#it will all crash and burn i can’t keep this up

[nxtt2-u]

kink headcanons ft. OT8 SKZ !

content info — ot8 (individual) x afab!reader, 3.6k words, smut, established relationship in all scenarios

content warnings — nsfw, a shit ton of kinks and scenarios about them, kinks will not be specified to prevent spoiling, swearing, intentional lowercase

notes — this was actually meant for kinktober ‘24, but i clearly never got around to finishing it… whoops. here we are a whopping four months later; enjoy! not proofread. 18+ only, mdni.

★ ──── BANGCHAN

a switch, but leans heavily on the dominant side. usually a service dom, but can get a little mean sometimes.

⤷ BREEDING.

chan gets off so badly to the fantasy of fucking his babies into you. one night when he’s pounding into you with a condom on, he begins to babble when his orgasm draws near — “you’d look so fucking gorgeous all round with my children, baby, fuck!” and you clamp down on him so hard he has half the mind to think his cock might snap in half as he experiences the strongest orgasm of his life. so yeah, it’s safe to say you got on birth control right away & threw away all condoms after that.

⤷ PRAISE.

he loves to whisper sweet things into your ear as he gently pushes into your cunt from behind after a busy schedule. chan loves how you gush around him when his murmured words, coated in sickeningly sweet honey, flow into your ears as he wholly takes you apart with his hands and cock. he loves it even more when you praise him as well! it has a special effect on him when you’re riding him especially — the praise sends his dick jerking within your tight heat as his knees wobble and he keens into where his face is mushed between your tits.

⤷ FACE FUCKING.

this man loathes to hurt you, but when you give him head one time and he accidentally thrusts too deep into your mouth, he can’t help the way he positively throbs at the wet click your throat gives when it constricts around his tip. when you feel the twitch, you moan & quickly pull off just to give him permission to fuck your throat before taking his cock back into your mouth and waiting patiently. the sight and sound of you deepthroating him is so erotic that when he comes, he genuinely gets lightheaded and has to sit down afterward before he collapses from the intensity of his orgasm.

⤷ BONUS!

his fav position is definitely riding. quick, act surprised! he loves to see you work up a sweat in his lap while you struggle to take his cock to the hilt. its so endearingly hot, the way you plea and whine for him to help you work his dick inside, but he just chuckles n pats your ass as a signal to keep going. maybe, if he feels merciful enough, he’ll flip you over when your legs really do give out and pound you til you’re full of his cum.

★ ──── MINHO

dom & brat tamer. has subbed only once with you and liked it so much he got too scared to try it again.

⤷ BONDAGE.

minho often restrains your wrists with his belt or a silk tie he owns when you get particularly bratty with him. he holds them behind your back as he slams into you from behind, and the sight of you restrained just for him, creaming all over his cock despite the rough treatment he loves to dish out, has him seeing stars when he pulls out to come on your back.

⤷ IMPACT PLAY.

it’s no secret minho loves ass: slapping ass, grabbing ass, pretty much anything to do with ass. so it’s no surprise when his palm harshly crashes down on the supple curve of your cheeks when he gives you backshots for the first time. you jolt at the sudden sting, though it burns wonderfully when he does it again. and again. and again, until your skin is red and thoroughly raw once he’s done with you. as your relationship goes on, he eventually begins to slap your pretty face as well, though he’s much more gentle about that. on your rear, however? no mercy.

⤷ SOMNOPHILIA.

min loves nothing more than coming home to you dozing peacefully in those specific sleep shorts, a sign you’re his for the night. even if he’s horribly exhausted from a long day, the sight of you deep asleep and utterly pliant for him has the cogs in his mind gearing into something primal with how much arousal shoots to his cock. he wastes no time in prowling across the room to harshly push the gusset of the fabric aside and immediately slide himself home when he discovers you’re commando and already soaking wet. there’s no way you stay asleep at such rough handling, of course, but that won’t make him stop anytime soon!

⤷ BONUS!

he enjoys anal. when you were out the house, he took one of your dildos in secret and experimented with it on his own, and came out pleasantly surprised. not only does he enjoy it with himself, he also loves anal with you — especially when he gets home after a long day of work to find you all dolled up for him. his cock jerks in his pants when he reaches down to grope your ass in appreciation, only to discover a plug snug between your cheeks. he’d never admit it out loud, but it gets him super riled up to see the way your hole gapes and sputters when he’s done with you.

★ ──── CHANGBIN

a switch, but leans slightly onto the subby side.

⤷ FREE USE.

bin loves to see when you come home from a long, frustrating day at work. he loves to see your eyes darken when you notice the special bracelet on his wrist that shares an unmistakable sign between the two of you, and he loves it even more when you storm across the living room to shove him back onto the couch and pop open the button of his jeans without a word to sink down on his cock like you own it, own him. nothing else gets him harder than when you simply take and use him like your own personal toy!

⤷ PEGGING.

although he does enjoy pegging, the two of you don’t dabble in this often — simply because you much prefer his cock down your throat or in your pussy, milking him dry. but when he does feel subby enough to offer his ass up, it usually leads to very tender lovemaking rather than hard, rough sex. he just gets so soft and needy in this headspace when you peg him, so eager to feel good! in missionary, he often pops a tit into his mouth to softly suckle at as you thrust into him leisurely from above. but it’s never long before he starts babbling and begging you for more!

⤷ ROLEPLAY.

something about taboo roleplays get binnie going like no other: age gaps, power imbalances, and even cheating get his cock rock hard in seconds when the two of you play in the bedroom. recently, the two of you had roleplayed as professor and student. “ah, professor, are you sure this is the best way to get extra credit..?” you’d peered down at him as he eased your short skirt and panties down your legs, chuckling at your bashful behavior. “of course, bun,” he’d sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to your sopping core before meeting your eyes again with a smirk. “your grades will be up in no time if you just spread those pretty legs for your professor, hm? now go on, i’m waiting.”

⤷ BONUS!

loves double penetration, both on him and you. it drives him crazy to see you struggle to take both his coke can of a cock in your cunt and a silicone replica of it down your throat at the same time. watching your cheeks hollow obscenely around the replica has his cock kicking within your walls as you moan around it, and it quickly has him bending your legs to your chest to pound you properly. on the flip side of the coin, he loves how full he feels when you plug his ass and fuck his throat with your strap; it gets his head all floaty n pliant for you in a heartbeat!

★ ──── HYUNJIN

walking definition of a switch. sadist & masochist. can get pretty bratty when he subs.

⤷ BREATH PLAY.

hyunjin loves the tantalizing pressure of your palm against his neck, especially when you ride him so hard he’s practically seeing stars. whether that’s from how hard your ass is slamming down onto his muscled thighs or from the growing asphyxiation, he’s too deliciously lightheaded to even think about it when the two of you go hard like this in bed. when you give his neck one generous squeeze, it has his whole body locking up and him coming instantly with no warning other than a broken, guttural cry. on the other hand, he gets an intense power trip when he chokes you — the way your jaw drops as you gasp for breath when his grip tightens and your pretty eyes roll back to show the whites is so intoxicating to him! he’ll never be able to get enough of the sight.

⤷ TEMPERATURE PLAY.

the way you squirm beneath him is just so cute when hyune rubs ice across your perky nipples while his hot, hard cock spears you open at the same time! when the cubes slip off your breasts onto the sheets beside you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the cold area when he leans down has you squealing and kicking your legs out in protest — but he catches those easily and wraps them around his slender waist to laugh down at how sensitive and responsive you are for him.

⤷ COCK & BALL TORTURE.

the delicious sting hyunjin feels when you slap his cock sends his body shuddering and eyes rolling. his toes curl when you tug harshly on his sensitive balls before rearing your hand back to smack the head of his weeping cock, forcing his hips to kick off the bed with the searing pleasure-pain that has his brain reeling and nervous system going haywire. especially loves when you bust out some cock rings — it’s a perfect night for him when you ride his cock raw, denying him of his orgasm while you have your fun, until he can finally cum inside after hours of his balls being squeezed tight to stave off his orgasm.

BONUS!

big big big fan of markings, both on himself and you! he’s constantly biting marks into the tender skin just below your boobs and the soft inner areas of your thighs when he goes down on you. he really loves it when he gets time off so you can mark him up properly on his neck, particularly below his jaw, so he can go a few days without having to conceal it with makeup and wear and flaunt them properly. his favorite place to mark you, though, is your hips and chest. gets a huge ego boost when he sees them peeking out of your shirt when you wear a low-cut top, and he’s extra smug when you get home later that day to refresh them.

★ ──── JISUNG

sub, sub, sub! rarely doms, and even when he does “dom” it’s more or less him acting the same as usual — like a princess — with the only difference being him doing all the work for once. big masochist.

⤷ MOMMY KINK.

there’s rarely a moment in bed where jisung doesn’t call you mommy. like the sweet boy he is, he always asks you for permission before he does anything. “mommy, please let me suck your tits? i promise i won’t touch myself without your permission, pleaseee?” and with those sweet doe eyes of his, how could you say no? he gets pretty babbly when he’s balls deep in your pussy and his head is mushed between your tits as he whines and cries out his thanks, how good he feels — he’s simply too obsessed with you!

⤷ DEGRADATION.

jisung nearly cums in his pants when you talk down to him like he’s worth nothing to you, like he’s the dirt on the bottom of your shoes. he can’t stop the breathy moans slipping from his dropped jaw when you jerk his slick cock, whispering words in his ears that should humiliate him, but only results in more burning hot arousal pooling deep in his stomach and his balls tightening, eager to spill all over the tight grip of your hand. all his efforts to hold off his orgasm go to waste, though, when you call him a “worthless, good for nothing slut” that has his body abruptly convulsing and cries tumbling from his lips as he cums all the way up to his heaving chest.

⤷ PAIN KINK.

he gets delirious with pleasure when you slap his face or spank him when he’s misbehaved a little too much for your liking. if you pair a harsh slap to his cute, chubby little cheeks with a mean slew of insults to his face as he fucks you in missionary, he’ll wind up keening so loud he has to bury his face in your neck to muffle the sound, lest you get a noise complaint from the neighbors in the morning. the sting of getting hit has so much blood rushing from his head to his cock in an instant that he gets dizzy with how good he feels, every. single. time.

⤷ BONUS!

this man is a munch. he eats you out at any opportunity like a man starved, fast and messy, just the way both you & him love. tug on his hair n it’ll have his eyes rolling as he buries his face into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your the juices that soak his chin with a whine while his hips buck involuntarily against the mattress. degrade him too, n he just might cum in his pants right then n there!

★ ──── FELIX

dom. doesn’t mind subbing if you ask, but it’s generally not his go-to.

⤷ ORGASM DENIAL.

this man is a little shit who adores bringing you right to the edge before ripping your orgasm out of your grasp with a delighted smirk. as soon as he rips whatever he was using on you away, whether it be his fingers or a toy, the way you convulse in protest and plead at him with watery eyes gets him so hot he nearly cums on the spot, even if nothing is actively stimulating his dick. he just loves to tease, what can he say?

⤷ SENSORY DEPRIVATION.

felix has no qualms with playing with you for hours when he blindfolds you and, sometimes, even plugs your ears when he really wants to get you on edge. seeing your breath quicken in anticipation for what he’ll do to you has his cock chubbing up in record time in the tight confines of his boxers, and the sight of you all docile and restrained for him has him half considering the idea of dropping the ties just to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck your brains out. but he always reins himself in just before he can fold, for you always look much prettier disheveled and begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you want.

⤷ HUMILIATION.

he loves making you cream all over his cock just to spew absolute filth at you for it. he can feel his sanity disappearing bit by bit when he gets to witness firsthand the way you slip into subspace at his vulgar, demeaning words in that deep voice of his, and it only gets him hotter when you begin to cry and beg him incoherently. for what, he isn’t quite sure because you’re too far gone to even speak properly anymore, but he’ll make sure you have all you need when you start clawing desperately at his shoulders with a beautiful, full-body shudder.

⤷ BONUS!

he’s lowkey a brat tamer! it gets him so riled up when you purposefully dress in your skimpiest clothes for the group nights you spend going out with the other guys, just to elicit a reaction out of him when you get home. and boy, is that reaction dangerous. he watches you like a hawk throughout the night, tongue constantly poking his cheek in annoyance while his jaw ticks when he sees you laughing with one of his members. he knows he has no real reason to be jealous, especially when he’s already aware you’re just looking to be put in your place, but that won’t stop him from taking all that emotion out on your cunt when everyone leaves later.

★ ──── SEUNGMIN

switch. he doesn’t have a preference & simply enjoys it all.

⤷ EXHIBITIONISM.

the adrenaline rush seungmin gets when he fucks you on the floor of their dance practice room once everyone’s gone for the day is so fucking heady and addictive. the thought of one of his members walking in to find him blowing your back out in the middle of the room is so arousing that he fucks you practically ten times harder than usual when the two of you mess around in semi-public places like this. one time, when you did happen to get caught blowing him backstage right before a soundcheck, his eyes had blown impossibly wide before he spilled down your throat with a choked groan. the two of you were horribly mortified after the fact, but he still secretly gets off to that memory when he’s away on tour.

⤷ DUMBIFICATION.

seeing you gradually lose coherency the longer he has you warm his cock while he busies himself with other tasks is one of his favorite pastimes. “hey, pup,” seungmin taps your shoulder delicately as he lightly jostles you in his lap, causing a moan to flutter from between your lips. when he grabs your chin to press a chaste kiss to the corners of your mouth, he nearly moans aloud too when he pulls back and sees how fucking gone you look. eyes fuzzy, pretty lips pulled into a dopey smile, and pussy stretched warm and wet around his now-throbbing cock. it’s insane to practice restraint with how sweet you look like this. “since you’ve been so good for me, i have a reward for you. how’s that sound, baby?”

⤷ PET PLAY.

when you come home after an outing with your friends to discover seungmin perched on the couch in nothing but the collar with your name attached to it and some dangerously low black sweats, you can’t help but drag him to the bedroom to leash him and force him to sit at your feet while you finish up some papers at your desk. he’s obedient for a little while, like he always is, until he starts getting antsy and whines for your attention. you pay him no mind until he begins to nose at the crotch of your bottoms, eager for a treat, and who are you to deny your sweet puppy a snack after he’s been so good and obedient for you?

⤷ BONUS!

he owns multiple different colored collars that have your name engraved onto the tags as well as a human-sized dog bed to pair with them. when he particularly craves submission, he’ll ask to be leashed and rode in the dog bed because it brings him an odd sense of comfort: being someone’s so wholly that he’s willing to wear a collar to show off who he belongs to, who owns him.

★ ──── JEONGIN

generally a dom. when he does sub, it’s nothing too crazy.

⤷ BEGGING.

jeongin loves to drive you to the point of incoherency with his mouth, hands, cock: all of it! it goes straight to both his dick and his ego when you’re reduced down to broken, babbling cries that beg him for more, less, harder, faster — somehow you plea for them all at once. he can’t get enough of how much you seem to love his body and the pleasure it can provide.

⤷ DACRYPHILIA.

it drives him insane when he sees you writhing with so much pleasure that it actually brings you to tears. every time your pretty eyes begin to water with unshed tears from the unforgiving pace he sets as he pounds into your poor cunt, it makes a loud moan rip from his throat and his dick twitch within your walls, and he may even nearly cum on the spot. he absolutely loves the sight of you desperate and babbling for his cum, and he’s not afraid to show it.

⤷ CORRUPTION KINK.

both of you were the farthest thing from inexperienced or vanilla when you first started dating, but that doesn’t stop jeongin from fucking his fist late at night to the fantasy he was your first. the first man to take your virginity, show you how to ride cock and suck on one, even teach you how to have your first orgasm because you’d been too unsure of yourself in the past to even try. the thought of you being pure and untouched before meeting him makes him ache with arousal, particularly at the thought of corrupting and ruining you for any other man because he just fucks you so good that both of you know you’d never be able to reach the same peaks of pleasure he brings you to again and again with anyone else.

⤷ BONUS!

he really enjoys 69ing. when he’s on top, he loves the sensation of his cock sliding down your throat and the clicking of your throat as it tries to accommodate his length. he loves the way your juices coat his chin as he messily slurps and sucks on your clit, and especially loves the way your thighs shake beside his ears when you get close. when he’s on the bottom, he adores the way you push your hips back onto his face to grind your clit down on his tongue, and adores the way you slip his cock into your mouth until you’re gagging around the tip and your tongue is laving hot and wetly at his balls. the rapid tightening of your throat around his dick has him close in seconds, but even if he comes early he’ll eat you out til you’re shaking with satisfaction.

[becertainlust]

SOMETHING SWEET | Sanji Vinsmoke

synopsis: You're sanji's little taste tester.

Content: Fluff

The Thousand Sunny rocked gently with the rhythm of the waves, the sound a soothing lullaby that carried through the stillness of the night. Outside, the moon cast its silver glow over the ship, its light filtering through the portholes and spilling faint patterns onto the wooden floors. The occasional creak of the ship and the distant crash of waves were the only sounds accompanying the serene quiet.

Your eyes fluttered open, staring into the ceiling above. Sleep hadn’t lasted long—again. You sighed softly, rolling onto your side. The jacket draped over the back of the chair caught your eye, and with a resigned groan, you swung your legs over the bed.

Pulling the jacket on over your sleepwear, you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. The ship was hushed, save for the faint sound of someone snoring a few doors down. You rubbed your arms, the night air cool against your skin as you padded toward a familiar glow at the end of the hall.

The kitchen light spilled out, warm and inviting, and the scent of something delicious drifted into the corridor. You smiled to yourself—it had become a tradition by now.

Pushing the door open, you leaned against the doorway and crossed your arms. “Burning the midnight oil again, Sanji?”

Sanji glanced over his shoulder, a grin already tugging at his lips. “And here I thought I might get some peace tonight.” He turned back to his work, the rhythmic sound of his knife slicing through something soft filling the space. “What’s the excuse this time, sweetheart?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back, stepping into the room.

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Fair enough. But at least I’m being productive. You, on the other hand—what, couldn’t resist my cooking?”

You plopped onto the counter with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, absolutely. The smell dragged me out of bed by force. You should be ashamed, really.”

Sanji straightened, wiping his hands on a towel as he turned to face you. “Ashamed?” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Darling, I’d say that’s a job well done.”

“Cocky as ever,” you teased, leaning back on your palms.

“And yet, you keep showing up,” he quipped, tossing the towel onto the counter before reaching for a mixing bowl.

“Someone has to keep you in check.”

He hummed thoughtfully, cracking an egg into the bowl with one hand. “Or maybe you just can’t stay away from me.”

The heat rose to your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes. “Maybe I just like the free snacks.”

Sanji laughed at that, his knife now working with quick, practiced movements. “Oh, is that all? Then how about you do your job, my little taste-tester, and tell me how these turned out?”

He handed you a warm cookie straight from the cooling rack. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, the touch lingering just long enough to make your heart skip a beat. You bit into the cookie, letting out a soft hum of approval as the flavors melted on your tongue.

“Well?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter, his gaze never leaving you.

The cookie was warm in your hand, its golden surface still glistening faintly from the oven. You took a tentative bite, and your taste buds were immediately greeted with a perfect blend of softness and sweetness. The chocolate chips melted at every chew, coating your tongue in rich, velvety decadence. It was perfect—so perfect you had to fight the urge to close your eyes and sigh in delight.

But you wouldn’t let Sanji know that.

“It’s... okay, I guess,” you said nonchalantly, taking another bite to mask the way your lips wanted to curve into a satisfied smile.

Sanji’s mouth parted slightly in mock offense, his hand going to his chest as though you’d just delivered a mortal wound. “Just okay? My dear, do you realize how much love and skill went into that cookie?”

“Oh, I can taste the ego,” you teased, licking a crumb from your lip. “It’s overpowering.”

His eyes narrowed, a playful challenge dancing in them. “You wound me, love. But you’re still eating it, so I guess it can’t be that bad.”

You shrugged, holding the cookie up as if weighing your words. “Hmm, free food is free food. Maybe I’ll keep you around after all.”

Sanji chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned closer, his grin as sharp as ever. “Keep me around? Darling, you’re lucky I haven’t started charging you for my masterpieces.”

“Masterpieces, huh?” You took another slow bite, savoring it despite yourself. “Keep practicing, and you might get there someday.”

Sanji stepped back with a dramatic flourish, his voice rich with mock formality. “Thank you for your insight, your majesty. What would you like so that I can change your mind?” He gave a sweeping bow, his face barely holding back a smirk.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, fighting to keep your own grin under control. “Well, your highness,” you replied with a smile, clearing your throat “perhaps a lemon pound cake that doesn’t make me question your cooking skills would do the trick.”

Sanji stood up straight, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “So it’s a challenge you want?” He winked at you, his tone a mix of flirty confidence and playful resolve. “I’ll show you a masterpiece, just wait.”

You watched him move across the kitchen, his movements swift and graceful as he gathered the ingredients with exaggerated care, like a chef preparing for a grand performance. Every step, every gesture, was deliberate, like he was proving a point. And even though you were playing along, you couldn’t help but notice the way he carried himself—so sure, so confident.

You took another bite of the cookie, savoring it once again, but this time, you let your smile slip through.

[blackcorvette]

Own My Mind

Summary: 1986. Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not your fault that you’re pulled into the messy secrets and hidden world of your small town. It’s not your fault that two of your new acquaintances seem to be fond of you, and not of each other.

Warnings: Language. Stranger Things central violence. Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and rushed writing. Eventual smut… (buckle in, it’s a long ride.) MDNI

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This is my attempt at writing a not so slow burn, self insert romance. I can’t stop thinking about Eddie or Steve and this is all done in fear of what Season Five will look like…Hopefully some people will find this little story entertaining. :’) Special thanks to my favorite editor, @djosfavewig.

The creaking is normal. There’s always odd sounds in here, dripping water and old wooden floorboards. The room is always dusty, making your throat itch if you stay too long. The smell of lake water and rust is faint in the air, overpowered by the scent of mothballs nested in old tarps.

It’s routine, every few weeks you’d come to the lake and check the lake house, one of the few properties your father had trusted you to keep up with. The tasks are simple, ask the tenant if repairs are needed, check the water heater that always seems to need replacing, and make sure no one’s broken into the boat house.

Rick hadn’t answered the door, but the tenant is known to disappear for weeks at a time- whether because he’s sleeping on someone’s couch or has been caught again. You brushed off his absence, then made your way to the boat house.

And yes the creaking is normal, it’s always been there, but the fresh footprints of wet mud on the floor have not been.

Holding your breath, you listen, eyes darting back and forth through the room in search of something else unusual. Thank fuck that your dad insisted on keeping the boathouse for himself, because that means his collection of tools are kept here awaiting use.

Slowly, you reach towards the wall, wrapping your hand around the worn wooden handle of a machete. The blade had been used to cut underbrush and thick weeds and shrubs when you dad bought the property- since then it’s been hun on the wall with the rest of the landscaping equipment. It used to make you nervous, how he would swing it so easily, how with one wrong move it could become fatal. And now, it’s the most comforting object you’ve ever held.

Holding your breath, you shift your weight, keeping light on your feet as you listen for odd noises, following the trail of footprints and mud. A few long minutes, your hair standing on end, but not a single disturbance.

The machete is perched on your shoulder, the blunt side against your shirt and the sharp edge away from you. You’ve just begun to lower it, to tell yourself that your mind is playing tricks after a long day- but then you hear it.

Shuffling, the sound of a paper bag-

A standing shelf crashes to the ground a few feet away- glass shattering and metal clattering across the floor. Some is sent into the water, splashing as you scream and jump back- another voice yelling even louder over yours.

“Fucking- shit bag!”

The machete arches through the air, you raise it above your head, eyes landing on the source of the chaos. A dark head of curls, messy and obscuring their face in the already dim light. But you’d recognize him anywhere.

“What the fuck?” You speak without thinking, hands tight around your weapon as he raises his hands and stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hold on- hold on!” He steps back, the light of the window now illuminating his face, Eddie Munson’s fase. “Give me a second, just don’t kill me.”

You keep the machete raised, swallowing down your surprise. “What are you doing here?!”

“Nothing!” He matches your tone, with hushed terror and fear in his voice as he repeats himself. “Nothing. Hiding? I don’t fucking know?”

A strangled laugh, your teeth clenched together. “You can’t be here- this is private property. I’m going call the-”

“No.” He steps closer, making you lean back and raise the weapon an inch higher. “Don’t call anyone-”

“So what? I’m supposed to let you squat in my garage?” You raise your voice and his eyes widen more, darting towards the window. “Get the hell out of here before-”

“Please!” He says in a shushed voice. “Look, I can’t explain but I can’t leave.”

“This is illegal- you’re trespassing-”

He says your name, still cursing in exasperation.

“-Oh, fucking come on. It’s not like you’re a law abiding citizen-” He gestures towards the machete- but you’ve already been frozen in place by his words.

“How…”

“What? You don’t remember buying weed from me? Four premade blunts-”

“That was my cousin, dipshit.”

“Look-”

“Stop.” You shake your head, pointing the weapon at him, earning a thin glare. “You just need to leave. You can’t stay here, I’m not your friend.”

“I can’t leave.” He stresses the words, pushing hair away from his face, exposing just how red his eyes actually are.

Not from drugs, you’d recognize that immediately after the summers you’ve spent with your risk loving cousin. These are the red eyes of tears, forced back even now. You notice the streaks down his face, as if he’d been crying for the duration of his time in the boat house.

It pricks at your sense of guilt, making your fingers loosen on the machete just enough to bring it down. You bite your tongue, thinking over your words before you demand an explanation from the man in front of you.

“Why?”

“Why?” He swallows, shoulders tense and his hands flexing in and out of fists by his sides, anxiety pouring off of him in waves. “I…can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” You take the moment to evaluate yourself, trying to weigh whether or not he’s worth your time. “Because I’m not going to let you stay here without a reason. A good reason.”

“You won’t believe me.” His hands fly into his hair, tugging at the roots as tears begin to spring back into his eyes. “I can’t fucking leave, but you won’t…fuck. You’ll think I’m fucking crazy.”

“Just fucking tell-”

Yelling outside makes you jump, already unnerved before they start. Eddie curses, and when you look at him, he grabs your wrist and tugs the machete out of your hand, throwing it into the pile of junk on the floor.

“Hide.” He drags you to a corner, and your too shocked to fight him.

“What do you mean, hide?” You ask, snatching your arm away from him, eyes darting around for another weapon.

“Just hide.” He pushes you behind a shelf, then turns and climbs into the boat, pulling the tarp over him.

“Eddie-”

“Shut up.”

A beam of light, brighter than the moonlight in the sky, cuts through the room. And for some reason Eddie’s fear has seeped into your body, urging you to listen. It’s why you sink low to the ground, mouth shut tight and breathing as quietly as you can muster. More yelling, then the harsh banging of fists against a door. Then, it’s quiet.

Before you can move, the light becomes brighter, multiple beams from flashlights flooding into the boathouse and you’re biting your lips together in an attempt to disappear in the silence.

The door opens, and you catch the yellow of the porchlight you had failed to turn off.

“Hello?” A soft feminine voice, you strain to put a face to it, but come up empty. “…Is anyone home?”

Footsteps sound, multiple sets filing into the small space. The flashlights skirt over every wall, shining for prolonged moments over different corners and angles. Your heart is racing already, but it threatens to fail when one beam of light shines directly on your hiding spot, less than a foot above your head where the shelf ends. You press a hand to your mouth, squeezing your eyes tight and hoping that you won’t be heard.

