#it’s not perfect but is the best i could do

[moonsgemini]

cherry wine - firefighter!rafe pt. 2

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summary: Rafe’s job gets in the way of your first date, but you’re not mad about it.

warnings: teacher!reader x firefighter!rafe, fluff, mutual pining, flirting, sexy rafe, SMUT, fingering, fem rec oral, fem!reader, inaccurate descriptions of firefighter duties, alcohol, cursing

an: I have no idea how a fire fighters schedule works so I made it up bc it’s fiction. oh & do we like the long fics?? oh & it’s my birthday yay to 24

part one

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The night at the bar Rafe made sure you were sober to drive. He had you drink lots of water and even ordered you a plate of fries. His mind wandering off when you would lick the salt off your fingers. He was gone for you from the start and he didn’t mind one bit.

After walking you to your car he asked for your number and promised to see you the next day. Leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and permanent butterflies. The whole drive home you belted out the lyrics to your favorite pop music, feeling like a high school girl with a crush.

Rafe drove him in silence with a grin on his face. When he got home and texted you that he had a great time and couldn’t wait to see you again that grin never vanished. It only widened when you replied reciprocating the same feelings.

The next day came and a couple hours before picking you up Rafe got called into the station. Instead of texting he called you wanting to make sure you knew he wasn’t flaking. You believed him of course. Yet you couldn’t help the natural feeling of disappointment that flowed through your bones.

That feeling was soothed when he texted you late that night that he had finally gotten back to the station. Along with that he sent a picture of the station dog Max on his lap. You couldn’t help the way your mouth watered at the sight of his veiny big hand that was resting in the golden retrievers fur. In return you sent back a picture of your steaming mug of tea and a horror movie playing on the tv in the back.

It sparked a conversation about movies which led to you and Rafe talking non stop the following week. Besides the times you were teaching and he was out training or helping people.

Rafe promised you a proper date that upcoming Friday. Making sure to let you know that he would do anything to make it work out this time. You reassured him it was okay if something came up again. That made his heart burst, it wasn’t often that someone was willing to work with his hectic schedule.

-

The outfit you had planned for the previous weekend still sat on your vanity chair waiting to be worn. And hopefully waiting to be taken off. You had finished your hair and makeup all done to perfection. As it neared closer to the time he was picking you up your anxiety spiked. He hadn’t called to reschedule so it was really happening.

Rafe had gotten worked up all week with the pictures you’d occasionally send of what you were doing. The one that really got him was when you had gotten out of the shower and sent him a picture of you in a fuzzy robe with wet hair and your skin glistening. Most likely due to a skincare routine you had mentioned to him.

Rafe thought you looked like a goddess, he wished he could have gotten down on his knees and untied that robe with his teeth before worshiping you. His kind had been in the gutter all week.

He was making sure this date was going to go perfect. He bought a bouquet of flowers from a street vendor and worn his best date outfit. As he rang the doorbell to your small cottage he started to get a bit nervous. He hadn’t put this much effort into a date since high school. Even then how much effort could a teenage boy put in. He didn’t actually remember the last time he went on a date.

Rafe’s runaway thoughts were interrupted as you opened the door. Standing in front of him in a short black skirt and black top. A jacket hanging over your arm and your glossy lips turning up into a smile. The boots you were accentuated your legs making them look even longer. Rafe wanted to lick every inch of you. Especially after the smell of your perfume hit him, he wanted to kiss your neck.

“Hi,” You said with a teasing tone.

He didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything, “You look beautiful.” He made it a point to look her up and down.

She laughed as heat creeped up her neck, “Thank you Rafe.”

He loved how you said his name, “These are for you.” He handed you the flowers.

“Come in while I put them in water,” You nodded towards the inside of the house, “They’re beautiful Rafe. You really do know how to treat me good.”

He closed the door behind him as you began filling a vase with water, “Oh this is nothing.”

“If there’s more than this I might start to like you a little too much,” You joked hoping the weight of those words don’t send him running. You didn’t mean to say something so forward so soon. Literally on the first date, but you decided to stick by your words. You didn’t want to hide that you liked him.

“Perfect, because I already like you a little too much.”

You froze with the kitchen towel in your hands as you dries them. As you looked at him his smile was sincere, no hint of teasing or lying. You finished drying your hands as you laughed softly. The crush you had on Rafe was growing by the minute.

“Ready?” You asked.

He nodded opening the front door for you. He even opened the passenger door of his truck for you. Of course you knew these were bare minimum things but you couldn’t help how giddy it made you feel. Especially when it was him doing it for you.

-

Everything couldn’t have been going more perfect. Rafe was almost grateful he had to postpone the date because in the week the two of you talked he learned a lot. With the knowledge of you he had he planned the perfect date.

He took you to a record shop that you hadn’t been to before. You had told him about your extensive collection you had started building in high school. He even remembered a few of the bands you liked when he came across them. Of course he insisted on buying you a couple which you repeatedly told him not to. Obviously he didn’t listen and bought you them.

Next door was the Italian restaurant Rafe had been raving about all week. Promising you it’d be the best pasta of your life.

But as you looked over the menu, a ghost of a grin hasn’t left your mouth all evening, his phone started ringing. Rafe took his phone out of his pocket beginning to apologize for not silencing it. He was going to ignore the call but the name across the screen had his brows furrowing in worry.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up briefly, “Uh yeah it’s my captain. I’m so sorry I need to answer this.” You nodded understanding as he gave you a regretful smile as he slid out the booth to take the call. You continued to look over the cocktail menu.

Rafe sighed as he sat down across from you again, “Everything okay?” You asked

He shook his head, “I hate to do this but I got called in. I wasn’t supposed to work today but there’s a hug pile up downtown where there’s a big concert and they need all the help they can get.”

You tried not to show the disappointment you felt because it was his job after all. Rafe could still see how your eyes lost a bit of their shine and your smile wasn’t as bright anymore. He really hated this. In his career so far he had never been called in so much. But now when he meets the hottest woman he’s ever seen work is taking over his life. He was not about to have you slip through his fingers.

“Oh yeah I understand. You can just drop m-“ You began saying before he interrupted.

“Come with me.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head with a laugh, “Not to the wreck to the station. Wait for me there.”

He didn’t even wait for you to reply because for one he needed to leave now or Captain Matthews would chew his head off. And two if you decided you didn’t want to and wanted nothing to do with him anymore he’s take you home, but the sound of your laugh as he pulled you through the restaurant was enough of an answer. Your hands stayed locked together until you got back into his truck.

The station wasn’t too far from where you already were so the drive was short. Rafe rushed out to open your door and grab your hand once again. As you trailed behind him you saw a few of the guys from career day and some new faces as they all stood by an engine in the garage. A couple were checking equipment and a few others were already getting on the truck.

“Sorry to interrupt your date but we need your help here Cameron,” An older guy said as the two of you approached. You assumed this was his captain.

You smiled, “Duty calls right?”

He laughed, “It sure does.”

“I’ll be right out,” Rafe said leading you into the station. He walked you into a room that was like a big living room with couches and a tv. Max was laying on the couch and when he saw Rafe he immediately got up and walked over to the pair.

“This is Max. Say hi Maxie bug,” He pet the dogs head who then sniffed your leg. You bent down petting his fluffy head.

“Hi Maxie.”

“Make yourself at home and feel free to anything in the kitchen. I’ll be back hopefully in a couple hours. If you get bored and uber home I won’t be offended I promise,” Rafe said placing a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, “Got it. Be safe and good luck.”

He leaned in with a grin and kissed your cheek gingerly. Even that small touch had your head spinning. You and Max watched as he jogged back outside and only a couple minutes later you heard the truck leave.

-

It had been almost two hours now and Rafe was still out. You had watched a fe episodes of your favorite sitcom and played with Max a bit. You even explored the station finding the kitchen and a few of the rooms used for sleeping where you stole a blanket from to lay over yourself on the couch. The only issue you were having was that you were starving.

Since you two had to leave dinner you hadn’t eaten since lunch and that meesley turkey sandwich was not cutting it.

That’s when you wandered into the kitchen and that habit of wanting to take care of people kicked in. You looked through to see what the guys had almost expecting to find the bare minimum. You were so wrong. The fridge and pantry were filled with groceries. You thought these guys must really eat a lot.

You started brain storming and decided on making lasagna and garlic bread. You figured they’d all be hungry when they got back and you were also starving. As the garlic bread finished in the oven and the lasagna cooled down you heard the rumbling of the fire truck. Perfect timing. You hoped you didn’t overstep but he did say make yourself at home. You even baked some chocolate chip cookie dough they had in the fridge. Even also tossing a salad to have on the side.

As Rafe opened the door that led to the station the smell of garlic bread and fresh baked cookies hit him. He thought he must be hallucinating until he walked into the kitchen and saw you getting plates out from the cupboard. A few of the guys walked in behind Rafe.

“Hey we’re back,” Rafe said stepping towards you, “Did you make dinner?”

You nodded a bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine, “Yeah hope you guys don’t mind. I was hungry and I figured you were too so I made food for you all.”

Josh stepped forward looking at the pan of lasagna, “Rafe keep her please, this looks amazing.”

“Seriously thank you this looks so good,” Captiain Matthews said as he stepped in.

“No problem please help yourselves,” You motioned towards the counter of food.

Rafe couldn’t look away from you. The way you stood so comfortably in the station kitchen talking to his coworkers. He walked closer towards you as the guys served themselves.

“You are just too sweet huh?” He teased.

“Well we missed our italian dinner so I made it myself,” You shrugged with a grin.

“That just means next time I’m cooking for you,” He said. The thought of there being a next time brough butterflies to your stomach.

“I’ll hold you to it,” You nodded.

Rafe grabbed a plate and began to serve you food. Handing over the plate before serving himself. All the guys thanked you as Rafe led you to the living room area. He also grabbed a bottle from one of the tall cabinets along with two glasses.

“Now I know this isn’t what I promised you but next time will be better,” He promised as he opened the bottle of wine.

“There’s no complaints from me about this date,” You shrugged, “Since when are you allowed to have alcohol in here?”

He smirked, “Well miss I’m technically off the clock again and this is from the christmas party we had a few months ago. Cherry wine?”

Your eyes lit up, “It’s like you know me already, I love cherry wine.”

-

After your stomachs were full of good food and a bit of wine that made your head feel a bit floaty you both settled on the couch. This was the best date you’d ever been on. Rafe was sweet and flirty never hiding his desire for you. Not even in a sexual way but in a way where he constantly asked questions about everything wanting to know more about you. He talked about his life as well which only made you like him more. Hearing about his troubled privileged childhood that led him to where he is now. It was admirable to hear him talk about it with no shame since it made him who he is.

As it got later Rafe drove you home. You were disappointed the night was ending but it was nearing one in the morning and you still had lesson plans to create.

He walked you up to your door with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“I had a really great time with you tonight. I’m sorry again for the interruption.”

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it Rafe. I still had a great time.”

“The guys are going to want you around all the time now,” He laughed.

“Oops,” You shrugged with a smirk.

He stepped closer, “Be careful now I might get jealous.”

“Maybe I’ll keep going then,” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “I know it’s late but uh do you want to come in?”

Rafe didn’t hesitate, “Yeah sure.”

You unlocked your door leading him in, “I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like or something else.” You asked as you set your things down on the entryway table.

“hmmm something else?” He asks as he steps closer to you.

You look through your cupboards, “I have tea, coffee, some random-“ your words caught in your throat as you turned around to look at him only to find Rafe behind you.

“That all sounds good but I think I want something sweet,” He said as he inched closer. Your hands rested behind you against the counter. Eyes wide with anticipation and curiosity as to what his next move would be.

“Like sweat tea?” You asked knowing exactly what he means but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

His smirk turned into a lopsided grin. He rubbed his hand over his mustache and shook his head stepping closer, “No that cherry wine was pretty sweet right?”

You nodded in agreement not taking your eyes off him.

“I think I want a bit more of that,” He was now practically caging you in against the counter. You felt like you were suffocating in him in the best way possible.

“Oh I don-“ He interrupted you by leaning forward and brushing his nose against yours. It shut you up immediately and then he broke the rest of the distance and pressed his lips to yours. You reciprocated moved your hands from the counter to pull at the blonde hair at the back of his head. His hands went to your hips pulling you closer to him then sliding up to your waist.

His thumbs going under your shirt the skin on skin contact made you shiver in the best way. Your mouths moved in sync as the kiss deepened.

Rafe could taste the sweetness but he wasn’t sure if it was the cherry wine or just you. He knew he was addicted to you now. He loved the way your hands felt in his hair and on his biceps and shoulders. He slotted his leg in between yours making you feel even closer to him. The small noises you were making made him sigh into the kiss.

He pulled away before kissing you a few more times and murmuring, “So sweet.”

You whined and tugged at his shirt to pull him back in. He smirked and gave you what you wanted. He’d give you anything you wanted.

This time you pulled away feeling a bit bold and the feeling of his thigh pressing against the place where you needed him the most helped you say, “You wanna see my room?”

He laughed softly kissing your nose, “You inviting me to your room?”

You scoffed a laugh, “Nooo I’m asking if you want to see my room. There’s a difference.”

“I’d love to see your room.” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shoved him. Grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway to your room. You turned on the lamp on your nightstand which illuminated the room with a soft glow. Rafe had decidedly that he loved seeing you in that light. You looked like a real like angel.

“So this is it,” You said motioning to your surroundings.

He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, “Oh I really like you sweetheart. Come here,” He motioned with his fingers for you to come closer. A motion that had your mind in the gutter.

“Why do you say that?” You question as you walk forward to where he stood at the end of your bed.

“Because you’re all cute and sweet like you didn’t almost make me come just by making out.”

“Rafe!” You said with a surprised laugh.

He shrugged, “What? It’s the truth.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck still feeling bold. There was something about how unabashedly he admitted his feelings towards you that had you feeling confident. It felt good to be wanted. It felt good to be wanted by Rafe.

“You’re ridiculous,” You said as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes moving down to your still swollen lips.

“Mhmm,” He hummed and nodded. He leaned in just like he did earlier in the kitchen. Kissing the air out of your lungs. His hands moved all over you gripping and holding anything he could.

His hand slipped down your back and over your butt, giving a squeeze as he past it, down to the end of your skirt, His fingers trailed up the back of your thigh and up your skirt. Hands gripping your ass under your skirt. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips which allowed him more access into your mouth.

There was a small part of your brain that hadn’t quite turned off yet. Rafe’s lips began to trail down to your neck leaving open mouthed kisses that had you arching into him. The feeling of his mustache against your smooth skin had you shivering.That’s when that part of your brain decided to speak up.

“Oh Rafe,” You said breathily eyes fluttering shut, “are you sure, it’s late and don’t you have work?” Rafe groaned as he kissed the spot behind your ear. He couldn’t help but get more turned on at the sound of her caring about him, but work and sleep were far from his mind. Right now he just wanted to bury his head between your thighs and have you moaning and withering underneath him.

“Baby I could care less about that right now,” He walked you back until you were sat on the bed. The bed wasn’t very tall so when he stood in between your legs you had to look up at him. The way he towered over you had your flimsy underwear feeling soaked. You had never been so turned on by a man.

Rafe reached forward to cup your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek gently. Now that part of your brain was completely silent. All you could think about was him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He mumbled almost to himself.

A soft smile appeared on your face and he practically groaned again. Your doe eyes looking up at him with an innocent smile had his cock hardening even more if that’s possible. He bit his lip and watched as your eyes moved to his mouth. He knew you wanted him as bad as he wanted you and that made this all the more exciting.

He slowly trailed his thumb to his mouth, pulling at her bottom lip teasingly. Almost like a habit your mouth opened slightly. He took this as a sign to gently push it into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around it sucking and licking.

“Fuck,” He muttered as he felt your warm tongue. Where had you been all his life. He was never going to let you go. He pulled it out and leaned down kissing you again.

“You’re so hot,” He mumbled as he got on his knees in front of you. He removed your boots that you were still wearing and kissed up both legs. The intimacy of it all had your chest rising rapidly. The anticipation of just how good you know this man is going to treat you was enough to make your toes curl.

“I’ve been thinking about these thighs since I first picked you up,” He said as he kissed your inner thighs. He had placed your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping the outside of them. You sighed as your body ignited in pleasure.

