#and as he's looking behind him he kind of draws the corner of his mouth back and you get a real clear view of his cuspids

[grahamdollton]

[luveline]

spencer x reader where she kisses his forehead and he’s 🥹🥹

“Spencer, are you dead?” 

Spencer ignores your question by accident. Heavy head in hand, he’s slowly sinking closer and closer to the hotel breakfast table to rest. His neck twinges with the effort it takes to stay up. 

“Spencer,” you say more sharply. 

His eyes track like the air is honey. He settles on your sluggishly while offering no greeting, tiredness pulling at him. “My eyes hurt,” he offers. 

“Make you some tea.” 

“Um, okay.” He’s disappointed when you leave, then dozing, face pressed to his desk as itchy eyes press along lids. It feels as though his eyelashes have turned inward. 

You return with a cup. Spencer grabs it blindly, lifts his head to squint one eye open. “What?” he asks. 

There isn’t tea in the cup. There are tea bags, two of them, wetted and leaking tan beige along the white china of the mug. Distinctly no tea. You must be tired too. 

“They’re for your eyes, Spence. They’ll make your eyes hurt less. The caffeine restricts your blood vessels to calm the inflammation, and the tea itself soothes sore skin.” 

“How do you know that?” he asks. 

You rest a hand on his shoulder. “I read about it in a book of modern home remedies. It really works. Here, can you tip your head back?” 

Spencer is very, very tired, but your voice is nice, your fingertips gentle against his neck, so he tips his head back. He doesn’t know how terrible he looks, having forgotten his untucked shirt, his rumpled sweater vest, his hair sticking up all over the place. 

“Close your eyes,” you murmur. 

Spencer shuts them. 

“It’s cold,” you warn, “but it’ll feel nice.” 

Spencer doesn’t care. He waits for you to move. The tea bags you place on his closed eyes feel cold and at first they sting just a touch, perhaps tea finding its way through his lashes, and he can’t confess to noticing a difference in soreness. 

“Hey… what’s this? It looks like it hurts?” you ask, drawing a short line over the side of the bridge of his nose. There’s an indent there that feels like a bruise.

“I fell asleep at my desk with my glasses on,” he says. “They dug in.” 

“You were up late, I’m guessing. Maybe you should go back to the room.” 

“No, I can’t. I’ll be okay. Thank you for the… tea.” 

Your hand rests tentatively against his cheek. He can’t open his eyes to see what you're feeling, and he doesn’t need to. There’s emotion to be felt in your slow strokes, how your thumb rests along his jaw as your nail scratches to the top of his ear, then behind the shell of it. It’s intimate enough to summon a different kind of tiredness. Exhaustion swapped for content. He could sleep in the curve of your palm all day. 

“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’m gonna take them off for a second to check the damage.” 

You take them. Your breath draws near. 

A warmth presses to his forehead atop his left eyebrow. Spencer doesn’t know what it is until your nose graces just above it, and your lips part —it’s a kiss. You’re kissing him sweetly, your fingers sewing through his hair. 

He peels his sore eyes open to look at you. You lean back as unhurried as you’d ferried forward, your hand cradling the nape of his neck. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask. 

Spencer stares up at you. In that moment, tired, aching, and balmed, he’s completely in love with you. You must see a little of it, your lips parting again in an unnamed emotion. It’s sheer luck that you’re the only one awake with him, because if any of his teammates saw the way he was looking at you they’d never let him forget it. And, he gets to see your reaction. Your partial smile. 

“Did that help?” you ask. 

You must mean the tea. “I feel better.” 

“Yeah? Do you…” Your voice turns to cashmere, a thread of bemusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Would another one be okay?” 

Spencer can only nod as you wrap your arms around him and position your mouth at the soft skin where his hair meets his forehead. When you kiss him again, his eyes flutter shut. 

“You really need some help with your insomnia,” you murmur. 

Spencer wonders if maybe you’d want to be that help. You must have melatonin in your kisses.

[bellatrixscurls]

exquisite weather today, no? | part i

warnings : smut, dom anthony and sub reader, pet names, fluff, ben and colin being little shits, reader is kind of naive given the action takes places sometime in the 1810s.

summary : anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand?

a/n: please enjoy part one of my new series until i am done with the james and sirius fic, thank you! <3

“You are telling me that you have not slept in that way with your wife?” Benedict stops in their way down the halls, looking very much concerned. Anthony hums, checking his clock.

“But you’ve been married for almost a year now!” the younger brother exclaims, looking up at the viscount with a frown.

Anthony smirks and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we do things. Together. Alone” his lie is obvious, but still, he leaves Benedict stunned in the middle of the hallway.

When he finally realises that the maids are looking at him funny, Benedict clears his throat and offers them a polite nod, before following Anthony into the drawing room.

Ah, here you are — sitting next to Colin on one of the sofas. With Anthony distracted, speaking to Daphne about the ‘Hearts and Flowers’ ball, he approaches you carefully, sitting beside Colin.

“Exquisite weather today, isn’t it?” he gives you a nod and you mirror his action, smiling, “Indeed it is, Ben.”

Colin looks between the two of you, back and forth, a confused smile gracing his lips. “This is not about the weather, is it?” he whispers through gritted teeth.

Benedict’s smile turns into a grin when the words leave his brother’s mouth. “I am, in fact, glad that you asked, Colin!” he says happily, “I came here because I need some... advice, from Y/n.”

Raising your eyebrows, you look at him in curiosity, “and what could someone such as yourself need advice for?”

Benedict thinks about it for a moment; should he say it? He means no harm but... a little fun won’t hurt... will it?

“Sex” the words leave his mouth and Colin chokes on his tea, eyes wide as he looks back at Benedict. ‘Are you mad?’ he mouths to his brother, but the second-born chooses to ignore him and look back at you. “So. Y/n?”

Benedict finds you looking up at him with wide eyes, lips pursed as you tried to search for that word in your mind, but with no results. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ben.”

This time, it is Colin looking back at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Pardon? Anthony is your husband, there is no such thing as not knowing what sex is.. Does he refer to it differently?”

“You know... when you’re alone, naked, and he towers over you. That thing he puts in between your legs” Benedict quips, already very much content of where Colin has taken the conversation.

“He towers over me?”

The two burst out laughing at your cluelessness and, from the other side of the large room, Anthony’s brows furrow in concern.

“His cock, sweetness. What he has between his legs. I’m sure he spoils the crap out of you with it every night” Benedict taunts and Colin laughs breathily, adding on “or maybe he does not, brother. Seeing that Anthony is so busy all the time. He has more important things to take care of, I suppose.”

At this point, your eyes are teary and your hands are shaking as you listen to your brothers-in-law tease you endlessly. You are not aware of the meaning behind it, though.

In a moment, you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you up against the warmth of someone’s body; Anthony. As you look up at him, his heart shatters and his jaw clenches. “I do not know what you did, but be sure that I will find out. And when I do, I hope you will be taking a walk far away from here. More walks.”

And with that, he takes you away from his brothers and rest of the family, not bothering to excuse himself or you, his face red with hatred. He doesn’t know what his brothers told you, but he is positive that it managed to hurt you... And Anthony cannot bare seeing you hurt.

His hand grips yours tightly, in a possessive manner, not hurting you. He is always gentle with you, no matter the circumstances.

Once you reach the wooden door, Anthony ushers you into the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back, following closely behind before he closes the door.

“What did they tell you, my love?” his tone is alarmed and so are his hands, twitching at his sides.

When your eyes finally meet his, they are still filled with tears, sadness pulling at your heart. “Am I a burden to you? Am I- not pretty enough?”

Anthony’s heart breaks and he realises that he’s never seen you so sad before, not even when you were merely a couple and you had family issues.

“Angel, you have to tell me what it is that they told you. I need to know” he repeats through gritted teeth, ready to walk down those stairs and strangle Benedict and Colin.

“Sex” you repeat Benedict’s words unsurely, glancing up at Anthony. “Told me you are too busy for that. And I- you have never told me of that.”

At this point, his hands fly to your waist and he positions you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your lower body as he turns you to face him entirely. “My darling- They told you that? I-” he seems at a loss for words, and finally, his lips fall into a straight line and he lets go of your hand for a second, walking away from you, and to the floor mirror in his room. You pout as you lose his warmth, and your brows furrow when you notice him pulling the mirror towards you.

He takes his hand in yours and he helps you to your feet, your bottom lip wobbling when you catch sight of your teary eyes, but Anthony notices immediately, and his hands move to hug you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You are so beautiful” he says softly, placing a kiss on the side of your neck, nosing at your skin as he continues speaking, “Undress for me, my love.”

Breathing having picked up, your eyes widen anxiously as your hands find his. “Anthony-” “I want to show you how good I can make you feel. Trust me. Please” he pleads, his eyes looking helplessly into yours. You give a curt nod, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Your shaky hands move to undress yourself and Anthony helps peel off your dress and chemise, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him.

Anthony lets out one of the most obscene sounds when he presses his clothed body to your bare one, and you can feel his erection pressing into your backside, not that you are aware of what that is. Yet.

“Your hand. Move it down your body” he commands rather softly, watching you through the mirror. Your cheeks heat up but you obey nonetheless, your left hand stopping right above your lower stomach, “Lower. Touch your pussy for me, sweetheart.”

“Alright” you take a deep breath, your hand sliding further down your body, resting at your cunt, your warm touch making you shiver. “Feels odd” you whine, eyes pleading as you find his eyes through the mirror.

He bites his lip, his eyes closing for a moment before he is able to look at you again. “It shall feel good in just a moment... Can- Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes, please” you whisper and his hand instantly reaches to your cunt, using both of his hands to spread you open, your folds damp and spread out for him. “S’pretty” you say absentmindedly, dreamily staring at yourself in the mirror.

“Yes it is” he hums, grinning widely against your shoulder. His middle finger taps your clit twice, and he smirks as your body jolts up. “See this, darling? It’s your clit, your little button... You can rub it whenever you wish to feel good.”

“Whenever I wish?” you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yes, sweetness” he hums, his cock hardening at the thought of you wanting to touch yourself, let alone to the thought of him. “And if you want it to feel even better, you must-” with your hole dripping wet, Anthony manages to slip a digit right inside of you, causing you to gasp in both slight pain and excitement. He is finally giving it to you.

“Anthony- what is this?” you ask curiously, Anthony’s finger still inside of you, leaving you to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

“Bit of stimulation before I can give you my cock, bunny. Or, as my dear brothers wish to call it, have sex” he chuckles lowly and starts pumping his finger into you, your fragile body shaking, your knees ready to give out, but you know that he is here to catch you.

“Great” you reply breathily, one of your hands slipping into his.

“You must relax, my love” he tuts, moving his finger in and out slowly, the feeling leaving you bucking your hips into his hand, eyes rolling back. “Let them enjoy the show” he eyes you intently through the mirror.

You look at him rather confused, but his other hand moves to cup your jaw and gently turn your head to the side, towards the door.

A door cracked open. Benedict and Colin.

[feyascorner]

before my nails dig

summary. in which one of Astarion's especially vivid nightmares results in him waking up to Tav at the mercy of his own hands...and the shame that comes with it.

warnings. angst, fluff, comfort

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. someone pls get this man therapy that's all i ask,,, also this takes place sometime during act 3 before you confront cazador!! first post too so pls forgive typos

Had breathing always been this hard?

It's not like he had to breathe anyway. The undead have more perks than one would think, and having no need for air was one that became particularly useful in unexpected ways. Yet as he stands in Cazador's dungeon again--a place he longs to rid from the darkest corners of his mind--all he can do is stumble over his own breath, crimson eyes darting around frantically in search of an exit.

And suddenly, his siblings are at the mercy of the ascension, floating helplessly in the chains of a red aura--Cazador's aura. Despite the chaos, Astarion's eyes narrow in on the one pedestal with no occupant, and he realizes it's his own designated place.

It's getting harder to breathe now.

A breath creeps up behind his shoulder, sending pure dread throughout his entire body as he hears Cazador's voice far too close than he ever wanted it to be.

"Wake up, child. This is all you've ever been meant for."

Astarion whips around and lunges at the man, his hands wrapping viciously around the throat he's fantasized about ripping apart for the past two hundred years. His nails dig into the flesh of the vampire lord's neck, leaving indents in the shape of crescent moons, just enough to cause panic but not enough to draw blood. But Cazador only cackles, his eyes staring right into Astarion's as he hollers over and over again.

"Wake up."

"Wake up!"

"--Astarion!"

The spawn's eyes snap open, recognition finally flooding his expression as he finds himself staring down at you. The very face he sees in the softest of dreams, the lips he longs to kiss at every waking moment, and the eyes that gaze at him with the love and adoration he's been missing for most of his wretched eternal life. Though he'd never admit it, you saved him. From the moment he'd threatened your life at the nautiloid crash to the moment he held you close to his chest in the confines of his tent, he would be by your side until you tired of him and threw him away.

All he wanted--all he could wish for--was only a fraction of it in return. And you'd given him that, and so much more.

But now, you're scared. Terrified, even. Of him.

With horror, he realizes his fingers are digging into your throat. Your precious, tender throat that you offer him not for something in return, but simply because you care for him.

All at once as he tears his hands away, he wants to cut them off and bury himself in his own grave again. He doesn't meet your eyes, afraid of what disgust might be held in them, but he knows you're too kind for that. Too kind to see the kind of monster he is.

You're gasping for your breath, and his stomach knots in a way that would have sent him hurling if it weren't for the fact that he's too occupied drinking in what he's done. To you.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, Astarion," you choke out, perching on both your elbows as you struggle to recover. Even now, all you seem to care about is him. He almost hates you for it--hates you for not stabbing a stake through his heart the moment his hands met your neck. "Astarion-"

"Your throat," he croaks, despising the slight crack of his voice as he reaches for your cheek, but stops before he even gets close. He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth again.

"It's okay, really, I can just get Shadowheart to heal me," you shake your head, and he finds himself in disbelief as you crawl toward him, tossing the sheets to the side. He shifts the slightest away and you understand, immediately sitting back down. You look like you want to say something, but you close your mouth and watch him patiently, as if waiting for him to make the first move.

After a suffocating silence, he turns his back to you. "I'll be sleeping elsewhere tonight."

He intends of never sharing a room with you again, in fear of what he could possibly do to you as a result of his selfish desires to keep you close, and you seem to pick up on the tone of his words. You always do. "Astarion, please."

"I do apologize, sincerely. I'll form a better apology tomorrow, but for now, I'll fetch Shadowheart or that damned wizard and-"

He fights the urge to shiver when he feels your hand on his. How you manage to have such an impact on him with a simple touch he does not know, and does not care because all he wants is more. To pull you close, to beg you to keep him, to use him, to punch him, strangle him for all he cared, in hopes you'll even consider ever speaking to him again. Instead, he turns to look at you.

Gods, you're beautiful.

Even with those terrible bruises he'd go to hell and earth to take back, your beauty in unmatched with anything he's ever seen. Even with the bed hair and the anxiousness pursing your lips, he can't bring himself to look away again.

"Please stay. I'm not mad, nor afraid."

The words sound like honey on your tongue.

"Please," You say again, slowly this time. "Stay."

His chest feels tight, threatening to tear itself apart as his voice comes out in a crooked whisper. "I could have killed you."

"You didn't."

"If you died too, I don't know--what would I even do with myself? What would I-" He hates it when he sounds like this. Vulnerable, or as Cazador liked to call it: pathetic. But he can't help the words tumbling out his blasted mouth with the way you're gazing at him with nothing but worry. Somehow, with you, it feels strange.

Refreshing, almost.

Your hand squeezes around his as if to remind him you're still here. He meets your eyes again and it's all it takes to break what little will he has left, as he lets you pull him close in a crushing hug--one that's all too welcomed.

And as the two of you lie awake in each other's embrace, he thanks all the gods he doesn't worship for putting you on his path.

[soulofapatrick]

Snap into place - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: None really; heated make out session

Notes; debating on a smutty part two...

Y/N's POV

I land softly in the grand dining room of the House of Wind, the air thick with the scent of fresh herbs and a hint of something sweet. Rhysand’s arms release me gently, and I steady myself on my feet, my heart racing from the exhilaration of flying through the skies of Velaris. The room is filled with soft, glowing light, casting an inviting warmth over the beautifully arranged table. A high ceiling adorned with intricate carvings seems to echo with laughter and conversation.

Before I can take in my surroundings fully, a stunning figure catches my eye. A woman with long, flowing blonde hair and striking features stands nearby, wearing a form-fitting red dress that barely conceals anything in the front. It clings to her curves, exuding confidence and allure.

“Ah, my cousin,” Rhysand announces, his voice filled with warmth. “This is Morrigan—though everyone just calls her Mor.”

Before I can respond, Mor crosses the room in a heartbeat, pulling me into a fierce hug. Her laughter is bright and infectious. “Welcome! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice a melodic blend of mischief and sincerity. I feel an instant warmth in her embrace, a sense of belonging I didn’t expect.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as she releases me, taking a step back with a bright smile that makes her appear even more radiant.

Feyre steps forward, her expression friendly and open. “Let me introduce you to my sisters,” she says, guiding me toward a small group nearby.

Nesta stands with her arms crossed, an aura of guardedness surrounding her. She meets my gaze with a sharp look, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. “You’re Rhysand’s guest?” she asks, her tone skeptical.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to match her intensity with a friendly smile.

Elain, their sister, smiles softly at me. She has an ethereal quality, with gentle features that instantly make me feel at ease. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says sweetly, her voice warm and inviting. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

I nod, feeling a flicker of appreciation for her kindness.

Cassian stands next to Nesta, his muscular frame radiating strength and energy. He grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t let her intimidate you,” he teases, motioning toward Nesta. “She’s really just a big softie at heart.”

“Hardly,” Nesta retorts, rolling her eyes but the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

As they all welcome me, I feel a tug in my chest, an inexplicable pull that draws my attention across the room. I turn my head, and my breath catches in my throat. Another Illyrian soldier stands there, much like Cassian but not. His arms are crossed over his toned chest, looking out the large windows at the stars. His dark hair catches the light, and there’s an air of quiet strength about him. He seems lost in thought, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

“Azriel,” Rhys speaks to his friend, his tone light but expectant. “Won’t you greet our guest?”

Azriel turns slowly toward me, and I find myself momentarily entranced. He is classically beautiful, though nearly unreadable, an enigma wrapped in shadows. He stands tall, his dark hair tousled and framing his face perfectly. Golden-brown skin gleams softly in the warm light, and his massive Illyrian wings are folded elegantly behind him, giving him an imposing yet graceful presence. The planes of his face are striking—high cheekbones, a strong jawline—carved by years of rigorous training. His hazel eyes, a blend of green and gold, hold a depth that makes my breath catch.

As our eyes lock, that tugging sensation in my chest intensifies, pulling me closer to him, and then—snap. It’s as if an invisible bond has snapped into place, an undeniable connection that leaves me momentarily off-balance. I stumble, my breath hitching, and I reach out instinctively for support.

Rhysand’s violet eyes widen with concern as he steps closer, his hand steadying me. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

I nod quickly, but my attention is drawn back to Azriel, who steps toward me in large, graceful strides, closing the distance between us with an effortless fluidity that only heightens the charged atmosphere.

He reaches out, taking my right hand in his scarred one, the warmth of his touch igniting a thousand sensations within me. Then, with a deep bow, he bends slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice low and velvety, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

At his touch, a wave of emotions floods through me. I can feel everything he feels—an undercurrent of fear at this unexpected connection, a deep anticipation for my response, and there, beneath it all, an undeniable want and lust that makes my cheeks heat with embarrassment. It’s as if our souls are whispering secrets to one another, threading together in an intricate dance of intimacy and longing.

I try to pull my hand back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions coursing through the bond, but he holds my gaze, and I find myself rooted to the spot, caught in the depths of his hazel eyes. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of sensations that leaves me breathless and wanting more.

I glance down at Azriel’s scarred hands, tracing my thumb along the rough texture of his skin. The warmth of his touch sends a soft shudder through him, and I feel it travel down the bond between us—a wave of heat that washes over me, igniting something deep within. It’s an intimate gesture, one that feels both innocent and charged with unspoken promises.

But suddenly, I feel something else—claws prying at the edges of my mind, a persistent probing that sends a shiver down my spine. I snap my head to the side, my eyes landing on Rhys and Feyre. Rhys stands with his head tilted slightly, a focused expression on his face as he tries to break through my mental shields, searching for what I’m thinking and sensing what’s happening between Azriel and me.

“Rhys!” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “Get out of my head!”

His bright violet eyes widen in surprise, but there’s no malice behind his glare—just concern and curiosity.

I squeeze Azriel’s hand slightly, seeking comfort in his presence as I feel the bond shift, allowing a flicker of privacy to return. With a subtle sigh, Azriel finally lets me go, his grip loosening but the warmth lingering on my skin.

With the weight of too many eyes on me, I feel exposed and overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of it all. I take a step back, my heart racing. “I need some air,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. Without waiting for a response, I move toward the balcony, seeking solace in the open air. The stars shimmer above me, bright and unyielding against the velvet backdrop of the night sky. The cool breeze nips at my skin, sending a shiver through me, and I realize with a pang that I shouldn’t have let Feyre dress me up so much; the delicate fabric feels too thin against the chill.

I take a deep breath, looking up at the stars, trying to quell the turmoil in my head. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined, each twinkling light a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond this moment. The Night Court is far more peaceful than anyone ever says it is, a soothing embrace of tranquility that wraps around me, lulling my racing heart.

But then, just as I begin to gather my thoughts, I feel the presence behind me. Scarred hands rest on the balcony railing between mine, and a solid body presses against me, immediately calming the raging thoughts and anxiety within me. It’s as if now that Azriel has been found as my mate, he can calm me with just a touch. My parents always told me stories about mates, about how their presence could soothe even the most tumultuous of storms.

Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. The heat radiating from him envelops me, grounding me in the moment. I seem to fall back against him instinctively, feeling the solid strength of his body as he envelops me in a comforting warmth. I breathe him in—the scent of dark wood, cool night air, and something uniquely him that sends my heart racing anew.

I take a deep breath, letting my eyes slide shut as the back of my head rests against his shoulder, feeling his presence wrap around me like a protective shroud. I can’t help but open my mind to him, allowing our connection to deepen. I show him every thought I’ve ever had about mates—the way my parents were so perfectly entwined, the love that seemed to glow around them like a beacon. I share my awe from moments ago, the overwhelming rush of emotions when our eyes first met.

I can feel him absorbing my thoughts, understanding the weight of them as they flit through our bond like soft whispers. And as I let go of my worries and fears, I realise that in this moment, with Azriel, everything feels right. The bond between us is no longer just a connection; it is a sanctuary.

When I finally open my eyes, I realize it’s not just Azriel’s presence wrapping around me but his massive wings have unfurled, forming a dark cocoon around us. They block out the view of the dining room and the curious gazes of the others, creating a sanctuary that offers me the privacy I’ve always craved, especially in gatherings like this one. I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and now, in this moment, I’m grateful for his instinct to shield us.

His wings are magnificent—dark and leathery, reminiscent of a bat’s, stretching wide to envelop us in shadow. The texture is smooth yet powerful, each wingbone prominent and elegant. I slowly turn to face him, our bodies close but still connected through the warmth of his wings. His arms remain on the balcony railing, and the soft look on his face takes my breath away. There’s something in his gaze, a mix of vulnerability and fierce desire, that makes my heart race.

I reach out tentatively, fingers brushing against one of his wings. At my touch, he lets out a breathy sound, a mixture of surprise and something deeper. A surge of sexual want travels straight through the bond between us, igniting every nerve ending in my body and leaving me breathless.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flutter open a moment later, the warm color gone so dark they’re almost black, filled with an intensity that makes me shiver. His voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, the words rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret. “I need to kiss you.” There’s a desperation in his tone, almost like a plea, and my hands instinctively reach up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.

In that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of us in our private world. His hands finally move, wrapping around me with a possessive tenderness that makes my heart leap. He pulls me closer, pressing my hips into the balcony railing, creating an exhilarating friction between us. One hand weaves into my hair, the other slips to my thigh, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his waist as if to draw me even nearer.

And then, as if the world outside has disappeared, he dives down and kisses me like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe. His lips are soft yet insistent, sending sparks of electricity through my body. The taste of him is intoxicating—warm and rich, like dark chocolate laced with a hint of something sweet. With every brush of his mouth against mine, I feel my heart race, igniting a fire within me that spreads from my chest to my fingertips, making me dizzy with desire.

I can’t seem to get enough of him. My hands instinctively roam over the contours of his back, searching for a break in his Illyrian armor, eager to find hot, bare golden skin beneath. I’m met only with cool metal and the hard lines of his physique, a growl of frustration escaping me when I can’t reach my destination. The sound draws a deep chuckle from him, vibrating through our connection and sending shivers down my spine.

As we pull apart just enough for him to speak, I’m breathless. “I have waited hundreds of years for you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion and longing. The weight of those words settles over us, filled with the gravity of a bond forged over lifetimes.

Before I can process what he means, he surges forward again, crashing his mouth against mine with a heat and passion that sends my mind reeling. I feel every dip and curve of his body pressed against mine, the solid strength of him overwhelming me in the best way possible. I don’t care how hard the railing is digging into my back; everything Azriel is consuming me, and I want him—no, I need him—right here and right now.

A low sound of agreement rumbles in his chest, deep and resonant, making my insides flutter with excitement. But just as I lose myself in the warmth of his embrace, a sudden clearing of the throat outside our cocoon of wings startles me, and I yelp with fear, pulling back from the kiss.

“Darlings!” comes the voice, sickly sweet and teasing. Rhys’. “As hot and amusing as this is, please do whatever this is somewhere else where your mental shields won’t go down and blast unwanted thoughts my way.”

I glance over at Rhysand, who stands just outside the shadow of Azriel’s wings, a smirk playing on his lips. His violet eyes dance with mischief as he takes in the scene, clearly amused by our moment. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, my heart still racing from both the kiss and the unexpected interruption.

Azriel's presence remains a steady anchor behind me, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me in a comforting embrace. Despite Rhys's teasing, I can’t shake the feeling of exhilaration coursing through my veins.

Without breaking the intense gaze between us, Azriel flips Rhys the bird over his shoulder, a smirk dancing on his lips. It’s a surprisingly playful gesture from someone as serious as him, and it sends a flutter of laughter through me, lightening the tension in the air.

Then, with a sudden and fluid motion, he scoops me up in his arms, mirroring how Rhysand had carried me here. The world shifts around us as he cradles me against his chest, his hold firm and secure. My heart races, not from the shock of being lifted, but from the thrill of what’s to come.

He strides out of the House of Wind, his powerful legs propelling us into the night, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his dark wings. I let my head rest against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and night air, a mixture that calms me even as my pulse quickens. Anticipation and want settle deep in my bones, intertwining with the warmth radiating from him, making it hard to think straight.

What does my mate have planned for us once he gets me to his bed? The mere thought sends butterflies swirling in my stomach, a mix of excitement and nerves. I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling of safety in his arms, relishing the electric connection that pulses between us.

With each step flap of his wings he takes, I feel the promise of the night stretching out before us, a canvas of endless possibilities. All I can think about is how I’ve finally found him—my mate—and everything is about to change.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[tiredofthehumanlife]

I like our kitchen is that okay with you?

Barbie dolls: five hargreeves x gn! reader

Words: 3.6k words

Summary: you guys are just lovey dovey while getting ready for Grace's birthday party

Warnings: set in those few good minutes of s4 when everything was fun and nice, insinuated you're an early riser, Viktor doesn't get kidnapped everything is perfect, you sleep on your stomach now, five touches your butt, mention of nonsexual nudity, you lean your head of Five's shoulder, insinuated you don't want kids but five could be joking who knows, you work at the library now and are a massive music freak, Fives a thrifting GOD, pretty much just docile and sweet five and you, five is still at the CIA oops sorry, you're kinda a passenger royalty Five will not let you open a single door, mentions that you have a bag but its not specific on what kind could be a purse could be a backpack could be a fucking draw bag tbh, you are fun, okay bye

Request: dude stop snooping on me how did you know it was a request

Five was the worst to wake up next to. He snored with his mouth open, drool slipping down to his pillowcase. Somewhere during the night, he flung his hand towards your face, pushing the blanket over your eyes. His hand was still resting on your forehead, palm to the ceiling. Somehow, one of his legs was hanging off the edge of the bed while the other was thrown over your butt. You thought about not sleeping on your stomach anymore so he’d stop kicking you on the ass at 2:46 am every night, but you worried you’d miss his contact. You had one hand resting over his heart, and as gentle and regular as your position seemed Five made up for it with his 'I'm a fallen spider’ position every night. Five jerked in his sleep, knocking the back of his hand into his chin. You sat up, glancing around the room.

With sleep clouding your vision, you gently move Five into a slightly less strange position. You pulled both his hands to his stomach, letting them rest there. You moved his one leg away from your behind, letting the other stay where it was halfway off the bed. You got out of bed, tucking the blankets back in on Five’s sides so he wouldn’t feel the difference in warmth. You still weren’t entirely sure if Five knew he slept so weirdly, you woke up before him every day.

You watched Five from the doorway. He smiled in his sleep, something fun must be happening in his dream. He snuggled further into his pillow, letting out a sigh. You headed towards the kitchen, playing your music very quietly as you started breakfast.

This was a pretty regular routine. By the time you were setting the plates down on the breakfast table, Five was stumbling through the doorway. You glanced up at him. Five squinted at the light peeking through the curtains from over the kitchen sink. He looked around the room, his shoulders sinking when he found you. Five headed straight for you, reaching his hands out for your face. He greeted you with a kiss. You pulled back from the kiss with a smile.

“You know, I never move. I don’t know why you look around the room like you’ve never been here before.” You said, pulling his hands away from your face to hold them. Five shrugged.

“Maybe I like looking at our kitchen.” You hummed at him, pulling away to settle into your chair. As you both ate breakfast, you studied the kitchen more than usual.