Another flashlight across the room clicks off, and the one above you finally moves away

A voice you recognize covers the sound of your labored breathing once you’re sure the person near you has moved far enough away to remove your hand. “What a dump.”

Steve Harrington.

A graduate from your year, even a student in a few of your classes- now here, in your boathouse looking for…looking for Eddie.

Through the footsteps, you hear the sound of something being taken off the wall. Then the nerve wracking sound of something plastic being jabbed at. It clicks near immediately that it’s the tarp.

“What are you doing?” Another voice, younger this time, one you don’t recognize. They repeat themselves after more jabbing, more annoyed than the first time. “What are you doing?”

“He might be in there.” Steve confirms your suspicions, which only makes you clench your teeth and take deep breaths to combat sudden anxiety- as if Eddie had pulled you into his own spiral of insanity that led him here.

“So take the tarp off.” The younger voice says.

“If you’re so brave, you take the tarp off.” The jabbing becomes more aggressive, and you flinch with each hit- fearing the one that will reveal Eddie’s hiding spot.

“Hey, look over here.” The floor creaks on the other side of the room and a second younger voice calls out, another girl. “Someone was here.”

The first female voice replies, both seeming indifferent to Steve attacking the boat. “Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran.”

Part of you wishes that he did run, instead of keeping you trapped in here as if this was all your problem as well. Hiding like a criminal in your own space, not knowing the crimes committed.

“Don’t worry!” The young male voice says, sarcasm dripping with every word. “Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you think you're being funny,” More tarp assault even while he talks. “But considering everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times. Personally, I don’t find it funny in the slightest-”

The loud crinkling of the tarp and jostle of the boat, followed by Steve’s startled yelling. He begins to plead, repeating the word wait- and you can no longer sit in your corner.

Just in time, you stand form your position and rush out from behind the shelf in time to see Eddie pin Steve to the wall- something pressed against his neck.

“Eddie! Eddie- Stop!” A boy, a few years younger than you yells. It catches the attention of Eddie, but he doesn’t release Steve- instead keeping his grip tight on what you’ve now identified as the broken neck of a beer bottle. “Eddie, it’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve- he’s not going to hurt you, right Steve?”

The boy, Dustin, gestures toward Steve, who attempts to nod but stops when the glass presses further into his throat, instead settling to answer verbally. “Right. Yeah.”

“Steve,” Dustin directs slowly. “Why don’t you drop the oar?”

Steve obliges, the wood clattering to the floor, which only leads to Eddie pushing the glass harder against his skin and causing Steve to wince and press himself further against the wall.

“He’s cool!” Dustin attempts to reason with the man. “He’s cool.”

Steve follows along, his hands still in the air in surrender. “I’m cool, man. I’m cool.”

Eddie’s eyes don’t leave Steve’s face, his voice taking a tone he hadn’t used with you when you’d found him minutes ago on your own. More dangerous, desperate to gain control of the situation. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for you!” Dustin says, staying planted in his spot, no one dares to move more than they have to. No one has yet to see you. “We’re here to help. Eddie, these are my friends.”

He points behind him, to the older girl, your age and then the younger one. “You know Robin, from band. This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D.”

Max waves a hand in a tense manner.

“Eddie, we’re on your side.” He is trying to focus the attention on himself, on removing the danger. “I swear on my mother. Right guys?”

“Yes- Yes, we swear.” Max nods.

Robin follows. “On Dustin’s mother.”

A still very trapped and very rattled Steve nods as much as he can. “Yeah, on Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother.”

Everything is silent, except for the sound of your heart in your ears and the drip of water. Eddie glares at Steve all the while, and Steve keeps as still as possible- everyone else holding their breath until finally Eddie releases him.

Steve moves, holding his throat and trying to calm himself down after the threats. Robin and Max hang back with him, while Dustin keeps with Eddie, who’s now pressed against a wall and sinking to the ground defeatedly.

Slowly, you make your appearance known. Stepping away from the corner of the room, though you want to stay hidden for longer.

The first person to see you is Steve. His hand is still around his neck, rubbing the raw skin as his eyes catch your movement. He narrows his eyes, confused, but keeps quiet as Dustin speaks to Eddie, who’s still clutching the broken glass.

“We just want to talk.” Dustin’s voice is softer now, as he attempts to take Eddie’s makeshift weapon. Eddie flinches, keeping it away from Dustin when he tries to touch it. “Okay?”

Robin moves closer, kneeling to the ground beside them both, Max standing close behind her with a flashlight shining on them all. “We want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie echoes his earlier concerns, and it strikes you like fire. You had thought maybe he had said that in order to stay- but now it sounds like utter truth.

It’s just you and Steve, standing a few feet away from the four of them. And now you manage a better look, seeing the confusion in his eyes clearly, and the hesitation in his quiet- as if he’d betray your presence at any moment, but you’ve not yet given him a reason to.

And for the extra moments of secrecy, your grateful. It gives you time to think, to prepare. And once you hear Max speak two words- you know that you need those moments.

“Try us.”

====

Eddie’s story is something of a nightmare- sick and demented enough to sound fictional, but the terror and darkness in his eyes, the tears that threaten to spill tell you it’s nothing but the honesty of a tragedy.

“Her body just, like, lifted up into the air and..” Eddie sighs, eyes distant as he explains what had happened to Chrissy in the trailer the night before. “And she just hung there. In the air… And her bones…”

He closes his eyes, pain laced in the action, conveying everything he can’t say with a formed word. Everyone watches, listens to the trepidation, and Eddie sits there in silent agony.

“Her bones started to snap.” His expressions mirror his fear, born of anger. “Her eyes, man. It…it was like there was something inside her head, pulling. I-”

The cracking of his voice is what moves you forward, your hand settling on his back in an effort to comfort something that can not be soothed.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I…” Every word eats him up, tearing away any sense of ease and replacing it with what you know is nothing but grief and deep cemented unrest. “I ran away. I left her there.”

His eyes, having been unfocused and distant from the beginning of his story, now shake and focus on the people in front of him. He finally looks at them, seeing their own expressions before turning his head and scoffing to himself- a defeated sound.

“You all think I’m crazy, right?” He drops his head into a hand, rings glinting in the light.

“No. We don’t think you’re crazy.” Dustin says, almost begging him to believe.

“Don’t bullshit me, man!” Eddie’s voice raises, the pitch reciting his emotions. “I know how this sounds.”

He begins to cry again, and you press your hand firmer to his back, hoping the weight of it will help ground him, if not take away any pain.

“We’re not bullshitting you.” Max says, her voice stern and serious.

Robin agrees, leaning just a bit forward. “We believe you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, forcing it out sharply, his ribs expanding and contracting against your touch with the motion. And though you don’t know, you can’t even form the words to explain, something in you can’t help but believe everything he tells you all.

“Look.” Dustin says. “What I’m about to tell you might be a little…difficult to take in.”

His eyes, the girls, and Steve’s all land on you, as if you were an afterthought now brought to the forefront of their minds. You hadn’t spoken once since they’d finally realized your presence- but they hadn’t protested when you sat with them to listen to Eddie- they don’t attempt to force you out now.

“You know how people say Hawkins is…”

You finally use your voice, finishing the theory you’ve heard from dozens of people, the stories all returning now. “Cursed?”

Dustin moves his head side to side, as if weighing his choices. “They’re not…way off.”

His eyes flick between you and Eddie, and a sudden feeling of dread turns your stomach to lead, sinking low and making you feel sick.

“There’s another world.”

It should be amusing, maybe annoying what he begins to say. Like a story over a campfire, a tall tale someone uses to scare you for their own fun, but it’s not funny or anything- it’s just sickening.

“A world hidden beneath Hawkins.”

Your hand slips off of Eddie’s back, falling to your lap as you clutch them both into fists.

“Sometimes it bleeds into ours.”

In search of familiarity, your eyes dart towards Steve. He’s watching you already, his eyes exposing what you had hoped you wouldn’t see- they are dark and somber, already knowing what Dustin is saying, eyes that tell you he had witnessed it himself.

Eddie’s voice is clearer than before, tears having stalled. “Like ghosts and shit?”

Max answers before Dustin, proving her place in all this mess. “There are some things worse than ghosts.”

“These monsters, from this other world, we thought they were gone.” Dustin continues, speaking carefully. “But they’ve come back before. That's why we needed to find you.”

Max nods, solem. “If they’re back again, we need to know.”

Running a hand over your face, you realize that you're trembling- a response you hadn’t even been aware of. It makes you shake harder, folding your hands together to attempt to hide it.

“That night,” Robin asks. “Did you see anything?”

Max speaks next. “Dark particles, maybe?”

Eddie’s head is shaking, not enough to deny their questions, but showing his uneasiness.

“It would almost look like dust, swirling dust.” Dustin urges, searching for an answer.

“No, man, there was nothing you could see or touch.” Eddie shakes his head with a purpose now, actively denying. “You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn’t move. It was like she was in a trance or something-”

“Or under a spell-” Dustin says, eyes widened a bit, and finally Eddie reacts.

“A curse.” His dark gaze holds something of substance, of understanding.

It catches Dustin as well, his back straight if just enough to show. “Vecna’s Curse.”

Frowning, you look to see if any of the others understand what you don’t, but Robin and Max have similar confusion in your eyes and Steve, he asks for you all. “Who’s Vecna?”

Dustin doesn’t turn, his eyes still locked on Eddie’s, sharing unspoken thoughts and harboring immense fear. “An undead creature of great power.”

“A spell caster.” Eddie says.

“A dark wizard.” Dustin finishes, his fear having laced into his voice.

And now, the fear has burrowed into your bones, infiltrating your every sense. Because now, you have no other escape.

Now, you can’t escape.

[calilk]

i wish it would all stop

[justkillingthyme]

As of right now my plan is continue doing my thing (all five fandom days plus fic per week) until I get too busy or I burn out finally and can’t keep up

Might end up making a bunch of relatively low quality posts just to have something in my queue in case I can’t do it for a while because atp I’m usually doing art just day to day.

My semester ends towards the end of January, so then I’ll probably have to readjust my plans. This semester I had relatively easy classes so I had a lot of time to write, but next semester I probably won’t be able to write as much if I keep up the same output of art

[melonfiend]

not a dream

[tonycries]

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else. 

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof. 

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh. 

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him. 

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?” 

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this. 

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Fuck. 

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?” 

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly. 

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin. 

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that. 

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom. 

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside 

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether. 

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God. 

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate. 

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway. 

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home  is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange. 

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him. 

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier. 

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all. 

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters. 

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-” 

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him. 

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.” 

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless. 

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him. 

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!” 

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-” 

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do. 

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem? 

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked. 

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having. 

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t. 

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below. 

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist. 

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.” 

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure. 

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him. 

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help. 

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face. 

Fuck. 

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”  

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate. 

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure. 

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls. 

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck. 

You. 

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand. 

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now. 

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted. 

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over-  “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt. 

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare. 

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him. 

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.” 

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real. 

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real. 

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face. 

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?” 

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first. 

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck. 

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit. 

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine. 

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough. 

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but. 

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves. 

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you’re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?” 

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need. 

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it. 

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw. 

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high. 

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good. 

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip. 

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive. 

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt. 

Gojo Satoru is massive. 

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt. 

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist. 

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly. 

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-” 

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good. 

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls. 

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties. 

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him. 

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out. 

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe. 

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit. 

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. 

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside. 

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy. 

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider. 

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

[cumironi]

‘ SSSHH, BEWARE OF THE FOOTSTEPS！

feat. gojo, geto, toji, sukuna, nanami, shiu

𖧷 sum. “ssshh, keep quiet,” they moan in your ear, breath burning your skin despite the cool air of the night. sēx outside can be very tricky, but. . . getting caught or not, it’s up to you: whether you can’t keep your moán to yourself or. . . not.

warning. outdoors/public space, exhibitionism, dōuble-penetration ( sukuna ), petnames, overstim, praises, name-calling, choke(s), under influence ( gojo, all consent ), dirty talk, spank(s).

＃ GOJO SATORU

your giggles grow louder rhythm along the way you bounce on gojo’s thick cock, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. the alcohol has loosened your inhibitions, allowing you to be more carefree and playful in your lovemaking. “baby...” you whimper, grinding down on him harder as you ride his lap. your wet cunt clings tightly to his shaft, the heat, and tightness driving him wild.

“you’re such a naughty girl, always begging for more of my cock,” gojo teases, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts up into you. his blue eyes sparkle with mischief and arousal, drowsy from alcohol. “i think ’m going to have to punish you for being such a bad girl. you couldn’t even wait until we got home, huh?”

gojo grins at you, crocked, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you hard and fast, his massive cock stretching your cunt to its limits. “yeah, looks like i’ve got a little slut on my hands,” he says, his voice low and husky with desire. “a filthy girl who can’t control herself around me.”

he lifts your skirt higher, exposing more of your ass as he slaps it hard, the sound echoing through the quiet yard. “this is what happens when you’re a bad girl, sweetheart. you get punished.” gojo thrusts up into you again, his length hitting deep inside your womb. “and right now, i’m the judge, jury, and executioner.”

you laugh before a sharp cry escapes your lips the second gojo’s palm— big and cold— connects with your ass, the stinging sensation mingling with the intense pleasure from his relentless pounding. your cunt clenches around his thick cock, drawing him in deeper with each thrust.

“you are so silly,” you cringed between your giggles, bracing yourself against his chest as you continue to ride him wildly. the combination of the cool evening air, the warmth of his body beneath you, and the intoxicating liquor coursing through your veins has you lost in a haze of lust and euphoria.

“sshh, we should be quiet,” you whisper, again, giggling, your voice breathless and desperate between the laugh. nails dig into his shoulders as you grind down onto him, seeking that perfect angle to make you come undone. gojo chuckles darkly at your whispered plea, his grip on your hips tightening as he continues to fuck you mercilessly. “shh, yeah, keep quiet, baby,” he murmurs, his hot breath tickling your ear. “we don’t want anyone hearing how loud and dirty this little slut is getting fucked out here.”

his words send a tingling, flames of stars from your shoulder straight to your cunt, and you bite your lip to stifle another giggle. gojo’s cock is so deep inside you, stroking that sensitive spot within your core with every powerful thrust. you can feel his balls slapping against your cunt, adding to the overwhelming sensations crashing through your body.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” gojo groans, his face contorting in pleasure. “i can feel your cunt squeezing me like a vice. you love my big dick, don’t you?” your legs tremble as gojo’s thick cock stretches and fills you completely, the pleasure bordering on pain as he hits that sweet spot deep within your core over and over. you throw your head back, your long hair cascading down your back as you surrender to the overwhelming sensations.

“your mom and dad might see us,” you declare between the giggle instead of answering, warm breath fanning your boyfriend’s face the minute you lean closer. the mix of the rough grass beneath you, the cool night air, and gojo’s searing heat enveloping— a dangerous mix of cocktails of lust and pleasure that sends you spiraling out of your mind.

gojo smirks up at you, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with lust and mischief. “let ’em watch,” he says, his voice low and husky. “they already know i’m a perverted bastard. nothing new there. they know better than to disturb me when i’m fucking their daughter-in-law.” he grips your hips harder, pulling you down onto his cock as he drives upward, burying himself to the hilt inside your dripping pussy. “fuuuck, you feel amazing,” gojo groans, his forehead pressing against yours as he starts to lose himself in the pleasure. “i could cum inside you right now, fill this naughty girl up with my seed.”

his words send a jolt of excitement through you, and you begin to move faster, riding him with reckless abandon. the thought of gojo marking you, claiming you as his, pushes you closer to the edge. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the yard, punctuated by your high-pitched moans, giggle and gasps.

he leans in, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue plundering yours as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. gojo breaks the kiss, panting heavily, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. “you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you, baby? i can feel your pussy twitching around my cock.”

# GETO SUGURU

gasps sharply as geto’s thick cock plunges deep inside you, your body jolting against the cold metal railing. you bite your lip hard, trying to stifle a moan at the intense sensation of being taken so roughly out here in the open air. “sh-shh...” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “fuck— sugu’ be quiet,” just a second, you glare at your boyfriend over your shoulder.

fingers curling around the rusty, dirty balcony fence tighter, your knuckles turning white as he pounds into you relentlessly. the force of each thrust makes my breasts bounce and rub against the rough fabric of his shirt that you wear. you can feel every ridge and vein of his shaft stretching you wide, hitting all the right spots inside you.

“oh god— baby,” breathe out, your words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing and the creaking of the wooden floor beneath you. “hah! look who’s talking tough now,” geto chuckles lowly, his breath hot against your ear as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. his hands grip your hips tight, fingers digging into your flesh as he uses them to pull you back onto his cock with each brutal thrust. he is not even bothering to keep his voice down as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. his mission is only one : make the stupid neighbors stop flirting with you.

“you’re the one making all those cute little noises,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. “i bet they can hear you moaning all the way down the hall. ’m surprised they haven’t called the cops yet,” he teases, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your neck as he growls, “and i’m going to keep doing this until you can’t take anymore.”

geto reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly through the fabric of the shirt. he pinches your nipple between his fingers, meannn, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your cunt. the action earn a choked whimper escapes your throat at the cruel twist of your nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. geto’s pace quickens, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. the balcony’s fence creaks ominously under the force of your coupling, but he shows no signs of slowing down. “come on doll, scream for me,” he commands, his voice low and husky with desire. “let everyone know who’s fucking you senseless out here.”

your pussy clenches tightly around geto’s thick cock, milking him as he continues to ravage you with wild abandon. “ah-ahh! s-suguuuu’!” you cry out, unable to contain yourself any longer. the rough treatment of your sensitive nub, combined with the relentless pounding of his shaft, pushes you precariously close to the edge.

geto’s mocking words only fuel the fire within you, igniting a dark, primal desire that demands release. as he grips your hip harder, pulling you back onto him with bruising force, you surrender completely to the overwhelming sensations. “hhn! oh f-fuck, s-shouldd- quiet,” you wail, your voice rising to a desperate keen, whispering like a mantra to yourself.

geto grins wickedly, pleased by your desperate attempts to stifle your cries. however, he clearly has no intention of letting up anytime soon. “that’s right, let it out,” he encourages, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. “moan for me, doll. show everyone how much you love getting fucked raw by your boyfriend out in the open.”

he punctuates his words with another vicious thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you. the obscene squelch of skin meeting skin echoes loudly across the balcony, mingling with your ragged breaths and the creaking of the railing beneath you. geto leans in close, his lips hovering mere inches from your ear as he whispers, “come on, i know you can be louder than that,” his breath burning, spit all the pleasure with his dirty talk. “show me how much you love getting fucked in public. let everyone know who’s making you cum so hard.”

you can tell geto was loving seeing you struggle to hold back your moans. he continued to push deeper and faster into your wet heat, stretching your walls around his thickness with every powerful stroke. his grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he used your body for his own pleasure— and his punching-jealosy bag. you could feel the veins in his cock pulsing against your inner walls, throbbing with need.

a strangled sob tears from your throat as geto’s words wash over you, each syllable a sharp blade cutting through your last vestiges of restraint. the shameless, public nature of your tryst, coupled with the unrelenting assault on your senses, finally shatters the fragile barrier holding back your climax.

“fuck, fuck, fuuuck,” you shriek, your voice a raw, guttural cry that seems to reverberate off the very walls of the building. your body convulses violently, back arching as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over you. your pussy clamps down around geto’s pistoning cock like a vice, rhythmically milking him as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. the sheer intensity of your release leaves you gasping and twitching, utterly spent.

# TOJI FUSHIGURO

breathless moans escape your lips as toji pounds into you relentlessly, the bamboo walls creaking with each powerful thrust. the sound of waves crashing outside mingles with your ragged panting, creating an erotic symphony.

“mm— baby. .” you gasp, your hands bracing against the rough bamboo as he grips your hips, pulling you back onto his thick cock each time while you, uncontrollably desperate to keep your mouth shut from spreading the moan and sin to everyone around— there are children around for fuck sake. the cool ocean breeze wafts through the open ceiling of the structure, sending shivers down your spine even as your body burns with desire. your clit throbs in time with toji’s sleepless strokes.

“shhh... i gotchu, ma,” toji whispers huskily in your ear, feeling your body tremble beneath him. he tightens his grip on your hips, fucking you harder, faster, driven by lust and the thrill of getting caught. the thought of someone discovering them sends a dark thrill through him. leaning over your shoulder, he nips at your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks making a sharp cry tears from your throat as toji bites down on your neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to draw blood. his free hand snakes around to rub your clit in firm circles, pushing you closer to the land of climax and pleasure just for a second. “gonna fill this tight pussy up, ma,” he growls, his voice low and rough with arousal.

the pain only heightens your pleasure, making your inner walls clench greedily around his pistoning cock. the bamboo structure creaks ominously under your frenzied coupling, but toji doesn’t care. all that matters is claiming you right here, right now, consequences be damned. you whimper, your head thrown back against his chest as he assaults your sensitive flesh with his fingers and mouth. the knowledge that you are so close to being discovered only fuels the fire raging within you.

your hips buck wildly, meeting each of toji’s powerful thrusts as he drives into you with primal intensity. the wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the small, tiny, wee space, mingling with your ragged breathing and toji’s guttural grunts. toji’s arms snake around your slippery skin for the nth time, to press firmly against your belly, encouraging you to arch into him, to meet his thrusts head-on— bend your stomach deeper into the bulge of his thick cock that peeks at your abandonment.

“fuck yeah— come on ma, i know you can do it,” toji snarls, pounding into you with reckless abandon. he can feel your body starting to tighten around him, and it spurs him on. he wants to push you over the edge, make you scream his name for all to hear. fingers dancing lower, he roughly pinches your clit, rubbing it between his fingers in harsh, rapid circles. at the same time, he leans in close, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he whispers filthy promises. “gonna cum so deep inside you, mark you as mine. everyone will know who you belong to.”

# RYOMEN SUKUNA

whimpers softly, overwhelmed by the intense sensation of being filled so completely by sukuna’s enormous cocks. tears continue to stream down your cheeks— struggle to even do as much as catch your breath, each thrust sending waves of pleasure-pain crashing through you.

# NANAMI KENTO

panting heavily, i manage a weak, “my lord. .” your voice is barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin and sukuna’s lewd grunts of satisfaction. his twice or three times bigger mouth on his stomach lick the small of your back— it smirks, your cunt can feel it.

sukuna chuckles darkly at your feeble attempt to address him properly, his four arms gripping you tighter as he pounds into you relentlessly. the tongue on his stomach licks up your spine, leaving a trail of saliva that tingles on your sensitive skin. his upper pair of hands reach around to grasp your breasts, squeezing and kneading them roughly as he fucks you harder. the third hand slides down to rub your clit, making sure to hit that sweet spot with every stroke.

“foolish mortal,” he sneers, his voice low and menacing. “you should be grateful i deign to use you for my pleasure. your pitiful cries only spur me on.” one of his hands slides around to fondle your breast roughly, pinching and twisting your nipple between his fingers. his other hand reaches down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, forcing your body to respond despite your mind’s protests.

cries out sharply as sukuna tweaks your nipple, the sudden jolt of pain mixing with the overwhelming pleasure from his cocks and touch. “ah! m-my lord, please...” your hips buck involuntarily, meeting his thrusts as his skilled hands work to push you closer to the edge. “this is— too much, i-i can’t...”

trembling, you clench around the thick cocks stretching your inner walls, desperate for some respite but knowing it won’t come anytime soon. “just- just give me a moment, i need...” your eyes hooded, half-heartedly open and find the open garden surrounded you, few of his servants passed by— yet, despite them didn’t have enough the courage to look directly, the voice of skin roughly kiss, your desperate-slutty moan, and sukuna’s rough grumble was obvious.

sobbing quietly, you try to gather your fragmented thoughts, dreading what further degradation or humiliation sukuna might inflict upon you once he’s finished using your body for his twisted amusement. sukuna laughs cruelly at your pleas, his tone dripping with sadistic glee. “a moment? how quaint. you think you have control over this?”

instead, he speeds up his pace, the wet sounds of his cocks pistoning in and out of you growing louder. the tongue on his stomach slithers up to your ear, licking the shell before whispering, “i think you need to learn your place, silly mortal. and if begging for mercy is what it takes...”

his fourth arm moves to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. “perhaps a little choking will help you focus on the present. now, beg properly. beg me to let you cum, to grant you this fleeting pleasure.”

the hand on your clit intensifies its ministrations, rubbing circles that send sparks of ecstasy shooting through your nerves. with that, he redoubles his efforts, slamming his cocks deep inside you with brutal force. the sounds of flesh meeting flesh echo through the garden, mingling with your choked sobs and the occasional gasp from passing servants who can’t help but steal glances at the depraved scene.

the servant who dared to glance your way quickly looks away, not wanting to meet sukuna’s wrathful gaze. they all know better than to disturb their master when he’s indulging in such carnal pleasures. sukuna tightens his grip around your throat slightly, his smirk growing wider as he watches the effect it has on you. he leans in close, his hot breath washing over your ear as he whispers, “look at them, pet. can you see how they’re staring? envious of the privilege i’m granting you, of the pleasure you get to experience at my hands.”

his fingers dig into your neck, applying just enough pressure to make your vision blur at the edges. “they wish they could be in your position right now, don’t they? wishing they could feel my cocks inside them, wishing they could hear their own desperate moans echoing through the garden.”

your vision starts to blur from lack of oxygen as sukuna tightens his grip around your throat. panic sets in as you claw at his wrist, desperate for air. he chuckles darkly, amused by your struggles. just as you're about to pass out, sukuna releases his hold, allowing you to gulp in a ragged breath. he watches with perverse fascination as you tremble and wheeze, your body still wracked by the aftershocks of his relentless pounding.

sukuna’s hand on your clit becomes a blur of motion, rubbing and pinching in a relentless rhythm designed to drive you to the brink of insanity.

he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close as he rocks into you slowly. his voice is low and husky, filled with desire even as he tries to keep things discreet. with his other hand, he gently cup your cheek, tilting your face up towards him, thumb brushing across your lips as he tries to silence your pleasured moans. “shh, my love... i know it feels amazing, but we need to be quiet so no one knows what we’re doing here.”

his brown eyes filled with adoration and lust, blend like a mix of cocktails under the dim blue and purple bar lights. “i want to hear you, but not like this. let me take care of you when we get home, okay? right now, just relax for me...” he punctuates his words with a deep, slow thrust, making you gasp despite yourself. his deep voice is a soothing whisper against your ear as he rocks his hips. one after another while keeping his hard length buried within your cunt. “just focus on how good i make you feel, okay? let me take care of everything.”

your body shudders at the intensity of his words, his touch igniting sparks that race through your veins. you nod frantically, unable to form coherent responses over the crescendo of pleasure building inside you. instead, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling into his warmth as you cling to him desperately.

your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction, more pressure against your sensitive clit. you can’t help the whimpers that escape, muffled against his skin, as he continues to stroke that perfect spot deep within you. each deliberate thrust sends waves of ecstasy crashing over you, threatening to consume you whole and drowning you all the way.

desperate to stifle the sounds of your desperation, you press your mouth to his throat, sucking gently on the pulse point there. the subtle pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure. the sound of music and everyone push painfully far away to the back of your head, and everything becomes grey with how much the sounds of nanami’s breathing kissing your ear. all warm, soft and just him. “baby..”

he inhales sharply as you suck on his throat, the sudden rush of sensation sending a jolt straight to his aching cock. his grip on you tightens reflexively, fingers digging into your hip bones as he struggles to maintain control. the urge to claim you harder, faster, more forcefully is almost overwhelming, but he resists, determined to please you rather than succumb to base instinct.

with a herculean effort, he steadies his movements, focusing on long, slow strokes designed to stretch and fill you without jarring you against the seat or drawing unwanted attention. he lets out a low groan, the sound vibrating against your ear as he fights to hold back his own climax. “my love... the love of my life,” he breathes, the endearment barely audible over the thumping bass.

overwhelmed by the intense sensations coursing through every fiber of your being, you can only whimper and tremble in nanami’s arms. the steady rhythm of his thrusts, the heat of his body enveloping yours, the sweet ache of his fingers digging into your flesh— it all blends together into an exquisite symphony of pleasure.

it was painfully slow, but when he was sensing your impending release, nanami’s hands begin to roam your body, tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your breasts, before coming to rest on your thighs. he spreads them wider, angling his hips to hit that magical spot inside you with precision. the added pressure sends you spiraling toward the edge, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his thick length.

nanami’s eyes darken with lust as he watches you lose yourself in pleasure, your body tensing and trembling in his grasp. he leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, swallowing the desperate little noises you make. his tongue dances with yours, matching the rhythm of the loud music, alsooo, mirroring the rhythm of his hips as he continues to stroke into you, hitting that sweet spot again and again.