You let out a small yelp as he pulled your center closer to his face causing you to fall back, “And fuuuck I’ve been thinking about pushing this little skirt up all night.” He hummed in appreciation as he pushed the black material up. Your feet now resting on the end of the bed. Your barely clothed pussy on display. Leaning back on your elbows you watched with hazy eyes as Rafe admired you.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes and a smirk, “Can I please taste you?” He knew you wouldn’t say no but he wanted to be a gentleman anyways.

“Please,” You whispered slightly bucking your hips up.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lace covered clit. The black lacy panties you had on barely doing anything to cover your slick cunt. He took a mental picture for the next time he was in the shower.

You moaned softly as he continued to kiss over panties, eventually pulling them to the side. He murmured curse words as he lifted his thumb to run through your folds. Gently slipping the tip of it inside you to gather your wetness. He trailed it up to your clot beginning to rub soft circles. The motion had your head falling back with a sigh.

Rafe turned his head and peppered kisses on your inner thigh. He pressed down a little harder as he watched you get wetter. After a few strokes he tentatively dipped his head down and licked your clit.

That was enough for him to know this is what he wanted to taste forever. He roughly pulled off the lacey matterial throwing it somewhere in the room.

He groaned as he fully dived in. Licking, sucking, and kissing just where you needed him to. He listened to your moans and soft whines to see what you liked the most. He was so painfully hard but he didn’t even care. Rafe just wanted you to come.

“Oh god Rafe,” You moaned as his tongue dipped into you. Your hands gripped his hair tugging when something felt extra good.

He moaned and the sound sent even more pleasure through you, “You taste so fucking good.”

“Rafe I’m close,” You panted, “you’re so good don’t stop please.”

He shook his head with his mouth still on you, “Never baby, you’re gonna have to pry me away from this pussy.”

The dirty words sending you even closer to the edge. You had never been talked to like this and you loved it. You liked how he ravaged you and actually paid attention to what you liked.

You felt his finger nudge your entrance before he slipped it in. Your walls tightening around his thick finger. You arched you back as he reached one hand up to press flat against your stomach to lay you down more. Then he added a second finger and you couldn’t help the cry that escaped your lips. It felt so good the way he moved them in and out. Fingers curled up hitting that spot you so desperately needed.

The lewd sounds of his fingers fucking you and his mouth on your clit filled the room. Along with your loud moans and his occasional groans. The roughness of his mustache felt so good on the sensitive bud.

“Rafey I’m-I’m gonna,”

“Mhmmm let go for me pretty girl,” He encouraged as his fingers moved faster and mouthed hungrily at your clit.

You became a shaking moaning mess as he continues his ministrations. Your orgasm taking over your body. His hand gripped your thigh roughly as he kept going until your high was over. Once your back was flar on the mattress he slowly pulled out and pressed one last kiss on your puffy clit.

He made his way up your body kissing your stomach over your shirt and then you exposed cleavage. He kissed you fully and you could feel his mustache damp with your arousal. You could also taste yourself on his tongue which had you moaning again. Rafe lifted you to be farther up the bed so he can comfortably lay on top.

“You taste so fucking good I already wanna do it again,” He said smirking as he pulled away.

You smiled in a daze, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” As you reached your hand down to the front of his pants. Your hand cupped him through the material and he groaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Fuck I really really want to do more but I actually do have work in a couple hours,” He groaned. He wishes he could just call off and spend the whole night rolling around in bed with you.

You looked at him with slight disappointment but understanding, “You sure?”

He leaned down and bit your neck playfully, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be easily convinced.”

You giggled, “I understand Rafe.”

“I’m seeing you again though. I never lied about that. Especially after you let me have a taste of you,” He groaned dramatically, “So fucking delicious I’m addicted.”

[barcaatthemoon]

little one || alexia putellas x child!reader ||

Alexia brings you with her to Barcelona training sessions.

You sat happily kicking your legs back and forth as you waited for your mother's teammates to get on the field. You were dressed up in your little barcelona kit that was an exact replica of what the coaches wore. Unofficially, you were the team's fun coordinator and official motivator. Everybody already knew that you were Alexia's sole reason for being, and making you happy was a good reason to win games.

"Bon dia," you greeted each player as she walked past you. Most of them gave you a high five or fist bump as they repeated the sentiment to you. A few of the girls were special, and the special ones got to hug you or in mapi and pina's cases, toss you up in the air for a bit. Those two were the most fun in your eyes, and you always gave them high marks on your little clipboard. As much as you loved your Mami, she rarely received high marks on the fun clipboard.

Mami's job wasn't to have fun, not even at home. Olga was your fun mom, even though you knew she wasn't really your mom like Alexia was. She was technically just Mami's girlfriend, but you thought she was like your other mother. Olga took care of you, made you good tasting breakfast, picked you up from school some days, and gave you the best goodnight hugs and kisses in the whole entire world, not that you'd ever tell Jenni that.

"Hija, come here, you're getting red," Mami told you. Since you came into practice with her, you'd been out on the field for a couple hours already. At first, you were sleeping, but then the sun became too bright for you to sleep around. You wanted to go inside again where it was cooler and you could nap, but it was more important to spend time with your big friends.

Besides, you knew that if you found the right girl on the right day, you'd get a nap. You scanned around as they practiced to figure out who your target was. Vicky and her group were out immediately, the younger players running around like you did after Lucy and Mapi fed you candies. Mami didn't like you to distract the girls with nap time, so you knew to stay away from her. Irene gave good cuddles, but she didn't look tired. Just as you were about to give up, you noticed Caro yawn.

Caro wasn't your favorite, she wasn't even really one of the special girls who gave you hugs. Mami explained that she wasn't Spanish and that in her country, people weren't as friendly. You thought it was funny that she was girlfriends with Marta, who was one of the friendliest people you had ever met, after Jenni and Leila, of course. Despite all of that, you knew that Caro would be your naptime partner. All you had to do was wait for the perfect moment to arise.

…

"Come on, she's a baby! You can totally curl her," Mapi huffed as Ona struggled to complete her last rep of "Bebita curls" as Mapi called them. "Ugh, let her down. I'll put in an extra set if that's okay with you, Bebita?"

"Actually, I need to find Caroline," you told Mapi. She looked surprised, but let you down anyway. "Oh, and it's okay Ona. Olga doesn't carry me around anymore unless it's piggy back rides. She says I'm too big for her arms now."

"Pssh, they're just weak. Give it time, your Mami will whip her into shape too." With that, Mapi patted you on the butt as she turned you towards where the Scandinavian players were working out together. You felt a little nervous approaching them, they were scarier without their Spanish counterparts. With Mapi, Aitana, and Marta gone, you realized just how big these women were. They were like giants, and despite the fact that you knew they were friendly, they scared you sometimes.

"Ahem, Miss Caroline, will you read my naptime book to me please?" You stood before them with your hands behind your back, fidgeting them silently. Fidgeting like that wasn't a good habit, at least that's what your Mami told you. You thought it was fine, especially since Abuela Eli told you it was normal.

"Go on, it's a big deal," Ingrid told her friend. Caro looked between Ingrid and Frido, who both seemed to share Ingrid's outlook. You were Alexia's baby, and everybody knew that, and normally you flocked to the other Spanish players. Caro felt like she was out of her depth doing this, but she went with you anyway because that was what you wanted.

"What do I do?" Caro asked you. You pointed over to the little spot that was made up for two people to lay down at. It was pretty late in practice, and if you didn't nap here, Mami would make you nap at home when you'd want to play. If you napped here, then you could play games when you got back home with Mami.

"Lay on the big pillow. You can use the blue blanket, I like the yellow one anyway. I'll lay down with you, and then you read my book to me. The English words are hard for me, I can only read Spanish," you told her. Caro nodded and did what you told her to. She wasn't a very good cuddler, but she was warm and didn't push you off of her when you got comfortable. You also liked her voice, and within a few minutes, you were asleep with Caro holding you protectively.

…

Some days, you were completely lost in your own little world. Other days, you watched everyone and everything around you. Today was a watchful day for you. Mami had an away game, so you'd ride with Abuela Eli and Tia Alba to the game. It was in Madrid, and the fans could get rowdy when they saw the Barcelona bus, and Mami hated bringing you that way.

"Hola Mapi," you said nonchalantly. Mapi gasped and looked around with her mouth agape. She was utterly shocked that you had detected her before she had managed to scare you. Nevermind that she had tried that trick countless times before without it actually working well. And the days it did work ended with you crying because Mapi scared you, and Mapi crying because she felt bad.

"Bebita, you must have spider senses for something. It is amazing, but be careful, you don't want to become a robot like your Mami," Mapi teased. She dug her fingers into your sides as you squirmed and laughed. You started to swat her away, and much to your luck and Mapi's chargin, Ingrid came over and interrupted.

"Hi (y/n)," Ingrid greeted you. She was kind of funny in that she rarely called anybody by their nicknames. Ana hadn't been like that, and sometimes you really missed the tall blonde lady, but Mami and Irene let you talk to her on the phone with the promise that you not tell Ingrid or Mapi. Mami didn't want them to get upset, even though they all used to be teammates with each other.

"Hola Ingrid." You leaned your head all the way back to see Ingrid. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before she joined you on the grass. "Whatcha doing?"

"Sitting with you," Ingrid answered. She tapped the tip of your nose, causing you to erupt into a little fit of giggles. Mapi groaned and muttered something under her breath. You didn't catch most of it, but you definitely heard a couple of words your Mami made you promise not to say until you were much older, and absolutely never in the presence of Eli. "Is that okay, tiny?"

"Yes, I like you Ingrid. You're nice and smell nice," you said. Ingrid laughed, especially once Mapi looked over at the two of you with a weird face.

"You never tell me that I smell nice, Bebita," Mapi huffed. You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned over towards Mapi. Hesitantly, you sniffled, pleasantly surprised that she sort of smelled like Ingrid. You knew it was because she spent a lot of time cuddling with Ingrid or hugging her. Mapi always smelled a little bit like whatever girl she was dating, just like Jenni used to smell like your Mami and Leila had lots of smells.

"You smell a little like Ingrid, but not as good," you told her honestly. Mapi sputtered and huffed, clearly about to start ranting when the big coach's whistle blew for practice to resume. "Play good and have fun. I don't have my checker board today, but I'm watching."

"Aye, aye captain!" Mapi saluted you. Ingrid pressed a kiss to your cheek as a goodbye before she dragged Mapi back over to the rest of the team. You don't know if they actually had fun because you went right back to playing with the grass and occasionally waving at your Mami when she stopped.

…

"Hija, please," Alexia pleaded with you. You had fallen asleep in the film room, and Alexia had hoped to just pass you onto Alba, but things were not going according to plan at all. You wanted to either go home with Olga, who was in Madrid already for work, or Alexia, who wouldn't let you ride all the way to Madrid with her on the team bus. "You can't go with me."

"Then I want Mama!" You were practically sobbing and stomping your feet. People could see you, but they tried to move onto the bus like seeing you so upset didn't break their hearts. "Mama! Mama! Mama! Not you, Mama!"

"What about Tia Alba and Abuela Eli, don't you want to see them too?" Alexia asked. She knelt down in front of you and tried to reach out, but you jerked away like her mere presence offended you. "Hija, I'm not telling you anymore. You're going with Tia Alba to my Mami's. They'll bring you to Madrid tomorrow, and you can see Mama then."

"Ale, look at her. It might be easier to just have Olga pick her up from the hotel," Alba reasoned. "Or, I could go up a night early and she can stay there."

"No, you're not leaving Mami to drive all that way by herself. We made this plan weeks ago, and it's not changing because someone is upset," Alexia said. Alba glanced between you and her older sister, amazed by how stubborn both of you were being. If there had ever been a doubt that you were Alexia's baby, it was cleared up with moments like these.

"Call Olga and see what she thinks," Alba said. At that, Alexia paused, knowing what her girlfriend would say. Olga was constantly getting at Alexia for being too stuck in her ways. Alexia was trying to get better about being flexible when it came to plans, but it was hard.

"N-no, that's not necessary," Alexia stammered a little. Alba was glad to see Alexia give up a little as she walked over towards you. "Mama's been gone for a long time, hasn't she?"

"Y-yeah," you answered. You weren't sobbing anymore, but you were definitely still crying quite a bit. "'miss her."

"I miss her too, a lot. I'm sorry that I didn't think about your feelings. I didn't even think to ask if you wanted to come with me, I just made plans for you to go with Alba. Abuela Eli misses you a lot, so I thought you'd want to spend time with them. How about you go with them for this, and next time I have to go far away, you and Olga can have a girls' weekend?" It wasn't a great compromise, but Alexia was hoping that it would work for you. You seemed to be contemplating it, which Alexia took as a good sign.

"This time I'll go with Tia Alba," you told her. Alexia sighed in relief as she wrapped her arms around you. "Bye Mami."

"Bye Bebita. Temo amo," Alexia whispered into your hairline as she peppered your face with kisses. You began to squirm away from her, but Alexia had a tight hold on you.

"Come on, let's go. Just wait until you see what Abuela Eli made for dinner," Alba said as she pried Alexia's arms off of you. You gave your Mami a kiss before you went with Alba for the night.

"Do you think Abuela Eli will let us all sleep in the big bed together?" you asked as you swung Alba's arm. She hated it, especially whenever Alexia used to do it to her, but with you, she found it kind of endearing.

"Definitely, I bet she's already got your teddies laid up in bed," Alba answered. You were so happy and excited that you hopped up randomly as Alba led you to her car. You sat on her shoulders and watched as the Barcelona bus left, and with it, your Mami for her big game. You didn't really care to watch it, but you were excited for being passed around everybody's laps for cuddles during the game.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙op(rincess)81 | OP81˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: oscar piastri x princess!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: just fluff, idk anything abt royal families i have taken many many liberties so please forgive

summary: in which after bagging a princess, it takes a long while for the fans to realise it actually is oscar

a/n: haven't written for oscar in ages so i picked him!!! also my first royalty smau so hope it's ok

request!!!: could I request a royal princess!reader with Oscar or Lando please and they are spotted and nobody believes it’s actually them until their is a statement made about them being engaged or something!!!!

my masterlist

fc: christinanadin

instagram ->

mclaren 📍 monaco

liked by princessyn, oscarpiastri, and others

mclaren swipe to see our very special guest in monaco!

tagged: princessyn

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user1 NO WAY

user2 omgg i can't believe she was there

user3 and with mclaren too wth??

user4 princess y/n's first f1 appearance!!!! & in papaya too she's jus like me fr

user5 so cute love her

oscarpiastri some might say...... papaya princess

liked by mclaren, princessyn

user6 ??? HES SO CHEESY

user7 oscar trying to flirt?

user8 who is she??

user9 y/n! she's the princess of monaco

user10 tbh i thought she was gonna be in ferrari garage or something

landonorris was such an honour!

liked by mclaren, princessyn

scuderiaferrari can we have her next 😕

mclaren not sure about that

princessyn 📍 monaco

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others

princessyn my first experience of formula one!! it was so much fun in the mclaren garage, thanks guys :))

view all comments

user11 she's soo humble

user12 love her, so cute

user13 THE OSCAR HAT AND PICCC

user14 taste omg??

user15 she's so real

user16 she said piastri rights

oscarpiastri so fun having you this weekend!

princessyn loved being there! thx again for your hospitality :)

oscarpiastri anything for a princess!

user17 rizz

landonorris thanks for coming y/n! (even tho you werent repping number 4)

princessyn hahah maybe next time 👀

lnfour we hope so

mclaren you're welcome back anytime 🧡

liked by princessyn

yourbff next time invite me

princessyn oh for sureee

twitter ->

messages ->

txts between oscar & lando !!!

instagram ->

yourbff

liked by princessyn, friend1, and others

yourbff can you tell i love my best friend

tagged: princessyn

view all comments

user22 we love her too tbh

user23 something something two pretty best friends

user24 oscar piastri's gf?

user25 HAHAH

princessyn love you more than anything

yourbff my princess (literally)!!!

princessyn and u? my queen 👑

oscarpiastri me too apparently

yourbff HAHAHA apparently? are you sure?

princessyn oscar 💀

user26 HAHAHA OSCAR?!?!!!

user27 omg he's a jokester

user28 oh it's definitely not true if they're this comfy making jokes 😂

user29 love this new era of y/n being friends w the f1 grid

princessyn posted a story

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, and others

user30 going where y/n <3

user31 omg so gorgeous

user32 how do u look so good without even trying

user33 perfect girl

oscarpiastri wow

princessyn shush you

oscarpiastri 😉 see you soon

user34 i wish i was u

user35 come to spanish gp pls 🥹

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, and others

user36 omg who???

user37 OSCAR?

user38 wait...? tan? brunette..?

danielricciardo oh we are lucky enough to be graced with the princess’ presence again? 👀

oscarpiastri you know it

user39 fanning the flames of that random y/n & oscar rumour ..... 👀

user40 a moment for the dress, whoever she is

user41 soft launch much

landonorris making me feel extra single right now

liked by oscarpiastri

user42 WHO IS SHEEE

twitter ->

instagram ->

princessyn 📍 barcelona

liked by francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

princessyn back racing!

