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ceesimz · 24 days ago

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Lavender

A date that unfortunately doesn't go as planned. (autistic!reader - angst -> fluff)

Reverie series here as always! A verrrry real experience depicted in this one, with some amazing help from @pickledwoso that i am very grateful for, thank youuu <3

“Engel, are you ready to leave?” Alexia sang as she headed out of the bedroom towards where you were at the door rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, waiting for her.

“Yes, you fool, I've been ready for the past half hour.” You rolled your eyes at her teasingly, laughing when she lightly pawed at your side where she knew you were ticklish. “Come on! You're taking all day.”

“Ay, it is our day-off, I can take my time for once. No rushing, just calm, and me and you.” She gave an alluring smile, sliding her hand down your arm until she intertwined your fingers, then leaned forwards to kiss your forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Very. I love when we do this.” You told her with a squeeze of her hand. The girl grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement and complete happiness seeping from her pores, like the prospect of visiting a farmer's market with her girlfriend was as exciting as a third Ballon d’Or.

“Me too.” She gently knocked your chin up and pecked your lips before brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, are we ready, mi vida?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

Any time the club issued some days-off, one of the things highest on the list for yourself and Alexia was visiting the local farmer’s market. You’d buy the best of the best fresh organic products and cook together a dish of food that, combined with the quality time you'd spend with each other, would make for a night-in together that was so much better than going out somewhere.

These days had become somewhat of a tradition, and with it being the penultimate day of the short summer break after the tournament Alexia had gone to, it was absolute perfection. The last day had no plans apart from relaxing and spending time together before the season started again. You couldn't think of a better way to spend the last bit of time off than a date to a familiar, easy place with Alexia that was sure to give way for a fun afternoon and evening.

With it being the height of summer, Barcelona was especially warm, which was perhaps the first warning sign of the day.

“Ale, you really need to get your car in the garage, your AC sucks.” You groaned, the vents on full blast yet hardly doing a thing to cool you down against the 35 degree air outside. Your window was open and your head rested against the door dramatically, Alexia couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight even if she did feel a little bad about it.

“It’s got a service next week, they will fix it then. Sorry.” She winced, hardly breaking a sweat in the weather she was more than acclimated to whilst you seemed to be struggling before the pair of you had even left the car.

You shrugged her off because it's not exactly her fault her car's AC has been faulty since the spring, and focused all your attention on the life-saving breeze hitting your face as Alexia maneuvered through some tame midday traffic. Hot weather wasn't one of your favourite things in the world, as a matter of fact much more comfortable in minus degree weather with tiny icicles on your eyelashes, but a year into living under the blaze of the Barna sun you had no choice but to put up with it.

Though, your patience with the heat wore off quick. And in its wake, a simmering feeling of restlessness, which should have been yet another warning sign. But you were too deep in your determination for this to be a good day for anything to write you off.

The market was only a short drive away, the two of you having opted out of walking because, well, duh, the weather, and just as the sweat that found its place on your nose no more than five minutes after stepping out of your ice cold shower finally began to evaporate, it came crawling right back the second you got out of the car. Alexia was starting to feel uneasy about the day's plans, and, really, so were you, but you were set on pushing through the constrictive feeling that had settled in your bones when the first bit of heat came your way after leaving your flat. There wouldn't be much time in the coming weeks for a day like this with your girlfriend, you weren't about to wreck it for the both of you.

From where the car was parked to the entrance of the market, you walked in silence, hand in hand across slightly worn stone tiles until the rusted old gates of the park stood before you. Over the threshold of the entrance, paved tiles turning to cobble, you knew the chaos the market had in store for you. You didn’t know if you could handle it. The writing on the wall was in the prickly sensation in your skin that was all too familiar, as was the way every nerve in your body screamed in discomfort, almost like your soul was desperately trying to find a way out of your body.

You ignored it, and headed towards the stalls before Alexia could ask how you were.

This place was familiar; you knew the ins and outs of each stall, you knew where to go, you knew how long it took to get around. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

You loved this place, of course it’d be fine. It beamed with energy, with good vibes, with good people. With its colourful displays of the finest fruit and vegetables, it was more than just a market; it was the heartbeat of the surrounding neigbourhoods.

All kinds of scents and aromas swirled around each corner, weaving themselves into the fabrics of people’s clothes and lingering long after they’d left. They were intoxicatingly good, and it was evident in the looks of wonder on everybody’s face, old or young, experienced shopper or recent newcomer. Vendors positioned at every stall or tattered wagon called out their offerings in a chaotic yet melodic mix of Spanish and Catalan, grabbing the nearest fruit or veg to wave around like an auctioneer with a hammer, the only use for it being to wave off the flies dancing tauntingly around their goods.

Locals haggled over prices with the farmers they’d come to know just as well as their own family; their loud and boisterous back-and-forth banter may have sounded like arguing to unknowing tourists, but to everyone else it was understood as just some good-humoured ribbing that they all delighted in. It was more of a shuffle than a walk throughout the place thanks to the tourists that seemed to stop in the middle of the aisles every second, clearly oblivious to the well-practiced dance of the locals. Elderly ladies pulled their clueless esposos around with one arm whilst they carried their wicker basket in the other, the woven willow groaning under the weight of the countless ingredients to be used in that night’s meal.