# SHIU KONG

he breaks the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your throat, nibbling and sucking marks into your tender skin. “so beautiful,” he murmurs against your flesh, his voice heavy with desire. “i could look at you forever.” his hands slide higher, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your top. he thumbs your nipples, coaxing them to hardness as he teases and plucks at the sensitive buds.

breathless, eyes wide with excitement and guilt as you look around at your secluded spot amidst the bamboo forest. gasp as another wave of pleasure crashes over you from your thick cock stretching your velvet walls. eyes flustered closed while your fingers curled up, wrapping the fabric of his suit around.

“fuck, it feels so good...“ you start moving faster on top of him, riding him harder as the thrill of getting caught only heightens your arousal. you lean down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, moaning into his mouth as you continue to bounce on his lap, your breasts jiggling with each thrust. “we’re being so naughty out here in the open... what if someone walks by and catches us in the act?” you asked, tone nonchalant so the heartbeat once you pull away.

a low groan escapes shiu’s throat, feels your tight heat gripping his cock tighter with each hard ride. his hands grip your hips, guiding you to fuck yourself on him even deeper— panting heavily, he looks up at you with lust-filled eyes.

“let ’em,” he rasps, his voice husky with desire. “i want everyone to see how badly i’m fucking you right now.” shiu’s fingers dig into your flesh, pulling you down to slam your cunt onto his shaft again and again. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the quiet woods, mixing with your high-pitched moans and his deep growls.

“you’re so goddamn sexy like this,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning across your ear. “riding my dick in public, not giving a damn who sees...” your body trembles as shiu’s words, intensifying the burning need within you. you throw your head back, lost in the ecstasy of being taken so roughly, so publicly. each harsh thrust makes you cry out, your voice carrying through the stillness of the bamboo grove.

“sooo dirty,” you tease between giggling, grinding your clit against him as you impale yourself on his thick cock. your hands slide up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing and tugging at your nipples as you continue to ride shiu with wild abandon. leaning down, you capture his lips once more, kissing him deeply as you move, your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

shiu meets your fervent kisses with equal passion, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as he devours you whole. his large hands roam your curves, squeezing and kneading your supple flesh as he drinks in every moan and whimper that spills from your lips. few seconds and he breaking the kiss to trails his mouth along your jawline, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. “mmm, such a naughty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with approval. “wants to get caught, huh? wants everyone to know you’re mine.”

shiu’s fingers find their way beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming up your stomach to pinch and roll your hardened nipples. he watches intently as you writhe above him, your breasts bouncing with each frenzied movement. one hand leaves your hip to palm your breast, thumbing your nipple through the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath to tease the hardened bud directly. you let out a sharp gasp as shiu’s skilled fingers play with your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“mmm, feel that, doll?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with lust. “your tits are so sensitive, i bet they’d be perfect for my mouth.” the sensation of his warm breath on your skin and his filthy words make you ache for more. “please!” you beg, arching your back to push your chest further into his touch.

with a wicked grin, shiu pulls your shirt up and off, revealing your heaving breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze. he wastes no time, taking one pert nipple into his mouth and suckling greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

you moan loudly, head thrown back in bliss as he lavishes attention on your other breast, pinching and rolling the neglected nipple between his fingers. shiu releases your nipple with a wet pop, leaving it glistening and swollen. he gazes up at you with dark, lustful eyes, his own chest heaving with exertion.

“that’s it, baby,” he coaxes, his voice rough with desire. “make some noise for me. let everyone know how much you love having my cock buried deep inside you.” he punctuates his words with a particularly forceful thrust, making you cry out in pleasure. shiu grins, pleased with himself.

leaning forward, he takes your other nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling until you’re squirming and mewling above him. his free hand slides down your side, tracing the curve of your hip before dipping lower to rub at your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“you’re so close, aren’t you?”

[prythianpages]

Be Patient | Azriel x Reader

summary: After the mating bond snaps, Azriel follows you to the Day Court, where he spends seven days patiently longing after you.

warnings: fluff, mild angst bc of Az pining and lowkey being a menace in day court and reader being a little dense, also this is really long, 11K, my longest one shot ever...

note: This is a part two to Be Safe but can be read as a stand alone too. Huge shoutout to @stormhearty , @daycourtofficial & @thecrowesnest13 & the sweet overexcited anon who helped me with this! This is set pre-ACOTAR events and I realized my mistake in naming Helion as High Lord because I think he became High Lord UTM? so for this fic's sake, let's just assume he was already High Lord..

Mate. 

The realization crashes over Azriel like a tidal wave. It’s almost suffocating. Mine, the bond in his chest roars. Protect. The emotions swell, fueled by his shadows whispering and urging him on to go and keep you safe. Because who better to do so than him?

Before he knows it, he’s following you into Day Court, his shadows swallowing his form until Mor’s and Cassian’s laughter are distant echoes.

Piercing violet eyes greet him as soon as he steps out from his shadows, blocking his view. It’s almost as if he had been expecting Azriel. Talons rake across the shields of his mind and Azriel reluctantly lets him in. Go back, Rhysand asserts, holding the shadowsinger’s gaze.

I can’t, he nearly growls in his mind. 

The thought of leaving you, not being by your side is insufferable. It’s this very thought that has some of his shadows dancing toward you, the shadow curled around his ear whispering to him about your whereabouts. You stand, a couple of feet away, speaking with Helion. You’re completely oblivious to the two Illyrian males glaring at one another.

What do you mean you can’t? Rhysand doesn’t even attempt to hide the irritation in his tone.

Azriel then shows Rhysand what happened just moments ago. The mating bond snapping into place right as you were winnowing away. He leaves out the part where Cassian and Mor had been teasing him but he suspects Rhysand was aware of that.

Rhysand lets out a sigh, running a hand down the length of his face. What appears to be exhaustion tears through his features before he leans in toward the taller male. “Really?” He whispers in an exasperated hush. “Right now?

Azriel falters with a huff, his head following the direction his shadows had gone. It’s only when his gaze lands on you that it softens. “You say it like I had a choice.” 

But boy is he glad it is you.

”Fine,” Rhysand sighs after a long moment of silence. He knows he can’t do anything about it, the determination in the Shadowsinger’s eyes burning bright. He’d fear going against the Cauldron if he did. “You can stay. But—“ he lifts a jewel adorned finger in warning“—you distract her—“

Azriel’s head turns back to Rhysand and there’s a frown on his face. ”I don’t distract her.”

”Please,” Rhysand chuckles in disbelief. “Listen, I’m happy for you. Truly. But we didn’t come all this way for nothing and I need her to be able to focus. She can’t even think properly around you and if she finds out you’re her–”

“She thinks about me?”

Rhysand shuts his mouth with a withering stare.

Azriel’s shadows are then whispering madly, coercing him to turn his attention back to you. You’re giggling and smiling at Helion, cheeks flushed with a blush. Azriel flushes too but for an entirely different reason. Helion has your hand in his, amber eyes holding you captive, as he’s slowly lifting it up to his lips. 

Shadows are coiling softly around your wrist and before Helion can kiss your hand, your hand is being pulled away from his. Helion’s brows furrow, hand falling to his side as one lone shadow floats in front of him. He is not fluent in shadows but the way it writhes at him gives one clear message.  

”Oh, hi!”

Azriel watches, taking note of the small fond smile that forms on your face as you recognize the dark tendrils wrapped around your arm. Your eyes find him almost immediately and then you’re walking toward him.   

“Azriel, what are you doing here?”

“Shadowsinger,” Helion purrs in greeting, a pleased smirk on his face that grows at Azriel’s indifferent nod. “I was not aware you were coming too.”

Rhysand places a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the soft, black leather. Don’t say anything. Rhysand warns in his mind. We’ll talk somewhere else.

Rhysand forces a charming smile onto his face and Helion’s eyes flicker with interest. “I apologize for the short notice but Azriel is here to… escort y/n.”

“Escort?”

Both you and Helion say in unison. Though Helion’s tone carries mirth, yours carries shock. Confusion clouds your features, worry flickering in your wide eyes. Rhysand must’ve eased your mind, for Azriel feels the tension leave your muscles shortly afterwards. Still, you inch closer to him, as if seeking the comfort of his presence. He instinctively mirrors your movement, the blue siphons on his leathers brushing against your arm and gleaming in response.

 “You offend me, Rhys. I’ve welcomed you to my court with no ill intention.” Helion chides, though his voice is light with humor.

“y/n here is just very precious to us,” Rhysand says, choosing his words carefully. “I hope you can understand.”

Azriel’s shadows whisper the details of the scene around him, noting the apologetic look Rhysand sends to Helion. The High Lord of Day chuckles, but Azriel’s focus remains steadfastly on you. You turn to him with a questioning smile and he returns your smile, the warmth in his hazel eyes answering your unspoken question.

“I can see why,” comes Helion’s response, gaze lingering on you with an appreciative gleam.

Azriel’s head whips fast toward the High Lord of the Day Court and another sigh escapes Rhysand.

**

“Seven days. That’s all I ask.”

“That’s seven days too long, Rhys.”

Rhysand falters back, appalled by those words. He lets out a small laugh.  “Too long? Seven days is too long but a whole century wasn’t?”

“It hasn’t been a century,” Azriel hisses and Rhysand raises his brows. “It’s been eighty nine years. Besides, it’s different now.”

You’re his mate now.  

The mating bond had snapped into place with such force that he was still reeling from its impact. It was as if every emotion of his was amplified, sending a startling quiver through those golden threads in his chest. Jealousy jerked the most. It’s why every few seconds, his gaze flickered towards the hall you had disappeared into with the High Lord known for his scandalous appetites. One of his shadows had stayed with you and though he knew it would come back if Helion tried anything, it did nothing to ease him. He should be beside you right now. Not beside Rhysand, who seemed keen on keeping you from him.

“You saw the way she looked at you when you arrived.”

Azriel turned back to Rhysand, that image of you reappearing in his mind from Rhysand’s perspective. Surprise had flickered across your features, but like a passing storm cloud, it swiftly gave way to brightness. Your eyes sparkled, your lips curved into a fond smile. Without hesitation, you left Helion's side, drawn instinctively toward Azriel.  It was as if nothing else mattered but him, as if there was no one else in the world but you two.

The bond in his chest sings in delight because overriding all other emotions swirling madly around, there is love.

Azriel had loved you long before the bond’s sudden manifestation. His feelings had grown silently over the years, nurtured through shared moments and unspoken gestures. He knew he had to confess his feelings to you–something that had been eating at him for years. Eighty nine years to be exact, as he pointed out just a moment ago.

But fear always held him back.

Fear that he had mistaken your kindness for something more. Fear that he would ruin the decades of friendship you two had built. Fear that you loved him but not enough to see past his scars.

He realizes now how ridiculous those fears sound.

The kindness you harbored for him was not the same kindness you showed others. Your friendship was strong and precious, something he would fiercely protect no matter what. Your hand always sought his, never showing disgust towards the marred roughness of his own. You had even dedicated so much of your time to researching Prythian’s herbs and treatment for burns, working with Madja to make a special concoction–a soothing balm to alleviate the inevitable pains. 

By the Mother, he was a fool and it took the bond snapping into place to realize it.

“Yes. You both are.”

Now, the golden threads in his chest urged him to confess, to bridge that small lingering distance between you–

“But you can’t. Not now.”

“Get out of my head,” Azriel snaps, glaring at his brother.

“Well, I can’t help it if you’re thinking so loudly,” Rhysand replies, a touch defensively. “Look, y/n has been looking forward to this trip so much. If you tell her about the bond, it will consume her every thought and cloud that brilliant mind of hers. I know this is selfish of me but I need her to be focused and you to be patient.”

Azriel’s glare wavers. He knows how much this trip means to you. It was the first time Rhysand was entrusting a task upon you outside of the Night Court’s borders. Getting to see the magnificent library of the Day Court was also all your bibliophile heart could talk about. His desire to protect you and respect your focus battled fiercely with his yearning to tell you about the bond.

“Seven days?”

“Seven days,” Rhysand confirms, the tension easing from his face. “Then, she’s all yours. Just be patient.”

Azriel scoffs. “I’ll be so patient.”

But as they both join you and Helion for dinner, something tells Rhysand that this is going to be a long week.

**

Helion had hosted an extravagant feast for you all last night, even bringing out his finest, aged whiskey to celebrate. He had toasted it to Azriel, the surprise guest, with a cheeky wink. When his flirtatious efforts went ignored, Helion had turned his affections toward you. A notion that left Azriel seething and Rhysand on guard.

After dinner, Helion had given you a brief tour of the palace and introduced you to the fae you encountered along the way. To Azriel’s relief, the room he’d be staying in was right across from yours. His shadows had eagerly scouted the halls and both your rooms, becoming attuned to every creak and sound as an extra measure of safety. They fell asleep before he did and were the ones to wake him up when they heard you shuffling around your room.

As Azriel laces his leathers, the dark tendrils rush toward his door, peeking out underneath. It seems they are just as eager as he is to see you.

“Good morning!” You chirp happily, practically buzzing with excitement as you greet him at his door. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” A lie. Your joy is so contagious it’s easy to mask his exhaustion, his smile matching yours. “Did you?” 

He had, in fact, not slept well.

How could he when his anxiety began to gnaw at him? Because what if you grew tired of waiting for him within these seven days and gave into Helion’s charm? Each time he closed his eyes, his mind flashed with images of you reciprocating Helion’s advances, and sneaking off into his chambers in the middle of the night...

You give a noncommittal hum in response, pulling him out of his inner turmoil and bring him back to you.

 “I’m really glad you’re here, Az.”

Azriel’s shadows mirror your enthusiasm. A faint blush takes over his cheeks as you grasp his hand to tug him along with you. “Rhys has private business to attend to with Helion and I did not want to do this alone,” you say, waving your bucket list in the air with your free hand.

Of course, you had a list of things you’d like to do in Day. It instilled another fear into Azriel because what if you fell in love with Day and refused to go back to Night? He eyes all the bullet points on that list of yours and refuses to let himself make that fear come true.

Anything you loved here, he would make sure to remind you that the Night Court could do better.

“And who better to spend the day with than my loyal shadowsinger, right?” You remark with a playful glint in your eye.

“Right,” Azriel replies and there’s a brightness in his heart at your words. My loyal shadowsinger. His shadows dance in agreement.

But there is one thing the Night Court can’t replicate, a truth he reluctantly acknowledges as you both step outside into the warmth of the sun. 

A radiant smile breaks out on your face as you bask in the bright sunlight. Its golden glow kisses your skin, highlighting every feature he adores.

His leathers are not meant for this type of weather. He can feel himself growing hot, his shadows already endlessly working to keep him cool. Though you were dressed in something lighter than him, a pale blue dress, some of them flit toward you to do the same.

Azriel allows you to pull him along, savoring the feel of your hand in his. The cobblestone streets of the Day Court’s market are narrow, flanked by vibrant stalls and lively vendors. He tucks his wings tightly against his back to avoid brushing against the bustling crowd. His grip on your hand is firm. He tells himself it’s to ensure he doesn’t lose you amidst the sea of fae, but deep down, he has no intention of ever letting go.

Your first stop is a quaint little shop that, according to your research, sells the best espresso in Prythian. Azriel prefers his coffee black but you convince him to try Day’s specialty, a honey lavender latte. 

You watch him, awaiting his response.

“I hate it,” he tells you, though it’s surprisingly good. Really good.  “Velaris has better coffee.”

You take your drink back with a shrug as you head to your next stop. The flower market. As you stroll through the market stalls, you point out a cluster of flowers, your voice tinged with excitement as you describe their origins and meanings. You’re like a living encyclopedia and Azriel has always admired this about you. He asks you more questions, even if he already has the answers. Just so that he can see the light in your eyes dance with every word you speak.

A beautiful pink blossom catches his eyes as he’s read about it before, already familiar with its meaning. An idea sparks into his mind. Maybe, if he starts dropping hints, it’d make his impending confession go smoother. He tugs on your hand gently. “And this one?”

“It’s a pink camelia. A symbol of love, adoration and longing.”

He tosses a coin to the merchant and then picks the prettiest pink camelia among the bunch. He tucks it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. The shadows that cling to him, hiding from the sun, peek out from above his shoulders, stirring in anticipation as you look up at Azriel and smile.

“y/n, I–”

His words hang in the air, the tendrils too distracted by you to notice the merchant approaching. Suddenly, a hand appears between you both, golden bracelets dangling before your eyes. “A pretty bracelet for the pretty lady?” the fae male asks. “They’re one of a kind!”

Your eyes widen as you take in the shimmering jewelry. “How much?”

“Ten coins,” the merchant replies, but as his eyes roam over you, he adds, “But for you, five.”

“Okay,” you agree, not having the heart to say no.

You reach for one of the gold bracelets, its chain holding a gleaming sun made of amber in the center. Before you can even open your coin purse, Azriel shoves ten coins into the merchant’s awaiting hand, his glare sending the man skittering away.

“Thank you,” you say to Azriel, struggling to clasp the bracelet around your wrist. Azriel gestures for you to let him help, and you do, watching the subtle furrow of his brow as he fastens the hook. “But why did you give him ten coins? He said five…”

“I didn’t,” Azriel lies smoothly for the second time this morning, and when your eyes narrow in suspicion, he simply smiles and tilts his head toward the right. “Shouldn’t we be heading to the art gallery if we want to make it to the water fountain show in time?”

That gets you going.

Your hold on his hand tightens as you lead the way to the art gallery. There, you’re captivated by the various amounts of artwork from Day, one of them being a very detailed and very naked sculpture of Helion. Azriel can’t help but remind you of the beauty of the Rainbow of Velaris, tugging you along, using the water fountain show as an excuse to get you to leave quicker. 

Afterwards, you visit a bookstore and many other stores, discovering that the bracelet on your wrist was not one-of-a-kind. They are available in various stores, each offering different variations. Instead of feeling disappointed, you find one specially for Azriel. Its chain is silver, adorned with a glimmering moon made from moonstone, a perfect complement to your amber sun.

By the time you both return to the palace, the sky is painted with hues of twilight, signaling it’s almost dinner time. 

“Thank you for helping me carry all my stuff,” you say with a sheepish grin, glancing at the bags scattered on your floor, most of them filled with gifts for the rest of the inner circle members since they couldn’t come along.

“Of course,” Azriel replies with a soft smile, his eyes warm. He had refused to let you lift a finger.

Standing on your tip-toes, you aim to kiss his cheek but underestimate the height difference, your lips landing on his jaw instead. The touch has the same effect. Azriel blushes, his wings twitching slightly, and his shadows snicker behind him. He hopes you can't hear them.

“Are you sure–” he clears his throat “–are you sure you don’t need help packing them up too?”

Your eyes light up and then you’re pulling him into your room. Unfortunately, no more kisses came from that. However, the shared smiles and easy conversation made it all worth it.

Be patient, he reminds himself. But he can't help but think of the golden threads unraveling in his chest, giving them an experimental tug. There’s no response, yet he hopes that yours will entwine with his any day now, binding you together forever.

**

As the golden, morning light of the Day Court bathes the grand hall, Azriel waits for you to enter the place where you'd have breakfast together. When he hears your approaching footsteps, he turns.

Suddenly, he finds himself unable to think. Unable to breathe, even.  

 You were beautiful. He was well aware of this, always has been. But today, you were absolutely stunning, like a goddess descended from the heavens. 

The dress you wore was different from your usual Night court dresses and though it screamed Day court fashion, Azriel couldn’t bring himself to care. The delicate ivory, flowing fabric draped elegantly over your body. His eyes trace every detail of the dress, from the plunging neckline to the high slits that reveal the soft and inviting skin of your legs. There’s a tightness in his throat when he catches a glimpse of the gold garter adorning your thigh.

“Good morning,” you greet him with a smile, a hint of shyness in your eyes despite the boldness of the dress.

"Morning," he barely manages to say.

“Good morning indeed,” Helion purrs as he appears behind you, Rhysand at his side.

Azriel, captivated by your beauty, barely registered the expression on Helion's face. Meanwhile, his shadows moved with a protective instinct, delicately brushing against your legs as if to shield you from Helion's lingering gaze. 

As you approach him, Azriel's heart continues to hammer against his chest. He musters up a smile. Though small, it’s full of admiration and awe. 

Helion chuckles. “My oh my, Rhysand. I did not know your Shadowsinger was capable of smiling.”

Rhysand lets out an amused exhale. His tone is light but it carries a subtle warning. “He’s capable of many things, including patience.”

A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw as he falls into step with you. He doesn’t notice the small frown that takes over your features. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice sweet despite the slightly sour expression on his face.

You shake your head in protest. “You look all hot and bothered.”

Azriel chokes on his spit. “Excuse me?”

“You’re already sweating,” you explain to him, reaching up with your free hand to brush his dark curls away from his forehead. His wings flutter in response to the surprise touch. “And it’s barely morning. Come on, you’re not wearing those leathers today. I’m sure Helion left some clothes for you too.”

Azriel heats up at the mention of Helion’s name, his mind briefly flickering to the thought of the High Lord leaving such a dress for you. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it further as you tug him back toward the room he’s staying in, mumbling about how Azriel has a death wish for wearing such thick clothing in the Day Court.

But it’s the High Lord of the Day Court who has a death wish, Azriel thinks.

“We won’t be long!” You call over your shoulder to Rhysand and Helion, who both give a dismissive wave.

Helion shakes his head in amusement. “Are they always like this?”

Rhysand lets out a snort. “Unfortunately.”

“Come. Let us have a drink. I believe we’re in very much need of one.”

“This early in the morning?”

“My friend, have you not had orange juice and champagne? Such a lovely, delightful combination. I call it a mimosa…”

**

Back in Azriel's room, you rummage through the clothes Helion had left for him. His eyes soften as you continue to fuss over him. Though he complains about it, he secretly loves when you fuss over him. He has to peel his gaze away from you when you bend down to pick up a top, his thoughts threatening to drift elsewhere if he doesn't.

Hot. Bothered. His shadows repeat your words from earlier to him and he eyes them with a glare.

Despite Helion’s wish for Azriel to wear a toga like he proudly does, Azriel is relieved at what you picked out for him. He’s also touched that you know him well enough to pick something close to his taste.  “Here,” you say, holding up a pair of loose fitting dark trousers and a sheen, flowy white top with a deep v neck similar to the one of your dress. “This will be perfect for today.”

“Fine,” Azriel murmurs, reluctantly taking the garments from you. Your fingers brush against his, sending a spark through him.

“I trust you can dress yourself from here,” you tease, giving him a playful pat on his shoulder.

Azriel lets out a scoff, resisting the urge to reply with a roguish remark. He quickly changes into the clothes you picked out for him, not wanting to cut into your breakfast time any more than necessary. Today is a busy day for you, as you will spend most of it in the library, researching all about the death gods for an assignment Rhysand gave you.

When he steps out of the room, your eyes light up as they look over his body. His muscles flex instinctively when your gaze lingers on the tattoos swirling on his chest. You blink, and with a smile say, “Radiant.”

Azriel feels the blood rush to his neck. He’s received many compliments before but never something as bright as “radiant.”  He suddenly yearns to hear more–only if they come from your pretty lips.

“Y/n, have I ever told you how much I—” Your eyebrows raise in curiosity, and he loses his resolve, Rhysand’s warning echoing in his head. “—appreciate you…”

Those were not the words Azriel had intended, and he lets out a defeated breath. Yet, your smile does not falter. Instead, you hook your arm through his, beaming up at him as you guide him through the halls.

“I believe you have but please, enlighten me again…”

**

Helion’s gaze fixes on you and Azriel as you finally joined them for breakfast. Dressed in resplendent Day Court fashion, the two of you look ravishing, and Helion cannot decide who is more captivating–you or the stoic shadowsinger at your side. 

His affections have always met a brick wall with the Illyrian male. So naturally, when another pretty face shows up at his court, he focuses all his attention on you. He savors your sweet reactions and Azriel’s jealous ones, sensing more between you two. He’s determined to unravel it.

After breakfast, Helion sidles up beside you, flashing a charming smile. “Allow me to admire you more closely, Lady Y/n,” he says, his voice smooth and rich as he extends his hand.

Azriel’s jaw clenches, his shadows swirling restlessly when you take Helion’s hand. Helion’s smile widens, and then he gestures for you to spin. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

You gasp, eyes widening in delight and cheeks tinting with a delicate blush. “You know Shakespeare?”

“Know it? I live it.” Helion responds. “I have his original copies in my personal library. You can come take a look, if you’d like. Just give me a day to…organize things.”

Azriel’s eyes narrow, not liking the intonation in the High Lord’s voice. Helion can feel that primal instinct–the possessiveness Azriel feels for you–simmering beneath the surface. His eyes widen slightly in acknowledgement and then he’s turning to Rhysand.

"Helion,” Rhysand drawls, confirming his suspicions. “As y/n’s escort, you're making Azriel's shadows rather restless.”

Helion laughs, a rich, melodious sound that fills the room. "I can't help it if your historian is so captivating, Rhysand," he says, winking at you and delighting in the response it shakes from Azriel.

**

Azriel falls into step behind you as Helion guides you all toward the magnificent library of the Day Court. Sunlight streams through towering windows, casting rainbows across the marble floors. You had praised it as the biggest and most beautiful library in all of Prythian. As Azriel stands in front of the entrance, he reluctantly acknowledges that none of the libraries in the Night Court could come close if this is just how the entrance looks.

As Azriel moves to step inside with you, Rhysand stops him.

"What are you doing?" Azriel huffs, peering over Rhysand's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the awed expression on your face as Helion talks to you. "I'm Y/n's escort, remember?"

“There’s no need for one in the library. You’ll only be a distraction here.” Rhysand replies and sensing his apprehension, he adds. “She’ll be safe here. I promise.”

“But–”

“No,” Rhysand interrupts and Azriel’s gaze hardens. A playful glint dances in Rhysand’s violet eyes. “Go take a walk, a cold shower or perhaps, read up on some poetry.”

 With that, Rhysand enters the library, motioning for the guards to shut the door. As the door closes, a single dark tendril manages to slide through. 

I don’t resort to poetry, Azriel thinks bitterly and he swears he hears Rhysand’s chuckle in his mind.