It wasn’t anything crazy. A strange part of your brain, that you didn’t like to talk about much, assigned colors to lots of things. For example, the number seven was orange however eight was green. If you had to pick a color for your kitchen you’d pick that weird middle ground between yellow and orange that sounded like swings squeaking when you tried to fly as a kid and staring up at the trees and watching the sunlight shine through the leaves.

Your kitchen was in a small rectangle shape. The cabinets were brown and a small rounded dining table was shoved into the back right corner. On the one long side of the rectangle were the sink, oven, refrigerator, and many cabinets top and bottom. It had a window over the sink, so you could peer into the backyard as you did the dishes. The other long side of the room was the open, welcoming the sight of your living room. A small line of bottom cabinets jutted out on that side along the line where a wall would be. You never added barstools on the side in the living room but you could’ve.

As of right now, it was that time in the morning when it had the calming feeling of the night but the warming sun of the morning. The light was peeking through the kitchen window, shining through the floral curtains Five found at some estate sale. The light caught in the beaded curtain you made and hung behind the small floral curtains and made colors dance on the kitchen counter and couch arm.

There were pictures of you and Five hung on the refrigerator with tiny magnets that had different foods on them. Once again Five found them at some estate sale. You looked down at your plate, remembering the tablecloth Five brought home from a thrift store because it was your favorite color with the tiniest embroidery of your favorite animal.

You leaned forward over the table, knocking Five’s chin up, and capturing his lips in a kiss. It was kind of gross. He had a bit of syrup on the side of his mouth and he tasted faintly of bacon. You settled back into your chair, continuing your breakfast as if nothing happened. Five squinted at you, wiping at the corner of his mouth and sticking his thumb in his mouth. You grimaced.

“What was that for?” Five asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know, I like looking at our kitchen.” Five stared at you for a moment like he was trying to read your mind. He hummed, paying his attention back to his food.

A few thirty minutes later, Five was rushing out the door while fixing his tie. You followed after him, half-ready yourself, your shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes.

“Briefcase?”

“Hand.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“New toothpaste and everything.”

”Lunch?”

“Other hand.”

“Coffee?”

“They have some at work.”

“You hate that coffee.”

“I can’t hear you over me about to be late.” You glared at Five’s sass. He made a frown at your look. “Sorry.”

“Socks?” Five stuck his foot out at you, showing off his lovely charcoal grey socks. ”Summer colors, beautiful.” You said sarcastically.

“It's the CIA, my love, not a Betsy Johnson fashion show.” Five said, slipping his shoes on as fast as he could. He glanced up at you through his mop of hair.

“Did you do your hair?” Five glared at you. You dropped it, moving on to the next thing.

“Wallet? Keys? ID card?” You asked. Five pulled his other shoe on, standing up straight. He faced you again, smiling as he leaned down to grab his suitcase.

“It’s fine, baby. Just like literally every other morning. I’m not going to forget anything. It’s basically impossible.” Five said. You followed him to the door, holding it open as you waved him down the hallway. Once he turned the corner, you returned inside. You furrowed your eyebrows when you felt like you were missing something. Chalking it up to you still not being dressed for work, you headed back for your bedroom. You stopped in the living room when you heard the front door open. You walked back to the front door, bumping into FIve halfway there.

“Turns out I can forget things.” Five muttered.

“It was your keys wasn’t it?” Five shook his head. He leaned down and gently pulled you into a kiss. He pulled you closer by the front of your pajama shirt. You would’ve returned the ferocity, but you knew better than to wrinkle his suit. You held your hands up in the air next to your head but still leaned forward towards him. Five pulled back, still keeping small contact.

“I have to go.” He said, muffled by your lips. You wouldn’t have understood him if you hadn’t had this problem multiple times before.

“You have to go.” You repeated, and yet still leaning forward. FIve hummed.

“I have to go.” He said again, although there he was still keeping his eyes closed and lips pressed to yours. He pulled back, finally breaking whatever spell you two were under.

“I have to go.” He said for a third time, walking backward towards the door. You followed after him, nodding along. Five stopped in the doorway, staring at you. You motioned for him to go. He sighed.

“I love you.”

“Go.” Five nodded, slipping outside and down towards the driveway. You stood by the door again, watching him walk towards the car. You are startled when you realize you didn’t say it back.

“I love you!” You yelled after him, watching him spin around and blow you a kiss before settling into his car.

Hours and hours later, you were shelving books, as your average librarian does. You had one of your headphones in and playing your music. It was quiet, as many libraries are. You pushed another book into the right spot, before turning back to the cart. You pushed it down the aisle between the shelves. You heard the bell over the door ring. You abandoned your cart and moved through the shelves to get to the front door. When you got close enough you knew they could hear you, though not see you yet, you spoke up.

“Welcome, Let me know if you need anything.” You said before turning the corner. Lovely Five was waiting by the door with a bouquet. He was still in his work suit, though his briefcase must still be in the car. He smiled when he saw you. You walked the rest of the way to the front door, greeting him by wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Whatcha doing here?” You asked, smiling at him. You hoped most of the patrons were in the back searching for a book. Five moved the flowers away you two so you wouldn't crush them. He leaned towards you, pecking your lips.

“I came to pick you up. Thought my car would be better than the bus.” Five said. You hummed. You sighed and pretended like you weren't giddy just being around him.

“Yeah, I guess. My shift ends in 15 so start reading.” You gestured towards the shelves. Five nodded and headed off for the nonfiction section. You finished shelving and were riding home in Five’s car in no time. He brought the flowers for you, so they rested in your lap on the ride back.

By the time you were pulling into the driveway, you had two hours to get ready. Five ran as fast he could to get your side of the car. You stared at him confused as you opened your door. Five slapped your hand away from the door, shooing your head back in the car. He shut your door before pulling it open again and holding his hand out to you. You glared at him before giving him your hand. Five walked with you into the house before you split up after taking your shoes off.

You headed off to the living room to replace the dying flowers in the reading nook. Five headed off to change out of his Work Suit. You both got ready, moving at your own pace. You shared a shower in which Five watched you with a loving smile as you danced ridiculously to your music. Also where Five remembered how much he missed you shampooing his hair.

Then you were pacing around the house as you got into the outfit you planned your head for the party. Five skittered past you when you were working on transferring everything you needed from your work bag to your ‘I'm going to hand this to Five once we get there so it's no longer my problem and I can play in the ball pit’ bag. He slid into the bathroom with his socked feet and when you heard the hair dryer turn on, you focused back on what you were doing.

You talked yourself out of taking a book. (Very hard) Then you were being rushed towards the door by Five as if he wasn't the one stuck in the bathroom for 45 minutes with the blow dryer going. You pulled your shoes on as you stumbled out the door. Five locked the door behind you as you both jogged down the steps.

“Do you think Grace will like her present?” You asked, now worried she might hate what was inside the wrapped box in your arms. Five snorted, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

“Well if she doesn’t, I know Diego will like it.” Five said, taking the box from your hands to set it in the trunk. You hummed. It did make you feel a little bit better. You thought about Diego gasping with joy louder than Grace and stealing the box from her hands. You doubted he would do that but it was fun to imagine his dramatics. You settled into the passenger side. Five handed you the aux cord as he pulled out of the driveway. You took it from him, imeditally plugging it into your phone and playing your music. Five bobbed his head along while you sang along. He’d even throw in a hand movement sometimes.

When you reached the party you were just barely 15 minutes late. Shocking. You took he box inside from the trunk, letting Five hold the doors open for you. Five lead you through the building by your elbow. You smiled when you saw familiar faces. Diego came over to you two first. He took the box out of your hands, staring down at it in confusion.

“What did you guys get her? An entire litter of puppies and a bike?” Diego joked. You waved him off.

“No that’s ridiculous, the bike is in a different box.” You joked making Diego grimace.

“Oh, Ha-ha,” Diego said sarcastically taking the box towards the already growing gift table. Five stood next to you, shoving his hands into his pockets. Your shoulders slumped.

“I thought it was funny.” You muttered. Five rubbed your upper arm, cooing.

“It was hilarious, I almost pissed my pants.” Five said, pecking your cheek. You gave him a small smile before patting his side. He slipped his arm around your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a weird-sided hug. You pulled away, gripping onto his hand and leading him to the next family member you had to say hi to.

You approached the group of Luther, Klaus, Ben, and Claire. They were all facing each other, making a circle. You stood behind Luther.

“Excuse me, Sir. You can't be unattended without a child.” You said, raising your pitch so you sounded squeaky and, quite frankly, annoying. Luther turned his head around with a confused face. Once he spotted you, he smiled brightly and wrapped you in a hug. You dropped Five’s hand to hug him back.

“Oh it's so good to see you,” Luther said, pulling away from you. He moved out of the way, letting the rest of the group see you. Klaus cheered and clapped his hands. Claire immediately pulled you into a hug while Ben let out a groan. You stood back next to Luther.

“I’m here, too.” Five said, moving to squeeze into the circle between Luther and Klaus. Luther patted him on the shoulder. Klaus reached over and shooed Five away with his gloved hands without touching him. Five glared at Klaus. Luther pulled the conversation back to the center.

“So what are you two up to now?” Luther asked, looking between you and Five. You shrugged.

“Domestic things. Decorating our house, going to work, and trying new recipes on the weekends. It’s actually quite nice being a human and not in the center of an apocalypse.” you said. It actually felt really fucking nice that your biggest problem was what color to paint the bathroom. Five hummed.

“Right, so when are you two going to make me an uncle?” Klaus asked. You weren't entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Five scoffed.

“Please, we’re too old for kids.” Five said, glaring at Klaus.

“Not to mention you're already an uncle.” You added. Klaus pouted at you two and hovered his hand over Claire's shoulder to simulate a pat. Five moved away from Luther's side and stood next to you instead.

“You know he's coming up on three years of sobriety?” you gasped at Claire. Five leaned forward as Luther smiled.

“Really? Klaus, that's amazing. I'm so proud of you. You should throw a party or something.” You said. Klaus shrugged. He shook his head.

“It's really no big deal,” Klaus muttered.

“Yes, it is. You should be proud of yourself Klaus, sobriety is hard work.” Five said. Five reached around the back of your arm and hugged your arm to his chest. Luther nodded.

“I'm very proud of you, I know that must've been a struggle,” Luther said. Klaus shrugged again. You hummed.

“Right well me and Claire are going to plan a celebration for your three years whether you like it or not.” You said. Klaus turned to Claire and shook his head no with a grimace. Claire started nodding back at him with an evil smile.

“Yes. Yep, uh-huh. It's happening.” Claire said. You tugged on Five's elbow.

“Right well, we have to go say hi to the others.” Five said, following after you as you walked away. You and Five split up. You went around to his siblings and had long talks with each of them over their current jobs, hobbies, and problems. Five went to find someone to complain to and find a beverage. The party flew by as you two went around to say hello to everyone. As soon as you were wrapping up your conversation with Viktor, it was present time.

Everyone circled the present table and more importantly Grace. Grace stared at the large pile of gifts and turned back to Diego and Lila.

“I don’t know which one to open first,” Grace said.

“Oo ours, Grace. Open the one from us.” You said. Five moved closer to you, holding your hand again. Grace nodded and pulled down the box covered in wrapping paper that Five picked out. Grace tore through the paper like it was butter and handed the scraps to Diego. The box was blank and held together with tape she could tear through. Grace pulled the box open and gasped when she could see inside.

She reached inside, pulled out two of the laser tag toy guns, and pointed them to the sky pulling the triggers over and over again. She laughed maniacally at the sky. Diego and Lila laughed. Grace spun around and pointed the guns at her parents, pretending to fire again.

“We got enough for the twins, Grace, and you guys so fun for the whole family!” Five shouted over the chaos. You smiled at Diego and Lila fighting back against Grace, turning her attention back to the presents. You leaned your head on Five’s shoulder. He hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Presents flew by after that, everyone else gave her lame presents and you’re definitely not biased in saying that at all.

“Okay kids, this is your last chance to play. The parents are going to clean up and then we’re going to leave so play now.” Diego shouted over the short heads of children running around him. You gasped and pulled yourself away from Five. You handed him your bag, which he swung over his shoulder. You leaned down and slipped your shoes off, handing them to Five as well. He kissed you goodbye as you sprinted off towards the ball pit.

You played with Grace in the ball pit as the lame adults were cleaning up. You pulled Grace up into the air. making her squeal before dropping her back into the ball pit.

Grace quite enjoyed playing with you and about thirty minutes later, you were out of breath and even Grace was tired. Five walked over to the ball pit, standing next to the edge. He held his hand out, helping you out of the pit. You pulled Grace over the edge. She ran off to Lila, who spun her around in a circle.

“Did you have fun in the ball pit?” Five asked. You knew he was probably being sarcastic. He leaned down towards the floor with your shoes. You leaned back against the ball pit wall as he gently lifted your leg to pull your shoe on.

“Yes! It was amazing, you should’ve joined us.” Five glanced up at you, shaking his head. He finished with the other shoe and stood up straight.

“Not really my style.” He muttered. You rolled your eyes. You rudely mimicked his voice. Five latched onto your hand and dragged you towards the door.

When you finally made it home, you both undressed into your pajamas in a speedy fashion. You faceplanted into your shared bed, groaning. You rubbed your arms around in the blankets.

“I missed you.” You whispered to the sheets. You felt Five settle on top of you, using you as a full-body pillow. It was a little difficult to breathe with a full-grown person on your back but you’d let it slide.

“I was only gone for three minutes. And you say I’m the clingy one.” Five muttered, pulling his head over your shoulder and kissing your cheek. You hummed.

“Still think you are.” FIve groanded at you. “Not that it’s bad, I love you being clingy. At least you’re not being a dickhead. Well, more than usual.” You said, leaning over to kiss the side of his mouth. Five tried to hide his smile, knocking his nose into the side of your neck.

A few moments went by where you and Five just sat together. You nudged him off your back. He slid off your back, laying next to you instead. He scooted closer, throwing his arm over your back. You pulled your arm over his side, squeezing him even closer. Five sighed, his weight sinking into you in relaxation. You were so glad it was a Friday because tomorrow you could wake up and stay in bed with Five for hours. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him squeeze you closer.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Older!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Bartender!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A military lieutenant closing in on retirement, a younger, beautiful bartender, when you and Lt. Riley meet there is an instant chemistry, though it doesn't really go anywhere as he thinks himself a little too mature for you... until one night he stays at the bar later than he ever has and gets caught in a storm. What will happen after closing time?

Word Count: 9.4 k

Warnings:

The night that Lt. Simon Riley walked into the local bar for the first time started off as any ordinary night would. A man of quiet and solitude, spending nights alone in his room were more of his style, but the older that the introverted military officer got the more a stiff drink at the end of a long week seemed to hit better and since there was usually no liquor to be found on base, the next best thing was the bar not a ten minute drive away…well, seven if he took his motorcycle. 

Accompanied by a few of his long time colleagues he stepped into the establishment with nothing else on his mind other than wanting a bit of liquor to ease the ache in his sore limbs and to take the stress of daily life off his mind. The place was small, the locals that seemed to fill the space were nothing noteworthy, but as soon as he settled in at the table the group had chosen and he caught sight of the beauty behind the counter pouring the drinks with a gentle smile on her lips his mind went blank as his heart leapt in his chest.

The lieutenant had done much in his long career and he found it odd how he couldn’t get himself to even walk up to the bar to order from you as a cold sweat broke out across his body. Was he really going soft the older he got? It took him several minutes of self coaxing to get him to actually get out of his seat. Thank fuck for his customary mask otherwise the product of his racing heart would be plastered all over his face for everyone to see. 

As he stepped up to order and your attention landed on him, all the military training in the world didn’t prepare him for how to keep himself composed in that moment. Even that first conversation you had that night left him reeling. You asked about his mask in the most casual way and something inside him decided to play things up. He told you how he needed it to fend off stares whenever he was in public. 

Trying not to chuckle at that curious furrow in your brow as if skeptical about how a 6’4” man wearing a painted balaclava wouldn’t draw attention, he continued by saying how he was just too good looking to go out without it. The laugh that followed, that genuine wide smiled laugh that you desperately needed after the awful night you had had was already working its magic on him.

He was addicted to your company from that moment on. A strange occurrence for someone who had previously been completely to spend time with no one but himself.

Seeing soldiers around wasn’t strange being near a military installation, you’d gotten used to it rather quickly, but the lieutenant was no ordinary serviceman. Skull masked and huge he was hard to miss, yet what surprised you more than any of that was how his personality was much more gentle than what his appearance would lead you to believe. He was a man of few words, but the ones he gave you were always kind and even sometimes funny and in time you have come to enjoy him being around.

Time has passed, but not much about that has changed. It is always a toss up whether you’ll see him that week or if his presence won’t be around for some time, but you swear that whenever he reappears with his war buddies in tow and those dark eyes find you standing in your customary place behind the bar, the tension in his shoulders eases and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly through the visible gap in his mask as if his mouth has suddenly upturned. You convince yourself that it’s just for the commodities you supply…and yet… that doesn’t stop the way your heart thumps a little harder every time you see him.

It’s dumb, a stupid crush that won’t lead to anything anyway. He’s older, more mature and a bit intimidating, what would he want with someone like you? A man who’s seen the world would surely find a local bartender boring. Still, you can’t help the excitement that fills you up when he returns and immediately seeks out your company for a bit of chitchat and jokes. 

You try to hide away your infatuation as best as you can and soon you feel comfortable enough to call him an acquaintance, maybe even a friend. Just a friend, right? Just a friend.

Don’t mind the fact that you can’t stop yourself from sneaking glances over at him whenever he lifts the lip of that black mask up off the lower half of his face to take a drink. It doesn’t distract you, you haven’t accidentally spilled liquor all over the bar because of it. It’s the only part of him you have ever seen besides his eyes, the only part of him that you truly know, and yet it is more than enough to fuel a certain overwhelming yearning for him.  

Wishful thinking, you constantly remind yourself because nothing is ever going to come of it.

You almost trick yourself into believing that’s true until you notice that the usual routine begins to change. The last couple of weeks he’s been sitting solely at your bar rather than with his friends, lingering until the last minute where they have to shout his name before he decides to leave. It causes your mind to swirl with the possibilities of what this might mean.

Especially tonight.

There is something about tonight that seems different. It’s a fleeting tension in the air, a feeling that permeates the atmosphere inside the bar until you can’t seem to shake it from your mind no matter how you try to distract yourself from it. Is it exhaustion? You try to convince yourself that you’ve just worked a long, busy shift without a break and that’s what got you feeling off, but still something about it won’t quit playing through your thoughts.  

Last call, last rounds, and the bar is slowly emptied out of its patrons one by one until only a few straggling regulars remain inside while they finish up their drinks along with their conversations. Your eyes flit down to the end of the bar and notice that he’s still there. At the counter perched on a barstool, a nearly empty tumbler of whiskey still resting in his large hand, sits the masked military official. 

As you wipe down the glasses you’ve just washed and put them up, you can’t help the quickening in your chest as you keep stealing sneaky glances down towards him. He’s never stuck around this long; you watched as his crew left him behind and yet he doesn’t look too concerned or eager to follow them. Not that you’re complaining, far from it, but you can’t help being curious about how long he’s going to stick around. Could he still be here when the rest leave?  

…please…

You need a plan, something you can put together quickly to make him stay. Every second that passes that he doesn’t move gives you more time to think, even with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Deep rumbles off in the distance can be heard over the music idly playing through the speakers, the first signs of an early storm about to roll in at any moment and that sparks an idea. If he can just stay past closing time, you know how to tempt him into sticking around. You just hope the weather will cooperate with what you need it to do.

From within the shadow around his eyes created by his mask, that autumn-colored gaze follows you carefully as you move about tidying the bar while he pretends to nurse his drink that he hasn’t taken a real sip from in almost half an hour. An empty glass won’t give him an excuse to stay; he just has to wait a little longer and he’ll be the only one left. 

Then what? The lieutenant hasn’t thought that far ahead. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to leave.

He brings the cup up to his mouth and holds it there, watching discreetly over the rim as you finish up the tasks you can while patrons still inhabit the space. Setting the glass back down as if he’s taking a sip, Lt. Riley pulls out his phone and the screen blooms alive. The light illuminates his eyes as he immediately draws them to the clock at the top left hand corner. It’s less than ten minutes till close and then it’ll just be you and him.

He continues to follow you with his eyes as you leave your spot to persuade the few drunkards still dawdling about the place to head on home to sleep off their hangovers before they get caught in the rain, but you never once make the same request of him even as you pass him to lead the stragglers out into the night. Just as the last patron leaves out the door you are holding open the tinkling sound of rain hits his ears, followed by the distinct click of the door’s lock engaging, and he takes the last swig of brown, biting liquid to finish off the glass before setting it back down on the counter just as you reappear at his side. 

Coffee eyes dart up to yours only to get locked in their gaze as he carefully lowers his mask back over that chiseled, stubble-covered chin and a subtle change in your expression catches his attention. It is fleeting, but for a second the way you look at him with those wide, doe eyes he swears there is a hint of worry in their depths. 

Is he planning on leaving now? No, you need to put your half-baked plan into action fast or you might lose the moment and you don’t know if you will get an opportunity like this again. The rain outside is picking up heavier now, which gives you courage to follow through with this. 

There is a noticeable flush in your cheeks now and he likes the color it adds to your face. He wonders what’s got you all worked up and secretly hopes that it is in fact him, even if he quickly dismisses the idea before it can take hold of him.

“Guess you’ll be wantin’ me gone so ya can finish up,” he says from behind the fabric, though he makes no attempts to stand.

“Who said anything about leaving?” you reply with a smile as you step up to the counter beside him and reach over the cool, sealed wooden surface of the bar to grab you a fresh glass and the bottle of bourbon he’s been drinking that you’ve purposely kept close by. 

Your items procured, you move to the seat next to him and sit down. “Join me for a drink while we wait out the storm. I know you drove your bike here, you don’t want to go out in this. Unless you have somewhere to be, that is.”

He doesn’t say a word, just stares at you as you tip the lip of the bottle into your glass before reaching for his, pulling it to you, and doing the same. He watches the amber liquid pour and swirl into the bottom of his cup and still makes no attempts to exit his seat. You take it as a good sign. “On the house,” you nod towards the vessel of liquid as you hand it back.

Well, no sense in wasting good bourbon; he might as well stay for a bit. Only for the bourbon, he tells himself, only for the bourbon and to wait out the rain and nothing else. 

The sound system continues to cycle slowly through random songs as you raise your glass to him before downing the first swig with gusto, only a slight wince on your face as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. The lieutenant re-situates his mask above his lips and follows your lead. The moment the glass is back on the bar you quickly take it from him and set up another round between your cups before he can object.

“Like a woman who can hold her liquor,” he chuckles quietly and you match his energy with a giggle. 

“Then you’d really like me cause I can handle a lot more than that,” you pick as you place his glass back in front of him. Your heart pounds hard against your ribs as you surprise yourself at how easily the words flew from your lips.

He brings the glass up and keeps it pressed to his mouth for a moment without taking a sip so that he won’t choke from the unexpected innuendo he thinks he’s detected in your comment. Won’t do to look the fool if it actually isn’t there and he’s reading too much into things. 

Heavier still the rain pounds on the roof as it pours down outside, making the small space feel entirely secluded from the outside world. Here within the walls of the bar it’s like you two are the only people left in the world as everything else is cut off by a blanket of precipitation. You turn your attention to the doors to watch the droplets hit against the glass as you breathe deeply through your nose in a vain attempt to slow the racing in your chest.  

“It’s really takin’ a poundin’ out there,” the lieutenant comments as he follows your gaze and you have to clamp your mouth shut as the way he says the sentence has you dangerously close to accidentally admitting that the weather doesn’t have to be the only thing that could be taking a pounding right now.

You swallow hard as you turn back to him and again grab the bottle of liquor. “Guess we’ll be here a while,” you nervously chuckle, waiting for him to finish his second round so you can set up another before tending to your own glass.  

“Ya keep pourin’ free drinks and tha time’ll pass just fine,” he returns as he reaches for the drink and the back of his fingers accidentally brush over the skin of your knuckles before you can pull your hand fully away from the glass.

That stoic military man plays it off as if the minimal contact doesn’t feel like the magnitude from the collision of two universes and it hasn’t just made his heart forcefully restart. You notice his subtle readjustment in his seat and you pretend you aren’t struggling to even pick up your own glass as your limbs turn to jelly and your breath catches in your throat. An uncommon silence falls over the two of you as you both sit facing forward, staring at your drinks and yet you are sure that Lt. Riley is somehow closer to you than he had just been moments ago.

Three shots in and the alcohol is starting to play its deadly tricks. You really shouldn’t be doing this on an empty stomach, but you don’t want him to leave, not yet. The quiet tension that fills the short space between your bodies is thick enough to cut with a knife and the impulsive thoughts that are starting to swirl around in your head are becoming harder and harder to tune out.

Just watch what you say and don’t let the liquor get to your head, you coax yourself internally. If you can just hold it all in, you won’t risk making a fool of yourself. You need to say something, strike up some nonchalant conversation like you usually do; that should help with that ache starting to form inside. 

But as you turn to face him, your eyes get caught in following the line of his strong jaw up to the curvature of his mouth. You begin committing all the subtle details of the lower half of his face to memory now that you are at his side and can notice the beautiful imperfections of those visible features without the distraction of customers to take your attention away: the hints of gray peeking through the hair in his stubble, the mature lines around his mouth, the scars that are aged and faded. He raises his glass to his mouth and you watch the plump flesh of his full lips wrap around the rim in such a sensuous way that your mind instantaneously is overwhelmed with the need to become an inanimate object. 

Squeezing your thighs together a little tighter, you scramble to find an ounce of sanity to cling to while you fight off the desperate thoughts at the back of your mind as Lt. Riley sets his glass back down on the bar top. He feels your gaze boring into him and something about that tonight is sending him into a tailspin that causes him to take a moment to steady his voice from being influenced by the quickening in his pulse before he can ask what it is that’s causing you to stare.  

“Ya alright there?” he poses the question as he turns to face you and he can’t help but get caught up in the look in your eyes, curious about that shine in your dilated pupils as they focus on the bottom of his face.

That’s when it happens; a momentary lapse of judgment, that’s all it takes, one split second where you let your resolve slip and suddenly it isn’t just your eyes that are on his lips anymore. Leaning up into him, you meet his warm mouth in a hazy, quick embrace that makes your mind swim in ecstasy until you aren’t sure how much time has passed. Then all at once you are jolted back into reality as the heat from his breath makes the skin on your lips tingle and the horrid realization of what it is you’ve done slams into your chest with the force of a freight train.

In a flash you break away with an awkward chuckle at the ready to disguise your true feelings by being humorous. “Shit,” you say through your laugh as you place a hand to your temple, “looks like I’m a bit more tired than I thought. Liquor has gone straight to my head.”

Your mind is frantic to come up with something to get you away until you can calm down, but the lingering feeling of the friction of his lips against yours still permeates your every thought. Still it seems your feet know what to do without even thinking as you are now standing. “Let me go clean myself up while you finish your drink, yeah?” you suggest as the man beside you sits silent. “Like I said, it’s on the house, so feel free to leave even if I’m not back once you’re done.”

Those full lips you had just been pressed against stay closed and you don’t give him any chance to respond as you immediately turn tail to head straight for the restrooms at the other side of the bar without a single look back, that euphoric feeling slipping away as anxiety settles itself in your heart. It is probably just a bit of paranoia, but you swear you can feel his eyes staring holes into your back as you finally reach the door and quickly pop inside.  

The hinges on the bathroom door screech through the rust that covers them as you rush to step inside and head straight for the solitary sink near the back wall of the tiny, confined space. “What the fuck was that?” you question yourself as if you have any idea of why you would do such a thing. 

You turn on the taps and cup your hands under the cool water to gather enough in your palms to splash into your face. Fuck, you need to calm down and get a hold of yourself. Blindly reaching for the paper towel dispenser to your right, you grab a fistfull of those coarse bits of paper and pat the liquid off your cheeks before your eyes clock your reflection in the mirror in front of you. Those glistening irises stare back at you as your hands grip onto the sink as if it will help you in taking deep breaths. The blush in your cheeks has blossomed quite bright, bright enough that there is no hiding it even after the few minutes you’ve stood there just inhaling and exhaling. 

Great, you’ve probably run off the one person you actually enjoyed seeing around this shithole by losing yourself in the moment. Is it going to be worth it when he decides to avoid you from now on? That’s the only logical response you can imagine from the events that just took place. Closing your eyes tight, you hang your head with an exasperated sigh as you let the negative self-talk run its course, hoping that at least by the time you finish he will be gone and you can let yourself wallow in shame alone. 

Back outside the bathroom, the lieutenant’s silent gaze follows you all the way until you disappear behind the barrier clearly marked for the toilets. He grips back on and holds tight to the nearly empty glass as he finally turns his attention back around to the rest of the room before him and licks the length of his bottom lip heavily with the end of his tongue to catch the fleeting taste of your kiss as he sits in stunned silence, scrambling to take in all that has just transpired. 

With a few deep breaths inhaled, he throws back the rest of his drink and sets the glass down on the bar with a muted clink for a final time and turning his head back towards the restroom, he pulls his mask down over his face and gets to his feet to slowly head for the door.

It isn’t clear how much time passes before your ears pick up a sound that you do not expect.

Out of your thoughts you hear the familiar squeak of the door hinges and your eyes shoot open to instantly drift towards the source as that can only mean one thing now that the bar is shut down. There, standing noiselessly on the inside of the closed door and taking up most of the frame, is the imposing figure of the one and only Lt. Riley. 

The faint bit of sultry music filtering into the bathroom from the speakers outside the door fills the otherwise quiet of the space as you and that hulking military man simply stare at one another waiting to see who will be the first one to speak. After a few seconds though, the lieutenant makes the first move and slowly crosses the short length of the room with a calm and calculated precision. 

He comes to stop within a few feet of you and finally you find your voice. Those striking eyes never leave yours as he looks down at you through the space in his concealing balaclava and try as you might you can’t read what’s being expressed in his gaze. Is it anger, is it disgust, is it…something else? You don’t know, but you expect the worst and God do you hope you can fix this. 

