

You took a deep breath, the earlier tension bubbling to the surface. “You know, it used to annoy me—how you carried yourself, like you were always one step ahead of everyone. Like it was your birth right to be where you are and no one else could catch you.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your honesty. “Yeah?"

You turned to face him, the excitement of the race fading into something more serious. “But now? I get it. You’ve worked your ass off to be the best. It’s not just about talent, it’s about everything you’ve sacrificed. I can see that now. I see it everyday”

He nodded slowly, and the atmosphere shifted between you. “It’s not easy, you know. When everyone expects you to win, and if you don’t, it feels like you’ve let them down.”

The vulnerability in his voice surprised you. It was a reminder that he was human too, grappling with expectations and pressure. “But you handle it all so well,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I respect that.”

A smile ghosted across his lips. “Thanks. That means a lot. I’ve noticed how hard you’ve been pushing yourself this season. It’s impressive.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his acknowledgment. “I’ve had to, I can’t just coast along. Not when you’re in the same garage.”

Max’s expression grew serious again. “I know I was... a bit frosty at the beginning. I guess I was too focused on myself to notice how much you were putting in. I don't want this to come across wrong... but it's your first season, and I didn’t want to give you any false hope thinking you could compete with me.”

You frowned slightly, you didn't want to dive into old wounds. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“No, it’s not okay,” he said, shaking his head. “You deserved better. I should have been more supportive. You pushed me too, you know? It’s hard to admit, but you’ve made me work harder, and I appreciate that.”

Your heart raced at his words. There was a sincerity in his tone that softened the rough edges of your previous encounters. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude mixed with disbelief.

“Really?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, really,” he replied. “You’ve improved more than I expected in such a short time. It takes guts to put yourself out there and challenge someone who’s been at the top for so long.”

The air between you was charged with a mix of emotions. You nodded, “Thanks for saying that Max. It means a lot to hear you acknowledge it.”

He shrugged, trying to downplay the moment, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Well, it’s true. Just don’t get too comfortable, I still plan on beating you.”

You laughed, feeling the tension dissipate. “Bring it on Verstappen. I’ll be ready.”

As you stood there, side by side, the competitive fire still smouldering between you, something shifted again—this time, the rivalry felt more like a partnership.

Race Weekend 16 – Azerbaijan Grand Prix

It was early morning Thursday, you and Max found yourselves sitting across from each other at breakfast, still somewhat groggy from travel. The team lounge was quiet, and the two of you were left alone at the table.

“You’re not gonna try and out-eat me too, are you?” Max asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he poked at his food.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need to out-eat you Max. I’ve already out-qualified you once.”

His eyes lit up in mock offence. “One time! You’re never going to let that go are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said with a grin, taking a bite of your toast. “I’m framing that lap time.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re too easy to mess with,” you shot back. "Honestly, it's like a gift."

Max laughed, his genuine smile making your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t quite control. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m just letting you win the mind games. Gotta keep you feeling confident somehow.”

“Oh, so you’re being generous now?” you quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Always,” he replied with a wink.

The playful banter was natural now, a far cry from the sharp edges and constant tension that had defined your early relationship. There was still competition between you, but now it felt like something that pushed you both forward, rather than tearing you apart.

And as you exchanged another playful jab, you couldn’t help but notice the way both your eyes kept catching each other.

Race Weekend 17 – Singapore Grand Prix

The garage had emptied out, leaving behind only the quiet hum of cooling equipment and the faint clatter of distant tools. A rough race, nothing had gone the way you wanted.

Across the room Max was fiddling with his helmet, but you could tell he wasn’t focused on it. He glanced over at you, then slowly made his way to where you were sitting.

“You okay?” His voice was softer than usual.

You didn’t answer at first, still staring down at your hands trying to shrug off the defeat. “Yeah. Just... it wasn’t my day.”

Max nodded, his gaze steady. “It happens,” he said simply, but there was something in his tone that made you look up.

You sighed, the frustration bubbling over. “I know, but it feels different... I thought I was ready to take that next step the consistency was finally there…and then it just comes crashing back down.”

Max was quiet for a moment and when he spoke again there was a warmth in his voice. “This is a brutal track don't be too hard on yourself. You’ve been doing everything you can, I promise it shows.”

You looked at him, meeting his eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

Max’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Trust me, it is.”

The simple touch sent a jolt through you, something unspoken passing between you in that small, fleeting contact. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything Max moved even closer, and in a moment that felt both surprising and natural, he pulled you into a hug.

At first, you were too stunned to react. The sudden closeness, the warmth of his body against yours—it caught you off guard. But then you felt the solid weight of his arms around you, and you melted into the embrace, resting your head against his shoulder. His body was firm, steady, grounding you in a way that made the tension of the day seem to fade.

The hug wasn’t rushed, it lingered, the quiet between you filled with something heavier than words. But the feel of him, his arms around you, his breath steady against your temple was hard to ignore.

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the frustration, or something else entirely, but suddenly you were hyper-aware of every movement, the way his breath hitched slightly when you leaned into him, the subtle way his hand trailed down your back before settling again at your waist.

Max’s hands tightened slightly around you, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt. You felt his chin rest lightly on top of your head, and there was something in the way his body pressed against yours that sent your pulse racing.

For a moment it was just the two of you, the rest of the world forgotten. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but strong, and the closeness between you felt almost electric. You weren’t sure who would pull away first, or if either of you even wanted to.

When you finally pulled back neither of you moved far, your faces still inches apart. His hands lingered at your waist, and your breath caught when you saw the way his eyes flickered, just briefly, to your lips.

Neither of you said anything, but the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the subtle tilt of his head, made it clear that you both felt it.

Your heart was pounding, the space between you charged. You could see it in his eyes, the question, the pull, but he didn’t act on it. Instead, he gave you a small almost imperceptible smile before he finally let go.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

“Yeah,” you managed, trying to ignore the way your body still hummed from the closeness. “I know.”

Race Weekend 18 - Qatar Grand Prix

It was one of those rare nights when the team wasn’t focused on race strategy or technical debriefs. After a relentless set of races, the team had gathered at a low-lit restaurant lounge for a relaxed evening. Laughter and conversation flowed freely around the long table, and for once the entire team seemed at ease.

You were sitting with a few people and one of the mechanics Adam, was regaling everyone with a wildly exaggerated story about a mishap during a pit stop in his rookie year.

Max was sitting a few seats away, engrossed in a discussion with some of the team, but his eyes kept darting over to you, his gaze narrowing slightly as he observed the scene. His shoulders were tense, and the easygoing expression he’d worn earlier in the evening was replaced by something more guarded. It wasn’t like Max to be this quiet at team gatherings, and you were too distracted to notice at first, focused instead on Adam's ongoing tale.

But the shift in atmosphere caught your attention eventually. As you laughed at another one of Adam's jokes you glanced over to find Max staring your way, his jaw set. He quickly looked away, and downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion.

Curious, you turned back to Adam, who was obliviously leaning in a little closer still chuckling at his own story. And then Max was suddenly standing up, making his way around the table and pulling up a chair directly beside you, a smile plastered on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” Max greeted, his smile a little forced but convincing enough. “What’s going on over here then? Everyone seems to be having fun.”

Adam grinned and gave him a friendly nod. “Just telling some old war stories. You know how it is.”

“Oh, I bet,” Max replied.

You noticed it right away, especially the way he seemed intent on steering the conversation. “Adam was just telling me about his first-ever pit stop disaster,” you explained still smiling. “It’s been quite entertaining.”

“I’m sure it has,” Max said, but his gaze flickered to Adam again something unreadable in his eyes.

Adam glanced between the two of you, sensing the shift, and gave you a friendly smile before excusing himself to join another group. You watched him go, then turned back to Max noticing the tension still in his jaw.

“So, you came all the way over here to save me from pit lane stories?” you questioned.

Max shrugged, his expression casual. “I just didn’t want you to get bored. Thought you might appreciate something a bit more... entertaining.”

You turned to look at him, amused. “Uh-huh, or maybe you just didn’t want to be left out of the conversation.”

“Maybe. But I was doing you a favour, trust me. You’d have heard all of Adam’s best stories in the first five minutes.” He rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, what’s up?" you asked, genuinely confused by his behaviour.

Max didn’t respond immediately, instead glancing around the table, making sure no one was listening too closely before he spoke. "Nothing. Just... noticed you were getting along pretty well with Adam. I didn’t think he was was your type.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected comment. “Oh?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you think you know my type?”

Max shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Just an observation,” he said.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Is that so? And what exactly do you think my type is Max?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “I'd guess someone who doesn’t just talk big but can actually back it up. You know, a real challenge.”

You felt a flicker of heat rush through you at his words, the playful banter quickly taking on a different tone. “A challenge, huh?” you teased. “Funny, I don’t remember you being all that interested in challenges off the track.”

Max's grin widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I guess you’ve been paying attention to the wrong things then.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second you wondered if he was going to say something else, if he was going to push this conversation into territory you hadn’t quite prepared for. But then, just as quickly as it started Max leaned back, breaking the moment with a light laugh.

“Don’t overthink it,” he teased with a grin. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head at his familiar cockiness. “You’re impossible.”

Max just grinned wider. “That's what they tell me.”

For a few minutes you fell into an easy rhythm of teasing each other, the tension from earlier fading completely. Max shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours under the table.

“So, what are you going to do for the break?” he asked, his gaze lingering on your face.

You shrugged, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the way he was looking at you. “Probably just spend some time with family, maybe catch up on some sleep. What about you?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure yet,” he said thoughtfully. “Might go back to Monaco, or maybe not. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Max met your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Depends on if there’s anything... interesting keeping me around.”

There was a challenge in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Or, maybe I’ll just catch up on sleep too,” he added with a wink, steering the conversation back into safer territory.

And before you could respond he reached out for his drink, his hand brushing yours briefly in a way that felt almost accidental. But the touch lingered, the heat of his skin against yours sending a jolt of awareness through you. Your eyes met again, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away, the noise of the restaurant, the people around you. It was just you and Max, the world narrowing down to that single point of contact.

Race Weekend 20 – US Grand Prix

The Padel court was quiet, bathed in the late afternoon sun as you and Max stood on opposite sides of the net. This was meant to be a fun break from the track to let off some steam, but the second you both picked up your paddles it became clear neither of you were about to take it easy.

He’d been chirping at you since you got here, claiming he was going to wipe the floor with you. But you’d heard that song before.

"You sure you’re ready for this?" Max called from the other side of the net, casually tossing the ball up and catching it, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I mean, you can still back out. No shame in admitting defeat early."

You gave him a deadpan look, adjusting your grip on the paddle. "You talk way too much for someone who’s about to lose."

Max rested against his paddle, flashing that familiar smirk. "I’m just letting you believe you have a chance. Keeps things interesting."

You served the ball with a sharp flick of your wrist, sending it careening over the net. Max responded quickly, returning it with ease. The ball bounced between you, a quick exchange of volleys. His movements were swift, confident, but you weren’t about to let him get the upper hand so easily.

"Nice try," Max said after you missed a ball that bounced just out of reach. "You almost looked like you knew what you were doing there."

"Careful Verstappen," you shot back, repositioning yourself for the next rally. "I’m just warming up."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting frustrated."

"I don’t get frustrated," you countered, serving the ball again, aiming straight for his side.

"Oh, you definitely do." He easily returned it, the smirk on his face only growing as you both rallied.

You grinned, already feeling the familiar rush of competition surging through you. This wasn’t racing, but it had the same energy—the need to outmanoeuvre, outthink, outplay. And if there was one thing you and Max did well it was push each other’s limits.

"You're really going to make me run for it, huh?" Max panted as he lunged to return a low ball, his paddle barely grazing it.

You smirked. "Wouldn't want you to get too comfortable."

After a particularly long rally, you smashed a shot just out of his reach, winning the point. Max groaned throwing his head back dramatically. "Unbelievable."

You pumped your fist, grinning from ear to ear. "And that’s how it’s done."

"Okay, okay," he wheezed, though his eyes were still bright with amusement. "I’ll give you that one. But don’t think I’m letting you win."

"Letting me win?" you repeated, wiping the sweat from your brow. "That’s cute Max."

Max walked to the net, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Alright, you got lucky. One point, I’ll give you that."

"One point?" you scoffed, meeting him at the net. "Try four."

"Technicalities," he muttered, but the grin on his face betrayed his playful frustration. He watched you with a glint in his eye. "You know, you’re a lot better at this than I thought."

"Coming from you that means so much." you said dryly.

Max chuckled, his gaze still lingering on you. There was a moment of quiet, the sun casting long shadows on the court, the air between you thick with a kind of unspoken understanding.

"You’re not so bad yourself," you added, breaking the silence but not the tension. "For a guy who spends most of his free time gaming."

Max raised an eyebrow laughing again. "That supposed to be a compliment?"

You shrugged. "Take it however you want."

His grinned. "I think I’ll take it as a compliment."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, tossing the ball in the air. "Alright, rematch. Best two out of three. I’m not letting you walk away with that win."

"You just can’t handle losing to me can you?" you teased, taking your position, ready for another round. "I’m starting to think you just like seeing me sweat."

He chuckled, but the way his eyes lingered on you for a beat longer said more than his words did. "You’re not wrong."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but there was no denying the subtle shift in the air. It wasn’t obvious or overt, but the dynamic between you had changed in the last few weeks. The teasing was still there, but there was a different kind of energy between you now, one that neither of you had quite acknowledged yet.

You cleared your throat, stepping back and spinning the ball in your hand. "Let’s finish this then. I’ve got a winning streak to keep."

Max’s grin returned, but it was softer now, less competitive and more… something else. "We’ll see about that."

Race Weekend 22 – Brazil Grand Prix

On race day, the tension was palpable. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the hum of adrenaline filled the air. Max was standing next to his car helmet in hand, the pre-race jitters barely showing on his face. You caught his eye from across the garage, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet around you.

You approached, trying to shake off the strange tension that always seemed to linger between the two of you lately. Max’s gaze met yours, steady but with an intensity that made your breath catch for just a second.

“Ready to lose today?” you asked, trying to keep things light, but your voice sounded a little shakier than you’d intended.

Max smirked, stepping closer than necessary. “In your dreams.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but the proximity made it hard to focus. There was a heat in his gaze and you found yourself holding your breath for a moment.

“Don’t get too cocky Verstappen,” you muttered, the playful tone masking the way your pulse raced.

He leaned in just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I think that’s your job now.”

For a second, it felt like everything had stopped—the noise, the chaos of the track, all fading into the background. But just as quickly the moment passed, and Max stepped back sliding his helmet on.

“See you at the finish line,” he said over his shoulder.

You stood there for a second longer trying to steady your breath, knowing that this race and whatever was happening between you two was far from over.

End of the Season – Abu Dhabi Grand Prix

The season had been a rollercoaster filled with highs and lows. You had stood on the podium for the first time in Canada, a moment that felt surreal after all the hard work. But there had also been heartbreak, a crash in Austria that had cost you valuable points, a mechanical failure in Mexico that had seen you retire from a race where you could have scored big.

Through it all your relationship with Max had continued to evolve. You still raced on track, fighting for every inch of tarmac, but off the track things had changed. There was mutual respect, an understanding that had grown over the course of the season. The animosity that had once defined your relationship was gone, replaced by something more complicated.

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was the final race of the season, and the championship was on the line. Max was in a tight battle for the title, and the pressure on both of you was immense.

The night before the race you found Max sitting alone in the team motorhome, staring out at the glowing lights of the Yas Marina Circuit. He looked unusually quiet, his usual air of confidence tempered by the gravity of the situation.

“You ready for tomorrow?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

Max didn’t look at you, his eyes still focused on the track outside. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You stepped inside, sitting down across from him*. “You’re going to win it.”*

Max finally turned to face you, a small, almost tired smile on his face. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

“I’ve watched you all season. No one’s better than you out there,” you said simply, meaning every word.

Max shook his head, letting out a short laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself you know.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You had fought hard to get to this point, and though Max was still your fiercest competition, he was also the one person who, you now realised, might understand you better than anyone else.

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – Race Day

Race day was electric, the air crackling with anticipation. The championship battle had come down to this — the final race of the season, and everything was on the line. Max was in contention for the title, but his rival wasn’t far behind. Every lap, every pit stop, every decision mattered.

You were focused on your own race, but there was an underlying pressure you couldn’t ignore. Max needed you to perform today. If you could help him by holding off the cars behind, or making sure the team strategy worked in his favour, you would.

The race itself was a blur. The car felt good and you pushed hard, determined to finish the year on a high.

As the laps ticked down, the tension in the pit lane grew. Max was leading, but his rival was closing in behind you, and the team was on a knifes-edge. Then, with just a few laps to go, you got the call from your engineer.

“We need you to hold position, keep the cars behind you. Max needs this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. It wasn’t the call you wanted to hear, but you understood. This was the team game. You weren’t fighting for the championship, but Max was.

“Got it,” you replied, gritting your teeth as you focused on the task ahead.

For the next few laps, you fought with everything you had to keep the cars behind you, giving Max the breathing room he needed. It was arguably the hardest race of your life, the pressure almost unbearable. But when the checkered flag finally fell, you had done it.

Max crossed the line first, securing the championship, and you finished in a solid second place.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, fireworks lighting up the sky as Max stood on the podium, the World Champion once again. You watched him celebrate, a mixture of pride and satisfaction swelling in your chest. You hadn’t won, but in a way you had still achieved something important. You had proven that you could compete at this level, that you could stand with the best.