For a moment, as you paused off to the side whilst Alexia caught up with one of the stall owners, a fisherman with his catches of the week proudly on display, which you knew your girlfriend would end the conversation by buying enough fish meat to feed the five thousand, you took a moment to breathe. Everybody seemed relieved of their life’s burdens here, gathered closely in one space that was steeped in the essence of the world’s simplest pleasures; flavour, tradition, and community. Only, the smile that was usually imprinted on your face whenever you came was no more than a distant memory.

Despite the fairly shadowed area, considering the park was fenced in by sporadic trees that skimmed the roofs of buildings that showed off the city’s beautiful architecture, it was still insufferably hot. It radiated off of the ground, rebounded off the buildings around, and the flurry of structures meant there was no wind breaking through to give a cool Mediterranean breeze like you had before.

Alexia seemed none the wiser, enraptured by the surroundings like it was her first time there, her head on a swivel and marveling at the mouth-wateringly exceptional variety of things to choose from. You hadn’t really been taking it in, your eyes stuck to the back of her head as you followed her through, waiting on shaking legs whenever she laughed and joked with each worker she bought from.

This labyrinth of every cook’s dream was well and truly alive, but you weren’t. You couldn’t absorb the intense feeling of belonging and sonder you got whenever you came here. It was too much. The thought ate away at you, as with every fly that landed on your skin or every person that brushed against you, you became more and more on edge.

All the different smells, the different sounds, the crowd of people, they didn’t spark those usual feelings of contentment and peace that transpired for you normally. Instead, they felt oppressive, like they were attacking your senses.

The concoction of aromas forced themselves inside your nose and overloaded you completely, the squeamish smell of fish and the fiery linger of hundreds of kinds of herbs and spices bringing on a pounding headache. Every squeak of a wicker basket as the willow was put under more pressure could have been a gunshot for all you knew, the way it echoed around the tunnels of your ears. Anytime someone briefly put a hand on you as they moved past had you flinching, hating the unexpected contact as it was the last thing you needed in such a situation.

You didn’t find any comfort whatsoever in how Alexia’s hand never left yours for more than a minute, when normally it was something that grounded you. Her usually funny comments and little facts and point-outs of detail about her ‘second home’ (the name she had given it as she’d been coming here since she was young) didn’t make you feel any brighter, in fact you were pretty sure you missed most of them.

And as every minute passed, it appeared to get busier and busier, until it started to feel like you were in some kind of mosh pit, people bouncing off of you with every turn only for the next one to come along no more than a second later. You couldn’t hear a word Alexia was speaking, the once calming mix of languages turned into a booming echo of voices that were so close they seemed to be knocking on the bone of your skull, yet too distant for you to make out what anyone was saying, making it all so. much. worse.

Every voice, every footstep, every hearty laughter and every scrape of wood along the floor grated against your ears, all noises around amplified to immeasurable heights. The space was far too loud and far too crowded – each sensation you felt blurred into the next until it became impossible to separate from one another. But you did feel how each individual muscle tensed, from your legs to your shoulders, as Alexia continued to pull you through the market.

You were hyperaware of everything around you and it soon became unbearable. But Alexia was happy, she chatted away like nothing was happening, comfortable and content as her canvas bag brimmed with stuff you didn’t even realise she had bought. You soldiered on, or at least tried to.

Until, your breathing began to quicken, your lungs unable to take in any of the stuffy air you walked through, your chest tightening in a way that only caused you to panic impossibly more. Each piece of fabric from your clothes grazed against your skin like a hundred scratches in a single second, your shirt and shorts beginning to feel like they were getting tighter with each step you took. And when the claustrophobia, the feeling like there was no escape at all, began to really set in, the day was over.

Your resolve had completely eroded. You tried to focus on grounding yourself — reminding yourself this was a safe space, but that was an empty claim to make to your shredded composure. You tried convincing your mind that Alexia’s hand in yours was comforting, when it only felt constrictive, her hand wholly enveloping yours like a snake, leaving no room to breathe. You clenched and unclenched your fist in time with your breaths, but you couldn't even inhale for a second before your mind went into overdrive. All the tools you relied on before were inadequate in that moment. The rational part of your brain slipped away, instead replaced by an instinctive need to escape.

Surges of anger, panic, anxiety, fear, they all rose uncontrollably at once. Your jaw clenched, your free hand curled into a tight fist, and your vision turned hazy as your world dissolved into one indistinct blur.

The snapping point came abruptly. Perhaps it was a shrill laugh nearby, the clatter of a crate being dropped, or an impatient shove from someone trying to pass by. It was the smallest thing, but it tipped the scale far out of anybody’s control. You were alone in that moment. Trapped completely in your mind.

You missed how Alexia called your name over and over, how her hand nudged yours to desperately try to grasp your attention. It was only when her hands grabbed both your forearms that you were brought back down, but only for half a millisecond, before it all went south.

“What?!” You snapped at her, jumping back out of her touch.

As a result, there were about thirty pairs of eyes on you. Everybody around paused, your sharp shout cutting through the buzz of the market, and it went so quiet that every flutter of a fly’s wing and every creek of wood could be heard.

