#even though that's all i do I'm exhausted all the time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aryadelvich · 15 hours ago

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So it’s a mixture of all the requests you’ve send — thank you very much ! — Here’s the list :

1. Academic rivals to lover

2. First kiss, first time.

3. Summer love, camp counsellor trope

4. College loves.

Also thanks you for your comments, likes and reblog 🥹🫶 It’s warm my heart

I want to thank Spotify for accompanying me for this story ;)

— University of Pennsylvania – Football Field —

The stands are packed, buzzing with excitement as the inter-university match is about to begin. Your team is up against NYU, and the energy in the air is electric. You stretch your legs, adjusting your jersey while scanning the crowd.

That’s when you spot him.

Luigi is standing a few rows up in the bleachers, surrounded by his usual group of friends. He’s effortlessly noticeable—tall, with that casual confidence that somehow makes him stand out even when he’s just laughing along with the others. He catches your eye and, without hesitation, jogs down toward the railing separating the field from the stands.

In his hand, he holds a small container of blue face paint.

“Hey,” he calls, holding it out toward you. “Want to do the honors?”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “The honors?”

He gestures toward his face and chest. “Yeah. Put some paint on me. Show some team spirit.”

You let out a short laugh, tilting your head. “Really? You want me to put my hands on your skin? You trust me for that?”

For a split second, something flickers across his face—hesitation, maybe even realization. His easy confidence wavers just slightly.

“…Never mind,” he mutters, turning the lid back onto the paint.

You smirk, shaking your head. “That’s what I thought.”

— One week later —

Luigi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, his piercing green/brown eyes narrowing at you like you'd just declared war. His curls fell slightly into his face, and he pushed them back with a practiced flick of his hand.

You smirked, leaning forward on your elbows, your own gaze never wavering.

"And here I thought you were paying attention in class. Guess not. Maybe if you spent less time flexing your abs for the cheer squad and more time studying, you'd actually keep up."

His jaw tightened, but there was something else in his expression—something that made his usual cocky grin falter for half a second. He recovered quickly, though, flashing that signature smile that made half the campus swoon.

"Funny. I don't recall asking for your opinion on how I spend my time. But hey, if you're so obsessed with my abs, maybe I should start charging for the view."

You swear, if this guy wasn't built like a Greek god, you'd have punched him by now.

But you didn't punch him. Instead, you rolled your eyes, shoving your notes into your bag with more force than necessary.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mangione. Your ego's already big enough to fill this entire lecture hall."

He laughed, low and deep, and it grated on your nerves.

« Whatever you say, Y/N. But I'm gonna win the debate competition." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air between him and you.

It's been two years consecutive that he wins this competition, and you knew that it's was your chance to prove yourself and for the same occasion humiliate him.

You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Good luck catching up," you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're gonna need it."

As your walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back like twin lasers. What the hell is his problem? You thought, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to acknowledge.

You've been at each other's throats since freshman year, competing for top marks in every class, trading barbs whenever you crossed paths. It was exhausting, infuriating... and somehow, weirdly exhilarating.

Two Weeks Later – Debate Competition

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation as the final round of the debate competition began. The topic? "Is capitalism inherently exploitative?"

You stood at your podium, pulse steady, determination burning in your chest. Across from you, Luigi leaned against his own, exuding the same infuriating confidence he always did. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms, and he had that smug little smirk like he'd already won.

Not this time.

The moderator signaled for the debate to begin. Luigi started, his voice smooth and authoritative.

"Capitalism has lifted millions out of poverty, fostering innovation, competition, and economic growth. The free market incentivizes efficiency, rewarding those who work hard and contribute to society."

You let him talk, feigning disinterest as you twirled your pen between your fingers. When it was your turn, you took a deep breath and smiled.

"That's a nice fairy tale, Mangione. But let's talk reality. The wealth gap is wider than ever, workers are exploited for profit, and entire industries thrive on underpaying laborers while CEOs collect bonuses the size of small countries. If capitalism really rewarded hard work, explain why nurses barely make a livable wage while hedge fund managers get rich moving numbers around on a screen."

Luigi narrowed his eyes. "That's an oversimplification. The market adjusts itself. When a system is inefficient, it evolves—industries that fail to provide value either adapt or collapse. Competition forces innovation. If wages are too low, businesses will struggle to retain talent, and the market will naturally push salaries higher. Government intervention only distorts this balance, creating inefficiencies that harm long-term economic growth. The reality is, capitalism isn't perfect, but no other system has produced the same level of progress and opportunity."

"So you're saying child labor in sweatshops is just an inefficiency that'll 'fix itself'?" you responded smoothly.

A ripple of murmurs ran through the audience. Luigi hesitated—just for a second. His sisters, sitting with his parents in the front row, exchanged glances. You caught the small, proud smile on your own mother's face.

Game on.

You pressed forward, dismantling his every counterpoint with cold, hard facts. Every time he tried to regain control of the debate, you had an answer waiting. And for the first time since you'd started competing against him, he had nothing left to say.

When the final vote came in, the judges's decision was tight. But You won.

Luigi stared at the results, lips parted slightly, as if trying to process what had just happened.

"You okay there, Mangione?" you teased, stepping closer. "You look a little... shocked."

He blinked, then let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his curls.

"Huh," he muttered, shaking his head. "Didn't think I'd live to see the day."

You grinned, savoring the moment. "Better get used to it."

"You know," Luigi's voice was calmer now, lacking its usual teasing edge, "I didn't lose because you were better than me."

You turned, arching a brow. "Oh? So what, you tripped over your own ego and face-planted into defeat?"

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head before meeting your gaze. But this time, there was no smug grin, no hint of competition—just honesty.

"I lost because I didn't even believe what I was saying."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Luigi sighed, leaning against one of the tables. "I've defended ideas in debates before. Won every time. But today? I couldn't bring myself to mean it."

He ran a hand through his curls, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"I know how messed up the system is. I know that no matter how much you try to justify it, it does exploit people. And the second I started talking, I realized I didn't have the same fire I usually do."

You crossed your arms, studying him. This was... unexpected.

"So, what? You're telling me you lost on purpose? »

"Of course not," he scoffed, shooting you a look. "I gave everything I had. But when you're up against someone who genuinely believes what they're saying? Someone who can argue with conviction? You don't stand a chance."

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Sounds like an excuse to me, Mangione."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up.”

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "You know, the whole point of oratory is to convince people, even when you don't believe in what you're saying."

Luigi's gaze flickered with interest. "So you're saying you could argue for capitalism and win?"

You shrugged. "Maybe."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "That's terrifying."

You grinned. "That's debate"

For a moment, there was silence. The usual sharp tension between you had shifted into something else—something quieter. He watched you with an unreadable expression, and for once, you didn't feel the need to break the moment with a snarky remark.

But then he smirked. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Y/N. Next time, I won't go easy on you."

You scoffed. "You didn't go easy on me. You just lost."

His smile faltered for half a second, then he laughed under his breath. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

Before you could respond, your little sister, darted right past you, running up to him.

"Are you Luigi?" she asked, eyes wide.

Luigi crouched slightly to her level, flashing a grin. "Depends. Are you the little sister who's probably way smarter than your big one?"

Before your sister could answer, you grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back.

"Don't talk to him," you told her, voice mock-serious. "He's a racist."

The conversation halted. Luigi's jaw dropped slightly. His sisters, standing a few feet away, whipped their heads toward him. His mother gasped. Your own mother smacked your arm.

"Y/N!"

You snorted, unable to hold in your laughter. "Relax, he's not actually racist. He's just annoying."

Luigi sighed in relief. His father gave him a skeptical glance, and one of his sisters muttered, "For a second, I was about to disown you."

"You're not funny," Luigi grumbled at you, shaking his head.

"You laughed, though."

"Absolutely not." He said with a smile on his face.

"Mm-hm. Sure."

You turned to introduce your mother properly to his family, but out of the corner of your eye, you caught something—Luigi watching you. Not with his usual smirk. Not with irritation. Just watching.

— Summer Break —

The sun hung high over the camp, casting warm golden light over the rows of cabins and the dense forest surrounding them. You adjusted your staff T-shirt, feeling the heat seep into your skin as you made your way toward the main hall for the pre-opening staff meeting.

You had applied to work here months ago—decent pay, free lodging, and a summer spent beside the beach and the soft breeze of summer.

Or so you thought.

The moment you walked into the meeting room, your body froze.

Leaning casually against one of the tables, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the same staff T-shirt as you, was Luigi.

His curls were slightly damp, probably from the heat, and he looked up just in time to see you enter.

For a moment, the room went silent.

Then, in perfect sync:

"No way."

You both said it at the exact same time, staring at each other in disbelief.

Luigi let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You're kidding me."

"I should be the one saying that," you shot back, still processing the sheer misery of the situation. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Volontarisme, obviously." He gestured at the staff badge hanging around his neck. "What, you think I came for the fresh air?"

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. The other counselors were already watching with amused expressions, whispering to each other.

One of the senior staff members, a woman named Maya, clapped her hands together. "Alright, I take it you two know each other?"

Luigi smirked. "Oh, we go way back."

You shot him a glare before turning back to Maya. "We're at the same university, don't know him."

"Right," Maya said, clearly entertained. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to work on your teamwork skills this summer."

Luigi grinned, and you immediately regretted every life choice that led you here.

— Three weeks later —

It had been three weeks since the summer camp started, and somehow, you and Luigi had mostly managed to stay out of each other's way.

Until today.

The staff had been assigned to deep-clean the common areas before the next wave of campers arrived. You were already in a bad mood from scrubbing floors when Maya, ever the troublemaker, sent you and Luigi to restock cleaning supplies in the storage room.

The small, cramped storage closet filled with bleach, detergent, and every cleaning product imaginable.

"Just grab what we need and get out," you muttered as you pulled open the door.