**

That night, during dinner, Helion took all your attention as the two of you quoted and mused over poetry, Rhysand chiming in occasionally. Azriel remained silent, a muscle ticking at his jaw.

The following morning, Azriel didn’t get a chance to speak to you much either. You and Rhysand were deep in discussion, strategizing how to tackle the vast array of books about the old gods. Azriel hadn’t even finished his coffee when you abruptly stood from your seat, mouth still full of food, and hurried off towards the library. The golden threads buried deep in his chest stirred with your passion.

So while you spent your day in the library, engrossed in your research, Azriel decided to spend his day doing his own research. He had his shadows sneak into your room and retrieve one of the poetry books he is certain you bought with you. You read one every night before bed.

Azriel reads some of the poems, engraving the words into his memory, just in case. He ends up falling asleep in his room, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. His shadows stir him awake, hours later, pointing to the clock hanging across from him. It’s almost dinner time so Azriel freshens up and then makes his way toward the library. 

“Hey, you,” you greet Azriel happily, two of his shadows trailing behind you, as you step out of the library. The second one had joined you this morning as the first one had been feeling lonely. “I think they like me better than you.”

“Keep them,” Azriel shrugs. When you're not looking, he gives them a knowing nod, though his voice feigns annoyance. “Traitors.”

“What did you do today?” You ask, falling into step beside him as you two walk toward the dining hall. “Anything interesting?”

“I learned something.”

“Yeah?”

Azriel turns to you, his expression serious as he clears his throat. "She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright... uh, meet in her something…eyes…?"

You blink at him, confusion furrowing your brow. "Something eyes?"

Before Azriel can explain, Helion chimes in, that cheeky grin plastered on his face. "It's 'Meet in her aspect and her eyes,’" he corrects smoothly, his eyes twinkling with amusement, as he beckons for you to take your seats.

Azriel shoots a glare at Helion and Rhysand kicks him under the table in warning. Helion chuckles, unfazed by the death stare coming from Azriel as he continues. 

“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of Cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

“Oh, Lord Byron!” you say in recognition, turning to Azriel with a look that soothes his embarrassment. “She Walks in Beauty. What a lovely poem. Did you know it was one of my favorites?”

“I didn’t,” Azriel replies casually, though inwardly his heart races and his shadows race to cover the blush delicately tinting his neck. Of course he knew it was your favorite. You had scribbled hearts all over the page in your book. “I just liked it and thought I’d share it with you.”

Your smile widens, touched by his gesture. “I thought you didn’t fancy poetry, Az.”

“I thought the same,” Rhysand says, eyes narrowing at Azriel.

"I'm full of surprises," Azriel says dryly, meeting Rhysand's gaze evenly.

“Well, let’s hope it’s the last of your surprises.”

“I believe I also have some of Lord Byron’s works. How about I finally show you my personal library after dinner?” Helion speaks, directing all attention back to him.

Azriel opens his mouth to protest, not liking the inviting gaze in the High Lord’s eyes, but Helion interjects smoothly. “No worries, escort, ” Helion says, his grin widening. “I’ll take good care of y/n.”

Azriel sulks, a bitter taste in his mouth from Helion’s effortless charm throughout dinner. He tries his best to keep you from leaving, insisting you try every single dessert laid out on the table. Barely halfway through, you slump back in your chair, claiming you can’t eat another bite without bursting.

His ears perk up and he sends a small prayer to the Mother that your full stomach dissuades you from visiting Helion’s personal library, his own stomach not being able to handle the thought. Tonight, it seems The Mother does not favor him. When Helion offers you his arm, you take it excitedly, oblivious to the sulking Shadowsinger you left behind. 

Rhysand laughs, finding amusement in the entire situation, while Azriel shoots him a cold stare. If Rhysand hadn’t ordered Azriel to keep the truth of the bond from you until after your trip here, you wouldn't be alone with Helion now. 

Yet, Azriel can't help but bitterly reflect that if he had only been upfront about his feelings from the start, he wouldn’t be tormented by such longing now, the bond in his chest roaring at the thought of you with another male.

“I think y/n is more than capable of handling a flirtatious High Lord.”

Azriel’s lips twitch into a brief, reluctant smile. “She is. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Cheer up, Az,” Rhysand teases, lifting his glass in a mock-toast to his friend. “There’s always more poetry to practice. Or perhaps, you should stick to brooding. You’re much better at that.”

“Pass the whiskey,” Azriel replies tersely, his lips pressing into a tight line.

“Patience is a virtue, Az.”

“So is silence.”

**

You’re swooning, over the moon, after exploring Helion’s personal library. He showed you his special editions of Lord Byron’s and Shakespeare’s works, allowing you to take one back to your room with you to read. You clutch the book to your chest, humming softly to yourself.

When you reach the hallway, you linger there for a moment, sparing a glance toward Azriel’s room. The night is still young and you’re surprised to see no light seeping through the door. Has he gone to bed already? Worry knits your brows as you wonder if he’s okay. He has been acting strange since he arrived. He had quoted poetry at you for Cauldron’s sake!

You walk toward his door and knock. There’s no answer so you knock again. “Az?”

You frown when you’re met with silence and your hands itch to open the door but you hesitate. He could either be asleep, out flying or out training. He had been eyeing the training grounds of Day during Helion’s tour.

With a sigh, you step into your room and decide to get ready for bed, making a mental note to check up on him in the morning. The day had been long and filled with unexpected twists and tomorrow would only bring another long day. Your eyes were tired from reading so much fine print.

As you're fluffing your pillows, you hear the sound of heavy, booted footsteps. Your mind wanders to Azriel but it can’t be. His steps were always quiet, silenced by his shadows. There’s a pause in the steps and a brief moment of stillness.

Abruptly, your door swings open and you let out a small gasp.

You watch as Azriel stumbles in, your heart flying to your chest in relief. His usually graceful steps falter as if the weight of his massive wings is too much to bear. Shadows cling to his wrists, doing their best to keep their master steady.

A look of pleasant surprise softens his features when he spots you, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of you in your nightgown. He brings a hand up to his neck, rubbing it in an attempt to make the flush spreading across his cheeks go away.

“Y/n,” he hiccups with a pleased grin. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, stifling a laugh at his adorable state. “This is my room.”

Azriel’s expression morphs, his eyebrows furrowing and a slight pout forming on his lips. “Didn’t get to spend the day with you,” he mutters, his voice tinged with frustration as he sways slightly. “Or night… you spent it with Helion instead.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Are you jealous, Az?”

Another hiccup. “Maybe.”

Your stomach flutters at the way he admits it so openly. The two of you have always had a playful, flirty dynamic. It had never gone beyond exchanged glances and lingering touches, though. Azriel never let it, and a part of you feared it was because he was too kind to reject you outright. Now, you begin to wonder if you had misinterpreted the situation all along.

“Well, it’s still night,” you tell him, “And you’re here with me now.”

“I am,” Azriel acknowledges with a hint of surprise, as if realizing it anew. “And I know poetry too…”

 He straightens up, attempting to appear serious again despite the slight slur in his words. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height... uh, something about sight, I think?”

Did he somehow know this was another of your favorites? It seems unlikely. In all the years you've known him, Azriel has never shown interest in poetry. Or at least up until two hours ago. You should check his forehead. What if he was coming down with something?

Instead, you clear your throat and help him out.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight. For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee–” your voice wavers at the look Azriel gives you, his hazel eyes shining with an emotion that threatens to weaken your knees. “–to the level of every day’s. Most quiet need, by sun and candle light…”

“I love thee too,” Azriel breathes, holding your gaze and stepping closer to you. “Freely–purely…no, freely as men strive for fight.”

“Right,” you correct with a laugh. “Freely as men strive for right.”

Azriel’s pout deepens, yet there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t laugh at me,” he mumbles.

He continues to make his way toward you and you hold out your arms, worried he’ll lose his battle with balance. He ends up slumping face-first onto your bed, his wings splaying out behind him. “Can I stay here? Just for a little bit. I missed you all day.”

“Yeah,” you reply with a soft smile. You missed him too. “But can you make room for me on my bed?”

“Mmm,” Azriel hums, turning on his side. He pats at the space right in front of him, his shadows moving to rest behind him to give you space. “Come here, my pretty historian.”

You feel a rush of warmth course through you, momentarily flustered by the nickname. Looking at Azriel, you hesitate. It wouldn’t be the first time you two shared a bed but it’d be the first time you’d share one in a bed not meant to accommodate for Illyrian wings. 

Maybe, it’s best if you help him to his room. Your eyes look toward his shadows and you notice them slowly curling around his back as if going to sleep themselves. They would be no help and neither would Rhys as you were sure he was sharing his night with a pretty fae or two. And you would definitely not be able to carry Azriel back to his room on your own.

So when Azriel pats the bed again, you join him. He frowns when you don’t nestle against him as he wished. Instead, you slip under the covers, resting on your side to face him fully. He adjusts to mirror your position, close enough that you feel his warm breath, noses and hands brushing against each other.

“You smell good,” he says, eyes half-lidded. “Marry me?”

You smile, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Is that all it takes to marry you? To smell good?”

Azriel’s eyes flutter close, a contented sigh escaping him. “I’d marry you, even if you didn’t smell good,” he says, his words mumbled but filled with affection.

Your heart swells and you lean in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, feeling exhaustion come over you when Azriel yawns. 

“Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he murmurs, already drifting off to sleep, a peaceful smile on his face. “My sweet, pretty ma–”

A shadow, one of the ones that have taken a liking to you, crawls over you and rushes to Azriel, curling around his mouth to silence him. You are too tired to think about it, simply letting sleep claim you in each other’s comforting presence.

**

Azriel wakes up with a soft groan, still enveloped by your scent. His shadows stir as he does and he hesitates opening his eyes, not ready to face the aftermath of his drunken state. The impending headache is already breaking the surface. When he opens his eyes, he finds you missing. His worry is eased when one of his shadows brings a small piece of paper to him.

He shifts, moving into a sitting position. One hand rubs at his head while the other takes the note you left for him. 

To my star breaking poet, you looked too peaceful to wake. I left some water, tea and bread on the nightstand. Enjoy.

-your pretty historian

His lips tug up into a smile. He turns his head, finding the drinks and food you left for him. He doesn’t dare touch them though, despite the bond in his chest yearning for him to. He then searches for the clock in your room and his eyes widen. It’s past noon. Azriel has never slept this late or felt so rested, especially after a night of heavy drinking. 

Taking a deep breath, he allows himself to fall back onto the bed, running his hands through his hair and pulling on it. He lingers there a moment longer before finally rising and heading to his room to bathe and get ready for the day. Knowing you'll be in the library all day, he wonders what to do with himself, having given up on poetry after his unsuccessful attempts.

**

Azriel makes himself busy by wandering the palace, feeling a bit uneasy walking so freely in the open. He’s so accustomed to blending into the shadows that this exposure feels unnatural. His shadows cling to him, hiding beneath his cloak, equally uncomfortable with the brightness. The day is cooler, so he’s donned his leathers, a small part of him hoping you'll fuss over him again when you see him.

He visits the markets, but they seem less vibrant without you by his side. He then goes to the training grounds of Day, catching up with his missed training and releasing his pent up frustrations with a training dummy. Upon returning to the palace and washing up, he heads towards the library. Though he can’t enter, he knows there are small tables and padded chairs just outside. He found you there during one of your breaks yesterday, so he sits at one of the tables, hoping you'll come again.

A newspaper rests on the table before him, so he picks it up to pass the time. After reading through it twice, he moves to a different table with a chess set, his shadows engaging him in a game. After losing to them three times, he leans back with a sigh. He really should’ve brought some of his unfinished reports to work on.

Overcome with the bond, he had followed you without hesitation, not anticipating that Rhysand would keep him from telling you about it. He didn't have a plan, so while he wasn't happy about it, at least it gave him time to come up with one. The minute you’d go back to Night, Azriel was set on visiting your favorite restaurant and making reservations. He’d surprise you with a day full of your favorites, ending it with his confession, where he hoped you would accept him. 

It was one thing to love him back. Another to accept him as your mate.

Before he knows it, the sun begins to set, his shadows buzzing with life as darkness takes over. You still haven’t stepped out of the library. He wonders if you've eaten or had enough water. One of his shadows slips out from underneath the library doors and flutters back to him. It reports that the other shadow, still with you, helped you reach for books and turn pages. It had even wanted to brush your hair back when it fell loose from your tie but was met with an invisible force. High Lord, the shadow hissed and he realizes Rhysand knew him better than he thought. That unwanted chaperone…

When he learns you've skipped lunch, his worry deepens. He paces back and forth in front of the grand doors, his heart aching with the intensity of the bond. Every instinct within him urges him to protect and care for you. Unable to hold back any longer, he takes advantage of the darkening sky and slips into the library.

The shadow that had reported to him leads the way, darting ahead. His other shadows eagerly rush forward, reaching you before he does. They greet the lone shadow that had stayed by your side like long-lost friends reuniting.

Azriel’s heart calms when he finds you asleep, slumped over a desk and surrounded by a mountain of books. You're curled into yourself, goosebumps forming on the exposed skin of your arms. He gently removes his cloak from his leathers and drapes it over you.

You instinctively snuggle deeper into the cloak, half asleep. “Smells s’good,” you murmur, and the bond in his chest tightens.

He gently removes your glasses, the ones you wear when doing prolonged near work, and places them carefully into one of his pockets. There’s a faint glimmer surrounding you and he’s relieved that whatever barrier Rhyand had placed upon you was weakening by the second. Almost like clockwork. He easily breaks through the magic shield, blue siphons gleaming. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his shadows sighing in response.

His touch lingers on your face, thumb ghosting over your cheek.  “It’s time for dinner.”

You let out a groan in protest, not wanting to move from your spot.

“You need to eat, Y/n,” he whispers softly. “And then, you can go to bed.”

You blink sleepily at him. “Will you carry me?”

“Of course.”

As he lifts you into his arms, your warmth and the scent of your hair envelop him. The bond in his chest thrums with joy, his shadows harmonizing in response.

Three more days, he reminds himself. Three more days until he can finally speak of the feelings swelling in his heart. Be patient…

**

After another day of researching death gods, your mind feels heavy with overwhelming knowledge. Exhausted, you keep to yourself during dinner. You can feel Azriel’s worry, can feel the way the shadows that linger in your presence caress the back of your neck in an attempt to ease you. Rhysand slips into your mind and after assuring him you were just tired and had a headache, he lets you excuse yourself. Helion, ever the caring and doting High Lord, sends you off to bed with a tea to soothe your headache.

You’re quick to wash up and change into your nightgown, slipping under the warm covers with the tea Helion gave you in hand. It has a rich floral scent and as you take your first sip, it brings instant relief to the dull ache in your head. When you’re done, you place the empty cup onto your nightstand and lay down, closing your eyes.

You find yourself trapped in a dark, oppressive forest. 

The trees are twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. In the distance, you hear the sinister laugh of Koschei, the death god who you've learned loves to trap women. His voice is a chilling whisper, echoing through the trees, “You cannot escape me.”

Suddenly, the scene shifts, and you’re back in the Court of Nightmares, having to suffer through another court affair. Your hair is pulled so tight into a bun and the corset of your dress barely gives any room to breathe properly. The oppressive atmosphere presses down on you, taking even more of your breath away. You’re standing before your father, his eyes cold and unyielding.

“You will marry Lord Berbrooke.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes widening in fear as Lord Berbrooke appears at your father’s side. Your hands reach for your father’s arms, a desperate attempt to stay with him instead of leaving. You’d much rather continue to endure a life of neglect and solitude than a life that promised violence and bruises.

“Grandfather wouldn’t want this.”

Your father yanks his arm out of your grip, staring you down with a glare. “Your grandfather is dead. It does not matter what he wants.”

Fear grips you as Lord Berbrooke steps closer, a predatory smile on his face. You try to run, but your feet are rooted to the spot. He laughs, the sound chilling you to the bone. It morphs into the sinister laugh from earlier. Lord Berbrooke’s face flickers and shifts, morphing between his own and what your mind imagines of Koschei.

Panic surges through you, and you cry out for help, but your voice is swallowed by the darkness.

You wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing and breaths coming in ragged gasps. Goosebumps prick your skin as the sinister laugh echoes in your mind, refusing to fade. Panic grips you, and without a second thought, you throw off the covers and rush out of your room, desperate to escape the haunting sound that seems to follow you.

**

Something deep in his chest stirs, flooding him with unease. The bond. Something is wrong. Azriel’s head instinctively turns to his door, shadows sensing your presence in the hallway. Though small and quiet, he can hear your pacing and sense your hesitation as you face his door.

Azriel rushes to the door immediately and opens it. Concern etches on his face as he takes in your trembling form, the way your hands are covering your ears and eyes stricken with pure fear.

His hands reach for yours, gently removing them from your ears. Your eyes remain frantic, scanning over him, as if trying to discern if he is real or not. Without another word, Azriel pulls you into his arms, the familiar warmth and scent of him grounding you.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he murmurs. His hands rub soothing circles on your back, and you cling to him.

“I had a nightmare,” you whisper, pulling back slightly and looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “About Koschei, and then I was back in the Court of Nightmares. My father… Lord Berbrooke…”

Azriel’s eyes darken with anger and protectiveness. You don’t need to say any more for him to understand. “You’re safe now,” he says firmly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His words and the strength of his embrace begin to calm the storm inside you. You bury your face in his chest, taking in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Can I stay with you?”

“Always.” Azriel answers and then he’s guiding you into his room.

He helps you to his bed, tucking you under the covers before carefully settling on the other side. You nestle closer into his chest, your head finding its place against his heart again. His chin rests atop your head and neither of you speak for a while.

“Thank you,” you breathe, voice heavy with emotion.

Azriel knows your thankfulness extends beyond tonight. He had been the one to save you from that dreadful fate that night in the Court of Nightmares. He had been the one to bring to Rhysand’s attention of your grandfather’s forged will, helping you search for the real one. And when Rhysand had moved you to Velaris, Azriel had been your first friend.

“Do you feel better or would you like me to make you–”

“I feel better,” you interrupt, not wanting him to leave, even if it's to make you another tea. “Just your presence is enough,” you confess quietly. “You have a way of making me feel safe and at peace, Az.”

At those words, Azriel feels like he might burst with emotion. He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.  If only you knew…

**

As you walk through the library of the Day Court, you take one last look around, letting your gaze sweep over the grand space. The high, arched windows allow streams of the setting sun to filter in, casting a warm glow on the polished marble floors. There are rows upon rows of polished wooden shelves and books of every size and color line them, their spines creating a mosaic of knowledge and history. The scent of parchment and old leather, is one you’ll always hold dear.

Tonight is your last night here. A trail of shadows follows you, blending into the shafts of the light and shadows cast by the towering bookshelves. Rhysand, lounging in the entrance of the library, notices the once unusual sight that has now become routine.. 

“What are you, a Shadowsinger now?” he quips.

You glance back, catching a glimpse of Azriel’s shadows entwined with your own. They’ve become increasingly protective of you lately, always trailing close, whether you're heading to the library or simply going about your day. What you hadn’t noticed until now was how their numbers had grown since last night.

“I’ve never seen his shadows act like that,” Rhysand comments.

“Oh really?” 

Rhysand nods, a glint dancing in his eyes. He gives a small wave to one of the tendrils peeking over your shoulder, lips curving upwards when it cowers away.  “They usually stick to him, rarely leaving his side. It seems you’ve captured their interest as you’ve captured their master’s.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his implication. “I guess they like me,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

Rhysand’s grin turns knowing. “It’s more than that, Y/n. Azriel’s shadows are an extension of his will. They’re drawn to what he cares about most.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “I suppose I should thank them for showing me such care.”

Rhysand chuckles. “Or thank Azriel.”

**

Rhysand’s words linger with you throughout the evening, much like Azriel’s shadows. A spark of hope blooms in your chest, daring to blossom into something more. You knew Azriel cared for you, but caring for others was in his nature. That’s who he was—caring and protective.

You glance at the shadows caressing your arms, a pensive frown tugging at your lips. In all the years you’ve known him, you had never seen his shadows linger on Rhysand or Cassian. Or Mor, who you were so sure held the Shadowsinger’s affections. 

You recall the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the rare smiles he reserved only for you, the protective glances he shot your way whenever danger was near. Your heart races as the pieces start to fit together, a mixture of shock and elation coursing through your veins. Dare you hope that the man you had loved in secret for so long might feel the same?

The idea seems almost too good to be true, and yet…his shadows were here, with you, wrapped around your fingers. Quite literally. 

You look down at the shadows twining with your fingers, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. For the first time, you allow yourself to entertain the possibility. 

With this newfound hope, you head toward the Day Court’s kitchen. 

After praising the chef one night, he invited you to his kitchen, offering to teach you how to prepare some of the Day Court’s delicacies. Eager to express your gratitude to Azriel for always being there for you and to Helion for being a gracious host, you decide to finally take up on the chef’s offer. Perhaps, you can even sneak in some of Azriel’s favorites into tonight’s menu.

**

As it was the last night of your stay, Helion had invited close friends and other allies of his court, filling the grand dining hall with laughter and conversation. You quietly took your seat across from Rhysand and beside Azriel, murmuring a soft greeting. Helion winks at you and the shadow around your arm tenses.

The High Lord of Day stands from his seat, at the head of the table. He raises his glass with a broad grin. “A toast to the Night Court, our cherished guests. It has been an honor to host you all, and I sincerely hope we may have the pleasure of your return soon.”

Everyone at the table raises their glasses, including Azriel—though only after a nudge from you. His expression remains flat and dry as he lifts his glass. You clink yours against his with a teasing glint in your eyes, coaxing a small smile from his lips.

Helion takes a seat and with a wave of his hand, tonight’s feast materializes in front of you. There’s a slight raise in Rhysand’s brow, betraying his mild surprise. Every single platter–from the appetizers to dessert seems to be a perfect blend of Day and Night delicacies with the names to match. There’s the bruschetta, the bread slices topped with sun-ripened tomatoes, fresh basil and a hint of night garlic. Then, there’s the spinach artichoke dip made from sun-infused spinach, blended with moon-cheese and served with nightshade vegetables.

Rhysand looks up, turning to Helion. “Compliments to the chef.”

Helion’s eyes twinkle with delight as he meets your gaze.  “And y/n,” he says. “She collaborated with the chef to create tonight’s dinner.”

You smile, a touch of pride warming your cheeks as you look around the table. However, the smile quickly fades when you hear a sudden spluttering. It’s Azriel. He spit his food out, his face a mask of horror and conflict. 

“Azriel?” you ask in concern.

He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’m not hungry,” he mutters, his voice suddenly tight.

Your face flushes and a nervous laugh escapes you.  “Relax, it’s not poison,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood. But your attempt falls flat. 

“I’m not hungry,” he repeats more forcefully, then turns and leaves the room, his movements stiff and tense.

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears, the hurt and confusion overwhelming you. You slump back into your chair. “I don’t think I’m hungry either,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Rhysand nudges your foot from under the table. “Don’t mind him,” he says softly, violet eyes filled with sympathy. “Please, eat. You’ve worked so hard on this.”

You nod, trying to muster the strength to lift your fork, but the sting of Azriel’s rejection is too much. You push the food around your plate, your appetite completely gone. The evening that had started with such promise now feels like a distant memory, overshadowed by whatever tension has now befallen between you and Azriel. 

In the corridor outside the dining hall, Azriel leans against the wall, his heart pounding. He knows he’s hurt you, but the thought of unintentionally accepting the bond is too much for him to bear. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of the fragile line he’s been walking.

One more night, he reminds himself. One more night and then he can tell you everything.

He can only hope you don’t already hate him for tonight.

**

Tossing and turning, you let out a long breath as you stare up at the ceiling. Your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you hadn’t indulged in the dinner you had put so much effort into crafting. How could you, when the one person you made it for refused to have even a bite? 

His reaction had been as clear as day. Repulsed.

Now, doubts flood your mind. What if you've completely misread everything? The shadows beside you, initially a source of comfort, were beginning to stir unsettling thoughts in you. Maybe Azriel sent them not because he cared so deeply for you but out of obligation and pity?

You're not a High Lord like Rhysand, nor a warrior like Cassian or Mor who fought in the war. You’re just a noblewoman from the Court of Nightmares who fled from a forced marriage. How typical and utterly helpless. That’s what you’ve been since you met Azriel.  It shouldn’t have shocked you that he followed you into Day Court. 

Any hope that had blossomed in your heart now withers. You were a fool to even entertain the thought. You’ve known Azriel for almost a century and in those years, he’s never hinted at seeing you as anything more than a friend so why would it change now?

Throwing off the covers, you sit up abruptly, gaze flickering towards the door. The urge to confront him grips you fiercely. He did not have to return your feelings but he didn’t have to hurt your feelings so harshly by spitting out your food. You had to settle whatever this was now, even if it left you broken-hearted. 

Without bothering to change out of your nightwear, you leap from your bed. The shadows on your bed stir awake and your footsteps quicken, fearing his shadows would reach him before you could.

They beat you to it, even going as far as opening the door for you, allowing you to barge into his room. You’re not surprised to see Azriel wide awake. His shadows must’ve warned him beforehand. He sits on his bed, already facing you and you hate the way your gaze falls to his bare chest. Your eyes trail up the intricate tattoos etched there, slowly making your way up.

The words catch in your throat. You’re nervous. A foreign feeling around Azriel. It makes you want nothing more than to turn and run out the door. His shadows shut the door behind you as if sensing your thoughts.

You refuse to meet his eyes, fearing what you’d find in those hazel depths. “You hate me don’t you?”

The words tumble out unexpectedly, sending a chilling shiver through you. His gaze flickers downward, catching the way you nervously fidget with your fingers, before lifting with intent and searching for your eyes. 

“What?”

The sound that leaves Azriel borders on what sounds like amusement, and you cringe, turning your head away. Tears prick your eyes, his shadows rushing to wipe them away gently, coaxing your gaze back to their master. When his eyes meet yours, all you see is concern. 

A strange sensation creeps along your ribcage as he stands from the bed, stepping closer to you.

“I don’t hate you.” Azriel states firmly and when his words don’t soothe you as he expected they would, he frowns. His hands replace the shadows brushing against your face. “What makes you think that? What’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that question,” you laugh humorlessly, casting your gaze down. “Something has gotten into you. You’ve been acting so differently, and at first, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought as I seem to be wrong every time–”

“It does matter. Tell me.” 

It’s now or never. Your throat tightens as you muster the courage—the last bit you have, having used most of it to barge into his room. 

“We’ve been walking a fine line, you and I. For decades. Almost a century... And now, I realize you’ve simply been too kind to reject me. I’m sorry if running to you after that nightmare was too much, but did you have to spit out my food? I would’ve preferred if you’d just told me you didn't like me instead of showing me.”

“You’re not making any sense right now.” Azriel says.

“Neither are you.” You shoot back.

“I don’t hate you,” Azriel repeats, hurt flashing across his face at the thought of making you feel that way.

“You spit out my food in front of everyone, Az.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

You feel Azriel’s hand tense against your face. “I can’t say.”

Your breath hitches, and you take a couple of steps back, removing his hands from you. “Because you hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes shut tightly for a moment, his head turning toward the window. He feels the faint warmth of the rising sun and inhales deeply. There’s something burning bright in his eyes when he looks at you again.

“Because you are my mate.”

Mate.

A vulnerable shakiness accompanies the word. The words hang in the air, heavy and shocking. The feeling teasing at your ribcage begins to crawl upwards. Your heart skips a beat as it meets your chest, awakening something deep inside you that you hadn’t realized you had.