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user43 ahhh oscar cameo

user44 this is so cute

user45 she's so gorgeous

user46 wish i was a princess 🥹

landonorris god i hope you weren't the one in the car doing the racing

princessyn shut up lando

oscarpiastri shut up lando

landonorris okay okay my bad

user47 HAHAHAHA

yourbff you never miss 😍

liked by princessyn

francisca.cgomes oh to be you 💋

princessyn omg?! if you dont shut up

user48 she's real for that. kika is too perfect already

user49 the wags in her likes & comments ahhhhh

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and others

user50 WAIT IS THAT Y/N???

user51 what

user52 huh? so u are dating her or what

user53 oscar trying to rizz up the princess of monaco lol

user54 so sweet they're all friends now

landonorris good luck 😉

oscarpiastri thanks, i'll need it

alexandrasaintmleux 😍

liked by oscarpiastri

princessyn posted a story

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri, and others

yourbff god it's so so beautiful

princessyn ikr 🥹 still crying

francisca.cgomes congratulations gorgeous

liked by princessyn

alexandrasaintmleux 🥹🥹🥹 angels

liked by princessyn

landonorris one of us now

princessyn ...great

user55 wait huh

oscarpiastri i love you

princessyn i love you

twitter ->

instagram ->

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, princessyn, and others

oscarpiastri my future wife ❤️

tagged: princessyn

view all comments

user61 omg what the hell how is this real

user62 WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US YOU WERE DATING

landonorris nah you just didnt look hard enough dont blame osc

user63 LANDO?!?!!?

user64 he cooked

yourbff CONGRATULATIONS GUYS!!!

charles_leclerc congratulations to the happy couple!

logansargeant congrats guys! it was a long time coming

user65 fym long time coming omg how long have they been dating bro

carlossainz55 so happy for you guys

pierregasly hope this means we'll be seeing more of y/n around the paddock!

oscarpiastri did kika hold a gun to your head as you wrote this?

estebanocon such amazing news, congratulations 🥂

mclaren our princess 🧡

liked by oscarpiastri, princessyn

francisca.cgomes congratulations sweeties <3

alexandrasaintmleux most gorgeous couple!

georgerussell63 hope im invited to the wedding !

user66 *crickets*

flavy.barla wishing you a lifetime of happiness 💖

alex_albon congratulations oscar & y/n

lilymhe gorgeous girl & gorgeous ring 💍

carmenmmundt such a lovely couple, congratulations 💕

user67 all the drivers & wags omgg ugh

princessyn ahhhhh i have butterflies!! i love you so much

oscarpiastri i love you so much more

THE END 🧡

[mythicalmaven]

(I used a screenshot of the original request in here, because I wans't able to reply to the original request anymore, whoops)

Here it finally is! Please let me know what you thought of it :) Requests are open btw! Feel free to request anything :) I'm considering to do kinktober as well this year, so leave your requests for that as well :)

Supposed To Be Mine - Charles Leclerc (ONESHOT)

Masterlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader ↳word count: 4.9K ↳warnings: friends to lovers, jealous!sex, jealousy, (minor) possessiveness, jealous Charles, smut, 18+(MDNI!), handjob (m!receiving), pinv ↳summary: In which Oscar wins the Azerbaijan GP & Charles gets jealous because their mutual friend decides to celebrate with Oscar& not him (or so he thinks). This results in pent up emotions, a heated argument & of course, jealous sex

It was Sunday, September 15th when you found yourself making your way through the paddock. The sun was shining bright and the atmosphere was making you feel ecstatic. You, a familiar face on the grid, had been here to support your friends. While you usually worked as a member of the F1 TV team during Grand Prix, this weekend you were off duty, free to fully enjoy the festivities of the Grand Prix.

Over the years, you'd built strong friendships with most of the grid, but there were three drivers you were particularly close to: Oscar, Charles, and Alex. Each friendship had grown naturally, but in distinct ways.

Alex was the one who felt like a brother from the start. You clicked immediately, sharing the same dry humor, hobbies, and an undeniable love for animals. He was always there for you—whether it was picking you up from the club after too many drinks or cheering you up when your heart got broken again. If there was one word to describe your bond, it was siblings.

Then there was Oscar, your roommate. He ticked all the boxes for the perfect best friend. Your friendship took time to blossom, but once it did, you both quickly realized how well you fit together, purely platonically. The thought of taking it further had never crossed your minds—it just wasn’t like that. After moving to Monaco, you’d struggled to find an apartment, so Oscar offered you a place to stay. A year later, you were still living together because, honestly, it was too much fun to stop.

Then last, but certainly not least, Charles. Your bond with him was something else entirely. The connection between you felt effortless, almost surreal. He was the friend you could call at any hour to talk about anything or nothing. You could spend hours in comfortable silence, never growing bored. But Charles was also the friend that you had secretly been in love with for years. You knew you shouldn't be, your friendship worth way too much to risk it for a stupid crush. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get over him. Every time you dated someone else, it always came back to Charles.

But even if you'd allow yourself to feel the way you did about him, you'd already given up the hope of him ever feeling the same despite your friends insisting otherwise, pointing out how he smiled brighter when he was around you or how his gaze lingered a little longer. You were unable to believe it, the scenario seeming to good to be true.

There were moments—fleeting, breathless moments—when you thought something was there. Moments where your faces hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. But right before anything could happen, one of you would pull back, retreating before the tension broke, both of you pretending it had never happened.

Charles had been in love with you longer than he cared to admit. Everything about you captivated him—the way your laughter filled a room, the ease with which you could calm him when he was frustrated, the way you just got him without him needing to explain a thing. Around you, he felt at ease and yet so unbelievably nervous. His heart would race whenever you were near, his palms would get sweaty, and he could feel the tension in his chest and stomach. There were so many times he’d wanted to pull you close, to feel your body against his, but something always stopped him.

It was fear. Fear that you would notice how much he felt for you and that it would scare you off. The thought of you realizing the depth of his feelings terrified him, because losing you, even as just a friend, was unthinkable. He tried to keep a distance for that reason, but it was impossible. You had this way of driving him wild without even trying, leaving him helpless in the wake of his emotions.

He’d fantasized about you more often than he dared to admit—so many nights spent alone in his apartment, hand slipping beneath his waistband, your name falling from his lips in breathless whispers. But it wasn’t just the physical desire; it was how much he felt when he was around you. You made him feel alive in a way no one else could.

And then, there was Oscar. The way you two were so close, always together, always laughing, sent a pang of jealousy through him. You said there was nothing romantic between you, but sometimes, Charles couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you felt something for him. It ate at him, the idea of someone else having what he wanted so desperately. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold back.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

The roar of engines echoed across the pit lane as the top three finishers of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix parked their cars by their respective signs. Charles finished 2nd, which made you incredibly excited for him, but your excitement today reached an even higher level by the one who finished first. Oscar just won his second Grand Prix in F1 and you were feeling so incredibly proud.

You were standing at the front of the crowd, engulfing Oscar's mom in a crushing hug, sharing your mutual excitement. You looked up at Oscar climbing out of the car, bumping his fist in the air, cheering enthusiastically.

"God, look at him, finally a win he is allowing himself to enjoy!" you chimed to his mom.

You watched as Oscar ran straight into the arms of his engineers, their shared happiness palpable in the air. The joy between them was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile as you took in the scene.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Charles climbing out of his car in the background, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Post-race Charles always did things to you that you couldn't quite explain. You wanted to wave, but he seemed busy with his team, so you decided to congratulate him on his podium later.

Your attention shifted back to Oscar just as he approached his mum, pulling her into a warm embrace while carefully avoiding bumping her with his helmet.

"I'm so proud of you, darling!" she cooed, squeezing him a little tighter before they eventually pulled apart.

Oscar removed his helmet and reached up to pull off his balaclava, revealing a blissed-out expression. His smile was radiant, a mix of joy and relief, as if the weight of the race had melted away in that victorious moment.

He caught your eye, and his grin widened. "I did it! I actually did it!" he exclaimed, still sounding like he couldn’t quite believe it.

"You did! You really did!" you gushed, your smile matching his as you shared in his happiness.

Without warning, Oscar launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you over the fence you’d been leaning against. He hugged you tightly, spinning you around as both of you laughed, the sound of your shared joy echoing across the pit lane.

The cameras were all pointed in your direction, capturing the moment. To you and Oscar, it was nothing more than two best friends celebrating a hard-fought victory. But to the outside world, the scene looked far more intimate than it felt.

Charles stood at a distance, watching the moment unfold. His chest tightened as he took in the sight of you and Oscar together, laughter and smiles shared so easily between you. You’d told him there was nothing going on with Oscar, that the two of you were just best friends—but looking at you now, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

It hurt. It hurt to see you in Oscar’s arms, when he wished so desperately that it was him instead. He felt a wave of frustration, jealousy swirling inside him. Oscar was his friend, someone he genuinely liked, but seeing you together like that made it hard to think straight. The fear that Oscar might steal you away—his girl, even though you weren’t even his—gnawed at him.

“She said there was nothing between them,” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself.

Pierre appeared beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think it’s not what it looks like, mate," he offered, sensing Charles’ mood.

Charles shook his head, frustration still bubbling beneath the surface. "That’s what they always say when they’re denying it," he replied, his voice low. "I know she’s single, and she can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants, but… it just hurts."

Pierre gave him a sympathetic look, but Charles couldn’t shake the feeling. He wanted to punch something, not because he hated Oscar—he liked Oscar—but because seeing you so close to him made him feel like he was losing you, even though you were never his to begin with.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

Later in the day, as the adrenaline from the race began to wear off, you found yourself searching for Charles. You had spent the afternoon immersed in the celebrations with Oscar and the McLaren team, reveling in their victory. Despite the fun, your thoughts kept drifting back to Charles.

Navigating through the bustling paddock, you scanned the area for any sign of him. You wanted to offer your congratulations and express how proud you were, but Charles seemed to have vanished.

When you stepped into the Ferrari motorhome, you were greeted by Carlos. The Spaniard offered you a small, knowing smile. "Hey," he said as he approached you.

"Hey, have you seen Charles?" you asked, absentmindedly twirling a stray strand of hair.

Carlos's smile turned apologetic. "He already left for the hotel. Said something about not feeling up to it today."

Your heart sank a bit. "Oh, I wanted to congratulate him earlier, but I got caught up with the celebrations."

A flicker of realization crossed Carlos's face. "Ah, that explains why he seemed so on edge when he came back here."

Confusion clouded your expression. "What do you mean?"

Carlos’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "I think Charles got a bit unsettled seeing you so close with Oscar instead of him."

You frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Why would he be annoyed? My best friend won the race. Of course I celebrated with him. It's not like I didn't want to celebrate with Charles, it's just that Oscar is my best friend. And he also deserves the attention when he achieves something amazing like this."

Carlos’s smirk widened slightly. "That’s exactly his problem."

You stood there, grappling with the situation, struggling to find the right words. Carlos seemed to sense your confusion and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Maybe you should talk to him. There might be more going on between you two than you realize."

His words hung in the air, adding a new layer to your thoughts as you considered the possibility of unspoken feelings and misunderstandings.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

"You seemed awfully intimate with Piastri this afternoon, anything unfolding there?" you heard Alex tease on through the phone.

He had called you had texted that you were on the way back to the hotel, something you often did to just gossip and rant about everything that went on.

You rolled your eyes, and huffed "Why does everybody keep saying that. Not even in my wildest dreams, ew" you whined "I know he's good looking, I'm not blind, but the idea of doing something with him revolts me just as much as it revolts him"

The chuckle that Alex let out was audible to you "Well, to be fair, it didn't look like nothing on camera" he started, another chuckle leaving his lips "Have you checked your social media lately? Apparently the camera's catched Charles' reaction to your little moment with Oscar. The video is going quite viral. He is shooting daggers at Oscar, man. The jealousy is literally burning in his eyes"

You sighed "Don't, Alex" you whispered "Don't give me hope"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

You arrived at Charles's hotel room with a mix of anxiety and frustration swirling inside you. His abrupt disappearance after the celebration, coupled with his avoidance of your calls, had left you feeling unsettled and concerned. Your knuckles rapped against the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. When Charles finally opened it, his face was a mask of irritation, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, stepping past him before he could react.

Charles’s eyes were dark with frustration. “Nothing,” he snapped, but the rigidity in his stance and the clenched fists he tried to hide told a different story.

You let out a sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I know you’re lying,” you insisted, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, trying to steady your breathing. “Please, just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What did I do?”

Charles stood with his back to you, his breathing shallow and uneven. “Why him?” he finally asked, his voice strained and raw.

Confusion creased your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Charles’s frustration finally erupted. “Why did you celebrate with Oscar and not with me? I finished second. I deserved some attention too.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm despite the rising tension. “Oscar’s my best friend too. This win was a big deal for him. I wanted to be there for him. I tried to find you, but you were already gone.”

Charles’s eyes flashed with hurt and jealousy, a dark storm clouding his gaze. “It feels like you care more about him than me. It fucking hurts to see you so close to him, probably even—”

His words struck a nerve, causing irritation to flare within you. “Oscar and I are just friends, Charles.” You stated, your anger bubbled over. “And so what if it was more? Why does it matter to you? I’m not your property. You dont get to decide who I spend time with. You’re my best friend, not my boyfriend.”

Charles’s face flushed with frustration, his voice rising with each word. “Merde, for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to be your best friend!”

His declaration stunned you, a mix of hurt and anger surging within you, causing tears to well up in your eyes. “Well, if you don’t want to be my best friend, I might as well go back to Oscar then. Since, according to you, that’s where I prefer to be. You apparently know me better than I do!”

Without waiting for a response, you turned to leave, but Charles’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a desperate grip. His eyes burned with an intense emotion, a mixture of longing and possessiveness that was almost palpable. Before you could react, he pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both fierce and consuming.

The kiss was rough, charged with pent-up emotions. Charles’s lips moved against yours with an urgent hunger, a reflection of the depth of his feelings. The heat of his body pressed against yours, every touch and caress infused with an intensity that left you breathless. His hands roamed over your curves, claiming you with each possessive stroke. You could feel the undeniable pressure of his arousal pressing against you, intensifying the moment.

He guided you gently back toward the bed, his touch both tender and commanding. Slowly, he lowered you down onto it, his hands caressing your sides with a reverence that spoke of his deep feelings for you. He leaned over you, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t want to be your best friend,” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

You were taken aback by his declaration, the words resonating deeply within you. Before you could respond, Charles’s lips were on yours again, kissing you with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, as he explored your body with a mix of urgency and tenderness.

You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as his touch ignited a fire within you. Charles’s arousal was evident, his body pressing against yours in a way that heightened your senses. “Tell me you think about me at night and not him,” he demanded, his voice husky and filled with longing.

The world around you seemed to dissolve as Charles’s touch and kisses overwhelmed your senses. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, caressing, igniting every nerve with a mix of desperation and adoration. His touch was both possessive and tender, his kisses deep and demanding.

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice a low, heated whisper. “Tell me you scream my name when you come and not his.”

You met his intense gaze, your voice breathless and filled with yearning. “Only you, Charles. It has always been you.”

Charles’s eyes darkened with satisfaction, his expression softening slightly as he continued his intimate exploration. He guided your hands to his jeans, his breathing ragged with desire. “Have you ever thought about him like this?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Touched him like this?”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and affection. “It’s only you, Charles,” you replied, your voice sultry. “I never saw Oscar that way.”

Charles’s frustration and desire mingled as he felt your touch, his body tensing and his control slipping. He moaned softly, a deep, guttural sound that reflected his overwhelmed state. His hands gripped the edge of the bed for support as you palmed him through his jeans, your touch eliciting a series of desperate groans from him.