“Listen, I am so sorry about what I did back there. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable,” you instantly stammer out another apology, only this time with more sincerity. “I genuinely don’t know what came over me to do that to you; we’ve only ever been friendly and I know I’ve overstepped. I won’t make excuses for my behavior, but I promise it won’t happen again. I would just hate to know that I made you feel too awkward to come back.”

There is a pause as his sight stays locked onto your face for what feels like an eternity as he silently tries to discern something within your eyes, a spark that he saw back at the bar, until he finally speaks for the first time since the incident. 

“Did ya not wanna do it?” he asks in a murmur, almost as if he is uneasy to learn the answer. 

The question catches you off-guard, being the only thing that your mind had not anxiously thought could be asked. What are you supposed to say? Under his tender stare you scramble mentally for a believable fib that you can pull off in your distracted state, but the only thing you have is the truth. Goddammit…why can’t you lie to him?

“I- I did, I do, but…” you say in an attempt to explain yourself, but his action causes the words to get lost on your tongue. 

This is not something that Lt. Riley is used to doing, he feels a bit too old and out of place for this sort of thing, but if there is one lesson that the seasoned military man in him always remembers, it’s that when you see an opportunity, you take it and so he moves in until his boots are nearly touching the tip of your shoes. Raising his hand to your head, he brushes his rough fingers through a few loose strands of hair hanging down around your face to tuck them delicately back behind your ear. More of your warm cheek is revealed to his touch and he wastes no time in placing his coarse hand to rest up against it. 

The sound of his voice hits your ears, but your mind is too numb to make out the words as you continue to stare up into his face while his thumb risks a few gentle strokes along the contour along your jaw. You desperately try to speak up, wanting to ask what he said, but your breath gets caught somewhere in your throat as that tender bit of intimacy disrupts all the involuntary processes that normally conduct themselves to keep you functional. 

Being here with him in the soft flickering fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, crammed into this tight space between him and the wall as the natural heat of his body makes the subtle scent of his spicy cologne bloom on his skin, it fills your head with disastrous thoughts that leave you in a haze of intoxication. You swallow hard to gain control. 

“W-what?” you ask.   

Lt. Riley’s strong jaw shifts beneath his mask, preparing himself to restart an admission that could be disastrous, but you’ve already played your hand and now he feels like he should too. “I said I’m done keepin’ this all in,” he reiterates as the softness of your skin under his rugged hand makes his fingertips ache to feel more, “sittin’ in here countless nights pretendin’ like it’s all fine, tryin’ to keep certain thoughts from gettin’ out. Told myself over and over I was too old for ya, that ya’d never go for a bloke like me, and it worked for a time. Then ya kiss me and suddenly I don’t fuckin’ care anymore. Ya say we’re friends, but, ya see, I’ve got enough mates, sweet’art.”

Drifting his thumb over from your cheek to the corner of your mouth he begins to slowly pull the pad of it across the silky skin of your bottom lip. Your mouth parts open with a faint inaudible gasp as he runs the length of all that tender, yearning flesh that is driving him to the brink of insanity. One kiss, that is all it took and now he is sure that there is nothing else that will satisfy him except for you. 

“I wanna be so much more,” he says without breaking eye contact.   

The fingers of his opposite hand find themselves at your side and glide eagerly around the band of your jeans they rest right against your hip. As his exploring touch makes contact with the balmy flesh of your pelvis up under your shirt, sparks of electricity feel like they web out over your skin and your breathing quickens with the increasing beat of your aching heart. 

“Been thinkin’ a lot ‘bout what I’d do if I ever got a chance wit ya like this.” His voice is heavily accented and husky with the magnitude of his need. “Thinkin’ ‘bout all the fuckin’ desperate things I wanna do to ya, but I never thought I’d get an opportunity like this. And now that we’re both ‘ere, I can’t stop the way I’m thinkin’ ‘bout those things again.”

As Lt. Riley traces burning lines over your skin, goosebumps forming wherever he goes, it’s hard to think of anything outside of how he’s never felt more alive than he does right now against you. His experienced fingers flit across your heated flesh the higher they go up your hip and your body trembles under the contact. Is this wrong? Is this right? He isn’t sure of the answer; shit, he’s getting closer and closer to retirement every goddamn day, but all he knows is that he needs you now more than he has ever needed another being before. 

And you need him just as badly.

His inhale is what brings you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. It’s a sharp intake of air and as you focus your sight back onto his eyes, he pauses the movement of his hand before it can get any further up the side of your torso. He’s getting ahead of himself and he needs to hear you to confirm that you need this too. 

“So, that’s why I gotta ask again,” he breathes the words into your face. “Did ya wanna fuckin’ kiss me? Or was it really a mistake?”

You can’t help letting out a wavering breath. Had you been holding it in this entire time? “I did want to do it,” you confirm quietly, struggling to get the words out through the dryness in your mouth. 

In your thoughts you silently beg the universe to not let this be some alcohol induced dream, even though you can feel his hand playing along your skin, sense the proximity of your bodies and the heat that flows off him to let you know that he is real, still you worry. What if this is all wishful thinking? The product of desperation in wanting something you don’t think you deserve to have? You stare back at him with bright eyes, begging for him to prove to you that this is so much more than delusion.

“I swear from the moment I first saw ya behind the bar, every fuckin’ time ya look at me with those pretty eyes ya nearly make me lose myself,” he says, his body so close that you are being physically swallowed up in his massive presence. “I need ya so fuckin’ bad.”

You look into the covered silhouette of his face and up into those dark eyes, the eyes you have adored from afar for so long, and fuck is it intoxicating to finally be the sole object of their unwavering admiration. It is impossible to not feel the want in his gaze, that same want that is overwhelming you too. And suddenly you realize that neither of you is leaving this bathroom…at least not for a while.  

“Y-you don't have to run from it anymore,” you say back softly, “Cause fuck, do I need you just as bad.” 

The desperate way you say it makes his whole body shudder and he struggles to control the ache flooding his limbs as the sound conjures to mind images of him pinning you to the wall and taking you with everything he has, capturing your lips himself this time in an embrace that will leave you faint as that insatiable hunger overtakes him.

Fuck, if he gets any harder he is gonna rip through the zipper of his jeans.

Your gaze pleads with him before it shifts down to the area of his face with the one thing you crave in that moment: his lips, his kiss. You need to have those full bits of flesh against your own again, it’s the only thing you can comprehend the feeling of in the haze that the overwhelming nature of his presence is currently producing to cloud your mind. You have to test that what you felt back at the bar wasn’t just the result of exhaustion and liquor, but that all that chemistry you felt in that moment was real.

And as if in answer to the question you haven’t asked, Lt. Riley slips his fingers into the neckline of his black t-shirt to find the hem of his mask and deliberately he pulls the fabric up to reveal his mouth and stubble-covered jaw to you once again, letting the excess cloth rest across the bridge of his prominent nose in the way he usually does it.

He parts his lips open somewhat to let in a little more oxygen as the space inside the bathroom suddenly feels far too small and the air much too stifling as he succumbs to the anticipation of meeting your lips with his again. This time it is deliberate; what if it doesn’t feel like that first time? It would kill him to know that after all the pining and aching for your touch that he has done that the spark he had just felt was all a farce caused by the liquor and unexpected timing. 

Yet without even thinking suddenly the lieutenant realizes that his hand is cupping the back of your head, his long fingers tangling into the strands of your hair to hold your head in place and you inhale sharply at the rougher contact. A smile forms on his mouth at your reaction, followed by a low groan that emanates out from deep within his chest. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, ya know that? Pretty girl.”

Those full lips of his ghost themselves over your own until the proximity makes you tremble from their seduction and your eyes flutter shut a moment as you let yourself succumb to the anticipation of when exactly he will break the distance. He waits on baited breath until your eyes slowly flit back open and your gaze meets his before he finishes his thought. “I wanna make ya mine so fuckin’ bad, luv.”

A smile crosses over your mouth as you hold his longing stare. You know he’s giving you an out, a way to step away if this isn’t really what you want, but from the moment your lips met back at the bar, there was no turning from this. “Then what are you waiting for?” you ask in the softest whisper as you can almost taste his breath from the proximity of his mouth. “Kiss me. Make me yours.”

You hear the deep breath he intakes before all at once he leans into you in a frenzy, not able to hold back that overwhelming tension for another second. The grip from his large hand palming through your hair is strong and keeps your head safe as he shoves you both into the wall, his firm torso pressing tightly into your curves as the brunt of his need and months of pent up longing is forced upon your lips with a feverish intensity that makes you instantly lose yourself as explosions like fireworks light up inside your mind.

Over and over he captures your mouth with hot aggression until your lips start to burn from the friction the harder he presses into them. You try to draw in air, but his heated advances on your mouth make it almost impossible to breathe; still, you won’t let him pull away even if he tries. The sparse dusting of stumble along his jaw pricks your cheeks and the skin around your mouth as the taste of the whiskey that he had just downed for courage floods the inside of your mouth from his breath and it hits your tongue with its sharp bite.

Your own hands decide they need to explore the man currently devouring your lips and you run up the back of his muscular neck to the bottom of his mask only for your fingertips to be met with cropped hair at the back of his head. The feeling of your fingers brushing over the short strands near the nape of his neck makes him shiver as the pleasure of the act snakes down his spine and you sigh into his mouth.

Lt. Riley is completely and utterly captivated by you…and he needs more.   

The hand he has wrapped around you he draws in towards himself so that you are pressed to him even tighter until your bodies are molded together as if you are one being, your curves meeting the firm muscles along his abdomen, and fuck if there isn’t something hard and throbbing piercing against your inner thigh that he starts to grind into you. 

“That’s it lieutenant,” you coax him as you match his movements in that desperate back and forth, scrambling to get as much friction as possible between your aching bodies. 

There is a deep grunt as he shakes his head. “Simon,” he growls into your open mouth as he readjusts his hips more squarely against you, “I need ya ta call me Simon. Say my name.”

Christ, his first name tastes like honey on your tongue and you feel feverishly excited to repeat it aloud now that you finally know it. His name. “Simon,” you groan through a break in his mouth’s connection. 

Those lips of his that dominate your own are frantic to embrace you until your mouth is on fire from the pressure. It’s like a spell the way you say it and suddenly there is nothing else he wants to hear more. “That’s it,” he breathes into you, “Say it again.”

“Simon.” 

He had always been lieutenant or Lt. Riley, but now he is Simon. Just Simon. And even though this has just started, it already feels like he is your Simon.

There is a heat in the middle of his chest, a burning, gnawing desire that has gripped his heart instantly in a desperate chokehold as his essence leaves your soft lips. “Fuck… again, sweet’art,” he begs; never has his name ever sounded so beautiful before and now that he has a taste of it off your tongue, he realizes just how starved he is for it.   

You say his name again, this time like a plea for more and it leaves him in a tailspin. His body cries out to feel you, all of you, without any barriers between your skin meeting his. He needs to experience every detail, explore every curve, relish every soft bit of flesh he can get his hands on; he’s waited long enough to have you. First he has to start with his mask. It’s in the way and he has no need to hide from you, not anymore, not ever again.

“Screw this damned thing,” Simon groans with agitation at the fabric still sticking to his heated features; he doesn’t want a single restriction between you both and with a quick pull starting from the back of his head, he rips the mask up and off his face, throwing it away without even caring where it lands. 

Cupping your face in between his large palms, he pauses only a moment to take you in as a new man, one entirely free of his anonymity, and allow you to truly see who it is that you crave. There is a vulnerability in his brown eyes that he cannot hold back as if he is waiting for you to change your mind now that you know the face beneath the disguise, but that could not be farther from what you are thinking. The desperate need he has for you shines in the depths of his gaze and it makes your already shallow breathing hitch in your chest. 

A gorgeous mess of dirty blonde hair is accentuated with silvery whisps at his temples, making him look distinguished and experienced. His eyes are even more intense now that they are not hidden in darkness and those solid, distinct features are highlighted with a little spackling of hair along his jaw. You can’t help but stare while you scramble to memorize every beautifully mature detail of the man you desire. He is everything and more than you could ever have imagined and all of it only for you. 

Reaching up, you trace the contours of his visage with the tips of your fingers as if sight isn’t enough and you can feel him tremble under your gentle touch. You outline old scars and just forming creases around his eyes as if they are precious and something about the tender way you take him in is enough to stop his heart.

The way your eyes linger on his face has his blood racing violently through his veins and in a haze of lust and euphoria he grabs you by the biceps to spin you round before he slides his hands up under your arms to pick you up, setting your ass on the edge of the small, one person sink. Expertly he slides himself between your open legs while pushing them open wider with his hands to accommodate his broad hips.  

“Fuck, I’ve wanted ta do this for so long now,” he says as his eyeline locks directly onto your full, juicy pout before he immediately has his hand catch the back of your head again to pull your face back to meet his. He connects your mouths back together with another moist, sticky embrace. 

Simon cannot get enough of you, not when it feels like you are meant to take every single ounce of his desire from the moment your lips met each other back at the bar. Unintentionally you roll your hips into him and fuck does it feel good for you to grind against that stiff peak strainging his jeans to capacity.  

He tilts your head back, his hands cradling your neck as his thumb brushes down the side of your throat closest to him. So soft, so silky, his lips ache to get a chance to caress such beauty. The longer he stares the more the idea blossoms in his mind that all that free space would look perfect with a little reminder of where he has been.

Never has he had something so gorgeous at his disposal. It’s enough to make a man lose himself.

“Ya know what I really been thinkin’ ‘bout? Wanna markup this pretty neck ‘a yours,” he groans the desperate request into the skin of your lips. “Leave my signature on what’s mine now.”

His. 

Fuck, why does that sound so good? Now you can’t think of anything else other than that one word being said in his voice: mine. Nothing has ever made you so instantly needy than the sentiment behind his statement. To be claimed by him is all you want.

“Please,” you beg enthusiastically, “I want you to mark me.” 

You’ve barely finished your sentence before your words are quickly followed by an open-mouthed moan as Simon doesn’t waste a single second in moving his lips straight to your throat, using the pad of his thick tongue to lick up to the spot he’s aiming for before latching onto that thunderously pounding vein right beneath your jaw. The sound of your moan pulls a tight knot deep in his belly so that his cock twitches at the tone.

“Gonna leave ya wit somethin’ beautiful,” he grunts the passionate words without lifting his lips off of you. He has to be sure that the pressure takes and leaves the area nice and visible with his signature. 

His mouth latches onto the side of your throat just below your ear before you feel the sharp sting as his teeth dig hard into the soft, supple flesh. The pressure is so intense from the suction of his lips you can almost feel the skin bubble up further into his mouth; there is no question that there will be a big, angry, purple blotch by tomorrow.

“Open. Your. Legs.” 

With shut eyes you hear his demand through the fullness in his mouth and widen the gap between your thighs just as a broad hand slithers its way inside the top of your jeans and into your panties right up until Simon cups it over your pussy. Your lips are already puffy and slick with your need, the heat filling his palm with your desperation for more as his thick fingers part them like a hot knife through butter.

Gently he uses the pad of his middle finger to circle around the tiny nub at the top of your pussy, that sweet little button full of nerve endings that immediately make you whimper as he plays around it, teasing the sensitive tissue with a light, steady touch without making any contact with it yet. He’s waiting to feel a tremble shake its way through you, your body’s way of begging for more stimulation, before he gives in to the gnawing ache he’s desperately trying to create in you.   

“Please,” the whispered plea falls from your raw lips as agony sets in, but he stays the course. 

You groan deeply, your body straining to hold on as your clit throbs, and just as your head falls back and your eyes close there is a quiver that ripples through your inner thighs. There is no way for you to know, but you swear that his lips upturn against your neck and suddenly he is stroking the tip of his finger over that pulsing node.

Raising your hands to his shoulders, you dig the tips of your fingers in hard to the muscles in shoulders through his t-shirt to hold on as your entire body is enchanted by his stimulation. The pressure from your touch causes him to grunt excitedly into your neck, aroused by the desperate roughness of the contact, and you can feel the vibration in the back of your throat. 

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker with a metallic click and his eyes flutter open just as a bead of sweat catches the light as it rolls down your chest and into the valley between your breasts. Simon watches its entire path as it descends into your cleavage before another grabs his attention. Before this one can get away he licks it up with the tip of his tongue, capturing your salt in his mouth. There is nothing on you that he wants to go to waste, not when he has waited this long to finally have a taste of you.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he moans deeply into your skin as if he is trying to fuse his words with the flesh so that you will carry them with you. “I’m one lucky bastard ta even get the chance ta touch ya.” 

“I’m the lucky one,” you breathe. “I’ve wanted you for so long Simon. Just didn’t want to risk looking the fool and driving you away if you didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t stand you not being around.”

Simon pulls from your throat and his face drifts back up to look into yours, his fingers still working their magic. You meet his gaze with an open mouth as the ecstasy builds, the eye contact intensifying the already intimate act. 

“I’m not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere,” he says with conviction that it turns your already desperate need for him completely feral. 

You tug at his belt, your fingers clumsily fidgeting with the buckle until it finally comes loose and falls away, hitting his hips with a jingle as metal clanks against metal. A swift nip at your bottom lip is his response to being undressed as you grab onto the pull of his zipper and rip it all the way down to reach the seam. His pants are barely hanging onto his body now, clinging ever so carelessly at his hip bones and ready to slip off them at any second with the slightest amount of movement. 

“I need you inside me,” you breathe into his mouth as your hands gripped onto his hips push the fabric down, making him lightheaded at your neediness. 

Of course you’re curious about the protuberance prodding into you and as the last of his clothing falls away, your eyes drift down. “Fuck…” you whimper in a whisper as you release his cock and it springs to life as it’s no longer confined. 

“It’s all yours, sweet’art,” he says as he runs the edge of his teeth across your lip while his hands paw at the waistband of your pants. “Been fuckin’ gnawin’ at the bit to bury it in ya. Goddammit, ya get me so fuckin’ hard I can barely handle myself sometimes. Have to rub one out the moment I get back to base.”

It’s your turn now and he helps to keep you steady while you raise your hips off the sink enough that he can pull down your pants and drag them off your legs, taking your skimpy panties with them so that there’s nothing left to remove. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says, his breathing shaky as he takes you all in. All that glorious, soft, supple skin could not be more beautiful.

You cup his cheek and he comes back into himself, back into the moment with you. “Simon, please.” 

That’s all he needs to hear before he moves to align himself at your pulsing and dripping core. “Need ya ta breathe for me,” he reassures, “just breathe.”

Your head is held upright as he peers deep into your eyes while you struggle to take him in, his girth stretching out your tight hole the deeper he goes until your body contours to his specific shape. He tries to speak, but only incoherent, slurred words trip off his tongue at the feeling of his cock being throttled with how tight and wet you are. How can a being so exquisite want someone like him?

“You’re perfect, luv,” he groans as he scrambles to settle himself so that this doesn’t end prematurely by digging his fingers into your hip. “Ya drive me insane, pretty girl.” 

God, his honeyed words act as an aphrodisiac and the pleasure is almost too much. “I’ve wanted you for so long Simon, thought I was gonna break everytime you came in for a drink. I need you to fuck me good. I’ve waited so long for this.”

He chuckles as he lifts your chin. “Baby, I only want to make you come,” he says while staring deep into your eyes, clenching so that his cock twitches within you to make you gasp with a surprised smile.

To be inside you is mind-numbing, but that doesn’t stop the need he has to thrust, to shove his cock further and further up into you. Even within the first few minutes he is already pussydrunk so that he is slamming into you with a feral roughness that leaves his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only has one objective and that is to make you both fall apart.

One hand, fingers spread wide, braces against the wall aside the mirror, the other rests around the back of your neck as his hips snap up into you with a consistent fluidity. The sink beneath you groans and squeaks in time with each of his thrusts, the unfamiliar strain putting pressure where it connects to the wall. 

Having him pounding inside you has you so wet that the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the bathroom and Simon pulls back just enough to watch himself pump in and out of that beautiful opening. A sight like this is deadly and he prays that it is burned into his mind cause he wants this on replay in his thoughts. Nothing could ever look better than this.

Taking two fingers he brings them straight in towards your clit, wasting no time in drawing circles over that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck hard against him at the extra stimulation until you are pushing down onto his hand, your eyes rolling back as the ecstasy flows through your veins and that recognizable warmth starts to gather in the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, each second bringing you ever closer to your release. “Gonna cum soon.”

Those three lethal words he has longed to hear for months and months now only fuel those strong thrusts and quick flicks of your clit. “That’s it, darlin’, fuckin’ come for me,” Simon growls so desperately it makes your head spin. “I need to feel ya.”

The pace never falters even though Simon is hanging on by a thread and his body is burning from the constant movement. He can’t be stopped, not with his goal so close. And all that hard work pays off as with a few more minutes your head finally flicks back and your thighs clamped down around his hips, a cry exploding out of you as you come violently that you nearly fall off the sink, but he isn’t going to let you go anywhere.

“Good girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Ride it out, all the way for me.”

Your core is fluttering around him, squeezing around his cock as he takes you all the way through your ecstasy until it’s too much to handle. His fingers scramble to rip up your shirt off your torso to secure it above your bra; he won’t be able to hold on much longer. A few heavy breaths get panted out in time with his thrusts and that is it, like flicking on a lightswitch he cannot hold off the pressure any longer as it reaches its peak. 

His raw mouth latches onto the crook of your neck just as he rips his cock out of you and into his hand to stroke out his orgasm and cover your stomach in his warm cum. Simon’s body shudders as he releases a loud groan with a bass that vibrates through your shoulder as he desperately tries to keep quiet as the intensity of his pleasure rips through him like a tidal wave with each stroke of his hand over his sensitive cock. 

“Christ,” he grunts into you as he milks the last bit of cum out and releases his grip on himself. 

Simon’s head hangs limp a moment as he breathes, exhaustion flooding his limbs so that they feel weighted, before he leans down and catches your mouth in a much more tender embrace than the ferocious ones he had been placing on it just moments ago. Your fingers run through his sideburns and he can’t help sighing contentedly with a smile meeting your lips.  

This has been more than worth the wait. “You’re amazin’ sweetheart,” he murmurs sweetly. “The best thing ta ever happen ta me.”

Simon keeps you in his arms even after he’s gotten you cleaned up and back onto your feet, holding you close to his body as he drags his rough, hardened fingers down over the palm of your hand with a light touch, bringing them down to the tips of your own until goosebumps begin to form along your forearm. 

“It’s late; you’ll probably want ta be headin’ home now,” he mutters quietly as his sizable fingers part through the spaces between your own until they latch your hands together. 

“You’re right,” you agree with a nod of your head, both of you still reeling in the ecstasy of your copulation as your eyes linger on the tender connection of your hands.

Simon looks up from your conjoined limbs to meet your bright eyes and the smile he greets with his sight leaves him desperate to feel it on his lips. You grip into his hand tighter as you move to step towards the door. “You coming with me? Gotta lock up before we can head to mine.” 

He smirks to himself with a shake of his head as he lets you lead him by the hand back out into the bar, ready to head to yours for the night to get lost in you all over again. Fate gave him this opportunity and he is going to take full advantage of enjoying the one thing he’s craved for too long now.

[pucksandpower]

Something Sweet

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the story of your relationship … as told through gelato (in honor of Charles opening an ice cream shop)

The warm spring sun beats down on your face as you stroll along the winding streets of Monaco, gelato in hand. You savor each sweet bite, the rich hazelnutty flavor melting across your tongue.

This is bliss.

You just moved here to attend university and every day feels like a dream come true exploring your new home principality.

The picturesque buildings with their sun-baked stucco walls and colorful tiled roofs line the narrow alleyways. Locals bustle about, chatting rapidly in French as scooters whiz by. The air carries a tang of salt from the glittering Mediterranean just beyond the palace ramparts.

You could get used to this.

Suddenly, a body careens around the corner, slamming right into you. You stumble backward as the gelato goes flying, splattering across the quaint cobblestones in a sticky mess.

“Oh mon dieu, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” A frantic voice rings out as a pair of strong hands steady you before you can topple over completely.

You look up, slightly dazed, into a pair of warm green eyes filled with concern. The man is clad in athletic shorts and a snug t-shirt, damp with sweat from an obvious run. Tousled chestnut hair flops across his forehead in an effortlessly tousled way.

He’s … incredibly handsome.

Like, stupid levels of handsome.

“I’m fine, really,” you stammer out, feeling your cheeks flush as his hands linger almost ... protectively on your arms. “Just clumsy me dropping my gelato.”

He grimaces, following your gaze to the melting puddle. “I’m such an idiot, let me replace that for you.” His face is the picture of remorse as he gently releases his grip.

You wave him off with an awkward chuckle. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal ...”

But he’s already shaking his head adamantly. “No, no I insist. That looked delicious and it’s entirely my fault.” He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know this amazing little place that makes the best gelato in Monaco. My treat to make up for barreling into you like that.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his earnestness as you nod slowly in acceptance. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

“Perfect!” He beams at you, that bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well as Charles begins leading you deeper into the winding backstreets, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. You can’t help stealing sidelong glances at him as you walk, admiring the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders visible through his fitted shirt.

Finally, he ducks into a tiny alleyway, stopping before an unassuming doorway you surely would have just passed right by. A faded sign hangs above reading Gelatomania in curling script.

“This place is my favorite,” Charles confides in a conspiratorial murmur as he holds the door for you. “Family-run for generations and miles better than any of the touristy places.”

You step inside and are immediately enveloped in a thick, sugary aroma that makes your mouth water. A few little metal tables with rickety chairs are squeezed into the compact space, but it’s the immaculate glass cases lining the walls that draw your eye.

Filled with every flavor imaginable, the gelato looks utterly divine — from naturally green pistachio to decadent chocolate hazelnut to tangy lemon. An older woman with a grandmotherly face greets Charles like an old friend in rapid Italian from behind the counter.

He responds easily in kind before turning back to you. “What’ll it be? I recommend the hazelnut again if you liked your first one.”

You nod and watch, utterly charmed, as Charles places your order for a fresh hazelnut gelato with a deferential “per favore” and that knee-weakening smile of his. He gets a simple vanilla for himself before paying and leading you over to a little iron table outside in a sliver of sunshine.

You take your first bite and … oh my god. This is gelato from the heavens themselves. You can’t contain the downright blissful moan that escapes your lips as the divinely creamy, rich concoction melts across your tongue.

“Good, right?” Charles looks incredibly pleased at your rapturous reaction as he digs into his own treat with gusto.

“This might be the single most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” you admit fervently between increasingly enthusiastic licks and bites. “How have I survived this long without knowing this place existed?”

Charles throws his head back with a full-bellied laugh at your passionate proclamation. God, even his laugh is unfairly attractive ...

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he grins around a mouthful of velvety vanilla. “I’ve been coming here since before I could walk. Quickly became my favorite gelato spot.”

“You’ve lived here a while then?” You ask between savoring bites of the impossibly luscious confection. “I only just moved for university.”

Charles nods as he licks a stray drip from his thumb. “Yeah, born and raised a few streets over actually.”

There’s a slight lull as you both focus on thoroughly demolishing your gelato for a few contented minutes, exchanging occasional muffled hums of sheer delight. The warm sun filtering through the awning casts a soft golden glow over the little alleyway, lending everything a dreamlike haze of perfection.

“So beyond being from here, do you have any exciting hobbies or interests?” You ask eventually, dragging the conversation back into the open.

“Well ...” Charles’ expression morphs into one of almost sheepish amusement as he leans back in his rickety chair. “You could say my hobby is also kind of my job. I’m actually a Formula 1 driver, believe it or not.”

You damn near choke on your next bite as his words register. “You’re what? As in ... a race car driver? In Formula 1? Seriously?”

There’s no way this stunning man is being truthful. Sure, he looks like he could be some kind of athlete with that perfectly toned physique. But a literal professional race car driver? The thought is almost too crazy to be believed.

Charles just laughs again at your dumbfounded reaction, clearly used to this response as he nods. “Seriously! I compete for Ferrari if you follow the races at all?”

You think you might pass out from shock as everything clicks into place — the athletic build, the way people seemed to stare as he passed them on the street, the laid-back confidence and easy smile of someone incredibly comfortable in their own skin ...

“Oh my god, you’re ... you’re Charles freaking Leclerc, aren’t you?” You gape at him in abject disbelief. “As in, the guy literally plastered on the huge billboard across from my apartment? Leading the championship? Incredibly talented and famous?”

He lets out an almost bashful chuckle at your rapid-fire incredulous questioning, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about incredibly talented or famous. But yes, that’s me — just your average local race car driver currently making an absolute mess while eating gelato.”

Here you sit, having just shared an utterly divine dessert while shamelessly ogling one of the most popular and well-known athletes in the damn world … and he’s acting like it’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Like you’re just two regular people enjoying a sweet treat together on a sunny day.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to literally just ... sit across from you like this while you eat mediocre gas station ice cream, much less the world’s best gelato? I’m … stunned you’re so nonchalant about this whole thing.”

Charles merely flashes you a self-deprecating grin as he pops the last bite of cone into his mouth. “Well, to me you’re not some screaming fangirl, but just a lovely new friend I enjoy gelato with. Though my ego certainly appreciates the compliments.”

He winks at you impishly and you feel an unwitting smile tugging at the corners of your own lips despite your lingering disbelief. You suppose being surrounded by such incredible wealth and luxury every day in Monaco, Charles likely doesn’t register it anymore. Not to mention the clearly down-to-earth personality he seems to possess given that genuine humility.

The hours just seem to slip effortlessly by then as the two of you continue to chat and laugh and bask in the perfect afternoon contentment of the moment. Charles regales you with ridiculous behind-the-scenes stories about increasingly crazy bets with his friends and crew during the season. You share equally hilarious tales of your own coming-of-age mishaps as an overeager teenager.

At some point, you both reach for your long-empty dishes simultaneously, fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sends your pulse stuttering. Charles doesn’t pull back, letting his hand linger outrageously close to yours as his warm gaze stays locked intensely on your face.

You try to swallow past a suddenly dry throat as the atmosphere shifts abruptly, suddenly heavy with the hot crackle of unmistakable chemistry and unspoken tension. But then, just like that, the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket with a text, the notification startling you both back to reality. Charles sits back, clearing his throat slightly as you pull your hand away to quickly check the message.