Later that night, after all the celebrations had died down you found Max sitting alone in the quiet garage, his championship trophy resting beside him.

“Not partying with the team?” you asked.

Max looked up, his face still glowing with the satisfaction of victory. “Needed a minute,” he said, his voice soft.

You stepped inside, sitting down beside him. “You did it,” you said, a small smile on your lips.

Max glanced at you, his blue eyes filled with something deeper than just the thrill of winning. “We did it,” he corrected, his voice sincere.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the season, the challenges you had both faced, the fights on and off the track — it all hung in the air between you. But there was no tension now, no rivalry. Just understanding.

“You really helped me today,” Max said after a while, his voice quiet but firm. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but his words meant more to you than you’d expected. “Just doing my job.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “You did more than that.”

You turned to face him fully, your knees brushing against his, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. His eyes were on you, and the look he gave you sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his gaze smiling, the two of you had been through so much together, and now, sitting in the quiet aftermath of victory, it felt like the beginning of something new.

But then the playful smile faded, replaced by a more intense expression. His gaze flickered, dropping to your lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to send your heart racing.

The space between you seemed to shrink. You felt your breath hitch as Max shifted closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours. His hand moved, almost hesitantly, to your arm, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made every nerve in your body stand on end.

You could feel it now, the weight of everything unsaid, everything that had built up over the season, all the unspoken moments between you. It was all right there, in the way his hand lingered on your arm, the way his breath caught as his eyes met yours again, more intensely this time.

“You’re not bad at this whole teammate thing,” Max murmured, his voice low.

You rolled your eyes, but the banter was thin now, the words barely a distraction from the way your heart was pounding in your chest. “I guess you're not so bad yourself.”

Max’s smile faded again, his gaze serious, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The garage, the race, the entire championship, none of it mattered. It was just the two of you, sitting there in the quiet.

And then, before you could even process what was happening, Max leaned in.

It was slow at first, as if he was giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. His lips hovered just above yours, the space between you almost unbearable, and then finally he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. There was too much between you for it to be gentle. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, and you felt your body respond, your heart pounding in your ears.

It wasn’t a kiss born out of victory or celebration. It was something else, something more intense, like all the tension, the rivalry, the unspoken moments between you had finally come to a head. It was raw, charged, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning around you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Max’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed as he let out a shaky breath.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was a shift now, something irrevocable between you, but it felt right. Like this was where you were always meant to end up.

“You know,” Max murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “Next year’s going to be interesting.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “You have no idea.” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. “Next year, I’m coming for you.”

Max grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”

And as you sat there, still wrapped up in each other you couldn’t help but smile. The season may have ended, but the story between you and Max was far from over.

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periprose · 2 months ago

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May i request a Logan x angel!reader fic where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

anon I loved this ask ahhhh thank you. I'm like half considering making this a series if people want it (so send more angel requests if you're into it!) <3 I may have made it more angsty but there is fluff at the end :) also reader goes by Angel in this fic.

When Flight Comes to Fire (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, X-Men stuff, idiots in love, angst, hurt no comfort, fluff, kissing

LGGA Masterlist

The first time your mutation made it’s appearance– sharp shoulder blades growing into thick appendages, soft, buttery white feathers extending from them in that unhuman way, your wingspan making it clear you would never be normal– your mother retched and said she would have done anything to chop them off of you. Would’ve done anything to have a normal kid.

In fact, she tried, multiple times, to do so. You were only twelve when she came at you for the first time, in your sleep, feeling falsely secure in your father’s platitudes about how she would never really do anything. You woke up to her reaching inside your blanket, grasping one of your wings as she brandished a knife in her other hand. Luckily, your wings were strong enough to shove her off, but you remember how you screamed at her.

Why, mom? It’s me! It’s me–

She didn’t listen, coming at you again, promising in delirious anger that everything would be okay soon if you would just let her fix it, and she had to be held back by your father, as he called the police.

Because you were her kid, she got let off with a warning, and you were stuck. So you would often fly to the tallest treetops and take your rest there, trying your best to ignore your mother’s other attempts on your life. She didn’t seem to ever get it. You would never be normal.

The final attempt was probably the worst, and the one that caused you to fly away in the end to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

You were twenty years old, just old enough to legally leave home– you only stayed because your father insisted.

She set your favourite tree on fire. You had no idea your mom had been in enough anguish to essentially murder you for daring to be different.

You awoke to the deep smell of smoke, of tree bark charring, and then you heard the cracking and sparks. The tree quickly caught fire, and you shrieked in pure terror as the heat of the flames approached you. The immense light emitting from the fire blinded you, and suddenly there was a sharp pain from your wings and back– you were getting scorched.

So you flew upwards, high enough that the fire dissipated off your back instantly in the cool night sky’s air, and you were fine. Nothing to show other than a little scar, and the sounds of mutiny coming from your mother below.

You chose to forget her– no point in repairing a relationship with a woman who didn’t want you as you were.

But you’ve never forgotten the pain of being burned alive.

“Angel. You ready?” Logan is to your right in the foyer of the mansion. “Everyone else is waiting in the helicarrier.”

He’s your best friend, has been ever since you came to the X-Mansion as a runaway. It’s not an uncommon story among mutants, but Logan always felt you were like him. Rough, not the easiest to speak to, having a tendency to keep to yourself.

The major difference to him is that you’re a lot easier on the eyes.

Seriously, it was almost like the universe was playing a joke on him. Here was a beautiful girl with literal angel wings, just missing a halo as she arrived at the door for the School for the first time, and he just happened to be the first ugly motherfucker to open the door.

Logan’s never quite sure why you keep up with him, why you stay friends with him, if he was just lucky enough to be the first person you saw and liked. It drives him nuts, the way in which you rely on him, trust him more than he thinks he deserves, you come to him at every moment just to talk over everyone else, when surely you could have anyone else’s attention.

Especially any stupid guy, like him. He’s not sure how you haven’t noticed– even now on the staircase, he can’t tear his gaze away from you. Logan feels bad to be so in love with you, too– he wonders if he’s reading into things too much, if he’s pushing for something that isn’t really there.

And he’ll never know, because you’re so damn flighty. Logan can barely keep up with your whims, and he only knows as much as you’ll tell him about yourself (he hardly knows where you came from that fateful first day), so he just lets you come and go as you please. He’ll keep his feelings deep inside, where you can’t possibly find out about it.

“Yup, I’m fine.” You have a brief smile for him, which gives him that familiar twist of the stomach. “Oh. You’re not wearing your uniform?”

“It’s better to be incognito for this one, according to Scott.” Logan says, adjusting his flannel, mildly enjoying how you check him out.

You’re wearing the typical X-Men uniform– bright yellow, blue stripes down your sides, room for wings with a removable panel in the back. You let them loose, now, telling Logan you’ll be right back.

When you return, with quite a flourish, flapping wings in a true superhero-landing– Logan sees that you’re wearing a tank-top, and some jeans that really, really highlight your ass– but he tries not to focus on that.

“Hey. Tank’s inside out, Angel.” Logan says, waiting for you to fly off again, but you simply take off the tank top, and pull it back on the right way, exposing your bra-covered chest and lithe waist for the briefest of moments, while Logan loses whatever he was about to say. “I…”

“Don’t be a perv, Logan.” You jokingly side-eye him, never suspecting that that could actually be true as you tease him. “You’ve seen me change tons of times.”

“Yeah, but out in the open?” Logan stares at you. “You’re gonna have a shit-ton of admirers if you keep that up.”

“It’s just me, please.” You start up this whole I’m-not-pretty schtick that Logan is pretty sick of hearing, and he shakes his head. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.”

Yeah, Logan thinks, they are waiting, but he’s not sure you needed to be all quick and nonchalant about changing, just to get there faster.

That’s what he means by you being flighty– who knows what’s really in your heart, when you act so quickly?

“Listen up, X-Men. We’re gonna do our best to avoid damages today, right?” Scott speaks with the air of a leader who’s very fed up with his team members.

There’s a resounding yes from everyone, including you, Logan, Jean, Storm, Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty.

“What’s our mission?” Scott says, and you answer first.

“Find the new mutant.” You state, and Scott nods, while Logan hides a smile at how adept you’ve gotten at these missions.

“Make sure he doesn’t defect to the Brotherhood.” Jean adds, looking at you and Logan, seeing how close you two sit to each other. She’s kept it to herself– but Jean thinks if you and Logan really do have something going on, that would be nice. For the both of you.

“No damages.” Logan chimes in, and Scott visibly loses a little composure.

“I already said that.” Scott points out, and Logan shrugs.

“Well, it’s part of the plan, isn’t it?” Logan leans back in his seat on the helicarrier, nestling his head next to your shoulder, not noticing the way your eyebrows raise at the sudden contact. “Better than me not listening at all.”

“Sure, Logan. Fine.” Scott lets it go, knowing better than to ask more from the most “chill” (read: laziest) member of the team.

You laugh a little as Logan smiles a cocky grin.

The new mutant is kind of old– you’re looking for a 19 year old with severe singing around his clothes, pale skin, and black hair. You suppose he’d be extremely frightened.

Most mutants don’t deal well with becoming different all so suddenly, let alone at the very late age of 19, when you could assume that you’re pretty much normal. So you and Jean are hoping to find him first– you figure you’re the two that could calm him down.

Unfortunately, you find Jubilee talking to him first. She’s okay, but she has a tendency to be a little too bombastic, as Jean says quite often.

“And there she goes.” Jean grimaces as Jubilee taps the new mutant’s shoulder, and you pick up her saying that “she’s just like him,” which you’re not sure is a delicate way to deal with the topic.

There are crowds of people walking through the streets, too, and a lot of them are glancing at this yellow-jacketed girl talking to a boy with burnt clothes.

If you had found him, you would have brought him to the side, away from people, and–

“His face turned white. He’s freaking out.” You tell Jean, and her eyes narrow.

Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty are nowhere in sight, so this is just one weird young adult speaking to another one, and you really, really wish the rest were here. You, Jean, Logan and Scott are a bit older– perhaps comforting in your age– but you feel like the boy would’ve done well with more peers.

Jubilee raises her hand as you and Jean approach her. “Guys, I got it under control. See, Kyle, these are more people like us. More mutants.”

“...” Kyle looks on in disbelief.

“Kyle?” You try, and he looks at you– there’s something in his eyes that tells you he wants to trust you, but he’s scared– it reminds you of yourself. “We’re here for you if you want us to be. Take your time. Don’t worry.”

You smile, Jean smiles, Jubilee grins, and Kyle seems okay.

It lasts for about two seconds.

Someone drops what sounds like a glass bottle in the distance, and the shattering sound is enough for Jubilee to gasp, a little spark of fireworks launching from her fingertips, towards Kyle, who watches on in trepidation, and his body starts shaking, moving of it’s own accord, clearly reacting to being so close to another form of heat– and you and Jean move, as you yell out “Wait!–”

Kyle shrieks in fear as his body becomes overtaken with flames, combusting with such intensity that the flames roar at least 100 feet over, and Jean– Phoenix that she is– is able to withstand the heat, but you find yourself being pushed back by hot gusts of wind.

It hurts, it feels as if your skin is melting with every passing second. You grit your teeth, trying to breathe as Kyle loses control of his body, and you open your wings, deciding that flying off into the cool air would be a better alternative.

That was a mistake on your part.

The moment you open your wings, Kyle’s fire pushes you backwards, and up, into the hot air, and your wings catch fire as you come too close–

You scream, but it’s unheard through the roar of the flames, and you barely have time to catch yourself as you fall towards the ground, smoking, fiery tendrils engulfing you.

The last thing you remember is your mother’s face.

Logan sees it happen from a distance.

Scott wanted him to be as close as possible, something about keeping watch on him– and Logan gets it, he’s not always the most responsible, but later on, in hindsight, he wishes he was, because then he wouldn’t have missed what happened to you– and they both turn as a fire overtakes a block of the city.

“Shit, that must be him!” Scott starts running, Logan not far behind.

It’s only when he sees a pair of white wings, a woman flying up, up, up, the fire approaching dangerously close to her– to you– he starts speeding up, overtaking Scott, pushing people out of the way.

Logan wonders what he could do, anyways. He’s invincible, practically, incapable of taking on much damage as his regenerative abilities heal him– perhaps he could run to the kid and knock him out, sustaining burns in the process, but better him than you.

Never you.

Any second now– Logan sees the boy, and he’s got an open fist ready to lightly tap the back of his neck.

He’s not fast enough. Scott yells out, and Logan looks up to see you engulfed in flames, as you scream, and it’s awful to hear– usually you seemed so speedy, so ready to fly at a moment’s notice, that Logan forgot you could be hurt.

He calls out your name. It’s unheard by you as you crash on the ground, still burning– Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue have caught up to you from the other side of the street, and Bobby quickly makes an icy mist that subdues the flames on you, and Kyle’s roaring fire back into him.

You’re unconscious as the X-Men approach you.

Logan touches your face as he kneels next to you, the only one willing to come close right now. “Hey, Angel…”

There’s that unspoken fondness between you two, yet again. Everyone knows, even when Logan has tried to act cool about it. Even now, when Logan attempts to act like he isn’t totally hanging on to your potential words, searching for a breath, a little movement of your head.

Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and the rest look on in trepidation.

You don’t respond, and he feels his heart plummet. You’re covered in burns, mostly across your stomach and back, and he inhales sharply as he turns you over– there’s fresh, scalded skin, crispy-red to the touch.

Your back, your wings– they’re damaged so badly, with feathers singed straight off, the muscular appendages more visible and wounded, and Logan doesn’t know if you’re alive. He almost removes his hands from you, the very thought seeming to scald him from the inside, and he glares at the kid– the one who looks terribly guilty, now, as he runs away.

“Get back here!” Kitty shouts at him, anger in her eyes, and Scott pulls her aside, explaining that it was clearly an accident of sorts– something that Jean confirms for him with a nod of her head.

Right, Jean. Logan knows that if anyone could confirm if you’re alive, it would be her.

As Scott, Kitty, Bobby, and Jubilee go hunting for the kid– Rogue stays behind because she’s always felt close to you and Logan– Logan looks up at Jean in a solemn, teary-eyed look that has her understanding immediately.

“C’mon, Angel… stay with us.” She mutters, as she presses her fingers to your head, and she smiles comfortingly at Logan.

“She’s still here. Just barely, but still here.” Jean says, and Logan sighs, an angry, long sigh that tells Jean and Rogue that he’s going to be insufferably feeling at-fault here, even though no one is.

“Let’s go.” He picks you up, feeling the burnt skin through that damn tank-top, now barely being held together as tatters– for modesty’s sake, he takes off his flannel and wraps it around you.

Rogue lets Logan and you walk forward a bit, not wanting him to hear what she’s about to say, and then looks towards Jean. “He really loves her, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Jean exhales. “Let’s hope for his sake that she’ll be okay.”

Stupid bitch! You’ve been nothing but a curse on this family– fuck you, I hope your future daughter is just as fucked up as you are–

You awake suddenly, with a loud gasp and yell, your mother’s last words to you flashing on your mind– you attempt to pull yourself forward restrained back by tubing in your arm. You’re stuck in a bed. In a hospital bed of sorts.

Not just any hospital bed, one in the hospital wing of the X-Mansion.

You’re calm, at first, until there’s a sudden ache echoing from your back, through your body, through your wings.

“Ah–!” You groan in pain. Trying to move suddenly has hurt you.

There’s a knock at your door. It’s Beast– or, Dr. Hank McCoy, as he’s better known around the hospital wing.

“You’re awake.” Hank says in relief. “It’s been a few days since your accident.”

“It has?” You widen your eyes in shock. “How, w-what… am I okay?”

The last thing you remember is Kyle exploding in flames, causing you to catch fire– then you blacked out, and– you’re having terrible memories of your mother.

“Hank?” You mutter, and he’s quick to come to your side, blue paw-hand holding your own.

“My mother didn’t…”

“No, she’s not here. She’s never come close to you. You’re safe.” Hank states, as Charles has told him to, remembering the few times you’ve had to come to the hospital wing for comfort before.

So many mutants have troubled backstories, and he doesn’t quite understand why you don’t try to connect with others about it. Hank feels it could really help, but you’ve always changed the subject away from you.

You’re hurt, mentally, in a way that no one can really fix, and Hank is a big believer in letting people progress when they need to– but he’s so glad that you’ve bonded with Logan.

“Am I going to be okay?” You tap the side of the bed, fears present in your eyes. “Last thing I remember is Kyle going crazy, and I– I got all burnt–”

“Yes, you’re going to be okay. We’ve administered lots of injections, topical ointments, everything that boosts your healing. You might have some scarring after this is all over, but no injuries. You’re very lucky, Angel.” Hank comforts you, and encourages you to lie back.

“Lucky. Is that what you’d call a girl with a fucked up state of mind?” You murmur, and Hank shakes his head.

“We’re all fucked up.” Hank gets back up, leaving you in your room. “It’s a prerogative to being in the X-Men.”

You smile softly at that. He’s not wrong, but you wish, you really wish you could’ve just been that normal girl that your parents would’ve loved.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing hospital scrubs, but there’s an unfamiliar fabric underneath the blanket.

Logan’s flannel is splayed across your stomach, a comforting, soft feeling that has you missing him almost instantly. Had he visited you, when you were unconscious, and decided to leave you this as a token, to help you feel at home?