Mate.

“I’m your what?” You gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as the golden threads of fate begin to unravel.

“You feel it now, don’t you?” Azriel approaches slowly, his expression tense and cautious. “You’re my mate. The bond snapped as you were winnowing away. That’s why I followed after you. I wanted to tell you, but Rhysand asked me not to. At least not until we were done here.”

Your racing heart sinks into your stomach. More tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision.  “So you don’t want me as your mate either…”

“No,” Azriel’s eyebrows knit together so hard you worry they’ll stick, shadows swirling around him like storm clouds. His hand reaches out for you but you take a step back.  “I’m happy it’s you. Relieved. I’ve loved you for so long...”

Your tears fall freely and he takes another deep breath, wings shuddering along with the timber of his voice. “Gods, do you know how agonizing these past days have been for me? Watching you fall in love with this court, with—” He hesitates, unable to say his name “—it’s High Lord.”

His words ignite a spark within you, fanning the hope that had begun to take root in your chest.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fall in love with this court," you begin and Azriel gives a subtle wince, looking away from you. "But Day is not my home."

Slowly, Azriel looks back at you, and a torrent of emotions floods over you. You're uncertain if they are yours or his, as the bond between you surges like a turbulent river.

“The Night Court is. That’s where my family is. That’s where you are. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not even Prythian’s best library.”

Azriel’s eyes soften and when he takes a step forward, you don’t step back. A glimmer of hope lights up his features.  “And what of it’s High Lord?”

“He’s nice but he’s not you.” You say with a soft smile. “I love you and only you.”

Azriel cups your face in his hands, leaning his forehead against yours. The smile that breaks out on his rivals the brilliance of the rising run behind him. “I’ve admired you, desired you for so long…I just didn’t want to rush you and when the bond snapped, I feared it’d overwhelm you."

You look up at him, the raw honesty in his eyes reflecting your own emotions. “So, what now?”

Azriel brushes the last tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and reverent. “Be mine?”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

“Always.”

And then you kiss him, the bond between you shimmering and glittering. A tangible, golden connection intensifying with every heartbeat.

a/n: I don't like the way I ended this 😭 not my best tbh, I just feel like it was missing something. I honestly wasn't expecting the high demand for a part two to Be Safe so I hope you enjoyed some of this as much as the first part. Anyway, here's a little meme I had made for this fic while I was procrastinating on finishing it.

here's a bonus scene.

tag list (tagged all those who commented and reblogged with tags, in case you wanted to read more. sorry if I missed some!): @jswizzlewrites , @hellodarling1357, @fxckmiup, @pricklepearbloom,

@tothestarsandwhateverend, @mika-no-sekai-blog, @cherryjain17, @illyrian-dreamer,

@darlingbravebelle, @katherinejess, @lady-of-tearshed, @daisesarelove, @beardburnsupersoldiers

@assriels, @sunshinepeachx, @buckyandgeraltsupremacy

@brieflyclassymortal, @thesunloveschips, @silver-flames-47, @ladybirdbeetle7, @everythingacotarbxm1012

@starlitlakes, @mxtantrights, @itsallacotar, @mother-above, @andreperez11

@coolepowersthings, @littlebookbengal, @lipstickmarks, @aneekapaneeka, @harrypottergirl162

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

@the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human

[marylxvrr]

" THE KING'S OBSESSION "

read part 2 here

𐙚 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 — a ruthless ruler who commands loyalty from all, yet becomes a desperate, obsessive mess when it comes to you, willing to destroy kingdoms just to keep you by his side . . .

𐙚 Trigger Warnings: Obsession, power imbalance, emotional. manipulation, implied captivity, and threats of violence.

You kept your head down, your hands trembling as you scrubbed the grand marble floors of the royal palace. Just another nameless servant in the king's vast estate, you worked tirelessly to keep your place in a world that cared little for someone like you.

The rumors about King Adrian were whispered in hushed tones among the maids. He was ruthless, ruling with an iron fist, but his charm was undeniable. His mere presence could silence a room, his sharp green eyes piercing through even the bravest of souls.

You had only seen him from afar—until the day fate crossed your paths.

It happened when you were carrying a heavy vase filled with fresh flowers, your arms straining under its weight. You misstepped, the vase slipping from your grasp and crashing to the floor. The sound echoed through the grand hall, and your heart dropped into your stomach as you realized King Adrian himself had just entered.

He paused, his eyes landing on you. You froze, breath hitching as you knelt, frantically gathering the shattered pieces.

“I-I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” you stammered, your voice trembling as you avoided his gaze.

“Leave it,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

You stopped, your hands stilling. Slowly, you dared to glance up, meeting his piercing green eyes. His expression was unreadable, his gaze intense as it swept over you.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Y/n, Your Majesty,” you whispered.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Y/n,” he repeated, as though savoring the sound of your name. “How fitting.”

---

From that day on, you felt his presence everywhere. The king would linger in the halls where you worked, his gaze burning into you. At first, you tried to dismiss it as your imagination, but the gifts began to appear.

A necklace of pearls left on your cot. A fine dress, far beyond anything a maid could afford, folded neatly on your small bed. The other servants whispered, their envy thinly veiled, but unease churned in your chest.

One evening, a royal attendant summoned you to the king’s chambers. Your heart pounded as you stood before the massive double doors, anxiety tightening your throat.

When you stepped inside, Adrian was seated by the fireplace, a glass of wine in his hand. He looked up and smiled, motioning for you to approach.

“You’ve caught my attention, Y/n,” he said, setting the glass down. “And I am not a man who lets go of what he desires.”

Your breath hitched. “Your Majesty, I’m just a maid—”

“You’re mine,” he interrupted, his voice firm and unyielding. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. No one else will ever have you.”

You stepped back, fear curling in your stomach. “Your Majesty, please. I don’t belong in your world.”

Adrian rose from his chair, his imposing figure towering over you. “You belong to me,” he said, his tone soft but laced with steel. “Whether you realize it or not.”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you shook your head. “I can’t… I can’t be what you want.”

He stepped closer, cupping your cheek in his hand. His touch was deceptively gentle, but the obsession in his gaze was unmistakable. “You already are,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your skin.

You flinched, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened. “There is no escape from me, Y/n. You will stay by my side—whether as my queen or my prisoner. The choice is yours.”

Your voice cracked as you whispered, “Why me?”

His smile darkened. “Because you’re perfect. Because you’re mine. And I will destroy anyone who tries to take you from me.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Tension Between Us | LN4

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/n, shy and reluctant, has been resisting Lando’s advances for months. After accidentally flashing him at a gathering, their tension builds, and Y/n eventually gives in to their chemistry.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.7k

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

“Lando, please, stop looking at me like that,” Y/n said, her voice a mix of exasperation and something softer she couldn’t quite name. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from the intensity of his gaze. But it was too late. He had already seen it—the way her cheeks flushed, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in just a little too close.

“Like what?” Lando smirked, his British accent curling around the words like a tease. He tilted his head, his eyes filled with desire never leaving hers. “Like I can’t believe how fucking beautiful you are?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. God, why did he have to be so relentless? Six months of this—six months of him showing up unexpectedly, sending her texts that made her heart race, and saying things that left her speechless. And yet, she still refused to let herself believe it. Lando Norris, F1 driver, Monaco resident, and the man who could have anyone he wanted, was pursuing her. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real.

“You’re such a flirt,” she muttered, turning away to grab her drink from the coffee table. They were at a friend’s house, some casual gathering she hadn’t expected him to show up to. But of course, he had. He always found a way to be where she was.

“I’m not flirting,” Lando corrected, his voice low and smooth as he stepped closer. “I’m stating facts. You’re stunning, Y/n. And honestly, I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice.”

Y/n’s grip tightened on her glass. Pretending? What was he even talking about? She wasn’t the one pretending here. She was the one trying to keep her feelings locked away, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped every time he smiled or the way her skin tingled when he brushed against her. Meanwhile, Lando was… well, Lando. Confident. Charming. Persistent.

“You don’t have to pretend anything,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “But you also don’t have to say things like that just because—”

“Just because what?” he interrupted, stepping even closer until they were almost touching. His cologne—something subtle and expensive—wrapped around her, making it hard to think straight. “Because I mean it? Because I’ve been trying to get you to see that I’m serious for six months now?”

Y/n swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Lando…”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “Do you really think I’d waste my time chasing someone I didn’t want?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Startled, she jumped, her drink slipping from her hand. The glass shattered on the floor, and instinctively, she bent down to start cleaning it up. She bent down to pick up the shards, her movements quick and flustered. The loose, flowy blouse she wore—soft and barely clinging to her frame—shifted with the motion. The neckline dipped lower than she realized, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, there was nothing but skin. Her breasts, bare and exposed, caught the light as the fabric slipped away.

Lando froze. His breath hitched, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. The room seemed to shrink, the noise of the party fading into a distant hum. He didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t look away. The curve of her breasts, the softness of her skin—it was all so unexpected, so utterly captivating.

Y/n straightened abruptly, her face burning as she realized what had just happened. She clutched the edges of her blouse, pulling it back into place, but the damage was done. Lando’s gaze lingered, heavy and unapologetic, before slowly lifting to meet hers.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the party. Her fingers fumbled with the fabric, trying to secure it, but her hands felt clumsy, betraying her nerves. She glanced up at Lando, who was staring at her with wide eyes and a grin that could only be described as shit-eating.

“Well,” he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the couch. “That’s one way to get my attention.”

“Shut up,” Y/n hissed, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the spilled drink. But as she moved, she could feel his eyes on her, hot and heavy, and it made her heart race in a way she couldn’t ignore. She stood up abruptly, tossing the napkin onto the table. “It was an accident, okay?”

“Sure it was,” Lando said, his tone teasing but his eyes still dark with something she couldn’t quite name. He took a step toward her, his presence overwhelming. “But you know what? I’m not complaining.”

Y/n glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. How could there be when he was looking at her like that? Like she was the only person in the room. No, the only person in the world.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he shot back, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, sending a jolt of electricity through her. “But seriously, Y/n. Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She hesitated, her mind racing. Because she was scared. Because she didn’t believe someone like him could truly want someone like her. Because the thought of letting him in terrified her more than anything else.

But before she could answer, the sound of laughter from the kitchen broke the moment. Lando sighed, dropping his hand and taking a step back. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” he promised, his voice soft but firm.

Y/n nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. And as she watched him walk away, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she should take the risk. After all, Lando had spent the last six months proving he wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was time she stopped running.

---

Later that night, after most of the guests had left, Y/n found herself alone with Lando in the living room. The air between them was thick with tension, and she could feel his eyes on her as she sat on the couch, nervously playing with the hem of her shirt.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?”

Y/n’s head snapped up, her cheeks heating once again. “Nothing happened,” she insisted, though her voice wavered.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Right. And my imagination just decided to conjure up images of your—”

“Lando!” she interrupted, her face burning. But despite her embarrassment, there was a part of her that felt… bold. Empowered, even. He had been chasing her for months, and maybe it was time she stopped holding back.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and walked over to where he was sitting. “Fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “You want to talk about it? Let’s talk.”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, but he recovered quickly, leaning back with a smirk. “I’m all ears.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then, before she could second-guess herself, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her bare chest to him. Lando’s jaw dropped, his eyes locking on hers with a mixture of shock and raw desire.

“Now,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “What do you want to say?”

The room seemed to shrink as Y/n stood there, her chest exposed, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Lando’s eyes flicked down for a moment, lingering on her bare skin before snapping back up to meet hers. His smirk had faded, replaced by something far more primal.

“You really know how to make a man speechless,” he said, his voice low and filled with a warmth that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/n swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of herself. “I… I didn’t mean—”

Before she could finish, Lando reached out, his hand searing against her hip as he pulled her sharply onto his lap. She gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his shoulders for balance. His grip tightened, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other slid up her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine.

“Don’t” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, “don’t try to take it back now.”

Her heart was racing, her body betraying her resolve as she felt the heat radiating off him. She should push him away. She should stop this. But she couldn’t. Not when every part of her was screaming to stay close.

Lando’s hands moved slowly, almost reverently, over her skin. His fingertips trailed along her side, sending goosebumps in their wake, before sliding up to cup her breast. She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing it into a hardened peak.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is this. About touching you. Making you feel good.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as he leaned in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. She wanted to speak, to say something—anything—but words failed her. All she could do was hold on as he explored her, his touch igniting a fire she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling.

His mouth traveled lower, leaving a trail of kisses along her collarbone before latching onto her breast. Her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips as his tongue swirled around her nipple, sucking gently but relentlessly. Heat pooled between her thighs, her body arching instinctively into his touch.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice shaking.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me you want this.”

It wasn’t a demand—it was a plea. And in that moment, Y/n knew she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Not when every fiber of her being was crying out for him.

“I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Lando’s face before he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. It was hungry, desperate, full of all the pent-up desire they’d both been holding onto for months. His hands roamed her body, claiming every inch of her as if he couldn’t get enough.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. She could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh, and it only fueled her own need. The world outside this room ceased to exist. There was only Lando—his touch, his taste, the way he made her feel completely and utterly alive.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless. He rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n smiled faintly, her fingers trailing down his jaw. “I think I might have some idea.”

Lando chuckled softly, his hands moving to her hips. “Good. Because I’m not done yet.”

Before she could respond, he stood, lifting her effortlessly in his arms. She let out a surprised laugh, clinging to him as he carried her to the couch and laid her down gently. His body hovered over hers, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Let me show you how much I want you.”

She nodded, her voice catching in her throat as he kissed her again, his hands exploring every inch of her body. His touch was deliberate, each movement designed to unravel her completely.

As his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans, Y/n’s breath hitched. “Lando…”

“Trust me,” he whispered, his lips trailing down her neck. “I’ll take care of you.”

And she did. In that moment, surrounded by him, she trusted him completely. When his fingers found her core, she gasped, her body arching into his touch. “Oh god…”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice achingly soft. “Let go.”

And she did, her world shattering into a thousand pieces as he brought her to the edge and pushed her over.

Lando pulled back slightly, his breath uneven as he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. Y/n lay there, her chest rising and falling, trying to steady herself after the intensity of the moment. He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his thumb tracing over her cheek as his lips curled into a soft smile.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “You okay?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushing as she tried to meet his gaze. “Yeah… I’m more than okay.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her briefly again before pulling away. But instead of resuming where they left off, Lando reached for her shirt, which had been discarded earlier in the heat of the moment. Gently, he slipped it back over her head, covering her with care. She blinked up at him, confused.

“Lando?” she questioned softly.

He sat back, running a hand through his messy curls before meeting her eyes again. His expression was warm but filled with a new resolve. “Get your stuff.”

Her brows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Because we’re leaving,” he said simply, standing up and offering her a hand.

---

Lando’s hand was warm against hers as he led her out of the party, fingers intertwined tightly, as if he were afraid she might slip away. The cool London air brushed against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through her body. She glanced up at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

“Where are we going?” Y/n asked, her voice trembling slightly. She already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.

He turned to her, that mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “My place,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “Unless you’d rather not.”

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. This was Lando Norris—charming, confident, and everything she never thought she deserved. But the look in his eyes, the way he spoke to her like she was the only person in the world, made it impossible to say no.

“I… I want to,” she admitted softly, her cheeks flushing.

His grin widened, and he pulled her closer, his free hand resting gently on her waist. “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

The car ride to his apartment was a blur. His hand never left hers, his fingers occasionally tracing patterns on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He kept stealing glances at her, his gaze lingering on her lips, her neck, her hands—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he wanted to touch. And every time their eyes met, the tension between them grew thicker, more intoxicating.

When they finally arrived at his building, Lando led her inside with an urgency she hadn’t expected. The elevator ride felt eternal, the silence heavy with unspoken words. She stood close to him, her shoulder brushing against his arm, and when he shifted slightly, their bodies pressed together, her breath hitched.

As soon as the doors opened, Lando tugged her toward his apartment, unlocking the door with practiced ease. He stepped inside, pulling her with him, and the moment the door closed behind them, he turned to her, his hands cupping her face.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “But I’ve waited too long to kiss you again.”

Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, urgent and demanding. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded. He tasted like mint, intoxicating and familiar, and she couldn’t help but lean into him, her body humming with need.

His hands slid down her sides, settling on her hips, and he pulled her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel the hardness of his chest against hers, the warmth of his body seeping into her skin, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Lando rested his forehead against hers, his eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

She swallowed hard, her heart racing. “I think I have some idea,” she teased, her voice shaky but playful.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and then he was kissing her again, softer this time, more intimate. His hands wandered, exploring every inch of her as if memorizing her shape, her curves, her reactions. And when his fingers found the hem of her shirt, he paused, looking at her with a question in his eyes.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, he lifted her shirt over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up. His eyes widened for a moment, taking in the sight of her exposed skin, the curve of her breasts, the way her nipples hardened under his gaze.

“Third time tonight,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Still just as fucking breathtaking.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. There was something about the way he stared at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—that made her feel bold, unashamed. She arched her back slightly, letting him see more of her, and watched as his jaw tightened.

“You like what you see?” she asked, her voice low, teasing.

He let out a rough laugh, his hands sliding up her sides, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just below her breasts. “Like? Y/n, I’ve been obsessed since the first time I saw you. But this…” His thumbs grazed her nipples, and she gasped. “This is beyond anything I could’ve imagined.”

His touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. She reached for him, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush, her bare chest pressed against his shirt. He groaned, his hands moving to cup her breasts, his palms warm and firm.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he said, his voice rough, almost pained. “How much I’ve thought about touching you, tasting you…”

She bit her lip, her hips instinctively grinding against his. “Then stop talking and show me.”

A wicked grin spread across his face, and before she could react, his mouth was on her neck, sucking and biting in a way that made her knees weak. His hands never left her breasts, kneading them gently, his thumbs circling her nipples until she was gasping for air.

“Lando…” she moaned, her fingers gripping his shoulders for support.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his lips trailing down to the curve of her breast. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “God, I want you so much.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard, and she cried out, her body arching into him. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alight with pleasure. His free hand slid down to her jeans, popping the button open with ease, and she knew there was no turning back now.

He kissed her again, deep and passionate, his hands roaming freely now, teasing and tempting every part of her. And when he finally lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom, she knew there was no turning back.

The room was bathed in moonlight when he laid her down on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. He stripped off his own shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest, and she reached for him, eager to feel his skin against hers.

“I want you,” she confessed, her voice trembling but steady. “All of you.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. “You have me,” he promised, his hands sliding under her hips to remove her jeans. “Every part of me.”

As their clothes fell away, leaving nothing but skin and desire between them, Y/n realized she had never felt more herself than she did in that moment. With Lando, she wasn’t hiding, wasn’t pretending. She was just her, and that was enough.

And when he finally joined her on the bed, his body pressing into hers, she knew this was only the beginning.

Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he reached the curve of her shoulder. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch like he was memorizing her. She arched into him, her fingers clutching at his back, nails lightly scraping against his skin. He groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through her.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips continued their descent, leaving a trail of fire down her chest until they reached the swell of her breast. His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it to a hardened peak before taking it into his mouth. Y/n gasped, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.

His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips firmly as he moved lower. He kissed a path down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel before he settled between her thighs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with hunger, and she could feel his breath ghosting over her most sensitive area.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. She knew what he was about to do, and while the thought sent a thrill through her, she couldn’t wait. She needed more. Now.

He grinned, that mischievous glint in his eye she had come to adore. “Patience, love,” he teased, his fingers brushing lightly over her inner thigh. “I want to taste you.”

Her heart raced, but she shook her head, her hand reaching down to stop him. “No,” she said, her voice firmer than she expected. “I need you. I need to feel you inside me. Right now.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Someone’s eager,” he said, his tone playful. But there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze or the way his breathing had quickened.

She felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his eyes, her own filled with determination. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” she reminded him, her voice low but steady. “And now… I need you. All of you.”

His smirk softened into something more tender, and he leaned up to kiss her. It was slow, deep, and full of promise. “Then you’ll have me,” he whispered against her lips. “But don’t think I won’t make you beg for it later.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her hands moving to his shoulders as he positioned himself above her. Her heart pounded in anticipation, her body already aching for him. When he finally pressed into her, she gasped, her head dropping back against the pillow as pleasure coursed through her.

Lando paused, his forehead resting against hers, his breath coming in shallow pants. “You feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. He kissed her deeply before beginning to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge.

Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as her nails dug into his back. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, the soft moans escaping her lips only spurring him on. Every touch, every movement, felt like electricity surging through her veins.

“Look at me,” Lando commanded, his voice husky but gentle. She opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze, and found herself completely lost in him. In that moment, there was nothing else—no doubts, no fears, just the two of them, consumed by each other.

“You drive me crazy,” he admitted, his pace slowing slightly as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “In the best way possible.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a warmth spreading through her chest. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied before capturing her lips in another searing kiss. His movements became more urgent, his hips driving into her harder, faster, until she felt herself teetering on the brink.

“Lando,” she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. “I’m so close…”

“Let go,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. “I’ve got you.”

And then she was falling, stars bursting behind her eyelids as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She cried out his name, her body trembling as he followed her over the edge, his own release shuddering through him.

For a moment, they lay there, still connected, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Lando brushed a kiss against her forehead, his arms holding her tightly as if he never wanted to let go.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice light but affectionate.

She swatted his arm playfully, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “Only for you,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing again.

He grinned, that boyish charm that always made her heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, his hand cupping her cheek. “Because I plan on keeping you very needy.”

Y/n laughed softly, but her heart was racing for an entirely different reason now. The vulnerability of the moment hung in the air, and she realized she couldn’t hold back any longer. If she didn’t tell him now, she might never find the courage.

“Lando,” she started, her voice trembling slightly. His thumb brushed against her cheek, his eyes searching hers as he waited patiently. “I… I need to say something.”

“Go on,” he encouraged gently, his gaze softening.

She took a shaky breath, her hands resting against his chest. “I don’t know when it happened, but… I’ve fallen for you. Completely. I kept telling myself it was just a crush, that it would pass, but it hasn’t. And it won’t. I care about you so much, Lando, and—”

Before she could finish, his lips were on hers, silencing her words with a kiss that left her breathless. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his own emotions shining brightly in his eyes.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, brushing his nose against hers. “Six months. Six painfully long months where I’ve done nothing but think about you. Wanting you. Yearning for you,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “From the moment we met, I knew there was something special about you.”

Her eyes filled with tears at his confession, and she reached up to frame his face with her hands. “I wish I’d told you sooner,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Hey, none of that,” he said softly, kissing away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “We’re here now, aren’t we? That’s all that matters.”

She nodded, her heart swelling as he pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Lando,” she whispered, her words barely audible.

“I love you too, Y/n,” he replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sure. “So much.”

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming realization that they were finally on the same page. No more hesitations, no more holding back—just them, and a future they couldn’t wait to explore together.

[satoruan]

𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 — 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒚!𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖

being in a secret relationship with Satoru & Suguru in a prestigious boarding school had its challenges.

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺. f!reader. raw dogging. MMF. public sex. voyeurism. established poly relationship. everyone is in their early 20’s EXPLICIT CONTENT

𝑨/𝑵. short n sweet. this is one of my top scenarios to daydream about before bed so ofc I had to insert my favs into it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

You hadn't seen Satoru in what felt like forever, so when you passed each other in the hallway, it was no surprise that he didn't waste a second pulling you into the nearest bathroom. His hand gripped your waist firmly, the other pressing against your stomach to guide you. His lips found your uniform-clad shoulder almost immediately, planting hungry, scattered kisses that sent heat racing through your body.

“Missed you s’much baby, swear I can’t live without you.” He whispered between kisses, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you he was lifting you on the cold marble top counter.

The nervousness of getting caught faded as he pushed into you, his lengthy cock filling you in a way only he ever could. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer as your legs locked around his hips, his slacks shoved down just enough to free himself.

You bit down on his shoulder to muffle the moans spilling from your lips, his name a breathless chant as his thrusts deepened.

His scent wrapped around you like a drug— woodsy musk with a hint of sweet, fruity warmth-and your head fell back, eyes rolling as pleasure overwhelmed you. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding you, owning you.

"Satoru," you gasped, clawing at his suit jacket as your body shuddered under his relentless rhythm. He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear as he murmured sweet nothings, voice low and husky, sending shivers straight through you.

But then you felt another body press against Satoru's back, followed by the softest kiss placed on your forehead.

"You look so fuckin’ gorgeous—both of you,"

Suguru's deep voice rumbled from behind, his hips grinding into Satoru, drawing a moan from both of you.

"Is 'Toru making you feel good, baby?" Suguru asked, his words laced with amusement as he watched you, wide-eyed and desperate.

You nodded frantically, reaching for him despite Satoru’s thrusts. Your fingers found his face, tugging weakly, silently pleading for him even as Satoru's thrusts grew rougher, stealing what little focus you had left.

"Sugu..." you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming mix of pleasure and frustration. Outside of sex, Suguru was quick to give you whatever you wanted, they both did.

"You want a kiss, huh, baby?" he teased, his dark eyes burning with mischief.

A whimper escaped you as you buried your pouty face in Satoru's neck, your body trembling with need.

"Oh, don't be like that," Suguru said, his tone softer now. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. His gaze pins you in place, and you feel like you might come just looking into his intense eyes.

"C'mere my little crybaby," he whispered, his grin softening. His lips crashed down on yours, unyielding and raw.

The kiss stole the breath from your lungs, his hand tightening on your neck to keep you in place. All the heat and electricity between the three of you surged through that moment, leaving you in a

When he finally pulled away, you barely had time to process before he shifted his attention, planting messy kisses along Satoru's shoulder.

"Ugh—Fuck yes." Satoru groaned, his head falling back onto Suguru's chest as his pace grew erratic.

"Mmm" Suguru murmured, his voice low and throaty. "Do me a favor and make our little princess come before you give her that pretty pussy your cum."

Satoru nodded, turning his head to Suguru as if seeking approval, but Suguru was already pulling back. Both of you whined in protest at the loss of his warmth.

"I'm gonna guard the door," Suguru said with a smirk, adjusting his suit as he moved toward the exit. "Don't need the principal finding us again. Have fun, but not too much without me. Oh and I’m next ‘Toru baby.”

And then he was gone, leaving you trembling and gasping under Satoru, who wasn't about to let up anytime soon.

[imaginedisish]

My Love All Mine (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Not a request. Just a VERY slutty thot I had last night. Inspired by "My Love All Mine" by Mitski. Genuinely, this is one of the filthiest things I've ever written. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan told you to stay in his bed so he could have you when he got home from a mission, but he finds you in the kitchen instead...and he isn’t happy.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit sexual content! MINORS DNI!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Porn without plot (literally), multiple orgasms, (uh...they're in the kitchen? kitchen warning?), overstimulation, softdom!Logan, established relationship, f!reader/afab!reader, Logan is one starving and reckless man, disrespecting Scott, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 2,288 told y'all there's no plot

It’s late—the moon high in the sky. But you can’t sleep—not without Logan next to you. You know he’ll be back soon—he was only sent on a quick diplomatic day mission with Hank. Charles said Logan needed to control his anger, to learn from the best, and he was right. The trip would certainly do him some good. But it was still brutal, waiting in bed for him, alone. 

You had thrown one of his shirts on a few minutes ago, refusing to wear anything of your own save for your panties. You wanted to smell him—to find a way to keep him close even while he’s gone. And sure enough, the shirt was all tobacco and pine and musk and Logan. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need him. 