Unable to hold back any longer, you undid the button of his jeans and slid your hand inside, taking him in your grasp. Charles gasped, his breathing coming in short, erratic bursts. “F-Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice strained. “That feels so good.” His body tensed and trembled, overwhelmed by the sensation of your touch. “J-Just like that,” he gasped, his voice a desperate, needy growl. “Show me you’re mine. I want you to think about me every time you touch yourself. I hope that after tonight, you can never touch another man without thinking about me.”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with passion. “It’s already been like that for years,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Charles’s gaze softened for a moment, but his need took over. He flipped you back onto the bed with a sudden, urgent intensity. His movements were driven by a deep-seated desire, his lips finding yours again, kissing you with a feverish passion that made your heart race.

As he undressed you, his touch was both deliberate and passionate. He removed the last bits of his clothing with a mix of urgency and tenderness, his hands lingering on your skin, savoring the feel of you beneath him. He paused, looking into your eyes with a mixture of tenderness and desire. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, heated whisper. “Tell me, do you want this as much as I do?”

You nodded, your voice breathless with anticipation. “Yes, Charles. I want you. I want all of you.”

Charles’s eyes darkened with satisfaction as he positioned himself above you. His hands continued their intimate exploration, his kisses trailing down your neck and shoulders with a mix of urgency and tenderness. Each touch was a declaration of his intense feelings, a blend of passion and possession that left you craving more.

As the intensity of the moment built, Charles’s control wavered. He pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of need and desire. “Tell me you’re mine,” he urged, his voice a rough whisper. “I want to hear you say it, mon amour”

You looked at him, your body trembling with desire as he continued to touch and kiss

you. “I’m yours, Charles,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both need and certainty.

Charles’s expression softened into one of profound relief and adoration, but a trace of jealousy lingered in his eyes, his gaze never leaving yours. As he positioned himself between your legs, there was a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness in his touch. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice filled with deep emotion and a hint of a possessive edge.

With that, he entered you slowly, his movements tender yet unmistakably possessive. His thrusts were gentle and loving, but each one was infused with a sense of claiming, as though he was marking you as his own. His kisses were gentle but urgent, his lips traveling down your neck as he began to suck and nibble, leaving marks that would clearly show his affection and his possessiveness.

You gasped, feeling the intensity of his touch. “Charles, be careful. They will be visible,” you said, your voice a mixture of concern and pleasure.

Charles’s eyes darkened with a mix of satisfaction and jealousy. “That’s the point,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl filled with both desire and a possessive undertone. “I want him to see and know that you belong to me. I want him to see what he’s missing, that you’re mine and mine alone.”

His words stirred something deep within you, causing a moan to escape your lips that was loud and unrestrained, a testament to the intense pleasure you were experiencing. Your hand instinctively traveled up to his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled gently but firmly. The sensation of his hair being tugged caused him to shiver, and he let out a deep, guttural moan that reverberated against your skin.

Charles’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He groaned softly, his breath coming in ragged bursts as the pull on his hair heightened his arousal. “Fuck...” he whispered, his voice trembling with both pleasure and disbelief. The feeling of your fingers in his hair only intensified his longing, making him feel as though he were losing control. “Merde… that feels so good,” he muttered, his tone rough and desperate. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

The way you tugged at his hair drove him to new heights of pleasure, his moans growing louder and more fervent as he lost himself in the sensations. Each pull sent a jolt of electricity through him, making his movements more urgent and fervent, as though he were trying to convey just how deeply your touch affected him.

As he continued, his thrusts maintained a balance of gentle passion and possessive claim, his hands gripping you with a mix of tenderness and assertion. The rhythm of his movements was both caring and commanding, a reflection of his deep, conflicted emotions. His kisses left a trail of marks, each one a silent declaration of his fierce, consuming love and possessiveness.

Charles’s eyes lock onto yours, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “I-I’m so close,” he gasps, his voice strained with the intensity of the moment. The desperate need in his eyes makes your heart race, his body pressing into yours with a fervor that only heightens your own arousal.

You can barely hold back your own pleasure, the sensations coursing through you almost overwhelming. “Me too” you moan, your voice trembling as you inch closer to the edge. “Come for me, Charles,” 

Your encouragement is the final push he needs, and his body reacts instantly. The combination of your words and the electric tension between you drives him over the edge. The urgency in Charles’s movements and the heat of his gaze as tumbles over the edge draws you to the peak of your ecstasy with him.

As the two of you reached the peak of your intimacy, Charles’s moans mingled with your own, creating a symphony of pleasure and connection that echoed through the room. The shared release was an explosion of ecstasy that left you both trembling and gasping, entwined in the aftermath of your union. 

When the world finally settled and the waves of pleasure began to recede, Charles held you close, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he whispered, “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been in love with you.”

You smiled through your own breathless satisfaction, responding softly, “I could say the same to you.”

Charles’s expression softened further as he kissed you tenderly, his hands caressing your skin with a gentleness that spoke of his deep affection. The moment was filled with a profound sense of connection and fulfillment, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of your bond.

masterlist

[hitomisuzuya]

HI SUZUU! Hope you’re doing well :3 Could we have a Soft!Dom Scara with a reader after a really tiring day? Where he would stuff reader with so much cum her stomach was practically bulging :3 With overstimulation and bondage if you please 🙏 Hope I made sense and HAVE A NICE DAYY

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Bondage. Overstimulation. Multiple creampie. Degrading praise. Soft!Dom Scaramouche.

It made perfect sense ❤️

Delicate, tied up, and helpless. That was how Scaramouche liked you best, especially when he was tired. Tired enough that he thought he would fall asleep if he blinked too long.

You'd been in the same cycle with him for what felt like hours. Even though your wrists were bound above your head, knotted securely to the headboard, he still found a way to hold you down so he could fuck deeper inside of you. Once he reduced you to a whimpering, moaning mess while he pumped you full of cum, he would pull out and finger any cum back inside of you.

Scaramouche scoffed softly hearing you whimper in overstimulation as his fingers skated over your swollen clit. "You just be a good girl. Relax and take what I give you," His thumb circled over your clit, the stimulation sending your thigh quaking as you grinded into his fingers.

You were twice as pliable overstimulated. It delighted him the way you twitch in anticipation of his every touch.

You could tell Scaramouche was tired. You could tell it in the way he grunted and moaned in your ear, his face buried in your neck to try and muffle him as he grinded and rubbed his cock on your puffy pussy. In the way his teeth hastily bit bite marks into your neck. "Good girl," His tongue flicked over the shell of your ear, "Be nice and still," He groaned as he pushed his cock back inside of you, "A perfect, pliable slut," He gently applied extra pressure on a blossoming bite mark to remind you of your place, bottoming out with a muffled groan into your neck.

You writhed a little from the dull ache of overstimulation, your hips jerking up into his as his cock nudged your sweet spot. Being overstimulated, it felt magnified. "I'll be a good girl, I promise," His degrading praise made you blush, and your gummy walls clamp tight on his cock.

Scaramouche's heart fluttered hearing how endearing you sounded. Sitting up, he put a hand on the back of your head, capturing your lips in a dominant kiss of appreciation for your total submission. His cock pulsed from how quick and obedient your mouth was opening for his tongue.

Being as tired as he was, Scaramouche wasn't thinking all that much. He'd tied you up so he wouldn't have to think. Just chase the feeling of filling the pocket of cum in your belly in a little fuller. You weakly hooked a leg over his hip. Even though you were struggling to keep up with his mindless cycle, you were still wanting to take of him.

"Be a good girl, and cream on my cock," There was a hint of softness in his command, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he pulled away from the kiss. His hand dipped down between your legs and found your clit.

Each pinch and rub made a louder moan or whimper keen from your throat. His helping along ushered in your orgasm, your wrists straining in the silk ties as you shook. Scaramouche's body shuddered as your walls squeezed around his cock.

His thrusts turned sloppy for a moment, lost in the dizzying pleasure of his cock pulsing cum for uptenth time inside of you. He let out a soft whimper of his own hearing how sweet you sounded, mewling as you felt every pulse and rub of his cock as he angled it up deep inside of you.

His cum dripped from your hole, a shy blush on your cheeks as you felt the pocket of cum expand a little. He spent the longest time, lazily thrusting into you as he chased his high. He knew he was going to sleep like a rock having bred you this thoroughly.

Pulling out of you, he gently gripped your chin. "One more round, okay?" He felt weaker for you seeing the submissive way you turned your cheek into his hand as you nodded.

[starlight-library]

Impromptu dates | LN4

pairing: lando norris x sick!bookworm!reader

summary: a bookworm & f1 driver + stomach bug = the best lazy date ever.

warnings: none!

fc: none!

wc: 859

Most people hated being sick.

It’s understandable that people hated being sick. They don’t feel. They feel gross. They feel off. The list goes on and on on why people hated being sick. Especially people who are more independent and hate the idea of someone else taking care of them. Which you understood as it hit a bit too close to home.

Which is why as someone fiercely independent as you are, people never understood why you enjoy being sick. 

You could never find the words to explain it when people ask you on the spot. You try and try yet you’re never happy with your answer and people never quite believed you which was fair but you didn’t care. You enjoyed it when you were sick. 

Not violently ill, which you emphasize. You did not enjoy running a super high fever, or running to the bathroom, or having your head constantly over a toilet vomiting up basically nothing. That was not fun. You enjoy the kind of sickness where you can’t go out into the world for a day or two. Maybe a low grade fever that’ll pass or a quick stomach bug that’s out of your system fast but you still take the precaution and stay indoors. 

Why?

Well that’s because it means you can stay under the covers after a shower with your kindle in its little tablet holder. Page turner remote in hand while having your water and drink of choice (mostly iced coffee), and some white noise as background noise. It was truly perfection for you.

Yet it was Lando’s hell.

Lando, your boyfriend, hated when you were sick. It meant no cuddles. No hugs. No kisses. Any physical contact was on halt and it was already torture given his schedule so the rare time he did get to see you in person and you were sick? He was miserable. Sure, you two video called but it just made him more sad that he wasn’t there to take care of you even if you swore that you didn’t need someone to take care of you. He refused to believe it so he would send you meals and medicine. He refused to let you pay him back so you’ve learned to accept it without the guilt weighing on your shoulders. It was a nice agreement you two had silently made and nothing really could beat this.

Until now.

There was a month break in between Singapore and Austin and Lando was going to soak up every second he could get and it was fine till somehow you caught a stomach bug. Lando refused to leave which also meant he caught the stomach bug.

You’re happily half laying/half sitting next to Lando against some pillows under a weighted heated blanket. You have one of his sweatshirts on while sipping your iced coffee and looking at your kindle while Lando tosses and turns next to you. You tried offering him medicine or some crackers and soup but he’s turned all the options down but now it seems he’s settled down. You look over and are greeted with the same green-blue eyes you’ve grown to pick out of the crowd in a moment. You see the curls sticking to his forehead and gently you push some out of the way and smile. “Hey.”

“How are you drinking iced coffee right now?” The Brit asks.

You shrug before smiling, “I don’t know. Guess I feel better after cleaning my stomach out and taking some medicine unlike someone.” Poking his forehead, you giggle while he huffs slightly and moves his head away. You hear Lando grumble something about the medicine tasting bad and you roll your eyes. “You’re such a big baby.”

Lando pouts slightly grumbling he is not a big baby before you return to your book. You look back hearing a huff and raise a brow. “Yes?”

“How do you just lay here and read and do nothing? I’m so bored yet too tired to get up.”

You shrug, “I just get really engrossed in my books sometimes I forget to even eat or pee.”

“You what!?” Lando sits up a bit in surprise before laying down and whining at his upset stomach.

“Oh come here.” You start.

You shift and sit up a bit more and reach over and rearrange your nightstand. You move your drinks further back along with your tablet holder before grabbing your TV remote and turning the TV on. You watch Lando lay there for a moment before shifting closer. He tosses and turns before slowly he settles on his stomach letting a soft sigh of relief out. Wrapping his arms around your waist, the Brit nuzzles his face into your stomach before settling down and looking at the TV. Lando flips through some apps and television options before settling on ‘The Hangover’.

Settling back down against the pillows you run your fingers gently through his hair while you go back to your book, the movie becoming background noise for you. This is how you two spend the evening and it’s the best impromptu date and now becomes your go to date.

[rebelfell]

rub one out┃(for your viewing pleasure-verse)

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

a cheeky (pun intended) bit of filth based on part of my blurb series. I was trying to keep the snippets short, but this just kinda poured out of me over the past couple days.

cw: sex work, simulated adultery, oral (fem receiving)

18+, MDNI┃2.8k

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You couldn’t escape the nagging thought as you stepped outside, tightening the belt on your fluffy white bathrobe, tugging at the terrycloth tail and twisting it in your fingers. Your eyes flitted to each member of your crew, all of them in position waiting to get this show on the road.

Why were you so nervous? You’d certainly done this enough times before not to get stage fright. So why did your stomach feel more tangled than the box of electrical cords in Lenny’s truck?

Part of you almost wished it would rain, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you didn’t have to go through with this. But the concrete remained solid under your feet, and the sky overhead showed no signs of altering its radiant blue color. Perfect.

It’s gonna be fine, you thought in an attempt to soothe yourself. It’s all gonna be fine.

And you almost believed it would be.

Sammy, who was barely a step up from an intern, had swiftly been promoted once the plan for you to replace your no-show leading lady was set in motion. You weren’t worried about her, though—she was smart and a quick study; she knew all the shots you needed, and she had a good eye.

If you couldn’t be behind the camera yourself, she was pretty much the only one you trusted.

Well…maybe not the only one.

Eddie’s eyes met yours as soon as you stepped out of the trailer. The sunlight hit his deep brown irises, making them glow the color of rich honey. But behind the liquid gold, you could see his own nerves and it made your stomach flip, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he came up next to you. “You good?”

For a moment, you considered lying. Flashing him a thumbs up or shooting him finger guns like one of those tools you used to do this with. But you knew better by now when it came to Eddie.

“Nope,” you chuckled. “I’m kinda shitting myself.”

“Well, that’s just what the guy about to fuck you wants to hear,” he chuckled back.

A real smile breaks through your tense, fake one and a genuine laugh bubbles up out of your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine when he hears it and the sight makes your chest feel all warm inside.

“No, you’re right,” you said. “I’m okay, I just…don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

His plush pink lips pressed into a straight line, his tongue poking out as he licked them. He reached out a reassuring hand and placed it on your shoulder, rubbing it through your robe.

“You’re gonna be great,” he assured, sounding a lot more certain than you felt.

Easy for him to say. He’s a fucking natural.

Even on your best day doing this, you never felt like you were great at it—competent, sure. Maybe even above average. But not great. Not at all the way you felt since getting behind the camera.

You nodded tightly, your hesitation still written all over your face. His eyes scanned over you and he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He then leaned in and placed his lips beside your ear.

“You look…really beautiful,” he said.

His warm breath rushed across your neck, the heat coming off his skin making your ears buzz. An explosion of fluttering began in your stomach, like there were butterfly cocoons in your cereal that morning and now they were all hatching.

“We should get moving,” you said, pulling back. “Burning daylight.”

Eddie straightened. He nodded and you nodded back, sliding past him to do final checks before you started rolling. Telling yourself he must have pumped or popped a Viagra to explain away that bulge in his pants that definitely wasn’t there before he came over to talk to you.

The nerves didn’t disappear once you started working, but your body and brain did snap into a kind of performance mode you remembered well.

You started with some still photography for the VHS box art—shots of you in progressing states of undress, your robe dropping off your shoulder, Eddie pulling it open to reveal your body, his hand running up your thigh in a slow caress.

He let it trail all the way up your stomach and chest until he curled his finger under your chin and tipped your face toward his, letting his lips hover just inches away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart raced, thinking he might close the gap and actually kiss you—

But after the shutter snapped, he simply let his hand drop and backed away. 

The loss of his body heat sent a chill down your spine and you shivered despite the blazing sun overhead. Eddie’s eyes caught yours, the nearly imperceptible lift of his brow asking, ‘you okay?’ You nodded and another shiver skittered across your skin as you pulled your robe back up.

For the next shot, you climbed up on the massage table and he got into position behind you. His body pressed yours down, your back arching under him as he dipped his head low to take the lobe of your ear between his teeth, palming your exposed breast with his large, strong hand. 

You let your mouth hang open, not even needing to fake the look of desperation on your face. And let yourself believe Eddie’s excitement you could feel digging into the fat of your ass was real too. The little grunts and whines he let out when you wriggled against him certainly didn’t sound fake.