Luigi, of course, took his time. "Relax. It's not like the camp's gonna collapse if we take an extra minute."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a mop from the shelf. "That attitude is why you lost the debate, by the way."

Luigi snorted. "Oh, we're bringing that up again? Please, you won because I was morally conflicted."

"You lost because I was better than you."

"And yet, here we are, stuck working the same job," he pointed out, raising a brow.

You were about to fire back a retort when the door shut behind you.

Then, the distinct click of the lock turning.

Silence.

You whipped around. Luigi reached for the handle, twisting it. Nothing. He tried again. Locked.

He let out a sharp exhale, then turned to you, scowling.

"You couldn't keep the damn door open with your big ass?"

Your eyes widened.

Then, without thinking, you grabbed the nearest spray bottle and chucked it straight at him.

"Are you serious right now?!" you snapped as he barely dodged it. "We're trapped in a closet full of BLEACH, and you're blaming me ?”

Luigi ran a hand through his curls, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. "I'm just saying, maybe if you didn't take up half the doorway—"

"Finish that sentence, Mangione. I dare you."

He shut his mouth.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers against your temples. "Unbelievable. I'm going to die here. With you."

Luigi scoffed. "Oh please, if anyone's dying first, it's me. You'll probably suffocate me before the lack of oxygen does."

You turned to glare at him. "That can be arranged."

A dozen ideas flashed through his mind—one in particular involving you and a rather strategic seating arrangement—but he wisely kept that thought to himself.

"I didn't say it was your fault—"

"Oh, shut up, Mangione." You pressed your forehead against the door, willing it to magically open.

No luck.

From the other side, you heard faint laughter.

The air between you shifted slightly. The usual sharpness of your arguments was still there, but being stuck in a cramped space with him suddenly made it feel... different.

Closer.

Too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping away from the door. "Let's just find another way out before we die of chemical inhalation."

Luigi smirked, that irritating confidence returning. "Scared of being trapped with me, Y/N?"

You shot him a glare. "Terrified."

His chuckle was low and amused as he crossed his arms. "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the scary cleaning supplies."

You could hear the faint click of his tongue, the sound of him shifting slightly behind you. His body grazed yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You reached for your phone, only to realize it wasn't in your pocket. Of course. You'd left it in your bag. "Do you have your phone?"

"No," he admitted, his tone clipped. "Left it in my locker."

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. The room was cramped, the shelves stacked with supplies pressing in on all sides. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence impossible to ignore.

You pressed yourself harder against the shelf, hoping to put some space between you and Luigi, but it was useless. He was right behind you, his chest nearly brushing against your back.

"Can you not stand so close?" you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I would if I could," he said, his voice annoyingly calm. "But there's literally nowhere else to go."

The room was suffocatingly small, and the faint scent of his cologne wasn't helping.

"Well, stop breathing down my neck," you muttered, hoping the irritation in your tone would mask the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

He let out a quiet laugh, and you could feel the rumble of it in the air between you.

"I'm not breathing down your neck," he said, his voice dipping lower, "but you do seem tense. Nervous, even."

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, your irritation bubbling to the surface. You turned your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, but immediately regretted it. He was too close. His face was inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Back off," you hissed.

"Sure," he replied smoothly, "as soon as we figure out how to open that door."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the lock, ignoring how your hands shook slightly as you fiddled with the knob. The silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, until you felt him lean in closer.

"Are you always this stubborn, or is it just when I'm around?" he murmured near your ear, his voice low and teasing.

Your breath hitched, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting. Instead, you glared at the lock as if it were the source of all your problems.

"Are you always this insufferable, or is it just with me?" you shot back.

He chuckled again, soft and infuriating. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Your grip tightened on the handle as your heart raced. You weren't flustered. No. That's exactly what he wanted, and you weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered, shoving the handle harder in a desperate attempt to break free.

But in the back of your mind, as you felt his warmth against your back and his calm, steady presence behind you, you weren't sure if you wanted him to move away after all.

And then it happened. You felt it.

A subtle shift against your lower back, a hardness you hadn't anticipated. Your breath caught in your throat, your body instinctively stiffening. No. This was not happening. Not with him.

But it was happening. You could feel him—every inch of him—pressed against you. His breath hitched, barely audible, but you heard it. A soft, involuntary sound that sent a jolt through you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, thick with tension, and you were hyper-aware of every tiny movement. His hardness pressed more insistently against you, and you couldn't stop the way your body reacted.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, just enough to feel him more fully against you. His breath caught again, and you heard him swallow hard.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice strained.

You didn't respond. Instead, you did it again, this time more deliberately. You rubbed against him, feeling the way he tensed behind you, the way his breath came in shallow bursts.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the shelves on either side of you. You could feel him struggling to stay still, to resist the pull between you. But it was too late. You'd already crossed the line.

You pushed back against him again, your heart pounding in your chest. This was wrong. He was your rival. Your enemy. And yet, the way he was reacting to you—the way his body responded to every move you made—was impossible to ignore.

He groaned softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hips moved against you, almost unconsciously, and you could feel the heat building between you.

"You're not... stopping," he breathed, his voice barely audible.

"You want me to stop?" you shot back, your tone defiant.

“No,” he said between two moans.

He let out a low, guttural sound, his body pressing harder against yours. You could feel the tension in him, the way he was trying—and failing—to hold back.

And then it happened. He came.

You felt it—the way his body trembled against yours, the way his breath hitched, the way he let out a soft, almost pained moan. His hands gripped the shelves tighter, his body shuddering as he spilled into his pants.

The room fell silent again, the only sound the ragged breaths escaping both of you. You stood there, your back still pressed against him, your mind racing.

"Fuck," he muttered again, his voice rough and filled with frustration.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your body was still humming with the tension, the heat, the way he'd reacted to you.

And then, finally, he spoke again. "This doesn't change anything," he said, his voice low and firm.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the dim light. His jaw was clenched, his expression hard. "No," you agreed, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "It doesn't."

But as you stood there, still pressed against him, you couldn't help but wonder—was that really true?

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the heat of his body against yours. His breath was warm on your neck, and the tension between you was almost unbearable. But something in you resisted—this wasn't the time, and he wasn't the one who got to decide when things escalated.

Not like this. Not with him.

You took a deep breath, then stepped back, breaking the contact between you. The sudden distance felt cold, like you'd ripped off a blanket in the middle of winter. Luigi blinked, his expressive face flickering with surprise before it settled back into that infuriating smirk.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low but laced with curiosity.

"I'm not doing anything," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're the one who got us stuck in here. So, figure out how to get the door open."

He raised an eyebrow, that smirk widening. "Oh, so now it's my fault? I seem to recall you were the one who followed me into the lab in the first place."

Your cheeks flushed, but you refused to let him see how much his words affected you. "I didn't follow you. I had work to do. You just happened to be here."

"Sure," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I just happened to get locked in here with you. Totally a coincidence."

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him to examine the door more closely. "Just fix it, Luigi. I don't have time for your games."

He stepped closer, his presence looming behind you. You could feel the warmth of his body again, and it took everything in you not to lean back into it. "What if I don't want to?" he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a shiver down your spine. "What if I think this is... convenient?"

You whirled around, glaring at him. "Convenient? Are you serious right now? We're locked in a lab, Luigi. This isn't some romantic comedy. This is a safety hazard."

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, like it was meant only for you. "Romantic comedy, huh? So, you do think about us like that."

"I think you're delusional," you snapped, though your voice wavered slightly. "Now, either you figure out how to open this door, or I'll start yelling for help."

Your heart was racing now, and you could feel your resolve starting to crumble. Why does he have to be like this? You clenched your fists, trying to steady yourself. "Luigi, I swear, if you don't back off—"

"If I don't back off, what?" he interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What are you going to do about it?"

You spun around, ready to snap at him again, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was something there—something raw and unfiltered. It wasn't just arrogance or amusement. It was... truth. And it terrified you.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Because I can't help myself," he admitted, his voice rough. "Because every time I'm near you, I can't think straight. And I hate it."

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. "You hate it?"

"Yes," he said, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "But I also can't stop."

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, and you felt your resistance melting away. This is a bad idea, your brain whispered, but your body didn't seem to care.

"Luigi..." you started, but he cut you off, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took your breath away.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. But then your body took over, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with equal intensity. It was messy, it was desperate, and it was everything you'd been trying to avoid.

He pressed you against the door, his body pinning you in place as his hands roamed over your waist, your hips, your thighs. You gasped into his mouth, your mind spinning as the world around you faded away.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with need. "You know that, right?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't. All you could do was hold on as he deepened the kiss, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"I... I've never done that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Luigi..." you whispered, your voice trembling.

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "We shouldn't do this," he said, though his eyes said something entirely different.

"Then why did you start it?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

He hesitated, then stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Because I'm an idiot," he admitted, his tone laced with frustration. "And because I can't stay away from you, no matter how hard I try."

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. What do I do now?

Before you could answer, he turned away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. "This is a terrible idea," he muttered, mostly to himself. "You're my competition. My rival. This is only going to complicate things."

"You're the one who kissed me," you pointed out, your voice steadier now.

He stopped pacing and looked at you, his expression a mix of desire and resignation. "Yeah, I did. And I'd do it again if you let me."

Luigi's words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. "I'd do it again if you let me." His eyes burned into yours, daring you to make the next move. The lab felt impossibly small now, the air thick with tension and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Your heart raced, torn between the logical part of your brain screaming that this was a terrible idea and the part that wanted to see just how far he'd go.

You stepped closer, your breath hitching as his gaze followed you. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just watched you, his expressive face betraying a mix of anticipation and doubt. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the hem of his hoodie, and felt him tense under your touch.

"You're not going to stop me, are you?" you murmured, your voice low but steady.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do I look like I want to stop you?"