Too bad you’ll have to wait. He asked you to stay in his bed. Wanna fuck you right when I get home, pretty girl. You were happy to oblige earlier, but it’s getting late, and you’re getting bored—impatient. You swing your legs around the side of Logan’s bed and stand, heading out the bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen. 

A snack could help. A snack could distract you.

The kitchen is dark, and everyone is fast asleep. You rummage through the cabinets, hoping no one can hear you. You find a package of store-bought cookies with a sticky note that has Scott’s name written on it. After considering—albeit very briefly—you tear Scott’s little note off and toss it to the side. You rip open the package. He won’t care if you have a cookie. It’s just one, after all. You grab one, bringing it to your lips—

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You jump, dropping the cookie on the counter at the sound of the familiar voice. You look across the dimly lit kitchen to see Logan standing in the doorway. 

“Lo?” You whisper. 

He hums, approaching you slowly, sizing you up. He’s towering over you, caging you in, hands firmly gripping the counter on either side of your waist. “Is this my shirt?” He asks, his hand dropping to brush your thighs, pinching the hem of the tee between his pointer finger and thumb. 

“Didn’t know when you’d get back…” You trail off, heat rising to your chest. You can feel that all too familiar ache building between your thighs. “M-missed you.” Logan smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. “Missed you too, pretty girl.” He hikes the shirt up and around your waist, revealing your panties. “No shorts, huh?” 

“N-no,” you pant, suddenly nervous. “Lo, someone might see, someone could—"

“Let them,” he husks, pressing his chest to yours. “No bra either, hm?” He lets the shirt fall as his fingertips slip underneath and trail up to your breasts. He squeezes your tits, messaging them gently, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your nipples. 

“Logan,” you whine, struggling to suppress your moans. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Let them know whose girl you are.” That heat between your legs is burning now, flames lighting your every nerve ending on fire. 

“Yours,” you whisper. Logan pinches your nipples, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. 

He hums. “All fucking mine.” And then he’s grabbing your ass and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as your bare thighs meet the cold granite countertop. Logan bites your lower lip teasingly, his kisses becoming rushed and frantic. He squeezes your tits once more before he slides down your body to the floor below. 

He settles between your legs, one hand on your hip while the other teases your all too-clothed cunt. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, this thumb brushing over your folds. “Fucking soaked, princess,” he grunts, pleased. “All this for me?

“Y-yes,” you choke. “All for you.”

He chuckles against you, his laughter vibrating through your core. “Could smell you when I walked in. Can’t wait to taste you.” You shudder at his words, at the way they make you feel—your heart fluttering in your chest, ready to burst. 

Logan hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and yanks them down, throwing them to the side. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands. “Logan,” you whisper. “What if someone sees?”

He answers with a long stripe through your folds up to your clit. “I said I was gonna fuck you when I got home,” he mumbles against you, licking another long stripe. “And you weren’t in my bed, so this’ll have to do.”

His lips wrap around your clit, pulling the bud into his mouth and sucking roughly. You squirm, involuntarily moving your hips away from Logan at the sudden pleasure. Logan smiles against you, wrapping a hand around your back to hold you in place, to give himself more leverage to bury his face deep into your cunt.

“You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you, pretty girl,” he growls. His tongue swirls around your clit as his free hand teasingly climbs up your inner thigh. His fingers find your folds, stroking gently, spreading your slick. And then two of his fingers are sinking inside you, deep, down to the knuckles. 

Your walls flutter around him. Logan slides out and pushes back in deeper, lapping hungrily at your clit. “Tastes so fucking good, princess,” he praises. “Pretty little pussy, so tight.”

You curse under your breath as his thrusts pick up, fingers slamming into you, hitting that sweet spot with every pump. “Lo,” you pant, needy and helpless. 

His teeth graze your clit, and you moan, louder than before. You bite your lip, doing your all to hold yourself back. “That feel good, sweetheart?” He does it again, grazing harder this time, taking the bud into his mouth and biting softly. You try to stifle your moan, but it chokes its way out. 

“No holding back,” he chides, sucking your clit in between sentences. “Let them know who’s making you feel this good. Want everyone to know who you belong to.”

“Logan,” you hum, his fingers dragging against your walls, scissoring inside you. You’re already so close, clenching and contracting around him. “I-I…” but you can’t get the sentence out, can’t even make a coherent thought. 

“Use your words, pretty girl,” Logan demands, relentlessly lapping at your clit, pumping in and out fast and hard. “What do you need?” 

“Y-you…” you murmur. “I’m s-so close,” you finally spit out.

Logan tugs you closer, forcing himself deeper as he draws soft circles into your back. “Gonna get you there, princess,” he husks, his tongue flicking your clit. “Wanna feel you come on my fingers, wanna taste it.”

“F-fuck, Logan,” you stutter. He’s plunging deeper still, slipping in a third finger. And that’s when you feel it. The tension snaps. Heat rolls through you, spilling out of you. He’s still sucking on your clit, savoring the taste of you as you let go for him. 

You’re a trembling mess, thighs shaking as you ride out your orgasm. “That’s it, I’ve got you,” he soothes in between laps. His pumps slow as you come down from your high. His thumb strokes your back comfortingly. He pulls his fingers from you, but his face is still buried inside your cunt, his tongue lapping ravenously. 

He’s a man starved, showing no signs of stopping. You reach out, running your hands through his hair, dragging your nails across his scalp. He grunts against you, the bass of his voice going straight to your core. “Logan,” you whisper. His teeth nip at your clit, and you jolt, still overstimulated from your first orgasm. But he isn’t taking the hint. “Logan,” you call again. He still doesn’t move. 

“I said you weren’t going anywhere,” he pauses, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds, looking up at you under lust-filled eyes. “Until I’m finished.” His fingers are prodding at your entrance again. “And darlin’,” he grunts, sliding three fingers back inside. “I’m not finished yet.”

He’s pumping with more vigor now, more force. It’s already too much; already more than you can take. His tongue circles your clit, the pressure rocking you to your core. You’re a whimpering mess as he thrusts into you, moaning his name, praying to him like he’s a god. 

“Lo,” you mumble. “I’m a-already…” You throw your head back, fucked out beyond belief. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he coos between flits, his fingers slamming into you. “You gonna give me another one? You gonna let me taste your come again?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking roughly. 

“Good girl,” he mutters against you, your walls contracting around him at his praise. He can feel you squeezing him; he knows full well what he’s doing to you, and just how close you are. He smirks against your cunt. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

And with one more thrust, you’re coming undone around him. It’s more forceful this time, sudden and uncontrolled. You know Logan likes you like this, quivering underneath him; because of him. 

He’s slowing down again, his fingers setting a lazy, dragging pace until they stall inside you. Your eyes flutter shut as he slides out. His tongue laps once more before he pulls away from you. 

You open your eyes, leaning back on your forearms, watching as Logan stands. He brings his fingers to his open mouth and stuffs them inside, sucking, savoring the taste of you, and then pulling them out with a pop. Your walls flutter around nothing at the sight.

“You taste so fucking good, pretty girl,” he huffs. He grabs your hips, yanking them just over the counter. He steps in between your legs, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the kitchen floor. He’s unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down his zipper, shoving the denim down his legs along with his boxers.

You sit up, reaching out towards him, but Logan pushes you down against the counter. He pins your hands above your head with one hand, while his other guides his cock to your entrance. “You gonna let me fuck you into this counter, sweetheart?” He hovers over you, his eyes tracking your every move.

“Y-yes,” you whine. “N-need you, Lo.” 

And then he’s slamming into you, down to the hilt. He’s filling you up and splitting you open with a single thrust. You’ll never get used to just how big he is, no matter how many times he fucks you. 

“Fuck,” he growls, swallowing your moans with a kiss. “Feels so good, so tight, pretty girl.” He pulls out and plunges back in, deeper this time. “Thought about you all day, beautiful.”

“Th-thought about you too, Lo,” you whine as he builds his pace. His hand leaves his cock and finds your clit, stroking the bud gently with his thumb. You arch your back at the touch, your chest pressing against his. 

“Needed this fucking pussy,” he grunts, his hips snapping into yours. “Need you. Always need you.” His words alone could send you over the edge. His thumb circles around your core, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. 

He’s hovering over you, still pinning your wrists down to the counter, offering him stability and balance. He pounds into you, hitting that sweet spot with every pump. You know you can’t last much longer, not with Logan’s lips at your ear, whispering sweet praises. So fucking good. Feels perfect, always so perfect. He’s right. He fits inside you like you were made for each other, like it was always meant to be this way. 

Your walls squeeze him tightly, threatening to let go, to come crashing down around him. He ruts into you, hips rocking against yours. He adds more pressure to your clit, his thumb stroking faster, harder. “Lo,” you call out. “C-close again,” you stammer. 

“Can feel you, beautiful,” he coos. “Gonna take care of you, don’t worry.” You can feel his pace faltering, growing sloppier. He’s close, too—not far behind. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, pretty girl. Know you can do it.”

“F-fuck,” you stammer as he flicks your clit, circling roughly. He’s throbbing as he slams into you, hit after hit. “Logan,” you whine. “I’m gonna—” 

It happens all at once. You’re crashing, pleasure raging through your body. It tears through you, burning, spreading. Logan is right behind, filling you up, coming deep inside as you clench down around him. He releases your hands from his pin and shifts so that he’s pulling you into his chest as you finish. You’re sitting up, slumping against him, still riding out your orgasm. 

He pumps in and out a few more times until he’s still inside you. He strokes your clit gently, soothingly, letting you down easy from your peak. He pulls out, his arms wrapping around your back and tugging you closer. He holds you tightly, limp in his arms.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “Missed you,” he whispers, all soft now. His cocky attitude is gone—his needs satiated. Now he’s all gentle kisses and soothing rubs up and down your back. 

“Missed you more,” you answer, smiling as you look up at him. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t think that’s possible, sweetheart.” His fingers trace shapes into your back. “And princess?” He mumbles. You nod against him. “Don’t think I’m finished with you just yet.”

Your heart thumps in your chest. 

“Never gonna be finished with you.”

tags: @figsnpassionfruits @slaymewithaspoon @hunbomb @lanassmarty @zxaera @silversprings-mp3 @velvrei

[norrisainz33]

baller || LN4

summary: lando has a massive crush on one of the wnba’s newest stars and he isn’t afraid to show it

pairing: lando norris x wnba!reader

fc & warnings: nika muhl & suggestive, you are responsible for the content you consume

requested: nope! just trying to get myself back into writing and i love the wnba. will continue with requests soon 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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ynuser: time to get to work

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user1: i’m in love

user2: the most gorgeous girl

jackhughes: looking good

user3: good luck tonight!!!

landonorris: work it girl 😍🤤

maxfewtrell: i knew you’d be here

user5: lando norizz has arrived right on time

user4: when will y/n put lando out of his misery

user6: this vroom vroom man won’t quit

sbird10: making seattle proud y/n!

yourbff: very demure, very mindful, very gorgeous

ynuser: very cutesy

user6: major buckets incoming

user7: fashion ICON

landonorris has posted to his story

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carlossainz55: since when do you follow basketball……

landonorris: since i met the most beautiful girl in the world at a party and learned she plays professional basketball

carlossainz55: ay dios mio cabron. what party????

landonorris: a party lewis encouraged me to attend in miami. he knows her through modeling or something

carlossainz55: ahh the one party i did not attend! well best of luck to you lando

maxfewtrell: mate i can’t keep defending you

landonorris: you don’t have to defend me 😭

maxfewtrell: do you even know how basketball works?!

landonorris: YES!!!! need i remind you im friends with jimmy butler?! he gave me a crash course

maxfewtrell: well thank god for that

user8: you’re obsessed

user9: i get it lan!! y/n is hot id be thirsting like a freak over her too if i was you

oscarpiastri: has she noticed you yet?

landonorris: besides following me on instagram she has not engaged

oscarpiastri: have you idk….. messaged her???

landonorris: ummm no that would be too much

oscarpiastri: and you hyping up her team on your story and commenting on all of her posts isn’t too much?

landonorris: nope not too much at all

oscarpiastri: 🫠 ok bud

lewishamilton: you’re really trying here huh?

landonorris: 😔 yes

lewishamilton: well it must be your lucky day because she just asked about you

landonorris: WHAT SHE ASKED YOU ABOIT ME?! OHMOGMGOGM

lewishamilton: yes.. she asked if we were going to be spending any time in the US before austin

landonorris: i wasn’t planning on it but if she wants me to i will hop on the first flight

lewishamilton: i told her that i may be and that if she’s curious about you … that she should text you herself 😉

landonorris: i feel faint

user10: love that you’re supporting women’s sports king

user11: you really said i have a crush and it’s now everyone’s problem and i love you for it

landonorris has made a post

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landonorris: it’s all about the details 🎆

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user11: lando you never fail to make the best helmets

quadrant: quadrant on track 🎆

mclarenf1: an iconic helmet for an iconic driver

user12: oh this helmet is so hot

maxfewtrell: ready to cook

user14: is no one going to mention y/n in the likes

ynuser: nice helmet

landonorris: thanks y/n. i made it myself 😉

user14: OMG AHES INTHE COMMWNTS TOO

user15: someone check on lando stat

user16: best day of lando’s life fr

user17: guys we need to be normal about this and be wingmen for lando

user18: so true user17

user18: ynuser lando saves puppies in his free time and was kind enough to lend me his lambo

user19: ynuser lando helped my grandma cross the street!

user22: ynuser lando bought me a house!!

user33: ynuser lando saved a kitten from a burning building!!

maxfewtrell: these comments are killing me 😂

user13: you’re going to win this weekend i just know it

ynuser has posted to their story

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seattlestorm: gorgeous as always

user9: ugh i’m so obsessed with you

yourbff: how do you manage to make everything look hot

ynuser: you should know bby

landonorris: todays fit is a good fit

ynuser: why thank you lando

landonorris: omg

landonorris: i mean… anything for you y/n

ynuser: anything you say?

landonorris: just about!

ynuser: when are you coming to a game then?

landonorris: i didn’t know i had an invite

ynuser: of course you do!! seeing as that you’re such a big fan and all 😉

landonorris: consider me there

ynuser: you going to invite me to a race?

landonorris: i have a paddock pass with your name on it 😏

ynuser: consider me there

user11: can’t wait to see you cook in the playoffs!!

patriciooward: you gonna come see me or what 🤔

ynuser: i’ll be in the paddock if you will!

patriciooward: HA yes i’ll be there. looking forward to seeing you

user13: f1 and lando brought me here and i have to say im not mad about it

jackhughes: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

user10: the wnba is lucky to have you!!

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landonorris: quick pit stop to catch the playoffs. the storm are finals bound lfg p1 here they come!

view all 965 comments

seattlestorm: it was great to have you join us lando!!

landonorris: thanks for having me!

user14: oh my god it’s happening

maxfewtrell: mate stand up

landonorris: oh i’m up mate don’t even worry

user17: lando taking shooting his shot to the next level

ynuser: thanks for stopping by lanny

landonorris: of course y/n/n, no place i’d rather be

user7: i’m rooting for you guys

user46: you got this lando let’s goooo

user17: she called him lanny im ???

user22: he’s so pretty, she’s so pretty ,, they’re perfect for each other

mclarenf1: we love women’s sports in this house

ynuser: yes we do!!

user33: LETS GO STORM!!!

maxverstappen1: oh did someone get his chance?

landonorris: perhaps

user45: y/nlando truthers unite

landonorris has posted to his story

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user18: YESSSSSS

user22: i’ve never been so invested in an american sport before

user76: you posting her as if yall together!! you might just be as delusional as me king

oscarpiastri: how is the winning her over going

landonorris: you’d be surprised but i think it’s working!! we’ve gone on 3 dates and talk every day 😭

oscarpiastri: im so proud of you man

mclarenf1: woohooo let’s goooo!!!

maxfewtrell: i thought we agreed you’d post the team photo and not the one of just her

landonorris: she just looked so cute and happy tho

maxfewtrell: but this makes it look like you’re dating

landonorris: i wish we were 😭😭😭

maxfewtrell: i know i know

patriciooward: i put in a good word for you with y/n

landonorris: you are a real one pato

user87: you are a fan girl just like me

user34: the most supportive boyfriend but not boyfriend i’ve ever seen

user19: you’re nothing if not persistent

user77: you posting more about y/n than you do anyone else

f1gossip has made a post

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f1gossip: following her first wnba title, y/n was spotted celebrating with friends at a popular nightclub. we received this anonymous intel: “i was in the bathroom and heard a girl loudly talking on her phone. when i realized it was y/n i tried to be chill and not bother her but couldn’t help but over hear her conversation. she said “i wish you were here lando” and “i can’t just fly to mexico to be with you” and “no no no you can’t just fly here right now from mexico” and “ok maybe i could fly to brazil but maybe you should just come here for an extended stay before vegas.” needless to say she was definitely talking to lando and it sounded like they were more than friends!”

view all 577 comments

user44: ok hittin us w the invasion of her privacy

user7: oh my god our boy did it - he bagged his baddie

user99: obsessed with him trying to solve her problems and immediately trying to fly to her

user67: hoping if i post really obnoxiously about my celebrity crush they’ll too have no choice but to want me

user1: i can’t believe after the last 5 months of pining he’s actually gotten the girl

user9: i’m not believing nothing until we see if from them

user12: y’all gotta stop speculating about these two

user13: amazing day for annoying people (me)!

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ynuser: what happens in vegas stays in vegas

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user12: cryptic 🤔

user7: she’s in the paddock 😭😭😭😭

user33: omg shes at the grand prix someone please check on our boy lando

oscarpiastri: was a pleasure meeting you y/n!

ynuser: likewise oscar!! had a great time getting to know you and lily

maxverstappen1: so nice to meet you!! looking forward to you wiping the floor with me when we play that game of padel you promised

ynuser: remember, you told me you’d play basketball with me in exchange!!

maxverstappen1: how could i forget?

user35: adore the fact that max will beg anyone and everyone to play padel with him

user47: i’d love to see max playing basketball 😂

user55: wnba x f1 crossover i never knew i needed

landonorris: hopefully things that happened in vegas can happen outside of vegas too 😉

ynuser: if you play your cards right mr norris 😏

user7: i feel like im interrupting something here

user47: ugh you are always serving so hard in your fits girl

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user17: YOURE ON A DATE!!! WITH Y/N I HOPE

user18: shocked you didn’t tag her mate

maxfewtrell: so you can post a story but not reply to my texts asking how it went??

landonorris: sorry i was busy 😉

maxfewtrell: oh my god.. you sealed the deal?

landonorris: yes i did! say hello to the wnba’s newest wag

maxfewtrell: never doubted you for a second

landonorris: yes you did but it’s ok

ynuser: thank you for a lovely dinner 🤍

landonorris: of course gorgeous 🧡

landonorris: and thanks for giving me a chance 🥹

ynuser: i should be thanking you for your persistence. i’m so glad we met lando

landonorris: likewise y/n/n

user22: i’m screaming and crying and throwing up

carlossainz55: looks like the devotion to basketball is paying off?

landonorris: yes sir it is 😉

user55: queuing that should be me by justin bieber rn

user66: that’s our BOY

landonorris has made a post

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landonorris: never doubt me again

view all 999 comments

user17: NEVER DOUBTED FOR A SECOND

user6: my bad king , i didn’t realize you had this much game

maxfewtrell: i’m not even allowed to touch your car let alone sit on it

landonorris: yeah well you don’t sit on my face so why would i let you sit on my car [comment has been deleted by user]

user17: WE SAW THAT LANDO

user88: lando you naughty boy omg

oscarpiastri: thank god

landonorris: thanks for sticking with me bestie

user43: couldn’t be happier to see this hard launch

ynuser: we are so hot

landnorris: the hottest

seattlestorm: safe to say that we are formula 1 fans now

user83: i’ve never rooted for a couple more than this one

user92: he got the girl, he got the win, he’s got it all. let’s go lando

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[whoreforsexymen]

Love Me (Bar)Tender | NSFW Flash 🫗

(GIF cred: me <3)

Y’all see what I did there? With the title? Hehe. Ok, sorry, I’ll leave.

(I know the gif is technically a sad scene, but y’all can’t tell me you aren’t imagining him pressing his forehead against yours like that in the heat of the moment 😩)

Anyways…

Pairings: Vander x Reader

Pronouns: Female Identifying/AFAB!Reader

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!!

Word Count: 498

Tags: Riding, Fluffy Smut, Vander being pussywhipped (kinda), Poetic Smut, Vander is smitten by you (as he should be 😉), Tooth Decayingly Sweet Smut

Notes: I guess I’m just on a roll today. Haven’t touched this account in like 5 years and now here I am— Posting 8 things in one day. Go, me!

(I can see you, minors. Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

“Fuck— Yeah. Like that, pretty girl.” Vander huffs out. Barely able to breathe, like a fish out of water. With practiced grace, you roll your hips, the fluidity of your movement reminiscent of a seasoned dancer lost in the rhythm, every shift a seamless blend of control and expression.

Vander’s head can no longer bear the weight of how you were making him feel—tilting backward as his neck gives way. It falls against the headboard, the movement slow and weary, a silent surrender to the beckoning of pleasure.

His eyes fall shut, and his breathing becomes erratic—quick, needy, shallow gasps. The only sounds he can manage are strained grunts, desperate groans, and breathless utterances of your name.

Your hips swirl, bearing your weight down on his thighs with your hands. You lean back into them, your movements slow but insistent, each one designed to draw him further into the frenzy—relentless in your pursuit to push him beyond control.

Your own insistent whining mixes with his, a symphonic blend of desperation between the two of you.

His hands are kneading your hips inexorably. Almost as if he’s scared to let go. His nails feel desperate to burrow under your skin with the way he’s clawing at you.

“You’ve got magic in these hips, love,” he says, his voice hushed, as if your motions had cast a spell— urging him to speak.

You can’t speak, your breath ragged and uneven as you picked up the pace, leaving you too consumed by the urgency to form a single word. You needed more. Not just of his words, or the deliciously whiny way he spoke. You were already stretched to the limit, every inch of you aching, yet the hunger within you refused to be sated. You craved more—more of him, as a whole.

If you could, you’d dissolve into him, merging into one single being, where every pulse, every breath, is shared between the two of you—inseparable, bound by desire.

“So good, pretty girl. You’re doing so good. Don’t think I can take much more, love.” He grunts, his eyes fluttering open to find you again, the sight of you cutting through the hazy state of desire he’d been gliding through.

He had been a fool to ever look away—how could he ever let himself look away? You weren’t just beautiful; you were everything a masterpiece could never capture, an intoxicating blend of grace and fire, more captivating than any sculpture or painting, alive and burning with an allure that consumed him whole.

“Fuck.” He grunts, unable to form a single coherent thought, let alone words. Every impulse in him screamed to voice the things he couldn’t hold back, to tell you what was racing through his mind. But your movements—each one more demanding than the last—silenced him, keeping his voice captive, lost in the frenzy of the moment.

“My girl. My pretty girl.” Is all he can muster before you’re both crashing into each others like waves against a cliff.

[pucksandpower]

Let the World Burn

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari driver!Reader

Summary: a brake failure sends Charles’ world spinning out of control

Warnings: crash, partial paralysis, brain injury, and plenty of angst (with a happy ending because I’m still me)

Based on this request

The paddock thrums with energy as you make your way to your car, adrenaline already coursing through your veins. Charles falls into step beside you, his presence as familiar and comforting as the roar of engines.

“Ready to show them how it’s done, mon amour?” His voice is a low rumble, eyes alight with competitive fire.

You grin, leaning in to press a swift kiss to his lips. “Always. You’ll be the one watching my rear wing this time.”

Charles laughs, the sound rich and warm. “We’ll see about that.” He squeezes your hand, calloused fingers intertwining with yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words carry the weight of a thousand unspoken promises, a vow as binding as the wedding bands you can’t yet wear.

All too soon, you’re parting ways, disappearing into the organized chaos of the garage. You slide into the snug confines of the cockpit, the car’s familiar lines an extension of your own body. A flurry of final checks, the high-pitched whine of the engine firing up, and then you’re rolling onto the grid, the tension crackling like static electricity.

The lights go out, and the world narrows to the scream of tires on tarmac, the high-pitched howl of the engine, and the razor-sharp focus that has carried you this far. You and Charles trade positions with every corner, locked in an exhilarating duel that has the crowd on its feet.

And then, without warning, your world fractures.

The pedal goes soft underfoot, your instincts screaming even before the telltale high-pitched whine cuts through the roar of the engine. You slam on the brakes, but the response is sickening— a bare fraction of the deceleration you need.

“Ricky?” Your voice is tight, the adrenaline surging as the implications crash over you in waves. “I’ve got a brake issue here. A big one.”

“Copy that.” Ricky’s tone is clipped, professional, even as your heart rabbits in your chest. “Okay, let’s try cycling the systems-”

You follow his instructions with mechanical precision, but the results are the same: negligible braking force, the car still hurtling forward at murderous speeds. A hairpin looms ahead, the barriers terrifyingly close, and you fight the wheel with everything you have, desperate to keep the bucking machine on track.

“Ricky, is this being broadcast?” The words tumble out in a breathless rush as the Turn looms closer, closer.

“Affirmative.” There’s a pause, the faintest tremor in Ricky’s voice. “It’s going out live.”

You exhale, a shuddering breath that shakes your entire frame. There’s only one person you need to reach now.

“Charles.” His name catches in your throat, thick with emotion. “If you’re listening to this-”

The tears come then, hot and blinding as you wrestle with the uncontrollable car. This can’t be how it ends, not like this, not when you’d imagined decades more by his side.

“In some other life, maybe we would have grown old together.” The words are torn from the depths of your soul, raw and wrenched free by the stark reality bearing down on you. “I wish I could have given you babies and watched our children grow up and lived a long life by your side like we always dreamed.”

Your vision blurs, the turn now a void of unforgiving concrete rushing up to meet you. You fight the wheel with everything you have, but there’s no stopping the inevitable now.

“You deserve every happiness, my love. If … if I don’t make it, please … please find someone else to love and cherish. Don't grieve forever. Be happy.” The brake pedal is useless under your foot, the barriers skimming past in a blur of terror. “Because you deserve all the love in this world and so much more.”

“I hope you’ll hear this,” you force out in a cracked whisper. "And I need you to know, my heart, that even if things end here … even if I don’t get to grow old with you … you have been the brightest light in my life these past five years. You made me happier than I ever dreamed. And I will never, ever stop loving you, Charles. Not in this life or the next. You are everything-”

The impact is a cosmic force, obliterating breath and thought and everything else in a blinding flare of darkness. But still, you cling to awareness, to the phantom thread of love that binds you to the one person who matters most.

“I’ll always-” The anguished vow catches, cut brutally short as oblivion rises to claim you. In those final heartbeats, a fleeting kaleidoscope of memories sparks behind your eyes: unmistakable laughter, stolen kisses, quiet moments wrapped in each other’s arms.

Five years of loving Charles, of being loved by him in a way you’d never dared dream possible.

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

But it was everything.

“I love-”

Then, nothing.

***

The world fragments around Charles as his gaze locks onto the shattered remains of the familiar red car. One heartbeat — an endless, merciless instant suspended in time — and then his instincts take over with the force of a tidal wave.

“No … no, no, no!” The anguished words rip from his throat as he wrenches the steering wheel, the shriek of tires on tarmac drowned out by the roar of his own pulse thundering in his ears.

The race, the championship, every ambition and dream that has driven him to this point — it all fades into insignificance as he tears down the pitlane, desperation clawing at his throat. “Y/N! Hold on!”