You lift it up, taking a deep smell of Logan’s signature scent– pinewood, smoke, and something kind of sweet, like… marshmallows?

It makes you blush, but almost immediately after, you place the flannel back under the blanket. Logan doesn’t need your silly crush, your overt attachment, and you’re smart enough to keep that to yourself.

Logan hears from Hank that you’re awake, and although he wonders why Hank told him first, rather than Charles, or Jean, he’s glad to be the first one to see you.

“Hey.” He knocks on your door. To Logan’s surprise, he lets go of a breath he was holding– you don’t look horrific, you have some colour in your face, and there’s a soft smile on your lips when you see him.

You look just like Angel. His best friend. And he comes in real close, ruffling your hair as he often does, maybe more gentle because he doesn’t want to add any more pain.

“Hey, Logan.” You grab his hand, squeezing it with warmth, grateful to see him, before letting go suddenly and looking away bashfully, and he pauses, reminding himself not to think too highly of it.

“Angel. You’re feeling better?” He asks, and you motion for him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel okay.” You stare at him. It’s only been a few days, but Logan looks kind of awful– he’s got some serious dark under-eye bags going on, and stubble that is slowly turning into a beard, and there’s an apparent worry on his face that makes you just want to comfort him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan tries to ward off your answer with a stern, one word reply, but you’re not having it.

“Really? You don’t look so great.” You say, not without tact. “I hope you weren’t all cooped up in your room, worrying about me.”

Logan makes a sound that’s half way between a sigh, and a laugh at how close you always seem to get to the truth.

“Alright, yeah. Yeah, I was worried to hell about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He jokes, but your face falls.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m good now, I don’t…” There’s an air of seriousness coming from you, that Logan doesn’t typically see, something you usually don’t let yourself do.

“Are you good? Let me see your back, Angel–” Before Logan can even move you to the side, you turn in defiance, letting him see that you are healing. There are still parts of your flesh, red and angry, but for the most part it seems okay, already far better than it was a couple days ago.

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, touching your wings with a tenderness that has you leaning into his touch, and he gently skims over a scar of yours, glad to see that you’re genuinely not as hurt as he thought– but you pull away quite quickly.

“See? You don’t need to care so much, I’m fine.” You sound accidentally very accusatory, but Logan is just as much of a stubborn asshole as you are sometimes, and he narrows his eyes.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He stares at you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends care about each other. Jesus, you’re the one who always– you’re always checking up on me, sneaking into my room, touching my face and arms and– how else am I supposed to take that?”

It sounds romantic, Logan realizes, after he’s spit all that out– and it does sound like he’s putting the blame of your dynamic on you. And, even worse, it’s all just out there in the open.

“Really. I’m not the only one who cares, Logan, you…” You shake your head, and instead pull his flannel out from under the blanket. “You left this for me. Why do you make it sound like it’s all just me?”

“Okay, fine, it isn’t. Leave it alone, Angel.” Logan pleads a little, his face turning red.

“You’re always acting like I’m gorgeous, you constantly hug me and lean into me, there was that time you let me sleep on top of you–” You continue, feeling more and more confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you sound like an asshole.”

Logan blinks, feeling the argument dissipate, as it often does, whenever you get close to confronting each other about feelings– you always manage to fly away.

He won’t let you, not this time.

“You didn’t. I am an asshole– I’ve never bothered to tell you how I feel.” Logan mutters, and the way your face blanches in fear, shyness, tells him to keep going, to push the boundaries. “I let my own stupid ego get in the way of actually caring about you, and I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’ve always– I really love you, Angel. And I’m sorry I never made you feel like that was true, I’m sorry that it’s taken until you got hurt for it to be real.”

You have an incredulous look on your face, one Logan wishes he could take a picture of and frame somewhere, because it’s genuinely funny, but then your lip quivers, and he feels like an asshole again.

You feel like an idiot. You think, all this time, what’s bothered you is that you’ve been avoiding the fire– the real ones, sure, but more the things your mother fostered in you. Your trust issues, the way how you hold people dearly in your heart but you can’t let them get close because you worry you’ll never be enough, it’s all been burning for years inside you, and you’ve never had to confront it until Logan decided to stoke the flames.

“It’s always been real for me, too.” You whisper, trying not to cry. “I just… I don’t always believe if people care about me, I never feel good enough to be something for anyone. It’s not you, Logan, it’s my mom, my upbringing, really.”

You give him a short, brief explanation of what your mom did– something you’ll surely expand on later, when it’s not so fresh, when you haven’t been literally burned recently, and the memories pain you more than ever– and Logan’s face turns sharp, his brows furrow, he’s clearly deeply angry by whatever you’ve just told him.

“I’m stupid. I just assumed– it was me putting too much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have been on this mission, that’s fucking awful.” He finally says, and then scowls. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but fuck that lady.”

You snort at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was never you– I’ve always loved you too, Logan, more than you know. I’m sorry I’m always running from you.”

“Oh, so you’re consciously doing that?” He teases, trying not to react too much to your proclamation of love for him, although his brain feels as if it’s short-circuited. He squeezes your hand, and you laugh.

“Yup. I’m almost glad I got hurt, if it makes us more serious.” You comment, but Logan turns glum at that.

“Don’t say that, Angel. I still feel bad about it.” Logan holds your face, caressing your cheeks, staring into your eyes, glad now that you’re not going to shove him away. “Next time, I’ll try to take the hits. I’ll live.”

“You don’t have to–” Before you can start rejecting Logan’s offer, he leans in really close, almost kissing you but not quite, his breath hot on your own mouth.

“I want you to live.” He murmurs, and you feel yourself turn warm at that.

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s almost chaste, because Logan still isn’t sure how many of your walls he can break down in one day– but for once you’re quick to act in the opposite direction now, lifting tubes out of your arm (irresponsible as hell, Logan would say later on) so you can better reach his face, and you run your fingers through his hair as you kiss him, again, and again.

It’s soft, pliant, and warm, and Logan doesn’t quite know what to say when you come back up for air, breathing deeply, body sweaty from both recovery and how intense this is– he feels around you, around your waist as he leans in again, and you giggle, pulling away for just a moment before kissing him again.

His hands are gentle, skimming over your body without trying to hurt the burns on your back– but Logan feels you clamber onto him, onto his lap, and then he feels the soft feathers of your wings as they pull themselves outward, into the open.

He opens his eyes, and grins in a wolfish manner. Maybe you’ve been changed by what happened, maybe you aren’t the same, but you’re his Angel now, and he prefers that.

He kisses you again.

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aegonstradwife · 4 months ago

Text

closer pt. 2 | aegon targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; a sequel to closer, where aegon is further healed and reader rides him.

warnings: mention of various injuries / scars, established relationship, smut. (riding.)

a. note: link to the original request.

In the span of only 2 months, your husband's extensive injuries have healed to be quite less so; the burns along the left half of his body have left behind rough, blotchy scars that he is still self-conscious of. But you're just glad that he's alive.

His knee is still something of an issue, causing him immense pain whenever he tries to move it. But at least he can flex his toes now without screaming in agony, and the lower half of his leg can also be manipulated with little to no torture to him.

And that's why you feel so comfortable planning what you've planned; something wicked that is going to satisfy desires - both yours and the king's - that have gone neglected for months while Aegon has been bedridden.

At this stage, Aegon always, always, makes sure to instruct the maesters to keep the door unlocked, leaving you free to slip inside whenever you desire.

When you do so this morning, Aegon is of course still abed, covered only in a thin sheet, sun laying itself across his chest, setting his fine hair alight. He looks celestial, something too holy to be touched.

But that's exactly what you've come to do.

Your husband lights up upon spying that familiar head of hair poking through the doorway. He sits up with what is apparently minimal pain, though he's gotten very good at hiding it when he wants to.

"Finally come to liberate me from this forsaken chamber, my love?" Comes his sleep-thick voice - you hope you haven't woken him prematurely. He does still need all the rest he can get.

"Not quite yet," you mutter apologetically, closing the door softly behind you. Even though you're quite sure your coming here is no longer a secret, you'll gladly keep up the charade in order to keep a sense of normalcy during this time.

Aegon may still be mostly incapacitated, but his burns have healed nicely and he has much better range of movement now, at least with his upper half.

His poor knee, however, is still shattered. The maesters have done their best to splint it, but he is still well on his way to healing fully, and will probably walk with a limp even after.

You settle lightly on the bed beside him, running a hand down his scarred arm. "I have come to do something else, though. Can you guess what?"

Aegon licks his lips, which are dry and chapped from sleep. There are empty goblets on the bedside table that you could easily take and refill for him, but he's grabbing suddenly for your hand, keeping you beside him. "Care to give me a hint?"

You gladly twine your fingers with his, thumb roving over the mottled skin of his hand. Finally, you can touch him without him screaming in pain. "You've healed perfectly, my love. I think it's time, to do what we've wanted for so long.... What do you think?"

Your love's face goes blank as he realizes what you mean. After so long, you'll be able to have each other the way you deserve. Those chapped lips part, and Aegon releases a short, forceful sigh that you've come to know as his wife to mean that he's thinking very dirty thoughts.

It's a wonder he's not already trying to rip your clothes off.

He swallows hard against a lump in his throat and breathes, "I think you're finally going to let me have you the way I've been dreaming of having you."

"Mm," you agree with a hum. Aegon saying it aloud lights a spark between your thighs.... "I just want to touch you everywhere, Aegon. Now that I can."

Turning more to face him, you traipse your fingers lightly up over his burnt elbow, scar tissue bumping beneath your hands. "Does it feel different?" You whisper reverently, that same hand skimming up over his bicep and curling around his shoulder. The other is moving its way up his stomach, half over his healed burns and half on the smooth, unburnt skin beside it.

His breathing is already picking up as you touch him, and when your palm meets his sternum, a sharp, unexpected tremor rolls through him. His violet eyes roll back, and for a moment you're afraid you've hurt him.

"It does feel different." Aegon's voice is a grizzled moan, one hand clenching itself hard in the bedsheets, the other palming over your thigh just beside him. "It feels.... more sensitive than before. I d-don't know why."

You don't need to know why to know that this revelation makes you want to touch him even more, to make him feel so good, to take away all the remaining hurts from his battle.

"That's good." You're trying to keep your voice even, but the feeling of all of Aegon's gorgeous skin underneath your hands is making you shake with desire for him.

Your hands meet at the scarred skin of his left collarbone before both start a slow track over his chest. The scarring here is the worst, his armor having melted to the skin, peeling away as the maesters removed it.

But Aegon merely shudders in pleasure, reaching out desperately for you. He cries your name. "Please.... Please, I need you, my love. It's been too long."

All you can do is watch as your hands continue to palm over Aegon's torso. Your husband is shivering, making the most delectable sounds, and you can see his cock starting to tent the sheets below. You're sure he would be writhing under you if it wouldn't hurt his leg too much to do so.

All of a sudden, however, Aegon yelps in pain, head tossed back against the pillows. He has, in fact, tried to arch a little too hard into your touch.

"Aegon," you scold him, pinning him by the hips. "You can't, my love. Don't move so much, your leg...."

You know it must be throbbing, and you do your best to soothe your hand over his calf, just below the break.

He curses through clenched teeth. "I can't help it.... I want to touch you, and I need you to touch me, but. It hurts, and I can't believe how much it still hurts."

The grunting pain in his voice sends a wave of sympathy washing over you.

You purse your lips.

"I can believe it," you sigh, still caressing his lower leg, down to his ankle now. "You really did a number on yourself. It's honestly a miracle you've healed this much this quickly, you know."

With a groan and a huff of frustration, Aegon throws an arm over his face. "I know, the maesters are all impressed with how quickly I'm healing, but they don't understand just how badly I want you, and just how badly this damned leg is getting in our way."

Now, you think. He can't see you, with his arm flung dramatically over his eyes - you'll surprise him.

Quickly, but careful of his leg, you sweep a leg over him and settle yourself just over his hips. You picked out a thin night shift to wear just for this....

Not quite putting your full weight on him, you run your fingers back up his torso, fingers flirting with this collarbones again. "I, for one, owe my sanity to the maesters, Aegon. Can you imagine if you had died? I can't.... It doesn't bear thinking about."

Aegon jerks against the bed, arm coming down so he can grab for your leg as he looks up at you, surprised. The first thing he must see are your bare thighs, spread around him. Gods, he's missed this view.

The second thing he notices is the look on your face - the utter devotion, the love, the lust. "Darling...."

His hands, insistent against your thighs, push their way up under the loose material of your nightgown, coming to rest on your hips, thumbs pressing into your soft, supple flesh.

You moan, loudly, at the feeling. One of his hands is smooth, just as before, the other rough with burn scars. And you love them both.

"Gods, I missed that, Aegon. Your hands on me.... Touch more, my love. Touch whatever you want. I'm yours."

Those hands tighten their grip, and Aegon's purple eyes flash tiredly up at you. "As you wish, my queen."

His hands start a slow motion back and forth, up and down your thighs, over your hips and waist. His fingers trail over the warm, yielding flesh of your sides and stomach, before pushing higher, palming over the curves of your breasts.

Still just hovering over him, not daring to sit all the way down, you revel in his touch. Nothing in this world compares to your love's hands running over you, worshipping your skin, your hips, your breasts!

That wrenches a particularly deafening groan from your lips, as you arch your chest into his palms. "More.... Please, Aegon. I missed this so much."

He continues to grab and pull greedily at your flesh, wanting to worship you - to worship every single inch of you.

"Gods, I've missed this too, darling. So much. I've been dreaming of getting my hands on you, of feeling these gorgeous curves. I won't ever let you go again, that's a promise."

To take some of the pressure off your legs, you list forward, bracing yourself with your hands on either side of Aegon's head. "More," you demand, pressing your lips to the corner of Aegon's mouth. "Touch me everywhere."

Aegon should know what you mean by that.

Your demanding tone makes Aegon smirk; he did always like when you took control.

"Yes, your majesty," he purrs, hands slipping back to tug the hem of your shift out of the way so he can palm over your ass, then pull hard at the gauzy material. "Let's get this out of the way, shall we?"

Wasting no time, you reach down, ripping the flimsy cotton off over your head. "How's that?"

Grabbing for Aegon's hands, you place them again on your breasts, squeezing. At the same time, you dare to sink an inch or so lower, and the sticky head of Aegon's hard cock brushes against the inside of your thigh. "You're still such a beautiful boy, you know that?"

The sound that falls next from his pretty lips is a strangled whimper. "Don't call me that," he sighs, and you can barely hear him. "You know what it does to me."

As if in corroboration, his cock twitches stiffly against your inner thigh.

"Oh, but that's what I want," you hiss, still braced over him, mouth hot and wet now on the burns at his hairline. "Do you even know how long it's been since you've been inside me? Of course you do - I'm sure you've thought about it just as much as I have. Maybe even more, confined to this damnable bed as you've been."

"You don't even know," he replies quietly, voice soft and small. His head is tilted back, baring his throat. "I've thought about it every single day. I've thought about it every night. Every time I've closed my eyes, it's driven me nearly mad."

There are tears at the corners of his reddened eyes, and you kiss them delicately away. There's not much to say, other than that you're sorry you're in this situation.

With his neck bared to you like that, you take the opportunity to attack the scarred skin at the base of his throat, loving how sensitive it makes him, how his body responds to you now. "Is this okay?" You ask, nosing at his jaw. "Not too sensitive?"

"Perfect," comes Aegon's reply, still barely more than a whisper, thumbs circling over your hips.

When he tries to grind up against you, you still him with a hand hard on his hip. "Aegon. I'm going to ride you. And if you need me to go faster or slower, raise higher or sink down more, just tell me. No trying to take control yourself, alright? I don't need your recovery set back any further."

He whines in despair, and his fingers claw miserably at your back. "I understand," he says obediently. "I'll be still, I promise. And I'll tell you. Just.... please, darling. I need you so badly I can taste it."

Gentle fingers cradling his jaw, you force him to look at you. He truly is beautiful, though he might not feel so with the scars scorching down his face. But to you, he is immaculate.

"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you, my little prince?" You lower yourself further, reaching down to position his thick head at your wet entrance.

The raw desire radiating off of him as he gazes adoringly up at you sends a lick of heat down the base of your spine. Your cunt is throbbing, aching to take him in, and his cock is twitching in your palm, equally as keen to be inside.

"Yes, my lady," is Aegon's eventual reply, and you're pleasantly surprised at how good he's being. His hands are petting themselves soothingly down your back, but his hips are completely still aside from the occasional tiny pump as he aches to be inside of you.

"Good boy." Unwilling to wait any longer, you tilt your hips back and bear down, opening up for him, sinking down onto his hardness after so many months being unable to do so.

It is a stretch after so long with only your fingers to do the job, but any discomfort is mitigated by the intense, overbearing love you have for your husband and the way his cock twitches inside of you. "A-Aegon...."

His name is a sob, you can't help it.

Aegon's hands are at your face, cupping, thumbs fluttering over your cheekbones. "My love.... I said I'd tell you what I needed. And.... I need you to move. Please. For me."

You nod, taking a long, rattling breath as you lean up and then slide back down, Aegon's cock dragging at your tight walls, the head nudging all the way back on every thrust down.

As you start to build at least some sort of rhythm, Aegon gasps and groans, body starting to squirm beneath you.

You still, fixing him with a critical look.

"I know," he gasps. "I know, I'm sorry.... You don't understand how hard it is, not to move. Not to show you how badly I want you, when you're sitting on me looking like that...."