After the photos, there was nothing left to do but move on to the main event. 

You and Eddie reset—him standing in frame, you just outside of it. Sammy panned the camera around, establishing the setting, zooming in on the fountain feature in the pool and then coming around to film Eddie as he snapped a fresh towel and laid it out on the massage table.

From your spot off-camera, it’s impossible not to be mesmerized by the sight. Biceps rippling, tendons in his arms flexing as he smoothed the towel flat. His tattoos stood out even more than normal with him in white slacks and a white polo meant to give the impression of him being an employee of the resort. And the little twist your hair and make-up girl Jael did is something new that only further accentuates the thick column of his neck and his angular jaw.

He’d left off his rings and bracelets, as was typical when he was filming, and you couldn’t help but think about that day in the editing suite. When he’d touched your knee, and you felt the silver ridges press into your flesh. It had jarred you somewhat, how right it felt to have his hand there and how you’d nearly leaned in to meet his lips when you saw his face getting closer.

You hadn’t kissed him that day—promptly removing yourself from temptation in an attempt to salvage some shred of your professionalism. And you (mostly) felt good about that decision. It would have been reckless and destructive and your entire working relationship might have been compromised. You’d made the right call that day, you were sure of it. Mostly…

But today was different. Today, it wasn’t going to derail your career. If anything, your career was mandating you give in to those urges that had plagued you so relentlessly. And that was when it hit you all at once—the realization about as subtle as a train crashing through a wall.

You were going to fuck Eddie.

You’re going to feel firsthand what it’s like to have his face and cock buried between your legs; what it’s like to suck on his fingers and soak them with your spit before he presses them to your clit; what he sounds like when he comes all over your stomach or tits (you can’t quite recall what the script specifies, you just know it’s meant to be outside so he can dotingly clean you up after). 

The barrage of thoughts that storm through your mind are so consuming, you nearly miss your cue to enter the scene. But once you do, you’re rather grateful for the distraction of the set-up dialogue:

“It’ll just be me, today. My husband has a meeting he couldn’t get out of.”

“No, no, it’s not his fault. I got it as a surprise for our anniversary—I should have known better than to book it without checking his schedule.”

“I’m afraid I never know how much to take off for a massage…what do you suggest?”

Eddie answered your last question with a smooth, “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” and a smile so warm it would melt the ice caps.

Giving him a smile of your own, you slowly pulled at the tie of your robe. It fell to the ground in a heap at your feet and Eddie’s dark eyes roved over you hungrily. Now revealed to be completely naked, you feigned some degree of shyness: ducking your head low, looking up at him from underneath your lashes, brushing your hand over your stomach as though to hide it while really drawing his eyes to its plush softness.

“Is this alright?” you asked him with a coy smirk. Eddie grinned, still drinking you in.

“Absolutely,” he breathed. And the raptness in his eyes almost had you believing him.

You took your time getting up on the table, propping yourself up on all fours, letting him (and the camera) take a good, long look at the fullness of your hips before you settled in place. Arms at your side, you took a deep breath as you laid flat on your stomach, relieved there wouldn’t be much dialogue needed for this next part.

Through the little donut headrest at the end of the table, you saw Sammy’s feet as she moved in close—filming tight on Eddie’s hands while he pumped massage oil onto them and warmed it by spreading it between his palms.

Your chest tightened, nerves coiling in your stomach as you anticipated his touch, forcing your body to keep still so you didn’t pull focus.

He smoothed some oil over your skin, starting at the ankles and thoroughly coating your calves. The smell of clary sage filled the air, earthy and warm. And underneath it, a clean and woodsy scent you recognized as Eddie’s soap wafted up to your nose when he leaned in closer.

His fingertips began to knead your muscles, slipping and sliding easily over your skin that was slick with the oil. He made tiny circles with his thumbs, alternating back and forth as they moved in a steady pattern up your calf.

Oh, that’s right…

In all the hubbub, you’d forgotten the whole concept for this shoot was borne on the fact that Eddie went to massage school for real. He’d told you before, after he left his hometown (shit, what was it again? Hawk-something…) that he started collecting different jobs like merit badges.

Just bounced from thing to thing, trying his hand (sometimes both) at whatever life presented. And that included porn. He’d said he only auditioned for that first film he did because someone he’d slept with a handful of times knew a casting director and suggested he’d be good at it.

“He certainly had the dick for it” were her exact words, if you recalled. Strange to think in a way, you might owe that girl your career.

Through the pleasurable haze your mind dipped into having Eddie’s capable hands erasing every ounce of stress you carried in your muscles, you realized he was moving the scene right along while you just lay there humming and moaning with relief at his practiced touch.

He’d lowered his voice to that deep, rumbly register he always used when he was building towards the next phase. His DM voice, as he so affectionately dubbed it. Rough and gravely, yet even and tempered, guiding both you and the audience along on the journey of this fuck.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying…but your husband’s a jackass for missings out on this.”

Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as he moved to your thighs. His fingertips dug into your flesh, kneading it like dough, letting his thumbs swerve dangerously close to your center.

“You deserve someone who puts you first…who knows what he has and worships you…”

One of his thumbs swiped briefly over your puffy lips, and you knew he felt how wet you were.

“You know, I’d never let you out of my sight if you were mine…”

His words dripped slowly and intentionally past his lips, his hands creeping higher and higher up your legs. At last, they slid over the globes of your ass and he groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, spreading you apart to see your center, soaked with arousal that had been pooling there, truth be told, from the moment Eddie had told you how beautiful you looked. 

You heard Eddie’s next line in your head before he said it, “If you really want to relax, I can try a very special technique. I don’t do it for just anyone. It’s a little bit…unorthodox…”

And you were more than ready to take him up on his offer once he delivered the line. 

But Eddie went off script.

Instead of hearing words, you felt the wet heat of his tongue glide through your folds as he buried his face between your spread ass cheeks. Your head popped out of the headrest, letting out a breathy moan of surprise and delight.

The shock on your face was evident as Sammy pushed in close to capture your expression, but so was your pure and utter elation. You’d never felt anything so good in your life…

And it seemed you weren’t the only one.

Eddie groaned loudly as he lapped messily at your folds, his spit mixing with your slick that covered the bottom half of his face. And it was only after a few blissful seconds of eager licking that he even realize what he’d done.

“I’m—mmph—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” He panted out in between sinful swirls of his tongue, his he words muffled by your ass cheeks because he couldn’t stand to pull away even a little, even long enough to speak. “I had to taste you…”

”It’s okay,” you answered, voice already wrecked beyond belief. “It’s okay, just keep going—”

The command is directed at him as much as it is the crew, who only panicked slightly. Eddie never did stuff like this and they just weren’t ready.

They got back on track quickly enough, Sammy signaling the boom mic to get as close as he can without dipping into frame in order to pick up every lurid slurp and suck of Eddie’s mouth.

After no more than a few minutes, the fluffy towel under you was bunched in your fists and your hips squirmed as Eddie continued to eat you out like a mad man. His tight grip on your ass cheeks held fast, spreading you wider still so his tongue could probe deeper. The sounds he pulled out of you didn’t even sound human to your ears, let alone recognizable as your own voice. 

But you didn’t care.

However you sounded, however you looked, it was superfluous to what Eddie was doing and the precipice he brought you to. Your orgasm hit harder than any drug, than any physical blow. It had you shaking uncontrollably, reaching back to grip the hair at the crown of his head as your hips pushed back to meet every thrust of his tongue while you rode out your exceptional high.

You felt its tingling sensation spread to every inconsequential inch of your body, like an ocean of fire that crashed over you in wave after wave of scorching pleasure. Drowning you in it.

When you finally found the strength in your limp limbs to roll over onto your back, Eddie’s eyes were waiting to meet yours. You could see on his face how sorry he was, how worried he was he’d fucked up. And you tried to communicate with him in that mind-melding, wordless sort of way you and he always did that it was fine—that people were going to love it.

Cocking your brow at him, dipping into a more salacious tone to really sell the transformation from demure housewife to lusty adulterer, you threw in a little adlib of your own.

“That’s some technique you’ve got there,” you teased him, propping yourself up on your elbows. “My husband’s certainly never done that before.”

Eddie’s sly smile returned, his lips curling as he reached out to grip your waist. He hauled you closer with one jerk, bringing you to the edge of the table so your hips were flush with his. The bulge in his white pants was harder than ever when it pressed against your cunt, and he grinned wickedly when he felt just how ready you were for more. He yanked up the shirttail of his polo and whipped it off his body, tossing it behind him where it landed half in the pool.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he tutted softly, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Tysm for reading! 🛸 comments and reblogs keep your skin clear and your crops watered 🫶🏻

[neyafromfrance95]

oh. my. god.

1.02 - "they say that morgoth found the silmarils so beautiful that after he had stolen them for weeks he could do nothing but stare into their depths."

1.08 - "i alone can see your light" and "you bind me to the light"

2.01 - sauron staring in awe at galadriel as if he had a revelation when he first saw her at the sea.

2.05 - "when the light caught your hair, for a moment you seemed her perfect likeness."

2.06 - sauron deceiving celebrimbor "the silmarils, they will merit little more than a whisper, but the rings of power will be deemed the most precious creations in all middle-earth. best feanor." BUT then when he is alone in his illusion, we hear a man tell a woman who looks like galadriel "i've written a poem but i fear your beauty still overshadows anything i could possibly write."

like morgoth coveted silmarils created by feanor inspired by the way the light reflected galadriel's hair, sauron will covet galadriel's light till the end of his days, attempting to recreate it but failing as nothing will ever come close to her, to that feeling he felt and wanted to bind to his very being. so sauron gropes ever to see galadriel for as long as he exists!

chills, literal chills.

[girlusional]

Not saying "I love you" back to your boyfriend

pov: You saw on TikTok the trend "not saying 'I love you' to my boyfriend" and wanted to do it, so you could see his reaction.

pairs: enhypen hyung line x fem! reader

This is FICTIONAL. It's NOT about the idols in real life.

warnings: pet names (babe, love...), a bit of drama hehe

LEE HEESEUNG

Heeseung was almost ready to go to work. It was the time you were expecting all say since you saw that video on TikTok.

He put perfume on his body and looked for a last time at the mirror before his eyes finally met yours.

"Bye babe, love you." He said and then got his keys before walking to the kitchen, leaving the bedroom.

"Bye!" You sat on your bed with a book on your lap, barely paying attention when Heeseung appeared again.

"Babe?" He asked, a sad expression on his face. "Did I do something?"

You frowned, acting like you didn't know what he was talking about. "No. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." He said. "Bye, I love you." He tried again, but this time he stayed there, looking at you.

"Bye." You answered. "Have a nice day."

Heeseung crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, with one of his eyebrows raised.

"I love you." He emphasizes.

"Okay." You smile.

"Babe!" He almost cried. It was a cute scene, and his angry face was just so cute to not react to.

You laughed, giving him a flying kiss.

"I love you too, babe. Have a nice day."

PARK JONGSEONG

Jay parked the car next to your house after the date you had today. He gave you flowers, paid the movie theater and the pizza you two ate after the action movie, and told you you were the "love of his life" more times than you can count on your fingers.

But you wanted to do the TikTok trend you saw, and finally you could.

"Bye, love. See you tomorrow." Jay kissed your cheek and caressed your chin. "Love you."

You nodded, smiling a bit.

"See you, bye." And after that, you opened the door as you got out of the car, letting him behind.

Not for many minutes because he got out as well and reached you, holding your hand kindly.

"What's wrong?" His eyebrows were furrowed, worried. "Did I do something?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but he began to talk again.

"It was the flowers? Damn, I knew I should have picked a bigger bouquet for you..."

"But I am okay..." You said.

"So why are you angry?"

"I am not angry, Jay. I just said bye." You were trying your best not to laugh at him.

"You didn't say 'I love you' to me. You always do that when you are angry. I know it wasn't perfect today, but please, I just need one more..." You cut his speech as you hugged him, still holding the [your favorite flowers] bouquet in your right hand.

"I love you, babe. And it was perfect, I swear."

SIM JAEYUN

Jake needs to go to the college in fifteen minutes, when his bus passes. He studies at night, the opposite of you, that study in the morning.

"Gotta go, princess." He kissed your forehead, caring. "Love you."

You waited for him to get out of the bedroom before you could say, "Bye!"

And then you listened to his footsteps again, walking back.

"Ladie, I told you 'I love you'. Don't you think you are forgetting something?"

You almost chuckled. He was acting like you had offended him.

"I don't think so." You said, with an innocent smile.

But you didn't think he was going to put his backpack on the floor and cross his arms, like he had all the time of the world.

"Yes, you are. And I am waiting."

"Jake, you are going to..."

"I have fifteen minutes." He takes a look at his watch. "Ten, to be honest."

"Babe, I am not forgetting anything."

"Yes you are."

"Jake..."

"Say you love me, and I'll leave." You sighed. He was just too cute and stubborn to this TikTok trend.

"I love you, sweetie." You smiled, seeing the same expression on his face.

"I love you more." He pecked your lips before getting out of the bedroom again.

PARK SUNGHOON

He put his tie on and grabbed his backpack, then waved to you.

"See you later, my love. I love you."

"Bye, see you later!" You answered, wanting to see how things would go.

But Sunghoon didn't even reach out to the living room when he listened your answer.

He looked at you.

"Pardon?"

You blinked, innocent.

"What?"

"I said 'see you later, I love you'".

"And I said 'bye'".

He seemed confused and almost worried when he heard that answer again.

"Am I in trouble?" His voice was a bit weak, almost if he was waiting to be scolded.

But you chuckled.

"No? You didn't do anything wrong, babe."

"Then don't you love me anymore?"

You wanted to keep doing the TikTok trend, but his sad expression made you think twice.

"I love you, my dear. See you later." You smiled, seeing his happy face again.

"Love you. I promise to bring chocolate at night and make up with you."

"But you aren't in trouble..."

But he didn't listen and got out of the apartment, saying something about how he really loves you.

[lvnleah]

014. | meeting awfc

word count: 2k

find the masterlist here! :)

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April 19th 2024 | 3 weeks old.

It had been three weeks since you’d given birth to Finley and those three weeks had flown by. They’d been three weeks of complete bliss despite the sleep deprivation and the countless diaper changes. Every time you looked at Finley, snuggled in your arms or peacefully asleep in the crib or on Leah’s chest, the exhaustion seemed to melt away. 

You admired every tiny feature, the soft curls of hair, the tiny fingers that wrapped around yours, and the way Finley's eyes would flicker open and gaze up at you and Leah. 

The house was now filled with the sounds of coos, cries, and a lot of mess. There were moments of panic when you weren't sure if you were doing everything right, especially during the night, but Leah was always there to reassure you things were just fine.  

“Do you think he’s still hungry?” You asked Leah as she burped him, “What if I’m not feeding him enough? What if he’s not getting enough from my breastmilk?”

Leah shook her head and laughed at your panicked state, “Pretty girl, he’s fine. He doesn’t want any more right now. Look at him, he's content." She gently patted Finley's back, bringing out a small burp that made you both laugh. "See? Just needed a good burp."

Nights were the hardest. The cycle of feeding, burping, and soothing seemed endless. Most nights, Finley just wanted to be held so that what you and Leah found yourselves doing. You’d take it in turns so each of you got a little bit of sleep but he loved sleeping on Leah’s chest the most. 

In those three weeks, your world had changed entirely. Despite the sleepless nights and the constant worry, you wouldn't trade a second of it. Leah’s family were your biggest supporters and were there anytime instantly when you needed them.  

You and Leah were slowly getting a routine together but each day was different. Today, however, was special and definitely different. It was Leah's first training session back with Arsenal since Finley's birth, and you were both excited and nervous.

Leah had been eagerly waiting for this day, and you decided to bring Finley along so the team could meet him.

“Do you have everything?” Leah asked. She was in her training gear, waiting by the door as she carried Finley in his car seat. 

“Diapers, wipes, bottles, extra clothes... I think we’re set,” you replied before crouching and adjusting Finley’s blanket as he squirmed slightly in his car seat. “He’s all bundled up and ready for his big debut.”

Leah smiled, “Let’s go then. The girls can’t wait to meet him.”

You’d both been a bit strict these past few weeks with who had met Finley, Leah being a bit more stricter. You’d kept the circle of people close, for the first two weeks it was just Leah’s parents and Jacob and then it eventually ventured out to her Grandma and a couple of her cousins.