Flames lick hungrily at the twisted wreckage as he sprints towards the mangled chassis, heedless of the searing heat or the choking smoke that burns his lungs. There’s only one thought, one driving need that propels him forward: reach you, get you out, pull you back from the precipice that has opened up beneath his feet.

“Y/N!”

Your name rips from his lips, a hoarse plea swallowed up by the crackle of fire. He skids to a halt beside the wreckage, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the warped metal that has become your cage, your tomb. “Talk to me, mon cœur! I’m here!”

Coherent thought fractures, replaced by blind panic and the soul-deep terror of losing the one light that guides him through this life.

Your eyes are closed, features lax and far too still against the vivid crimson that stains your skin. Charles’ breath catches in his throat, a raw, animal sound clawing its way free as his trembling hands reach for you, desperate to find a flutter of life, a spark of the brilliant fire he knows blazes within you.

“No, no, no … please, stay with me!” He cups your cheek, fingers smearing crimson as they search in vain for a pulse. “I can’t … I can’t lose you!”

Hands grasp at him then, voices raised in shouts he can’t comprehend. He wrestles against the restraints, a feral need to reach you overriding all reason. “Get off me! She needs help!”

But the marshals are insistent, pushing him back with grim determination until he can only watch, helpless, as they douse the ravenous flames.

It feels like an eternity, each gasping breath torn from a soul being flayed apart piece by torturous piece. And then, finally, they move in, the screech of metal and the hiss of hydraulics barely registering over the roar in Charles’ ears.

You’re so still as they work, pale and frighteningly fragile amidst the tangle of debris. A thin rivulet of red trails from the corner of your lips, each sluggish drip a struck match against the powder keg of Charles’ sanity. He takes a shuddering step forward, then another, his world narrowing to the trembling rise and fall of your chest.

“Please … please, stay with me,” he rasps, fingers closing around the rigid lines of the barrier as if it’s the only tether holding him to reality.

A marshal’s hand on his chest, forceful but lacking the strength to halt the unstoppable forward momentum of a man staring into the abyss. “Back off! Let them work!”

But how can he stand back? How can he simply watch as your life’s flame gutters and fades before his eyes? The words climb his throat, tangling into desperate pleas and vows that he’ll burn the world to keep you here, to keep you safe.

Except, no words come. There’s only the taste of ashes on his tongue and the sight of you, broken and bloodied on the unforgiving grass.

The medics arrive in a whirlwind of crisp efficiency, barking terse orders and assessments that slice into Charles with each clipped syllable. He’s dimly aware of the confirmation that you still live, that there’s a chance — but it’s a flicker, fleeting in the face of the reality unfolding before him.

“What are her chances?” The question rasps out, little more than a graveled whisper as he strains against the restraining hands.

You need an airlift, treatment beyond what can be rendered here on this blood-stained stage. Charles knows it, can see the franticness in the medics’ eyes as they work, but the knowledge brings no comfort.

Only an agonizing cycle of seconds hand-cranked like a Medieval torture device, each one stripping another layer of sanity as he watches you slip away.

“Just hang on, mon amour. I’m here … I’m right here.” His voice cracks, breaking on a devastated keen as they load you onto the backboard.

The whine of rotor blades cuts through the static in his head, a cold metallic slice that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He sucks in a breath, lungs burning with the effort as the helicopter circles in a raucous descent.

“Please, let me go with her!” He wrenches against the hands with renewed desperation.

They’re taking you away.

He tries to follow, legs turned to lead weights, only to be held back once more by the wall of marshals. There’s shouting, words and pleas and anguished vows all tangled into an incomprehensible madness. “No! Y/N!”

And then, you’re gone.

Lifted skyward in a cloud of downdraft, growing smaller and more indistinct until the sleek lines of the helicopter grow razor-thin before disappearing completely.

“No … no, no, no!” Charles’ legs buckle, sending him crashing to his knees in the scorched swath of earth where you were just lying. His hands fist in the grass, heedless of the crimson that stains his fingers, his palms, every inch of shredded skin and broken soul.

The world has ended. His universe has imploded.

And all he can do is kneel in the ashes and scream your name into the uncaring void.

***

The deafening roar of engines fades to a dull thrum as Charles staggers away from the wreckage, his world reduced to a kaleidoscope of fractured images and white noise. He doesn’t register the shouts, the hands grasping at his shoulders as he stumbles blindly towards the track’s perimeter.

Racing. Championships. It all feels like a cruel cosmic joke in the face of what he’s just witnessed.

A chain-link fence looms ahead, the flimsy barrier doing nothing to impede his forward momentum. Figures materialize on the other side — fans, their faces twisted in shock and concern—and then hands are reaching through, steadying him as he clambers over the top with a desperation bordering on madness.

He has to get to you. Nothing else matters.

The parking lot stretches out before him, a maze of gleaming supercars and sleek team transporters. His feet move without conscious thought, propelled by a single-minded determination to reach his haven, his sole remaining tether in this swiftly unraveling realm.

Except, when he arrives at his Ferrari, chest heaving with exertion and the first tendrils of panic starting to set in, the awful truth crashes over him like a tsunami.

No keys.

A choking sound tears from his throat, part sob and part anguished growl of frustration. He can’t break down here, not now, not when every fiber of his being screams at him to keep moving, to fight, to-

“Charles!”

The familiar voice cuts through the din, offering a lifeline just as the darkness threatens to swell and consume him utterly. Andrea skids to a halt beside him, chest heaving and face flushed from his own desperate sprint across the paddock.

In his outstretched hand, the keys dangle and glint in the harsh sunlight.

“I had a feeling,” the trainer pants, thrusting the keys towards Charles with a knowing look.

No other words are needed. Charles snatches them with a terse nod, every agonizing second weighing like an eternity as the engine roars to life beneath his expert touch.

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he wrenches the car into gear, jaw clenched to keep the scream of agony caged behind his teeth. Andrea hardly has time to slam the door before they’re peeling out of the lot in a spray of gravel and burnt rubber.

Except, the awful truth rears its head once more as the speedometer climbs past ludicrous speeds, the blur of the Italian countryside offering no reprieve from the maelstrom tearing him apart from the inside.

“Shit!” Charles’ palm cracks against the steering wheel, knuckles screaming in protest. “Where did they take her?”

Of course Andrea knows what he’s asking. The performance coach doesn’t even hesitate, already dialing his phone with the same razor-sharp focus that has guided Charles through so many battles over the years. “Fred? It’s Andrea. Where did they take Y/N?”

The next few seconds stretch into an eternity, each rattling breath searing Charles’ lungs. The line must still be ringing because Charles can’t make out any other voice, just the muffled hum of the connection and Andrea’s terse breathing. He casts a sidelong glance, jaw clenched so tightly he can feel the tendons straining beneath his skin.

Then, a response — clipped and authoritative even through the tinny speakerphone crackle. “They’ve airlifted her to the trauma center in Milan. She’s still en route.”

No other words are needed. The Ferrari leaps forward with a howl, devouring the asphalt as Charles whites out every other thought, every scrap of sense and reason. All that exists is the burning need to reach you before the unthinkable becomes reality.

Highway signs whip by in a blur, red taillights and shrill horns little more than background noise as he tears down the roads, uncaring of speed limits or lane markers or any of the trifling rules governing the everyday world he’s left behind. Just an animalistic need propelling him forward, the destination the only thing that matters.

Get to her. Don’t be too late. Please, god, don’t let me be too late ...

And then, finally, the looming skyline of Milan rears into view.

Tires squeal in protest as Charles wrenches the steering wheel, the Ferrari fishtailing wildly before rocketing down the street towards the distinctive profile of the hospital. He doesn’t even bother looking for a proper spot, swinging the car up over the curb and leaving it stranded halfway on the sidewalk in a blatant obstruction.

But he doesn’t care. Can’t care about anything beyond reaching you.

The chaos of the emergency room hits them in a crashing wave of noise and activity, but Charles forges ahead undeterred. Shouts and rebuffs part around him like a river around a boulder, falling away as staff recognize the wild-eyed visage barreling towards them.

It’s Italy. It’s the Grand Prix. Of course they know his face, the name that every tifoso here would sell their soul to claim as a native son. A path opens before them, whispers and pointing fingers trailing in their wake.

“Leclerc!”

“Did you hear what happened?”

“Code Red from the Autodromo ..”

The words slice at Charles, both too loud and too indistinct to comprehend beyond the implication that you’re here, somewhere through these endless, claustrophobic hallways. A nurse in seafoam scrubs appears at his side, ushering them with brisk efficiency. He follows without a word, legs fueled by pure desperation as they weave deeper into the sprawling facility.

At last, they’re led into a waiting room, the nurse pivoting to face them with a carefully composed expression. “The patient was brought in approximately thirty minutes ago with severe trauma from the crash. She’s currently in surgery, but there are no further updates I can provide right now.”

Surgery.

The weight of that single word hits like a sledgehammer, sending Charles reeling until his back slams against the nearest wall. He sucks in a ragged gasp, fingers tangling in his sweat-damp curls as the magnitude of what’s unfolding threatens to drag him under completely.

There are voices, murmurs of concern as figures materialize from the edges of his frayed vision. Hands grasp at him, trying in vain to offer comfort or reassurance or something, anything to tether him to this reality that has become his waking nightmare.

But there is no solace to be found.

With a shudder that wracks his entire frame, Charles slides down the wall, knees tucking up in a pitiful facsimile of the bright-eyed young man who had stood on that sunbaked grid only hours ago. His head drops into his upraised palms, fingers tightening in his hair until the pain is the only thing anchoring him against the relentless maelstrom of grief and terror threatening to sweep him away.

The rest of the world falls away until all that remains is the hollow ache in his chest and the silent pleas to someone — anyone — tumbling through his mind on an endless refrain.

A hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him, and he registers Andrea’s presence beside him, the other man’s face drawn in anguish. Tears track down the trainer’s cheeks, glittering in the harsh fluorescent light.

For a long moment, there is only the sound of their mingled breaths, of a silent understanding too profound for words.

Neither speaks. There are no more words to be said, no prayers to voice beyond the torrent of desperate pleas echoing through their fractured psyches.

All that remains is to wait, and steel themselves against the soul-shattering eventuality awaiting them no matter which way the scales of existence tip.

So they wait. And Charles breaks.

***

The fluorescent lights hum a discordant drone, casting stark shadows that seem to leach the warmth from every surface. Charles stares unseeing at the scuffed linoleum tiles inches from his boots, the clinical smell of disinfectant burning his nostrils with each shallow breath.

Beside him, Andrea’s presence is a fixed point amidst the whirling currents of nurses, orderlies, and grim-faced family members that swirl through the waiting room. A bottle of water is pressed into Charles’ hand at some point, the plastic slick with condensation against his palm.

He doesn’t drink. Doesn’t move or speak or show any reaction to the flickering passage of time.

The flow of bodies ebbs and swells like the tide, more familiar faces appearing in scuttling clusters. First the Ferrari personnel, then other teams’ crew, and finally the drivers themselves, one by one. Gasps and muffled curses drift past as the scope of the situation sinks in. Whispers, a bitten-off sob from somewhere across the room.

Charles hears none of it.

He’s adrift in a sea of his own spiraling thoughts, each cresting wave dragging him deeper into the all-consuming torment. Memories mingle with fragments of overheard updates, snippets of frantic phone conversations from those trying to unravel the events of the race.

Blood, so much blood staining the grass, her lips, matting her hair in crimson streaks as she lay unmoving, unbreathing.

Internal bleeding, fractures, neural trauma.

Laughter muffled by the sheets, lazy mornings spent tangled in each other as the world continued its inexorable spin beyond their bedroom walls.

Code Red from the Autodromo ...

The last words she’d tried to force out, little more than a whispered breath over the roar of the racetrack: “I love-”

The purgatory crawls on, each sluggish second carved raw against his tattered nerves. Charles is vaguely aware of the others filtering in and out in shifts, some speaking to him in murmurs too soft to understand, others simply sitting in silence as the minutes bled together into hours.

Some indeterminable span of time later, a ripple works its way through the room, crystallizing into a gathered hush as figures in pale green scrubs appear. One steps forward — a man with graying hair and a craggy face lined by decades of triaging human lives.

The hush deepens to an utter stillness as every eye turns towards him, a held breath drawn taut to the breaking point. Charles lifts his head, forces his gaze to focus on the man’s lips as they part, the moment elongating like a length of rubber pulled to the edge of its tensile strength.

“The patient-” A pause as the surgeon’s eyes flick across the sea of apprehension before settling on Charles with deliberate weight. “-has been stabilized after undergoing extensive surgery to address the trauma sustained in the crash.”

A soft exhalation moves through the room, instinctive reactions barely bridled by the undercurrent of anxiety that keeps them taut, waiting.

“She suffered a severe brain bleed which resulted in significant swelling. In order to alleviate the pressure on her brain, we were forced to put her into a medically-induced coma.”

The words lance through Charles like jagged shards of ice, locking the breath in his lungs. Unconscious, unresponsive. Alive, but without any way of reaching out to reassure himself that the spark still flickers in those endlessly warm eyes. He swallows hard, the room swimming in and out of focus as the surgeon continues in a measured cadence.

“We’ve also had to repair multiple internal injuries and fractures, including her spine. The next forty-eight hours will be critical for monitoring her condition and responses.”

And there it is, the crux they’ve all been tensed in agonizing anticipation to receive. In two days, they’ll know if the fight — your fight — is over before it’s truly begun. The flip of a cosmic coin will determine whether Charles’ entire universe continues to spin … or falls into the black void opening up beneath his feet.

Peripherally, he’s aware of the questions starting, the anguished pleas for more details and reassurances as the others process the impassive surgeon’s words through their own lenses of experience. But Charles hears none of it, only the deafening rush of his own pulse echoing in his ears as the grains of sand in fate’s diabolical hourglass begin their insidious trek.

A blink, and the surgeon is gone, the rest of the somber scrub-clad figures dispersing back towards the swinging doors of the surgical ward. Just like that, they’re alone again, adrift in the limbo of both desperation and dread.

Charles sags, his tenuous grip on composure fracturing like a dam rupturing beneath the crushing weight of reality. A broken whimper rasps from deep within his chest, guttural and visceral and utterly devoid of anything resembling hope.

A hand finds his shoulder, grounding him enough to keep him tethered to the earth as the universe he knows compresses into the torturous rhythm of a mechanized ventilator breathing life into your battered form.

He can see you so clearly, even with his eyes screwed shut against the harsh fluorescents bleaching every surface to the same antiseptic pallor. Fragile, fighting, hooked up to the cold indifference of technology while it works to preserve what he knows to be the brightest, most brilliant soul ever breathed into existence.

The thought of those sparkling eyes, your eyes clouded with unresponsive stillness … it rips the last tattered shred of restraint from his unraveling core. A desolate wail tears free, strangled and raw and utterly devoid of resignation or peace.

He’s loved you for years, months, days, lifetimes — and still it will never be enough to prepare him for a world in which you don’t exist. A breath where he is forced to simply survive without the steady radiance of your presence illuminating every step along his path. Without living.

Andrea’s arms encircle him, a brotherly embrace that does little to quell the flood of anguish now pouring from him in heaving torrents. The others retreat with quiet steps, allowing themselves to fade into the shadows, mere ghosts slipping from the devastation of a man confronting the whispered dread that inhabits every driver’s subconscious.

A love and a life, both hanging suspended by whatever cosmic forces govern their fleeting existences.

You are his gravity, his sun, his guiding starlight.

If you burn out, his universe will go forever dark.

***

The antiseptic haze of the ICU feels like a vice around Charles’ chest as he follows the nurse down the sterile hallway. Each shuffling step is leaden, tinged with an unreality that weighs heavier with every closed door they pass.

Part of him doesn’t want to go through with this. Doesn’t want to face the reality that awaits on the other side of that threshold and shatter the tenuous equilibrium he’s managed to cling to since the moment everything disintegrated on the racetrack.

“She’s just through here.”

The nurse’s words are a wrench, jerking Charles from his reverie with a sobering lurch. Ahead, a nondescript door with a window barely cracked — the entrance to a realm he’s not sure his soul can withstand traversing.

“I’ll give you a few minutes.” Her voice has taken on that too-gentle lilt, the one that says she’s borne witness to too many lives fractured.

Charles nods automatically, not meeting her gaze as she retreats on soft-soled steps. Then it’s just him, alone in the dimly lit hallway with only the muffled noise of machines and murmured voices beyond the door to keep him tethered.

With a fortifying breath that does little to settle the jackhammer pounding in his chest, he grasps the handle and pushes through into your room.

And then … there you are.

Pale and hauntingly still against the sterile sheets, a sickly garden of tubes and wires cocooning your form. There’s barely a rise and fall of your chest, just the robotic ebb and flow of life being pumped through the mask clamped across your face. Dark crescents of bruising mar the fragile skin beneath your eyes, blossoming in vivid shades of yellow and violet across your cheekbones.

You’re so devastatingly still. As if all your vibrant essence has retreated inward, abandoning your corporeal shell in favor of waging an unseen war to simply continue existing.

Charles sucks in a shuddering breath, fingers spasming against his thigh as the first hairline fractures split through the dam he’s erected around his emotions. Part of him wants to flee, to escape back into the blissful naivete of the world before this became his reality. Another part is rooted to the spot with magnetic inevitability, drawn in helpless orbit around your pale, unmoving form.

Slowly, one foot drags in front of the other, carrying him across the room to hover beside your bedside. The blanket of tubes and wires prevents him from seeing much beyond your face and the barest suggestion of a shoulder through the loose neckline of the hospital gown. He reaches out, fingertips trembling as he ghosts them over the exposed skin just above the jutting notch of your collarbone.

You’re so still. And so, so cold.

That’s what breaks him.

His knees hit the tile with a dull thud, unheeded tears already streaking down his cheeks by the time he presses his forehead to the mattress edge. One hand finds yours, enveloping it in a desperate grasp as his entire being crumbles inward like a spent force of nature.

“No, no, no ...” The words are a mantra intermingled with broken gasps as the dam ruptures completely and the anguish pours free in ragged waves. “This can’t … you can’t ...”

Coherent thought deserts him, spiraling into the endless dark of a life without you at his side. These last few days have been a mere fleeting taste of that desolate actuality, uncomprehending glimpses into a reality too obliterating to fully process.

A universe without your light? Your radiance and warmth suffusing his world with color and texture and meaning? It feels like a black hole has opened its maw inside of his chest, hungry to devour everything until nothing remains.

“Please ...”

The plea rasps out in a guttural whisper, little more than carbon scoring the back of his throat. Head bowed, he crushes his brow to your knuckles, each etchings of bone an anchor weight lashing him to this merciless reality.

“Come back to me ...”

The words splinter apart, shredded into woeful gasps as the dam of his fragile composure ruptures. Great, racking sobs claw their way free, tearing through him from the center of his hollow core.

“Take everything else.” The words fracture anew, dissolving into heaving sobs as another piece of his soul splinters away. “Take every trophy, every podium, every championship I will ever win ...”

His voice cracks, seizing in his throat as he drags in a ragged breath, leaning his brow harder against the bedside to ground himself in some last anchor of solidity. Anything to keep from shattering into a million irretrievable pieces as he pours out the final offering, the ultimate sacrifice any driver or athlete can make against the cruel cosmic joke of mortality.

“Take my career, my records ... everything racing has ever meant to me ...” His fingers spasm around yours, clinging on with everything he has left as the darkness closes in. “Just ... please, let her wake up. Let me have more than just these memories of her smile and her laugh and the way she makes everything brighter just by existing.”

The sobs come harder now, racking his frame with deep shudders as his voice dissolves into jagged keening. Tears scald rivulets down his cheeks and drip from his chin to patter against the utilitarian sheets in glimmering droplets. He cries for the unfairness of it all, for the loss that is so brutally imminent it’s already written into his very bones, for the gaping hole that is soon to hollow out his very existence.

Eventually, the racking sobs subside into muted whimpers, the storm ebbing into a quieter desolation as he clings to the thin lifeline of your hand still cradled in his own. A bitter laugh claws its way up his throat, raw and devoid of any trace of humor.

“You’d probably kick my ass if you could see me making deals with the devil like this.”

The silence is deafening, broken only by the measured hiss-pause-exhale of the machines mercilessly keeping that precious flicker of life from extinguishing completely. Another laugh escapes, rough and graveled with the weight of a million shattered pieces of himself littering the floor around him.

“You’ve always been the stronger one between us, haven’t you?”

He angles his head, pressing his lips to your knuckles in a lingering kiss as a fresh deluge of tears gather in his eyes. “So wake up, mon cœur. Wake up and show me how to keep going ...”

The whisper hangs in the air, suspended in the limbo of waiting and dread as the machines continue their indifferent monotony. Charles lingers there, forehead pressed to your palm as the minutes drag onward and the final flickers of day fade from the window.

He’s here. He’ll always be right here.

No matter how many nights and days and eternities that ceaseless tide must crash over him until your eyes open once more.

The quiet is shattered by a stifled gasp at the threshold, a swell of fresh emotion that causes Charles to lift his head, scrubbing futilely at his eyes with the back of his free hand. Two figures have appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the dimmer light of the hallway beyond.

Footsteps, two sets. Familiar yet not, like ghosts drifting through the periphery of a dream. He knows instinctively who has stepped into the claustrophobic bubble of vigil, but cannot summon the energy to turn, to confront them.

There’s only you. Only you, and this carcass of shattered promises and devastation that he’s been reduced to by the simple fact of your absence.

Until …

Motions in the corner of his vision, the slide of fabric and muted footfalls amidst the monotonous cadence of technology. Then, a pair of weathered hands — hands he recognizes like the veins pulsing with life beneath his own skin — come into view, cupping his bowed head in a cradle of reassurance and shared infinitudes of anguish.

Your parents’ voices carry in the wake of their touch, whispers ragged with the same bone-deep desolation bleeding from Charles’ shattered core. Indistinct murmurs of comfort, of empathy, of that level of understanding that only those poised on the precipice can ever understand.

He doesn’t resist as they draw him into the circle of their arms, enveloping him until their shared warmth banishes some of the chill snaking through his soul. Hot tears streak down his cheeks again, but these aren’t solitary, bitter shed of a man abandoned in the void of loss.

Their mingled anguish binds them together on this fevered plane of suffering, a communion of the damned begging with whatever beneficent forces might hear their pleas.

Please.

Please give them back the spark of light they all crave with every fiber of their beings.

Please, because this ...

This is no life. Not without you.

***

The fluorescent lights seem to dim with every passing hour, the edges of reality blurring together into an indistinct smear. Time has lost all meaning amidst the monotonous cycle of machines and muffled hospital ambiance swirling through your room.

Charles is adrift in a wakeful dream state, his world compressed into the miniscule shifts across your features. The steady beep of the heart monitor, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of your chest, the flutter of your eyelids as your mind navigates whatever ethereal paths separate you from him.

He hasn’t left your bedside. Not for food or rest or even the most basic of human needs. It’s all he can do to simply exist in this liminal space with you, unwilling to surrender a single breath or blink to the cruelty of a reality in which your presence doesn’t illuminate every crevice.

His thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles, the motion as robotic as the whoosh of the ventilator forcing air in and out of your lungs. Voices drift through from the hallway, clinical and detached. More tests and updates being murmured without context or depth of feeling.

None of it matters. The only metric capable of penetrating the fog enshrouding Charles is the ghost of sensation where his calloused fingers brush your skin.

He’s acutely attuned to the details of your condition at any given moment, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to the professionals at their stations monitoring labs and scans. A slight spike in temperature or blood pressure, the faintest twitching muscle or brow-furrow. All of it feels magnified a thousandfold as he clings to every indication, every little shift that might signal a turn for the better.

Or … for the worse

The thought skitters away the instant it surfaces, instinctively repressed by the force of Charles’ sheer desperation. He’s been here, motionless and steadfast, as the forty-eight hour milestone stretched into seventy-two, ninety-six, a hundred and twenty. With each passing day, the doctors grew more optimistic, more positive in their assessments as the swelling in your brain gradually abated.

Until this morning. The preliminary preparations to rouse you from the protective shroud of the medically induced coma began. Rounds of testing, consults from specialists, hushed asides between the scrub-clad personnel that Charles couldn’t parse beyond the undercurrent of anticipation that rippled through the ward.

Now they wait. He and the contingent of nurses and doctors hovering at stations like sentries guarding the gateway to the only world that matters. Watching, observing, as your eyelids begin to stir and the heart monitor’s pattern shifts just slightly from its metronomic rhythm.

Charles holds his breath, fingers tightening around yours as his gaze fixes on your face, the first pinpricks of awareness flickering there. Your eyelids flutter, brow furrowing as if straining against unseen barriers holding you back. Flashes of animation, of unvoiced struggle, play out in rapid succession and his world constricts into that singular point of reality unwinding.

Your fingers twitch, a spasmodic shudder, before settling into a steady movement in his grasp. The change in pressure is minute, featherweight, but it’s enough to electrify every nerve in Charles’ body. His head whips toward the observation window, breath sawing from his lungs.

“She’s waking up!”

It’s little more than a raw exhalation, the spark that ignites the room into urgent, yet controlled, flurries of activity. A nurse slips inside, tapping briskly at monitors and checking lines with an instinctive flow of motion. Charles barely registers her presence, his world distilled down to that singular point of lifeline linking him to you as the fog of unconsciousness finally begins to lift.

Your first inhale tugs at something primal within him, hauls the breath from his lungs even as unfettered joy spills through his chest. There’s movement beneath the fluttering of your eyelids, the rustle of lashes and tiny furrows creasing the delicate skin around your eyes. The seconds stretch out like an eternity until finally ...

They open.

Slitted and hazy, but undeniably open and aware. For an endless heartbeat, Charles is frozen, hands still wrapped around your fingers as afraid to move as a cave explorer plunged into impermeable black.

Then the world rushes in with all the chaos and color he’s been robbed of for far too long. A desperate sound tears itself free of his throat, as his body releases the suspended tension flooding from every pore. He sways forward, bracing his other hand on the mattress edge to keep from utterly crumpling at your very first flutter of life.

“Oh god ...” The fractured keen catches with a gasping sob. “Dieu merci, I thought I-”

But the words fracture, tumble away into lost coherence as you shift, throat bobbing with visible effort before the slurred shape of words escapes past chapped lips.

“C-can’t … f-feel ...”

Charles freezes, the world contracting back into stark lines and hyper-focused clarity. You’re struggling, the effort of speech clear across features still slack with the vestiges of your ordeal.

Panic claws its way up his throat, instinct sounding the call to seek help, to rally every force of medicine at their disposal toward solving this new, horrifying complication. He turns, mouth already open in a shout toward the observation window-

Only to find the room already flooding with personnel, summoned by some unseen alert the moment you stirred. Voices begin filtering through the dissonance clogging his senses — clipped, professional directives lancing through the feedback loop skipping inside his skull.

“Keep her calm-”

“... signs of paralysis ...”

“... damage to the motor cortex ...”

The final phrase lands like a weighted punch, sending Charles reeling back a half-step as the implications unspool into his consciousness. Your face twists in distress, breath sawing as the tube mask fogs with each panicked exhalation.

“I … n-no ...” You try to move, to shift position, but whatever spinal injury incurred in the wreck limits you to feeble twitches and whimpers.

Charles is at your side in an instant, features etched in silent agony as he brushes back the hair feathering across your forehead. His other hand finds yours, solid and grounding as he wills every iota of strength into the contact.