It’s from your roommate asking when you’ll be home for dinner and if you need her to start cooking.

You glance up at Charles with an apologetic grimace. “I should probably head back. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

He blinks rapidly before seeming to visibly shake himself. “Right, of course! Time really got away from us, didn’t it?”

You stand as Charles rises smoothly to his feet as well, shoving both hands casually in his pockets. “So ... I had a really great time with you today,” he says carefully, something almost hesitant flickering across his face. “And I’d love a chance to take you out again sometime soon, if you’re interested? Maybe grab dinner when I’m back in town?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the unmistakable request for an actual date. With Charles freaking Leclerc no less ...

Tamping down your sudden nerves, you nod slowly as a shy smile blossoms on your lips. “I’d really like that,” you admit truthfully. “Let’s definitely do dinner whenever you’re free.”

His whole expression brightens immediately at your affirmation, lips stretching in a wide grin of pure delight. “Perfect! I’ll be back from my next race in just over a week then. How about exchanging numbers so I can let you know as soon as I’ve returned?”

You quickly rattle off your number as Charles punches it into his phone before doing the same for you. As if sealing some unspoken deal, he sticks out his hand to shake yours, that warm roughened grip lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll text you soon then,” Charles murmurs intently, that spark of heat flickering in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll say yes this time.”

You can only nod mutely, mouth gone bone-dry at the pointed words and heated look washing over you. Charles maintains that blistering eye contact and heart-stalling grip on your palm for another loaded handful of seconds, leaving you dizzy with giddy anticipation.

Then, just like that, he releases your hand with one final squeeze before taking a step back, seemingly satisfied by your stunned agreement. Charles shoots you one last lingering look and crooked grin before turning to stride easily back the way you came.

You remain rooted in place for a long moment, utterly dazed by the entire surreal scenario as you watch his broad shoulders and narrow waist disappear down the narrow alleyway.

Today started out as any other nothing-out-of-the-ordinary spring day in your new home. But now … now you have an actual date scheduled with an unbelievably charming and disarmingly down-to-earth racing superstar.

A giddy giggle bubbles up from deep in your chest as reality finally settles in. Who could have ever predicted that bumping into your new acquaintance — quite literally — would lead to not only discovering the most heavenly gelato on the planet, but lining up a date with an internationally famous athlete?

Suddenly, your bright future studying in Monaco just got about ten thousand times more interesting …

***

The week passes by in a blur of anticipation after your initial meeting with Charles. You can barely focus during lectures, your mind constantly wandering to that charming grin and those warm eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed.

Finally, the evening you’ve been eagerly awaiting arrives. You’ve just finished getting ready — pulling on a flowy sundress and brushing out your hair one last time — when your phone buzzes with a new text.

I’m outside whenever you’re ready for our date night. Looking forward to seeing you again 😘

You can’t bite back your giddy smile as you quickly reply that you’re heading out before taking one last steadying breath.

It’s just Charles … the internationally famous and absurdly handsome Formula 1 driver you’ve somehow managed to snag a date with.

No big deal at all.

The evening air carries a pleasantly cool breeze as you exit your apartment building, scanning the idling line of vehicles for Charles’ car. You spot him immediately, leaning against the gleaming metallic side of what you now recognize as an eye-wateringly expensive Ferrari.

Charles looks … unfairly gorgeous. He’s shed his athletic wear in favor of a simple white linen shirt and tailored slacks that somehow make him appear even more effortlessly suave. His hair is artfully tousled and damn if those clothes don’t accentuate every hard plane and corded muscle of his built frame.

You must be staring because suddenly Charles is pushing off from the car and straightening to his full height, those intense eyes crinkling warmly as soon as they land on you.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs appreciatively once you’ve drawn closer, making a show of trailing his gaze slowly up and down your figure. You’re abruptly grateful for the dusky twilight hiding your furious blush at the blatant admiration in his tone.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out without your voice shaking too noticeably. “You don’t look half bad yourself, race car man.”

Charles throws back his head with one of those deep-bellied laughs you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “Why thank you, gelato girl.” He shoots you a wink before surprising you by gallantly offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it without hesitation, reveling in the solid warmth of his bicep pressed against your side as Charles leads you to the waiting glossy black sports car. He opens the door for you like an old-fashioned gentleman, closing it carefully once you’re tucked inside the buttery leather interior.

The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble and you can’t resist shooting Charles an impressed look as he deftly maneuvers out onto the street.

“You know, I’m starting to think this little hobby of yours might not be too bad of a gig,” you tease lightly, waving a hand at the sleek interior compartment.

“I can’t complain,” Charles volleys back with a crooked grin, seamlessly navigating the tight turns of the old city. “Sometimes they even let me drive in circles really fast just for fun.”

You roll your eyes at his retort, but can’t quite wipe the smile off your face as Charles guns the engine, the car surging forward in a burst of speed and power. Clearly the man knows how to leverage any opportunity to show off those expert driving skills … not that you mind one bit.

Eventually, Charles pulls up in front of an unassuming doorway you never would have noticed tucked down a quiet side street. The understated sign above simply reads Trattoria Giovanni.

“This place has been run by the same Italian family for over fifty years,” Charles explains as he holds the door for you. “Best authentic cuisine in the city, but you would never find it unless you knew where to look.”

The interior appears to have been plucked directly from a rustic Tuscan villa — burnished wooden beams criss-crossing the curved ceilings and terracotta tiles underfoot. You breathe in deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread wafting from the open kitchen.

An older man with a thick mustache and crisp white apron greets Charles immediately in fluent Italian, ushering you both back to a cozy alcove table secluded in the very rear. He pours you both generous glasses of deep red wine before disappearing again with a conspiratorial wink in your direction.

“So, how was your race?” You ask between sips once you and Charles are alone, genuinely curious about the difficult career he’s managed to carve out.

He shrugs one broad shoulder almost dismissively. “Decent enough, I suppose. Grabbed another podium finish, but didn’t quite have the pace for the win.” There’s no disappointment or frustration in his tone as he speaks, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m endlessly in awe that you treat accomplishments like that so casually,” you admit with a shake of your head. “Finishing in the top three in Formula 1 seems like the kind of thing most people would be over the moon about.”

Charles lets out a low chuckle at that, leaning towards you over the small table with eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well maybe I need to find a new way to impress someone like you then.”

You open your mouth to respond with a playful retort of your own, but Charles’ gaze has already strayed to somewhere past your shoulder.

“Ah, perfect timing then. Here’s Giovanni himself with our orders.”

Sure enough, the older man you spotted earlier bustles up with a tray overflowing with piping hot plates of food. He doles out the dishes methodically while rattling off a stream of explanations about preparations and ingredients that have clearly been passed down for many generations.

Everything looks and smells utterly divine — from the heaping bowl of glistening spaghetti blanketed in a simmering tomato sauce to the golden-baked chicken drenched in rosemary and olive oil. The endlessly affable Giovanni even sets down a small ceramic dish full of creamy pale cheese, patting Charles on the shoulder.

“The burrata for you and your lady friend. Freshly made this morning by my wife,” he declares proudly before whisking himself away again.

For the next blissful hour or two, you and Charles completely lose yourselves in this veritable feast for the senses. You savor each and every decadent bite — moaning around the pillowy strands of spaghetti and tearing off chunks of the crusty, herb-brushed breads to soak up the savory juices.

Charles, for his part, dives into the meal with just as much enthusiasm, occasionally reaching over to snag a bite off of your plate until you resort to smacking his wandering fork away between fits of laughter.

Stuffed and utterly content, you both eventually push away your long-cleared dishes to nurse the final sips of your wine as the evening stretches languorously on. You fall into these simple moments like an old habit by now — trading comfortable silences and contented looks between impassioned recounts of childhood anecdotes or musings about life.

Finally, as the candles on the small wooden tables begin to gutter and wane, Charles summons over your waiter to settle the check with a few murmured words and one of those knee-weakening smiles. Rising smoothly, he extends his hand in a wordless invitation for you to join him back out into the balmy evening.

This time, instead of heading for the car, Charles tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow before choosing a new direction — down a maze of narrow streets until you finally emerge along the harbor’s edge. Strings of twinkling lights reflect off the lapping waves while the soft strains of background music filter out from somewhere nearby.

“Feel like grabbing a little dessert to walk off that incredible meal?” Charles asks in a low murmur, bumping your shoulder conspiratorially.

You shoot him an incredulous look even as you nod. “You mean in addition to the literal feast we both just had?”

Charles tugs you closer to his side until your hips graze together as you match strides. “There’s always room for gelato,” he counters with an arched brow. “Besides, when in Monaco ...”

Any further protests die on your lips as Charles guides you around another tight corner to reveal that familiar cheerful gelato shop from your initial meeting. The old woman behind the counter greets you both like regulars already, no doubt thanks to Charles’ frequent patronage.

You maneuver through the small line until it’s your turn to order. “I think I’ll go with the tiramisu flavor this time,” you decide, mouth already watering at the prospect of that rich coffee and creamy goodness. “What about you? Mixing it up or still sticking with the basics?”

Charles shakes his head resolutely as he hands over a few crisp bills to pay for your treats. “Trust me, a heaping helping of simple vanilla is just as gratifying as all those overly complicated flavor combinations.”

You balk at his slander, bumping his shoulder with your own without any real heat. “How dare you insult my incredible palette like that?” You glare at him in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have some of the most refined gelato taste in all of Monaco now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles tips his chin down with a challenging smirk twisting his full lips. “Well what if I told you that vanilla is scientifically proven to be the most popular and beloved flavor in existence?”

“By who? Basic boring people?” You volley back mercilessly, eagerly leaning into the playful banter now. “If anything, those findings just demonstrated how sadly uncreative society at large is.”

Charles barks out a booming laugh as he grabs your hand and tugs you back out of the shop, gelato in the other. “You heathen! We’re clearly going to need to educate you on the finer points of flavor appreciation.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously even as you let yourself be lead to a nearby bench overlooking the gently lapping waves. “Oh, you’re on, Leclerc. Let’s see if your vanilla snobbery holds up after a taste of tiramisu heaven.”

You scoop up an exaggeratedly generous spoonful of the divinely rich, creamy gelato and make a show of savoring it with overstated moans of delight. “Oh my god, this is so good. Here, you have to try this! It’s life-changing.”

Charles wrinkles his nose even as you wave the spoonful enticingly in front of him. “Nice try but I would never cheat on vanilla!”

The two of you devolve into helpless laughter at that point, dissolving into breathless giggles over the ridiculous debate getting more outrageous by the minute. Finally, you relent in the battle, settling back into the cool metal of the bench and turning your face up to the inky sea of stars glittering overhead.

“You’re right though — sometimes simple really is best,” you admit finally in a softer tone, slowly licking another sweet bite off your spoon.

Charles hums in agreement next to you, shuffling closer until your arms brush together with body heat and contact. “The classics never go out of style.”

The next comfortable silence stretches out between you as you take your time savoring your treats while simultaneously drinking in the breathtaking view laid out before you. The water laps almost hypnotically at the shoreline, twinkling reflection of docked yachts bobbing gently on the calm surface.

A breeze skates across your bare arms, raising a faint ripple of goosebumps along your skin. Charles notices immediately, shifting even nearer until he can shrug out of the lightweight jacket he had been wearing.

Without a word, he swings the soft fabric around your shoulders, tucking it securely around your front. You burrow instinctively into the material, the lingering body heat and remnants of his cologne wrapping you up in an cocoon of soothing warmth and intoxicating comfort.

With your free hand, you toy idly with the collar until Charles’ arm comes up to curl around your shoulders, effectively enveloping you into his solid frame. You let your cheek tip onto the firm muscle of his arm as Charles squeezes you closer with a contented exhale.

Time becomes meaningless suspended in that perfect sea-side bubble, waves flowing rhythmically while you enjoy every last savored bite of your melting treats. You let the quiet inevitability of dropping your head onto Charles’ shoulder wash over you, his familiar cologne invading your senses until your entire world narrows to just him.

When Charles polishes off the final bite of his cone and you go to shift away, another cool gust skitters across the harbor. He tightens the arm curved around you, making no move to let you up or leave the cozy haven you’ve made.

“I could get used to evenings like this, you know,” he murmurs eventually, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just taking it slow and savoring each other’s company without a single worry or care beyond where to find the best gelato.”

You hum in sleepy agreement, luxuriating in the casual intimacy of having Charles wrapped so protectively around you. Part of you can scarcely believe how instantaneous and natural this connection has blossomed between you already. But another part feels like you’ve finally found your soul’s missing piece slotting seamlessly into place after stumbling around lost and incomplete for so long without ever realizing it.

The two of you remain suspended in that perfect, tranquil bubble for what could be minutes or hours more. You’ve completely lost track of any sense of time beyond the lullaby of the gentle waves and occasional murmur of Charles’ breathing ruffling your hair.

Eventually though, his stirring signals a slow return to the real world as Charles regretfully extricates himself from your entwined position with clear reluctance.

“I should probably get you back before your roommate starts to worry,” he says remorsefully as he slides off the bench to offer you a steadying hand up.

You accept it without hesitation, but can’t resist clinging to his jacket still cocooned around your shoulders, unwilling to shrug off that lingering cocoon of comfort and safety just yet. Charles notices, allowing a tiny grin to quirk one side of his mouth upwards as he takes in your refusal to part with it.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs with unmistakable heat in those hypnotizing eyes. “I may have to let you hang on to that one for a while.”

Your mouth goes abruptly dry at the blatant implications in his tone, but you manage a coy smile in return as you turn to make your way back towards wherever Charles has his car crookedly parked.

The streets are all but abandoned by the time you arrive at the discreet entrance of your apartment building. Charles hesitates a split second before rounding the front of the gleaming Ferrari to face you properly on the quiet sidewalk.

“Thank you for an incredible evening,” you say honestly, gazing up at his silhouette in the dim glow of the streetlamps. “I don’t think I can even put into words how special you’ve managed to make me feel these past couple weeks.”

His expression softens instantly. One calloused palm comes up to tenderly cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his with feather-light reverence.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you,” Charles rumbles in a low tone that steals your breath away. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize just how remarkable you are, ma belle.”

Your eyes flutter shut without conscious thought as his nose brushes yours. Charles’ lips glide torturously against your cheek leaving a blazing trail to the very corner of your mouth.

The softest, most infinitely gentle press of satin flesh on flesh and then he’s pulling back — his ragged exhale warm and intoxicating against your tingling lips. You chase his retreat on instinct, but Charles is already withdrawing further with clear reluctance.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to take things slow quite yet if I stay,” he murmurs in a strained rasp, pupils blown wide and dark. “But I do hope you’ll allow me to make this our new gelato tradition from now on ...”

It takes you several faltering attempts to find your voice again, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of that lightning bolt of affection. Finally, you manage a jerky nod, sliding one trembling hand over his where it still cups your cheek.

“I want that more than anything,” you confess in a hushed tone. “Just ... promise me we’ll see each other soon.”

He releases a shuddering breath of unbridled relief, dipping his forehead to rest against yours. “Soon,” Charles vows lowly. “I promise.”

You stare up into his earnest eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Charles’ lips quirk in that lopsided grin you already adore so much. “I’m counting on it.”

With obvious reluctance, he finally steps away, snagging your hand to press one last searing kiss to your knuckles that has your heart stuttering all over again. Charles holds your gaze as you carefully back away towards the entrance, unwilling or unable to fully turn your back until the very last moment.

You chance a glance over your shoulder as you reach the front doors. Charles is still there, unmoving in a pool of streetlight beside his idling Ferrari, hands shoved in his pockets as he tracks your every step until you’ve slipped safely inside.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you lean back against the cool stone wall, fingers coming up to ghost across your still-tingling lips almost disbelievingly.

When you finally muster the courage to peek through the glass once more, Charles has moved to lean against the side of his car, head tilted back as he stares into the lobby with an unmistakable softness etched across those chiseled features.

You can’t resist pressing your palm to the pane in a gesture you know he’ll recognize. Sure enough, Charles’ intense gaze instantly snaps to lock on you from across the quiet street, expression melting into pure adoration and wonder. His lips shape the same promise he uttered just moments ago — soon — as your own quirk in a delighted smile.

One last impulsive spark of inspiration has you playfully blowing him a single kiss through the barrier between you. Charles catches the invisible token easily, hand flying up to press over that broad chest as he throws back his head with a laugh that you can’t hear but imagine with vivid clarity.

You stand there transfixed, drinking in every last detail of him — the effortless elegance he carries himself with, the striking planes of his handsome face, and those beautiful eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises under the streetlamps.

Finally, with your own vow to reunite pulsing between you, Charles slides behind the wheel of his car. The powerful engine roars to life, twin beams from the headlights sweeping up to briefly wash through the windows of the lobby in a silent farewell before he’s peeling away into the night back towards the glittering city center.

You remain at the entrance for several long minutes basking in the memory of Charles’ phantom embrace still clinging to your skin. Only once his Ferrari has faded into the distance do you finally turn towards the elevator up to your apartment — every footstep lighter than air in the wake of an evening that lived up to even your wildest dreams of romantic splendor.

The simple joy and humble pleasure of a perfect scoop of creamy gelato will always hold untold meaning now as the spark marking the start of something beautiful blossoming between you and Charles.

And, as you finally drift off that night with a permanent smile etched across your face, you know without a shadow of a doubt that no flavor in the world could ever compare to the sweet indulgence of a life together just waiting to be savored and explored.

***

The warm spring breeze carries the sweet floral scents of the Brera Botanical Garden through the air as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles. His fingers are laced through yours, his thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. You can’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile — the defined jawline, those soft kiss-curled lips, those kind green eyes that always seem to be smiling even when the rest of his face isn’t.

“What are you looking at?” Charles says with an amused grin, catching you staring again. You just shake your head and squeeze his hand tighter.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” you tease. Charles laughs that bright, infectious laugh of his that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You come to a stop beneath a blossoming cherry tree, pale pink petals floating down around you. Charles turns to face you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N … there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he begins, suddenly uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head curiously. “You know how passionate I am about racing, about Formula 1. It’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”

“Of course,” you nod, unable to stop a small smile. Charles’ love for motorsports is one of the many things you have come to adore about him.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Charles continues, taking both your hands in his. “And I’ve realized that I want to have something else in my life too. A … passion project, you could say. Something that’s away from all the spotlight and pressure.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to imagine what he could mean. Charles has spoken before about potentially getting more involved in charity work or environmentalism on top of his racing career. But the almost childlike excitement dancing in his eyes tells you this is something different.

“I’m going to open a gelato shop,” he blurts out finally. You blink dumbly.

“A … gelato shop?” You repeat slowly. Out of all the possibilities, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

“Yes!” Charles grins broadly, clearly delighted by your surprise. “Think about it,Y/N. What’s more perfect than gelato made right here in the heart of Milano? And I’ve already found the ideal location — a little shop just across the street from here. Can’t you just picture it?”

He starts gesturing animatedly, that bright smile never leaving his face as he outlines his grand vision. You can’t help getting caught up in his infectious enthusiasm, even if the idea still seems a bit random.

“I’m going to call it Lec,” Charles says with a proud smile. You let out an undignified snort of laughter.

“Lec? Like your last name?” You shake your head in amusement. He looks almost offended by your reaction.

“No, no, not just my last name,” he corrects you seriously. “Lec as in … our last name. Yours and mine.”

The words hang in the air as realization slowly starts to dawn on you. You open and close your mouth dumbly as Charles takes a deep breath, sliding off the path onto one knee on the ground before you. With shaking hands, he pulls out a small black box from his pocket and flips it open to reveal the most stunning diamond ring you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N Y/L/N … you are my world, my everything,” Charles’ voice is thick with emotion as he gazes up at you. “I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else by my side. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you beside me forever.”

Tears are already welling in your eyes, one hand pressed to your trembling lips as you listen to the beautiful words.

“Will you ...” Charles’ voice catches in his throat and he has to clear it before continuing. “Will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you marry me?”

The last few words come out in a rush of breath. You’re vaguely aware of several other people in the gardens who’ve stopped to watch, but all you can see is Charles’ face — hopeful and vulnerable and so full of pure adoration for you.

“Yes!” You finally manage to choke out through your joyful tears. “Oh my god, yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

Pure relief and blissful ecstasy bursts across Charles’ face at your answer. With hands trembling just as badly as yours, he eases the glittering ring out of the box and onto your finger where it nestles perfectly, the diamond catching the dappled sunlight.

Before you can even look at it properly, Charles is on his feet again, pulling you into his embrace and spinning you around in a deliriously happy circle. You cling to him, laughing and crying at the same time as he peppers every inch of your face with kisses — your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Finally, inevitably, his mouth finds yours in a long, deep, loving kiss that has your knees feeling weak. You get lost in the warmth of his arms around you, the gentleness of his hands cradling your face, the tenderness of his soft lips moving reverently against yours.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling so much it almost hurts, foreheads pressed together as you share the same breath. Charles brushes away a few stray tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much, mon cœur,” he murmurs softly. You mouth the words back to him before stealing another lingering kiss.

Hand-in-hand once more, Charles leads you out of the botanical gardens and across the street. You come to a stop in front of a quaint yet sizable storefront, the windows covered in brown paper and a faded For Lease sign still hanging crookedly in the door.

“Here it is,” Charles says, gesturing up at the building with undisguised pride. “What do you think?”

You take it in slowly, trying to envision what the space might look like once renovated and filled with cozy seating and the alluring scents of freshly-made gelato.

You picture the two of you working side-by-side behind the counter when Charles doesn’t have a race, laughing and bantering as you serve up delicious treats for smiling customers.

It’s such an endearingly normal, domestic dream compared to the fast-paced frenzy of the Formula 1 lifestyle. But standing here with your new fiancé, it feels absolutely perfect.

“I think … I think it’s going to be incredible,” you lean into Charles’ side and wrap your arms around his trim waist. He responds by kissing your temple and pulling you closer.

“Just think,” he says happily, his warm breath ruffling your hair. “We’ll be the owners of the best little gelateria in all of Milano.

“Sounds like heaven,” you smile. “Just be sure to make plenty of hazelnut and tiramisu for me.”

“Done and done,” he promises solemnly. “Though you know vanilla will always be number one in my book.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Without warning, you loop your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. You can feel him melting into your embrace, his arms snaking securely around your waist.

When you finally manage to pull apart again, you’re both slightly flushed and out of breath. Charles’ usually perfectly tousled hair is charmingly mussed from running your fingers through it. He looks at you with such naked affection and desire that your heart flutters.

“You know what?” He murmurs huskily, resting his forehead against yours. “I take it back. You’re definitely my favorite flavor. And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you, mon amour.”

And with that promise lingering sweetly between you, Charles takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the embrace.

You can taste forever on his lips.

When you finally part, grinning giddily at each other, Charles takes your hand and leads you back towards your next adventure. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll take it on fearlessly and joyously, side-by-side with the man you love more than anything in this world.

***

The reception hall is a whirlwind of joy and celebration as you take in the scene, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The elegant decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smiling faces of your loved ones surrounding you all blur together in a beautiful haze.

You can scarcely believe this day has finally arrived — the day you’ve dreamed of for so long.

You turn to Charles, his warm green eyes sparkling with so much love, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his million-watt smile making your knees go weak.

This incredible man is now your husband.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Having fun, mon amour?”

A joyful laugh escapes your lips as you nod enthusiastically. “More than I ever thought possible. I’m just … I’m so happy, Charles. I can’t believe we’re actually married!”

He chuckles, that rich laugh that never fails to make you melt. “Believe it, Mrs. Leclerc. You’re stuck with me forever now.” His expression softens as he cups your cheek tenderly. “I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You lean into his touch, savoring the moment. “I love you too, Mr. Leclerc. More than anything.”

A throat clears behind you, and you whirl around to see Arthur, your new brother-in-law, grinning mischievously.

“If you two lovebirds are done making everyone else nauseous, it’s time to cut the cake!” He teases, jerking his head towards the lavish gelato cake that sits on the dessert table.

Charles throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone as amazing as my wife to make gooey eyes at.”

Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. Get your butts over there before I eat the whole thing myself.”

With a wink at you, Charles takes your hand and leads you towards the dessert table, the crowd of guests parting like the Red Sea to let you through. Your heart does a little flip as the magnificent gelato cake comes into view — a towering masterpiece of creamy gelato in vanilla, hazelnut, and tiramisu, all artfully swirled together and decorated with fresh fruit and chocolate shavings.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper in awe, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

He pulls you into his side with a content smile. “Not as perfect as you.”

The crowd applauds as you approach the cake, and a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles rises up. Straightening your shoulders with a grin, you pick up the gleaming cake knife and lock eyes with Charles, suddenly feeling bold.

“Ready to do this, husband?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

His eyes blaze with undisguised desire. “More than ready, wife.”

Together, you slice into the towering gelato cake, the creamy filling oozing out and already making your mouth water. Once you have a generous slice on a plate, you scoop up a spoonful and lock eyes with Charles again, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

His pupils dilate as he catches your meaning, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mon cœur.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You take a step closer, holding the spoonful of gelato up temptingly.

Charles tips his head back with a groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good thing you have me to bring you back to life then,” you quip, pressing the spoon to his lips.

He opens obediently, letting you slide the gelato into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His eyelids flutter shut as the flavors explode over his tongue, and he actually moans — deep and guttural and utterly sinful.

A choked sound comes from somewhere in the crowd. “Oh please, get a room!” Joris, Charles’ best friend and best man, calls out with a mixture of amusement and mortification.

Charles doesn’t even open his eyes, simply raising one middle finger in Joris’ direction as he savors the last of the gelato. When his tongue finally darts out to catch a stray bit on his lips, you feel an unexpected flare of heat low in your belly.

Okay, two can play at this game.

Deliberately holding Charles’ heated gaze, you dip your finger into the gelato drippings on the plate and slowly, so slowly, bring it up to your lips. You let the very tip of your tongue dart out to catch the sticky sweetness, swirling it around luxuriously. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, jaw tense.

That’s it.

You slip your finger into your mouth fully, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck the gelato off with an utterly obscene sound. Charles’ knees actually buckle, and he grips the table behind him for support, pupils blown wide.

“You are so dead,” he growls under his breath, low and dangerous.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathy giggle, drunk with a dizzying cocktail of desire and sheer bliss. Charles takes a half step closer, his eyes burning into yours. You quickly scoop up another fingerful of gelato, desperate to keep pushing those buttons and draw out that delicious intensity.

But before you can bring it to your lips, quick as a flash, Charles is on you. He drags you flush against his solid form, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. The scorching kiss steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to his lapels for purchase.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are blazing with unconcealed want.

“You missed a spot,” he rasps.

Then he’s ducking his head, and with one torturously slow lick, he clears the stray bit of gelato from the tip of your nose. The heat of his tongue on your overly sensitive skin makes you whimper.

The catcalls and whistles from your guests fade into white noise as you melt against your husband, lost in the endless depths of his hungry gaze. Screw being appropriate — you’ll give them all a show to remember if you have to.

“Fuck, I love you,” Charles rumbles, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again — deep and thorough and all-consuming. You sigh into his mouth, bunching the fine material of his tuxedo jacket in your fists to pull him even closer. His hand slides from your neck into your hair, cradling your head reverently as he pours every ounce of his love and passion into the kiss.

An eternity later, he breaks away with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against yours. “I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you?”

You can only nod breathlessly, already imagining the deliciously wicked things he has in store. As if in a trance, you allow him to take your hand and lead you towards the exit, shouting and wolf whistles following in your wake.

Just before you slip out of the hall, you hear Pierre Gasly’s teasing voice behind you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two!”

Charles pauses only long enough to call over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Then he’s sweeping you into his arms with a playful growl, carrying you into your new life together as man and wife. Peals of laughter and cheers chase you down the hall, but you only have eyes for each other in this perfect moment.

You’re married to the love of your life. You have forever with this incredible man. And if the wedding is anything to go by, forever is going to be deliciously amazing.

Literally.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 6

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, Azriel is an idiot, Eira has a well-deserved crying fit and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

"Do I want to know what your mother said to you?" Cassian asked him with a sigh the next morning. They were at the River House. 

Eira was still sleeping. Or again. Resting. Pure exhaustion apparent in every fibre of her being. She had stumbled up the stairs the night before, fell into her bed and hadn’t moved. Feyre and Nesta were both with her, had been with her since then... 

Azriel let out a small huff, and glanced at Cassian from his couch seat.

“No,” he said bluntly. “No, you really don’t want to know.”

"You're brooding," Cassian pointed out. Azriel snorted at his brother’s observation, crossing his arms.

“And you’re observant,” he said dryly. “Your point?”

Cassian huffed in amused annoyance and shoved him playfully. “Come on. Out with it,” he said, propping his feet on the coffee table, his wings shifting behind him. “You’ve been quiet and broody and grumpy all morning. You need to talk about it.”

"Talk about what? Talk about the fact that whatever Amren said to my mate was enough to push her head first into a panic so bad that she winnowed? Burned down half a forest accidentally?" Azriel asked, his voice forcedly even. "Or about the fact that I needed my mother to call me out on my bullshit because I am a fucking idiot ?"

"Language," Rhys said with a sigh, trying and failing to feed Nyx his porridge.

Cassian rolled his eyes in annoyance at Rhys’s words, while Azriel gave his high lord a flat look.

“Are you seriously going to get on me for my language?” he asked Rhys dryly. “Out of everything I just said?

"I do not need a fight with Feyre, because our son starts repeating your curse words," Rhys muttered.

Cassian snorted at that, and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head.

Somehow, even right now, when everything was such a mess, Rhys still managed to find ways to be a caring father.

“Can we focus on something more important?” Azriel said, his voice a grumble. “Like the fact that I’m failing as a mate?”

Cassian’s snort turned into a choke at Azriel’s comment, his eyes going wide. “Failing as a mate? You? You’re kidding, right?”

Azriel scowled at Cassian’s shocked response.

“And how exactly is it possible that I’m not failing?” he demanded, his hands clenching into fists. “Because I can think of many, many ways, Cass.”