"Looking like what?" You dare to ask, hips hitching back and forth over him.

"Like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he laments, hands coming around to cup and knead at your breasts again. He tweaks one hard nipple and you cry out, feeling your cunt starting to cream on him.

This used to happen all the time - Aegon would get you so worked up that when you both looked down to where his cock was opening you up, there'd be a thick, frothy cream making itself known along his shaft. And he'd be quick to fuck it back up into you, both of you messy and sweaty and absolutely blind to anything else in the world but each other.

"That's it," Aegon grunts, nails scraping lightly over your nipples. The sun is shining just right for Aegon to be able to look between the two of you and see your cream coating his cock. "That's.... oh, gods. I might - I'm close -"

His breath is choppy, the smooth skin of his unburnt cheek gone very pink. Physically unable to stop himself, his hips are working gently to drive himself up to you.

"Aegon...." You place a hand on his chest again, just over his pounding heart. Both of you still, and you assure him, "I'm going to bounce on you. Hard. Until we both cum. If you're in any sort of pain -"

But he cuts you off with a hard nod and a whine. "Yes, yes, I'll tell you. I promise."

Making sure you're leaning forward, as far away from his leg as you can while still keeping him inside, you start with a couple hard pushes down, the sound of skin slapping starting to fill the room.

Aegon's eyes close in pleasure, and there's no hint of pain anywhere on his face, so you tuck your legs under, now balanced on your toes as you start to fuck him in earnest.

You're fucking bouncing on him, as hard as you dare with a hand on his shoulder to keep you from listing backward.

Almost as though he can't decide which part of you to touch, his hands keep flitting from your breasts to your stomach to your thighs and back. There's absolutely no need for him to move at all right now - you're taking care of any need or want he could possibly have.

"Oh -" Aegon's eyes fly open, staring down between you, listening to the sweet wet sounds your cunt is making as you use him, watching the reddened, swollen length of his cock disappearing in and out of you. "I'm almost -"

You nod, wanting him to, needing him to. It's been so long since you've felt his cum flood your womb, since you whispered in his ear for your king to get you pregnant. "You can, Aegon. Whenever you're ready. You deserve to, after so long...."

His entire body goes taut, a long line against the sheets as he tries his damnedest not to move his broken leg. The other, however, has dug its heel into the bed and is doing its best to keep his back arched as he sprays inside of you.

Almost as an afterthought, long after his cock has stopped spurting, he gasps, grabbing for you, holding you close, petting your hair. "Was I - was I good?"

"Perfect," is your whispered reply as you shudder through your own orgasm above him, Aegon's hands on your hips helping you along.

Once you're both spent, you move to lay beside him, but Aegon is quick to grab you and pull you down on him instead, resting your head on his chest.

You can hear his heart still beating hard, his fingers comforting and gentle on your back and shoulders.

"I love you." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much. Thank you.... for still wanting me."

Slowly looking up at him, Aegon tosses you a cheeky smirk. "Even though as your king, I could have you commanded to be mine for all eternity anyway."

"Oh, shut up," you sigh, teeth digging playfully into his chest. "I love you too, you absolute imbecile."

#aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #tom glynn carney x reader #smut #my writing #aegonstradwife #request fill

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obsidian-pages777 · 4 months ago

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Pick a Card: Your Wedding Vibes.

Left to Right top row- Pile 1-> Pile 2

Left to Right Bottom row- Pile 3-> Pile 4

Introduction

This reading will give you an idea of how your wedding will be like. Pick a pile based on your intuition and you will get your reading below. Each pile also has a description as to how your relationship will be like with your partner.

================================================================================================

Pile 1: The Whimsical Fairytale (The Lovers, The Sun, Six of Wands)

Wedding Vibes: This wedding will be a joyous celebration of love, filled with light and laughter. It could be an outdoor ceremony with a whimsical touch, perhaps incorporating personal touches and creative details. Expect beautiful weather, warm smiles, and a feeling of pure happiness in the air.

Nature of the Relationship: You and your partner will have a playful and affectionate connection (The Lovers). You'll find joy in the simple things and celebrate each other's successes (The Sun). This relationship thrives on open communication and shared adventures (Six of Wands). You'll likely face challenges together, but you'll overcome them as a united team, emerging stronger each time.

================================================================================================

Pile 2: The Elegant Soiree (Temperance, The Star, Seven of Cups)

Wedding Vibes: This wedding will be a sophisticated and elegant affair. Think classic details, timeless beauty, and a touch of luxurious comfort. The ceremony will be heartfelt and meaningful, with a focus on celebrating your love story.

Nature of the Relationship: You and your partner will have a balanced and harmonious connection (Temperance). You'll respect each other's individuality while supporting each other's dreams (The Star). There may be periods of indecision or exploring different paths (Seven of Cups), but ultimately, you'll always find your way back to each other. Communication and a shared vision for the future will be key.

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Pile 3: The Intimate Gathering (The Hierophant, The World, Five of Pentacles)

Wedding Vibes: This wedding will be a small, intimate ceremony focused on the commitment between you and your partner. It will be filled with love and deep connection, with close family and friends sharing your special day.

Nature of the Relationship: You and your partner will have a strong foundation built on shared values and traditions (The Hierophant). You'll find fulfillment in creating a life together and achieving shared goals (The World). There may be periods of financial hardship or challenges (Five of Pentacles), but you'll face them together with unwavering support and understanding. Your love will only grow stronger through these experiences.

================================================================================================

Pile 4: The Adventurous Escape (The Chariot, Knight of Wands, Eight of Swords)

Wedding Vibes: This wedding will be anything but ordinary! Expect a unique and adventurous ceremony, perhaps a destination wedding or a celebration that reflects your shared passions. It will be exciting and full of surprises, reflecting your adventurous spirit. It will be a unique wedding, maybe the nature of your connection is unique as well. It will be a wedding for many to remember as well.

Nature of the Relationship: You and your partner will have a dynamic and passionate connection (The Chariot). You'll constantly push each other to grow and explore new things (Knight of Wands). There may be periods of feeling restricted or stuck (Eight of Swords), but with open communication and a willingness to compromise, you'll find ways to break free and keep the spark alive.

================================================================================================

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a photo #pick one #tarot #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot blog #love reading #future spouse reading #pac reading

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navybrat817 · 17 days ago

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A Picture is Worth...

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky each look at a photo of the other.

Word Count: Over 600

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, alternating POV, light angst, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Just a Monday ficlet for you lovelies. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You loved photographs. Moments forever frozen in time, like life handed you a small button to hit pause. They kept memories alive, the settings, the people, the colors. They created a tangible link to your past and helped pass something on to those in the future.

Bucky loved photographs. A man frozen in time, he knew all too well that he could never go back, but he could gaze at pictures and look back. They sparked his memories when his head hurt too much. They helped him remember why his past shaped the man he was today and why he had to fight for a better future.

Tears blurred your vision as you looked at a recent photo of Bucky. He always let you take photos before his missions. In this photo, he stared off into the distance, serene and unhurried. You hadn’t told him you were taking the picture and loved the candid authenticity. It was beautiful because it was real.

Bucky smiled at your photo. It was worn from the number of times he held it in his hand. In this photo, you were gazing at him and smiling, a loving and tender smile that you only shared with him. He knew how much you loved candid photos and managed to take the photo at the right moment. It was beautiful because you were real.

You wiped your tears away with a smile. Did Bucky know you were thinking of him, that you missed him? You hoped so. He would come back to you. He always did.

Bucky’s smile slipped and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Did you know he was thinking of you? That he was fighting to get home to you? He hoped so. He would get back to you. He always did.

Your eyes closed when you brought the photograph to your lips, wishing he was there so you could kiss him. That would be the first thing you’d do when you saw him again. You’d breathe into his lungs and let him feel how happy you were to have him back home where he belonged. You’d make sure he was uninjured, and if he was, you’d take care of him. Either way, you’d sleep better with him beside you.

Bucky brought the photograph to his chest and placed it over his heart, wishing he could hold you. That would be the first thing he’d do when he saw you again. He’d keep you in his embrace so you’d know he was home where he belonged. He’d assure you he was perfectly fine or let you fawn over him if he somehow got hurt, but he wasn’t going to let himself get injured. No matter what, he’d sleep better with you beside him.

You pulled the picture away, your heart skipping a beat as you gazed at it again. A picture is worth a thousand words and you wished you had a thousand words to convey how much he meant to you. “Love you. Please, stay safe,” you whispered, giving it one more kiss. “And come back to me.”

Bucky held the photograph up again, his heart racing. He didn’t always trust his own mind, but seeing you is believing and seeing your smile made him want to create a thousand more memories with you. “Love you. I’ll be home before you know it,” he whispered, holding it over his heart once more like a promise. “Safe and sound.”

And both of you were looking forward to the next photo you’d take together, a reflection of past memories and future moments to come.

Am I a sap for getting teary eyed? Probably. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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little-ticklish-lee · 5 months ago

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Why you should date a ticklish girl...

Have you ever thought about the unique joys and perks of dating a ticklish girl? If not, let me enlighten you! Here are some compelling reasons why having a ticklish partner is an absolute delight:

Endless Laughter: Ticklish girls have a built-in joy button. A gentle tickle can lead to bouts of uncontrollable laughter, brightening any gloomy day. It's an instant mood booster for both of you!

Playful Interactions: A ticklish girl brings out the playful side of you. Tickling sessions often turn into fun, spontaneous play fights, making your bond stronger and your relationship livelier.

Physical Closeness: Tickling naturally involves a lot of physical contact, fostering intimacy and closeness. It's a sweet, affectionate way to connect and show your love.

Cute reactions: The giggles, the squirms, the adorable attempts to dodge your tickles - it's all super cute. These reactions remind you of the simple joys in life and keep the spark alive!

Stress Relief: Laughter is known to reduce stress, and tickling is one of the easiest ways to induce laughter. So, when life gets tough, a ticklish girlfriend can help melt your stress away with her infectious laughter.

Memorable Moments: Some of your most cherished memories will be those spontaneous tickle fights and the laughter that follows. These moments create a strong emotional bond and give you both something to smile about.

Unique Bond: Tickling can be a form of non-verbal communication between you two, creating a special bond that only you share. It's your little world of laughter and fun.

Dating a ticklish girl is like having a constant source of joy and positivity by your side. So, if you're lucky enough to find one, cherish her and enjoy the ticklish adventures together!

#tickle community #tickle #tickling #tickle blog #ticklish girl #tickle me please #tickle partners #ticklish #tickletorture #tword community #tickle thoughts #tickle content

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urfavoriteitalian · 10 months ago

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“coming back for more”

summary: in which you and Jude can’t stay away from each other

warnings: 18+ SMUT!, friends with benefits, dom!jude, innocence kink, blowjob, fingering, slapping, degrading, praising, pet name, a bit toxic relationship, changes of pov, unprotected sex (don’t do it guys!!!).. that’s all i think

10 days, 240 hours without seeing him.

240 hours since the last time he touched me.

240 hours without a fucking message or a call.

I would love to say that I wasn’t used to this, but I was. Used to be treated like this. I could say him no. I could say him that I didn’t want to keep doing this, like everyone told me. Even Jobe, his brother, told me that Jude wasn’t good in this type of things, that I should tell him to go to hell.

When Jude was away from me, when he didn’t text me, I convinced myself to end this, that it was the best thing to do. But his touch. God. His touch was like a drug to me. It felt like he had poison in his fingers. No man, ever, ever, made me felt like this. Not that I’ve been with many men, and I thought this is why Jude liked me so much.

The innocence that I had when I first met him, made his cock twisted only at the thought. The insecureness of my touch made his mouth groan and the though that he was the only man capable of making me felt the way he did, made his ego boost in a way that wasn’t explainable.

In those ten days that I didn’t saw him, was because he was in England, 2 hours and 30 minutes away from me. He didn’t texted, and even if I knew that he wouldn’t, the spark of the hope was always alive in me.

The din of my phone took me away from my thoughts. I took a quickly look at it, wondering who was. “J.”, that was the way that I saved him on my phone. Only two of my friends knew about him, in first place because he asked me to not tell everyone, and in second place because I didn’t want people to know that I let a guy treating me like a toy.

Another din. Again him. I unlocked my phone and read the message.

hey

I’m back home

Cool.

I just said, wanting to be stronger than my need for him. Another din.

Same place, in one hour?

I rolled my eyes at the message. Me and Jude used to met in a hotel, since we lived in two different place of the city, and not to arouse the suspicions of the paparazzi. This time if he really wanted to see me, he should come at my place.

If you really want to see me, then come at my place.

I knew that he wouldn’t come. Another din.

Such a brat

I read the message without replying, knowing that probably he would text me the next day, or in the worse case, find another toy to pleasure himself.

-Jude pov’s-

I asked my mother to take me to her place, since she decided to act like a child, but I was craving her taste so bad.

We arrived in front of the place, and my mother stopped the car. I made my way to open the door, but her voice stopped me.

“Your girlfriend lives here?” she asked, hoping that I would say yes, I could say by the spark in her eyes.

“What make you think that I’m here for a girl?” I answered her questions with another question smiling innocently.

“Jude you spent an hour getting ready in the bathroom, I don’t think you’re here for your mates” she said smiling sweetly “You asked me five times if you looked good” she continued “And you do this thing at least three times at week when you’re here”

I kissed my teeth, thinking something to said my mother “She is.. I mean, kind of.. is difficult” I scratched my neck “Can I go now?”. She continued smiling “Jude you aren’t just a soccer player, don’t forget that” I nodded and after thank her for the ride and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek I left the car.

I made my way to her apartment, I’ve only been here once, but luckily I have good memory. I knocked the door, more than one time just to annoy her. I could hear her scoffing behind the door, probably rolling her eyes.

-Y/N pov’s-

I opened the door, wondering who is the prick who’s bothering me at 10 pm, but when I did, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Jude..” I said quietly, he was already scanning my body. I was wearing one of his shirts, and black socks that reached my knee “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“You told me to come here, darling” he said tiling his head to the side with a smirk “Do you want to let me in or you want to go out and have fun on the stairs? It could be interesting” I rolled my eyes after let him in, and he closed the door behind him with a kick.

“Missed me?” he asked following me like a lost puppy towards the house, I turned myself to look at him “Why you didn’t text me?” I asked looking up at him. He put his hands on my waist, for hold me still, and getting closer to me, our nose almost touching “I didn’t know you liked sex chat babe, i’m going to remember the next time”

I kissed my teeth and shook my head “Is not that” I told him “So you don’t like sex chat? I would love to see you begging me from the phone” he continued holding my waist tighter “I’m not saying that..” he hands on me didn’t let me think correctly “So you’d like it?” he said continuing his play

I broke the eye contact with him, and his hands made their way to my hips “You asked to come here and I did” he whispered to my ear, and the his hot breath on my neck made me sigh. He started making his way to the couch, still holding me. He sat on the couch and made me sat on his lap. He squeezed my thighs “Have you’ve been with someone while I wasn’t around?” he asked

That was the strange thing about our relationship. Jude wanted me only for him. He wanted an exclusive relationship with me. And it drove my mind crazy every time, because it always made me hoping for more.

“Did you?” he hated when I would answer a question with another question, but I wanted to know. One of his hands trail to my ass cheek, without squeezed it “Answer.” he just told me, clenching his jaw at the though. I decided to tease him a bit, and I started rolling my hips on his lap “Maybe” I said, it wasn’t true, I barely left the house because I had too work to do.

He slapped my ass “Get on your knees, I think you need to remember who you belong to”, he said and slapped my ass again, making me gulp. I got on my knees and started to took off his belt, then I lowered his pants to his ankles. I smirked when I saw how hard he got, I took his cock in my hand and I started pumping up and down.

“Already so hard, babe?” I said mocking his pet name. He didn’t answer, he was just staring at me, waiting for me to do the next move. I caressed his tip with my thumb, while I started sucking his ball, looking at him through my lashes. He put one hand on my cheek, and the other took my hair in his hand, squeezing it “You aren’t in the position for teasing, darling,so put that pretty mouth around my cock before i loose my patience” he warned me with a smile.

I listened to him, but in the moment that i took his tip into my mouth, he pushed my head all the way down his cock, forcing me to take all of it. I put my hand on his thigh for balance, and the second after Jude started thrusting my head up and down, while his other hand was still on my cheek. I hollowed my cheek, to gave him more pleasure, while I was massaging his balls with my free hand.

I choke every time his tip touched the back of my throat, and my nose continued bouncing into his pelvis. Tears was falling down my eyes, while I kept looking at Jude. “Don’t look at me like that, whores like you need to be put in place” he explained while I choked another time around him “I bet you’re getting so wet by sucking my cock off”. And it was true, that sight of him made my cunt clench around nothing several times. I took my hand off his balls, and leaned it between my legs, trying to get some relief by touching my clothed clit.

When Jude noticed, he took my head off his cock, and slapped me “You’re getting pleasure only by me, and only when I decide” he grabbed my jaw “Understood?” I nodded, while I was breathing heavily. The leaded my head again on his cock, thrusting my head all the way down him.

I sucked the more that I could “Fuck, I’m close” he said between his groan “You’re so good babe”. It was a matter of seconds until I felt Jude’s cock twisted in my mouth, and his hand hold me still to be sure that I took all his cum. I felt his hot cum invading my mouth, his low groans surrounding my ears, I slowly took him out, making him sigh. I licked his tip, taking all his cum, and then swallow, staring at him for the whole process, making him smirk.