That was all the confirmation you needed. Your hands moved to the waistband of his short, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. He didn't help you, but he didn't stop you either, his hands hovering at his sides, he wasn't sure what to do with them —much like you. It was the first time you had ever been this close to a man. When you finally got the zipper down, you glanced up at him, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Don't overthink it," he said, his voice rough but soft.

You didn't. You pushed his jeans down just enough to free him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He let out a sharp exhale, his head tipping back slightly as you began to stroke him, — tasting his previous cum — slow and deliberate. His hands finally found their place, one tangling in your hair while the other gripped the edge of the lab table behind him.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice strained. "You're not playing fair."

You smirked, your lips brushing against the tip of him before you took him into your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips twitching forward instinctively, but he stopped himself, letting you set the pace. You could taste the salt of him, feel the way he hardened further as you worked him with your tongue and lips. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and when you glanced up at him, you saw his eyes dark with desire, his jaw clenched as he fought to stay in control.

"You're—" he started, but his words cut off into a groan when you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His hand in your hair tightened again, not painfully, but enough to make your scalp tingle. "Oh, you're good at this."

You pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the tip before looking up at him. "You sound surprised."

He let out a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I shouldn't be. You're good at everything."

The compliment sent a thrill through you, and you returned your attention to him, sucking harder this time. His hips jerked forward, and he cursed under his breath, his fingers flexing in your hair. "Careful," he warned, though there was no real threat in his tone. "If you keep doing that, I'm not going to last."

You hummed in response, the vibration making him groan again. His free hand found its way to your shoulder, gripping it tightly as if he needed something to ground him. You could feel him trembling under your touch, his control unraveling with every stroke of your tongue, every flick of your lips. He was close—you could tell by the way his breathing hitched, the way his thighs tensed under your hands.

"Wait," he said suddenly, his voice strained. "Wait, I—"

You didn't stop. Instead, you took him deeper, your throat relaxing as you swallowed him down. His grip on your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn't mind. You wanted him to lose control, to let go completely. And he did. With a low, guttural groan, he came, his body stiffening as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed, your lips still wrapped around him as he rode out the aftershocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

When you finally pulled away, he slumped back against the lab table, his chest heaving. His hand fell from your hair, and he ran it over his face, letting out a shaky laugh. "Fuck," he said again, his voice hoarse. "That was—fuck."

You stood up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He looked at you, his eyes still dark but softer now, almost tender. "You're insane," he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"So I've been told," you replied, your voice teasing.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Come here," he said, his tone softer now. You stepped closer, and he kissed you—tasting himself—slow and deep, his hands tangling in your hair again. It was different from the first kiss—less frantic, more deliberate, as if he was trying to convey something he couldn't put into words.

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breathing ragged, and it only made you want him more.

When you finally broke apart again, you were both panting, your foreheads pressed together.

"So... what now?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

You hesitated, your mind racing. What was next? You were still rivals, still the same people we'd been five minutes ago. And yet, something between you had shifted, something that couldn't be undone.

Before you could answer, the sound of footsteps outside the door made you both freeze.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" a voice called from the other side.

Luigi and you quickly pulled apart, your faces flushed, as the door swung open. One of the other counselors stood there, looking confused.

"Oh, there you are! We've been looking for you two," they said, oblivious to what had just happened.

"Uh, yeah. We got... locked in," Luigi said, his voice uneven.

"Right. Well, come on, we need you out here for the next activity," they said, turning and walking away.

Luigi glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "So... next time we're alone—"

"Next time," you interrupted, your voice firm. "We finish what we started."

— Sunset —

The air was thick with the scent of pine and campfire as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The camp was alive with laughter and chatter, but your mind was elsewhere. Luigi. The memory of his lips on yours, his hands trembling against your waist, lingered like a phantom touch. You couldn't shake it. The rivalry had always been intense, but now it felt like something else entirely.

You found yourself wandering in the beach, where you can heard the sound of the waves and feel the breeze against your skin. The faint sound of rustling leaves caught your attention, and you turned to see Luigi standing a few feet away. He looked nervous, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts. "Hey," he said softly, his voice almost lost in the rustling of the waves.

"Hey," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something about the way he looked at you, a mix of vulnerability and determination, that made it hard to breathe. "What are you doing out here?"

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I wanted to talk to you. About... earlier."

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to steady yourself. "What about it?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. "I've never done that before. Kissed someone, I mean."

Your breath hitched. You knew he was a virgin, but hearing him say it out loud sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Neither have I," You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Really."

There was a moment of silence, the tension between you palpable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to grasp yours. His touch was warm, his fingers trembling slightly as they interlaced with yours. "I don't want to stop," he said, his voice low and rough. "I want to know what it's like. With you."

Your heart was racing now, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You wanted it too, wanted to feel him, all of him, but the rivalry that had always defined your relationship was still there, lurking beneath the surface. "What about this?" You asked, gesturing between him and you. "This... thing between us. Is it just about competition?"

He shook his head, his grip on your hands tightening. "No. It's not. It's never been just about that. Not really."

You searched his eyes, looking for any hint of deception, but all you saw was honesty, raw and unfiltered. "Then what is it?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It's... I don't know. Something more. Something I can't explain."

You didn't need an explanation. You could feel it, the pull between you and him, the way your bodies seemed to gravitate toward each other without conscious thought. You stepped closer, your chests almost touching, and tilted you head up to look at him. "Show me," you whispered.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his hands were on your face, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took your breath away. The kiss was different from the one in the supply room, deeper, more intense. It was like he was pouring everything he had into it, every ounce of his longing, his desire, his need.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the sides of his face. Your tongues clashed, the taste of him intoxicating. He groaned, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, and his hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your own voice shaky. "Yes."

He hesitated for only a moment before scooping you up into his arms and carrying you deeper into the tent. You could feel the soft sand of the ground beneath you, and he gently set you down, his body hovering over yours.

"I've never done this before," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'm doing."

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. "Neither do I. But we'll figure it out together."

He nodded, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. Then slowly, almost reverently, his hands began to explore your body, tracing the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, your breath hitching as he moved lower.

His fingers fumbled with the button on your shorts, and you helped him, guiding his hands until the fabric slid down your legs. His eyes widened as he took you in, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

His hands were tentative at first, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that made your breath catch. And then he was kissing you again—starting at your collarbone, trailing down to your stomach, lower and lower until you felt his breath between your legs.

You tensed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Luigi,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you, his eyes blazing. “Trust me,” he said, his voice steady.

And you did. You trusted him enough to let go, to surrender to the waves of pleasure that crashed over you as he began to explore you with his mouth. His touch was hesitant at first, unsure, but quickly grew more confident as he learned what made you gasp, what made you arch your back.

“Where did you learn this?” You managed to say, your voice breathless. “In a book, uh?”

He paused, looking up at you with a smirk. “Maybe,” he said, his tone teasing. “Or maybe I just know what you like.”

You laughed—a soft, breathless sound that was quickly swallowed by the sensations coursing through you. His tongue was relentless, his hands gripping your hips as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

You reached for him, your hands trembling as you undid his belt and slid his pants down. He was hesitant at first, his movements unsure, but as your bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a sense of urgency overtook the two of you.

He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes. Please, Luigi."

With a shaky breath, he entered you, the sensation both strange and exhilarating. There was a moment of discomfort, a sharp sting that made you gasp, but he paused, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Yes. Please keep going."

He did as you asked, moving slowly at first, the friction between you building with each thrust. The awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a pleasure that was unlike anything you has ever felt. His movements became more confident, his body pressing against yours with a rhythm that had you gasping for air.

"Luigi," you moaned, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. His hands gripped your hips, his touch firm but gentle as he moved inside of you. The tension, the rivalry that had always driven you, seemed to melt away, leaving only raw, unfiltered passion.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. Your tongues tangled, the taste of him mingling with the sensation of his body moving against yours. The world outside ceased to exist, the night fading into a blur of sensations and emotions.

You could feel the pressure building inside you, a coil of heat that threatened to unravel at any moment. His movements became more erratic, his breathing ragged as he whispered your name against your lips. "I'm close," he gasped, his voice filled with need.

"Me too," you replied, your hands clutching at his back. The tension inside you snapped, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you cried out his name. He followed soon after, his body tensing as he found his release, his voice a low, guttural moan against your neck.

For a moment, you lay there, your bodies tangled together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Then slowly, he pulled away, his eyes meeting yours.

"So... that just happened," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The reality of what you had just done began to sink in, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. “I’ve never tough it will be with you." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

— End of summer back to university —

Back at university, it was as if nothing had changed. You still argued in class, still traded barbs at parties, still acted like you couldn't stand each other. But behind closed doors, in the privacy of Luigi's dorm room, it was a different story.

His room was small and cluttered, with textbooks piled on the desk and posters of his favorite bands peeling off the walls. But to you, it was your sanctuary. The place where you could let go of the act and just be with him. You'd sneak in late at night, careful not to be seen, and he'd be waiting for you, his lips claiming yours the moment the door clicked shut.

Tonight was no different. You were lying on his bed, his arms wrapped around you as you traced circle patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingertips, and the room was filled with the soft sound of his breathing.

"We can't keep doing this," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You froze, your hand stilling on his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to hide this anymore. I don't want to pretend like I don't love you when we're around other people."

Love. The word sent a shiver down your spine. You'd both danced around it, never saying it out loud, but hearing it now made your stomach twist with both fear and longing.

"I don't care what they think," he said fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours. "I love you. I want the whole world to know it."

You shook your head, sitting up to face him. A smile tugged at your lips as your heart pounded in your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

"You mean that?" you asked softly, searching his face for any hesitation.

He didn't waver. "Of course I do."

Relief and warmth flooded through you, and without another thought, you cupped his face in your hands, leaning in until your foreheads touched.