In total he’d really only met around ten people so today was going to be a big day. You both felt ready and prepared for the girls to meet him. Two of Leah’s best friends, Keira and Georgia, were still yet to meet him but both of them were planning a trip over on a weekend they had off. 

You were a mix of excitement and nerves as you arrived at the training ground, Finley snug in his car seat. Leah carried the seat while you held the diaper bag, the two of you a perfect picture of new anxious parents. The clock had just struck ten, meaning Finley was due to wake up soon and that you’d have a solid hour before he would need to feed. 

As soon as you entered the reception area, Beth spotted you. Her face lit up with excitement as she rushed over.

“Y/N!” She smiled, engulfing you in a hug, “How are you?

You giggled at her excitement. “Tired but doing good!”

“Oh my goodness, look at him!” she exclaimed, crouching down to get a better look at Finley. “Can I hold him?”

Leah nodded, “Of course you can, he’s just woken up,” she smiled before crouching down to unstrap him. She kissed his temple, gently tapping his back as he stirred against her chest. 

“He’s so tiny!” Beth cooed, as Leah placed Finley in her arms, “Hi little guy! I’m your auntie Beffy,” she leaned closer before whispering, “I’ll be the one that gives you all the sweets then sends you home crazy with your mama’s!”

Viv stood a few feet away, looking at Finley with a mix of awe and nerves. “He’s so small,” she said, not daring to come closer. “I’m afraid I might break him.”

Beth laughed, “You won’t, Vivi, you’re an awkward tattie!”

Viv leaned in for a closer look but still kept her hands to herself, clearly nervous. A few seconds later Lia walked through the door, gasping when she saw Finley. 

“How are you both?” She asked you as she hugged Leah before moving onto you. 

Leah smiled tiredly, “We’re good, tired, but good because it’s all worth it.”

"Look at this little one!" Lia exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. She approached Beth slowly, her hands reaching out and rubbing Finley’s fingers. "Can I?”

Leah nodded, her smile reassuring. "Of course. He's awake and in a good mood."

Lia carefully took Finley from Beth, her touch gentle. "Oh, he's just perfect. Hi there, little one," she cooed softly, rocking him gently in her arms. 

Next, Leah led you both to the changing room to set her stuff down. As soon as you walked in, Katie, Lotte, and Alessia stopped what they were doing, eager to meet the newest member of the family.

“Let me have a cuddle!” Katie insisted, gently taking Finley from Leah’s arms. She rocked him back and forth, her expression softening. “He’s gorgeous, you’ve got your Ma’s frown haven’t ya?”

“Oi!” Leah joked, her frown ironically on her face, “It’s just because he’s not able to smile yet.”

Katie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, let’s see in about a year. He’ll still be doing it!”

Lotte was next to hold him, “Hi there, little guy,” she whispered, her spare hand playing with Finley’s tiny fingers. “You’re gonna be the coolest little gooner, aren’t you?”

Finally, Alessia had her turn, her touch gentle and careful. “Hi Finn,” she said softly, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re so adorable! Ella’s going to be so jealous I got to meet you before she did.”

After everyone had their cuddle, you moved on to the canteen. There, Kim, Victoria and Laura were sitting around a table. 

“Look who’s here!” Kim exclaimed, walking over to greet you. She was quick to engulf you in a hug. 

“How’re you doing?” She asked you, “Getting enough sleep? Recovering okay?”

You laughed at her motherly instincts, “I’m doing good. Yes and yes, I’m getting enough sleep with Leah’s help and recovery is going well. I’m lucky.”

“Do you want to hold him?” You asked, looking down at Finley who was awake in your arms. 

“I’d love to.” She smiled before she took Finley in her arms, her face lighting up. “He’s beautiful. Congratulations.”

Laura and Victoria took turns holding him, both excited. “He’s going to be a little heartbreaker,” Kim said, making everyone laugh.

Finally, you headed to the gym. There, Steph, Kyra and Caitlin were in the middle of a workout. As soon as they saw you, they stopped what they were doing and came around.

“Hey, look at this little cutie!” Steph said, as she approached you. 

“Oh he’s adorable!” Caitlin added, appearing at Steph’s side. 

Kyra grinned, “Aww, he’s so tiny. Can I hold him?”

You nodded, gently passing Finley over to her. “Sure, just make sure you support his head.”

“Be careful you don't drop him," Caitlin said, “He’s only tiny.”

Kyra took him carefully, cradling him in her arms with a gentle touch. “Hey there, buddy. Welcome to the team!” she cooed. “You know, you’re probably the first baby I’ve ever held without trying to get them to kick a football. I won’t try it because your Mumma kinda scares me…”

As Kyra rocked Finley gently, she added with a mischievous smile, “I’m just saying, if he’s anything like me, he’ll be scoring a few goals by the time he’s six.”

Steph rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, "Yeah right,"

Leah raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And how exactly do you plan to teach him that? What if he’s a defender.”

Kyra grinned. “Well, I could always give him a head start. Maybe I’ll teach him how to dribble before he can even walk.”

Everyone laughed, but Kyra wasn’t done. “Or, you know, we could use him as a new training technique. If he starts crying, that’s when you know the defence is slacking!”

Leah shook her head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous, Kyra. But I guess if Finley can handle your training methods, he’ll be just fine.”

Caitlin chuckled, "I wouldn't just trust her alone with him any time soon."

You nodded, “Definitely not.”

Kyra gasped as she handed Finley to Steph, “Oh my god! Can I hold him in that baby wrap thing or take him for a walk?!”

Leah chuckled, “Maybe when he’s a bit bigger,” she smiled, “He’s fussy in the carrier, he just wants to be held all the time.”

Eventually, Beth and Viv came back into the gym and Beth sneaked another cuddled. Viv, still feeling a bit hesitant, watched as Beth confidently held Finley and cooed over him.

Beth, holding Finley close, glanced at Viv with a grin. “Come on, Viv. He’s not made of glass. You can’t break him.”

Viv laughed nervously, her hands trembling slightly. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a try.”

Viv slowly reached out and took Finley from Beth’s arms. Her eyes softened as she gently cradled him. “Oh, look at you, klein,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. Finley blinked up at her, his tiny hand opening to clutch her finger. 

Viv settled into a more comfortable hold. “I think he’s fallen asleep,” she said softly, noticing Finley’s eyelids fluttering shut. “He’s so peaceful.”

Beth chuckled from beside her. “See? I told you he’s not going to break. He’s just a sleepy little guy.”

Viv, her nerves eased, smiled at Beth. “He’s cute.”

“Y’know a baby suits you two.” Leah nodded, laughing at them as they doted over Finley.”

Beth shook her head, “I think we’ll just stick to Myle for now, neither of us are ready to be parents!”

After a while, Finley began to stir, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a soft cry. Viv was quick to hand him back to you. You and Leah exchanged a knowing look.

“Time for a feed,” you giggled, gently taking Finley from Viv’s arms.

Leah led the way to a quieter room nearby, you settled into a comfortable chair. Finley was quick to start feeding, your hand rubbed over his tiny bit of blonde hair. Leah sat beside you, your spare hand in hers. 

“You’re doing great, you know,” Leah whispered, placing a kiss on your temple. 

“So are you,” you replied. “Everyone loves Finley, start of the show.”

Leah smiled, watching Finley. “He’s already got a whole team of aunties who adore him. He’s going to be so spoiled.”

As Finley finished feeding and drifted back to sleep in your arms, Leah glanced at her watch. “I should get ready. Training starts in a bit.”

You nodded, standing up carefully to not wake Finley. “I’ll come watch, if he wakes up I’ll just take him for a walk.”

Leah grinned, kissing both you and Finley before heading off to join her teammates. You made your way back to the training grounds, finding a quiet spot to sit and watch the session. Finley stayed asleep in your arms, his tiny arms moving every now and then. 

The hours flew by, and before you knew it, the training session was over. Leah jogged over, slightly out of breath but beaming with pride. “How did we do?” she asked, leaning in to kiss you.

“You were amazing,” you replied, smiling up at her. “Finley’s your biggest fan.”

Leah laughed, taking a now awake Finley into her arms. “Well I wouldn’t have it be anyone else.”

[lokisfirecracker]

toxic, older man!price x reader

summary; you catch price flirting with someone else when you’re out on a date together, you argue but price manages to plant seeds in your head that you were overreacting. this is you coming back to him, because john is always right, and he would never hurt you, right?

warnings- toxic, abusive relationship, smut, public sex, voyeurism, humiliation, boot humping

—————

it had only been 2 days since your argument with john. you’d thought that he was in the wrong, when you caught him chatting up a pretty blonde whilst he waited for you to be done in the bathroom at the local pub.

you’d thought he was in the wrong when he’d denied their conversation being flirty, saying that he could never want someone that wasn’t you, even though his hand had been awfully close to her ass.

you’d started being confused about who was in the wrong when he’d complained about you always picking holes in every little thing he did, that he felt like he was being suffocated by you, before storming out, leaving you to find your own way home.

now, 2 days later, you knew that he was right, you had been more clingy than usual lately, and you had been tending to tell him off when really, the things he’d been doing weren’t that bad. you shouldn’t have complained about him looking down the waitress’ top last week when you were on another date, he couldn’t help that his eyes were at the same level as her tits! it’s not his fault that his chair was the perfect height.

you were missing him desperately, wishing that you’d just kept you mouth shut so you could be with him right now. you’d been on the fence about calling him, not sure if he’d even want you anymore after your spout. so instead, you decided that the best course of action, was to get absolutely plastered and pretend nothing happened.

admittedly, it wasn’t the best plan you could’ve come up with, and you were slightly regretting it now that you’d found yourself stood on john’s doorstep, in the sluttiest outfit you had, hand hovering by the door because you were too scared to knock.

luckily for you, he opened the door, unlit cigar in one hand. your eyes welled up immediately at the sight of him, feeling overwhelmed with relief from how much you’d missed him.

he sighed heavily, not looking at all surprised to see you and leaned up against the door frame, “you come to apologise for your behaviour?”

you quickly looked down, tears streaming down your face and cooling your warmed cheeks. now that you were here, you were unsure what to say. how could you ever make it up to him, what could you do to repay him for being so mean and inconsiderate to your poor boyfriend.

“you gonna answer me? or did y’come just here to yell and embarrass me again?”

his words only made you cry harder, wishing you could go back to before and have your john back. you swear that you’ll never complain about him again if he forgives you, you’d do anything he asked.

“no i-,” your own sobs cut you off, and you scrambled to find the right words, eyes lifting to meet his. “i’m so sorry, i was so cruel, i didn’t mean to.”

“so you just meant to upset me then, just didn’t mean to do it so publicly?” he sneered, titling his to the side a little. the floor beneath him creaked as he pushed off the frame, stepping closer to you.

you rushed to shake your head, doing it so quickly that your head swarmed, stumbling a little.

“don’t be so pathetic, it doesn’t suit you baby,”

you whimpered quietly, “i didn’t want to hurt you at all, i promise. please, i need you, please don’t leave me. i promise i’ll be good. just tell me what to do and i’ll do it, please.”

your breathing was laboured, and your heart felt like it was going to pump out of your chest. you waited whilst he considered, hoping that whatever he chose, that it would be enough for him to consider forgiveness.

“on your knees,” he commanded, finally lighting the cigar and taking a pull.

you dropped down, feeling the twang in your knees that you knew meant they’d be black and blue later. you looked up at him, waiting patiently for his next order as tears continued to fall, “hump my boot.”

you moved to do as he’d asked, not wanting to be seen hesitating and he change his mind. you carefully lifted yourself up, and placed your weight down onto his leather boot. your tears finally began to dry up as you loosely wrapped your arms around his strong leg.

going slowly at first, you rubbed your cunt along his shoe, trying to avoid the laces. you tried your best to put on a show for him, wanting to make him pleased at your actions, but the feeling of the leather grinding against your clit was disturbingly good.

just as you were getting lost in twisted pleasure, you heard a long whistle from down the street behind you. your head whipped around, stunting your movements on his shoe. a couple of men had gathered around to watch, and you hadn’t even realised. had they been there the whole time? did you know them? it was too dark to be able to recognise them, but the porch light above john made you very visible to them. you only hoped they couldn’t see the way your swollen cunt was glistening against the leather.

you felt a rough tug to your hair, and squealed as he said, “did i fucking tell you to stop?” you shook your head again, knowing that any words you said would only anger him further at this point, and john didn’t tolerate prolonged disobedience.

resuming your movements, you tried not to think about the strangers, and focused only john and your quickly approaching orgasm.

you’d never felt so humiliated in your life, but you knew you deserved this. after all, this is how he must of felt outside that pub bathroom, with all those people around, watching. really, if you thought about it, you were quite lucky to only have a couple people watching you. john had been very generous with his punishment, and you’d happily take it like a good girl if it made him happy.

legs shaking, you moaned into his thigh, calling out his name like a chant. pleasure flowed through you as you released your cum onto his now shining boot. you collapsed against him, feeling exhausted and embarrassed. he gently pulled you up and into his arms, pressing his hard bulge into you as you tried to recover.

before you could realise what he was doing, you felt him flip up the back of your skirt, followed by a sharp burn against your ass check. you gasped, trying to move away from the source of pain. he shushed you as you began to cry again, rubbing your back and discarding the rest of the now put out cigar onto the floor.

“did so well for me, sweetheart. you’re forgiven, been such a good girl, haven’t you? how could i ever stay mad at that pretty face of yours, hm?”

he picked you up and walked around back into his house, slamming the door shut with his foot behind him.

your body continued to tremble as he placed you down onto his bed, lovingly tucking your hair behind your ears. he moved back to undo your laces and take off your shoes, focus moving back over to your face every once in a while. next, he unzipped the side of your skirt, and pulled your top off, leaving you in only your soaked underwear.

he admired the view, smiley softly when your eyes met and crawled up the bed to lay beside you. you always craved these moments with him, where you knew he loved you, where you knew that you were the one he wanted right now. you’d go to much further lengths than you had tonight on the porch to make him happy, if it meant that this is what you got in return. nothing felt this good.

he pulled you closer, his hold on your body tight, almost uncomfortably so, before his face turned serious, “you ever embarrass me again, and i’ll fucking kill ya, you hear me?”

you sniffled, eyes widening a little but refusing to squirm from his arms, “i won’t ever, i promise john,”

“good, that’s good,”

and just like that, he was his happy self again, like you’d never argued, like he hadn’t just threatened to take you life, like you didn’t know that he meant it. everything was good again, just don’t you dare say a word when the next week, you catch him sending pictures of his dick to his “doctor”.

—————

any feedback in the comments is massively appreciated <3

[formulawolff]

jealousy, jealousy - t.w.

pairing: fem!reader x dbf! toto wolff

word count: 2.1k

warnings: age gap, smut (oral - male receiving!), questionable power dynamics, cursing, vague toxic vibes from toto, allusions to sex, slight choking, poorly translated german, dominating vibes from toto for sure, writer has no idea how university in europe works, dad's best friend! trope, reader is lowkey a little brat, dirty talk, yadayadayada

a/n: here is the highly anticipated second part of sunbathing! and yes, it is loosely based off of jealousy, jealousy by olivia rodrigo. i hope y’all enjoy this just as much as the first part! <3

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚

no matter how hard you tried to shake it, it lingered.

it was always present, nagging away, gnawing at you. nearly consuming you whole.

it kept you awake at night as you tossed and turned, your mind wandering, wondering what could have been.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚

what could have happened if the two of you were alone that day. how he could have made you feel. how he could have fulfilled every single one of your sleazy, dirty, downright sinful fantasies.

how he could have fucked you like the whore you were for him, aching for some sort of relief from the fiery desire burning within.

you were desperate. desperate to replicate the way he touched you that day. desperate to hear that sickeningly sweet lust dripping in his words. desperate to squirm under his intense gaze, his mocha depths picking you apart.

no toy in your nightstand drawer even came close. there was no porno that could even recreate the memory. there was nothing that could satisfy the craving.

the craving to feel toto wolff spread you open and tear you apart.

ever since that summer afternoon, you maintained your distance. you stayed as far away as possible, ensuring that you remained upstairs whenever he came over for a couple drinks. you would purposefully only pop into your dad's office if you knew toto was out. there was one morning where you fibbed that you had an upset stomach, just so that you didn't have to tag along for another dinner on his luxurious yacht.

of course, you didn't want to avoid him. but you knew you had to.

simply because the mere sight of him was enough to bring you to your knees.

although, missing numerous grand prixes did have it repercussions.

while your dad was in the garage, you would be at home in bed, scrolling endlessly through social media. in turn, a nasty, unsettling feeling began to bloom, only growing with each passing weekend.

and that feeling was jealousy.

to put it simply, you were envious of the girls. how they were able to prance around the paddocks every weekend, donning the latest designer clothing and sipping on the finest champagne. giggling among one another as their boyfriends zoomed past. gossiping about everything and anything, from their sex lives to which one of their manicurists perfected the glazed donut look.

you longed to be with them, to join their elite status as a formula one wag. you ached to be that it girl, strutting into the garage, unbothered as tik tok pages buzzed and tabloids raved.

yet, with the man you had in mind, you knew it wasn't attainable.

not in the slighest.

there was no world in which you would be toto wolff's girlfriend.

it simply was never going to happen.

and facing that fact? fuck, did it have you spiraling.

it left you dejected and defeated, wanting nothing to do with anything and everything related to formula one. the sport you once loved was now a stark reminder of what you could not have.

an innocent dream crushed by the harsh weight of reality.

however, your withdrawn nature did not go unnoticed. by the third or fourth weekend spent home alone, your father decided it was time to "go out and socialize!" and "keep your mom company while he was at work."

you couldn't fight it any longer, either.

you had to attend the hungarian grand prix.

whether you liked it or not.

of course, your father was oblivious. he teased you, wondering if it had something to do with that "verstappen boy" or "that chuck leclerc fellow." although he did not press, you knew that he was aware it had something to do with a boy.

well, not just any boy.

a man. a fifty-two year old man.

his best friend and boss, at that.

so, here you were, using your mother as a shield as the two of you hung out in the garage. with carmen mundt and lewis hamilton's mom, nonetheless.