He made me sat on his lap again, and touched softly my lips, indicating to open. I open my mouth, and showed him my tongue, clear. “So good for me” he said under his breath before kissing me, and taste his own cum “You taste so good Jude” I told him and then start kissing his neck, craving for more. He stood up, making my legs lock around his waist.

He made his way to my bedroom, and for the whole time I kissed and bite his neck, like it was a drug, making him groan more than one time. We got in the bedroom and he pushed softly on the bed before hardly kissing me. His tongue entered my mouth with arrogance, and his hands traveled my body with possessiveness, without touching me where I needed him the most. “Jude.. please” I begged him on his lips. Without answering me, he took my shirt off, and made it fall on the ground, and he smirked when he noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra. He started kissing and biting my breast, and his hands squeezed my thighs, putting them on his shoulders.

His fingers, finally, made his way to my starved core “God you’re so fucking wet” he said, putting my panties to the side, and slipping his fingers towards my folds “Only whores like you gets this wet by sucking my cock”

He slides two fingers inside of me, and I moaned thrusting my hips up, he continued using his fingers inside of me. Without warning he removed them from me and I whined for the loss. “You really thought I would make you come this easy after what you told me earlier?” he scoffed “Not only a whore, even stupid” he said going to kiss my neck again, and I felt his hardness on my thigh.

He made his cock running towards my wet fold and I moaned when it came in contact with my clit “Jude.. I need you” I whined, almost crying “I don’t even need to ask you to beg” he cockly said before slowly entering me. I whined again, craving for more “Shh baby” he said putting his forehead on mine “It’s been a while baby, we need to take it slow” he explained, with a sweet tone. When he was fully in me, he waited a bit and then stared moving, putting his head in the crook of my neck, making me hear all his groans.

I looked at him, his shirt still on, I tapped his shoulder unsure “Jude..” I called him, he just took his head off the crock of my neck to look at me, with a preoccupied look on his face “Can you take your shirt off.. please?” I asked between my loud moans. Jude groaned, standing up, still thrusting into me “God, you’re going to be the death of me” he took his shirt off, and instinctively I closed my legs at the sight. He put his hands on my knee “Nah ah, I need them open baby” he told me, and opened them more than before.

He was now standing at the end of the bed, and from there, he looked like a god. He took my legs and put the on his shoulders, caressing my black sock that I had still on. From this position he was deeper than ever, I could feel him in my stomach “Jude, fuck” I moaned “You’re so deep, I can feel you in my stomach” I whispered not being able to talk louder because of the moaning. Jude smirked “I want you, to feel me everywhere darling” he said and started thrusting harden into me, making the the headboard of the bed slamming against the wall with every thrust.

I felt a knot in my stomach, and locked my ankles behind the neck of Jude felling so close “Don’t stop Jude” I spoke again “I’m so close”. I was a moaning mess “God you look so good” he groaned leaning to kiss me “So drunk of my cock” he squeezed my thighs, and I knew he was close too “Can I come into you?” he asked and I just nodded. It was a matter of second until I released moaning his name. Jude followed me right after, giving me his cum for the second time today.

He took himself off me, making me whine. He lead one finger between my hole, taking a bit of our cum on it. He took it to my lips, and without saying nothing, i took it in my mouth, sucking it “How is it?” he asked so cockly, “Good” I just told him out of my breath. He lay next to me caressing my thighs

“What was his name?” he asked out of nowhere. I looked at him confused “Whose name Jude?” I kept caressing his bare chest “The name of the guy you’ve been with, while I was in London” he explained with a mix of annoyance and angriness, and I just laughed “I haven’t been with anyone Jude, it was just to tease you”, the look on his face changed to an happy one “Oh.. don’t do it ever again then” he warned kissing my forehead.

“What about you?” I asked, a little scared of the answer “I haven’t been with anyone since I started this.. thing with you”. I didn’t say a thing, I just kissed him, innocently, but the caress that Jude gave to my ass cheek made me understand that it wasn’t over yet this night. “Jude I have to wake up early tomorrow” I said in the kiss “Mhh” he protested grabbing my ass “It’ll be quick”

in the end, we will always come back to the other for more..

note: hi!! hope you guys liked it, sorry that y/n is a little bit innocent but i liked it for this story. if you have any request lmk

kisses, Carla 💋

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #smut #football smut #image #real madrid #yn #football #viral #aesthetic #fanfic #fandom

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madamabelladonna · 2 months ago

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𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jealousy & Criston 'Rice Krispy' Cole 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Ser Ryak led you through the dim corridors of the Red Keep, his heavy boots scuffing against the cold, uneven stones. The predawn air hung thick with a damp chill, a sea mist that clung to your skin and settled like dew on your hair. It was a still, quiet hour, that mysterious time when the castle seemed to breathe in its sleep, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs the only indication that the world outside was still alive.

The mist wrapped around the castle like a shroud, casting a ghostly pallor over everything. The torches along the walls had burned down to embers, and their dim, flickering light barely held back the shadows. The wind from the bay swept through the open passages, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint, sharp scent of the cold morning air.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, clutching the wooden bucket of carrots close to your chest. “My lady, are you quite certain you don’t require assistance?” Ser Ryak’s voice broke the silence, low and cautious, his eyes darting to the heavy pail in your grip. He was a tall man, with a lined face and sharp blue eyes that always seemed to watch you more closely than you would like.

“I can manage,” you replied, a touch of firmness in your tone, your fingers gripping the rough wood even tighter. You would not be seen as weak, not today. Merek had made it clear that Whisper was your responsibility now, and you would not allow yourself to fail. If it meant waking before dawn and trudging through the cold with a bucket of carrots, so be it. You had taken it upon yourself, and you would see it through.

The stables loomed ahead, their thatched roof barely visible against the gray sky. As you neared, the smell of hay and manure grew stronger, mingling with the scent of damp earth. The doors were ajar, a faint glow spilling out into the mist like a buoy. You could hear the muffled sounds of the horses shifting restlessly in their stalls, the soft clinking of metal against wood as they moved.

Inside, the stables were dark, save for a single lantern hanging from a beam. Its light flickered and danced across the walls, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe like living things. The smell was stronger here, a pungent mix of straw, sweat, and the earthy scent of the horses.

The floor was covered in fresh hay, the sound of your footsteps muffled as you made your way towards Whisper’s stall. Whisper lay on her side in a bed of straw, her coat a dappled gray that seemed almost silver in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her sides rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Her head was tucked close to her chest, her eyes closed in sleep. You paused for a moment, watching her, a small smile tugging at your lips. There was something calming about the sight, something that eased the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“Whisper,” you called softly, careful not to startle her.

Her ears twitched at the sound of your voice, and her eyes fluttered open, dark and deep, like pools of ink. She lifted her head, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of the carrots. Slowly, she rose, her muscles rippling beneath her skin as she stretched out her long neck towards you, her eyes bright with curiosity.

You stepped closer, holding the bucket just out of her reach, a playful smile on your lips. “Not so fast, girl,” you teased, your voice barely more than a whisper in the cool air. Whisper snorted softly, a sound of mild impatience, and nudged your chest with her muzzle, her breath warm against your skin.

Her large eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could almost swear she understood you, understood the game you played. You laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet of the stable. “Alright, alright,” you relented, holding out your palm with a few carrots.

Whisper took them eagerly, crunching them between her teeth, her ears flicking back and forth in contentment. You watched her, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of satisfaction that had little to do with the task at hand.

You moved closer, reaching out to stroke her neck, your fingers tangling in her silvery mane. Whisper leaned into your touch, her body warm and solid against the chill of the morning air. She had begun to recognize you now, to see you not as a stranger but as something more—a friend, perhaps, or at least a familiar presence.

She nuzzled your shoulder, her breath hot against your ear, and you closed your eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. The stable seemed to hold its breath, the world outside fading to a distant hum.

You could hear the soft sounds of the other horses, the rustle of straw, the creak of wood settling in the cold. It was a small, enclosed space, but for a moment, it felt like the center of the universe, a place where nothing else mattered.

“Whisper,” you murmured again, almost to yourself. She flicked her ears, as if listening, her dark eyes watching you with an almost unnerving intensity. You wondered, not for the first time, if she could truly understand you, if there was some deeper connection between you and this horse that went beyond mere words.

The silence was broken by the sound of Ser Ryak clearing his throat. “The sun will be rising soon, my lady,” he warned, his voice low and respectful. “We should return before anyone notices your absence.”

You sighed, a small, reluctant sound, and gave Whisper’s neck a final pat. “I will return soon,” you promised her, though you doubted she understood. She nickered softly, as if in response, and you turned away, your heart feeling strangely heavy.

Ser Ryak waited by the door, his expression unreadable. You followed him out, glancing back over your shoulder one last time. Whisper was watching you, her eyes dark and unreadable, her ears pricked forward. You smiled, a small, private smile, and then turned back, stepping out into the cold morning air.

The sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon, painting the mist in shades of pink and gold. The wind had picked up, tugging at your cloak, and you pulled it tighter around you, feeling the chill seep through the fabric. You moved quickly, your footsteps light and swift on the cobblestones, Ser Ryak close behind.

The castle was waking around you, the sounds of servants beginning their morning chores, the clatter of pots in the kitchens, the low murmur of voices in the halls. You kept your head down, moving with haste, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was questions about why you were up so early, why you had been in the stables.

Your chambers were blessedly empty when you returned, the fire in the hearth burned down to embers, the room cold and still. You tossed your cloak beneath the bed and kicked off your boots, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

You fell onto your bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and closed your eyes, a tired but satisfied smile playing on your lips. You still had a few hours before Isla would come, and you intended to make the most of them.

But even as you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on Whisper, the feel of her warm breath against your skin, the sound of her soft nicker in your ear.

The air was warm that day, the kind of warmth that felt like a soft embrace, gentle yet firm, coaxing the skin into a subtle sheen of sweat. The sweet aroma of rooibos tea mingled with the delicate perfume of the garden blooms—roses, daisies, lavender—all blended together to form a picture of scents.

Birds sang in the Keep’s gardens, their cheerful notes rising like prayers to the gods, as the sun hung high in the sky, a blazing orb that ruled over Kingslanding with a relentless glare.

You sat with Princess Rhaenyra, the two of you alone at a small wooden table. The chairs creaked as you settled into them, savoring the quiet and each other’s company, finding solace in the rare stillness of the afternoon.

A tray of cakes and fruit lay between you, untouched save for a few crumbs—plum cakes drizzled with honey, slices of apple, and grapes, their skins bursting with juice.

You waited for Jacaerys, who had gone off to the Dragonpit to see Vermax, his beloved dragon. You found solace in the calm, feeling the gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the laughter of children playing somewhere nearby.

In the moons since your arrival, you had grown close to Princess Rhaenyra and her family, finding a place here that surprised even you. You and Jacaerys had become inseparable, roaming the Red Keep like shadows of one another, your laughter echoing through the stone corridors. Even your brother, Merek, seemed to have eased his worries.

The godswood incident had faded into distant memory, like a bad dream half-forgotten upon waking. Merek had taken to sparring with Ser Harwin Strong, the “Breakbones” they called him, a man of muscle and might who moved like a dancer despite his size.

The training yard had become his sanctuary, the clash of steel his new rhythm, finding purpose in the routine. Kingslanding, with its stench and squalor and intrigue, had become almost like home to the two Daynes, much to your surprise.

"I must say," Rhaenyra began, setting down her teacup with a gentle clink that seemed almost too loud in the stillness.

She leaned forward, resting her chin upon her hands, her violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. "Luke has grown under your guidance. You have become quite the teacher, despite your young years."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, ducking your head in a bid to hide the blush. "Thank you, Your Highness," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Prince Lucerys is a fast learner. I fear he will surpass me before he reaches my age." A soft laugh escaped your lips, an attempt to deflect the praise with humor. But Rhaenyra did not laugh.

Instead, she tilted her head, her expression one of quiet contemplation. "Oh, we can’t have that now, can we?" she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. For a moment, a flicker of worry crossed your face.

Would she bring in a new tutor, someone older, wiser, more accomplished, to replace you? You had grown to cherish your time with Lucerys and Jacaerys and feared losing it more than you cared to admit.

As if sensing your anxiety, Rhaenyra chuckled—a rich, warm sound that felt like sunlight breaking through a cloud. "No need to fret, dear one. I have no intention of separating you from my boys." Her words were a balm, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension ebbing away like the tide.

She gestured to her handmaiden, Elinda, who stepped forward, carrying a scroll bound with red silk, the seal of House Targaryen gleaming in the sunlight.

Rhaenyra took the scroll, her fingers deftly untying the ribbon. "I have spoken to the King of your goodwill," she began, her voice light with excitement, "and he wishes to reward you for your efforts with his grandson." She opened the scroll, her eyes scanning the words written there, a smile playing at her lips as if she were savoring some sweet secret.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, frantic beat. "P-pardon?" you stammered, unsure of what to expect, caught between hope and dread.

“The King has granted you access to the Royal Family’s Library,” Rhaenyra announced, holding the scroll out to you. “You may come and go as you please.”

For a moment, you could hardly breathe. At just seven summers, you had been given a privilege reserved for only the most trusted and learned in the realm. "Thank you, Your Highness. This is an honor," you managed to say, though your voice trembled like a leaf caught in the wind.

You took the scroll with hands that felt too heavy, as if it were made of gold and not parchment. "I… I don’t know what to say."

Rhaenyra's smile widened, her lips curling like the edges of a rose in bloom. "Say nothing at all, dear one. You have earned it." Her voice was as warm and soft as the breeze that stirred the petals of the garden flowers.

As you looked down at the slip of parchment in your hand, your own smile grew, blossoming like the flowers that surrounded you. The thrill that bubbled within you was almost too much to contain, the urge to race to Merek and show him the gift you had been granted nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was at the training yard, and you would have to wait. And you knew why.

One name lingered in your thoughts like a shadow.

Criston Cole.

The Queen Consort’s sworn sword, dark and brooding as a storm cloud on a summer's day. Of him, you knew little more than the stories whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, tales of dishonor and betrayal, of his contemptuous treatment of Princess Rhaenyra and her children.

Merek had called him a "pompous prick" more than once, a slight grin twisting his lips whenever he spoke the words. And more often than not, Ser Criston would challenge your brother to sparring matches, a ceaseless endeavor to test if Merek was truly worthy of bearing Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne.

You’d often catch Ser Criston’s cold, appraising eyes upon you and Jacaerys whenever you passed him in the corridors of the Keep, his gaze as sharp and unforgiving as a blade. For a Dornishman, he was strangely rigid, his sense of honor sharper than any steel. Sometimes, you worried that life at court might turn you into something equally stern and unyielding, as if the castle’s cold stone walls were creeping into your very soul.

His arrogance was boundless, like the vastness of the Narrow Sea—frowning upon the heir to the Iron Throne was one thing, but questioning your brother’s worthiness to wield Dawn? Unforgivable.

No, you did not like that man. Not at all.

Then there was “Crispin Cole,” as Lucerys liked to call him, despite your many efforts to correct the boy. Jacaerys would often encourage his little brother’s jests, his laughter a bright, lively sound that seemed to fill every corner of a room with its light.

Your relationship with the young princes had flourished in your time here, a bond forged in the fires of shared glances, whispered secrets, and childhood mischief. With Jacaerys especially, you had grown close.

The two of you would often take walks along the beach, the sea air tangling your hair, or wander through the gardens where flowers of every hue and fragrance bloomed in wild abundance. It had become a comforting routine—waiting for him after his lessons, seeing his familiar form approaching with a grin, Lucerys trailing behind, his smile just as wide.

But speaking of Jacaerys, you were pulled from your thoughts by the soft sound of Rhaenyra's amused cough. She seemed to see through you, catching the spark of excitement dancing in your eyes, the rabbit hole of contemplation you had wandered into. "I do believe Jacaerys should be back from visiting Vermax soon," she remarked with a knowing smile, her violet eyes twinkling with unspoken mirth.

"Why not head over to the library and find something to read while you wait?" She leaned in a little closer, the conspiratorial light in her gaze almost playful, and gave you a wink.

You nodded eagerly, unable to suppress your delight. “Thank you, your highness,” you replied, offering a quick curtsey. “I will not disappoint.” Rhaenyra waved a hand, dismissing you, her lips curling in a smile that was both fond and faintly amused, as if she could see into the future from now.

You shuffled into the Royal Library, excitement thrumming through your veins. The air was thick with the crisp, leathery scent of old books, and you breathed it in deeply, savoring the smell of history and knowledge that stretched far beyond your years.

This place was everything you imagined it would be—a sanctuary of knowledge and wisdom, a vault of secrets. Jacaerys would return soon, so you figured it best to start with something small.

You wandered from shelf to shelf, fingers grazing the spines of the ancient tomes. The choices were overwhelming, each title seeming more intriguing than the last. Finally, you decided to let fate decide for you.

Closing your eyes, you continued to meander around the shelves, oblivious to the watchful gaze fixed on you from a distance.

Eventually, you stopped and reached out, your hand landing on a random book. “The Tongue of the Horse Lords,” you murmured to yourself, turning it over in your hands. Cracking it open, you quickly realized it was a beginner's guide to learning the Dothraki language. A smile tugged at your lips. You’d always wanted to learn another language besides the common tongue.

High Valyrian would have been your first choice, of course—it was the mother tongue of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and even the Celtigars. But many high-born lords and ladies knew it, so it wasn’t exactly a rare skill. Dothraki, though… now that would be something different. A good read, you decided, tucking the book under your arm.