"Then let's tell them," you whispered. "I love you too."

A large smile appeared in his face.

"No, I love you." He bids.

"Don't start the completion again..."

"Because you'll lose." He adds his smile still on his face.

Thanks you for reading all this ! If you have a request just ask I will do my best ! Which you all the best ! Love.

#luigi mangione #free luigi #luigi #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione college #luigi my beloved #enemies to lovers #summer love

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mirrorballpages · 3 days ago

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It flashed through her mind like lightning. His scarred hands cradling her face, the glow of faelights around them, snow covering the ground outside. His hazel eyes filled with something unspoken as he leaned down to kiss her, her heart dancing and pleading permission.

Her fingers lingered on the back of his hand when he stirred, a faint shift in the rise and fall of his chest. His head turned slightly, dark hair brushing against his forehead those hazel eyes—dulled with exhaustion yet still piercing—blinked open. They locked onto hers, unfocused for a heartbeat before sharpening. “Elain,” he whispered, his voice rough, low and rasping in the quiet. “Are you okay?”

Her fingers stilled against his hand, her heart pounding as she met his gaze. The question, the concern in his tone...even now, even after all he had endured, he thought of her first.

She pulled back her hand, guilt rushing through her. “I’m so sorry to wake you,” she began to murmur, her voice trembling. “I just … I needed to see that you were okay. I’ll leave—”

“No.” His voice, though quiet, was firm. His eyes bore into hers, steady and grounding. “Stay.”

She froze, her heart thundering in her chest. He shifted as if to prop himself up, but a sharp grunt of pain stopped him.

“Don’t move,” she said quickly, leaning forward, her hands hovering as if to keep him down. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Azriel let out a soft huff, the ghost of a laugh. “I’m fine.”

Her gaze dropped to the bandages wrapped around his wings, to the faint stain of blood on the edges. She clutched the shawl tighter around her shoulders, the fabric a poor shield against the vulnerability surging within her.

“Thank you, Azriel. For coming with Feyre to save me.”

“There’s no need—”

“There is,” she interrupted, her gaze steady despite the quiet tremor in her voice. “You saved me. You and Feyre.”

Azriel studied her, noting the way she clutched the shawl as if it were armor, the way her eyes—still glassy with the weight of everything—refused to leave his face.

"I'm so sorry. I can't believe I was so stupid..." Her voice wavered, thick with self-reproach.

“Elain,” he cut her off, his tone firm but gentle. “None of what happened is your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” she said quickly, her voice cracking. “I can't believe I thought Graysen would come back for me...”

“Anyone would have listened,” he replied, his voice measured and steady. “Especially someone Made by the Cauldron. Your connection, Nesta’s connection, are deeper. None of this is on you.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her head bowing slightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, the words barely audible.

Azriel’s hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing soft, soothing circles over her knuckles. “I would do it a hundred times if it meant you came home safe.”

Her breath hitched, and she glanced down at their intertwined hands, at the way his touch seemed to anchor her. But then—

A vision.

“Elain,” Azriel said, his voice breaking through the haze that surrounded her. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, her heart racing. She looked away, the words tumbling from her lips too fast, too defensive. But he didn’t push. He stayed silent, his thumb still tracing soft, steady circles over her skin.

“You see me,” she murmured after a long pause, her voice quiet but unwavering. “Not the broken pieces or the mistakes. You see me. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, his voice low, steady. “You see me, too.”

Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat. Elain’s gaze dipped to his scarred hands, the ones that had carried her, protected her. The ones that had bled for her. And then, slowly, she looked back up.

“I’m glad you came for me,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, and at the House of Wind. Because I don’t think I could have found my way back without you.”

Azriel’s chest tightened, his shadows curling faintly at the edges of the tent as if they felt the weight of her words. For a moment, he thought of all the things he wanted to say—all the truths buried beneath years of shadows and duty. But instead, he simply nodded, offering her the steadiness she seemed to need.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly, his voice soft but certain. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Read The Rest on AO3

#elriel #elain x azriel #elainarcheron #elrielendgame #elain archeron #pro elain #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #azriel #actoar fanfic #acotar #acotar series #maasverse #sarah j maas #azriel and elain #elain and azriel #azriel x elain

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yyaktayak · 3 days ago

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Chapter 6 📌

tags: @uceyliyahh @charmed-dreamssss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

Kimaya's POV

It was hard not to feel like the weight of the world was pressing down on me. With every passing day, the distance between Jey and me felt like it was stretching further. Sure, we texted, we called, but it wasn't the same. I missed him in a way that made my chest ache—his laugh, the way his eyes would light up when he saw me, the way his hand felt in mine.

I'd tried to keep busy, but the nights were the hardest. It was when I was lying awake in bed, scrolling through old pictures of us, that it hit me the hardest. I wanted him here. And no matter how many times he promised me that he was thinking of me, I still felt the sting of *missing* him.

That morning, Kaveri and I had been out running errands. I wasn't really in the mood for shopping or anything else, but she insisted. "You've got to get out of the house, girl," she'd said. "Jey would want you to live your best life, even when he's not around."

I wasn't so sure, but I'd gone along with it anyway, mostly to shut her up. After grabbing a coffee, we were wandering through a boutique when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting it to be another meme from the group chat or a random text from my mom.

But when I saw the name on the screen, my heart skipped a beat. *Jey*.

I answered immediately.

"Hey, baby," I said, trying to sound cheerful, though there was a slight tremor in my voice.

"Hey, gorgeous," Jey's voice came through, sounding like he'd just woken up. "How's your day going?"

"It's fine. Just out with Kaveri," I said. "Nothing special."

There was a pause on the other end. I could almost feel him grinning through the phone.

"Where are you right now?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding more serious.

I frowned, glancing at Kaveri, who was thumbing through a rack of clothes. "I'm at this boutique on Main Street. Why?"

"Good," he said, voice dropping lower. "Stay where you are. I'll be there in five minutes."

My heart skipped again. "What? Jey, what are you talking about?"

"Just trust me," he replied. "I'll explain when I get there."

I glanced at Kaveri, who was eyeing me now, clearly intrigued by my conversation. "I'll be right back," I said to her before hanging up.

I stepped outside the store, my mind racing. What could Jey possibly be up to? Why was he here? Was he already back from tour? No, he'd said he wouldn't be back for another week. I shook my head, confused and excited all at once.

I didn't have to wait long. Just a few minutes later, a sleek black SUV pulled up in front of the boutique. My heart started pounding as the driver stepped out and opened the door. And then—there he was.

Jey.

He was wearing a baseball cap and a black hoodie, but there was no mistaking him. He looked exhausted, but there was a wide grin plastered on his face, the kind that made my stomach flip every time. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him approach.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, barely able to hold it together.

Jey pulled me into his arms without a word, holding me tightly as if he hadn't seen me in years instead of just a week. His familiar scent—the mix of cologne and sweat from his tour—surrounded me, and I immediately felt all the tension in my body melt away.

"I couldn't wait any longer," he said, pulling back slightly to look me in the eyes. "I miss you too much, Kimaya. I had to come see you."

I blinked up at him, unable to stop the smile that spread across my face. "But... I thought you were still on tour?"

"I was," he said, grinning. "But I've got a little break, and I decided I couldn't spend another minute without you. So I took the first flight back."

My heart swelled at his words, and I couldn't help but laugh through the sudden wave of emotion. "You're insane," I said, wiping at my eyes, though I was smiling the entire time. "You didn't have to do this. I can't believe you're here."

"I *wanted* to do this," Jey replied, taking my hand and leading me to the car. "Now let's get you away from this place, yeah?"

I followed him to the SUV, still trying to process what was happening. Jey had *really* come back just to surprise me. I didn't know whether to be amazed or overwhelmed.

As we climbed into the backseat, Jey pulled something from his pocket—a small black box. He handed it to me with a shy grin, the first time I'd seen him look vulnerable in a while.

"Open it," he said softly, his eyes searching mine.

My heart raced as I carefully pried open the box. Inside was a silver ring—simple, but elegant. It had a soft sheen, and it seemed to glimmer even in the dim light of the car.

"Jey, what—"

"It's not a promise ring, Kimaya," he said, his voice serious now. "But it's something I wanted you to have. I don't care what people think. You're mine, and I'm yours. No more wondering, no more second-guessing. I'm with you. Always."

I stared at the ring for a moment, completely overwhelmed by the depth of his words. It wasn't an engagement ring, not yet, but it felt like something even more significant—like a symbol of everything we'd shared and everything that was to come. I could barely speak as I slid the ring onto my finger.

"Jey," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he said with a smile, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "Just know that I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

For the first time in days, I felt at peace. He was here. And nothing else mattered.

---

Liked by @theshaderoom, @WWE, @uceyjucey and others.

iamrazorbehavior: my forevers💕 #myfavs #hiswife

comments are disabled.

*A/N: And just like that, Jey's back! I hope you guys are feeling the love (and maybe a little jealous, too 😉). I'm dying to know your thoughts—how would you feel if your partner surprised you like this? Leave a comment below and let's chat!*

#wwe #jey uso #smut #black female oc #yeet #black oc #razor

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asktheritochampion · 3 days ago

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What are your WORST habits?

I...go through phases where I refuse myself basic requirements like food as a punishment for not achieving something, and it sometimes get to the point I shall eat meals and then vomit later so that nobody notices or chastisizes me for the behaviour. I tell myself that it's normal and that it's simply how warriors train their bodies to remain in peak condition and their minds to focus, but I've known for a long time that it's not normal or healthy.

Sometimes I'll stay up all night training even though I know my exhaustion will only cause me to perform worse, I've even forced myself to work through the night for days in a row until I'm poorly enough to collapse. Sometimes I'll rip out small handfuls of the feathers hidden by my clothes and if anybody notices I simply pretend that I'm moulting. I don't even know why I do it; whether it's some subconcious need of distraction or some form of mindless self flagellation.