You took another step back when Alexia came towards you, a worrisome look on her face with her hands out in front of her like she was trying to not spook an untrusting animal in front of her. She rushed out some words of reassurance that fell into the background with all the other noises around that had picked up again, the market-goers losing interest in a seemingly harmless situation. They didn’t register within you, nor did her intentions. Your mind was far too good at playing tricks on you, convincing you of things that were far from the truth but in the moment felt like gospel.

There was no way out of where you were, both in the physical and the mental sense, and that was the main factor in the eruption that had just happened. With so many emotions coursing through you, there was an intense itch to find a release from them all. So before you realised, your arms crossed over your chest, hands on your upper arms just above your elbow, and you began to roughly palm, rub, grab at the skin there, needing a distraction from the volume of your mind and the world, whilst also desperately trying to get the movement to act as a release of the crushing press of the feelings inside of you.

If you were alone at that time, god only knows what would have happened. Fortunately you weren’t.

The next time Alexia touched you was the featherlight weight of her hand on your lower back, the minor contact enough to lead you through the winding paths of the market. Your legs ran on autopilot, but you stumbled with every few steps, eyes too blurry to see the bumps and dips in the cobbles underneath your feet. There were probably tears down your face, though you’d reached such a broken point that your body was just… numb. You weren’t in control of anything anymore, hadn’t been for a while, but this was a new extremity. You weren’t even present in your own mind. Just an innocent, unknowing passenger in the car crash that had come out of nowhere.

Somehow, with her own hands trembling from concern, Alexia managed to lead you out of the chaos of the market to those same rusted, paint-chipped gates from earlier— the entrance of the park area. She was lost on what to do or say, but rationally she knew the only thing that would work for you right now was getting you home.

“I will drive us back to your flat, back home, okay?”

You gave her no indication that you heard her, which she was expecting, though you had heard the one word you were in dire need of and it was the first thing so far that managed to break through into your overwhelmed mind. Your hands were still moving roughly against the skin of your arms, sure to leave marks afterwards, but Alexia knew if she attempted to stop you, it’d only make matters worse. She had to get you home. Seeing you like this was breaking her.

It took a concerningly small amount of effort to guide you to the car; you were pliant and mindless, the exhaustion having fully taken over the minute you left the crowded space. She opened the door for you, helped you into the seat, and put the belt on. You leaned your head back against the seat rest and stared straight ahead. Whether it’d help or not, Alexia wasn’t sure. But she had to do one thing, more for the sake of her sanity than yours. With a quiet call of your name, she gently put a hand under your chin and turned you so you faced her.

“I’ll take you home and look after you. You will be okay.” She whispered, tentatively brushing away some of the tears still on your cheeks with her thumb. Her words were a sentiment for her as much as they were for you. “You’ll be okay soon.”

—

Next thing you knew, you were in your bed, lay on your side with your weighted blanket over you and Alexia nowhere to be seen.

It was definitely the calm after the storm. The room was mostly dark apart from the light that bled through the curtains which were closed, you could hear the quiet whir of the AC as well as the dull hum of traffic on the street below, but that was about it. It was a stark contrast to how things were before.

You don’t exactly remember getting home after what happened after the market, but what you did know was that though Alexia wasn’t in the room, she had been at some point, because you felt her love in the way she made sure everything was properly set up for you. The AC hadn’t been on before you left earlier and it only could have come back on by someone turning it on. The curtains were open that morning, whereas now they were drawn. And last time you checked, your blanket was still in the dryer, waiting to be taken out when you got back.

Everything you felt earlier still echoed faintly inside your head and chest, but the weighted blanket over you helped to anchor you back to your life again, rather than the chaos you were drowning in not so long ago. Your mind was convoluted, thoughts jumbled, and you flitted from one shattered fragment of insecurity to the other. You were simply too exhausted to hold onto any of them, emotionally and mentally drained. Though, you still tried to identify what you were feeling— was it anger? Shame? Embarrassment? You couldn’t put a finger on it.

Your hands still shook, your chest still shuddered with every breath. Your clothes still felt scratchy and overbearing, just less so now that you lay in the aftermath of it all. Instead of focusing on that, you drifted your attention to the feeling of the blanket on you; you focused on its texture, its softness, the heaviness of it and how it draped over you and helped to extinguish the flame that was overstimulation and overwhelm. These small but familiar details offered a tiny foothold in the mirror maze of your mind that you were still trying to escape from, only for the ruined reflection of you at the market to be shown back to you.

The longer you spent in that position, a deep, bone-level weariness quietly consumed you, like every aspect of you right down to your soul had been drained. But even still, your mind continued its hyperactive ways, replaying the day’s events over and over like a faulty film reel. The memory of it isn’t the slightest bit cohesive, it was just flashes of moments— the suffocating press of people from every direction, clamour of voices, the overloading mixture of scents. You alternated between frustration and exasperation, wanting to desperately forget what happened whilst not being able to move on from the embarrassment of it.

However, the strain of it slowly began to dissipate with each minute you spent back at home in bed, a safe space where there were no expectations, where time was temporarily unimportant, and where there were no watchful eyes or scathing glares at the disruption you’d caused. And eventually, you felt like you had gained back control of your mind again. It was quieter then; the world felt muted, less aggressive, though you could feel that you were still wary of your surroundings because of how everything ambushed you earlier.