A glint of silver caught your eye, a flicker in the corner of your vision.

You turned quickly, but whatever it was had vanished. The sensation of being watched settled over you like a cold mist. You hesitated, glancing around the room, but there was no one—at least, no one you could see.

“Hmm… Strange…” you muttered, half-hoping for a reply. But the only answer was the faint whisper of a draft brushing through the room. You shook your head, deciding it was just a trick of the light. Clutching the book tighter to your chest, you headed for the door.

The open halls of the Keep greeted you with a breeze, tugging at your hair. “I promised Jace I’d meet him at the godswood,” you reminded yourself. The godswood had become your place, the spot where you’d meet after his lessons or your tutoring sessions with Lucerys. It was a peaceful corner of the Red Keep, a slice of greenery amidst the stone and mortar.

Your mauve dress swished around your ankles as you made your way to the godswood, your thoughts still lingering on the strange flicker of silver in the library. You glanced over your shoulder once, twice, but nothing was behind you except the quiet shadows of the early morning.

Brushing the odd feeling away like a speck of dust, you slipped through the arched entryway and into the godswood. The air was cool here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. The soft rustling of branches overhead was the only sound, mingling with the distant murmur of the castle beyond the wall of trees.

Here, the world seemed hushed, the canopy casting dappled shadows across the ground. The heart tree, with its pale bark and carved face, loomed in the center of the grove, its red leaves rustling like whispers of an old song.

You made your way to the base of the weirwood, the ancient tree towering above you, its carved eyes seeming to watch you as you moved. Settling against its thick trunk, you shifted into a comfortable position, feeling the rough bark press against your back. The weirwood's roots twisted like old bones around you, giving you the sensation of being both sheltered and observed, held in the embrace of something far older than the Red Keep itself.

Opening the book, you began to read, tracing the unfamiliar letters with your fingertips. The first few pages were simple enough—basic phrases in Dothraki, the language of the horse lords across the Narrow Sea.

You sounded the words out softly, your breath clouding in the cool morning air. “M’athchomaroon,” you whispered, your tongue stumbling over the guttural sounds. "Respect to you." It was strange to shape your mouth around the words, but oddly satisfying. You repeated the phrase again, more slowly, letting the syllables sink into your memory.

You made a mental note to ask Merek to find a proper tutor for you—someone who could help you with pronunciation and grammar, someone who knew more than just the basics this book offered. This wasn't for any formal education, just a pursuit born of personal curiosity. To learn a language so different from your own, to understand the people who spoke it—there was something thrilling in that thought.

The godswood was silent except for the whisper of leaves and the occasional caw of a distant crow. You found comfort in that stillness, letting it envelop you as you continued to read, sounding out the phrases with careful deliberation. "Thira anni," you murmured.

"My sun and stars." It was a phrase that spoke of deep affection, a fondness as fierce as the riders who spoke it. You couldn't help but wonder if the Dothraki felt their words as deeply as they sounded.

Leaning back against the weirwood, you took a deep breath, feeling the cool, rough bark press against your spine. You allowed yourself to imagine, just for a moment, what it might be like to stand on the vast grasslands of Essos, to ride across the open plains with nothing but the wind in your hair and a language on your lips that no one else in the Red Keep could speak. It made you feel bold, different—a small spark of adventure kindling within your chest.

As you repeated the words again, slower this time, you felt the weirwood’s presence—ancient and steady—watching over you like an old friend, the red leaves above stirring softly as if whispering their approval.

A rustle in the leaves caught your attention, and a smile touched your lips as you lifted your head toward the approaching footsteps. "Took you long enough," you began, ready to chide Jacaerys for his tardiness. "I was waiting for y—" The words died on your lips when you realized it wasn’t Jacaerys standing before you.

The boy who appeared was older than you by a few years, though not by many. His hair was a shade of silver so bright it almost seemed to glow in the dappled light of the godswood, and his eyes—a deep, vivid violet—marked him unmistakably as a Targaryen.

He stood half-hidden by a bush, his expression wary, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He wore a tunic of deep green, the color of House Hightower. Too young to be Prince Aegon, you quickly realized this must be Prince Aemond, the second son of Queen Alicent.

Aemond’s gaze flitted nervously from you to the ground and back again. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with uncertainty, clearly unaccustomed to these sorts of encounters. He had been in the Royal Library, practicing his High Valyrian, when he noticed you.

His days usually consisted of lessons, reading, and dreaming of dragons, often alone. He would have been at the Dragonpit if he had a dragon to visit—if only his egg had hatched instead of turning cold and dead like stone in his cradle. His birthright felt like a broken promise, a void he was desperate to fill.

He had heard the door to the library open and close and dismissed it as a maester's passing, only to look up and see you wandering among the shelves, a small figure lost in a sea of ancient tomes. He was surprised to see another child there, especially one so intent on the books. His nephews were far too busy bonding with their dragons to bury themselves in reading, and his brother Aegon had no love for such pursuits.

"I—I saw you in the library," Aemond stammered, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure you’d want to hear him. He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Up close, he could see you more clearly: the way the light fell on your face, the way your eyes scanned the pages of your book.

You seemed at home here, calm and sure in a way he envied. "I… I thought you looked… interesting," he added, though his voice caught on the last word, as if he weren't quite sure it was the right thing to say.

He shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do with his hands. "You were reading… Dothraki," he murmured, glancing at the book in your lap. "It’s… not a language many choose to learn." Aemond spoke quietly, as if he feared his voice might shatter the tranquility of the godswood.

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He had been drawn to you without quite understanding why, as if the godswood itself had pulled him here.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “It interested me,” you replied simply, lifting the book to show the cover. “And it seemed like no one else would bother.” You smiled gently, noticing how his shoulders relaxed, just a little. "What were you reading?" you asked, trying to draw him out of his shell.

“High Valyrian,” he answered, a flicker of pride in his voice. “It’s… It’s our tongue, our true tongue.” There was a brief, almost imperceptible glint of hope in his eyes, as if he were reaching out, yearning for something—a connection, perhaps, or just understanding.

You nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could teach me a word or two,” you offered, and for the first time, you saw Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

A start.

“Wren!”

You turned at the familiar call of your nickname, a name Jacaerys had chosen for you on a whim, saying it suited you. You never asked why, but you didn't mind—it made you think of the little bird, quick and curious, flitting about the gardens.

Jacaerys approached, his dark curls bouncing slightly as he moved with purpose. You didn’t notice the way Aemond’s fist tightened at the sight of his nephew, but you felt the sudden tension in the air. Jacaerys’s gaze landed on Aemond, his expression hardening slightly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

To Jacaerys, Aemond was always just… there. Always standing in some corner, always watching, always so quiet. It was unnerving, but Jacaerys hadn’t given him much thought—until now. Something about seeing Aemond standing there with you didn’t sit well with him.

Jacaerys strode forward, his eyes locked on Aemond’s, his hand outstretched to help you up. He never broke his gaze, sizing Aemond up as if trying to decide whether he was a threat. Aemond stared back, unblinking, his face an unreadable mask.

Aemond tolerated his half-sister's sons at best. His mother, Queen Alicent, had made it her mission to keep her children away from Rhaenyra’s, whispering in their ears all sorts of things about their half-sister and her sons, things that shaped Aemond’s view even if he never voiced them aloud.

He knew better than to openly question the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's sons, especially not in front of King Viserys. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think it.

Jacaerys pulled you to your feet, his hand firm in yours, then shifted, stepping in front of you, as if to shield you from Aemond. He placed himself between you and his uncle, his stance protective, his chin lifted in silent defiance. Aemond’s eyes flicked to your face, and then back to Jacaerys, his jaw clenched tight, the tension crackling in the space between them.

Aemond’s mouth opened slightly as if he were about to speak, but then he hesitated. You watched him, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in his violet eyes. He looked young then, younger than you expected—a boy caught between pride and some silent longing. The same look he’d worn in the library, staring at the books he could read but didn’t seem to love.

“I only wanted to see what she was reading.” Aemond finally said, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid it might break if he spoke too loudly. He turned his gaze to you again, something softer in his eyes.

Jacaerys didn’t relax. He kept his posture tense, his shoulders squared. “She doesn’t need you watching over her,” he replied coolly, still keeping himself between you and Aemond. You could feel the heat in his words, the simmering edge of protectiveness. This had been the first you have seen of it, “Jace…” You held his hand, “Be kind.” whispering a plea in his ear.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked as if he might say more, but then, instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze moving past you and Jacaerys, to the Weirwood tree looming above, its red leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

He had always been fascinated by the godswood, though he’d never say so aloud. There was something ancient about it, something unspoken and holy, and he felt that whenever he stood beneath those blood-red leaves.

“Doesn’t matter,” Aemond muttered, his gaze returning to you, just for a moment. “I’ll leave you to your… study.” His voice was tight, controlled, as he turned to leave, his green tunic blending into the shadows of the trees. But before he took a step, he paused, hesitating again. “You… You shouldn’t be alone here. Not without someone who knows this place,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

Jacaerys scoffed. “I know this place well enough. And she has me,” he said firmly, his tone dismissive. “Go back to your lessons, Uncle.”

Aemond’s eyes flashed at the word, ‘Uncle,’ a reminder of his status, his place. “As you say,” he murmured. His face went cold, the expressionless mask sliding back into place. He turned away, his steps light and quick, almost too quick, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

You watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of emotions—pity, perhaps, for the boy without a dragon, the one who seemed so lonely despite being surrounded by people. But you also felt a warmth blooming in your chest at Jacaerys’s side, his presence like a solid, reassuring wall against the world’s uncertainties.

Jacaerys let out a breath he’d been holding and turned to you, his face softening into a smile. “Come on, Wren,” he said, his voice gentler now, his hand still resting on your arm. He guided you away from the godswood, his steps light and quick as if eager to leave the encounter with Aemond behind.

You followed, but a frown creased your forehead. “You didn’t have to be so rude back there, Jace,” you said, your voice holding a hint of reproach. Aemond didn’t seem to mean any harm. He was just… awkward, for lack of better words.

Jacaerys shrugged, his shoulders rising slightly as if to brush off your concern. “It’s not that I don’t like him,” he said, his tone dismissive. “It’s just… he’s different. And he’s always got this way of standing in the corner, watching us. It’s unsettling.”

You bit your lip, glancing back toward the godswood where Aemond had disappeared into the shadows. “But you have to admit, it’s not entirely his fault,” you said softly. “He’s always been on the fringes, hasn’t he? With the way things are at court, I imagine he feels isolated.”

Jacaerys’s expression softened, though he remained guarded. “Maybe,” he conceded. You could understand Jacaery’s reproach to a certain degree. Given that House Targaryen has been divided into two factions, Black and Green, the bad blood between Jacaerys and Aemond, both their mother’s sons, comes as no surprise.

As you walked together, the cool post-meridiem air brushed against your cheeks, and the sky above was turning shades of deep blue and gold. The quiet of the Red Keep settled around you, the hum of the city distant but ever-present.

Jacaerys guided you to the dining hall, where the warm glow of lanterns cast a comforting light. “Come on,” he said, his tone brightening. “Let’s forget about the godswood and enjoy the evening. I promised you a story, remember?”

You smiled, letting the conversation drift to lighter topics as you entered the hall. The evening stretched ahead, full of promise, and you felt a sense of contentment as you settled into the comfort of Jacaerys’s company. The troubles of the day seemed to melt away, if only for a while, as the warmth and laughter of the dining hall embraced you both.“I brought you something.”

He stopped in the middle of the hall. “I brought you something.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “For you,” he said, his eyes bright with anticipation.

You took the bundle, unwrapping it carefully, to find a small, carved wooden bird—a wren, its delicate wings outstretched as if in mid-flight. It was finely crafted, and the wood was smooth under your fingers.

Your heart swelled at the sight, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You made this?” you asked, touched by the gesture. He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I thought… well, I thought it could keep you company,” he admitted, looking almost shy. “When you read.”

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of affection for him. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, holding the small bird close to your chest. “It’s perfect.” He grinned, his face lighting up, and for a moment, the tension that had hung in the air seemed to melt away.

The godswood was quiet again, the only sound the soft rustling of the leaves and the distant call of a raven somewhere high above. Jacaerys sat down beside you at the base of the Weirwood, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Now, what were you reading?” he asked, peering at the book in your lap.

“The Tongue of the Horse Lords?” He chuckled, “Dothraki? Why would you want to learn that?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “Perhaps I’m planning a trip across the Narrow Sea. Or maybe I want to surprise everyone when I curse them in a language they can’t understand.”

Jacaerys laughed, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “I’d like to see that,” he said, his voice warm. “And if you do decide to go to Essos, you know I’d go with you.”

You leaned into him slightly, “Do you think Vermax will grow large enough to carry two riders?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur. Your eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, but your thoughts were with the dragon.

Vermax was still young, his scales the color of deep green sea glass, his eyes like embers. But you wondered now if he would grow big enough, strong enough, to bear the weight of two, to carry you and Jacaerys both across the sky, far from this place with its whispered rivalries and bitter feuds.

Jacaerys’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. "Perhaps,” he replied, a hint of laughter in his tone. “Vermax is still growing, and who knows what size he’ll reach? Dragons are unpredictable creatures.” There was a glimmer in his eyes, one of mischief and wonder. “But I think he could bear us both if I asked him to. Dragons know when they are needed. They sense it… like we do.”

You slipped your arms around Jacaerys’s arm, pulling him a little closer as the two of you continued to walk through the godswood, your steps crunching softly on the fallen leaves underfoot. “I can’t wait!” you exclaimed, your voice bubbling with excitement.

The thought of you and Jacaerys, riding Vermax together, flying across the skies to far-off places, seeing lands you had only ever heard about in songs and stories— it was a dream that sparkled in your mind, bright and vivid. The idea of traveling together, especially at your young age, filled you with a sense of adventure that made your heart race.

Jacaerys chuckled, a warm sound that matched the smile on his lips. “Where should we go first, do you think?” he asked, looking down at you with an eager glint in his dark eyes. “Maybe the Free Cities? Or the Summer Isles?” He spoke as if the whole world was open to you both, as if no walls or rules could ever hold you back.

The mention of distant lands filled your head with images of bright markets, exotic spices, and strange, beautiful places where no one knew your name. But another thought soon surfaced, one that brought you back to the present.

“Your eighth name day is coming soon,” you reminded him with a grin, watching as his expression shifted to one of surprise and then a touch of delight. “A grand feast, a tourney… I imagine King Viserys will make quite a celebration for his first grandchild.”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes playfully. “Another tourney, more knights prancing about,” he said, though you could see the hint of pride that flickered in his gaze. He was growing into his princely role, even if he liked to pretend otherwise. He was a boy who was slowly learning the weight of the crown that might one day rest upon his head.

Resting your chin lightly on his shoulder, you leaned in closer, feeling the comforting solidity of him beside you. “Do you want anything special for your name day?” you asked, voice soft with genuine curiosity. “A sword? A new cloak, perhaps? A book on dragons?” You tilted your head slightly, the question hanging in the air like the last leaves of autumn, waiting to fall.

Jacaerys looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing slightly, his eyes narrowing as he pondered. “A gift?” He seemed to savor the word for a moment, as if tasting its possibilities. “I don’t need anything grand… but perhaps…” he said softly, a rare, almost wistful tone in his voice.

“A dance?”

Your face contorted into an exaggerated expression of contemplation, your eyes narrowing just slightly before you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “I think I can manage that,” you whispered.

Jacaerys’s eyes remained fixed on yours, his expression softening. He turned his head just enough that his dark curls brushed against your cheek, the brief contact sending a shiver through you. His gaze was earnest, the kind that spoke of trust placed in something precious.

“Good,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the leaves around you. “I look forward to it, Wren..” The nickname made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through you like a small, secret joy.

You had always liked that he called you that, a name that felt light and free, like the bird itself, flitting from branch to branch, never staying in one place too long. It was a name that suited you, in this moment and in his company, where everything felt a little less heavy and the world seemed a little more open.

It had not gone unnoticed in the halls of the Red Keep that young Lady Dayne had earned a place of prominence within the Royal Family. Though new to the court, the Dornish girl had quickly caught the attention of many, not least of all the Crown Princess Rhaenyra and her sons, who seemed particularly fond of her.

The courtiers whispered about it with raised eyebrows and knowing looks, their voices hushed but insistent in the shadowed alcoves and echoing corridors. But what set tongues wagging most was the unmistakable closeness between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's eldest and the heir to Dragonstone.

They spoke of how the boy, usually so reserved in the presence of strangers, seemed to soften when Lady Dayne was near. He laughed more freely, his dark eyes alight with an unguarded joy that seemed rare in a young man who bore the weight of such high expectations.

He was often seen walking with her in the godswood or lingering overlong at her side during lessons in the library, his attention more on her than on any maester’s teachings. There was speculation, of course. Lady Dayne had become a favorite subject of idle talk, her every movement watched with keen interest by those who thrived on court intrigue.

The courtiers noted her bright laughter, her easy manner, and how she moved through the palace as if she had been born to its halls, despite her Dornish blood. Some wondered if there was a purpose behind the Princess's fondness for the girl; others questioned if the girl herself had ambitions beyond what seemed so innocent and childlike on the surface.

And yet, whatever schemes or machinations the courtiers imagined, none could deny that there was a genuine affection between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys. It was there in the way his gaze sought hers across crowded rooms, how he seemed to lean into her words as if she spoke with a wisdom beyond her years.