"so, how is university going?"

a delicate voice floods your right ear. blinking, you realize that it was carmen trying to speak, heat flushing into your cheeks as she giggles, your mom chiming in.

"she's been a little spacey today, so you might wanna make sure her antennas are adjusted correctly."

"mom!" you hiss, eyes narrowing into slits. however, you suck in a breath, turning to carmen, "i haven't started yet, but i am excited about this semester! i have a lot of classes online, so i can work while i travel."

"that's great!" carmen gushes, her lips forming a radiant grin, "i understand how difficult working on the go can be at times, but i have full faith that you'll have another great semester. your dad informed me that you were quite the scholar."

"oh please," you scoff, rolling your eyes, "i'm not that-"

"guten tag miene damen. i hope hospitality has been treating you well!"

your breath hitches in your throat as that brassy voice fills the air, his thick accent seeping into every word.

"toto!" your mom rises to her feet, wrapping the team principal up in a tight embrace, "it's nice to see you!"

"wie ich sehe, hast du den kleinen mitgebracht," the team principal shoots you a wink, folding his arms across his chest, "it's nice to see you, again. i don't think i've spoken to you since-"

"the afternoon we went out on your yacht," you finish, heart thudding against your rib-cage as he nods, "i've been a bit busy."

"is that so?" toto arches a brow, his tongue swiping along his lower lip, "busy with school or?"

"preparing for the semester to begin," you respond, a shiver running down your spine as he maintains eye contact, "i begin my last year of university in a few months."

"very good," the team principal clicks his tongue. tilting his head ever so slightly, he shifts to your mom, "would you mind if i stole her for a few minutes? i don't think she's gotten to see the upgrades we've made to the car."

"oh please," you mom waves a hand, "you know i don't mind!"

"well," his attention floats back to you, his elbow extending, "would you like to see the car?"

"sure," you mumble, your knees nearly buckling as you stand, "as long as i'm back before the first session."

"i'll have you back in no time," giving one last wave to the women, you hesitantly accept his gesture, linking your arm with his, "you better make this quick."

"is that right?" he counters, "you can relax, you know. you don't have to be so tense."

exhaling, your shoulder droops, "sorry. just a little nervous."

"you of all people know i don't bite," as the two of you weave through the garage, he chirps greetings to members of the crew.

as he strolls through a door, you realize that you were not looking at the new cars. in fact, the cars were in various pieces, the engineers tinkering away as you passed by them minutes ago. he was leading you in the opposite direction of the garage, deep into the paddock, far away from your parents.

"the cars were in the garage you know."

toto clicks his tongue, his gaze directed toward the sprawling labyrinth of hallways and doors. his pace picks up, and for a moment, you find it a bit difficult to keep up with his lengthy strides.

yet, he doesn't speak, eventually coming to a halt in front of an office space. he pauses, shoving a hand into his pocket. fishing out a lanyard, he flashes a badge in front of a black square. at the top of the device, a light beams green, the lock turning.

his hand wraps around the handle, pushing the door open. he draws the blinds, taking a brief moment to scan his surroundings, ensuring that the two of you were completely concealed.

swallowing thickly, you shift in place. the air is still, thick with tension as toto turns on his heel, coming face-to-face with you.

in that moment, you swear there's a crackle, as if there was some sort of electricity. a hand cups the back of your skull, bringing you in close.

"where have you been?"

his inquiry is harsh, almost as if he was scolding you.

"home," your lip trembles as he studies you, taking in every little mole, every little scar, and the way your eyes glimmer in the dim light, "i've been at home."

"avoiding me or avoiding the what ifs?"

"both," you sputter out, the word thready as he leans in even further, your mouths only millimeters apart, "i was scared if we saw one another again, i would put you in some sort of fucked-"

"you're adorable," the team principal coos, tilting your head back, "absolutely precious."

"why do you say that?"

the tip of his nose brushes against yours, his voice merely a whisper.

"because no matter how badly i want to fuck you right now, i still have some sense of control."

"then what are you going to do?"

"feel those pretty little lips around my cock. get on your knees."

"t-toto," you stammer, fighting a moan as his mouth drifts down your jawline, planting sloppy kisses down your neck, "i-i don't know if we should-"

"just say the word and i'll walk you right back to mommy and daddy."

adrenaline courses through your veins, your mind scrambling to form a response as his fingertips glide along the waistband of your jeans, tenderly stroking along your heated skin.

the angel on your shoulder was telling you to walk away, to end it right now before it grew into something more.

yet, the devil was a little bastard, reminding you that you finally had him alone. the filthy fantasies that clouded your dreams at night could finally be fulfilled.

and who knew how long it would be before an opportunity like this arose.

it was now or never.

licking your lips, you lower to your knees, the coolness of the concrete littering your limbs with goosebumps. toto dips his head, prompting you to proceed.

"show me how much of a good girl you really are."

bringing your hands to his slacks, you hastily undo the buckle of his belt. hooking the waistband of his boxers, you slide them down, eyes widening at the sight before you.

his hardened cock, far larger than your fantasies, was before you, stiff as the blood pumped through it. his tip was a rosy pink, tinged with the glow of lust. there were several veins prominent, wrapping around his length.

sticking your tongue out, you swirl around his tip, humming as his legs shake momentarily, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. his chest rises and falls, breathing ragged as you begin to take him in your mouth, lashes fluttering as one hand wraps around the base.

"that's it," he pants, fingers tugging at your roots while your cheeks hollow out, "you take it so well. good girl."

spit begins to dribble from your lip as you begin to bob your head, your hand pumping along his length. with each stroke, you can feel him tense, his jaw clamped tight.

you can feel the bruises forming as obscene noises bounce off the walls, the team principal's grip loosening by the second. you're soaking wet, the juices pooling between your thighs as his head falls back.

fuck, did you like this.

no, you loved it as he shuddered against you, his voice breathy, barely audible.

"y-you're going to make me cum. f-fuck you're going to make me cum."

seconds later, you feel it.

threads of cum spill down your throat, his hips bucking against you, "good girl. get every last drop."

pulling away, you swallow, the team principals' hands finding yours. fingers intertwine together, helping you to your feet.

"come here."

mouths mold together, the kiss blazing with passion. a tongue slides along your lower lip, delving in. it's pure bliss, breathing life into your lungs as he brings you in closer than you ever thought possible.

the tender moment is brief, leaving a tingling sensation that buzzes all the way down to your toes.

"we will finish this," eyes interlock, a finger sweeping along your jaw, "i promise."

"when?" the inquiry tumbles out, "when will we see each other again?"

"as soon as possible," he murmurs, "promise me something though, schatzi."

"that is?" you arch a brow, wondering what could possibly come next.

"promise me that you won't let another man near you until i get to finish what i started."

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚

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[writeriguess]

katsuki x female reader where she is usually so closed off behind sassy act but becomes vulnerable for the first time around him when she has drunken her worries away

You were always a force to be reckoned with, strutting through the halls with a confidence that rivaled the best of them. Your quick wit and sharp tongue kept most people at arm's length, a strategy you perfected over the years. It was easier to hide behind the sass than to let anyone see what was really underneath.

Especially around him.

Katsuki Bakugo was a different breed of intensity, someone who met your fire with fire. The few times you exchanged words, it was a clash of egos, both too proud to back down. But despite the frequent verbal sparring, there was something about him that lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken connection that neither of you had ever acknowledged.

And tonight, it all came crashing down.

The dim lights of the bar flickered above you as you nursed the last remnants of your drink, the alcohol warming your insides and dulling the sharp edges of your mind. You weren’t much of a drinker, but tonight... tonight you had too much on your mind. The pressure of hero work, the expectations, the facade you’d kept up for so long—it all became too heavy.

You let out a sigh, staring into the glass as though the answers to your problems were swirling at the bottom. The buzz in your head softened your usual defenses, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to be so guarded.

That’s when you felt it—his presence. Even in your haze, you could sense Bakugo's intense aura as he approached, his eyes locking onto you from across the bar. His usual scowl was in place, though there was something different in his expression, something almost concerned.

"Tch, what the hell are you doing?" His voice was gruff as he slid into the seat next to you.

You looked up at him, eyes slightly unfocused. "Bakugo..." you slurred his name, barely recognizing the softness in your own voice. "Just... drinking. Relaxing. Like a normal person."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You? Relaxing? Yeah, right. What's really going on?"

You scoffed, though the sound was half-hearted. "Nothing you need to worry about, okay? I'm fine."

But the second the words left your mouth, you felt your carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your grip, or maybe it was the way Bakugo's intense gaze seemed to see right through you. Either way, the façade was slipping, and for the first time, you didn't have the strength to hold it up.

"I'm not fine," you whispered, voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. He was waiting.

You swallowed hard, trying to pull yourself together, but it was too late. The vulnerability that you'd spent so long hiding was bubbling to the surface, and there was no stopping it.

"I’ve been pretending... for so long," you continued, your voice thick with emotion. "Pretending like everything's fine, like I have it all under control, but... I don’t. It’s exhausting, Katsuki." You rarely used his first name, but it slipped out naturally, your usual barriers completely gone. "I’m so tired."

For a moment, Bakugo was silent, his gaze unwavering as he processed your words. Then, without warning, he stood up and grabbed your wrist, pulling you up from the barstool.

"Come on," he muttered, his voice softer than usual.

"Where are we—" you started, but he cut you off.

"Outside. You need air."

You let him lead you out of the crowded bar, the cool night breeze hitting your face as you stepped onto the empty street. Bakugo didn’t let go of your wrist until you both reached a quiet spot away from the noise. He turned to face you, his expression serious.

"You're an idiot if you think you're the only one who feels that way," he said bluntly, though his tone lacked its usual bite. "Everyone’s struggling. Being a hero isn't easy, and you’re not some invincible machine. You're allowed to be tired."

You stared at him, your mind struggling to process his words. It wasn’t like him to be so... understanding.

"I just... I don’t know how to let anyone in," you admitted, your voice small. "If I do, I’ll fall apart."

"Then fall apart," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "You think being strong means never breaking? That’s bullshit. Real strength is getting back up after you fall."

Your chest tightened at his words, and before you could stop yourself, tears welled up in your eyes. You hated crying, especially in front of people, but right now, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

"I'm scared, Katsuki," you whispered, the tears spilling over. "I'm scared of failing, of not being enough."

Bakugo’s expression softened, just a fraction, and he stepped closer. "You're enough," he said firmly, his voice low. "You’re more than enough. And if you fall, I’ll be there to pick you up. Got it?"

His words broke something inside you, and before you knew it, you were burying your face in his chest, the sobs you had been holding in for so long finally escaping. Bakugo didn’t push you away or make some snide comment. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you cried.

For the first time in forever, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. And for the first time, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone.

"I got you," Bakugo muttered into your hair, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "I’ve always got you."

And in that moment, you believed him.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[beersangel]

Matcha lover ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

* ˚ ✦ matt sturniolo’s love language is acts of services!

Matt Sturniolo x reader 💗

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Your head rests on Matt’s chest as you talk about how expensive the drinks in LA are, especially your favorite – a sweet iced matcha. You rant about how hard it is to find a good one that doesn’t cost a fortune.

As you speak, an idea pops into Matt’s head. He’s seen people making iced matcha at home on TikTok before, using those little matcha kits. He figures he could do that for you, especially since he knows how much you love drinking it.

When you drift off to sleep, Matt pulls out his phone, determined. He starts searching for everything he’ll need. He looks for the best matcha powder, paying extra attention to find a sweet one, just like you like it. He adds the matcha kit to his cart, checks everything over, and places the order. Once he’s done, he puts his phone down and pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head before falling asleep with you in his arms.

A few days later, while you're hanging out at a friend's place, Matt gets the package delivered. Excited, he opens TikTok, finds the tutorial he saved, and gets to work. He knows you’ll be home soon, so he hurries, making sure he follows the instructions carefully. He wants this to be perfect for you.

You come home just as Matt is whisking something in the kitchen, his back to you. You frown a little because baking isn’t exactly his thing. Quietly, you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around him, surprising him. He jumps but quickly relaxes when he realizes it’s you.

You peek over his shoulder and your eyes widen in surprise.

“Is that—” you start, and he turns to face you with a proud smile.

“Yes,” he grins.

“Matt…” you say, your heart swelling with appreciation.

“Don’t get too excited yet. You still have to try it,” he laughs. “Sit up on the counter, give me a couple of minutes. I’m almost done.” He kisses your cheek before turning back to finish the drink.

You watch him pour milk into a glass filled with ice, then carefully add the green matcha. He stirs it gently and pops in a metal straw. With a nervous but eager smile, he walks over to you, holding the drink.

He hands it to you, eyes full of hope. “Go on, give it a try,” he says, biting his lip.

You take the straw and stir the matcha with the milk before taking your first sip. Your eyes widen at the sweet, familiar taste.

“Well?” Matt asks, leaning in a little.

You swallow and look up at him, shocked. “Matt… this is so good!” you say, a huge smile spreading across your face.

Matt’s face lights up. “Really?”

You put the glass down next to you and grab his face, pulling him in for a kiss. “I can’t believe you learned how to make my favorite drink,” you say, kissing the corner of his lips softly.

“Anything for my girl,” he whispers, his smile soft and full of love. He presses a few kisses to your cheek, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

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[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part one

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

warnings: grief mention

word count: 4k

a/n: here is the idea that has been plaguing my brain since i started this blog. more installments to follow. any comments, feedback, thoughts are always appreciated, especially since this is my first longer piece on here. thank you to whomever requested this. it is not exactly what you asked for, but rest assured the story shall eventually give you what you desire.

The Tyrell girl finds herself with the distinct thought that there is absolutely nothing special about Cregan Stark after all. 

She decides upon this in her quarters at King’s Landing, which are modest in size, almost befitting a young lady from a family as opulent as House Tyrell. The sheer silks of the curtains blow inwards gently in the face of the afternoon wind that drifts in from the open window, the slight smell of seawater and the remnants of a cooler day. 

The girl in the vanity mirror gazes back at her with a delicately downturned chin and round doe eyes that look up underneath delicate wisps of long lashes. She gives the look another attempt, pressing her lips together slightly to give her a darling pout as she opens a small pot of rouge. The color comes from an ornate box that is covered in gilded roses and twisting thorns. Her fingernails tap gently on the edge of the metal as she opens the rouge with a soft click. With one of her fingers, she presses into the coloring only the slightest bit to pull some onto her skin. 

Her plump lips are parted carefully as she raises her hand to dab the color to her mouth, leaning forward slightly. Some of her loose curls sway softly with the motion, and she rests her elbow against the edge of the vanity’s table. Once she has finished, she reaches down to open a drawer and produces a white lace handkerchief that is embroidered with the sigil of House Tyrell – a beautiful rose in shimmering golden silk. When she wipes her finger against the fabric, a light stain of pink is left behind. 