You weren’t fully recovered, you still felt heavy and your body ached due to the tension in your muscles and joints when it all came falling down, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but the sun sat a little lower on the horizon when you finally felt able to get out of bed. The desire for time alone had gone, you needed something else then, and at this point of the relationship you felt comfortable enough to seek exactly what you needed without giving it a second thought.

The door to your room creaked like it always did when you opened it, your apartment mostly silent save for the occasional huff from the kitchen as the person you were looking for busied herself with any chore she could think of as she waited patiently for you.

You didn’t quite know what to say, but one of the best things about your relationship was that often in times like this, words weren’t a necessity. So you bypassed her and headed straight for the sofa, sitting in the corner and curling your feet underneath you, almost like you were making yourself as small as possible. And, just as you expected, not a minute went by before the blonde headed over, trying to disguise the worry she felt by giving a tight-lipped smile that was more on the amusing side than the reassuring one.

When she sat down, however, she left a gap between you both and perched only on the edge, which wasn’t what you wanted. One shared glance later and Alexia was smiling properly this time, shuffling to sit back against the cushions and beckoning you over with a small wave of her hand. With a sheepish but slightly triumphant look on your face, you moved along the couch and chose to sit sideways on her lap, one of her arms immediately wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other landed just above your knee. She pulled you close to her, and you settled into her with a relieved sigh, indescribably glad to have the final piece of the puzzle to self-regulation in your possession.

For some time, the pair of you didn’t speak, only relishing in the comfort you both needed after the day that had been had. At some point, Alexia noticed the redness to your skin from earlier and subconsciously brought a hand up to one of your arms, her thumb gently tracing over them with a frown on her face. She felt compelled to speak then.

“Please, engel, don’t put yourself through uncomfortable situations just to make me happy. If you asked me to, I would have taken you home earlier in a heartbeat.” The midfielder said carefully, panicking a little when she heard you sigh before calming when you buried your face in her neck.

“I didn’t really know it was going to be uncomfortable until it was already happening.” You told her in a mumbled, downbeat tone that made her hug you tighter against her. She contemplated her next words, wondering whether it was wise to voice them or not, before deciding that you’d hate it if you found out she’d kept her feelings from you.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” Her fear and sadness was evident when she spoke, matching the frown still on her face and the furrow to her brow. You pressed your lips to the skin of her jaw in a somewhat apologetic gesture, which made her feel a little bad. “We’re both okay though, mi amor. I love you and we’re okay. I’m not mad or anything, this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s over now, it’s in the past, and we’re here together now.”

It might have been a minor reminder, but it relieved a lot of the remaining anxieties and insecurities you had. Even though she made sure you knew she never judged you for anything, you were only human, and sometimes the devil on your shoulder got the best of you. So, to hear her say she knew it wasn’t your fault and that she wasn’t angry, it was… very needed.

The mix of physical touch and words of affirmation never failed to work wonders for you. The period of time after an event like earlier was a delicate time to say the least, where your mind and your self-esteem was easily swayed by whatever reaction waited for you afterwards. Having Alexia be so welcoming, non-judgemental, caring and adoring even after what she’d witnessed made a world of a difference.

“Better day tomorrow?” You said shyly after moving back to look at her. She shook her head at first, which greatly confused you, before she smiled brightly, softly, reassuringly, and leaned forwards to kiss your temple.

“Better evening tonight after a bad day. And then a very good day tomorrow.” Her words were a little skewed, probably lost in translation, but you understand what she was getting at and it warmed your heart all the same.

It was important to you then, that you voiced your thoughts from just a moment ago. She had to know how important she was to you.

“Thank you, Ale. For everything.” You started, laughing quietly at the puzzled expression on her face. “You always know what to do, what to say. You always make me feel better after a day like this and I don’t know how you do it but… you changed my life.”

Her reaction was the sweetest. Her cheeks blushed red and she turned away for a moment with a tiny disbelieving shake of her head.

“I don’t know about that, cariño.” She murmured, but you weren’t having it. You put a hand on her cheek and turned her face back to you, ensuring she met your gaze before you spoke again.

“You did. I really mean it. I think about it a lot, how you’ve changed me, how I see myself because of you and how you treat me.” You paused for a moment, smiling up at her as her eyes silently urged you to continue. “I… value myself more because of how you value me. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you and what you really mean to me. You’re the greatest person I have ever met.”

The normally sure and confident captain was rendered speechless in that moment, completely caught off guard and lost for words. How she could ever match the gravity and beauty of your words, she didn’t know. But they meant so much more to her than she knew she could ever express.

Ale ducked her head down for a moment as she really took in your words, before she lifted it back up again a moment later, with tears in her eyes.

If only you knew how much you meant to her too.

“You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that?” She said with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, almost accusing you of foolishly being uncertain about the fact that she stated so definitively. You knew she only did that to deflect the softness of her words a little. So, you just smiled, and tucked your head back into her neck and closed your eyes, completely at peace. “My favourite person in the whole world. You changed my life too.”