Worst of all, when I feel at my lowest after only draging myself down there, I can't seem to stop myself from spitting unwarrented insults at everyone who tries to associate with me to push them away. I make myself misrable then I drag everybody in the vacinity down with me until they all leave and I'm completely alone and then I mope about that too because I'm just a toxic person like that and I don't know how not to be, alright?

There! Happy now?!!

[4/10 🧪✨]

#tw eating disorders #tw self harm #revali #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #age of calamity #legends of zelda #rito #rito village

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astridsastroids · 2 days ago

Text

𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑻𝑰𝑬

masterlist rules for the blog

summary : Charles comes back from an even looking a bit too good or is it the fact that he looked dishevelled and had his suit open

paring : charles leclerc x fem!reader

note : this is the first story part of the 'a good girl's guide to die' series I'm doing also sorry for any errors

warning : mirror sex,unprotected sex (wrap it up before you stuff it up),clit stimulation/tapping,light hair pulling,fingering lmk if I forgot anything

happy reading, love from Astrid -💋

I'm starting to think this house has never been cleaned. I've been sick for a few days now; there's enough dust everywhere to fill a plant pot, and the place is just untidy. But maybe I'm just being dramatic.

"I should have just let Charles clean like he asked, but no, I had to be a genius, didn't I?" I sigh, dusting off the last shelf before grabbing the broom to sweep up anything else on the floor.

As I move to sweep under the couch, out of the corner of my eye, I see Leo rolling around on the couch. "No, no, Leo! Oh my goodness!" I pick up the puppy. "You're lucky you're cute enough for me not to be angry. Come on, baby, let me put you in your puppy pen while I clean. I'll come brush you afterwards." I leave him in the puppy pen and clean up the little fur where he rolled around.

If I get all the cleaning done now, I can go back to bed. Even though I feel better, I still feel dizzy from time to time. I carried on cleaning, making sure I did so thoroughly. Though the place is clean, I started to feel grimy. "I should go shower before getting back into bed," I said to myself as I packed all the cleaning supplies.

Leo barked, and I remembered I had to brush him. "Can I brush you tomorrow?" I picked him up. "I'll brush you tomorrow, baby. I'm tired." I reached for my phone to text Charles that I'd probably be asleep by the time he gets back from the premiere he and Carlos had to attend on behalf of Ferrari, but the message only went through on my end.

"Maybe Dad's busy," I said to Leo, putting him on the bed. "Stay. If anyone comes in, bark at your loudest." I gave him a kiss as I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

I got into the shower, and the hot water warmed my skin as I grabbed the cinnamon-scented body wash and washed my body. All the grime and tiredness fell away by the second. I took more time to wash my hair, scrubbing deep into my scalp.

After a while of fixing up my hair, I tied it and wrapped myself in a towel before stepping out of the bathroom, only to get startled by Charles. "Fucking hell, Leo! Really, what happened to barking?" He turned, taking off his tie. "He won't because he knows me, ma chérie." He picked Leo up, putting him near the door before the puppy ran off.

"Regardless" I said as Charles shut the door. I looked at him: his disheveled hair, his half-buttoned shirt, and the blazer with the Ferrari pin long forgotten. I watched him take his belt off, and I bit my lip, my eyes remaining on his hands.

I watched his— "See something you like, darling?" he came up to me. "Huh?" I asked as his thumb ran over my bottom lip. "You're biting your lip, so do you see something you like?" I looked at him. Definitely, I definitely see something I like, but I'm not going to admit that. Hell, I just got better from being sick.

"Um, no. I'm, um, I'm gonna get dressed for bed." I walked to the closet to take out pajamas. As I reached a bit over my head for socks, I felt his presence behind me before he pulled me back into him. "You're not gonna ask about the premiere?" He kissed my shoulder.

"I mean, I already saw all the photos and videos. I have an idea. Plus, I bet you're exhausted—" He turned me to face him. "I didn't say I was, though, chérie." His finger brushed my hand. "Is there something you want?" I shook my head. "Not really." I'm not gonna admit I want him.

"You know pridefulness will be your downfall because you know eyes don't lie. So, I'm either going to finish changing and get into bed, or you can tell me what's behind those beautiful eyes of yours." I let out a soft breath; my fault for being as transparent as glass.

"You," I look at him. "I want you, Charles." He grabbed my hand, placing it on his chest. "I'm going to go shower. You stay here. It's up to you if you want to put your pajamas on, but you'll be patient and wait for me, okay?" I nod as his thumb brushes over my jaw. "I'll be back." He disappeared into the bathroom.

I listen to the shower run. This is so stupid; he's probably tired. I don't care if he already told me he wasn't. He's been out all day, from the race to the premiere. He needs rest, though I'd hate to ignore that. I wouldn't hate it if he did indulge, even just a little bit.

What was I doing? Right, pajamas. Should I even—I know what's going to happen, but do I want to wear them now? I reach for a nightdress, putting it on. "Damn it, I forgot to lotion—" The bathroom door opened. He emerged, towel around his waist, hair still a mess. Did he shower faster than usual, or was I just not paying attention to time?

"Charlie..." I trail off as he moves to sit on the bed bench. He looks at me and holds his hand out. "Come here." I walk to him, taking his hand as he sits me in his lap, my back to his front. My eyes meet my own in the mirror of the vanity. I definitely should brush my hair again. "You look like an angel, you know."

He places a kiss on my shoulder. "How are you feeling?" His hands trace over my sides and up to my chest, kneading my breasts. "I'm okay; I still get dizzy sometimes." I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation. "No, no, no! I want you to see yourself—how pretty you are." Is he serious? I open my eyes and look at my reflection in the mirror. I watched his hands squeezing my chest, why is watching him touch me so arousing? "You're my pretty girl."

His legs spread slightly as mine followed because I was on his lap. His hands lifted my nightdress. "I'm going to take this off, then I'm going to touch you bare, okay?" I nodded, looking at him through the mirror. He lifted the nightdress over my head and placed it on the bed. "So beautiful." His hands kneaded my breasts, the sensation feeling so good. I whined a little.

He pulled his hands back before sucking his fingers, and then I felt his slick hands play with my nipples. "Charles," he kissed my back, continuing his motions. "You're so soft," he whispered. "So fucking soft."

One of his hands dropped to my slick cunt; he pressed his fingers down and played with my clit. My head leaned back. "No, if you take your eyes off the mirror, I'm going to stop, angel." I put my gaze back at the reflection.

"Just like that." His fingers moved lower to tease my whole. "Do you want me to play with your pussy?" I nodded. "Yes, please, Charles," I begged. "Such good manners." His two fingers slid in and out of my pussy, the rhythm making me bite my lip. "Charles, mhm." His other hand left my breasts and played with my clit.

I moan out, "Fuck!" Him playing with me felt so good, but watching him do it felt so erotic. I can't find the words—"mhm, mmmh." He nips my ear as he continues his motions. "You sound so good; that cunt sounds so beautiful."

He groaned, pulling his hands away and licking his fingers clean. "I'm gonna fuck you." I felt his towel get pulled from under me as his hard cock rubbed against me. Without wasting time, he slowly pushed inside my soaked cunt. Easily, his hands found my hips as he guided me to move up and down.

I moaned out, watching his cock disappear inside of me through the mirror; it felt divine. His one hand tugged me back by my hair. "Stay close to me, baby. Oh, fuck." We moaned in tandem, the wet noises feeling and sounding so pornographic. It felt amazing. "Fuck, Charles." He looked at me through the mirror. "Keep going; you can do it." His words fell roughly from his lips. "Because we both need this."

"I need this so bad," he said between moans. "It's been a long day." He moved me faster as I yelped and grabbed his arm. "Yes, please, please, mhh." I really don't want him to stop, not now. "My angel, my beautiful angel, mhh."

"Mhm, mh-hm, just a perfect little angel for me," he thrust up into me, "taking me so well." The desperation laced his voice. "You feel so goo—mh." He moaned into my ear as my mouth hung open, and I moaned out, my eyes struggling to keep focus on the mirror. My eyes eventually gave out as I threw my head back into his shoulder.

He grips my hips tightly, bouncing me off him, thrusting deeply. I moaned through a bit lip as my hands secured themselves to my chest so I wouldn't scratch the flesh off his arm. My breathing quickened as I continued to feel him thrusting into me.

My stomach clenched. "I'm gonna need you to come, angel," his breathing erratic. "I can feel you're close; you're squeezing me so good."

"I can't, please—" his voice strained. "Come with me, baby." His hand found its way to my clit, rapidly rubbing it. "Charl—mhh, mh-hm." My body twitched. "Now, fucking now, come for me. I can't hold back long." We came together; I felt myself twitch around his cock, his hand showing no stop. "Charles, s-stop, please." My words fell on deaf ears.

"You deserve it, though." He kissed my temple just as I was about to come again; he just stopped. "Maybe later, mh?" I licked my dry lips, then he tapped my still spasming pussy. "Yeah... later." He shifted, but I stopped him. "Wait, can we stay like this, please, just a bit longer?" His hands roamed my skin. "Okay, anything for you."

I'll get better at this I swear😭😭

#f1 x reader #x reader #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x you #formula one x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one smut #formula one #charles leclerc #charles x reader #ferrari #trending #smut #smut fanfiction #charles lecrelc #forza ferrari

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abii-reb · 23 hours ago

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Kang Dae-ho

"Stay Behind Me" pt3

❥ summary: (THIS IS PART 3, READ PART 1 AND 2 IN MY PROFILE) where our ex-marine can't help but feel strangely attracted to the beautiful girl with blonde hair and cute freckles.

❥ word count: 3.1k

❥ warnings: fem!Reader, +18, minor dni, blow job (man!receiving), tit squeeze

❥ authors note: Hi! I'm Abi. This is my first time writing on Tumblr :) and my first language is not English, so if I misspelled anything please let me know!