She returns to her earlier judgement, regarding the young lord she is set to meet with shortly. Cregan Stark is heavy on her mind that day. 

It was not too long ago that the Northern men had arrived in King’s Landing. Soon after followed their liege lord, the Lord of Winterfell, the man who holds the court at present. With him had come an even larger force and with that army he had seized control of the entire city in a very short manner of time. It would seem the young lord had every intention of continuing the war that had consumed the noble houses, much to the concern of House Tyrell.

The House is ran by a woman at present. The Tyrell girl thought of her mother briefly, and of her little brother Lyonel who was only two years of age. She knew her mother did not wish for the war to continue. That very mother had then told the girl that while this Northern lord maintained a firm hold on King’s Landing it was her responsibility to do what she did best: win him over.

There was little to complain about when the request was delivered to her. On the contrary, she had already predicted the wishes of her mother and had ensured she was in the throne room the moment Cregan Stark had first pushed those large doors open, blue eyes sharp and sword still in his hand as he led his bannermen in. It is with perfect clarity that she can recall the moment his head lifted to the balcony of the grand room, meeting her gaze for the first time. 

She could additionally recall each and every following occurrence of the prolonged gaze they exchanged whenever they happened to cross paths. After a few instances of this, heavy looks where the Northern lord would hold her stare as if he had no intention of ever looking elsewhere again, she found his eyes began to wander. To the lady’s lace she occasionally wove into her elaborate hairstyles, to the small freshwater pearls that spilled over of her collarbones, and then down further to the way the embroidery at the top of her gowns would sweep across her breasts that were pushed upward by the tightness of her whalebone corsets.

And once an adequate trap had been laid, the Rose of the Court had swept in with angelic grace and poise to introduce herself to him. It had gone as smoothly as she could have expected – save for the way she had found Cregan Stark was smarter than she expected. The shine in his eyes when she’d spoken let her know that this Northern lord would not fall prey to her so easily. 

Nevertheless, he has called upon her that afternoon. Which is why she is spending a rather grey day dabbing the subtlest of color onto her lips before smoothing her delicately arranged hair into place and informing her maid she is ready to depart.

They are to meet in the castle’s gardens, as per her own request. She had spent quite some time in the gardens during her time in King’s Landing, and found men were much more likely to deem a conservation there pleasant as it would reflect her scents of rose water and lavender oil and honey.

She catches sight of him as she makes her way down one of the pathways made of little rocks, her elegant heels tapping on the small, pearl-colored pebbles as she approaches. Lord Stark is facing away from her, his hands clasped behind his back. He is still dressed in dark colors but has opted against the heavy furs that had adorned his broad shoulders the first time she had seen him. His hair is a striking shade of red that when caught by sunlight shines almost golden about the edges. But this day, the sky is overcast and gloomy with a few gusts of wind and the faint smell of rain that perhaps foretold an incoming summer storm.

Cregan Stark turns as he hears her drawing nearer, his chin raising slightly as his stern gaze falls upon the Tyrell girl. 

She has settled for a hurried step, the heavy skirts of her elaborate dress clutched in her petite hands as she rushes up to him rather quickly, bringing a natural red flush to her cheeks. As if she had been quite fretful over the idea of making him wait for even a moment. Her maid trails behind, grasping at the fluttering of her headdress that the wind plucks at in gusts. The maid is providing the girl with a small amount of distance as she stops to catch her breath in front of Cregan.

“I do hope I have not kept you waiting, Lord Stark,” The Tyrell girl begins, her shoulders rolling back elegantly as she speaks. The action draws further attention to the prominence of her collarbone, over which a thin necklace of gold lays. Her eyebrows raise and draw closer as she gives Cregan a honeyed and apologetic smile. The color of her lips is that of a blooming rose.

Cregan finds there are no shortages of places to look when it comes to her. And yet there is no safe place to rest his eyes upon, no part of her that has not been subtly enhanced or maneuvered to make her look as comely as might be possible. It is no wonder that she has enchanted half of his bannermen as if by some sort of spell, leaving longing eyes and craning necks in her wake as she glides about the court. 

And Cregan cannot truthfully declare he is immune to her beauty. The only reason he has noticed so much regarding her is that he had been staring, all dry swallows and heavy-lidded eyes, at her since arriving. The way she made his blood rush hot in his veins, her face and figure more than pleasing. Cregan will not imagine – he is a gentleman, and she a highborn lady -but he could imagine, if he allows himself to, and he could imagine much whenever she enters his line of sight. She needn’t say a word to draw his eye.

He settles for looking into her eyes, although they are perhaps the most disarming feature on her dollish face.

“No, you have not Lady Tyrell.” There is a depth to his tone that she is not used to, even after a week of hearing Northern accents echoing down the halls of King’s Landing. He pronounces both her name and title by enunciating both syllables with a low timbre. She notices the way he intentionally kept his gaze to her eyes, his brows neutral and his features even. A proper Northern lord, perhaps. The girl will figure him out for herself soon enough.

“Oh, thank goodness,” She breathes the first word as a sigh of sweet relief, pausing for a moment to catch her breath since she had hurried so worriedly over to him. A hand comes to her chest, sliding over the top of her full breasts as she presses down to soothe her aching lungs.

Cregan’s eyes flick down.

“I would hate to be late. I know how busy you must be, what with all of your responsibilities here at King’s Landing,” There is that sweet smile again, breaking across her face like the sun through the sky in the early hours of the morning. When she folds her hands gracefully across her front, her cleavage comes together impossibly tighter as her arms press to her sides.

Cregan looks back up to her face, hand clenching lightly.

“Aye, I have been quite busy. Handling the remnants of Aegon’s supporters has proved a heavy task.” His eyes are light, reflective of the overcast sky above their heads. They narrow a bit as he speaks, his expression stern and his voice gruff. She wonders for a moment over how seriously he must take himself.

“A difficult yet vital task, verily.” The Tyrell girl’s eyelashes flutter lightly. She dips her head as if to acknowledge the severity and importance of his work at the capital.

He beholds her for a heartbeat, the slightest twitch of his heavy brows when she speaks with a tone that implies the most agreeable and sweet countenance. It is the perfect thing to reply with, a simple sentence that does not ally herself with either side of the war. An easy compliment given to him like candy. Here is a girl who has learned to play the game of court.

And before Cregan can push the subject further to see if he might glimpse a hint of her true opinion on the matter, the girl is already turning towards the path. He waits a moment while she begins to walk, observing the way she steps with effortless grace. Letting out a small sigh, his wide shoulders drop and he takes a few heavy steps to catch up with her.

The maid trails behind them, and Cregan wonders for a moment if she needs anything from the girl. As he glances over his shoulder, the girl catches notice and smiles, sugary and pleasant.

“How has the capital treated you, my lord? Aside from your important work, that is,” Her chin raises as she looks at him sideways. It is a fair way she has to look up, with the obvious height he has on her. She has never been considered tall, but even so, Cregan’s stature is quite imposing.

Cregan considers her words for a moment. The gardens are quiet, most of the lords and ladies inside to avoid the low clouds that hang precariously above them.

“The South is not much like the North,” He meets her eyes with a heavy gaze as he speaks. There is a heaviness about him in general – stern and disciplined. “I came for the war and find there’s one in every corner of your court.”

She keeps her eyes to the ground for a moment, her expression cool and pleasing. So it would seem Cregan Stark was not altogether empty-headed and boorish.

“Life at court can be quite turbulent at times, it is true,” A honey-tongued and cool concession, smooth as river water over rocks. “But your steadfast devotion to bringing justice is a refreshing presence. Others of your idealism have long since left these walls.”

At first glance, it is a compliment of the softest praise. But Cregan is not foolish enough to take her words for their immediate meaning. No, what Cregan hears instead is an unimpressed warning of what happens to those who come to King’s Landing with good intentions.

“I swore an oath and intend to keep it,” His brow creases in a serious frown. “Even should those I made that oath to no longer draw breath.”

“How very honorable,” Swift and candied, the words fall from her rosy lips as she walks gracefully at his side, finding herself with a flash of annoyance as she has to increase her pace to keep up with his wide steps. This is supposed to be a leisurely stroll, why is it that every step he takes has the length and intent of someone walking towards a particular destination? “It is good to know that the stories of Northern loyalty ring true.”

Cregan feels his jaw tighten slightly, his eyes on her face as she upturns her chin to meet his gaze once more. The look on her face implies she is impressed, but the Lord of Winterfell has an eye for falsehoods and this girl is covered in them, no matter how coquettishly smoothed they are.

A frown of contemplation folds onto his stern face. “It is our nature, my lady.”

“So it is.” A saccharine smile and the glitter of wide eyes. The garden’s flowers are in full bloom, upturned to the sky to catch the possible rain that would occur in the later evening. The petals facing the clouds, waiting, watching. Leaning towards the water they wish for. A small flutter of wings can be heard as a butterfly brushes past. “To be true to one’s nature, you will find, is not a common occurrence here at court. If it is Northern custom to be honest and straightforward, it is Southern custom to be prudent and waiting.” 

There is an eloquent way of describing the venomous snake pit that was the capital. Most of the men there came for their own personal interest or gain, clawing to the top of the food chain through underhanded tactics and broken oaths and lies. Most men worked their entire lives for a fragment of what Cregan Stark had come to King’s Landing and taken in one day.

“Therefore, you must imagine why you are so fascinating to many of us here at court.”  She explains in a tone of light and airy amiableness, meeting his gaze as if admitting why she had been staring after him so often since his arrival at King’s Landing. This is not exclusively a lie – she was sizing him up, same as every other noble who cared enough to keep an eye on the larger game at play. But some of her staring had been purely self-indulgent, much to her own irritation.

“And you have lived here at court long?” Cregan’s question is reserved and polite.

“A couple of years now,” The Tyrell girl looks out in front of her again while they walk, surveying the gardens around them thoughtfully as if she had not seen them a thousand times. “I served as a lady in waiting to Queen Helaena. The Hightowers are bannermen of House Tyrell and I had been betrothed to her younger brother Daeron from his birth. We had been set to marry this year, however…”

She could not care less about her betrothal to Daeron. It had served her well, allowing her more time to live unmarried as Daeron was much younger than her and the two had never met. And then he had died, and she found herself lacking the safety and security of a royal and wealthy betrothed who was miles away. She wishes she could say she had mourned him, but she had not known him at all.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Tyrell.” There is an almost warm quality in his voice as Cregan offers his sincere condolences. She looks down, as she knows she should. Many had given her similar sentiments in regard to the loss of her betrothed, but she did not find herself shedding a single tear for the fallen prince. It is not that there had been no love between them: it is that there had been nothing between them at all. Daeron had never so much as written her a single letter in an attempt to know her. But his sister plagues her thoughts.

Helaena had been a dear friend, a companion, a confidant. It was Helaena who had offered the girl company in that first frightening year at court, who had been unfaltering honest and direct with her. There were no court games or schemes at play with Helaena, no power struggles or competition or backstabbing. The Tyrell girl had been devastated to lose the Queen. Much more so than a stranger she had never even laid eyes upon. Daeron was a figment of imagination from the mind of her childhood self; Helaena had been flesh and blood and dreams and understanding. 

She is glad her eyes are downcast; she can feel the glassy haze falling over them and the way her smile lacks any warmth. After a moment, she forces a happier smile back upon her lips and dips her head slightly.

“I thank you, Lord Stark. It has been difficult in the face of such a loss, but I do hope to persevere.”  The brightness of her voice lowers to a softer tone. She is well used to pretending to mourn her late betrothed. It is not hard when she simply examines her feelings over Helaena, but such raw and angry grief is not befitting of a lady. No one wishes to see her scream and tear at her hair over the pain that rakes carved, hollow cavities into her chest. They wish for a light dab at a stray tear, a quiet, palatable sadness they can soothe with promises of future love and happiness.

Cregan does not know what to make of her reaction, unable to see her face as it is turned away. Her words are even, practiced. 

“I have only spent my time between the capital and Highgarden. There is much of the world I have yet to see,” The Tyrell girl guides the conversation back to Cregan’s original question with ease and experience. She catches his stormy eyes gazing intensely at her once more, sucking in a gentle breath that she wishes she could say is done on purpose to feign interest.

“I imagine I might fair poorly in the North,” She continues hurriedly, eyelashes fluttering as she regains control over her composure, eyes cast to the sky as she presents a sheepish breath of laughter. “With the cold and what not.”

Cregan’s lips twitch faintly at her admission, his head tilting a little as he gazes down at her. It is an amusing thought, this delicate rose in her pastel fabrics and shining jewelry among the ice and snow. He rather wishes to see it, he finds.

“Aye, I fear even our summers would prove challenging for those raised in such fair climate.” The amusement reaches his eyes and she finds herself watching as Cregan looks down, doing his best to remain a gentleman and fighting off the smile that seems to be threatening to break out at the corners of his lips. She hears what his words truthfully mean: he views the Southerners as weaker, used to sunshine and easy days. 

Does he fancy himself better because he spent all his time in nightmarish weather, buried under pelts and furs and smelling of sweat and snow? She is eager to see how he’d fare in court without the large army he had brought with him.

“Oh, I simply could not bear it,” She sighs deeply, as if even the thought of such bitter cold was too worrying a predicament to bear in her delicate mind. “I am afraid you shall not be seeing me in the North anytime soon, Lord Stark.”

“A pity, my lady,” There is still a measure of serious composure in his face, but Cregan’s eyes shimmer with something else as he watches her bring her hand to her chest again, smoothing down the expensive fabrics and then up over the soft flesh of her breasts. An action that feigns worry and concern and draws his attention. She has a way of leading the eye about in a subtle manner. Her figure gives him pause. “The North offers a great beauty for those who choose to brave it.”

Her eyes flick to his and there is a moment where Cregan can almost see her sharp mind discerning whether his comment is a challenge or a jab or merely an observation. It fascinates him, yet his face betrays nothing of the thought.

“Perhaps I should amend my previous statement,” The soft laugh that escapes her lips and the sweetness of her expression makes Cregan wonder if he has imagined something. “If my lord was so kind as to offer me an invitation to Winterfell, I would, of course, be honored beyond words.”

Cregan wonders for a moment if he can discern her true intentions. She intrigues him, much more than she should. It was her alone of all the Southern ladies who had approached him directly, introducing herself and offering welcome. Cregan knows it is not from the goodness of her heart. She could fool his bannerman with her wide eyes and friendly smiles, but Cregan was attuned to lies, no matter how beautifully they were spun. Attuned, yet perhaps not immune to their crafter.

It is likely she seeks marriage, now that her betrothed has fallen in battle. Cregan is a perfect candidate. But he cannot be sure, not when she’s blinking up at him with such sweet and thoughtful eyes. Her weapons are great and her skill with them is more so. Before Cregan can open his mouth to mention that he would in fact, wish to see her with rosy cheeks bitten from the cold and snowflakes in her soft hair, she casts her eyes to the sky, frowning thoughtfully.

“It would seem that the evening storm is rolling in sooner that anticipated,” She muses, sighing a little, as if she is truly saddened their stroll is coming to an end. They have almost walked to the end of the gardens anyhow. “I shall excuse myself, if you do not mind, Lord Stark.”

Cregan lowers his head in understanding, his eyes meeting hers as he lifts his chin. He holds the stare for longer than needed. “Go ahead, my lady. I would hate to see you caught in the rain. You might melt.”

She blinks, that sweet smile on her lips but not quite reaching her eyes as she feels her jaw tighten slightly. How utterly charming. As if to subtly let her know he has not fallen for a single thing she has said or done in the last hour. She imagines he finds that amusing.

“How kind of you, my lord.” She offers him through a mildly forced grace, her right eye twitching a little as she gives a deep curtsy that once again showcases just how fortunately she is blessed in the bosom. Cregan finds his mouth dry, his shoulders rolling back slightly. “Do not hesitate to call upon me should you need anything at court. I hear it can be quite challenging for those raised in such fair company.”

When she draws herself up, she gives him one last smile before she turns to collect her maid and disappears.

Cregan hears his own words shot back at him with the most amiable and honeyed cadence but realizes a moment too late. He runs a hand through his red hair and then over his face as he sighs. But as he does so, he feels the ghost of a smile on his lips. Cregan finds himself shaking his head, gazing in the direction she has vanished into for a long moment in silence.

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