—

i really really tried my best to encapsulate the autistic experience of being overstimulated and overwhelmed in such a place here but i have no idea how well it comes across to a large audience. but for me and probably others, this is the reality, no matter how much you can plan and prepare and be excited for something, it can spiral out of your control so quickly and it's definitely a downer when it happens. hope this is somewhat understandable, im gonna go hibernate out of fear now, thank you v much for reading :)

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso community #woso fic

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limethefirst · 1 month ago

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Sick Days

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

warnings: mention of illness, Shadow trauma :(

summary: after getting sick with a small flu Shadow takes care of you

a/n: this is written from the movie au so erm its movie shadow to fill the little hole in my heart! small little fluff cause my day has been so depressing and i needed comfort (can be romantic or platonic tbh but i wrote it from a platonic pov so). Also i am getting a few requests, it’s not overwhelming and I’m not closing my requests but it is first come first serve so please be patient while I go through them all!!!

A shivering body lay under the blankets, you felt so cold. But your entire body was overheating; unfortunately the flu was spreading and you had succumb to it. You’d been bragging how you were so healthy and you actually believed you’d get through the flu season without ever catching it, but the world really had a way of sticking it to you.

And so there you lay, on your warm bed with an empty water bottle by your side that you would’ve filled long ago if it wasn’t for the flashes of pain you’d randomly get throughout your body.

You’d been home alone for a while, not really telling anyone you were sick, you didn’t want to bother them anyway. What could they do? You’d already taken medicine, at this point it was just a waiting game.

Slowly you settled yourself into a more comfortable position, hoping a nap would make the pain go away, but as you closed your eyes, the ring of the doorbell echoed through the empty house. You were currently alone, so you had no choice but to get up.

As you did you felt your bones aching and flashed of heat passing through you, it felt as if you were walking through hell. By the time you’d made it to the door your breath was staggered, making it seem like you ran a marathon while in reality you’d only walked 10 feet to open the door.

As the door creaked open you saw the one and only Shadow, his body straight and his eyes were like little daggers poking at you, but it faltered. His clenched little paw slightly widening as he took you in; your body was slightly hunched over, your blanket clinging to your shoulders and your eyes looked sullen, deprived of sleep.

Before he had the chance to ask you anything you suddenly erupted into a fit of coughs, your throat felt as if it were on fire after each one, “You’re sick,” he exclaimed; it wasn’t a question, more of a clarification.

You offered him a small nod, sniffing a bit. Shadows gaze lingered on you a bit, he felt himself getting goosebumps, this scene was far too familiar for him. Suddenly it felt like he was next to Maria again, as she assured him that she was fine, and he had to stand there and watch as the sickness she had only caused her more suffering.

This time though, Shadow could do something, and so he will. Before you had a chance to ask Shadow what he was doing here, he’d already grabbed ahold of your hand and ushered you back into your room.

“Shadow what are you doing?” You asked him, your voice hoarse. He didn’t respond, instead he lightly pushed you back onto your bed, grabbing your empty water bottle and walking out.

You sat there dumbfounded, he just pushed you onto your bed and left? This was Shadow you were thinking about though so he did do strange things every now and then. You would’ve gone after him but the pain that engulfed you was overwhelming, so instead you decided to lay down and wait for it to pass.

As you laid there, Shadow quickly returned. The water bottled filled to the brim as he handed it to you, “Drink” he said, holding it up to you.

Slightly you adjusted yourself, as you took the water from his hands. You took a few small sips and as you tried to close the bottle Shadow held the cap back from you, “More” you let out a weak chuckle as you drank some more, the water soothing your itching throat.

When you handed it back to him, he put the cap back on the bottle and placed the blanket over you, not saying much; his eyes spoke a million words for him.

Gently he pushed you onto your back and made sure you were completely covered and comfortable, he was used to taking care of sick people, he’d done it with Maria a lot, so he had a basic understanding of what he should be doing.

As you laid in bed, you face staring at the ceiling muttering a small thank you, Shadow felt his work there was done. He couldn’t do much against a flu, it was more of a ‘do what you can and wait it out’ type of sickness.

“Get well soon, take this medicine after you wake up and I’ll be back to check on you,” his voice monotone as you began to leave your room.

You watched him go, but before he reached the door you’d turned onto your side, mumbling his name, “Shadow..” you fidgeted with your hands under the blanket. He turned back to look at you, his eyes scanning you and you covered your face a bit, “Could you stay with me while I sleep?”

You erupted into a small fit of coughs, only solidifying the idea that he should stay. Instead of responding Shadow sat on your bed, his back against the wall and his arms crossed and he lightly nodded and closed his eyes as well.

The room became still, the occasional cough making Shadow turn to glance at you. He watched you shiver under the blanket, clearly it wasn’t warm enough for you; so he did the only other thing he knew would help.

He quietly made his way to the head of your bed, and silently made his way under your blanket and laid next to you. You didn’t notice, the exhaustion of the sickness already making you fall fast asleep.

Shadow was glad you couldn’t tell what he was doing, he didn’t even know why he did it himself honestly. He just did what he used to do, back when she was sick.

After a while the shivering had stopped, your breathing was even but Shadow stayed, he was still next you, curled up so that you had a sense of comfort.

And he would stay there until you got better, because this was something he knew how to do, and you were someone he’d grown to care for.

#Sonic 3 #sonic brainrot #sonic 3 x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow #sonic the hedgehog #x reader #sick reader #fluff yippie!!!

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latenightdaydreams · 6 months ago

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Monster König finds a willing partner for his breeding season.....and maybe found his future wife.