It was there in the way she seemed to calm him with just a touch, a quieting presence amid the storm that often surrounded him. It was a bond that seemed to defy the usual coldness of court alliances, a friendship that bloomed against the backdrop of political tension and whispered accusations.

Even the Queen, Alicent Hightower, had taken note, her green eyes watching the pair with a mix of curiosity and something darker, something guarded. She did not miss the way Jacaerys’s gaze lingered on Lady Dayne or how his smile widened in her presence.

If Lady Dayne was aware of the scrutiny, she gave no sign. She moved through the court with an easy grace, her expression open, her laughter free. She seemed untouched by the whispers, unbothered by the endless eyes that followed her, as if she had grown used to such attention or cared little for the judgments of those who hid their secrets behind courtly masks.

Yet the murmurings persisted.

Some wondered if a betrothal might be in the making, a match that would strengthen Princess Rhaenyra's claims by tying her house to the ancient and noble blood of Starfall. Others thought it impossible—that the realm would never accept a union between a Targaryen prince and a girl of Dornish descent, no matter how favored she was by the Princess.

For now, the court could only watch, and wait, and wonder at what lay beneath the surface of this growing friendship—and whether it might change the course of the realm in ways that no one could yet foresee.

So it did not come as a surprise to the court when you were invited by Princess Rhaenyra to sit in the Royal Box for the tourney in celebration of Prince Jacaerys’ name day. The Royal Box, a place of high honor, was traditionally reserved for the royal family, the Velaryons, and members of the Small Council.

To be granted a seat there was to be acknowledged as more than just another highborn guest; it was to be included in the inner circle of power, to be seen by the realm itself as favored by the future Queen. You reclined on the plush loveseat, the delicate fabric cool against your skin, as Lucerys settled with a contented sigh, his head resting on your lap.

The tent around you was a sanctuary from the bustling energy of the tourney grounds, where the roars of the crowd and the rhythmic beat of drums created a distant but persistent backdrop. Outside, the noise of the tourney was a cacophony of excitement and tension, but within the tent, a comforting calm reigned.

Lucerys, eyes half-closed, let out a soft yawn, his breath warm and steady against your legs. His sleep-rumpled hair and the faint smile on his lips spoke of a sleepy contentment, even as he mumbled incoherent words, drifting between dreams and wakefulness.

The ungodly hour of the morning had come far too early for all of you, dragging you from the warmth of your beds and into the chill of dawn. The carriage ride through the crisp air outside Kingslanding had been a blur, and now, here in the tent, time seemed to stretch in its own lazy rhythm.

“Why is Jacaerys taking so long?” Lucerys grumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of your gown. Impatience edged his tone, the frustration of being late mounting with every passing minute. The tourney had been set to start in the morning, and as the moments ticked away, the spectacle outside waited for no one.

You absently smoothed Lucerys’s hair, offering a soothing touch to help him stay calm. “I’m sure he’ll be out soon,” you said softly, trying to ease his growing impatience. Your own excitement was tempered by the worry of being late, and you couldn’t help but glance toward the screen where he was getting dressed, hoping for a glimpse of Jacaerys.

The tent itself was a haven of rich textures and colors—a stark contrast to the grittiness of the tourney grounds outside. Silk banners in deep crimson and gold adorned the walls, their luxurious fabric shimmering softly in the filtered light.

The scent of cedar and fresh straw lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roast meat and spiced wine that hinted at the feast to come. It was a far cry from the raw energy of the tournament field, where knights clashed and lances shattered in a display of strength and skill.

As you waited, you could hear the distant sounds of the tourney's beginning—an occasional cheer from the crowd, the sharp crack of a lance meeting its target. The excitement outside was almost tangible, seeping through the tent walls and stirring a restlessness in your own heart. You glanced again at the entrance, the flutter of fabric heralding the arrival of Jacaerys.

The screen finally parted, and Jacaerys stepped out, his cheeks flushed with the combined exertion of dressing and the thrill of the day. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt, buttoned up neatly, with a vibrant red vest emblazoned with intricately embroidered golden dragons. His eyes sparkled with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as he took in the sight of you and Lucerys.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jacaerys said, his voice carrying a hint of apology and a touch of playful exasperation. He moved toward you with an easy grace, his attire swishing with each step. His presence seemed to light up the room, dispelling the lingering tension.

Lucerys’s face brightened at the sight of his elder brother. He scrambled off your lap and bounded toward Jacaerys, his earlier irritation melting away in the warmth of family affection. “Finally!” Lucerys exclaimed, his tone a mix of relief and impatience.

You rose from the loveseat, smoothing out the folds of your gown and offering Jacaerys a reassuring smile. “You look splendid, Jace,” you said, your tone light and encouraging. “Now let’s not keep the entire tourney waiting.”

Jacaerys took your hand in his, guiding you confidently through the tents that were also set up for other noble houses. You clutched Lucerys’ hand tightly with your other, careful to keep him close as the three of you made your way toward the arena. The ground was soft and uneven, and you lifted the hem of your gown to avoid the risk of mud splashing up.

“I’ve got your back,” Lucerys piped up from behind you, his small hands reaching out to lift the back of your skirt, ensuring it wouldn’t drag through the muck. His gesture was both earnest and endearing, a show of his determination to help despite his young age.

You turned to him with a grateful smile, your eyes reflecting your appreciation. “Thanks, Luke,” you said, the warmth of your gratitude evident in your tone. The three of you quickened your pace, Jacaerys leading the way.

As you hurried through the shifting crowds and past the scattered tents, the sounds of the tourney grew louder—cheers and the clash of armor creating a symphony of excitement. Each step quickening with elation as you approached the arena.

However, that excitement was abruptly dimmed by the sight of a certain knight striding past. Ser Criston Cole, clad in his polished armor, was preparing for his own participation in the event.

Jacaerys stopped abruptly, his expression darkening as he fixed his gaze on the knight. Criston Cole’s eyes swept over the three of you with a look of disdain, his posture radiating an arrogance that was as palpable as the clamor of the approaching tourney.

“Young Prince, should you not already be in the Royal Box?” he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. The tone was unmistakable—an attempt to belittle Jacaerys under the guise of polite inquiry.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the audacity of the knight. It was well-known that Criston Cole had ingratiated himself with Queen Alicent, and his inflated sense of self-importance had become a tiresome fixture at court. His haughty demeanor was as grating as it was predictable.

Not wanting to be anymore later than you already were, “And don’t you have a tourney to get ready for, Ser Crispin?” you retorted, your voice carrying a touch of sharpness. The nickname was a deliberate slight, a way to remind him that his favored status did not entitle him to look down on others. The words hung in the air between you, a challenge to his presumed superiority.

Jacaerys shot you a grateful glance, though his own gaze remained fixed on Ser Criston. The knight’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing further, his expression a mix of irritation and calculation. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving the three of you to resume your hurried path toward the arena.

You three reached the Royal Box, a grand structure elevated above the arena, offering an unrivaled view of the proceedings below. The box was an opulent display of House Targaryen’s heraldry, its banners fluttering with a regal grace. The three-headed dragon, embroidered in red on a field of black, rippled in the breeze, a constant reminder of the Targaryen legacy that presided over the event.

As you entered the Royal Box, a hush fell over the assembled guests, their murmurs ebbing into a sea of quiet anticipation. The space was a grand display of Targaryen opulence, with banners of the three-headed dragon fluttering above, casting their shadow over the esteemed company within.

King Viserys occupied the central position, his regal presence augmented by the grandeur of the box. His face, lined with the weight of many years and decisions, was nonetheless softened by a subtle smile as he surveyed the festivities below. Beside him, Queen Alicent maintained an air of grace despite the snobbish wring on her face.

Her gown, a masterpiece of intricate embroidery, matched her poised demeanor. Her children were scattered nearby: Aegon, already showing the effects of too much Arbor Red, slouched with a vacant stare; Helaena, fiddling nervously with her fingers, lost in her own world; and Aemond, who sat apart from the rest, his expression a mask of quiet contemplation.

Princess Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, was ensconced in a seat of prominence. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, took in the scene with a mixture of pride and critical appraisal. By her side was her husband, the formidable Corlys Velaryon, his presence as commanding as his reputation. His gaze swept over the assembly with an air of both authority and quiet anticipation.

The Small Council members were present as well, their faces a study in formality tinged with restrained eagerness. They whispered amongst themselves, casting occasional glances towards the arena below, their expressions reflecting the gravity of their positions.

Completing the distinguished lineup were Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband, Laenor Velaryon. Rhaenyra’s posture was straight and proud, her eyes alight with the excitement and weight of the day’s significance. Laenor, ever the supportive consort, stood by her side, his demeanor a blend of reserved elegance.

You, Jacaerys, and Lucerys shuffled to your seats amidst the curious eyes of the assembled nobility. Lucerys settled on Jacaerys' left, his youthful face bright with the thrill of the day’s events, while you took the seat to Jacaerys' right, your presence creating a subtle stir.

The whispers of the court grew louder, a low hum of speculation and intrigue weaving through the Royal Box. As you settled into your seat, the murmurs of the crowd seemed to acknowledge the significance of your place among the royal family.

To many, it appeared as though you were already being groomed for a more prominent role, a sign of your growing importance within Princess Rhaenyra’s inner circle. The eyes of the court lingered on you, reflecting a mixture of curiosity and speculation about the young lady who had captured the Princess's favor.

As the heralds called for the first joust to begin, you felt the eyes of the court upon you—Lady Redwyne whispering behind her fan, Lord Beesbury nodding thoughtfully, and even Queen Alicent herself casting a quick, measuring glance your way.

To some, your presence in the Royal Box might be an audacity, an unexpected elevation of a girl from Dorne; to others, it was a sign of favor, a new piece in the game that was ever unfolding in the halls of the Red Keep.

From your seat, you could see the bright colors of the tourney ground, the lords and knights resplendent in their armor, their horses prancing and snorting with eagerness. The trumpets blared, and the crowd's roar rose like a wave as the first pair of riders charged toward each other, lances poised.

Jacaerys leaned closer, his dark curls brushing your cheek as he whispered, "I don’t see your brother." His gaze swept over the line of knights preparing for the tourney, searching for a familiar face. You followed Jacaerys' gaze, sweeping over the bustling field and crowded stands until your eyes found the familiar lavender banner of House Dayne.

There, in a separate box, sat Merek, looking every bit the noble he was. He was dressed not in armor but in ceremonial attire—a deep indigo tunic adorned with the silver star of Starfall, chosen to mirror your own gown, which shimmered in a shade of tropical indigo. A goblet of wine rested casually in his hand, his posture relaxed, his expression serene as he observed the unfolding spectacle.

A flicker of guilt pricked at your conscience. Though Merek had insisted you sit with the royals, it felt somehow wrong to leave him alone, even if he did not seem to mind. You and Merek had always been close; his presence had been your shield and your strength.

But he had offered you his usual playful grin earlier, urging you to enjoy the festivities with your friends. Still, the pang of regret lingered, a quiet ache of longing to be at his side, sharing in the day’s excitement.

As the Sword of the Morning, Merek could have easily joined the ranks of the knights below, his skill with a blade and reputation for honor were more than enough to secure him a place among the competitors. Yet, such theatrics were beneath him.

House Dayne valued honor and loyalty above all else, just as the Starks did in the North. In many ways, the Daynes were seen as the Starks of Dorne—both houses with a proud heritage dating back to the First Men, their values shaped by the same ancient traditions of integrity and duty.

“Merek doesn’t participate in tourneys,” you whispered to Jacaerys, your voice low, intimate, meant for his ears alone. “He sees them as a waste of time and honor. He prefers the real battlefield over one made of painted lances and staged glory.”

Jacaerys glanced again toward Merek’s box, where your brother now raised his goblet in a quiet salute, catching your gaze from across the field. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you lifted your hand in response, a silent promise that you would find time to join him later.

The crowd's noise swelled, and the heralds’ trumpets cut through the air like a knife, announcing the commencement of the tourney. The knights on their steeds began to line up, their armor glinting under the pale autumn sun. You could feel the anticipation rising like a tide, filling the air with an almost palpable energy. Lucerys shifted restlessly in his seat, excitement sparking in his bright young eyes.

Jacaerys leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, a light, reassuring touch amidst the growing frenzy of the crowd. “Mother says I should cheer for Ser Harwin, but I think I’ll cheer for Ser Erryk instead,” he whispered, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I’ve heard he’s the better rider.”

You chuckled softly. “Why not cheer for both? Or better yet, place a bet and see which of them proves you wrong.”

His grin widened. “A bet? With you?” He feigned shock. “Let me guess, the loser will have to forfeit their lemon cakes for a moon.” You leaned in closer, your voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I promise not to take all of them… just a few.”

Jacaerys laughed, and for a moment, the weight of his name and all that it bore seemed to lift. He looked every bit the boy he still was, his youthful face bright with mirth. You felt a warmth spread through you, glad to see him at ease, even if only for a short while.

From across the box, you could feel the sharp gaze of Queen Alicent upon you, her eyes flicking between you and her sons. Aegon was already half-slumped in his chair, flushed with wine, while Aemond sat with a stoic expression, his singular focus on the field below. Helaena seemed lost in her own world, whispering to herself, her hands weaving through the air in some intricate pattern only she understood.

Aemond's sharp gaze found yours, his expression neutral at first, his lips thinning slightly as if deciding whether to acknowledge you. But when you offered a small wave, a subtle, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He returned the gesture with a discreet wave, his movements careful, quick, so as not to draw too much attention.

His smile faded as he turned back to the tourney, his posture straightening under the ever-watchful eye of his mother, Queen Alicent. You could sense the tension in him—the weight of expectations and the constant scrutiny from those around him. You’d seen that guarded look in his eyes before, a mixture of judgment and restraint, the way he seemed to always be preparing himself for the next challenge or judgment.

You turned your attention back to the field, the knights now charging at full speed, lances aimed and armor clashing in a vivid display of strength and skill.

King Viserys rose from his seat, his hand resting heavily on the arm of his chair as he steadied himself. The crowd hushed, their voices falling silent in anticipation. He stood tall, his golden crown catching the sunlight, reflecting a brilliant gleam that danced over his worn features.

Despite the lines etched into his face and the signs of age weighing on his shoulders, his eyes still held the spark of authority, a sovereign who had seen much and ruled through even more. He lifted a hand, signaling for the crowd's full attention.

His voice, though not as strong as it once was, carried across the tourney grounds with a commanding presence. “Lords and ladies, knights and squires, good people of Kingslanding,” he began, his voice a deep rumble that reached every corner of the arena. “Today, we celebrate the eighth name day of my beloved grandson, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. In his honor, we gather to witness the valor and might of the realm's finest knights.”

A cheer erupted from the stands, a wave of excitement and anticipation rippling through the crowd. Viserys allowed a smile, nodding in approval at the response. He continued, “This tourney shall not only be a test of strength and skill but a testament to the bonds that hold our great houses together. Let us remember that even in competition, there is unity, and in our unity, there is strength.”

His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, lingering for a moment on Queen Alicent, whose expression remained unreadable, and then on Princess Rhaenyra, who met his eyes with a look of quiet pride.

“May the Seven watch over each of you, may the best among you prove your worth in honor and courage, and may the gods grant us a day of sport to remember.” He paused for a heartbeat, his face softening with a touch of affection as he glanced toward Jacaerys, who stood beside you with a small, eager smile on his lips.

“And to my grandson,” Viserys added, “May your name day bring you joy and may your future be as bright as the flames of your ancestors.”

A louder cheer rose from the stands, the crowd clapping and shouting their approval. The sound of drums began again, a steady beat that quickened the pulse of those in attendance. Viserys lifted his cup of wine, a gesture mirrored by the lords and ladies around him. “Let the tourney begin!” he declared with finality, his voice strong and resolute.

At his command, a flourish of horns erupted, signaling the start of the event. Knights on their steeds trotted to their positions, banners flying, lances in hand, ready to charge down the lists. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and excitement that hung over the field like a storm about to break.

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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Intimacy

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Lack of intimacy after childbirth can weigh a relationship down. Thankfully, Miguel always finds new ways to keep the spark alive.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Lactation kink. Fangs. Implied breeding kink. A comprehensive study on intimacy with Miguel O’Hara.

“She’s finally sound asleep.”

Holding back a yawn as you entered the living room, you were promptly met with a very heavy-eyed Miguel O’Hara on the couch, enjoying the comforts of home.

“Thank you,” he said truthfully, straightening up lightly in his seat. “Come here.”

You paced towards him, lazily settling on his lap, both legs framing his as two big and warm hands sprawled across your back, pulling you into an embrace.

Instinctively, your eyes fluttered shut once cheek came to rest on his shoulder, taking in his body warmth and enjoying the steady heartbeat that drummed against your chest.

You figured you might just fall asleep and don’t fight against it. Taking care of a baby had been taking a toll on you both as of late, but it was to be expected.

Still, you missed moments like this. No talking, just feeling right at home in a silent embrace.

Miguel planted a few kisses to the back of your neck, but they were void of any sexual bearing. You knew what he meant with those. Absolute gratitude and devotion.

“Next time, I’ll put her to sleep,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hmm.”

His hands glided along your back, fingertips applying just enough pressure to raise goosebumps across your skin.

“I mean it.”

“You’re also tired,” you drawled out with a yawn, body slumping fully into him. “Work and all that…”

Another tender kiss. “But I have responsibilities here, too.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“You taught me how.”