“Shhh, it’s alright. It’ll be alright, just stay calm.”

A cursory glance over his shoulder confirms a flurry of activity unfolding behind the glass as neurologists and specialists filter in. Tests will be run, evaluations and diagnostics to chart out whatever neural trauma has wrought such devastating effects upon your mobility.

In this moment, none of it matters beyond the trembling whimpers parting your lips and the glimmer of tears streaking your cheeks to dampen the pillow beneath your head. Charles wants nothing more than to gather you into his arms, to shield you from this fresh cruelty that has robbed you of yet another piece of your spirit.

Instead, he leans in close, cradling your face in his palm as you struggle to latch onto his presence amidst the waves of fear and distress no doubt crashing through your psyche.

“F-feel my … can’t ....” The disjointed words catch in racking sobs, your eyes squeezing shut against a torrent of emotion he recognizes all too well.

“I know, I know ...” The platitudes feel hollow, meaningless verbal gestures against the enormity of the situation closing its grip around them. But Charles speaks them regardless, murmuring soft reassurances against your anguish.

“Just focus on me, mon cœur. Only me.” His thumb swipes the moisture from your cheekbones, smearing tear tracks through the pallor there as his voice drops to a soft rasp. “You’re still here, still fighting ...”

Your eyes open at that, lashes spiked and heavy with more saline that slips free to streak down your temples. Those depths are oceans of heartache, roiling with a tempest of emotion that momentarily banishes every scrap of reason or logic from Charles’ mind.

All that matters is easing your suffering. Doing anything to lift the veil of anguish smothering the radiant light that marked your essence, that wondrous spark responsible for thawing every one of his defenses and opening a pathway to the heart he’d resigned himself to never sharing.

“I’m here and I’m not leaving. Not ever.” The words scorch themselves into his very soul as he presses his brow to yours. The antiseptic smells of your surroundings fade, the two of you cocooned in the intimate embrace of making your entire world his, if only for these fleeting seconds.

“We’ll get through this together,” he murmurs against your hairline, drinking in the simple euphoria of your closeness, of being able to impart even an inkling of comfort through his presence alone. “I promise.”

The words hang there for a suspended eternity, no response beyond the quiet hiccup of your breathing evening out the tiniest bit. A sliver of solace in the storm to cling to, no matter how tenuous.

Then the retinue of doctors and nurses sweeps in, their voices raised in directives and instructions. It shatters the moment, the outside world crashing back into their reality with all its cold indifference and clinical calculation.

Charles is ushered back, stumbling on legs turned to rubber as he watches you drag your reddened gaze from his, focusing inward as the onslaught of testing begins. He wants to refuse, to dig in his heels and remain steadfastly at your side through whatever fresh torments this throws your way.

But that defiance dies before it can form, snuffed out by the fragility written in the slump of your shoulders and the dull, haunted glaze muting your formerly vibrant spirit. All of his instincts scream at him to protect you, to rally against any external forces bent on inflicting more cruelty upon your already overburdened existence.

Instead, with a leaden heart and bile burning the back of his throat, Charles can only slip from the room and let the white coats encircle you with their machines and sterile indifference.

It’s a wait that lasts an eternity condensed into seconds, the rubber soles of his sneakers tracing grooves into the linoleum as he paces the hallway with increasing franticness. Snatches of conversation drift out from behind the closed door — clinical assessments devoid of context or feeling.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the door sweeps open and a group of personnel file out, scribbling notations and conversing in terse murmurs. One of them, a woman with cropped silver hair and piercing eyes, breaks off to approach Charles. Her expression is carefully neutral, devoid of any emotional tells.

“Mr. Leclerc.” It’s not a question, but an acknowledgment of who he is … and what is owed to him. “Your … partner has suffered extensive trauma to her spinal cord and central nervous system in the crash. The amount of nerve damage we’re detecting suggests paralysis of both lower extremities.”

The words shatter into coherent syllables and empty static all at once. Charles nods numbly, awaiting the verdict he can feel looming above them all.

“We can’t say with any certainty whether this condition is temporary or … permanent.” There’s a pause, the ghost of empathy flickering across her hawkish features before the professional mask reasserts itself. “Only time will tell if there’s any chance of full recovery once the other injuries have mended and treatment can begin in earnest.”

The finality hangs in the air for a stretched tautness of heartbeats, crystalline and utterly devoid of warmth. Charles forces himself to meet her gaze, to hold her clinical detachment within his own eyes as the world drifts further and further away.

“Okay.” It’s little more than a whisper, but it feels like tearing out his own throat to give voice to the thing that shatters his heart for you. “Can I … see her?”

A dip of the woman’s chin, a wordless assent as she steps aside to allow Charles to pass. He manages only a few weighted strides before halting, hand braced against the doorframe as he ghosts his gaze over your prostrate form.

You’re crying, quiet and bereft as the blankets rise and fall in time with your shuddering breaths. Something animal and feral keens low in Charles’ chest at the sight, every scrap of resolve threatening to unravel in the wake of your desolation.

Before he can think of second-guess the impulse, he crosses the space in two strides and drops to his knees beside the mattress. You startle at the sudden motion, eyelids fluttering in shock before recognition blazes through the emptiness shrouding your features. It’s Charles’ undoing.

“No, no … no tears.” His voice cracks like splintered glass, adrift on waves of his own withheld emotion. “You’re still here. You’re still with me, mon amour.”

He finds your hand with his own, fingers dwarfed in his calloused grip as he brings them to his brow. Outside, the doctors and specialists confer in low murmurs, their indifference too jagged to apply to the wounds here in this sanctuary where only you exist.

“You’ll be okay.” The promise burns itself into the verse he’s scribed on his heart, a vow etched in trails of moisture searing his cheeks. “No matter what it takes.”

His lips find your forehead, brushing against the clammy skin there as you sag towards him, drawn together by the gravity of an understanding too profound for the empty hallways and clinical trappings circling them. For this stolen breath, it’s simply you and him in all your wounded radiance.

“I almost lost you.” The confession rattles free, sent skyward on exhaled plumes that stir the fine baby hairs framing your brow. “And I’ll fight like hell to keep you beside me for as long as this life will allow.”

Your eyes find his, fractured mirrors reflecting all the heartache and dashed hopes ricocheting between you. But there’s something else there too.

Hope. Defiance. That unquenchable spark that first lured Charles toward you like a moth begging for the flame’s obliterating caress.

He’ll cling to that inner fire. Pour every ounce of his being into nurturing the smoldering coals until they flare again, banishing the darkness fate has chosen to drape them in at every turn. They’ll get through this, finding whatever reserves the cruelest pockets of despair have yet to strip away to sustain them.

Paralysis, brain damage, unthinkable trauma ...

None of it matters.

Not as long as you’re still drawing those precious, rasping breaths beside him.

Not as long as that beautifully battered heart beats on, refusing to surrender to the abyss.

“Je t’aime.” The oath clings to his lips, pressed against your temple as he holds you close. “Always and forever. No matter what.”

***

The sleek, modern lines of the therapy center bisect the Monegasque sky, all glass and steel rising toward the blue expanse. Charles pauses a moment as he strides across the courtyard, drawing in a steadying breath of the crisp early-winter air before continuing on toward the entrance.

The motion-triggered doors sweep open with a whisper, ushering him into the pristine lobby adorned with the fixtures of understated elegance. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in muted ambers and golds that warm the precision-engineered decor.

Charles crosses the space with economical purpose, gaze sweeping the sitting areas arranged with studied nonchalance until he pinpoints the familiar silhouette awaiting him. You’re positioned with your back angled toward him, the faint shudder of your shoulders visible as you shift position in the high-backed wheelchair.

For a heartbeat, the sight freezes him in place, the old swell of emotions threatening to spiral into rampant chaos until he can taste the acrid tang of panic curdling on his tongue.

Then the moment passes, brought up short by the instinctive reflex to compartmentalize that’s carried him through so many darknesses since the day his entire universe fragmented beyond repair. He shakes it off, squaring his shoulders as he resumes his trajectory, clearing the distance between you in a handful of strides.

You must sense his presence behind you because a tremor shivers across your frame a half-second before you begin to crane your neck towards the source of the approaching footfalls. Charles times his approach to intercept the motion, stepping neatly into your peripheral line of sight with a warm smile ghosting across his features.

“Mon amour.”

The endearment falls from his lips like silk across skin, the richly-textured syllables suffusing the air between you until it feels thick with emotion and the grounding sense of home. Of course, you react to the sound, lips already parting in anticipation of reply that has yet to fully manifest.

The struggle is still so pronounced, hewn into the furrows creasing your brow and the deliberate concentration sharpening the elegant lines of your profile as you wrestle with the disconnect between neural synapses and musculature. Each time Charles bears witness to these trials, it rekindles the enduring fury and heartache enough to steal the air from his lungs.

How cruel could fate be to hurt the brightest soul he’s ever known?

The questions circle endlessly, gnawing their way across his subconscious in a constant cycle of what-ifs and unvoiced anguish. So he clings to patience as your sole solace, willing every ounce of unspoken encouragement into the sliver of contact where his calloused fingers sit atop your knuckles.

“It’s-” The fragmented sound tugs his focus back to your profile in time to catch the flickering hint of frustration tightening the muscles along your jaw as the words elude their trajectory once more. He watches your chest rise and fall with the effort of measured breathing, sees the war being waged behind blown pupils as your nerves strive to reestablish an equilibrium so brutally ruptured by trauma.

And then … a breakthrough.

“I ...” Barely more than an exhale, shaped on the barest puff of air passing your lips. But the simple vowel ignites something beneath Charles’ breastbone, a frisson of hope and pride and a thousand other tangled emotions combining into unadulterated exhilaration.

“L-love ...” Another pause, infinitesimal in the grand cosmic span yet stretched endless as the consonants parse themselves into recognizable sounds. Your eyes find his, glimmering pinpricks of desperate adoration blazing through the sullen cloud of anguish that’s settled in their depths.

The final whisper crystallizes into the air with the reverent weight of an answered prayer, “... you.”

Charles is across the space in an instant, crashing to his knees before you with a breathless sound that parts his lips on a broken rasp. Trembling hands map along the delicate slopes of your cheeks, cradling your face as a single tear spills free to chart a glistening trail down his cheek.

“Oh god ...” The prayer shivers past his lips, half sob and half keening breath as he presses his brow to yours, drowning in your presence and surrounding himself with the singularity of your existence. “You did it. You said it ...”

He trails off, lost to the beautifully battered rhythm of your exhales gusting across his features. This close, you’re all he sees, all he needs to survive this moment of solace among the anguished trials you’ve endured to forge this path back toward him. With painstaking care, he leans in to dust trembling kisses across your brow, your temples, the feathered crescents of your eyelashes as they flutter shut beneath the reverent onslaught.

Until finally, his lips find yours in a searing confession of worship — no urgency or fire, just two souls colliding into the singularity that first kindled their union. Charles slants his mouth across your own, breathing you in deeply until his senses are awash in the familiar scent of your skin and the dizzying tranquility of becoming something so much more than the sum of fragmented parts.

It both is and isn’t a kiss, just the barest brush of sensitive flesh and shared breath. Yet all of Charles’ fortitude strains against the tidal surge of emotion crashing through his bones … devotion and heartache, fervent pride and the nauseating chaser of reality.

Because even as you persevere, rising like a phoenix from each trial along this endless road toward recovery, he knows the path ahead remains strewn with obstacles and shadowed pockets into which the darkness always lurks.

When he finally tears himself away, it’s with another shuddering breath and two crystalline trails of moisture etched into the hollows beneath his eyes. He drinks in your features with the starving desperation of one lost to the merciless desert of life, maps every nuanced shift of line and breath and expression to catalog the miracles unfolding before him.

“You incredible, impossible thing ...” The endearment slips free on a choked laugh, more for his sake than any lack of comprehension on your part. Even after everything, Charles knows you understand the timbre and shape of his words as deeply as if they were your own thoughts.

But before he can bask in the fleeting warmth of this tiny victory, you’re drawing him back in. Delicate fingertips brushing the moisture from his cheekbones as you struggle to translate thought into sound once more.

“This … isn’t ...” A pregnant pause, brow furrowing with the strain before the rest comes in a tumbling rush. “What you wanted. For us.”

The words land like craters against Charles’ ribs, disjointed bombs stripping away the last threads of cheerfulness with each syllable. He stills, mouth parting on a protest that never materializes as you forge onward in the wake of his stunned silence.

“Y-you gave up ...” Another tiny hesitation, your chest rising and falling as you suck in a fortifying breath, “... everything.”

A fresh sheen of moisture wells in your eyes, slick with too many fractured hopes and dreams to ever assemble into coherent utterances. Still, Charles recognizes each shred of meaning, every whispered subtext behind the fragments you offer up as if stilling him for the inevitable strike to come.

Except this time, the blow he expects never arrives. Instead, you lean in, fingertips trailing lightly across the sharp angles of his jaw as the rest of the thought emerges with painstaking care.

“It’s … okay. To find someone ...” Your voice cracks, throat bobbing against the torrent of naked vulnerability suffusing each word. “... new.”

For an endless instant, the world spins on its axis, that single, shattered confession shearing through all of Charles’ deeply-ingrained instincts and defenses. This is the thing he’s dreaded since the first moment fate’s vicious hand tore the very fabric of your radiance into parts — the inevitability of you shouldering the blame for what has unfolded.

Unacceptable.

Unthinkable.

His hands are on you again before he consciously wills them to move, palms cradling your face like he’s the one in constant danger of crumbling into a billion undone pieces. It’s both anchor and lifeline as he pulls you flush against him, mouth trembling for purchase against the rush of sentiment crashing through his veins.

“Never.” The oath has never felt so feather-light yet absolute all at once. He rasps it out like a scrap of prayer, the shape of the sound rippling through the air between them.

“This life? You are everything I want.” The words feel torn from some primal place he had thought cauterized in the aftermath of all that has transpired between them. But still, Charles lays himself bare in their wake, baring every shred of anguish and love and reverence bleeding from his heart.

“Not the career or the glory or any other pursuit I might have thrown myself toward ...” He drags in a ragged inhale, feeling your quivering breaths ghosting across his lips like a light breeze stoked from embers. “Just you, mon cœur. All of you — from your brilliant mind to your determined spirit.”

His thumb traces the supple curve of your cheekbone, rough calluses snagging lightly against satin-smooth skin as his voice skips toward a halting rasp.

“I don’t know what the future holds.” This final mortal truth lingers in the thrall of hushed vulnerability shrouding them. “But I’m not leaving this existence without you by my side through every second of it. Not willingly.”

In the suspended heartbeats that follow, Charles watches the onslaught of emotion crest through the otherworldly depths of your eyes. He swallows hard, aching to fend off whatever final resistance lingers behind those storm-tossed features. Except his throat has grown too thick, too clogged with unshed tears to give voice to the hundreds upon thousands of fractured promises unspooling toward each other.

So he kisses you instead — harder this time, with the desperate exhilaration of a drowning man breaking surface to taste the first gasps of oxygen-rich air. He pours himself into the connection, igniting the spark that first smoldered between you years and lifetimes ago until his entire being resonates with the radiant warmth.

When at last he drags himself back, it’s with a swipe of his thumb to brush away the shimmering track of tears he’s unwittingly drawn to your cheek. “I love you,” he rumbles, the sound resonating from the depths of his core to embed in the very foundations of his soul. “Nothing else matters.”

And as if summoned by nothing more than the simmering weight of his epiphanies, you offer up one final exhalation shimmering with promise and budding hope.

“Race.” A broken sound, little more than a whispered caress against the tide of all that has gone unsaid. “Win for … f-for us.”

Charles’ lips part, trembling with too many half-born replies in that stretched moment of realization.

You’re right. Of course you’re right, focused as always upon rekindling the vibrant sparks threatening to gutter beneath his gaze. It’s yet more proof of why he resolved to kneel before you and bind his existence to your own — from now until the last glimmers of twilight.

He curls a hand behind your neck, prizing this beautiful connection above all the momentary triumphs and thrills his boyhood dreams ever convinced him to pursue. Red-painted carbon and shrieking downshifts, roars of acclaim and champagne spilled as if raining down from the heavens … none of it could ever hope to fill the sacred spaces you’ve already occupied with your quiet strength and luminous resilience.

“For you,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, leaving goosebumps in its wake along the exposed column of your throat. “And only for you, mon ange. I’ll make the world itself hold its breath if that’s what you need.”

He seals the promise with a final brush of his mouth, lingering until every ounce of the sacred vow sears itself into your skin and memory alike.

By the time he draws back to drink in your features one more time, there’s a spark flickering through the storm clouds rimming your gaze. A dazzling flicker in the instant before it flares into something inextinguishable, something potent enough to blind out every shadow threatening to swallow him whole.

It sears through him like a lightning strike, melting every ounce of resolve into something more precious than any trophy or accolade his profession could ever bestow.

A vow you return with a simple promise. “I’ll be your ...” Your voice falters. But your eyes blaze with the words, with that same inevitable fire that forged those first fateful sparks between your souls, “... biggest fan.”

***

The grand hall seems to hum with the collective intake of a thousand bated breaths as Charles turns to face the gathering. Sunlight streams through towering windows in cascading sheets of amber warmth, gilding everything in honeyed refractions that lend an ethereal glow to the floral arrangements and pristine altar dominating the space.

He sucks in a steadying breath of his own, rolling his shoulders beneath the crisp lines of his tailored tuxedo. Anticipation thrums through every fiber of his being, vibrating in synchrony with the symphony of tremulous breaths rippling through their assembled friends and loved ones.

This moment has been too long in manifesting, too brutally tested by the cruelties of fate to be anything but utterly perfect in execution.

Behind him, the faint rustle of his groomsmen shifting into place provides the barest murmur of ambient sound. Joris, Andrea, Pierre, Arthur, and Lorenzo — all united by the gravity of this singular instance reshaping the trajectory of Charles’ existence. He chances the briefest glance over his shoulder, meeting their steadying nods of encouragement with a fleeting ghost of a smile.

It anchors him, draws together those final errant threads of composure in time for the first swell of the processional to filter through the sprawling chamber. The gentle symphony of strings and woven harmonies crashes over Charles in a physical caress, setting his nerves alight with anticipation as every eye tracks toward the grand archway dominating the far end of the hall.

He doesn’t immediately register the diminutive figure emerging in a sweep of ivory chiffon and pale lace. Only after the sharp inhalation of breath fluttering through the assembled does his gaze lock onto your silhouette, resplendent even through the sheer flutter of the veil haloing your shoulders.

He expects the wheelchair, the familiar sleek metallic lines and measured rolls ushering you towards him. Expects the sight that’s become so achingly you, even as it never fails to tighten every muscle in his body with the urge to shelter you in his arms from every cruelty the merciless universe has seen fit to inflict.

Except … there is no chair.

The shuddering breath that leaves his lips might as well have been torn from the depths of his very essence in that suspended heartbeat of dawning realization.

You’re walking.

With slow, tiny strides, flanked on either side by bridesmaids in burnished golds — but not supported or aided in any functional sense of the movements.

No, these halting footfalls are all your own. A monumental effort of sheer force of will and gritty determination honed across months of exhaustive perseverance through some of the darkest shadows ever spanning your shared existences.

Each trembling step, every inch traveled across that endless-seeming expanse of polished marble floor, is both defiant proof of your resilience and a blazing triumph over pain and hardship and loss echoed ten thousandfold.

Charles cannot breathe. Can barely remain upright as his entire world both manifests and dissolves around this singular progression unfolding before him in strangled increments. Others have begun to weep in earnest, muffled sobs billowing through the gathered assembly like ripples across a pond’s placid surface.

He’s vaguely aware of his groomsmen shifting behind him, of shocked gasps ghosting across their stunned features as they grasp the significance of what’s unfolding before their eyes. Andrea’s palm finds the small of Charles’ back, steadying his frame against the sudden influx of vertigo and exhilaration threatening to collapse his consciousness.

Because all that exists in this shuddering span of fractured instants is you. Nothing more, nothing less than the endless radiance of your soul as you stride toward him.

Toward your destiny.

Toward the culmination of all the strength and beauty and determination he’s revered with every ounce of his being since the first time he met you.

He’s crying in earnest now, can feel the streaking trails of moisture searing molten paths down his cheeks to dampen the crisp cotton stretched across his chest. Yet the tears hardly register as anything more than a bodily necessity to expel the rising tsunami of l elation cresting inside his core.

You’re within arm’s reach now, only a handful of quavering paces separating your joined paths. Charles’ hands tremble where they hang at his sides, fingers spasming around the desperation to move, to reach, to hold you against him and pour every ounce of adoration into you.

Willpower alone is what roots him in place, keeps him tethered until every shift and flex of muscle is committed to memory. Until your forward momentum carries you into his gravitational embrace in a sweeping collision of souls reunited.

He feels your hands first, slightly clammy where they land against his shoulders and chest in search of purchase. Then the subtlest hint of perfume, that floral-tinged elixir unique only to the slope of your neck and the crown of your hair when he dips to brush his lips across your brow in reverence.

The dam breaks and Charles crumples inward, folding himself around your form with only the vaguest cognition of the groomsmen forming a sheltering web around you both as he sinks to his knees in a thunderous impact of boneless limbs.

Words either fail him or escape articulation as the only sounds to pass his lips become a stream of fevered, jumbled endearments and throaty praises poured directly against the fevered warmth of your skin. His hands map every trembling plane in frantic sweeps, nails skirting intricate embroidery and dewy satin as each heated exhale shudders harsh against your neck, your cheeks, your brow ...

“Mon cœur ...” The title is prayer and confession, ground out from the friction of his entire belief system being forged anew around you. “You incredible thing ... dieu, look at you ...”

He silences the reflexive protests before they can rise by slanting his mouth across yours. There’s nothing carnal or profane in the gesture, simply the coming together of two souls.

You taste of elation and salt, of budding promise and fond tenacity. Of incandescent joy and the shredded velvet of nights spent paralleling the loneliest infinities as your fingers clutched each other like dual magnets anchored across the universe’s expanse.

“So strong … my warrior … perfect ...” The muted words ghost over your trembling form. Somewhere distant, a chorus of cheers and applause has erupted beyond the bubble forming around you.

But none of it truly registers, not when compared to this shattering merging of everything either of you has struggled and strained and wept to reach.

Nothing else matters in the sweeping catharsis cascading around you both. Not the hoarse prayers still shuddering past his lips, or the moisture from your own lashes streaking down his cheeks in silence.

It’s only when the dizzying euphoria begins to ebb that Charles slowly drags his gaze upwards to find yours — those beautiful depths drowning in reverence and bliss mirroring his own. The spark flickering there banishes all shadows in an instant, forging incandescence enough for a lifetime no matter what fresh trials fate might see fit to test your devotion.

He drinks you in, committing the flawless canvas of your features to permanence before reaching up to brush trembling fingertips across the sheer lace obscuring your radiance. The sweep of fabric pools around your shoulders and Charles finds himself very nearly undone again by the sight of your unveiled beauty.

“So ...” He swallows hard, fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw as words fail him for a what feels like an eternity. “... beautiful. Like the first dawn cutting through the blackest oblivion.”

A tremulous smile sweeps across your lips, the ghost of a promise he absorbs with every pore as you lean into the reverent sweep of his touch. He could stay like this forever, knees grinding against the ornate tile. Anything to capture how eternal he feels right here with you.

Charles drags in a rallying breath, forcing his widened gaze from yours just long enough to call his groomsmen to attention with a look. They rally behind him, steadying him as he rises on legs turned bowstring-taut with adrenaline.

And then, with every eye once more centered upon you two, Charles bends at the waist and sweeps you into his embrace, cradling your trembling frame against his chest with the paradoxical delicacy and unyielding reverence that lives so unbridled within his very bones. Your breath catches audibly, a soft hitch of sound that adorns the sacred silence as he turns away from the guests.

The officiant’s features are flushed and lined, rimed with moisture that glistens unabashedly as he gathers himself to proceed.

“Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc and Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” he begins. “You have been called here as an acknowledgment of the next chapter in your lives together ...”

The ceremony begins, the words spilling forth as you tuck your cheek against Charles’ thundering pulse, fingers curling into the lapel of his tuxedo in a white-knuckled embrace. He lives in the rise and fall of your mingling breaths, in the warmth of your form pressed seamlessly against the shelter of his body as you bear witness to the eternal scripture neither of you could have fathomed even existing upon first crossing paths.

Then, the officiant turns his attention towards Charles, chin dipped in grave deference. “You may recite your vows.”

The command punches through him, sawing the breath from his lungs in a ragged exhalation that shivers across your crown. He swallows hard, blinks back the fresh deluge of tears that threatens to escape his faltering restraint. But when he opens his mouth, the words spill out like they were always meant to.

“I have dreamed of you since before the first moments of my existence.” The syllables echo across the hall, spiraling forth to caress every rapt attendee in their wake. “Of a love conceived in the heart of a collapsing star and given breath in our adjoined forms to shine forth into the darkness.”

His lips brush your hairline, absorbing the scent of your fragrance and feeling the thrumming rhythm of life radiating from your temples. Here, cocooned in the intimate heart of their unity, the world holds its breath along with the gathered witnesses.

“Nothing could have prepared my soul to be scoured by your brilliance, your resilience … let alone knitted together from the fraying remnants when our path shattered across the cruel stones of fate.” A tremulous inhale, steadying as his gaze flicks across the faces assembled before you — a sweep encompassing every expression of empathy and shared joy piercing back at him.

“Yet here we stand, mon amour ...” The endearment spills forth like rich velvet, textured and avowed as his mouth finds the top of your head once more, the taste of reverence sweet on his tongue. “United into something sacred, something woven from those endless nights clinging to each other across the desolate chasm that could so easily have swallowed us whole.”

He savors the simple elation of your response, of knowing his words resonate through every quivering fiber with the promise of finally reaching what you’ve been steadily ascending to all along.

So he breathes you in once more, chasing the familiar scent of your skin until his very lungs burn with the delight of your proximity. The depths of his gaze find yours again, irises rimmed in the faintest remnants dampness as one final promise takes shape.

“I will love you to the final molecule ...” Quieter now, a molten rasp uttered into the hollow between your brows as fingertips sift through the intricate sweeps of your tresses. “I will walk beside you through each breath and season, every triumph and shadow that marks this existence as uniquely ours. With all that I am, all that lingers when the inconsequential has stripped from my shell — I am yours. Until the last spark is extinguished from this universe and beyond.”

The promise hangs in the reverent stillness as he takes his first full breath after, filling his lungs with the ozone and wildflowers commingling from your respective scents until his senses reel. Only then does he draw back enough to drink in the sight before him — the ethereal swaths of your veil now skirting the contours of your features, the downy lashes beaded with moisture, the trembling swell of your lips as the first stuttered shapes of sound begin forming upon them.

Your reciprocation is a hushed, halting stream of sounds that carry all the solemn gravity of prayers finally granted voice. Each syllable pitches forward, low and overflowing with the fevered weight of their reverence until they resonate through Charles’ bei by like physical sensations trailing electricity along his nerves.

“In the beginning, there was nothing,” you breathe, fingers flexing restlessly against the solid plate of his chest as you struggle to channel the turbulent swell of emotion cascading through every aspect of your existence. “An endless and lightless oblivion that should have terrified me ...”

A faint smile blooms across Charles’ features as he watches the story of a lifetime together play out in miniature across your expression.

“Yet it didn’t.” The syllables part on a whisper of revelation, a new wave of tears flickering in the gleam of your eyes as you find his gaze. “Because I knew you even then.”