That night, like every other, the silence was unsettling. Darkness enveloped the place, and the distant murmurs of the other players were the only thing breaking the stillness. Dae-ho woke up from a restless sleep, his stomach twisting from the nightmares that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He sat up, feeling the weight of his tired body, and walked toward the bathroom. Though fear constantly accompanied him, something felt different this time. What was happening to him? Why did he need her close? Maybe she was the only person who, when looking at him, didn’t see a monster. Maybe, for once, he could feel… alive. Not just a survivor, but someone capable of loving or being loved.

He returned to his bunk, his mind still unsettled. He didn’t expect to see her awake at that hour, but when he arrived at the dormitory, he saw her standing beside his bed. Her slender figure, wrapped in a blanket hanging from her hands like a small child, looked so vulnerable—so different from the girl he was used to seeing. Her eyes, slightly dull from exhaustion, met his with a softness he couldn’t ignore.

"Can I sleep with you?" she asked, her voice barely trembling. "I’m afraid someone might decide to start a midnight massacre."

Dae-ho let out a small laugh, though the situation was far from funny. It wasn’t the first time fear had taken hold of them in the darkness, but seeing her there, so unprotected, awakened his protective instinct with full force. He didn’t think twice—he simply lay down, making space for her beside him.

"Of course," he responded without hesitation, his tone soft but firm. "I’m not going to say no to that."

She climbed onto the bunk with slight clumsiness, as if unsure whether she was doing the right thing. She curled up close to him, and Dae-ho wrapped his arms around her, feeling her small body against his.

The scent of her hair, still fresh though slightly messy, filled his lungs, and for a moment, the memories of the past faded. The echoes of screams and orders that had haunted him for years went silent for a while, replaced by the soft sound of her breathing, deep and calm. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth she unknowingly provided.

She, in turn, felt completely safe in his arms. The fear that had gripped her all day disappeared the moment she felt him by her side. There was no need to say anything. She was okay. Everything was okay. Everything that had happened—all the deaths and the games that had consumed them—didn’t matter at that moment.

"Thank you," she whispered, as if she couldn’t stop being grateful for his presence.

Dae-ho didn’t respond immediately, but he let out a deep sigh, pulling her a little closer. He didn’t know if they would make it out of there, if they would survive, if fate would leave them alone, but for now, in that instant, all that mattered was that they were together.

(...)

Dae-ho woke up first, still feeling a warm, small presence curled up against his chest. Gently, he lowered his gaze to find her relaxed face, her eyelashes fluttering slightly as she breathed evenly. He couldn’t help but think about how peaceful she looked, completely unaware of everything.

She started to stir. Her eyes slowly opened, and before she could even focus on him properly, she seemed to realize her morning appearance. Instinctively, she brought her hands to her face, covering it as if that could hide her completely.

"Don’t look…" she murmured, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

Dae-ho raised an eyebrow, amused by her reaction. He propped himself up on one elbow and, with no effort at all, gently pulled her hands away from her face, holding them between his own.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked, a sly smile playing on his lips.

She tried to look away, but he didn’t let her.

"You still look just as beautiful as the first day," he said sincerely, his eyes tracing her features. His tone carried no teasing, no joke. It was simply a fact.

She felt her heart race at his words. She hadn’t expected him to remember that moment… much less mention it so naturally. Without knowing how to respond, she acted without thinking.

She leaned slightly toward him and, quickly, pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips.

The warmth of his lips barely registered before she pulled away immediately, her eyes wide with shock at what she had just done.

Dae-ho froze completely.

Feeling the heat rush to her ears, she clumsily scrambled out of bed and climbed down the bunk ladder with impressive speed. He didn’t even have time to react before he saw her disappear, running straight toward the women’s bathroom, where she locked herself without a second thought.

Dae-ho, still bewildered, brought a hand to his lips, where the ghost of her touch still burned.

(...)

For the rest of the morning, she avoided Dae-ho at all costs.

During breakfast, instead of sitting with the others, she chose to eat alone on her bunk, head down and tray resting on her lap. Every time Dae-ho tried to approach, she pretended to be too focused on her food or simply looked away.

The other group members noticed the tension in the air.

"And what’s up with your girlfriend now?" Jung-bae joked, chewing on a piece of bread.

Dae-ho shot him a glare.

"She’s not my girlfriend."

"But she looks at you like she is," Gi-hun added with a teasing smile.

Dae-ho sighed, running a hand over his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness.

"She kissed me," he admitted bluntly.

The other three men went silent for a second before Young-il let out a suppressed laugh.

"What?!"

"Yeah. This morning. She kissed me and then ran off like she’d committed a crime."

"Well, technically, it is," Jung-bae quipped. "In this place, having feelings for someone is a risk."

Dae-ho didn’t respond. He knew that all too well. But it was already too late.

"And what did you do?" Young-il asked.

The ex-marine shrugged.

"Nothing. I didn’t have time to react. By the time I realized what had happened, she was already running to the bathroom."

The other three exchanged looks before bursting into synchronized laughter.

"Poor girl, she must be dying of embarrassment," Gi-hun said.

"And you’re not helping by just sitting here instead of talking to her," Jung-bae pointed out.

Dae-ho frowned at them.

"And what do you expect me to do? Corner her and say, ‘Hey, about the kiss… no worries, okay? You can do it whenever you want’?"

"You could at least make her feel less awkward," Gi-hun said. "Clearly, she likes you, and if she keeps avoiding you, it’s going to be weird for everyone."

Dae-ho sighed again, setting his tray aside. He didn’t need them to tell him. He already knew he had to do something.

The hard part was figuring out the right way to do it.

(...)

The music echoed throughout the room with the rotating platform, a repetitive melody that had become unbearable for all the players. Around them, doors of different colors waited to be opened, but until a number was announced, no one could move. Several rounds had passed, ranging from easy numbers to form groups to smaller ones that made it more difficult.

She had returned to the group for the third game, but her attitude toward Dae-ho hadn’t changed. Though she was with them, she didn’t speak a word to him. She stayed close to Jun-hee, talking with her or pretending that Dae-ho’s presence beside her didn’t affect her in the slightest.

But of course, it did.

And he noticed.

What he didn’t notice—at least not immediately—was someone else watching her.

Thanos.

That bastard had gotten too close to Y/N, though keeping just far enough away for her not to notice. But Dae-ho did notice. And his jaw clenched at the sight.

The music stopped abruptly.

"Two" announced the voice over the speakers.

In the blink of an eye, Thanos lunged at Y/N, grabbing her wrist and pulling her forcefully toward one of the rooms.

"Come on, Y/N!" he said with a smile that was meant to be charming but only managed to churn her stomach.

She struggled, but her size and strength weren't enough.

Dae-ho reacted without thinking.

A precise punch, delivered with all his strength, landed on Thanos's face, sending them both straight to the ground.

"I warned you" Dae-ho growled, glaring at him with pure contempt. "If you touch her again, I won't show any mercy."

Y/N, still on the floor, looked up at him with wide eyes. The way he stood in front of her and how he protected her without hesitation made her chest feel strangely... warm.

But there was no time to stay there.

Without any effort, Dae-ho scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing and sprinted toward one of the empty rooms. He crossed the door just before the timer hit zero, and it slammed shut behind them with a loud bang.

He set her down gently, but as soon as he did, all the anger, fear, and frustration he had been holding back exploded at once.

"Why have you been ignoring me all morning?" Dae-ho asked, his voice filled with emotions he couldn't even name.

Y/N bit her lip, lowering her gaze.

"because I was very embarrassed..." she admitted softly. "For kissing you like that... without thinking."

Dae-ho stared at her in disbelief.

"Embarrassed?"

She nodded, feeling even more foolish at hearing the disbelief in his tone.

He shook his head, stepping closer.

"You shouldn't have run away."

Y/N lifted her gaze just in time to see him move even closer, until their faces were dangerously near.

"Because the only thing I've wanted since I first saw you was for you to kiss me."

She barely had time to react before he closed the distance and kissed her.

This time, there was no embarrassment.

Their lips met with desperate intensity; after all, they had been waiting for this all along. She clung to his neck, losing herself in the friction of their bodies, while he held her by the waist, pulling her even closer-if that was even possible.

There was no one else in that moment.

Just the two of them.

And oh, they were going to enjoy it...

(+18)

The nearest wall witnessed absolutely everything. Dae-ho cornered her and let his hands run over her curves—respectfully—carefully. He really touched her as if she was going to break. As if she were just a porcelain doll in his hands.

"How much time do we have?" He parted slightly from her lips to speak and at the same time regain the air he was missing.

She looked over Dae-ho's shoulder and saw that the guards were just beginning to pick up the bodies from the ground, and this time there were many.

"Enough." She said while smiling with her breathing heavily.

Dae-ho didn't hesitate for a second and attacked her lips again with hunger, with desire, with something that not even he knew what it was, but he needed her right there.

His hands slipped under her clothes and he moved away from her lips only to look into her eyes, asking her permission to continue. Once he saw that she nodded her head quickly, he allowed himself to get to know her more. He unzipped her jacket and she did the same with his. A few seconds later both were already on the ground. They were definitely not necessary.

Dae-ho put his hands under her shirt and felt her hot skin calling out to him. It ran down her waist slowly as it climbed a little higher, reaching the sides of her breasts. His eyes again met hers, seeking approval.

"Just do it." She said, laughing with desperation in her tone.

He laughed lightly, but his attention was really elsewhere. He took off her shirt and dropped it on the floor along with the other clothes.

His sight unconsciously slowed down on her breasts, but out of mere respect he pretended not to have delighted you to attack his neck with wet kisses. His hands cradled both breasts carefully, giving them a small squeeze. They were big, they didn't fit into his hands, and that drove him crazy, he wanted to take her completely.