“What exactly have you done that qualifies as failure?” Cassian countered, shifting position so that he mirrored Azriel’s pose. “Because I’m really drawing a blank.”

"I fancied myself in love with her twin sister and pretty much used Eira as nothing but a source of information about Elain. Then, when I realised that Eira was my mate, I asked for permission to court her and within that conversation somehow found it prudent to say that Elain was the pretty one but Eira was the kind one and would protect our children fiercely. Then I gave her a harp as a courting gift, while she needed to sell her old one to keep her family from starving and nobody ever even thought about the fact that maybe that would bring up some bad memories. Then instead of asking what she wanted to do, I decided on the symphony, where I spent 3 hours sitting next to her in silence because all I could concentrate on was the fact that she held my hand . I have no fucking clue if sewing and baking and cooking are actually her hobbies or just the chores she liked best and I don't even know her favourite colour. Tell me how I am not failing, Cassian!"

Cassian opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for words.

Azriel let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

He knew he had screwed up. That he had failed miserably in so many ways. But saying the words aloud…hearing them said out loud…somehow just made it even more real.

He slumped down in his seat, burying his head in his hands.

“You…you really are an idiot, Az…” Cassian finally managed to say, his voice quiet as he spoke. 

Azriel knew that. 

"I told Nesta that everybody hates her," Cassian admitted quietly. "I didn't tell her that I loved her until after our fucking mating ceremony. I have no clue what her favourite colour is either, now that I am thinking about it."

When Cassian told him that, Azriel’s eyes flew open and he looked up at his brother, his jaw slackening.

“You what?” he demanded, not quite believing what he’d just heard.

"Not my best moments," Cassian admitted drily.

Azriel let out a choked snort at his brother’s reply, and he buried his head in his hands again.

“And you said I’m the idiot?” he asked faintly.

“We’re both idiots,” Cassian said matter-of-factly, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Maybe all males are idiots.”

"I didn't tell Feyre about the dangers the pregnancy put her in," Rhys said quietly. "I didn't tell her we were mates at first either. I am sure there are dozens of other things I did, where I failed as a mate."

Azriel sighed, and he let his hand drop to his lap, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re really not helping,” he said, his voice quiet. “I shouldn’t feel better about being a failure as a mate because my brothers are failures too.“

Cassian snickered at Azriel’s response, but Rhys let out a huff and gave him an amused smile.

“I’m just saying,” he began, his eyes soft. “You’re far from the only person to have ever messed up with a mate, Azriel. Hell, the list of things I did wrong with Feyre is longer than your arm.”

Azriel closed his eyes again, letting out a sigh as he rested his head back against the couch cushions.

He knew that Rhys was right. Knew that all the males around him were speaking the truth. He wasn’t the only one to have messed up with a mate.

But somehow, knowing that didn’t make the knowledge that he had failed feel any less raw. Any less painful.

“I don’t want to fail,” Azriel said quietly. “I don’t want to put her through…this pain. But I feel like that’s all I’m doing. All I did was let my own emotions and wants and desires drown out what Eira really needed“

"Then maybe you should ask Eira what Eira actually wants," Cassian said with a snort.

...And he was already back to making the exact same error as before, wasn't he? That should have been his first thought.

Azriel closed his eyes again, letting out another weary sigh.

“How?” he mumbled. “How do I go to her and say ‘Hey, I realize that I did everything wrong so far. And I failed you and I’m an idiot, so how about you and I can start everything over from the beginning?’”

A hand, strong and heavy, descended on the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“By doing it,” Rhys said firmly, a hint of a smile on his face. “By looking her straight in the eye and telling her what you just admitted to us. She deserves the honesty.“

“And when she says ‘no’? When she says she wants nothing to do with a failure and idiot of a male like me?” Azriel asked bitterly. “What then?”

"She won't," Rhys said calmly. "She won't, Azriel. She has been in love with you for years."

Azriel let out a sharp huff at Rhys’s statement. “Even more reason not to take me back,” he grumbled in response. “She’s loved me for that long and that’s all I come up with? Silence and stupidity? If I were her, I would reject me too."

"Just talk to her," Cassian said with a sigh. "We have enough other problems to deal with that aren't your brooding, Az."

There were so many other things to deal with. So many other things more important than his brooding.

Maybe there weren't many other things that were more important than his relationship with Eira, but still…

“Fine,” he mumbled at last, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll talk to her.” 

He needed to talk to her. Once she was awake. In the meantime… "What did you do to Amren?" he asked Rhys, who looked up startled.

“We had words,” Rhys said clippedly. “I suggested that she'll stay with Varian in the Summer Court for a few weeks. She’ll be welcome in Velaris when she can apologise to Eira and actually mean it.” Rhys’ voice was icy when he said that. “And I am due to have another conversation with Morrigan because I am not letting her get away with it either. Which reminds me, Cassian, you also owe Eira an apology,” Rhys pointed out evenly.

Cassian grimaced. “I know,” he admitted with a sigh. “I just really doubt that she wants to hear it,” he admitted quietly. 

Rhys sighed. "Which brings me to our next problem: I didn't want to push it...but we need to get Eira to train."

Azriel inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Of course, they would need to talk about that. Part of him was even surprised that Rhys had waited that long to bring up training.

"She needs control," Rhys continued, holding up a hand. "I am not talking about training her to kill anybody. I am talking about her learning to control her...lightning. And maybe some self-defence if she is up to that."

Azriel nodded in agreement. As much as he hated the thought of any sort of violence being aimed toward Eira — hated the mere idea of seeing her get hurt again — he knew that Rhys was right.

She needed to know how to control herself. To protect herself. She needed to know how to fight.

Azriel nodded again, raking a trembling hand back through his hair.

A part of him felt like he was betraying Eira by agreeing to this. Like he was failing her again. But another part, the part of him that was a warrior, that knew how to fight, that knew the dangers that came with not being able to defend yourself…that part of him agreed with Rhys.

"I'll be the bad guy," Rhys said with a sigh. "I'll be the one asking her. I hope I'll get away without outright ordering her."

Azriel let a small huff at Rhys’s comment.

He knew that if anyone had a chance at convincing Eira to train, it would be Rhys. But that didn’t help the pang of guilt at the thought of his mate receiving further training — being forced into training to begin with.

“And this arrived yesterday,” Rhys said with a sigh as he dropped an envelope in front of them. 

Azriel’s mouth flattened as he looked down at the envelope, his heart dropping at the sight of the Day Court symbol.

Cassian let out an identical, weary sigh as they also caught sight of the symbol.

Everyone in the room knew what that invitation meant.

"Feyre and I are required to attend," Rhys said quietly. "If Nesta won't go...there will be talk. Maybe less talk if Eira doesn't attend, but there will be talk about strive between the sisters, regardless of what information we feed them."

Azriel had to grit his teeth to hold back from letting out a snarl.

He knew Rhys was right. Knew that there would be talk no matter what.

But the thought of Eira being forced to attend that wedding...forced to endure Elain’s presence… He clenched his fist and took in a deep breath through his nose.

He was not going to like this. “If Eira goes, I go,” he spat out. 

Rhys’s mouth flattened for a moment, and Azriel braced himself for a fight.

Instead, his brother just gave him a short nod. “I expected nothing less, brother,” he said quietly.

****

Eira had slept. The first restful night in quite a while.

She still felt exhausted. Still felt like the world around her was...blurry. But it didn’t feel like all her energy had been sapped from her body, forcing her into unconsciousness.

It was an improvement.

"How are you feeling?" Feyre asked her softly. Nesta and she were curled around Eira in her bed...reminding her of their days in that bed in that cottage. Just one thing was lacking: Elain.

“I’m...better than I was last night,” she mumbled truthfully, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “…Still tired though.”

"You winnowed without training. That should probably be expected," Nesta said drily. 

"You also nearly put Amren on fire with your lightning," Feyre said with a grimace, and Eira flinched.

"She had that coming," Nesta growled. "What did she tell you? Were you a waste of life as well?" Eira flinched again, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

She didn’t want to talk about Amren. Didn’t want to talk about anything that had happened. Didn’t want to think about anything that had happened.

She just wanted to…sleep. She wanted to forget. Let her eyelids close. Drift away. Not feel so goddamn tired…

"She told her that not training her powers was a waste," Feyre said quietly. "That Eira owed it to me because I hunted and apparently kept her alive . It was absolutely out of line and ridiculous."

A fresh wave of heat rushed to Eira’s cheeks as Feyre explained what had happened, and a pang of shame went to her stomach. 

Because Amren was right. She did owe it to Feyre. That, and so much more. Feyre had cared for her. Hunted for her. Protected her. And what had Eira done in return? Nothing. Nothing but fail.

“You know-“ she began to ask, her words cutting awkwardly off as she felt a pang of guilt stabbed her chest.

“Yeah, I know what she said to you,” Feyre replied, her eyes soft. “Rhys got the whole thing out of her…He had a few things to say…I had a few choice words to say to her myself.”

Eira’s heart dropped into her stomach. She should’ve known that Rhys would have found out. He seemed to find out everything sooner or later. She winced, suddenly feeling even more guilty.

"I am sorry," Eira whispered. "I didn't want...I'll...I'll train. I'll learn how to control it. I'll..." She would hate every minute but if it made it easier for Feyre, she would...

“No,” Feyre told her softly, but firmly. “You will not be doing anything to make my life easier, Eira. You owe me nothing. Do you understand me?”

She wrapped her arms around Eira tightly and rested her head against Eira’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to do anything. For me. For anyone. Understand?” she murmured softly. 

"Training would be a good idea, but you don't need to do that for me," Feyre whispered. "Do it for yourself, Eira."

Eira’s throat tightened, and she swallowed thickly.

She didn’t want to do any sort of training. She didn’t want to do anything in that moment.

She just wanted to lie in bed. Forget about the world. And yet…she knew that training would be a smart idea. That she did need to learn how to control her...lightning. And she didn’t want a repeat of last night. With great reluctance, she swallowed again. “I…alright,” she mumbled. “I’ll…I’ll train. And learn how to control…my…lightning.“

She hated the words as soon as they escaped her mouth, but she didn’t take them back. She knew it was the right thing to do…even if she didn’t like it.

"I know you're not looking forward to it," Feyre said drily, and Eira smiled despite herself. A tiny, reluctant smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Who's…going to…" she began, before trailing off. “Who's going to be training me?”

"Not Amren," Nesta snapped immediately.

The words were like a weight being lifted from Eira’s chest. She was relieved more than she cared to admit that Amren wouldn’t be the one training her…and then guilt immediately set in. She shouldn’t feel so relieved. So happy. Amren had done nothing but be harsh but the truth to her, and yet…she still couldn’t stop herself from being happy that the female wouldn’t be training her.

“…That, we know already,” Feyre deadpanned as she shot her sister a fond smile. “But you’re right. Nobody is thinking about having Amren train Eira. It’ll probably be Rhys if you are comfortable with that.”

She took a deep breath.

Rhys.

Rhys was…good. She could deal with Rhsy training her. Out of all the options…he was good. It could be worse, she tried to tell herself.

“Doesn't he have...anything more important to do?” Eira asked hesitantly.

She knew that Rhys was the High Lord and…surely he didn’t have time to deal with her. Surely, he had more important things to deal with than training some…somebody like her. 

She was…waste of time, and she didn’t want to be any more of a burden on him than she already was.

“He’ll figure it out,” Feyre replied, giving her a soft smile. “He’ll make time, Eira. He’s good like that.”

Nesta made an annoyed sound, making Feyre roll her eyes.

Eira swallowed again, the words not really doing anything to reassure her that she wasn’t wasting Rhys’s time.

Rhys was important. The High Lord. He shouldn’t have to waste his time with her . She knew that she couldn’t say those things. Couldn’t make Feyre or Nesta realize how ridiculous this whole thing was…how insane it was to have the High Lord of the Night Court as her teacher .

“It’ll be fine,” Feyre repeated, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Now...how was...your meeting with Azriel's mother yesterday?" Feyre asked. "I need to admit, I didn't even know that his mother was still....alive," she admitted with a grimace.

"He mentions her...very rarely," Nesta disagreed quietly. "She's a seamstress though...She made him a jacket he wore for solstice once."

Eira hadn't known that…but then she also hadn’t known that his mother was still alive. He had never mentioned her to Eira at all. And Esmeray…Esmeray was the last thing Eira wanted to talk about. Eira didn't want to walk about...about what she had said.

"She…was nice. Sweet, like Azriel," Eira answered quietly, swallowing. "She was...maternal. Not like our mother was." It was true. She was sweet…kind…lovely. 

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a glance. "But?" Feyre prompted her quietly. "Did she say....anything?"

Eira didn’t say anything, just closed her eyes. “Talk to us,” Nesta said softly. “What did she say, Eira?” 

"She figured out who I was after I told her my first name...and then she said that Azriel is fond of me but he is fonder of Elain..and that it's too bad that she is mated to another," Eira blurted out, her voice shaky. "He didn't tell her...He didn't tell her that our…that the mating bond had snapped." She could feel the tears burn in her eyes.

"Oh, Eira," Feyre breathed, sounding heartbroken for her.

"I am going to fucking kill him," Nesta muttered.

“Get in line,” Feyre grumbled, and Eira could just feel the scowl her friend was shooting at Azriel in her head.

She swallowed again, feeling the guilt and the shame and the hurt and the….everything, rising up in her chest.

She didn’t want to be upset at this. Didn’t want to feel like…like she had a claim over Azriel, but she couldn’t help the painful pang in her chest at the words Esmeray had said.

Too bad that Elain is mated to another… 

He is fonder of Elain… 

Those words, they just hurt. They burned. And she felt so...helpless.

And the thought that he hadn’t told his mother about their mating bond…it just made the pain even worse.

"Azriel...he said…when he asked me to court…he said that Elain was the pretty one but I was the kind one," Eira choked out. "He wanted her. I am just...I am just a consolation prize to him, aren't I?"

For a moment it was silent. 

"First of all," Feyre said firmly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You are not a consolation prize. Don't ever let me hear you say that again, alright? You are not a consolation prize, you are a treasure ."

"Second," she continued, her voice growing cold. "He is an idiot. Who the hell tells you that? Why would he say that?"

Eira shrugged, feeling her eyes burn.

She didn't know. She didn't understand why he would say that. Why he had said any of what he had said? 

But she knew that...part of her, part of her hoped that he had meant it in an endearing way. That he had called her kind because he liked that about her.

"I thought...I thought just having him could be enough," she whispered. "But how am I supposed to live my whole life knowing that he would be happier if he was mated to Elain? To be compared to her day, after day, and found lacking?"

"For Fuck's sake, Eira!" Nesta snapped.

"He only wants me because of the bond. And maybe because of the vision he saw...he wants the babies we would have together, but he doesn't want me," she choked out. "Every other female would suffice as well."

"Stop that. You know that's not true," Feyre said firmly, wrapping an arm around Eira's shoulders again. "He cares about you; I've seen it for myself."

Eira choked on a bitter laugh. "What does it matter," she whimpered. "He might care...but Elain is still what he wants. Nothing will change that...not even the Mating Bond."

"Azriel...he's an idiot," Nesra agreed angrily. "A complete idiot who can't see that you...you're right in front of him. Yeah, Elain may be the most beautiful out of us all, but she’s clearly bone deep ugly, if she…she tried to keep your babies from you?” Nesta asked and Eira just nodded, tears pouring out of her eyes. 

“A girl,” she choked out. “A girl. Azriel’s wings but my hair. We looked so happy in that stupid vision. And I was pregnant again.” 

Feyre’s mouth fell open as she stared at Eira in shock, while Nesta’s eyes hardened furiously. “She...really…” Feyre’s voice trailed off, sounding heartbroken.

Nesta let out a loud, furious snarl. “She’s a monster . Elain is a monster ,” she spat, her hands forming into fists. 

“She…she tried to keep my babies from me,” Eira repeated, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Azriel and I…looking happy…and...and now...I..."

She had to pause, the tears making it impossible for her to continue.

Both Feyre and Nesta wrapped their arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“It’s not fair,” she choked out. “It’s not fair. I saw us. I saw how happy we were…”

It was as clear as day in her memory. That vision of them in that garden, of Azriel kissing her, of the little girl being hoisted up in the air by him…

Eira had looked so happy. Everything had been so perfect, so right…it had almost made her dizzy. It had been everything she had ever wanted. 

Only to have it ripped away. To know that she’d had a chance at happiness, a chance at…of a family, of everything that she had always wanted…only to have it ripped away so cruelly…

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt in her entire life.

"It's not fair," she mumbled hopelessly, burying her face against Feyre's shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's not fair...He wouldn’t have even cared…he wouldn’t have even…looked in my direction…if the bond hadn’t snapped…he wouldn’t even have looked at me…”

Don't cry, the shadows whispered, coming to wrap around her hands. Don't cry. Master was an utter fool. Blinded by a pretty face. But he does care about you. 

She let out a sob, feeling more of the shadows slide up her arms to wrap around her.

She didn’t know that. Azriel cared…but it didn’t change how he felt about Elain. It didn’t change that he didn’t care for her, for Eira. He only…he only wanted her because of the bond.

He only felt responsible for her because they were mates. All the...feelings...he had towards her...were all just because of the bond.

The shadows only continued to coil around her as she wept silently into Feyre’s shoulder, her heart aching.

She had known from the beginning that Azriel didn’t care for her beyond the bond.

But...until she had heard what Esmeray had said, and learned that he hadn’t told her the truth, she’d still had some tiny part of hope. Some small, stupid part of her that had clung to the hope that maybe, maybe, he would start to feel for her the same way that she felt for him.

"I loved him from the moment I saw him. I looked at him and it was...it was like coming home," she choked out.

“Of course you did,” Feyre said softly, gently stroking her hair as the tears continued to fall. “Of course you did…”

Nesta said nothing, the only sound that escaped her was a low, furious huff.

"I am really going to kill him," she hissed.

“Save some for me,” Feyre grumbled as she held Eira fiercely, her free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

His Mother had words for Master, the shadows said quietly, coiling themselves into her hair. He's brooding. 

“Good,” Nesta said firmly. “I hope he’s miserable.”

“Nes,” Feyre said quietly, giving her sister a gentle nudge.

“What?!” Nesta said, scowling. “Seriously, he deserves it.”

Eira couldn’t help the tiny part of her that felt bad for him…that felt guilty thinking about him being miserable.

She knew Azriel didn’t love her, and didn’t feel the same way, but…a part of her cared about him. She didn’t want him to be miserable.

 "Why is he brooding?" she asked quietly.

The shadows hummed again, making a soft whispering sound before they spoke again.

His Mother told him he was an idiot. 

"She did?" Feyre perked up in surprise, while Nesta’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk.

Yes, the shadows confirmed, coiling themselves into Eira’s hair like a strange, sentient snake.

It made something warm stir in Eira’s chest, imagining Esmeray calling Azriel an idiot to his face. Master realised that he hasn't been doing right to you...Not with the courting and not with...anything else. 

The words made more tears burn in Eira’s eyes, while Feyre shifted to give her a gentle hug.

“He’s realising, huh?” she grumbled. “That he’s been screwing up?”

Yes. The shadows coiled a little tighter around her, almost as if they were trying to comfort her. It made her heart ache in a different way, feeling warm and painful at the same time.

Will you talk to him? the shadows asked softly. Let him apologise? 

She was upset, she was hurt. She didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted to avoid him and forget this whole mess even happened.

But the shadows...they wanted her to talk to him. They…wanted her to let him apologize.

Another wave of guilt and shame washed over her.

Azriel had done…nothing wrong. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he merely didn’t…care towards her.

He wanted the bond, he wanted the comfort, he wanted a mate, he just…he just didn’t want her .

The thought made a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes, which she promptly buried against Feyre’s shoulder.

Feyre hugged her tightly, while Nesta gently rubbed her back as the shadows continued to coil themselves around her. “It’s alright,” Feyre whispered soothingly, as more shadows drifted down to comfort her. “It’s going to be alright.”

The shadows continued to hum and shift, wrapping themselves around her like a protective, comforting blanket. It was somewhat soothing, the sensation of their coolness, the feel of them wrapping around her, almost like they were trying to tell her it would be alright.

Master has a lot to say to you, the shadows spoke up again. Please, just listen to him, Eira. 

So she just nodded.

Thank you. 

The shadows hummed again, coiling a little tighter around her, and it was almost as if she could feel a sort of pleasure coming from them that she had agreed to talk to Azriel, to listen to whatever he had to say.

"But they'll stay," she choked out, pulling Nesta's hand tight around herself.

“Of course,” Feyre said instantly, wrapping her arms around her as well. “We’ll both stay. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Damn right,” Nesta said, tightening her grip as well. “I may need to restrain myself from knocking any sense into him.”

In any other situation, Eira may have laughed at that, but instead, all she did was give a shaky nod, letting herself be pulled in tight by her sisters.

The gesture was comfort, the feel of them around her reassuring and warm, even as her heart ached in her chest.

A few seconds later, the door opened slowly, and Azriel walked into the room.

Every bit of his usually impassive, stoic demeanour was gone, replaced by a look of anxiety and worry. Eira could see the tension in his shoulders, and the way his hands were clenched into fists.

He stopped a few meters away from them, his gaze locking on Eira instantly.

She could feel his eyes raking over her, like a physical caress, taking in the sight of her clearly tear-stained face. The way her hands were being clutched by Feyre and Nesta.

He looked desperate like he wanted to walk over and touch her, but one glimpse at the way Feyre and Nesta had her wrapped in their arms had him hesitating.

"How...how are you feeling?" he asked her, and she could see his throat bob as he swallowed.

“How do you think she is, you idiot?” Nesta snapped, her voice low and cutting.

Azriel didn't pay any attention to her, his gaze firmly locked on Eira, staring at her as if he was waiting for her to say something.

And Eira…she had no idea what to say. She had absolutely no idea.

She sat there silently, letting words and thoughts and questions swirl in her mind, but saying nothing. And it only seemed to make the tension in Azriel’s shoulders grow even more, the worry in his gaze deepened.

“Eira…” he breathed out, his voice soft and raw, and she could see his hands twitch like he wanted to reach for her. “Can…can we talk?”

Both Feyre and Nesta tensed, their grip on her tightening.

"You can talk. She will listen," Nesta said, her voice icy. "And then she can decide if she wants to take pity on you, or if she never wants to see you again. Did you seriously tell my sister that Elain was prettier than her in the same breath as you asked to court her?!?"

Azriel closed his eyes, looking pained at that, and she could see his shoulders slump. But he didn’t deny it, didn’t try to defend himself, and Eira just…felt her heart ache even more.

"I was an idiot," he said quietly, his voice low and thick. "I…I was a fool."

He sounded so miserable when he said that, and something in Eira just…wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that this was hurting her more than he seemed to comprehend…but she just sat there, saying nothing, letting the tears still fall silently down her cheeks.

Azriel took a few steps closer, his gaze still firmly fixed on her. He looked miserable, like a wounded animal, like he was in pain.

And a small part of her…a small, stupid part of her wanted to reach out to him. Wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, to hug him and tell him she wasn’t angry.

But it wasn’t going to be alright, and she was angry. So she said nothing.

The silence seemed to drag on, the tension rising thicker in the room. The two sisters held her tighter still, their hands clenched around her, their own gazes fixed on Azriel, shooting glares at him.

It made him look even more miserable, and she could see him taking another cautious step forward.

“Eira…” he tried again, his voice so soft and pleading. “Please, please say something…”

The silence seemed to drag on, the tension rising thicker in the room. The two sisters held her tighter still, their hands clenched around her, their own gazes fixed on Azriel, shooting glares at him.

It made him look even more miserable, and she could see him taking another cautious step forwards.

“Eira…” he tried again, his voice so soft and pleading. “Please, please say something…”

"What do you want me to say, Azriel?" she asked, her voice weak. She wanted to scream and shout but she didn't have it in herself.

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to talk about how your mother had absolutely no clue that we are mates ? How she told me that you were fond of me but fonder of Elain? How it was just too bad that Elain was mated to another male?!"

She could see his body go tense at that, his eyes widening.

It hurt her, to see the realization and pain slowly spreading over his face. He knew what she had gone through, what she had to hear, the truth that his mother had revealed.

But he didn’t understand. He had absolutely no idea just how much all that had hurt her.

"I thought I was alright with it. I thought I could live with it. I could live with the fact that you didn't actually want me. That you wanted the life that vision promised you...that you were in love with my twin sister and not with me."

The words stung both Azriel and her.

She could see him shifting, and hear a low, pained sound leaving his lips. She could see something in his expression…a pain and hurt so deep she couldn’t even find the words to describe it.

"You…you think I don't want you...?" he breathed out, his voice so low she almost didn't hear it.

"You don't want me," Eira choked out. "You wanted Elain. And before that, you wanted Morrigan. And then Elain's vision promised you me and you go along with it, because of the mating bond."

Azriel flinched at that like each word was a physical blow. He looked sick, the misery on his face growing with each statement.

And a part of her was satisfied, seeing him look like that, seeing him look in pain. It was what he deserved after everything that he had done.

But the other part of her…the other part of her ached and bled at every expression of pain on his face.

The silence again continued to drag on, the air still and tense with the heavy atmosphere between the two of them.

He hadn’t denied it, she knew he hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t said that she was wrong, that she was wrong in thinking the only reason he pursued her was because of the bond.

The thought made her eyes sting, tears brimming and overflowing. Her heart ached, hurt, felt like it was bleeding.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry, Eira."

The words stung, just as much as they gave her hope.

Her heart was aching in her chest, tears still falling slowly down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled, and she took in a few shaky breaths.

She had been hurt by him. He had never even considered her before the bond had snapped. And he hadn’t denied it when she had called him out on it.

And still, she wanted him to fix this. Wanted him to find some way to fix this.

"I am not...I am not going and try to defend myself," he whispered. "I am not going and lie to you. And yes, Eira. I did see that vision and I felt that Mating Bond and I did want to pursue you. Because I want that future. I want that future with you."

She wanted that future with him as well, she longed for it, but she wanted him to come to her because he wanted her. Because he desired her, the vision be damned.

But instead, she came second fiddle to an image in a vision. Instead, she came last to Elain and Mor.

"And I went about it wrong," Azriel continued. "I should have...I should have actually made the effort to get to know you, Eira. I should have talked to you. I should have asked what you wanted. I should have asked for your favourite colour. And I should have..."

He trailed off, the words leaving him in a choked gasp. Eira could see the misery on his face, the suffering.

He looked completely miserable, his hands clenching into fists, his shoulders hunched and tensed, but he kept on going, his voice thick and low in his throat.

"I should have cared. I should have seen you. I should have noticed you."

"And I can't change it. I can't change what I did know. I fucked up, Eira. I fucked up so badly, that you have every reason and every right not to want to see me for centuries."

The words stung, and Eira just…she ached.

She ached, she hurt, and everything inside her had tears welling. She ached because…she wanted to forgive him. She wanted to give him a second chance.

But the thought of being second rate again, of being the last choice…it hurt.

But…she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, either. Couldn’t look away from the sight of how miserable he was, how distressed and in pain.

It hurt, it hurt so badly…but a part of her just wanted to hug him, to reassure him…Azriel took another few steps towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. He looked so wretched, his eyes pained, his whole body shaking as if it was taking him a monumental effort to remain standing there. To force himself to remain standing so close to her, to keep looking at her.

He was still a good few meters away from her, but the expression on his face, the look in his eyes…

It was like he was in agony.

She could see his hands clenching into fists, and could hear him taking a shaky breath.

"You…you don’t have to forgive me, or even want to talk to me again," he said, and she could hear how hard it was for him to form those words.

It hurt…it hurt seeing him look so miserable, looking like he was in pain. And it hurt because she wanted him. She still wanted him.

And the fact that it hurt was what got to her, what finally made her move. She shoved off Feyre and Nesta, who were still holding her, both of them looking startled.

They protested, clearly wanting to hold her back, but Eira pushed her way through, walking towards him.

Azriel hadn’t moved, his body going tense, his eyes going wide as she approached him.

And she hated that part of herself. She hated how much she still wanted him, despite everything that had happened. How much she ached for him, in ways that should be impossible.

It was a sharp, dull ache, a desperate and constant pain, a desire to reach out to him, to pull him closer, and at the same time, shove him as far away as possible.

She wanted to shove him away, push him further away. She wanted to tell him to suffer, to hurt the way she was hurting.

But at the same time…she wanted to pull him closer. To feel his skin against hers, under her fingertips. To feel his arms around her, holding her tight, his lips against her skin.

It was maddening. He was maddening.

“I am sorry,” he said, the truth flowing like clear spring water from his words. “I am so sorry. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

His words…she wanted to believe them. Wanted to believe that he was being sincere, that he truly was sorry, that he wanted to make it up to her.

And a small, naive, foolish, hopeful part of her, the part that was desperate and hopeful and greedy, did believe him. Wanted to latch onto the words, to hold them tight and not let go.

“I want to get to know you. I want to learn your favourite colour and your favourite place in Velaris. I want..”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. His eyes were still fixed on hers, pleading and desperate and aching, his entire body practically aching with the need to come closer.

“I want to learn everything there is to know about you. I want to learn about your smile and your laugh and your tears. I want to be with you, Eira.”

The words…they were everything that she wanted to hear. Everything that she had wished he would tell her, and more. They felt like a caress, like a gentle breeze, a soft comfort. And they hurt.

They hurt because she wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out and hold him close. Wanted to forgive him and let herself be close to him in the way she longed for.

“I want to be with you,” he repeated, his words a choked gasp. “I want to court you. I want to mate you. I want to…I want…”

He trailed off, choking on the words, taking another deep breath. His body was shaking, his shoulders tense, his expression aching with the effort of it all.

He looked in pain, so utterly hurt, like every word out of his mouth was agony. But he was still talking, still trying to get out the words, trying to make her understand.

“I want to spend every waking moment of my day with you,” he continued, his tone so raw and open and aching. “I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you. I want to hear your voice and see your face every damn day.”

“I’ll do better, I’ll be better,“ he whispered.

He sounded so desperate, his voice thick and raw and pleading. It was like he was being ripped apart from the inside like he was in physical pain.