Yesssss💗

Monster!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, monster, oral, p in v

1.7k word count

You took a short vacation from work, deciding to go into the wilderness to disconnect from civilization for a bit. Having recently ended a six-year relationship, this feels like the start of a new chapter. An independent life free of love or men.

Hours from home you pull up to the camping grounds a few hours before sunset. It’s autumn so there aren’t many people here, thankfully. Once you park, you gather your camping gear, and set off on your journey. The area you’ll be in is isolated clearing deep into the woods.

The leaves crunch under every step you take, your eyes following every small creature you see scurrying past you. You're able to set up your tent before you lose natural light and you make a small fire. For some odd reason, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. From what you know, there are no dangerous animals in the area so you try to relax.

With a pullover on and leggings, you sit near the fire eating and roasting the occasional marshmallow. There are no sounds, not even a cricket in the night. It seems odd, but you’ve never been in this situation before so you once again ignore that gut feeling.

König watches from the shadow of the dark, his glowing blue eyes tracking your every move. You smell exquisite and look like a precious doll. It’s mating season for his kind, and his kind are dying out. Finding a mate is usually futile and ends in him missing the season. Yet, you’re right here. Almost as if you fell into his lap; a fertile female of the human species.

There is a heavy tension in the air as you hear a twig snap. Your eyes dart around in the darkness, unable to see anything. For a moment you hold your breath, trying to listen as closely as you can to make sure some random human wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. Then it happened again. You drop the stick with roasted marshmallows on it and jump up.

“Hello? Who's there?” Your hand reaches for the can of pepper spray on your hip.

There is no response. Only a loud silence and a tension that vibrates through your whole body. You can hear your heart beating but you attempt to appear stoic. There is a small rustling of the leaves before a low growl is heard.

“H- hello?” Fear washes over you as you gaze into the darkness.

“Hallo, Liebling.”

A raspy voice comes from the trees. Heavy footsteps get closer as you slowly back away. With a shaking arm you hold out the pepper spray. Your voice cracks as you attempt to appear stronger than you are.

“I have pepper spray! Don’t come any closer!”

Silence. You don’t move, barely even breathing as you look around. After a few minutes, you begin to think that you’re going crazy, maybe being alone out here isn’t for you after all. Just as you were going to put your pepper spray away, you see glowing blue eyes gazing at you.

König walks out from the darkness, exposing himself to you. The giant creature stands at 8-feet with pale glowing eyes from behind its mask. He walks forward to you with a slow and steady speed as if to not startle you.

For some odd reason, you don’t scream or run away. Your eyes drift up and down the monster’s body, taking note of how muscular it is. A small gasp leaves your lips when you notice he has an erection; his giant cock bouncing off his thigh with each step forward.

The way you’re checking him out doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He’s pleasantly surprised to see how fascinated you appear to be, the fear in your eyes melting away. As he gets closer to you, he realizes how truly tiny you are. You’re nearly half his height; he’s never been with a human before and he’s curious to know what you could feel like wrapped around him.

“König.” His voice sent chills over your whole body.

“König?” You were confused at first until you realized that was his name. “I- I’m y/n.”

“My mate.”

Mate? You don’t respond, just gaze up at him. He lowers himself, kneeling before you. His hands caress your whole body; one of his hands nearly wrapping around your soft stomach. Small hums of satisfaction leaving his lips as he feels your warm body. He buries his nose into the crook of your neck and takes in a deep breath of your scent.

You melt like butter in his arms. All rational thought gone; this odd creature seems to have possessed you into submission. His strong musk consuming your nostrils, but it isn’t unpleasant. He slowly begins to pull up your pullover, exposing your breasts pooling in your bra.

König pulls his mask back, revealing the lower part of his face; his long slimy tongue creeps out and licks along your cleavage. You tremble, letting out a small whimper. His glowing eyes meet yours as he pulls your bra off and licks over your hard nipples.

This feels like a fever dream, monsters aren’t real; this can’t be real. It feels so real though, you can feel your pussy getting wet as his warm body mixes with the odd sensation of his tongue. When he pulls away, he looks at you, standing back up to his full height as he looks around.

“Undress.”

You do what he says, undressing before him and exposing your full body to him. The tip of his cock begins to drip with precum as he thinks of actually being able to breed, to fuck. He walks forward and grabs you, lifting you up into his arms. A small surprised gasp leaves your lips, a rush of excitement consumes you thinking about what is about to happen.

König nuzzles his masked face into yours in an almost affectionate manner. You boldly grab his mask and lift it to see a face almost human like. He pauses for a moment, wondering if you’ll reject him when you see how hideous he is. For a moment you linger saying and doing nothing causing his heart beat to pick up, but then you kiss the side of his face. Your kiss travels over him, down his neck as he kneels again, placing you closer to the fire to keep your small hairless body warm.

You look so tiny underneath him; he could crush you if he wanted to. Such a delicate beautiful human, all for himself. He leaves sloppy kisses over your abdomen, squeezing your thighs as he continues down. Finally, he reaches what he’s desiring most. His hand’s part your legs as he takes time to look at your beautiful pussy. It looks like a flower in bloom, sweet aromas emanating from the nectar glistening in the fire light.