He left kisses and marks all over her neck while she just let out sighs with the occasional moan, running her nails down his neck and pulling slightly at the hair that fell from the back of his neck.

Y/N's bra ended up along with the rest of the clothes. Dae-ho began massaging one breast as he slowly lowered his kisses down to the other, running all over her warm skin and reaching her already prominent nipple, taking it in his mouth and biting it lightly. She no longer held back, she simply moaned without any shame.

He switched to the other breast while massaging the previous one, and a few seconds later it went back up to her neck, passing through her jaw and reaching her mouth again.

Their lips met again in despair and they both made sure that their bodies were completely together.

Dae-ho quickly pulled away to hear a loud groan from her. He looked at her confused and she, with her red cheeks, looked down. He followed her gaze and understood the reason for her sound.

He had felt a pressure in his pants but he didn't think it was so noticeable. Before he could say anything, she kissed him again, grabbing his neck with one hand and the other down from her chest to his stomach, and slowly moving closer down.

He shyly brushed the hem of Dae-ho's pants, feeling the heat his body emanated.

She lowered her hand further and ran the tip of his finger along the length of his cock that was already too marked through the fabric. Dae-ho stifled a moan shyly as he hid his face in her neck.

"I want to hear you... Don't hold back." She said as she ran her free hand through his hair, tugging slightly from time to time.

She took his cock completely. It was thick and quite long compared to the ones she had already —tasted.—

She began to use the palm of her hand to massage it from top to bottom, making a constant friction.

It was then that she felt the fabric get slightly moist that she realized that she could now go down.

Slowly she knelt in front of him, never taking her eyes off his eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears. Dae-ho noticed it and quickly untied the ponytail he had and used it to hold her hair in a messy bun that made her look sexier than she already was.

With just one look he understood her and began to pull down his pants along with his boxers. His cock, already completely hard, was present in front of her face, who did not take long to notice every vein, every mole he had.

She began by kissing Dae-ho's pelvis and then reached the base of his penis, looking up to delight in the expressions of pleasure he made.

She left kisses all the way, reaching the tip already moistened with pre-cum, which she did not hesitate to lick.

Y/N began to kiss the tip of the cock while slowly taking more and more in his mouth until he reached a point where he already had it completely inside him. That's when she began to move her head slowly from front to back, sucking faster and faster.

Dae-ho didn't care about anything anymore, he simply moaned while he held her hair, urging her to make her movements faster. He quickly moved his hips from front to back intensifying the blowjob, while her eyes became watery from the overwhelming sensation of having him completely in her mouth, without letting her breathe. Damn, she loved that feeling, it was something she could get used to.

She choked a few times but it was just a matter of pulling her mouth away from him, catching her breath while jerking him off with her hand and then spitting on the length of his cock and then taking it back completely with her mouth.

Dae-ho's hard penis began to tremble slightly as his muscles contracted, and in a guttural moan he snatched his cock out of her mouth and ended up on her face.

"Damn, I'm sorry. Come here." He said as he took her by the shoulders so that she would stand up and after pulling up his pants, he bent down to look for a disposable tissue that he had in his jacket, carefully cleaning any trace of his —you know— that had fallen on her delicate face.

She only laughed while her hand was attached to his wrist.

"Players, you can go out now." It was heard over the loudspeaker.

Dae-ho and Y/N looked at each other with a knowing smile as they both arranged their hair and clothes, returning to the painful reality they had managed to forget for a while.

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andy-15-07 · 2 days ago

Note

hi! I would love to see a Paul Mescal fic where the reader and him go shopping and she is trying on a bunch of clothes!

The Fitting Room

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 669 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The soft hum of the fluorescent lights in the changing room washed over you as you zipped up the vibrant sundress. It was a whirlwind of a pattern, a clash of colours that you usually wouldn't gravitate towards, but something about the way it swished around your legs as you twirled had caught your eye.

A muffled chuckle from outside the curtain made you smile. "You look like a human disco ball," Paul's voice teased, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Hey!" you protested playfully, peeking out from the curtain. "It's called 'bold fashion choices'."

Paul raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin playing on his lips. "Alright, alright. But seriously, you look amazing."

You stepped out fully, twirling once more to show off the dress. It was a little short, a little tight, but it made you feel… alive. Confident. Like you could take on the world.

"I love it," you declared, beaming at your reflection.

"Good, because I think I do too," Paul said, his eyes lingering on your figure. "Though, maybe we should tone down the disco ball effect a bit."

You laughed, reaching for a pair of jeans and a simple white t-shirt from the overflowing pile on the bench. "Fine, fine. But I'm keeping this one."

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of trying on clothes, laughing, and teasing. Paul would disappear into the men's section every now and then, emerging with ridiculous hats or brightly coloured socks, much to your amusement. You, on the other hand, seemed to have developed a sudden obsession with anything remotely sparkly or floral.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the bustling shopping district, you emerged from the fitting room, this time in a pair of wide-leg jeans and a flowy, off-the-shoulder top. It was simple, elegant, and somehow, perfectly you.

"Perfect," Paul breathed, his eyes widening. "You look… incredible."

A blush crept up your neck as you met his gaze. "You think so?"

"I know so," he insisted, stepping closer. "You always look incredible, but… this. This is special."

His hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, a familiar flutter in your chest.

"Ready to go?" he asked softly, his gaze unwavering.

You nodded, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. As you walked hand-in-hand through the crowded streets, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment. It was the little things, the shared laughter, the stolen glances, the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world.

Back at his apartment, you collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted but exhilarated from the day's adventures. Paul joined you, draping an arm around your shoulders.

"Best shopping trip ever," you declared, snuggling closer to him.

"Agreed," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though, I think I might need a fashion intervention after seeing some of those choices."

You giggled, turning to face him. "Hey, you're the one who encouraged me to go bold."

"Guilty as charged," he admitted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But seriously, you looked amazing in everything."

"Even the disco ball dress?" you teased, a playful smirk gracing your lips.

"Especially the disco ball dress," he countered, his eyes twinkling. "You know, I've always wanted a girlfriend who could outshine a disco ball."

You laughed, burying your face in his chest. "Oh, Paul."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I love you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

As you lay there, nestled in his embrace, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. It was in these quiet moments, surrounded by the warmth of his love, that you felt truly alive. And you knew, with a certainty that settled deep within your soul, that this was just the beginning of their adventure.

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jessiemeows · 24 hours ago

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Lost & Found

Chapter 2: Companionship and Sunsets

A/N: Hello! I wanted to say the first 2-3 chapters are a little slow and are basically retellings of what happens amongst the Amaya/Astarion universe that I created. The next chapter though is when their story begins to officially start :) Pls go easy on me, I don't have any proofreaders and I tried reading this a thousand times to make sure the grammar and spelling are good lmfao. ALSO! Love and smut won't be introduced till later chapters, right now its going to be painfully obvious that Amaya and Astarion are crushing on one another. So in other words it's a slow burn. OH, one more thing, I haven't posted much but I am pretty much done with the next chapter, I have to add in a few things that I forgot I wanted added in so maybe(hopefully) I'll post it by the end of the week? I plan on reading it and adding in more stuff tomorrow night, and then I have to get over my fears of posting it for a few days by rereading it 500 times lol.

Pairing: F!Durge, OC (Amaya), Tiefling, Selunite Cleric X Spawn Astarion

Rating: 18+!!! mentions of violence, blood, corpses, death, basically durge things if you know how that character is

WC: About 2300

Previous chapters: Prologue | Ch 1

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Story:

The wreckage of the nautiloid stretched behind them as Astarion trailed a few steps behind Amaya. He watched as his new companion led him in what seemed to be an increasingly familiar pattern.

"Any idea where you're going, darling?" He said with his voice filled with amusement. "Because it seems to me we're walking in circles."

Amaya's shoulders tensed. "Yes, I know where I'm going." The words came out clipped, and Astarion suppressed a smile. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so harsh earlier—the knife to her throat, shoving her into the dirt but, what was done was done. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn't particularly care.

"I'm looking for someone," she continued, her voice softening. "She can't be too far from the beach. Unless she's dead, but I..." Her words trailed off into the now cooling evening air.

"And who might this mystery person be?"

Amaya twirled to face him, walking backward with surprising grace. "A half-elf who helped me on the ship. I don't remember her name, but I think she's a cleric, like me."

"Ah, clerics." Astarion clicked his tongue. "I've never much cared for the gods. Rather exhausting business, all that worship and devotion."

Her expression turned thoughtful. "True but, I don't know why I worship Selûne, to be honest. When I woke up on the nautiloid, I had only faint memories of her, but I could feel her presence, feel my magic flowing from her." She turned to walk beside him, their steps falling into sync. "Her presence felt light and hopeful, which was nice compared to..." Her voice faded, and Astarion caught the shadow that passed across her face. He chose not to press.

Instead, he studied her with new interest. "You don't remember anything?"

"Just my name—Amaya Othzál—and fragments that keep surfacing. The details are..." She shrugged, offering a faint smile. "Hazy."

"Must be the tadpole's doing."

"Or I hit my head really hard." Her giggle was soft and musical, and Astarion found himself oddly charmed by the sound.

"Yes, that would certainly explain a few things about you," he scoffed playfully, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a low chuckle.

Amaya then halted suddenly, causing Astarion to collide with her, nearly losing his footing to almost knock her over. "Do you think by any chance you could not stop so abruptly," he hissed.

"There's a wounded mindflayer," she whispered, pointing ahead.

"Better it than us," he remarked coldly. "But do be careful near that thing."

Amaya then approached slowly, her divine magic radiating a blinding light at her fingertips. Astarion watched as she hesitated to kill the abomination, kneeling before the creature within seconds.