And Eira…she couldn’t help it.

She couldn’t help but believe his words, couldn’t help but let her stubborn, foolish heart hope.

“Please,” he continued, his voice breaking. “Please, please give me a second chance. I’ll…”

Another breath, another choked gasp. His shoulders hunched, his fists clenching tighter.

“I’ll do anything, just please give me a second chance. Give me the chance to right this. Give me the chance to prove to you…prove to you how much I want you. Just…give me another chance.”

His voice was so raw, so open, the look in his eyes pure pleading. He looked like he was ready to beg, ready to do anything for her. Anything to give him another chance.

And her heart, her foolish, stupid, hopeless heart…the part that wanted to hold onto him, to forgive him, to give him that chance ached.

She still hurt, still ached, the words from his mother still so fresh in her mind. The thought of being second, of being his last choice…it was a sharp blow against her.

But at the same time, she couldn’t stop the part of her that wanted to hold onto him. That longed for just a chance, just a moment where he was hers, where she was first and last and everything in his heart.

Azriel looked ready to continue, but he stopped when he saw the look on her face, her conflicting emotions warring inside her chest.

He closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping. He was probably expecting her to say no, to turn him down. He probably expected her to…

To do the sensible, rational thing. But sensibility and rationality were the last things she was feeling right now.

Her heart was aching, her body trembling, her emotions a swirl of conflicting feelings. Her mind was screaming at her, telling her just how idiotic she was for considering this.

And at the same time, her heart was yearning, longing for him. Wanting to grab onto him and never let go.

Azriel’s entire body was shaking, his eyes still closed, looking like he was bracing himself for her answer, for the words he expected her to say.

The words she should say, the words that would send him away, that would make her turn and walk away.

And yet…she found herself taking a step closer towards him. And then another.

She wasn’t even sure why she was doing it, why her body was moving before she even knew it, her mind screaming at her to stop and turn around and walk away.

But she kept moving towards him, each step sending a strange, giddy rush shooting through her, her heart aching and fluttering at the same time.

And she stopped in front of him, less than a foot of space separating them, her eyes fixed on his.

Azriel still hadn’t opened his eyes, his face tense and taut as if waiting for the blow to come.

But the blow never came.

Because Eira reached out, her fingers trembling as she reached up to touch his cheek.

Azriel's entire body jerked as if he had been struck, a gasp leaving his mouth. His eyes flew open, shock and surprise clear on his face.

But he didn’t move, didn't pull away or even flinch as her fingers made contact with his skin.

He just stood there, frozen as he stared at her.

Her hand trembled, her throat tight as she felt the warmth of his skin. His face was tense, his breath catching with every moment her fingers remained against his skin, like he was fighting the urge to turn his head and press his lips to her skin.

“Eira,” he breathed out, the word a whispered plea, a prayer. And then he seemed to realize he had moved, was on the edge of reaching out to her in turn.

But he caught himself, his hands hanging at his sides. He was holding himself back, holding himself from reaching for her…

And somehow, that made her even more determined, her decision stronger.

She wanted him to reach for her, wanted his hands on her skin, wanted him to hold her close and never let go.

She slid her hand along his cheek, her palm caressing his jaw. And she stepped even closer, closing the very last bit of distance between them.

They were so close, her body almost pressed flush against him. He was so warm, his body burning, and so large, like a rock, unflinching and steady against her.

She could feel him trembling, just barely holding himself back from wrapping his arms around her. His eyes were fixed on hers, longing and pleading and aching.

Her breath caught when she realized how closely she was pressed against him, how only a fraction of distance separated their bodies. She could practically feel his racing heart under her skin, hear every quick and desperate breath leaving his mouth.

He was breathing fast, ragged and sharp, every little inhale shuddering from his lips like a gasp. He looked like he was about to snap, his entire body visibly trembling like a taut thread on the edge of snapping.

“Don’t do it again,” she said softly. “I won’t…I won’t be able to go through it a second time.”

Her words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, his breath hitching in his chest. She could see the pain that flared on his face at her words.

“I-I won’t. I swear,” he responded, and his voice was so gentle, like he was talking to a wounded bird. “I swear on my life, I’ll never let you go through that again.”

He was holding himself back, every muscle and sinew in his body tense with the effort of it. It was like he was fighting the urge to pull her flush against him, to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

“I swear, Eira,” he repeated, his voice a low and achingly sincere promise. “I swear I’ll be better. I’ll be everything you need, anything you want.”

“The only thing I want is for you to be yourself. I want you. All of you.”

A choked gasp left his mouth, his eyes going wide. He looked almost stunned like he couldn’t quite process what she had said.

“I…you want me?” he asked, his voice rough and raw, filled with disbelief.

She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. “Yes. I want you,” she confirmed, her voice firm and unwavering.

The words had a strange effect on him. It was like they had knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him looking completely awed and shocked.

He took another shuddering breath, his body trembling as he stared down at her. “You…you really still want me?” he asked his voice barely a whisper.

And just like that, the dam broke inside him. He reached out, pulling her flush against his body, his arms wrapping tight around her.

His head dropped to her shoulder, his body shuddering as he pressed his face against the crook of her neck. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, his voice ragged and raw and desperate. “I’ll be better. I’ll be the male you deserve. I promise.”

His body was shaking against hers, holding her tight like he was afraid she would disappear. He was breathing fast, hard and frantic, his chest rising and falling against her body frantically.

She could feel him shaking like a leaf, every muscle in his body taut and tense as he held her tight but oh so gently. And under that, she could feel his racing heart, beating so fast and intense that it was dizzying.

“I’ll be everything you need,” Azriel repeated, his lips moving against her skin, his words spoken in a low, ragged whisper. “I’ll be your male, your mate. I’ll never leave you, never hurt you or let you down again. I swear it, Eira, I swear it on my life.”

His fingers were digging into her skin, clinging to her so tightly that she could feel the slight, sharp pressure of his hands against her like he was trying to hold her to him, keep her as close as possible.

He was holding her so tightly that it should have hurt, but it only felt good. It felt like a comfort, a reassurance like he would never let her go.

[ghostlygeto]

let me be your mirror | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!tav / reader

warnings: spoilers for early romance w astarion, fluff, kind of follows canon dialogue, reader pining hard, reader is an artist this has been done with this exact scenario surely, astarion calls reader “darling��, “my sweet”, also “dove” which isn’t canon, reader and astarion aren’t really together but i mean. yeah they are. not proof read!!!!!

word count: 1.1k

you had been drawing astarion for much longer than you’d care to admit. though the dates scribbled on the bottom of each page betrayed you, exposing that you had drawn astarion close to every day for a month.

it started off innocently, you drew all of your party members when you had first met them. you were stressed and overwhelmed with your situation at hand, the tadpole snugly sat behind your eye squirming to remind you of your devastating truth: you’d soon become a mindflayer if you couldn’t find a cure. on nights you couldn’t sleep or mornings you’d woken up early, you found yourself drawing. it had always been a way you’d let off your steam, now was no exception.

when the stress of your situation died down, as did your drawings of your now friends. you had a couple day’s worth of gale and lae’zel, and probably a week of shadowheart. but astarion? it seemed every time your tool of choice hit the paper he had been the outcome.

you weren’t ashamed of it by any means. astarion is a gorgeous man, blood sucking monster or not. his eyes captivated you (as proven by the amount of drawings of them alone), and his voice had your attention like no other. if the nature of things were any different, you might be willing to confess you were in love with him.

so when the night came and everyone had fallen asleep but the two of you, and astarion had let it slip that he hadn’t seen his reflection in two hundred years, your heart broke. he didn’t know the way his curls hooked around his ears, or the way the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly when he’d successfully kill a goblin. and his eyes, gods his eyes. you’d have to be dense to miss the way they light up at the very sight of you. knowing he didn’t get to enjoy the very things you adore about him devastated you.

“what color were they before?” you asked, arms wrapped tightly around your legs to hug them close to your chest. “your eyes, before you were turned.” your cheek pressed against your knee as you looked to him.

“my eyes?” astarion sounded surprised you’d asked him such a thing. “i don’t..i don’t remember.”

that felt like the final nail in your coffin. your heart ached more for him now that it had before, if that were even possible. if he didn’t remember his eye color, his hair color was probably long forgotten as well. it felt impossible to wrap your head around, you knew the shade of your eyes and tone of your hair by heart. the idea of forgetting it, well, you were sure you’d have to be dead to forget.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, darling?” his tone almost made you forget your sadness. it seemed anytime he spoke to you now his words were laced with honey, drawing you in and sticking to you.

“you haven’t seen yourself in two decades,” you repeat his previous words back to him, “you hardly remember your own face, is that not the least bit devastating to you?”

astarion hesitated before replying to you, trying to chose his words carefully. “of course it is. but there’s nothing i can do to change it, so why bother being upset?”

you chewed the inside of your cheek. of course you had the solution. you had probably close to twenty drawings of his face alone that could provide him some solace about the entire thing. but what if he thought you were weird for it? none of them knew of your little hobby, he could expose it to the others and they could cast you out for invading their privacy. and well, your infatuation toward him was nothing short of romantic. you weren’t sure he needed to know that, but exposing your drawings to him would make it clear.

“i can feel your tadpole wriggling around, what’s wrong, my sweet?” his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you finally managed to speak.

“let me be your mirror,” you offered, raising your head from your knees. you could practically see his thought process, and you didn’t miss the small smirk on his face. “what do you want to know?”

“i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” astarion held his usual cocky tone for a moment, but for a second it faultered. “what you see.”

“close your eyes,” he obeyed, wondering what it was exactly you were making him close them for. it wasn’t until he heard shuffling in your tent beside him that he opened them and called out to you confused.

“what are you doing? what in your tent could ever allow you to be my mirror?”

“hush, would you?” you roll your eyes at him as you step out from your shelter and back toward him. you took a deep breath before sitting back down next to him, offering him the pile of papers. “here.”

for the first time since you had met him, astarion was speechless. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you, maybe a few put together compliments for him to tease you about before leaving the conversation at that. but this? he had no idea that you could draw, let alone that you’d use such a talent to draw someone like him.

“i know it might be weird, sorry,” you hide your face from him, afraid of his reaction. “i’m sure it might not be comforting to know someone you had barely known until recently has been drawing you for-”

“i don’t find it weird,” he interrupted you, gently grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, “look at me,” guiding your eyes to his, astarion offered you a smile. not a cocky smile or his usual smirk, but rather a real smile. one you weren’t sure you’d seen from him before. “thank you…for this. they’re beautiful. and i…i could never express my gratitude to you,”

you removed your chin from his hold and waved your hand at him, dismissing his words. “don’t say all that astarion. you make an amazing muse, it’d be criminal of me to not make use of that.” you chose to pretend the burning in your cheeks had been from the fire and not the blooming embarrassment.

“criminal, hm?” it didn’t take long for the astarion you had grown attached to to return, smirk plastered on his face. he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours before speaking again, his voice low and almost sultry, “well we wouldn’t want you to get arrested again, now would we, dove?”

“you ruined the moment, astarion,” you huff, pulling your legs back to your chest to rest your head on your knees again. “it’s getting late. we should sleep.”

astarion nodded, standing from his place and offering you his hand to help you up. “yes, i’d hate for a lack of sleep to ruin your muse,” he teased again, handing you back your drawings. “i’ll see you in the morning, darling.”

reblogs, comments, and likes appreciated !!

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

this fic was brought to you by horny hyperfixations. reblogs and comments are what keep your local writers sustained!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics to get notified whenever i post 💛

[charnelhouse]

no promises

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (Red Fox) Wordcount: 2.6k Warnings: rough smut. size difference. infected wounds. hangovers. sex on a cot. Summary: The first time. A/N: for all you babes, who been asking for their first sexi time Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

Ghost is wounded.

It’s not grave. It’s not critical, but it’s a bitch. The kind of pain where, even for him, tears prick his eyes and pressure grows fat behind his nose. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck….”

He sits up and the shifting of his weight irritates the poorly stitched slit along his ribs. It’s swollen with infection, the skin puffy and screaming red last he checked. It reminds him of a howling infant. He thinks of howling himself, but the desire to cry out sits firmly at the center of his esophagus. He swallows it before gingerly lifting his shirt. He can’t see it at this angle, but it feels wet.

He lightly touches his side and the pain is excruciating. He chokes. 

“Ghost?”

Red steps through the doorway, the shadows collecting at her edges. The rest of the safehouse is silent and asleep aside from Gaz on watch.

“It’s nothin’,” he assures her before accidentally touching the stitches and jerking again, hissing in agony. Wordlessly, she makes her way toward him on bare feet. They’re pretty, but everything about her is pretty. In fact, the thought of her looking at his purple, pus-filled injury makes him nervous. “Red, it’s not-

“Hush,” she chastises, knocking his hand away and turning on the light. She’s clinical about it. Shirt up. She leans in and the stench wafting from his bandages is enough to curl wallpaper. It smells like a corpse and Simon knows the exact perfume of rot. He thinks of Roba - it screeches through his mind before he banishes it to the lockbox in the furthest corner of his head. 

“Smells like it’s infected,” he says to fill the unbearable silence. 

“Ya think?” The corner of her plush mouth twitches as she tugs his shirt higher. 

Her fingers are cold against his burning hot skin and he shudders.

“Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” he lies.

“I’m sorry,” Her gaze flickers up to meet his. “It’s more than infected, Simon. We need to get you to a medic like yesterday.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Not if it infects your blood, baby.”

He goes rigid as does she. Her eyes are round and expression aghast and he realizes that she had just said what he'd thought she said. He didn’t mishear her. Christ - he gets fucking hard at the pet name and he has to wrestle the blankets over his lap.

She bites her lip. “Um,” she slowly draws his shirt back down. “I meant to say that.”

“Did you?”

“100%.”

“I believe you.”

She shakes her head, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. She looks embarrassed and it surprises him. She isn’t one to trip up or make mistakes that cost her that unflinching coolness. It’s something Soap chases, perhaps something that he already thinks he’s mastered. Soap thinks he's a helluva lot smarter than he is.

Ghost finds Red disarming, an enigma. She can go from perfectly composed to a siren-fury in the space of a second. She can be cold - an ice queen as many others have called her. But with 141, she's anything but. Despite the violence in her eyes, she has a sweetness that she reserves for them.

Her hand on his skin, her quiet voice tinged with concern as she hovered in the doorway: Ghost?

Baby.

“I didn’t mind it,” he says suddenly.

“Mind what?”

“What you called me.”

She smiles with all of her teeth before huffing softly. She leans closer and he knows he will deny her nothing. She slips her fingers against his neck, trails them down to the hard muscle of his chest. “There are a lot of things I’d like to call you,” she confesses before kissing his clothed cheek and calling Gaz for EVAC. 

***

A month later and he’s next to her on a small, yellowing cot. He takes the floor, his back glued to the wall and legs spread out. She’s crumpled on the thin mattress, deathly hungover, completely ill. She twists onto her side to stare at him. 

“I fucked up.”

“I warned yah about that homemade shit.”

“Alejandro said-

“He didn’t know what he was talking about. He’s been hugging a toilet since last night. Soap hasn’t even left the couch, claiming he’s gone blind.”

She sniffles.

“Are you crying?” Granted, he’s a little hungover too, but still…the girl had been shot before. 

“It hurts, Simon,” she whines. “I honestly feel like I’ve been stabbed between the eyes.” 

He hates when she calls him by his name. It sounds too lovely. It sounds like something good.

He wordlessly hands her another cold glass of water, which she takes gratefully. She drinks too fast and most of it lands on her shirt, turning the white fabric transparent. Bleedin’ Christ. He can see her nipples. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why he feels like he has to hover over her like a mother hen. She got so drunk, he was worried she’d hurt herself or wander and - 

Well - he fuckin’ likes her. He wants her to be safe. 

She readjusts onto the mattress, legs kicking out at the threadbare sheet. She’s wearing flannel shorts and her legs are smooth and shiny underneath the wane light. After a moment, she asks, “Would you - shit - uh would you lie on here with me?”

At first, he doesn’t think he’s heard her right. He scrapes his hand over his face before turning to regard her fully. “Come again?”

“It would help,” she explains. “It would really help.”

She doesn’t ask the same question. She doesn’t repeat the desire to have him get in her bed and he realizes she’s left the ball in his court. He can pretend like he didn’t hear her initial question and they can continue on like before or - 

To his own surprise, he stands  and awkwardly fits his enormous mass into the bed. He can’t not touch her due to the narrowness of the space, but she seems to love it.  She throws her arms around him, kicks one leg out, tangling it with his thigh. He grunts and he can feel her cheek against his heart. He can smell her hair. 

“You’re like an octopus,” he accuses. 

“Yes,” she replies simply before snuggling her head into his chest. She’s burrowing, pressing herself into him. More. More. Go deep. 

“Is it better?”

“So much.”

He aches for her. That was it. Plain and direct. He ached. 

He throbbed.

He pulses with the same repetitive thump of his organs, the circulating system of his veins. The continuous reminder that he wanted Red in a way that consumed him.

I want her to consume me.

He’s far too big for her and still he imagines her being able to swallow him whole even if he throws her down and claims her.

He’s hard between his legs and he prays she’s asleep. She’s rising and falling with his chest, slipping into the gentle pace like lapping water. 

But then he feels it, she shifts slightly and skates her hand down his belly before she brushes it over his crotch.

It could be a mistake.

She does it again and he twitches. He rumbles.

Silently, he draws his arm back and begins to stroke the nape of her neck, the bare skin of her shoulders. She’s silky and feverish and he can imagine just how hot she is between her legs. 

Wet. 

“It would help,” she whispers and it’s all the consent he needs.

***

It’s terribly awkward at first. They’re both clumsy, both not feeling their best due to last night’s party. He moves on top of her, arm braced above her head, hand clutching the metal frame of the cot. He wedges himself between her spread thighs. 

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.”

He rocks against her, hips grinding down so that the bulge of his cock drags against her clothed cunt. She sighs, arching into him. Her nipples tight and pinched against the fabric of her shirt.

“What if I want to kiss you?” she asks in such a timid voice that it stops him. He studies her for a moment before quickly standing up, locking the door and flicking out the light. He yanks the mask off, breathes deep. It’s freeing. The cool air brushing his skin, the slope of his nose and sensitive mouth and he’s already back on the cot. He’s on top of her and she immediately fists his sweat-damp hair. It’s mussed and unshowered and she grins against his lips.

“I can feel you,” she says, dazed and awed as he rucks her shorts and underwear off her legs. In the gloom, he can make out the shadow of her pussy. He touches it, allows his finger to linger against the warm, soaked slit. He pets at her and she moans. She tries to curl into herself, but he restrains her, pinning her hip and thigh to the sheets. 

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he admits and this is just sex. It’s just about feeling better.

“You can’t see me,” she argues. 

“I can see you.” He lowers his face to her cunt and tastes her. She gasps. “Got eyes like a bat, you know?” He licks her again, savoring the salt of her flesh, the secret part of her. He eats her until she shakes, until the walls of her womb clamp down on his fingers and her clit throbs against his tongue. He does it again until she has to kick him away with her heels. He sits back on his haunches, his hand lifting to circle her dainty ankle. He glances down to study her pretty little foot against his broad chest. “You’re like a doll.” His Duchess. 

“C’mere,” she begs, arms out and as he sinks into them, she wraps them snugly around his shoulders. He turns his head until his lips match up with hers and then they kiss for real. The first true kiss they’ve had aside from the one on his mask last December. He sucks her lower lip between his teeth, nibbles until she inhales sharply. He takes advantage of her parted mouth to thrust his tongue against her own, the slick, warm muscle lazily strokes and strokes until he’s rutting between her spread thighs because it’s driving him into a red-haze.

“Want me to taste you?” she whispers as she holds his face between her hands. Her thumb draws a circle over his cheekbone, digs into the scar that runs underneath it, taking advantage of his nakedness.

“‘Nother time, pet,” he replies as he undoes the button of his jeans. She helps him kick them off and when he finally stands, her eyes widen comically. Her hand falls against her chest, flutters like a bird. 

“Oh,” she says. “Oh - um - Oh.”

He glances down to where his cock has curved up against his belly. He’s rock-hard, nearly ready to blow. Red and twitching. He knows she’s soaked. He’s made sure of that. He’s used three of his fingers on her to get her ready, but she still looks nervous. 

“We don’t have to,” he assures her quickly. “We can just not-”

“No!” she protests, almost hissing. “I want to - I do. There are condoms.” She gestures vaguely to a desk in the corner. “In there…maybe.” 

He gets them and returns to her, her fave still twisted into something weary. “Do - do you think those will fit you?”

He laughs. “Yeah, kid. They’ll fit.”

She lies back down, her legs splayed open and, even in the dark, she is obscenely beautiful. To him. Objectively. To anyone. He’s heard the men say it. He’s felt it. He’s memorized her face and those half-parted lips and used the image to jack off in the shower like a school boy and - 

“Simon,” she says, an edge of impatience scraping her teeth. “Get inside me.”

He rips the wrapper with his teeth and slips it on. He climbs on top of her and he intends to be careful, treat her like something fragile. He’s so big that her legs have trouble wrapping around his waist. His shoulders so wide that she has to throw her arms out to encircle them.

He grips himself as he slides the tip of his cock against her slick heat. She breathes deeply, wiggles her hips and then he begins to press into her. “Hold onto me,” he instructs and she does, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he sinks to the hilt inch by inch. He can feel himself battering against her womb. Her cunt sucks him in with a near-violence. She grunts, but doesn’t cry or whimper. He can make out her eyes in the dark and they’re trained on his. Determined - as if she’s fired up to handle a drill.

“Good girl,” he praises when his hips make contact with hers. His groin is nestled against her mound, her tits crushed against his chest. He noses at her cheek before brushing his lips over hers. “Can I move?”

“If you don’t,” she sighs. “I’ll fuck you up.”

He laughs before drawing his hips back and driving forward. That particular move earns a yelp from her and then he takes control of the dance. He fucks her in deep, powerful strokes, circling and angling down to hit that fleshy, soft patch buried too far for his fingers to reach. She burrows her face into his chest as she clings to him. The room echoes with the slap of flesh, the wet, dirt noises of his cock repeatedly sliding to the hilt.

“Jesus,” she whimpers as he grips her under the knees and forces them against her breasts. He bends her in half as he continues to thrust, snapping into her with a relentless, determined hunger. The bed creaks, the coils screeching and he’s certain it might break beneath them. It wouldn’t stop him. Not at all. 

“Feel so good,” he marvels as he clasps her cheek in his palm, bends his head and plunges his tongue into her mouth. He kisses her like he’s fucking her and when that’s too much, he flips her onto her stomach. 

Her fingers fist the sheets and he grabs the pillow on the floor and shoves it under her hips. From behind, he spreads her open, spits against her bruised, puffy cunt before sinking to the base. He braces his arm above her head, leverages his weight so that he doesn’t put all of it onto her shuddering form. 

“You got this, kid,” he murmurs as he sucks a mark into her neck. He delivers a sharp thrust that sends the tip of his cock hammering against her womb. It knocks her with the force of a punch and she clamps down around him, rocking back against him as she wheezes: please please please -

“Touch that pretty cunt for me, yeah?” he orders, his own voice broken on a husk. His length drags through her, sears hot and molten, stretching her in two pieces. She’s so tight, but he can feel himself open her up, mark her for himself. She slips her hand beneath her and her lower muscles bear down, constrict like a knot around the base of his dick. “Fuck - fuck - just like that, duchess. Get yourself all wet for me.”

She lifts herself, snatches his forearm and bites down as he continues to fuck her. He groans, hips stuttering against her ass, but the pain is welcome. It centers him, focuses his pleasure as it expands through his limbs. She’s covered in a thin film of sweat, her hair sticking to her back, caught in his hand. Every rut of his cock makes her ass jiggle and he thinks he’s buried so deep that he’ll never be the same. There will be no one else after this and he, to his horror, admits it:

“Fuckin’ hell, Red,” he growls into her ear as she climaxes a third time that night. “You’re so good. No one else like you.”

She’s half-mad. She’s gone and he doesn’t think she’s heard him and maybe it’s better that way. This is about feeling good. This is about comfort and relief and as he reaches his own end, his orgasm ripples through him. It unfurls through his torso, the muscles of his thighs and groin and everything pulls tight and that white scar tissue over his ribs from his infected wound begins to throb, but in a damn fine way and oh - he feels it. He really feels it.  

Her fingers tangle through his, winding like creeping myrtle. He crushes her hand against the metal railing, he holds it down and flat until the bones creak.

"Ghost," she whimpers, and he realizes he's embedded inside her, taken root, left his seed.

He thinks of all the promises he's given her the last few years:

We're getting out of this.

Focus on me, Red. We're good. We've already won.

It's just a scratch. You're fine. I've got yah.

He wants to make another, it scratches his tongue, stings like a burr. He chokes on that unspoken promise until it tumbles down his throat and allows him to pull away.

[muzansfangs]

A witch, a werewolf and a vampire

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader x Urahara Kisuke; mention to Jugram Haschwalth, Gin Ichimaru, Rangiku Matsumoto, Isane Kotetsu, Unohana Retsu, Yamamoto Genryūsai, Kenpachi Zaraki, Muguruma Kensei, Yoruichi Shihoin, Sui-Feng, Momo Hinamori, Tier Harribel, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Ryuken Ishida, Mayuri Kurotsuchi;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, fantasy au, misogyny, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, use of potions as birth control method, threesome (m x f x m), oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (Urahara!receiving), blood drinking, vampire!Aizen, werewolf!Urahara, witch!reader, hair pulling, murder, gore, horror, burial, death, language, dirty talk, competition in bed, criminals, morally grey reader, double penetration, anal sex, alcohol consumption;

Plot: It’s a rainy night and blood runs down the muddy streets of the town. Three supernatural beings, a witch, a werewolf and a vampire, find shelter in a disreputable Inn that attracts the wrong sort of people. All of them are on a run, secrets and horrific murders staining their reputations and making them quite notorious downtown. When the three of them end up forming an alliance, they realize something links them together. The thirst for blood, the gloomy atmosphere and the inhebriation leads them to give in to lust in a room upstairs.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The croaky laughter of a drunk man slamming his fist onto the ebony table of the bar made you flinch. You were soaked, a puddle of water expanding from underneath your boots as you scrutinized the crowd of people dining all around you. Most of them were humans, without the shadow of a doubt. Men, to be specific. Predatory eyes sizing you up, offensive words piercing your ears, you knew exactly what they were thinking. A young, beautiful woman shaking like a leaf and looking for shelter was probably an easy prey for them. Unfortunately for them, you were not a hapless girl. Clamping your mouth shut not to draw attention, you resorted to lowering the tattered hood of your cape down on your face and you walked up to the innkeeper to ask for a table and a room for the night.

“That’s the last one. You’re lucky” the lanky man on the other side of the counter told you, handing you a rusty key and motioning with his chin at the last empty table somewhere behind your back.

You followed his gaze, eyes landing on a dimly illuminated area of the dining space. In a corner, a chair and a dusty table, waiting for you to sit at. You scrunched up your nose in disgust, already figuring the bedroom would have most likely been even worse than the chilling refreshment stand you were going to drink at. However, it was not time for you to be fussy and picky about where you had to spend the night. The guards outside were tracking you down and leaving this place would have only granted you the chance to experiment the same fate of your late mentor, the great witch Unohana Retsu. You had really screwed up this time, but the heavy money satchel hanging on the leather belt secured around your waist was definitely worthy the murder of Lord Jugram Haschwalth.

Your head turned back towards the grey-haired man, bony fingers tapping onto the wooden desk impatiently “It’s perfect. — you faked a smile — A bottle of wine too, please” you told him, before grasping your satchel and drawing out some money to cover up the price of the rent and your order.

Paying you little to no attention, he whistled loud enough for some tipsy men to complain about being brutally awakened from their slumber, but also to draw the attention of a beautiful waitress serving soups and beers at the tables. You wondered how such a pretty girl had ended up in a squalid barrelhouse like that. The gold band on her ring finger answered your question, as she cleaned her hands quickly in her lilac apron and jogged back to the counter with a kind smile adorning her plumped lips.

“Gin, honey, what’s the matter?” she inquired, sparing you a brief glance before refocusing on her husband.

Now that she was closer to you, the waves of magic radiating from her made you feel less in danger. Witches were not welcomed in the small town you lived in. Knowing the innkeeper’s wife was a supernatural being too made you feel more at ease, as if you were at home, safe from stakes and fire. Nevertheless, you never let your guard down, not after you had witnessed to Unohana’s ashes blowing in the wind, dissolved in the village square, a couple of years ago. Isane, your friend and the other apprentice your mentor had taken in, had fled right away in search for protection in one of the towns in the North of the Country. You had no idea if she was still alive, or if she had shared your teacher’s destiny. Hopefully, she had joined a powerful coven and she did not have to fight for her life anymore like you did.

Sometimes, you asked yourself why you did not follow her in her incredible adventure. The answer, sadly, was that you loved that place too much to move away and forget about your past. Also, you were seeking revenge. The Mayor, that old bastard, Lord Yamamoto Genryūsai, was still alive. You were working day and night to create a deadly potion to kill him once and for all. In order to get close to him, though, you needed connections and, regrettably, you were a lone wolf.

Gin grinned “Sorry, darlin’, but this girl here needs a bottle of wine. Be a dear and accompany her to her table with this” he explained, ducking underneath the counter to grasp a cheap bottle of red wine and a globlet. Drowning your demons sounded good enough, given your foul mood.

The curvaceous woman sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately “I got it from here. Take care of the rest while I’m busy, will you?” she cooed, winking at her husband before gesturing for you to follow her to your destination without further ado. You caught a glimpse of the man smirking, as you moved away from the counter, noting how pleased he seemed to be for the attention his companion had reserved to him.

The dirty comments the waitress and you received on the short walk to the table made your stomach churn and you had to suppress the homicidal impulse to set those swines on fire right on the spot. You really did not need cops to break in and arrest you. Not when your face was already printed onto numerous newspapers and you had an impressive bunty on your head. People chased you down the streets to turn you in and alert the authorities.