Point taken.

Silent seconds ticked by and you shifted on his lap into a more comfortable position, ready to enter the valley of dreams.

“I miss you,” he said all of a sudden.

His hands settled on your arms to straighten you, a pair of red eyes encasing yours.

“I miss us.”

Miguel wasn’t a man to deliver empty words as filler, so you knew that he genuinely meant it, which had your heart to skip a beat.

His digital suit began to fragment and reced, exposing the skin underneath. Your placed your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscles flex under your touch.

He was so handsome. Almost unfairly so.

“Let me kiss you,” he whispered.

You nodded, bringing your lips to meet his in a lazy kiss as you dragged your fingers along his hair, earning a moan of approval.

It was a slow and steady kiss. You were in no hurry and wanted to make the most of this rare opportunity.

One of his hands slid to grope your breast and you felt him groan against you lips, breaking contact.

His half-hooded eyes were now on your chest, and as you followed his line of sight, you realised what had caught his attention.

Your shirt was getting soaked with milk.

Damn.

Two round damp spots spread across the fabric that covered each nipple, and you felt instant embarrassment take over. “Sorry… wanted to pump before putting her to bed, but she—”

“Don’t ever apologise for this,” he silenced you at once.

You tried to slide off the couch to fix yourself, but he kept you in place with both hands gripping your waist, pushing you down on him.

“Stay.”

Oh?

“I’ll help.”

Oh.

“Miguel…”

Masterful fingers worked their way down the buttons of your nightgown to reveal your heaving breasts.

You knew that look on his face.

Hunger.

“So full,” he said more to himself, cupping both of them softly.

A few droplets coated both nipples and he brushed the pad of his thumbs along the sensitive skin, earning a jerk from you.

The tingling between your legs emerged in full force from just the sight of him staring at you like he could devour you whole.

He craned his neck just enough to capture one nipple with his lips before latching hungrily.

The overwhelming sensation was enough to have you clinging to his broad shoulders for support. You squeezed your eyes shut and gasped once you felt him sucking gently.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the growing pressure between your legs from his hardening cock.

“Be gentle,” you moaned, caressing his cheek that would rhythmically hollow as he downed your milk.

“Hmmm.”

Then your hand came to his neck and you gently gripped it, feeling his Adam’s apple bob with each gulp.

You stared adoringly at him, slowly grinding into his covered cock. A raw groan reverberated through his throat, and you could tear your eyes away from the sight of the warm liquid pooling in the corner of his mouth.

The latch was just perfect and felt too good.

You brought your hand to caress his face once more, brushing a few strands of his hair away.

“You’re so good…” you moaned.

His cock twitched at your praise, and you could feel the wetness damping his own underwear. Now he was the one leaking for you, his body full on auto-pilot as precum readied him for more.

A couple of droplets began to run down his chin, dripping and drenching his underwear.

“No fangs…”

You’d felt them grazing your skin lightly, but you couldn’t really blame Miguel. His fangs would emerge from either extreme anger or blinding pleasure. A roll from your hips with added pressure was enough to tear his lips from your nipple, head falling back and mouth parting with a raw moan.

He bared both sets of fangs as both hands gripped your waist. Your own mouth dropped open as haziness filled your vision, absolutely revelling in seeing your own milk dripping from his lips and down his muscular neck.

“Fuck,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut.

You hurried to collect some of the beads of milk from his skin, but Miguel intercepted you midway, capturing you into a searing kiss. His tongue hurriedly slipped past your lips and you tasted sweetness.

Parting yourself from him, you focused on the grind of your hips and Miguel snapped open his crimson eyes, lust dilating his pupils.

“I’m not… I’m not…” he mumbled incoherently, too lost in his pleasure. “I’m not… lasting…”

You leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I’m surprised you lasted this long,” you whispered seductively, pressing a quick kiss to the pulse point on his neck. “So much stamina…”

Miguel was a sucker for praise and it was the easiest and fasted way to get him to crumble.

Your clit rubbed against his covered cock in a steady rhythm as more droplets of milk kept dripping from your nipples. Your eyes roamed along his chest that was glistening as beads of white liquid streamed down.

Suddenly, Miguel pulled you into him, your breasts now squeezed in between you two, more liquid pouring out.

He titled your head and immediately latched his lips against your neck, fangs nearly puncturing the flushed skin.

“You ride me so good,” he murmured hungrily against you.

A moan tangled in your throat and your hips surged to encourage his, ruthlessly intensifying the pleasure. Miguel picked up the speed again and you felt each burst of bliss at every thrust and desperate to feel the next.

Your orgasm was upon you faster than you had expected, the sense of urgency in his thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Miguel… Miguel…” you moaned, your panties completely drenched.

“Inside… please…”

Desperate fingers clawed at your underwear, sliding it to the side as the tip of his cock nudged at your entrance. He slid inside effortlessly, bottoming up in an instant, and after a moment he gave a harsh cry and shoved himself so deeply and tightly against you that you gasped, clenching hard around him.

Miguel buried his face in the crook of your neck in a failed attempt to muffle his groans.

He kept grinding and rocking against you with stifled grunts, spurting hotly inside.

Only the sounds of your harsh breathing followed, and you sank against him weakly as if drained of all energy.

A familiar waile filled the room, making you wince.

“Shit… were we too loud?” you asked, trying to ease your breathing.

Miguel was still buried deep inside you, beads of sweat rolling down his face. “I’ll go check on her.”

You could tell he reluctantly slid out, easing you on your back. The sudden emptiness made you clench involuntarily, and you felt some of his warm cum spilling

“Keep it in,” he said, pressing your legs together as he planted a kiss to your forehead.

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara imagine #atsv miguel

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khaylin27 · 6 months ago

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So Long, London

pairing: carlos sainz x norris reader; lando norris x sister reader; a teaser of oscar piastri x reader hehe

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: when carlos joined mclaren, it was easy for y/n norris to fall in love with him. throughout 2020 to 2023 y/n norris could see that carlos was drifting away from her. this could be due to carlos' suggested depression after leaving mclaren to go to ferrari, him being unready for marriage, and his infidelity towards in their relationship.

warnings: infidelity; depression; mentions of sex; one sided relationship; also let’s pretend charles was with alexandra in 2021 to now

author's note: this is literally my favorite song from the album. it describes a time in my life where i put so much into a relationship but they kept drifting away. hope you guys like it 🥹

2020

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

It was so easy to love and be in a relationship with your brother's team mate, Carlos Sainz. But once the pandemic hit, you saw the spark of your relationship fade slowly.

"No quiero estar en McLaren más hermosa." I don't want to be in McLaren anymore beautiful. Carlos tells you as he shows you the contract Ferrari sent him for 2021 to 2023.

During the pandemic, you and Carlos were sharing an apartment together in London. He would teach you Spanish so that he can speak to you in his native language. "I thought you loved being in McLaren babe? What would my brother say if you leave?"

"There's no 'if' hermosa. I don't care what your brother says because he was on board with Zack on putting Daniel in my seat for next year." Carlos says angry because you brought up your brother. They've had a great relationship throughout the 2019 to 2020 seasons, but once Lando sided with Zach on putting Daniel in Carlos' seat their friendship tore apart. "My decision is final. I'm going to Ferrari whether anyone likes it or not."

You kept calm and walked to where Carlos was to give him a tight hug. "If it makes you happy babe, I'm with you on this one." He didn't hug you back the same way you hugged him.

You didn't know it at the time but this was the first sign that Carlos was drifting away.

2021

My spine split from carrying us up the hill Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill I stopped trying to make him laugh Stopped trying to drill the safe

Once the 2021 F1 season started and covid regulations lifted, you thought your relationship would get better since Carlos joined Ferrari but it didn't. Ferrari kept him busy with back to back events that you weren't invited to because of your connection with McLaren.

When Carlos would come home from these events, drunk and not mentally there. You knew he would drink himself away due to the depression he was going through after leaving McLaren. You would try to keep the relationship alive by having sex with him. Even though it did keep your sexual relationship somewhat alive, it felt like your spine was going to split from carrying your relationship alive.

Ferrari did invite you to an event after you complained to Alexandra (let's pretend Charles was with her during this time) one time during a Grand Prix weekend. It was a different atmosphere than what you were used to at McLaren. You felt wet through your clothes and chill through your weary bones during the event.

You and Carlos were sitting in a booth with Charles and Alexandra. You smiled at Charles and Alexandra's interactions together. She would always make Charles laugh and it made you miss when you used to do that with Carlos. Making Carlos laugh made it feel safe in your relationship with him, but not anymore.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out I founded the club she's heard great things about I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

The event that Ferrari was hosting was in a club in Monaco. Carlos left your booth to get a 'drink' while you were talking with Alexandra and Charles.

"So Y/N how do you like the event?" Charles yells through the loud music.

"It's okay I guess. It's different than McLaren events." You say uncomfortable. McLaren was like home to you, they were family. You left all that to be with Carlos and follow his dreams. Yet you both aren’t happy with leaving McLaren.

Alexandra can tell that you were uncomfortable with the question. "Why don't we go to the bar Y/N?" You nod at her question as she takes your hand to walk together to the bar.

Once you arrive at the bar, Alexandra orders drinks for both of you but you hear something that was interesting. "Girl, I just had the best sex with that one Ferrari driver."

It was two girls that got invited to do press for this event. The other girl asks "Oh my god. Which one?"

"The Spanish one! Let me tell you, he's very good with his hands." You start tearing up as she continues to explain what your boyfriend did to her. It was things that he never did to you. "He told me that he hasn't had sex like that in months."

Alexandra looks at you with the drinks in her hands. She notices the tears going down your face and ruining your makeup. "Y/N are you okay?"

"No, I'm not." You say politely as you wipe your tears. "Is it possible for you to call an uber for me? I want to go home."

Alexandra nods and goes on her phone to reserve you an uber. While she was doing that you were breaking down crying on the bar counter.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use The spirit was gone, we would never come to And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

Hours after you got home from the event by yourself, Carlos comes home late. Usually you would have sex as soon as he got home to keep your relationship alive, but it's no use. Why would you put so much into him if the spirit he had for you was gone?

"Hermosa, beautiful can we have sex?" He asks drunkenly while your body was turned away from him. "Por favor." please

"No Carlos." You say as you try to go back to sleep.

"Why not hermosa? beautiful You looked so pretty in that dress you wore?" He peppers your arm and back with kisses trying to get you in the mood for sex.

"Carlos stop. I'm pissed off at you right now." You sit up and look at him. You can tell he was drunk because he didn't care that you were crying. "I'm pissed off that I spent so much of my youth on you. We left the only place that we were happy at thinking it was better for you but it wasn’t. Only for you to hookup with a whore at an event while I was there. What happens when I’m not there? Is that why Ferrari doesn’t invite me to anything??"

"I'm sorry hermosa. beautiful It’s just been emotionally draining after the past couple of months." He hugs you.

"I know it's been but you're not helping if you keep doing this." As you wipe your tears you then add. "I thought this move would be better for both of us. Remember how we dreamed of getting married and starting a family?"

"That's not my dream Y/N, that's your dream. My dream is to be World Champion and I won't let any distractions get in my way." It was like a slap in the face when Carlos told you this. All your life you've always wanted a husband and to start a family. You thought it would be with Carlos but it would be a 'distraction in getting World Champion.'

"Goodnight hermosa beautiful Te amo I love you" he says as he hugs you and falls asleep.

And you say I abandoned the ship But I was going down with it My white knuckle dying grip Holding tight to your quiet resentment

Ever since the night of the Ferrari event, you haven’t been to any Ferrari events or even to the Ferrari garages. Instead you’ve been hanging out with your brother in the McLaren garage.

It was 2021 of the Russian Grand Prix, Lando had spun and grazed the wall on one of his laps that caused him to not win the Russian Grand Prix.

Once Lando gets back into the garage and gets out of his car, you can see the tears in his eyes. “It’s okay little bro.” He pulls you into a tight. You knew that this was race was emotionally draining on him.

“If I just pitted and changed my tires I would’ve won.” He continues to cry.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done Lan. I just thank god you’re okay and nothing happened to you.” You hug him tighter.

“Thank you for being here Y/N.” He says as he pulls away from hugging you. As you both wipe your tears, he looks at the screen and sees Carlos on the podium. “You should go and be with Carlos. At least get to celebrate with him.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait until he’s done to celebrate with him.” You give him a fake smile in hopes that he doesn’t see that you’re faking it.

Little did you know, you weren’t going to be celebrating with Carlos tonight.

“Why the hell weren’t you with me celebrating my win?” Carlos yells at you while you’re sitting on the couch just staring at him.

“Didn’t think you needed me since that whore was wrapped around you.” You saw the photos that F1 gossip accounts were posting on Twitter.

Carlos looks at you with frustration. “I’m sorry hermosa beautiful but I needed to let off the excitement .” You role your eyes at his response.

“‘Let off the excitement’ you have a girlfriend at home waiting for you.” You explain to him.

“Well you should’ve been around me instead of that girl.” He says putting the blame back on you.

“I was taking care of my brother. Your best friend that could’ve won today but didn’t. At least try to comfort your best friend instead of having whores going around you.”

“I swear ever since that night, you’ve just abandoned me and everything we’ve built.”

You laugh at what Carlos says, “you’re saying I’ve abandoned you and everything we’ve built. Oh honey, I’m just going down with it.”

Your knuckles are turning white as you’re clenching the pillow so you don’t cry in front of this man. “I’m leaving to London to be with Lando. Fix whatever is going on with you to fix this relationship.” You knew deep down that Carlos resented you for what you said that night.

My friends said it isn't right to be scared Every day of a love affair Every breath feels like rarest air When you're not sure if he wants to be there

Once your plane landed in London, Lando was waiting for you at the arrival terminal. After you got your bags and got in his car you explained to him what’s been going on with Carlos for the past two years after he left McLaren.

“That’s not healthy Y/N and you’ve been going through this for two years now?” Lando asks you and you just nod in silence.

“It feels like every day is a love affair. Every breath I took around him feels like rarest air.” You try so hard not to cry in front of your little brother right now but the tears keep pouring. “I’m not even sure if he wants to be in this relationship. It broke my heart when he said he didn't want to get married or start a family because it would be a 'distraction'”

Lando hugs you and more tears start pouring out. “It’s okay Y/N. You don’t always have to be strong for me.”

“I know, but you guys were very close and I don’t want to ruin your friendship with him.” You explain the reason why you didn’t tell him for so long.

“Whether we’re friends or not, he shouldn’t make you feel like that. It isn’t right to be scared in a relationship.” You hug him tighter as the tears keep pouring down.

“I know, but I love him.”

2022

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

After months of you living in London with Lando, Carlos was desperate to have you back. During the 2022 season, you decided to go back with Carlos only if Carlos marries you. Carlos agreed and you both started planning the wedding.

You two decided to plan the wedding in Spain at the end of July during the mandatory summer break. The wedding was going to be beautiful. All of your family, friends, and colleagues would be invited to the big wedding. Sadly, you wouldn't be getting married.

As you're walking down the aisle with your father, you look ahead and see that Carlos wasn't standing at the alter. "Where is Carlos?" Your father asks Carlos Sr. and Reyes, Carlos' parents.

You look at Lando, who was Carlos' best man. "Lando please be honest with me. Where is Carlos?"

"He needed to talk to his cousin, just pre wedding jitters I think." He smiles at you trying to make you feel okay but deep down you knew.

"Carlos is not coming back." Caco, Carlos' cousin comes up to you and the family.

"¿Qué quieres decir con que no volverá? what do you mean he's not coming back" Carlos Senior asks his nephew.

"I tried to keep him here but he wanted to leave." Caco looks at you with sad eyes. "Carlos told me to give you this." It was a note that Carlos hand wrote for you.

To Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you on the altar waiting for me. I couldn't get married and get distracted from the dreams I truly wanted. I wish I could do this in a better way and not put you through so much pain. So long Y/N, we had a good run. I know I'm not the one for you hermosa beautiful.

Love, Carlos

You breakdown once you finish reading his note. He 'loved' you but where was the clues? He left you on the altar waiting for the proof. He sacrificed your relationship and the dreams you wanted to achieve together so that he could be World Champion.

2023

And I'm just getting color back into my face I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

It took you awhile to start coming back to the races again. Every time you would think about going to a race to support your brother, all you could think about is Carlos. You loved the races but it made you mad as hell cause you loved Carlos.

Lando invited you to the Las Vegas Grand Prix to celebrate his birthday and to watch him race. At Lando's birthday party, you met his new teammate Oscar Piastri. "Oscar this is my sister, Y/N." Lando introduces Oscar to you before he leaves to dj again.

"Hello Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard great things about you from Lando." He smiles at you.

"Oh really? What did he say?" Now you were intrigued about what Lando says about you behind your back.

"For one, he didn't tell me that you were so beautiful." You blush at Oscar's compliment. "But he does tell me how much he misses you being around the paddock. He says you're like the 'warm sun' whenever you're around."

"I know I've been absent in paddock due to what happened last year." You take a sip of alcohol after bringing up your failed wedding. "But I'm back where I've always belonged. McLaren was and will always be family." You say as you smile at Lando and Zack being dj together.

"Well I'm glad you're back and I can't wait to get to know you better." Oscar gets two shots from the bartender and gives you one. He smiles at you and says, "Cheers to new beginnings."

"Yeah. Cheers to new beginnings."

#carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #carlos sainz #lando norris #oscar piastri #ferrari #mclaren

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