"What in the hells—what are you doing? Get away from that thing!" Astarion then yanked her backward by the arm, breaking the creature's hold.

Reality crashed back, and almost immediately Amaya brought her boot down on the monster with crushing force. "Death is too good for it," she then turned to Astarion with apologetic eyes. "Thank you."

"Just don't do that again," he muttered. Amaya nodded.

The two had walked on for several more minutes completing a full circle back onto the beach when suddenly, Amaya bolted forward. "Wait! I think that's her!" She sprinted toward a prone figure in the sand. "How did I not see her? She was so close." Dropping to her knees, she checked for signs of life. "She's breathing- just unconscious."

The half-elf stirred at Amaya's gentle touch. "Y-you're alive," she mumbled, blinking in confusion. "I'm alive. How is this possible?"

As the women spoke, Astarion hung back, only half-listening until he heard his name mentioned. Amaya was recounting their earlier encounter while the half-elf—Shadowheart, she called herself—cast a healing spell. Shadowy magic knitted Amaya's wound closed, though the skin remained angry and red.

"You kept him around after he tried to kill you?" Shadowheart's green eyes bored into Astarion.

"He's infected, just like us." Amaya glanced at him with those big and round yet unusual eyes of hers—deep red and glowing, but it was as if the color itself was wrong somehow. The bridge of her nose had started to burn in the sun, making her constellation of freckles stand out even more. "I would've done the same, I think."

"Well, it's all in the past now, isn't it?" Astarion drawled. "We should be moving forward, shouldn't we..." Astarion awaited for the half-elf to give him her name.

The half-elf's response was as cold as winter. "It’s Shadowheart."

“Shadowheart. Let's go now.”Astarion scoffed at the half-elf giving her an equally challenging stare back. Rolling her eyes at Astarion, Shadowheart then carefully wrapped Amaya's wound. "Thank you so much," Amaya said.

“Anything for the person who saved my life.” Shadowheart said, smiling at Amaya her eyes lighting up. “Now let's get moving, lead the way.”

After looting a couple of dead goblins, their path led them to roadside cliffs overlooking what appeared to be temple ruins. As the party approached, a strange rune carved into the ancient stones caught her attention. Amaya paused, "There's something unusual about that rune," she murmured, cautiously moving closer to investigate.

“Amaya, do be careful,” Astarion warned. He had no desire to rescue her from another predicament as he had with the mindflayer. Ignoring the warning from him, Amaya reached out and faintly touched the rune with her fingers, causing her to recoil in pain. Amidst the eerie glow of the rune, a hand abruptly materialized, causing the trio to jump.

“A hand? Anyone?” cried a disembodied voice from the sigil.

Astarion's eyes remained fixed on Amaya, whose complexion grew pale as she stared transfixed at the spectral limb before her. Without any warning, she swiftly slapped the hand.

"Ow!" the voice exclaimed. "Perhaps I should have clarified—a helping hand? Anyone?"

Astarion couldn't contain his laughter. In their brief time together, he'd sensed a kindred spirit in Amaya's mischievous nature. After Amaya interrogated the sigil, she managed to use what was left of her divine magic and successfully pulled out a man. The sudden recoil from the conjuration caused the tiefling to stumble and fall, crashing directly into Astarion, he quickly reached out and grabbed ahold of her waist before she could hit the ground.

“Hello, I’m Gale of Waterdeep!” the strange man said while dusting off his deep purple robes as the trio surrounded him.

In the corner of Astarion's eyes, the setting sun caught his attention. The sky blazed in a brilliant transformation, shifting from molten gold to soft coral to dusky rose—colors he had not truly seen in nearly two centuries. The fading light painted the landscape in an ethereal glow, turning the mundane into something magical.

Only half-listening to the conversation behind him, Amaya boasted to the wizard, "I took control of the ship, landed it safely, and saved the day." Astarion couldn't help but snort at her words.

"That vast, burning wreckage behind you somewhat contradicts your story, but here you stand, so who am I to argue?" the wizard responded sarcastically back at her with amusement.

Lost again in the sunset, a gentle touch on his shoulder startled him from his reverie. Amaya stood beside him, her unusual red eyes reflecting the sunset's dying embers. "Are you coming? We're setting up camp here for the night." She studied his face with quiet curiosity. "Do you like the sunset?"

"I'm used to the busy city," he lied smoothly, "so it's rare to see it like this." The truth—that he hadn't properly watched a sunset in two hundred years, caught in his throat.

"It is beautiful," Amaya murmured, her words trailing off as she gazed at the painted sky. Then, practical as ever: "But you should set up your tent before darkness falls, unless you fancy fumbling with poles in the pitch black." She turned away with a small smile, heading toward a flat patch of ground. Astarion sighed and followed, his feet dragging slightly in the dirt.

Gale, who seemed to be the ever the show-off, had his tent erected in minutes through a series of precise magical gestures. With another flourish of his hands, he conjured a blazing fire in the center of their makeshift camp. The flames cast dancing shadows across the clearing as twilight deepened around them.

"I hate to be bossy," Gale announced, though his tone suggested otherwise, "but I'm designating myself camp cook. Our supplies may be limited, but I promise to make something satisfying for us all."

Shadowheart's response was laced with sarcasm. "Fine, Gale."

Amaya chuckled at their bickering as she scanned the campsite, her smile fading when she noticed Astarion's empty tent. "Hm," she murmured, concern creasing her brow before she pushed the thought aside.

Inside her own tent, Amaya carefully arranged her few possessions. One particular possession made her smile, an old stuffed bunny—somehow preserved in her bag of holding took pride of place on her thin mattress. She found herself imagining ways to make the space more homely: perhaps some hanging plants, or a few cozy blankets.

Changing quickly from her tattered armor, she borrowed a pair of black trousers from Shadowheart, cinching them with rope to fit her smaller frame. Her dark red underclothes would have to suffice as sleeping attire for the night. As she folded her armor, several gold-plated medallions caught her eye. Most were too damaged to read, their engravings worn smooth or broken, but one bore a partial image—half a skull surrounded by droplets. The symbol tugged at her memory, but like so much else, remained frustratingly out of reach.

Night had fully settled when Amaya joined the others by the fire. Crickets sang their evening chorus as torchlight flickered between their four tents. Gale offered her a bowl of dried fruits and meat with a gentle smile, which she returned gratefully.

"Where's your pale friend?" Shadowheart's question cut through the peaceful silence.

Amaya toyed with a piece of dried meat between her fingers. "Oh, he set up his tent and wandered off somewhere."

"I'd be careful with him." Shadowheart's green eyes bore into her with intensity.

"You don't trust Astarion?"

"Trust is a rare currency, Amaya. I'm not sure I would spend it on someone who drew a knife on me moments after we met." The words fell between them like ice.

Gale choked on his food. "He did what?"

"It's fine," Amaya insisted, though her head began to pound. Dark, unsettling thoughts from earlier crept back, visions of severing Gale's hand and slitting Astarion’s throat caused her to shudder. Amaya then pushed the thoughts away, fighting a wave of nausea.

"Fine," Shadowheart conceded, her gaze fixed on the flames. "But I'm watching him."

----

An hour had passed, and there was still no sign of Astarion. Shadowheart had already retreated to her tent while Amaya tried to focus on Gale's lecture about ceremorphosis, but her headache made it difficult to concentrate. His words blurred together as she stared into the fire.

"Now we have tadpoles slithering through our heads like carnivorous foeti. That's not abstract."

"I'm not too worried," Amaya offered weakly. "We'll find someone who can help."

"That's the spirit! Let's be up with the lark—find a healer before the wee one gets hungry. Oh, hello Astarion!"

Amaya turned around to find the elf had changed into simpler attire: a light blue shirt with ruffled collar and low neckline, paired with well-worn brown trousers and ornate shoes. The clothing showed signs of careful mending, a stark contrast to his earlier pristine outfit.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," he said as Gale thrust a bowl at him, his lip curling slightly at its contents. "Sorry for disappearing. I needed a walk."

"Nonsense!" Gale waved off the apology. "It's been a difficult day. But this wizard needs his beauty sleep, or I'll be absolutely insufferable tomorrow. Goodnight to you both. I should check if Shadowheart's still awake..."

As Gale departed, Astarion settled beside Amaya, setting his untouched food aside.

"Not hungry?"

"Not particularly," he replied tersely.

"I only ate half of mine because I felt sick," she offered. "So you're not alone." Despite his prickly exterior, she found conversation with him came naturally. While she felt a connection with Shadowheart too, something about Astarion's presence put her at ease.

They both started speaking at once, then stopped. "Oh, sorry—you go first," Amaya insisted.

Astarion paused, choosing his words carefully. "So, we're resting here? Turning in for the night?"

"It's no feather bed, but it'll do." She hugged her knees to her chest, pushing dark curls from her face.

"I suppose." His crimson eyes darted around the clearing. "I'm not sure what I expected, really. This is all rather new for me. My nights usually involve bustling streets and bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt is... a little novel."

"I could make you some tea with calming herbs," she offered. "Help you relax."

"Ah, no—tea isn't really my drink." He tapped his temple. "I'll be awake anyway, processing all this. You sleep, I'll keep watch."

"Thank you, that helps. But first—what do you think of our new companions?"

A wicked grin spread across his face. "Ha! Well, we've picked up a wizard who managed to get stuck in his own portal—hardly a promising introduction. And then there's someone whose parents hopefully meant well by naming their child Shadowheart. Rather ominous, don't you think? Unless she chose it herself, which would be even more concerning."

Amaya couldn't help but laugh. "I suppose you’re right but they are all we have currently," She stood, brushing off her borrowed clothes. “You’ll have to excuse me now, I should pray before bed. Have a good night and try to get some rest yourself.”

"The pleasure is all mine. Sweet dreams," he murmured, watching her silhouette move through the moonlight toward her tent.

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