Tiredly, you slumped down onto the chair, chin propped onto the upturned palm of your hand, whilst you absent-mindedly observed the girl uncorking the bottle with expertise. For a few moments, she stayed silent, limiting herself to pour some wine into the goblet and sliding it towards you once it was filled to the brim “Here you go” she stated then, eyeing you from behind her long and dark eyelashes. She was most likely a charmer, the dangerous kind of witch that could bring a man to madness.

“Thanks” you shortly replied, only for her to glance behind her shoulder briefly, checking the area, and lean closer to you afterwards, her tone of voice low enough not to be heard from anyone else besides you.

Her light blue eyes locked with yours “No one is going to harm you, but two of our guests are affiliated to the Government. — she informed you, shooting a subtle look at a purple-haired woman, sitting by the window, clinking glasses with her colleague — You may think she is our ally, considering her condition. It turns out she has a secret agreement with the Mayor to grant her immunity from prosecution”.

You took a sip of your wine, narrowing your eyes in disgust at the unexpected news about the famous Yoruichi Shihoin switching sides to save her own neck. Becoming one of the Hunters was not a career you had ever considered in whole life. The last person you could imagine to betray the Supernatural Community for a personal advantage was Yoruichi. She was a wild spirit, a force of the nature. Clearly, something had changed in her life and, judging by the way the petite girl next to her was now running her fingers through her luscious hair, it was probably the unforgiving feeling of love.

“Who would have ever thought a shapeshifter worked for that shitface. Thanks for the information…” you trailed off then, not knowing how to address the witch saving your life for free.

She smiled softly at you and snapped her fingers to light up a candle she had pulled out from the front pocket of her apron “Rangiku Matsumoto, the one and only. — she introduced herself, positioning the candle into an old candlestick — I would like to chit-chat with a fellow witch a little more, but I really have to go lend my hand to my husband. Enjoy your wine” she excused herself then, waving her hand at you and venturing back into the intricate lines of the tables.

You watched her leave, bringing the goblet to your mouth again, but turning your attention back to the two women looking for the next head to bring to the Mayor on a silver plate. You did not fail to notice the amount of daggers strapped to their belts. At their feet there were bags full of newspapers and you could swear there was even an axe in one of them, but it was too dark for your eyes to make out the real shape of the weapon. It was decidedly better not to go anywhere near that table. You could defend yourself, you were powerful enough to force them to transform, or even cast a curse on them to perpetually turn them into animals. However, you could not assault them out of the blue and this was not a place to fight.

You were genuinely surprised a shady man with unkempt sandy hair and a smug smile on his lips approached them. Yoruichi seemed to know him, her yellowish eyes darting on the stranger immediately, upon sensing his presence at her back. While she began conversing with him, you switched your attention on the raven-haired Huntress at her right, her scowl quite evident as she stared daggers at the newcomer. Well, jealousy could do numbers on people, to the point of even attempting to kill the person who piqued the interest of your loved one.

It did not startle you the way she suddenly leapt forward and knocked him down onto the floor, pressing the sharp edge of her dagger on his carotid. Silence swallowed the room, the moment she straddled him and grasped his jaw roughly in her small hand.

“What part of ‘stay away from her’ you did not comprehend? Do you want me to etch it on your face?” the girl snapped, while Yoruichi disinterestedly finished her drink and slammed the empty glass back onto the table. She did not bother to step in to prevent her colleague to make a scene, or possibly slaughter a man in front of all those witnesses. All she cared about was being the center of the attention, as per usual.

The man sighed, hands raising apologetically to quell his aggressor’s rage “Woah, I got it, Sui-Feng! — he defended himself, his tone playful and strangely calm despite the compromising position he was in — I was just telling her my goodbyes! You know, I’ll leave this town in the morning” he explained, earning a scoff from the woman above him who begrudgingly sheathed the dagger back into its scabbard before jumping back on her feet.

“That’s the fourth time you use this pathetic excuse to approach her. It’s only natural for a merchant to travel. — she retorted, hopping back onto her stool and glancing at the dark sky outside — Too bad it’s not a full Moon night. I’d have loved to skin you alive” she added, a mischivious grin curling her pinkish lips as the man leisurely stood back on his feet and dusted some dirt off of his baggy clothes.

A werewolf? You had not met one in years. After Unohana’s death, Kenpachi Zaraki and his pack had left the town and the only werewolf still around was Muguruma Kensei, the smith who lived in the mountains. Who was this man, then? Why had you not met him before? Did he belong to a pack from another town, or did he get exiled? Whatever was his origin, all you knew was that he had caught you staring and he winked at you with a teasing smirk promising a conversation.

Straightening your back, you whipped your head to the other side of the room and found yourself wishing you could chant your beloved invisibility spell. You really did not wish to catch the attention of anyone in particular. Making bonds could be dangerous and that man radiated troubles.

“Let him go, Sui-Feng. — Yoruichi chimed in, silky voice resonating through the room — Kisuke was about to leave anyway, right?”.

“Of course, I was! You are probably in the middle of the hunt anyway and I should make my getaway before a silver blade takes me to the grave prematurely” you heard him jest, but you were not too happy to hear them share their goodbyes. You had a feeling deep in your guts he was about to head over to your table and you had no intention to die at his place.

Therefore, you stood up and sauntered towards the wooden staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. It was time to go to sleep and lock yourself up, maybe even protecting your door with some defensive spells to keep anyone trying to break him outside. With each step you climbed, you felt safer and, if it was not for a whimper echoing in the corridor at the end of stairs, you would have dared to say nothing threatened your life anymore. That moan, however, was pained one. Someone was hurt and you felt your heart thrumming against your ribcage violently as you wandered down the deserted area, expecting someone to jumpscare you at any moment.

There was an ominous atmosphere around you and it had become notably coldler with every passing second. You reminisced some of your mentor’s teachings about the temperature and atmosphere’s changings. Sudden cold usually was connected to the presence of ghosts, or beings capable of sucking the life out of their victims. In other words: vampires.

You truly wished the monster at the end of the road was not a bloodsucker, but you soon found yourself face to face with one as he dropped the lifeless body of a young woman down onto the floor with a dull thud. Glossy brown eyes staring at you, pale complexion, the corpse belonged, much to your dismay, to the kind nun Momo Hinamori. Too young to die and too devoted to think monsters existed, she had always refused to believe you were a witch. You wondered what she was doing in that Inn and how the dapper man in front of you had lured her into his trap.

He was handsome, this much was undeniable. Then again, she was not the type to melt for small attentions. You wondered what he had done to her, if he had used mind control, or some other devious technique to compel her to follow him so effortlessly.

He stood there, lean frame enveloped by a luxurious black cape as he wiped his mouth clean with a silky white handkerchief. Your presence had not bothered him in the slightest.

“Good evening” he greeted you, velvet voice caressing your skin warmly, a fatherly tone you despised with every molecule of your body. You felt your mouth going dry, your eyes averting from him to spare another glance at the victim at his feet.

You took a sharp intake of breath, your eyes hardening as you reached for the phial of holy water you always kept hanging on your neck and tossed it at him. The man disappeared from your sight, dodging your attempt to make his skin sizzle, and the glass collided onto the wall, exploding into a million splinters before your frightened eyes. Your head frantically whipped around, trying to detect his presence before he could get his hands on you, but the moment you realized he was at your back it was too late for you. Your cheek was pressed against the wall, one hand wrapped around the back of your neck to pin you on the spot.

“How much do you know about vampires, sweetheart?” he asked you, cold breath wafting over your jaw, when he dipped his head down to talk directly next to your ear.

“Enough to desire their extinction” you sassed, furrowing your brows in discomfort as he tightened his grip on your nape. You definitely needed to train in hand-to-hand fights. Against some monsters spells and curses did not suffice. The scar in the middle of your mentor’s chest was your daily reminder of how dangerous it could be losing focus in a duel.

The vampire hummed and magnanimously loosened his grip on you, but he cautiously took a couple of steps back to put a relatively safe distance from his opponent “You must be the witch everyone is talking about. — he noted, chestnut hues scrutinizing your face — The sketch on the leaflets doesn’t do you justice” he smoothly complimented you, causing your cheeks to heat up, but your brain to inform you he was probably trying to get in your mind.

You snorted, arms folding against your chest “Don’t tell me you won her heart with such ridiculous pick-up lines. — you taunted him, eyes darting on the late nun behind you — Now, unless you want us to respectively end up with a stake through the heart and flesh consumed on a burning pyre, what do you say about parting ways and leaving this small altercation behind?” you flatly suggested, eyes flitting back on your interlocutor who impassibly listened to you. He was unnerving. Too stolid and tranquil, he got on your nerves without even talking much.

Before dignifying you with an answer, he slicked back the single cowlick tickling his pointy nose, a placid smile adorning his lips “Is that what you wish for? — he queried softly, before ambling over the cold body of his victim and inspecting it with a cold indifference that made you question how many people he had killed throughout the years — Mala tempora currunt. Forming alliances is fundamental to survive”.

You blinked, swallowing forcefully to withstand the impact his words had on you. If the world once belonged to supernatural beings it was merely because humans feared those who possessed such abilities. Knowledge is power and, forging new weapons to eradicate the so-called monsters from the society, from hunters you had all become the hunted. No matter how powerful you were, you were constantly on the run and with no one to seek protection from. It was probably a matter of time before someone killed you. Vampires were surely powerful, albeit the sunlight was their greatest weakness. Their strength dopended on their biological age. The man in front of you looked like he was in his early thirties, but the confidence and charisma he possessed indicated he had most likely been around for a long time. Centuries. There was no doubt he was a skilled fighter, if he had lived that long unscathed.

“I don’t trust vampires” you countered back, watching him pick up the lifeless body of the young nun as if it weighted nothing.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone besides yourself. — he replied, glancing at you briefly before staring back at the girl in his arms — However, this is what happens to people who don’t make connections. I can offer you protection, a safe place to live, and only ask for a few favors in return. We don’t have to be friends to make an alliance” he reasoned, once again reminding you of how much you were risking by isolating yourself and working as a killer for a living.

You took a few seconds to ponder your next words. The temptation to accept the deal was alluring and, all in all, you knew there was a catch in this.

“If I refuse your offer, you are going to denounce me, am I correct?” you inquired, his smile confirming your inklings and earning a scoff from you.

Holy crap, you were screwed.

“How perceptive of you. — he said, his baritone voice caressing your skin like a silky blanket leaving goosebumps on its wake — My name’s Sosuke Aizen” he introduced himself, bowing his head cordially to make up for his temporary impossibility to shake your hand.

You did the same “I’m Y/N L/N” you curtly said, before letting your eyes flick to Hinamori once again. It was disturbing continuing your conversation in her presence. Your expression probably spoke volumes, for the vampire to sigh and indicating a window at the end of the corridor.

When be began to walk in its direction, you hesitantly followed him “Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to throw her out of the window…” you voiced your doubts, but the ugly look from him made you desist from pressing him with more questions.

You stood next to him as he hurled the corpse out of the window, the sound of it colliding with the muddy ground down below made you flinch, but you did not expect for a familiar voice to pierce your ears. You had had no guts of looking outside the window, you had limited yourself to check the stairs to assure the both of you no one had seen the sacrilegious action. Still, curiousity killed the cat; when you heard Kisuke’s voice coming straight from the yard, you peered down to check on him and there he was. Smug grin, disheveled sandy hair sticking to his forehead, he was mostly covered in dirt. At his feet there was a freshly dug pit in which he was tossing Sosuke’s victim.

Your mind went blank. That werewolf was in cahoots with the vampire! Probably, he had caused that commotion at the restaurant to allow his friend to feed without anyone bothering him.

“It took you so long, Lord Aizen! It’s freaking cold outside!” the werewolf complied, grey eyes gleaming in the darkness as he picked up the shovel at his feet to fill up the pit once again. It was definitely not the first time they did something like that.

“Actually, I got held up by this lady. — Sosuke retorted, making space for you to lean out of the window and granting his friend a look at your shocked face — From this day and for years to come, she is in partnership with us” he informed Kisuke, only for you to regret all of your life’s choices in a instant.

The perspective of being burned alive did not sound that unappealing anymore.

Kisuke stopped in his tracks, a smirk on his lips as he winked up at you “Welcome to our society, milady. I truly hope you will survive” he chimed, causing you to halt and look back at Sosuke dead in the eye.

“What does he mean by that?” you asked him, ready to hit him with a migraine spell right on the spot. Something about these two was off and you were pretty sure they were responsible for a long line of unsolved murders.

He sighed “The last woman who joined us tragically died in a fight against another supernatural brigade. You are clearly stronger than her, fear not” he tried to soothe your nerves, but you simply grimaced and took a couple of steps back to put some distance between you two. You hoped he was telling the truth. In times like this, fights were frequents to establish domain over villages and you knew about some beings who had succumbed recently.

Maybe, if you knew the name of that woman, you could surely tell if she had been involved into a battle.

“Who was she?”.

“You ask too many questions, sweetheart”.

“Don’t call me that. — you punctuated, folding your arms against your chest as you gazed out of the window, eyes lingering on the starless night sky — It’s only fair you share some informations with me”.

Sosuke took a sharp intake of air, chestnut eyes closing as he leaned his back against the wall in resignation “She was a mermaid I had encountered in the South during a trip. — he began, eyelids lifting leisurely to refocus on you — Her name was Tier Harribel. I thought she could keep up with our rhythms. My mistake” he stated, leaving a weird sense on bitterness on your tongue, after his words sunk in. A mermaid. You had never met one in person, but you had heard stories about them. While they were pretty powerful in their natural habitat, they could solely rely in their hypnotizing singing and peculiar beauty on the land.

If your companions were so invested into fights for power, you had to watch your back. What if they suddenly saw you as a menace and killed you off? Strategies were not your forte, but you knew your way around men. Maybe, you could keep them on check, while honing your abilities. You were a witch, you had learned to use not only your magical abilities to bend knees. The art of seduction was something every woman knew, but witches were trained to make a good use of it at very young ages. There were stages to go through and now that you were a full grown woman in her early twenties, there was no limit to what you could do. The carousel stopped when you decided to get off of the ride.

Realizing you had zoned out for a while now, you were pulled back to reality by the sudden appearence of the goofy werewolf next to you. The man had sneaked back into the Inn by climbing the giant oak by the window. Humans would have not made it that far, but his supernatural strength showed in his agile movements and the minum effort he had endured in jumping from a brench to the other.

“Geez, I definitely need a bath, but the room I’ve booked doesn’t have a tub” he stated, your eyes travelling up and down his body in sheer disgust. Yeah, he really stank of wet dog and dirt. His clothes were a mess and he would have drawn way too many curious glances, if he were to go downstairs like that.

Maybe, this could be your chance to prove yourself to them and, at the same time, to catch their full attention. It was better to have them on your side, than after you. It was clear they were not going to let you go. The vampire had made himself abundantly clear a gew moments ago. You were stuck with them, the new addition to that deadly duo, the wanted girl they would have not hesitated to sell out to Yoruichi and Sui-Feng, if she attempted to run away. You had to learn more about them and feigned kindness, wine and blood were exactly what you needed to make them talk.

“I have rented a room too. — you started, hand reaching for the key the innkeeper had given to you earlier — Let’s go check if there’s a tub you can use”.

Your words made the werewolf pause, grey eyes scrutinizing your face suspiciously, evidently still wary around you. Pretty faces frequently deceived people and witches were well-known for taking advantage of their looks to achieve their goals. He was right not to trust you, but you could not confirm his doubts. Also, it was not like you keened to really murder them. You merely wanted hold some kind of control of the situation and, naturally, finding out more about them.

“What’s with that face? Can’t a girl take pity on a man?” you queried sarcastically, sauntering towards the room with the number three etched onto the top section of the door without waiting for him to reply. Unlocking it, you pushed the door open and made sure they entered the room before you did. The show was about to begin. The moment you joined them, you locked the door behind you again and cleared your throat to catch their attention, temporary focused on the modest forniture decorating the space.

Once their eyes were both transfixed back on you, it was time to feign a polite smile and raise your hands, fingers flicking in the air to emphasize your next words “Considering the Huntresses downstairs and the horde of guards hunting me out there in the streets, I will put a protection spell on the door. No one will be able to enter this room, or detect our presence in here anyway, alright?” you informed your new comrades, who barely shared a knowing glance before allowing you to proceed without further ado.

Turning around victoriously, you kept in mind this was, without the shadow of a doubt, a bold move. Your intention was mainly to protect yourself and show them you were going to put your abilities on the table to defend them as well. Still, who would have protected you from them, if they simply decided to betray you, to kill you?

You were doomed.

Too distracted by perfecting the incantation to pay attention to them, you had not heard the sound of clothes rustling, landing in a pile on the floorboard. What you saw, however, made your eyes widen and you swallowed forcefully upon the indecent vision welcoming you back on Earth. Kisuke Urahara, fully naked, had entered what looked like a wine cask, but was actually the tub, without even bothering to let you know he was stripping himself. You stepped back from the door and made a relative distance between you two, careful not to lock your eyes on his sculpted body, littered with scars from the battles he had fought to survive. He was smugly smiling at you, splashing the water into the tub to rub off of his muscles the dirt and sweat sticking on his flesh.

“A brute, I know. No wonder all women decline our invitations to join our army” Sosuke finally spoke out from behind you.

The hair on your nape stood on the end, his cool breath tickling your earlobe as you gulped down nervously and turned your head to the side enough to meet his gaze. You had not realized he had gotten that close to you until he had talked. Vampires, the worst specimen ever created.

Kisuke scoffed, splashing some water onto his face, slicking his damp sandy hair back “Chastising me, when you are the one who sucks them dry after they refuse your offer is a bit ironic, don’t you think?”.

You grimaced and walked off to the nearby desk, hand reaching for a glass and a pottery jug you found over there. This place truly made your skin crawl, yet you had to give it credits for the services it offered. Pouring some water into the glass, you knew you had to do something to bring balance to the conversation again.

“There is no need to bicker. We are comrades now, things like this happen on a regular basis. Also, it is not like I have never seen a naked man before” you chimed in, mellow voice cautiously aiming to extinguish the fire ready to start between them.

You brought the glass to your lips, a single sip washing away the dryness your anxiety had left behind. You could perfectly deal with them, you could handle this situation like you had handled your mentor’s loss, your friend’s decision to leave and all the terrible crimes you had committed to gain money and earn some favors from some inhabitants of the hills around the village.

Biting on the rim, you observed the vampire ubuttoning the silver buttons keeping his black cloak draped neatly over his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing an expensive brand of clothes he had probably purchased in the North of the Country. The white shirt and the black waistcoat were immaculate, his crimson cravat a striking contrast reminding you of the nun’s blood dried around the bitemark on her tender neck. Handsome like the devil and probably worse than Satan himself.

He caught you staring, impassible face lighting up in a knowing smirk “Do you wish to see me naked as well?” he inquired, your cheeks flushing up as you barely got to shrug his provocation off with a bemused laughter fueling his curiosity.

“You are all the same underneath your clothes. What would make a difference?”.

“The way we use our bodies to pleasure our partners” Kisuke interjected, still sitting comfortably in the tub, muscular arms resting on the borders of the bathtub as he eyed you in genuine shrewdness. He did not make a move to get out of it yet and, frankly, you did not know if it was better this way, or not. Things, however, seeemed to have been escalating quicker than you had anticipated.

You settled your glass down, your own cloak dropping from your shoulders as you tossed it over a nearby chair probably to gain some time to fire a smart answer back “I see. Men and their toxic tendency of being convinced they can pleasure a woman more than she can do it herself, even going as far as competing over who does it better than the other. — you rambled, rolling your eyes and allowing a soft chuckle to escape your lips while you flicked your gaze up to meet the hungry eyes soaking in your form, now visible for the lack of the cloak hiding your curves — Can’t any of you understand women know how to reach their ecstasy themselves? They are the only ones who know how to reach blissful climaxes, without a man attempting to find that spot, or… Well, find the clitoris”.

You were well aware you were walking on thin ice and feeding their imagination. Then again, you were kind of getting some thoughts that had been pestering your mind for years out of your head and, additionally, you could not stop running your mouth because the wine you had consumed earlier was really getting to you. Wonderful, considering you were in the company of two supernatural beasts that could easily snap your neck like a twig, thanks to your lack of concentration.

Sosuke hummed, arms folded over his chest, back leaning against the wall behind him “I don’t doubt your words. Nobody can say to know a body more than the owner themselves. — he gave you credit for your remark, pausing only to watch you kick your boots off of your feet and run your fingers through your hair to fix them, a vision making his pants uncomfortably tight — The exception to this rule, however, is clearly in practice and acute observation. Someone who has spent centuries walking this Earth, having countless people warming up his bed, telling him where they longed to be touched, my dear, knows how to break your mind” he replied confidently, stunning you in silence as you slumped onto a chair and propped your chin over the upturned palm of your hand.

He had a point. How were you supposed to reply to this? This smile on his lips told you just enough to let you know he had no problem in showing you the empiric evidence of his theory. And, damn him, you were pressing your thighs together to subtly relieve the throbbing need irrevocably growing in your heat.

The sound of water gushing out and splattering onto the wood made your head snap back towards Kisuke, who had raised tall on his feet and climbed out of the tub with an impressive bulge worsening your state. The room felt way too hot right now and you wanted nothing more than your clothes to evaporate at the moment. You straightned your back, eyes straying away from him to preservate your mind from what you were seeing. You were definitely not a prude. Not after Grimmjow, long ago, had showed you the pleasures a cock well stuffed into your core could bring to you. Too bad he had then enrolled in the so-called Hollow Army to bring war to a Country you did not even remember the name of.

“You may know the female anatomy better than me, alright, but can you smell her arousal? Because, to be precise, she is clearly dripping underneath her gown and it all started the moment she saw me naked” the werewolf earnestly stated and, bloody Hell, how you wished you could simply summon a fireball to throw at him to shut his mouth. He was telling the truth and your upper lip twitched in irritation for having been caught red-handed so easily.

You could not blame him for having supernatural senses, though.

Your palms were sweaty, eyes darkening in anticipation as you cleared your throat before Sosuke could blast his alley’s ego effortlessly with his silver tongue. Why restraining yourself now? You had started this, they had to finish it. What was better than sex to fortificate relationships? Everything was going according to your plan, fortunately.

You spread your legs tentatively, hand reaching for the hem of your plum gown to hike it up and expose your legs up to your thighs “Still, I don’t see any of you doing something to fix the problem…” you hazardously whispered, sly smile creeping on your lips.

Sosuke arched a dark eyebrow up, cocking his head to the side “Aren’t you going to pick your knight for the ride, dear? You just expect us to jump on you like two dogs contending a piece of meat, don’t you?”.

“You know, it doesn’t really matter to me who is going to fuck me. — you started, pursing your lips thoughtfully — What I need right now is for one of you two to help me out. I offered you a bath and a room and I have blindly accepted to partake to this association, whatever it is. Consider this a payback” you stated, watching Kisuke loop his arm around Sosuke’s shoulders and whispering something you failed to catch in his ear.

With the masterly art of masking his emotions, Sosuke did not let his facial muscles stretch to display his reaction to Kisuke’s words. You guessed this was a skill he had acquired after centuries of living in a reality in which the less you showcased the longer you lived. Therefore, when the other man took a step away from him, Sosuke gazed into your eyes, looking for sincerity in your offer. When you did not falter, he motioned for Urahara to proceed. You locked eyes with the werewolf instantly, hand reaching up to scratch the stubble over his chin, when he bent down towards you.

“Did you ask your buddy if you could do the honors?” you asked him, fluttering your lashes as he bit the tip of your nose playfully, before dropping onto his knees in front of you. Calloused hands slithering up your stockings, he seeked the garters to unlatch them and free your panties from the leather restrictions.

He chuckled, shooting a knowing look at you “Let’s just say we started a contest. Who makes you come faster wins” he cooed casually, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your thighs deftly, before clutching them in his hand and taking a long whiff of them. You squirmed on your seat, jaw dropping but closing soon, prompted by the cold hand of Sosuke now standing at your side with an obscure gleam in his caramel brown eyes.

“Relax. You are in good hands” he hushed you, thumb playing with your bottom lip, as you watched Kisuke’s head disappear underneath the layers of your gown, lips quickly finding your folds and tongue lapping at your arousal like a starving animal.

Right, this is what he was after all.

With the first licks he gave you, attention solely trained on your clitoris, you jerked over the chair you were sitting on. Your head lolled back, neck strained and chest threatening to spill out of the tight corset you were wearing. Your breasts, squeezed and pushed up by the fine item gifted to you by Lord Ishida Ryuken in exchange of Lord Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s head, were a sight the vampire could not ignore. He was a man too, at the end of day. No matter how composed and sophisticated he was: right now Sosuke Aizen only wanted to bury his face between those plush mounds and trace with his tongue a path leading to your jugular. A bite, some blood to taste you.

Fingers running through your hair, he brought his lips close to your ear, pointy nose nuzzling your cheekbone “Do you mind if I have a taste, sweetheart?”.

A taste. He wanted to feed from you. Mind fuzzy for the intense waves of pleasure provided by the werewolf’s tongue now swirling around your entrance, you moaned loudly and peered up at Sosuke in sheer desire “Are you going to suck me dry too?”.

“Don’t be foolish. I merely want to rinse my mouth from the nun’s blood. — he whispered, mouth already searching for the vein of your neck, eyes closed as he smelt the fragrance of your blood — I would rather have you screaming my name in pleasure every night than making you my meal”.

You shuddered, the tongue between your thighs was now accompanied by a finger stretching your pussy for what was yet to come. Your hand reached up to grab a fistful of Sosuke’s silky hair and tug at them, when his fangs pierced your neck. You whined, a pained one, the overflow of your blood invading his mouth depriving you gradually of some energy. The two mouths over your body were definitely robbing you of the last shreds of sanity left in you.

“Oh my Lord— Gosh, I’m close” you breathed out, a groan of approval rambling from somewhere deep in Sosuke’s chest as he pulled his mouth away from you. You felt some trickles of blood dribbling down your neck, escaping the wound he had left onto your neck, leaving goosebumps on their wake.

Legs spasming, you bucked your hips against Kisuke’s face, seeking more friction, riding your orgasm out with untainted hunger. It all felt like a lucid dream and, to be honest, you had no idea how you ended up naked over the bed after your orgasm. You remembered Sosuke pulling you into his arms, kissing you violently and spinning you around, whilst his fingers hastily undid the strings of your corset. Falling face first onto the bed, you were soon sandwiched between them.

None of you was covered, skin to skin, panting, you realized what was going on only when Kisuke’s length probbbed at your lips “Spit on it, babygirl. Suck on it, come on, make it nice and wet. You know, it’s only for the best. I don’t want to hurt that cute little hole of yours later, hm? Lubricate it”.

And you did. Tongue sweeping out of your mouth to twirl around the mushroom head of the hard cock in front of your face, you kept an intense eye-contact with the werewolf before taking as much as you could into your warm cavern. He grunted, hand resting behind your nape to push your head even more down onto him. But even though you had tried so hard not to show a gag reflex, you ended up choking on Kisuke’s cock, when you felt Sosuke’s ministrations on your puckered hole.

Tears prickled at your eyes, falling from your lashes as you took a sharp intake of air, and Kisuke sighed, hand ruffling your hair to comfort you “Sosuke, don’t be so rough with her. She’s… Ah, shit! She’s in the middle of a very delicate— Oh! Fuck, like that, shit! If you keep going like that, I’m gonna cum!” Kisuke’s protests towards the other man turned into a series of moans elicited by your mouth.

You had gained back some control, head bobbing up and down in a fluid motion, once you had adjusted to Sosuke’s intrusion in your most private parts. Before you could even properly realize it, in fact, he was already pressing his tip onto your entrance and the stretch left you breathless. Strings of saliva connected your mouth to Kisuke’s cock, choked out whines escaping your lips.

“Sosuke!” you cried out, a whimper leaving your wobbly lips, nails clawing at Kisuke’s thighs as a reflex while he held your face in his hands.

Your spine arched, eyes squeezed shut as the vampire groaned lowly, rotating his hips against yours to bottom out. Tight, warm, your hole was literally sucking him in. The spit he had used and the fingering had done nothing to make it less hard to breach in. Still, there you were, taking him like a champion. Your legs trembled, but gosh how beautiful you looked like that. Your ass, pressed up against his navel, was making it hard for him not to burst into you right on the spot.

Kisuke took notice of his colleague’s status and clicked his tongue “Oh, are you alright, man? Having a hard time holding on?”.

“Shut up, Kisuke” Sosuke admonished him sternly, fingertips digging onto your waist as you were now helped by the two men to raise better onto your knees and straddle Kisuke’s lap. You were out of breath, thin sheen of sweat beading your forehead whilst Kisuke gently slipped himself into your pussy. The feeling made your eyes roll in the back of your skull.

You heard them cussing, throwing insults at each others face, pointing out how loud you were because of their ministrations. Honestly, you had no idea of which one of them was blowing your mind more than the other. All you knew, when you forced them to kiss you contemporary in a messy dance of tongues and labored breaths, was that you were not going to betray them. Not that night, not in a lifetime.

When the three of you were done, bodies sweaty and numb, you were laying between them, spent, drained. Their seeds leaked out of your body, staining the sheets underneath you, while you absent-mindedly drew patterns on Sosuke’s pectoral and let Kisuke play with your hair.

“May my mentor be blessed, for she taught me how to make birth control potions” you muttered tiredly, huffing as Sosuke grasped your wrist and nipped at the veins to play with your emotions.

“Indeed. — Sosuke commented, glaring at Kisuke at your back — I would have hated to deal with pups around my castle”.

“What a jerk”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! It’s finally here. I will be frank with you. I have enjoyed writing this fic more than I had anticipated. There is a lot going on up there, but I hope I have been able to depict the mediveal world I had in mind. I tried to vary in the choice of the specimens mentioned and it sounded so good in my head. Hopefully, this is spooky and kinky enough to celebrate this fabulous month!