König sticks his tongue out, swiping across your folds and tasting you. A deep growl leaves his throat, you taste like nothing he’s ever had before. The feeling of your trembling legs mixed with your small moans cause his cock to throb. His tongue pushes into your, swirling around as he attempts to get as deep as he can.

His claws dig into your skin as your eyes close letting the pleasure take over your whole body. You grab at the leaves and grass around you as your back arches. This is a new level of pleasure you’ve never felt before. When he pulls his face away you almost whine, desperate for more.

A smile crosses his lips when your gaze is full of desire. You desire him. He moves his body between your legs, kneeling. With one hand he grasps his cock and slaps his heavy cock against your pussy. The size difference is jarring but also exciting. Your tiny body will look beautiful with a full stomach carrying his seed.

“Oh fuck!” You hiss as his cock slowly slips into your cunt.

König presses in slowly to not hurt you. He knew that you’d be tight, but he didn’t know you’d be this tight. A shaky moan leaves him as he watches the way your lips spread to accommodate him. His eyes move to your face as he continues to push himself in, trying to get as much of his fat 14-inch cock into you as he can.

Your pussy feels as if it's about to tear. A stinging pain pulses as he sinks in as much as he possibly can. You look into his eyes with pinched eyebrows as you take deep breaths. His hips slowly begin to rock in and out, he can’t fight the feeling even though he knows it hurts. It will get better.

“Relax.” He whispers as he leans in to kiss your neck.

Your hands caress his body, tracing the contours of his muscles as his pace picks up. The feeling of your welcoming warm cunt consumes König; you’re perfect for him. Every thrust sends a tingle of ecstasy to build up from your cunt and burst throughout your body.

König’s hands caress your sides, wrapping around underneath your body. His hands rest on your ass, cupping the supple flesh as his hips slam harder against your delicate frame. The only objective in his mind is to cum, to get you pregnant. He begins to breathe harder as he feels himself approaching his orgasm.

He whimpers, becoming merciless in his rhythm. You moan out his name, praising him for how amazing he feels inside of you. His kind is usually never this affectionate, simply a season to pair and breed. Yet you’re under him, thanking him for fucking you. How beautiful.

“Y/n…” König moans as his hips slow to a stop.

He pulls out and looks down at you, breathing heavily as he looks at your body. For a moment he considers leaving and just coming back tomorrow night, but you look so vulnerable laying there. There is a deep desire to protect you.

König lays on the ground next to you, pulling your tiny worn-out body to his. One hand caresses your face gently as he kisses the top of your head. His massive body cocoons around you to keep you warm. You turn to König, nuzzling your face into his chest; your hand petting him as you begin to fall asleep.

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princesssmars · 9 months ago

Text

sweet✰honey✰buckin

a rodeo!abby x reader. | p.ii

its a hot spring in the south and rodeo season is here. your hunt for a new fling leads you to an up-and-coming hotshot bull rider with an aversion to groupies. maybe you can change her mind.

wc : 2.509

contains : fxf relationship. barely attempted country slang. fluff. smut. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). nicknames (baby, darlin', a single bunny).

a/n : yeah guess who just listened to cowboy carter. idk why i posted about this before writing a single word but i didn't procrastinate this time yall clap it up and enjoy.

if you think about it, this was really all dolly partons' fault.

you could still picture the first time you saw her, the grainy recording on your grandmother's television, the gentle melodies from the blonde bombshell wrapping around you like a warm hug. you'd only been exposed to the south for a few weeks, and you already knew who you wanted your role model to be.

and the buckle bunny stuff also wasn't your fault! you were gorgeous, as people so loved to remind you at every twist and turn. and maybe you used your looks to your advantage sometimes. the first time was when you batted your eyelashes to make a boy do your project a day before it was due in junior year. he was... good-looking, you supposed. smart enough to be on the chess team, so he would do.

so you went to a little party with your friends that night. a spacious house, nice music, and good enough booze. everything was normal until you saw her. she was lean and mysterious, and under the lid of her black ridge top hat you could see her eyes tracking your body as you danced

so yes, her eating you in the back seat of her truck until you cried, holding down your hips when you tried to move changed your brain chemistry just a bit.

now a few years later, you're a little taller, a little smarter, and have collected a handful of studs for your belt. sure you've collected a...not so savory reputation in some of the local bars, but it was nothing a smile and a little flirting couldn't help. and its only going to get better; as the air warms and the trees bloom pussy spirit starts buzzing, and you know rodeo season is upon you again.

it was a hot night at the cow belle and the people even hotter as you scoped the scene from the rim of your glass. you and your friends were perched at the bar, daisy dukes heightened and crop tops tied under your busts.

"i heard red devil rosie'd be here tonight," savannah whispers to your group from beside you, her tall dark legs relaxed with her arm resting on the wood behind you. she always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and she'd had her eyes on rosie ever since it got around that she'd broken up with her fiancee.

"jesus, sav, the poor girl just got heartbroken, now you already wanna jump her bones?" charlize laughs, taking a hard swig of the beer in her hand. standing at a solid five feet and four inches tall the little kentuckian was a handful, always the first in line to ride a mechanical bull or jump in the front of a line dance.

"whats that saying men always use? as soon as you lose one hop on a 'nother?"