Let me know what you liked about this story in the comments! Likes and re-posts are greatly appreciated. Until next,

x o x o

Tags: @j-u-u-z-o @brittscafe @jesurum-says-hi @sashi-ya @naru-mi-gen @persuasivus @noirfan12 @my-my-my @bankaizen @enchaotic @villainsrtasty @velaenaa

[hoeforhao]

RED AND CREAM ✨️🧨🎈🩸Wonwoo Oneshot

pairing : military official wonwoo × fem!reader

genre : pwp, pure smut

warnings : mention of blood, unprotected sex ( wrap it up guys ) , creampie, abusive talks, minors DNI

author's note : so umm I kind of wrote this smut for someone but then thought why not post it with wonwoo in mind. Bear with the he(s) pls.

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As he stood there looking at her with dark clouded eyes with his hair all messed up from the intense fight, blood dripping down his knuckles onto his black boots, she saw the devil in him. The devil staring at her, telling her that he has finally came for his daughter. That he has finally found his worthy offspring to spread his bloodied rays into the world.

Stepping close to him, she looks into his red burning eyes as if she's gonna light him up on fire that very moment, as if she's going to draw out those popping veins in his eyes with her red nails.

Pushing his legs apart with hers she stands between them with her black heels on while her hands take his fist in hers and gently swipe off the blood off of them with her fingers and put them into her craving mouth, gently sucking onto them as if giving him the temptation of how she would treat his dick so good yet so rough between her cavities.

All this time her knees move up and down his already tightening up crotch, sometimes pushing it a bit too hard earning muffled up moans from him. Because he's a man. He cannot show how weak and needy his woman is making him feel now. Being done with sucking off all of his enemy's blood and injecting it into her system, her hands now move upto his neck to hold it tight and firm in place while her lips curve up into a satanic smile.

She quickly brings her mouth up to the bone protruding so prominent out of his neck and instantly plants her teeth onto the skin, pulling it with her canines making tears swell up in his eyes from the intense sting.

"If you thought I'll let his blood infuse into kine and make me impure, you're so wrong honey. I'll make sure that yours takes control on his and completely overpowers him. I want to see you overpower each and every individual on the face of this planet and be at the very top" and with that she bites into his skin at animalistic force and draws out blood like a vampire feasting on its meal after ages. As if a blood thirsty demon got the first taste of vanilla sweet blood burning with rage finally on her lips, all the while he cannot touch her or do anything to her because he was pinned down.

But she very well knew that she would be overturned in a minute if he truly tried for it. Having had enough of his woman being a brat he finally engulfed her legs by his and pushed her down onto the floor. He stood tall before her, while she lay on the cold marble with a sinister smirk knowing quite well what was coming next.

Bending down to her level the very first instinct he had was to rip off ever piece of clothing from her body, making her completely naked infront of the beast that was now to feast on the vulnerable little prey infront of him. Having his legs placed on both sides of her shaking ones, he took her lips in his. And no it was not a gentle kiss at all. It was a hungry, desperate one. One to prove how he will always have the upper hand over her, how she will just be a playtoy under him.

While his teeth pulled onto her lower lips, popping the slender veins there making blood drip down the corner of her mouth, his hands played with her boobs. More appropriately abused them. His nails drew deep and sharp around her supple jiggly skin, leaving behind deep rooted tracks of his invasion onto her body and soul and mind.

Shifting from her lips, he now focuses on slapping the living shit out of her breasts, earning constant pleas of mercy from her, knowing that the undertone in them was nothing but her asking for more brutality.

When he's finally done abusing her chest, leaving it all red with his hand prints, as if something turns in him and he gently places his mouth on her nipples and suckles onto it like a child feeding on his mother. But oh well isn't his entire persona deceiving? While his mouth work like a complete gentleman around her mounds, his fingers find her throbbing clit and aggressively rubs it's like it's some sort of enemy he needs slain down.

Her eyes rolled from the intense pain and pleasure that her body was feeling at the same time. She licks off her own blood from her mouth and slightly pushes up her head as if to see what is happening to her bare body, only to find that it's a red hill down there. Every part of her skin is burning aflame. And in that very painful moment, he quickly unzips the tent in his pants and brings out his rock hard dick to now graze up and down her sloppy cunt.

Never giving her the pleasure to feel him inside her, while she claws out his toned back, he slaps the tip of his dick onto her throbbing pussy and sometimes teases her hole with it by pressing it a bit down and taking it out immediately. Not being able to take the torment anymore she takes things into her hand and harshly slaps him across the face.

That was his last string. How dare a bitch have the audacity to slap a man like him. And with that he presses himself in her in seconds without any warning, without giving her the time to even adjust to him.

"You wanted it so bad you whore hmm? How you like daddy's dick tearing up your walls into shreds now huh" he runts into her soft delicate hole like a complete animal gone feral, like a tiger getting a good meat after days.

He could see tears rolling down her eyes onto the floor from his intense thrusts, him completely ruining her pussy for the new few days so that she remembers he is who she belongs to, every inch of her body belongs to him and is only for him to ravish and eat and feast on.

With one more push down her cunt, he feels his high riding him as he releases all his anger, frustration into her, making his cum ooze out of her swelled up walls, mixed with some traces of blood from the intense abuse.

[luvfy0dor]

“You Drew Stars Around my Scars” - Dazai x Reader

warnings; Dazai is the one drawing stars YAYYYY, scars, could be from sh or from anything else

description; your lover decides to decorate your arm with dark ink

The ballpoint pen dragged acrossed your skin, leaving splotchy, black ink in its wake. Every now and again, your eyes would flicker between the growing art piece on your skin and the top of your lovers head. His face was filled with focus, hidden behind his dark, brown hair- Dazais tongue poked out of the the corner of his mouth, dry of any saliva from having been exposed to the air for so long. "Those are kind of hideous." You tease him, a grin on your face as he filled in his poorly drawn star on your forearm. "How mean of you, y/n, I think this is worthy of the Louvre." He says, lifting his head to look up at you with a furrowed brow and playful glare. "Keep telling yourself that." You reached out to run your fingers through his hair before the pen clattered against the tabletop and his boney fingers wrapped around your wrist and moved your hand from his hair to the desk. "Haters don't get to touch my luscious locks." He huffs. "Now stay still so I can finish covering you in my hideous stars." It wasn't long before four or five more adorned the space above your wrist. Some of them were decorated with the swirly texture of Dazais fingerprints, and some of them were already a little bit faded. Others were dark with sharp points, like they had just been tattooed onto you. His thumb ran over your old scars, his face blank of any emotion before in a rare moment of tenderness, he brought your wrist to his lips and pressed a sweet kiss to your skin. "I love you." He mumbled, his voice barely audible and his lips still touching your arm. "I love you too, Osamu." You replied. Moments like these were some of your favorites- the moments where Dazai was sweet and delicate with his words and actions. Not to say you didn't like his charades and laughable behavior sometimes, but every now and again, it was nice to see him stripped of satire and be bare with sincerity.

A/n; HEY GANG OTS BEEN FOREVER!!! first and foremost, if you're an American above 18, I hope you've registered to vote and/or voted in this presidential election- this year is highly important! Second- I'd like to apologize for my lack of activity recently, I've been so busy and unmotivated, but I'm hoping for that to change soon!! I love you guys so much, thank you for sticking with me through my inactivity and continuing to support me and my writing.

[the-flaneur]

love you fairy much (lh44)

pairing: dark fairy hunter!lewis hamilton x fairy!reader

summary: what does lewis love more than the chase for treasured fairy wings...

warnings: strangers to lovers and 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut ft. rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive!lewis, breeding kink, innocence kink, reader doesn't know anything about sex, corruption kink

wc: 5077

[masterlist] [requests]

you flitted through the sun-dappled forest on iridescent wings, your gossamer gown fluttering and shimmering with each graceful movement. as a curious fairy, you delighted in teasing the humans who dared to venture into your woodland realm. most were kind travellers, eager to learn more about the fairy realm, whilst others were strange merchants, looking to sell you bubbling potions and wicked spells - most of which you simply casted back their way, leaving them with spikes in their eyes or tendrils of vines wrapped tightly around their throats. just all fun things :)

today, you had donned an especially adorable outfit - a scrap of sheer fabric barely concealing your breasts and hugging your curves. the other fairies favoured similar styles, so you happily followed suit, wanting to blend in with your peers. with a tinkling laugh, you darted between the ancient trees, leaving shimmering trails of pixie dust in your wake.

your destination for the day was a secluded glade renowned for its vibrant wildflowers. legend whispered that these blossoms held mystical properties, granting the gatherer immense beauty and allure. with an air of mischief, you intended to collect an assortment of the rarest hues to adorn your fairy home and perhaps entice a handsome suitor or two. as you happened upon a gnarled root, you paused to admire the ethereal beauty surrounding you - lush ferns unfurled like emerald fans, while dainty wild orchids bloomed in pastel shades.

suddenly, the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs echoed through the glade. your heart raced with trepidation as you sensed a powerful presence drawing near. as the sounds grow louder, you hide behind a wide oak tree, peeking out curiously. into view strode a tall, muscular man; he moved with the grace of a predator, his movements fluid and purposeful. 

his muscular frame was clad in tight leather armour that accentuated every sculpted curve. in his hand, he gripped a wicked-looking silver dagger, its blade glinting menacingly in the dappled light. his upper face was shielded by a skull mask and when he turned to look in your direction, you gasped silently at the dark brown pits of his eyes. the stranger paused in the centre of the glade, surveying his surroundings with a keen gaze. his eyes fell upon the vibrant wildflowers and he smiled, a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. he knelt down to examine a particularly beautiful blossom, his large hand gently cupping the delicate petals.

you watched as he tugged some flowers from the ground, before bundling them up into a bouquet - a gorgeous artistic masterpiece, if you said so yourself. you poked your head out more, wanting to take a closer look at the flowers he had gathered, but as you leaned forward, your wings brushed against the oak leaves above you. 

the man’s head snapped up, those intense brown eyes scanning the area until they locked onto your hiding spot. the man's deep voice rang out, echoing through the glade. "i know you're there, little one. come out and show yourself."

your heart skipped a beat as you realised the situation you were now in; lewis hamilton, the infamous fairy hunter, stood before you. his reputation most definitely preceded him - tales spoke of his unparalleled hunting skills and the countless fairy lives he'd claimed. and now here he was, mere feet away, those piercing brown eyes boring into you.

"well, well," he drawled, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "aren't you a pretty little thing? i've been searching for quite some time to find a specimen as... delectable as yourself." he took a step closer, his boots crunching against the forest floor, his hand spinning the dagger mockingly, while the other reached out towards you invitingly. 

your wings began to flutter rapidly as you decided to put some distance between yourself and the approaching hunter. with a burst of speed, you darted through the air, weaving between the trees in a dizzying dance. behind you, the sound of pursuit began - heavy footfalls crushing undergrowth, laboured breathing, the occasional curse muttered under lewis’ breath as he gave chase.

your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. part of you knew you should keep flying until you reached the safety of the deepest parts of the forest or your home, but another part, a traitorously dark voice in the back of your mind, whispered that getting caught might not be so bad. especially if it meant ending up in the arms of such a man.

just as you rounded a tree in the forest, a strong arm suddenly snaked out and wrapped around your waist, yanking you off course. you let out a startled yelp as you found yourself pressed against a solid wall of muscle, lewis’ body pinning you to a broad tree trunk. his free hand came up to wrap firmly around your throat, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his intense gaze.

"gotcha," he growled, a triumphant smirk playing across his lips. "i've been chasing you little minx for a while now. did you really think you could outfly me?" his thumb brushed along your neck as he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "now, what shall i do with my pretty little prize?"

“please don't eat me, i know you disgusting humans do that,” you whined, trying to wriggle out of his hold against the tree, but your wings were being scratched up, so you stopped. lewis threw his head back and laughed, a rich, deep sound that sent shivers down your spine. "eat you? oh no, sweet thing. i have much more...appetising plans for a delectable morsel like you." his grip on your throat tightened slightly as his other hand slid down to grab a handful of your plush rear, squeezing the supple flesh possessively.

“owww!” you yelped, trying to crane your neck to see what he was doing, “wait what? you won't eat me...can i go then?”

lewis’ eyes gleamed with mischief and barely restrained hunger as he drank in the sight of your trembling form pinned beneath him. "go? oh, i don't think so, my little fairy. now that i have you right where i want you..." his tongue flicked out to trace the delicate shell of your ear before he nipped at the lobe, sending jolts of sensation straight to your core. "i'm going to take my time exploring every inch of this exquisite body."

with his hand tracing down your collarbone, he ripped open the front of your gossamer gown, exposing your pert breasts to the cool forest air. the other released your rear to slide up your side, calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. he cupped the soft mound, thumbing the pebbled peak of your nipple until it strained against the gauzy material. "mmmm, so responsive. i bet you're aching for my touch, aren't you?"

blushing wildly, you watched with awe as lewis cupped your breasts, rubbing them together, “nobody had ever touched me...what does that mean? do humans like to touch other humans?”

lewis's grin turned predatory as he drank in the sight of your trembling form, so innocent yet ripe for corruption. his corruption. "oh, my sweet little lamb," he purred, voice dripping with dark promise. his large, work-roughened hands began their sinister exploration, calloused palms dragging along the silken expanse of your thighs. they crept higher and higher, pushing the fabric of your gown up inch by tantalizing inch until cool air kissed the heated skin of your most intimate areas.

"you have no idea what delights await you, do you?" lewis growled, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. one hand slid between your legs, cupping your mound possessively while the other wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump.

he captured your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue as he backed you further against the tree. his knee nudged insistently between your legs, applying delicious pressure to your most sensitive areas. breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down the column of your throat, sucking and nibbling at the delicate flesh. "i'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he growled against your skin.

"what are you doing to me?" you whimpered breathlessly, slender fingers tangling in lewis' dark hair. despite your words of protest, you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his, craving more of the friction he was giving you.

lewis' fingers delved deeper down your body, stroking along your slick folds with maddeningly light touches. he circled your clit with the pad of his thumb, the bundle of nerves throbbing under his ministrations. "that's it, sweetheart. don't fight it. let the pleasure consume you." 

leaning down, he drew one rosy peak into his hot mouth, suckling greedily as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. his fingers never ceased their relentless assault on your aching sex, pumping two digits knuckle-deep into your tight channel while his thumb continued its merciless circling of your clit.

his mouth left a trail of open-mouthed kisses and love bites across your collarbone and down to your other breast, giving it equal attention. all the while, his thumb maintained its torturous pace on your clit, alternating between firm circles and quick flicks. the obscene sounds of your arousal filled the air - the slick glide of his fingers in your soaked folds, your breathy moans and whimpers of overwhelmed bliss.

you trembled and writhed against the tree, your untouched body overwhelmed by the intense sensations. your hips buck erratically, trying to take lewis' invading fingers deeper. "ah! ah! l-lewisss...too much...i c-can't..."

but even as you protest, your inner walls flutter and clench around the digits stretching you open, drawing them in further. the coil of tension winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. tears of overwhelming pleasure prick as you look up at lewis, completely lost to the ecstasy he's inflicting upon your body.

lewis drinks in the debauched sight of you - flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, full lips parted in silent cries of rapture. your response inflamed his desire to new heights. "shh, that's it baby. let go. i've got you," he crooned, voice rough with barely restrained lust. he redoubled his efforts, fingers pumping faster, harder, curling just right to hit that magic spot inside you with every thrust. his thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub.

sensing you were teetering on the edge, lewis sealed his lips over yours in a filthy kiss, swallowing your keening cries as he pushed you over the edge. his tongue plundered your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers fucking your spasming cunt.

lewis held you close as the waves of your first orgasm crashed over you, your untouched body convulsing in ecstasy. he gentled his touch, letting you ride out each aftershock, fingers still buried deep inside your fluttering sheath. as the last tremors faded, he slowly withdrew, bringing his glistening digits to his mouth to lick them clean with a low moan of appreciation.

"exquisite," he rumbled, dark eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction and renewed hunger. "the taste of your innocence is ambrosial." in one swift motion, he hoisted you up again, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he pinned you more firmly against the tree.

mumbling, you ask lewis about the pressure out your core, leaving you to dig your hands into his shoulders. lewis chuckled lowly, grinding his hips against yours in a slow, deliberate roll. the rigid heat of his cock nestled perfectly against your sensitive folds, stoking the embers of your spent arousal back to life. "this, my sweet fairy, is what happens when a man wants a woman as badly as i want you." he punctuated his words with another purposeful thrust against your folds, letting you feel every thick inch of him.

large hands slid down to cup your ass, kneading the supple flesh as he supported your weight effortlessly. leaning in, he nipped at your earlobe before whispering hotly, "it's called an erection, darling. when a man is so aroused, his cock fills with blood and stiffens, ready to claim his lover."

“claim?” you mumble surprised, your eyes wandering to the thick muscle jutting out from his hips. the thick, veiny member stood proudly erect, pulsating with an insatiable hunger. the bulbous head was a deep, rich purple, oozing with precum that glistened in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

the sight of lewis's imposing member took your breath away, its sheer size both intimidating and exhilarating. you could feel the heat radiating from his flesh, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils and making your head spin with wanton desire.

lewis' eyes flashed with primal hunger at your innocent question. "yes, little one. to claim you, to make you mine in the most intimate way possible." he rolled his hips again, letting you feel the heavy throb of his desire. 

"i'm going to fill this tight little pussy with my cock," he growled against your racing pulse. "stretch you wide and deep until you're screaming my name. pump you full of my seed until it takes root in your womb." his free hand delved between your bodies to rub the broad head of his shaft through your slick folds, coating himself in your essence.

you shivered and gasped as lewis marked your tender skin, leaving a trail of reddening hickeys. thighs quivering around his waist - holding on very tightly you were - as jolts of electricity seem to shoot straight to your core from his teasing touches. "i-i don't understand..." you whimpered confusedly, even as you arched into his possessive hold. "what do you mean, 'until it takes root'?"

despite your innocence, lewis’ words ignites something deep within you, a yearning you don’t fully comprehend but desperately crave. your hips writhe instinctively, trying to draw him closer, to ease the ache building once more in your neglected sex. lewis groaned as your hips rolled against his, the friction delicious torture. he could feel your confusion warring with awakening need, your body responding to instincts older than time itself. "shh, don't think, just feel," he coaxed, voice a dark rumble. "when i say it will take root, i mean i'm going to fill this sweet cunt with so much cum, it might quicken in your belly."

he notched the broad crown of his cock against your entrance, letting you feel how he would split you open on his thick length. "breed you, make you swell with my child. claim you so thoroughly, everyone will know who you belong to." with a flex of his hips, he breached you shallowly, just the tip sinking into your scorching heat.

your high-pitched keen echoed through the forest as lewis' thick tip stretched your virgin entrance. muscles fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to draw him deeper despite the initial burn of the stretch. tears of overwhelmed sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes but were quickly replaced by hazy bliss as you adjusted to the foreign feeling of fullness.

"fuck, so tight," lewis grunted, jaw clenched with the effort of holding back. he savored the exquisite squeeze of your silken walls for a long moment before slowly withdrawing until just the tip remained inside, then pushing forward again with a bit more force. each shallow thrust worked him deeper, your copious arousal easing the way as he claimed your innocence inch by excruciating inch.

he set a steady rhythm, working his thick shaft deeper into your clutching heat with each roll of his hips. the wet squelch of your sex filled the air, punctuated by your breathy moans and his guttural groans. he angled his thrusts to hit that spot inside you with every pass, determined to wring every drop of pleasure from your responsive body.

one large hand slid under your thigh to hitch your leg higher on his hip, opening you wider for his possession. the new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock tickling your sensitive folds. "that's it, take it all like a good fairy," he praised huskily, sweat beading on his brow from the strain of holding back his release.

lewis' gaze flicked to your wings, now fluttering wildly with the intensity of your shared passion. the delicate membranes seemed to pulse in time with your racing heartbeat, a visible manifestation of your growing pleasure. "your wings are so responsive, little fairy," he murmured appreciatively, reaching out to trace a finger along the leading edge. "they quiver like the rest of you, just desperate for more."

emboldened by your reaction, he captured one wing in his large hand, stroking and caressing the sensitive material. his touch sent sparks of electricity dancing across your nerves, adding a new dimension to the overwhelming sensations consuming you. at the same time, he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving into you with deep, powerful strokes that had your back arching off the tree trunk.

lewis groaned deeply, feeling you grip him like a vice as he drove his cock deeper into your willing body. your desperate pleas for more only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with increased ferocity. "yes, take it all, little fairy," he rasped, one hand reaching up to roughly palm your bouncing breast. he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers, the added stimulation causing you to keen loudly.

lewis leaned in, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as he continued to pound into you, his thick shaft stroking your cervix with each powerful thrust. lewis growled into the kiss, the taste of your submission fueling his desire. his tongue plundered your mouth, dominating and claiming every inch. the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed in the forest as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"yes, scream for me, you filthy girl," he grunted, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you with every deep stroke. his hand on your breast pinched harder, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core. "this greedy cunt was made for my cock, wasn't it? made to be stretched and used for my pleasure." lewis broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin. he wanted everyone to see, to know that you belonged to him now - his personal fairy to ruin as he saw fit.

lost in a haze of lust, you could only moan brokenly as lewis took you with animalistic fervour. each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body, stoking the inferno building in your core.

"yes, yes, yes! don't stop!" you wailed, fingernails raking down his back hard enough to leave red welts. your hips bucked wildly to meet his, taking him impossibly deeper. the coil of tension wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"i'm... i'm going to..." you panted desperately, inner muscles starting to convulse around his pistoning shaft. tears of overwhelming sensation leaked from the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the knife's edge of release, "please, lewis! use me, ruin me, i'm yours!"

"come for me, now!" lewis barked, his voice a dark, commanding growl. he punctuated his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat. his fingers dug into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise as he held you in place, using your body like his personal cock sleeve. lewis' own release approached rapidly, balls drawing up tight as your velvety walls rippled along his length.

"that's it, milk my cock like the desperate cumslut you are!" he snarled through gritted teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chased his high. "scream my name as i fill this needy cunt with my seed!"

"lewis!" you screamed, back arching sharply as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. your vision whited out, every nerve ending igniting with mind-numbing pleasure. your pussy clamped down hard on his pistoning cock, rhythmically squeezing and massaging his shaft as if trying to wring out every last drop of his cum.

lewis let out a feral roar as your pussy vise-gripped his cock, the rhythmic squeezing and gushing flood triggering his own explosive climax. with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming channel. his heavy balls drew up tight and then pulsed as he began to paint your insides white with his seed.

"fuck yes! take it all you perfect little fairy slut!" he bellowed, hips jerking erratically as spurt after spurt of hot, virile cum pumped directly into your unprotected womb. the sheer volume was staggering - it seemed like he would never stop coming, filling you to overflowing with his potent essence. 

even as the last weak spurts dribbled out, lewis kept you pinned, ensuring not a single drop escaped your stuffed hole.

as the final tremors of your shared climax faded, lewis slumped against you, pinning you to the tree with his larger frame. both of you were panting heavily, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. a fine sheen of sweat coated your skin, making it glisten in the dappled forest light.

slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled out of your abused hole with a wet squelch. a river of pearly white semen immediately began to leak out, dripping obscenely down your thighs. he watched in satisfaction as your gaping, twitching cunt tried valiantly to close around nothing, still fluttering like your wings, weakly from the aftershocks.

"there we go," he rumbled, voice rough with spent passion. "marked you inside and out now. everyone will smell my claim on you."

boneless and sated, your legs wobbled precariously as you slumped against the rough bark of the tree trunk, barely able to hold yourself upright. every movement sent pleasant aftershocks zinging through your nerve endings, a delicious ache settling deep in your core - a physical reminder of the thorough claiming you had just endured.

your chest heaved with ragged breaths, sweat-dampened skin glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. your wings hung limply at your sides, the delicate membranes twitching occasionally.

lewis's words finally penetrated the haze of post-coital bliss, causing a pretty flush to bloom across your cheeks. you ducked your head shyly, suddenly acutely aware of your nakedness and vulnerability. the way he said 'claim', so possessively and definitively, sent a shiver down your spine.

"i... i mean, we can't just..." you started to protest weakly, but your voice trailed off uncertainly. 

lewis chuckled lowly, a deep, rumbling sound of masculine satisfaction. his eyes glittered with amusement and undisguised desire as he drank in the sight of you - flushed, dishevelled, and marked with the evidence of your coupling. finding your sudden coyness utterly endearing after the shameless way you'd begged for his cock mere moments before, he reached out to gently but firmly tilt your chin up with the tip of his finger.

"oh but we can, little fairy," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rasp dripping with smug male pride. "and we did. your sweet, needy little cunt is absolutely drenched in my seed right now. there's no use denying the truth - your body knows who it belongs to." tracing his fingers through the mess leaking from your slit, he gathered a generous amount of your combined cum, bringing the slick digits to your face, pressing them against your closed lips. a breathy whimper escaped you, the intimate taste of your combined juices sending a shockwave of renewed desire straight to your core. your tongue darted out instinctively, lapping at the offered digits with kittenish licks. the heady, musky flavour burst across your taste buds - an erotic cocktail of your most intimate essences mingling together.

"mmmm, that's it baby girl," lewis groaned appreciatively, his half-lidded eyes dark with lust as he watched you, "taste how perfectly we are together. how your greedy little holes were made to milk my cock."

he pushed his fingers deeper past your lips, coating your tongue thoroughly before withdrawing with a wet pop. a string of saliva connected his fingertips to your bottom lip briefly before breaking.

you hums around his fingers, eyes fluttering shut, savouring the taste. when you open them again, they're hazy with rekindling desire, pupils blown wide and dark with need. slowly, almost hypnotically, you begin to suckle his fingers clean, hollowing cheeks and swirling your tongue around each digit. lewis groans, eyes darkening once again as he watches you clean his fingers. the sight of your pink little tongue lapping at his digits, coupled with the lewd sounds you make, has his spent cock already starting to stir with interest once more.

"that's it, good girl," he praises huskily, pressing his fingers deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth. "such an eager little thing, aren't you? already ready for more." his other hand slides down to palm your ass possessively, kneading the soft globe and pulling you flush against him. you can feel the growing bulge of his reawakening erection nudging insistently against your belly.

“i think this greedy body of yours needs another thorough claiming,” lewis rumbles, voice thick with renewed desire.

“wait...do i need to tell the fairy elders about this?” you gasp, placing a hand against his thick biceps.

lewis paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his handsome features at your question before it was quickly replaced by a wicked, devilish grin. he leaned in close, his lips brushing maddeningly against the delicate shell of your ear as he spoke in a low, conspiratorial murmur.

"tell the elders? oh darling, where would be the fun in that?" he purred, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin and eliciting a full-body shudder from you. "no, i think what transpired between us here should remain our own special secret, don't you agree?"

as if to punctuate his words, lewis’ large hand slid from the plush curve of your ass, tangling his fingers in the strands of your hair.

lewis’ lips curved into a wicked smirk against your skin as he continued his sensual assault, punctuating each word with a nip or kiss. "besides," he purred, voice muffled and low, "i have a feeling you rather enjoyed our little rendezvous. the way you mewled so sweetly, begged so prettily to be stuffed full..."

his wandering hand drifted higher, fingertips ghosting feather-light over the swell of your breast, teasing the sensitive skin. lewis pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes blazing with mischief and barely contained hunger. they raked over your face hungrily, taking in every detail of your debauched expression.

"i bet a naughty part of you wants to keep this our deliciously dirty secret too," he rumbled, voice dropping to a seductive growl.

“to sneak away and let me ravish you whenever the urge strikes us both,”

“yes lewis...when can i see you again then?” you gasp, grinding against this thigh once more

lewis groaned deeply, a guttural sound of pure masculine need, as you breathed his name like a prayer. your obvious desperation only stoked the flames of his own raging desire. he bucked his hips forward, grinding the thick, rigid line of his erection against your quivering stomach. even through the thin barrier of his trousers, you could feel the scorching heat of him, the impressive girth straining against the confines of the fabric.

"soon, my insatiable little minx," he promised darkly, his voice a low, rough rasp edged with barely restrained hunger. "very, very soon." lewis’ grip on your hair tightened possessively as he held your gaze with smouldering intensity. "meet me at the western border of the woods tomorrow night."

lewis captured your lips in a searing, dominating kiss, his tongue plunging deep to claim every inch of your mouth. he poured all his ravenous hunger and dark promises into the passionate embrace, kissing you until your knees went weak and your head spun with dizzying desire. when he finally released you, you were left panting and aching, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of his kiss.

"until then," lewis murmured huskily against your kiss-bruised lips, giving your plump bottom lip a sharp, teasing nip. his eyes glinted with mischief and wicked intent. "try not to slip your hand between your thighs too many times while imagining it's me touching you. i know how badly this needy little body craves my attention."

you tilt your head, batting your lashes up at him with wide-eyed innocence even as a faint blush colours your cheeks, “touching myself? what's that, lewis?” your voice coming out breathy and uncertain, belying the molten heat pooling low in your belly at lewis’ heated words and bold touches.

he chuckles darkly at your innocence, shaking his head in amused disbelief. he leans in close, voice lowering to a sinful whisper, “oh you sweet, naive little thing. touching yourself means playing with this pretty pink pussy,” he purrs, cupping your mound possessively, “...and rubbing these soft petals until you're writhing and moaning, begging for release,”

lewis grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed sex, applying delicious pressure, “i know you'll be tempted to do just that, imagining it's my hands on you instead. my fingers filling you, stretching you…”

but he dips his head to nip at your earlobe, tugging it gently with his teeth, “but you'd better not, understand? this greedy cunt belongs to me now,”

you nod eagerly, watching as lewis’ pupils blow out once against with darkened lust. he smirks at your breathy agreement, pleased by your submission. he rewards you with a firm grind of his palm against your core, relishing the needy whimper it elicits.

“until tomorrow night then, my insatiable little fairy,” he growls, voice dripping with dark promise, “dream of me...and try to behave until i can get my hands on you again,”

lewis turns to leave, pausing to look back over his shoulder with a roguish wink, “don't keep me waiting too long, sweetheart. you know how impatient i get...and how thoroughly i punish naughty girls who make me wait,”

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