"you are deplorable."

as the girls banter back and forth your eyes focus on the rising commotion at the front of the bar. with a slight rise on your toes, making sure not to scuff your boots, and you can't help the growing smile on your face when you spot that blonde hair pushed down by her signature brown stetson.

abigail anderson, the rodeo's angel. she'd only been in the circuit for under two years and sponsors were lining up and begging for her to go pro. it was always easy to spot her, frequently trailed by her already professional friends manny alvarez and owen moore, along with a handful of groupies begging her to look their way.

luckily for you, manny had flirted with you a few weeks back and remained friendly after you turned him down, and he was heading straight towards you while his friends headed to a booth.

"oh god, hide your wives and girlfriends, the buckle brood is here!" he laughs, thanking the bartender for his beer and taking a swig.

"whatever manny, you're just upset our darling here didn't give you a chance." savannah winks.

"i think god was doing me a favor. y'know dixie's been trying to call you for about a week? the poor girls even thought about sending a bouquet. dixie. a bouquet."

"i made it clear before we slept together it would be a one-time thing. 's not my fault she wants more." you sigh.

that just makes the man laugh harder. he chats it up with charlize about how the rankings are looking when he notices how your gaze keeps wandering off, following your eye straight to-

"no."

"hm? i didnt say anything!"

"you said it with your eyes. and im gonna tell you with my mouth that you don't stand a chance. abby hates groupies." he shakes his head.

"abby, huh? i like it." manny grows exasperated as his words go in one ear and out the other. "'n and im technically not a groupie. never seen the woman in my life before now."

"well, look don't touch. or maybe don't look at all, before you put a spell on her or somethin."

you pout, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into a hug. you see abby look your way in the corner of your eye and make sure to stretch your torso just a tiny bit until you're able to feel the bottom of your shirt ride up just that much more. when you see her eyes trail down your waist you hide a smile into the side of your arm.

you let the man go with a sweet goodbye, watching as he grabs two more beers and heads over to the booth and twisting your head before you can catch the blondes gaze.

its only a few minutes later when manny comes back with wide eyes and invites you over to sit with them.

sitting across from her, you can see why people are so attracted to her. she’s big, her muscles bulging out from the sleeves in her plaid shirt. despite her size she doesn’t try to take up more space then needed; confident but not cocky.

she clearly notices your glances, and maybe even the smile on your face when one of her past flings with a girl is brought up in conversation.

“so, you’ve had girlfriends before?” you ask, stirring your cocktail with the little colorful umbrella that came with it.

“no no, don’t answer that, you’ll regret it.” owen butts in, meeting your glare. you’d never talked before, but you were pretty sure you had slept with his fiancée a few years ago. last you’d heard they’d had a baby, maybe you’d offer to babysit sometime.

“why not? are you a groupie?” abby asks.

“can’t be a groupie if i barely know who you are. so why don’t we get to know each other better. preferably in private.”

“whatever you say, darlin.”

you hear the sudden sounds of a few hoots and claps and a familiar song that they always play to get people dancing.

“why don’t you show me some of your moves, big girl?”

she rolls her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before following you onto the dance floor.

as much as she’s trying to fight it, you can tell abby is enjoying herself, learning quickly as you show her the moves to the dance. you’re a bit surprised she doesn’t know it already until she tells you she’s originally from utah.

“what, they don’t have country bars out in salt lake.”

“no, not like this. at least i never went to any of them.”

“wellll if you ever need a tour guide i’m available. whenever you want me.”

“god, manny told me about you.”

“really? what’s he say? i can probably guess.”

“so you know everybody thinks you’re a playgirl who sleeps with cowgirls for damn near a living and you don’t care?”

you shrug. “‘m just young and having fun. maybe everyone else, including you, is too uptight.”

“oh really? and what, you're supposed to help me loosen up?” she raises a single eyebrow. you don't answer, deciding to just look at her face for a while.

you like how pretty she is. the soft blue of her big eyes, the freckles dotted across her face that trail down her neck and disappear into her shirt. you feel pride in your chest when you see her cheeks redden.

when the song ends you pull away from her, ready to go over and tell your friends goodbye when a large hand grips your wrist, tugging your body back to its previous position. before you can question her you feel the weight of her hat sitting on your head.

"well? you gonna answer my question?"

you can still remember the looks on your friends face's when abby told them she was heading home, still gripping your hand. manny looked like he had just seen pigs fly.

it was hard to ignore the way she didn't let go of you until she was driving or the looks she was giving you when she was looking at the road, or how desperate she was when you finally got her here, dragging you to her room and attaching her strap like she'd die if she didn't get you in bed.

"i don't see what the big fuss is about, this really isn't that hard." you tease her, admiring the way she whines when you refuse to let her wrists go from your hands, using all your strength to keep her from flipping you over

but maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth because she roughly starts bucking her hips, smiling at the euphoric look on your face before you hide your face in her neck, trying and failing to muffle your moans.

"what? i thought you said this was easy?" she laughs when she hears your muffled groan, failing to ignore when you roughly bite her. you can tell she's getting frustrated at being restrained, her hands clenching into fists and repeatedly trying to get them from under your hands. "fuckin - cmon, baby, lemme help you."

god, she was so cute. you'd never say it out loud but you liked all the little nicknames she gave you, the gentle kisses she would place on your skin when she was warming you up for her. if you didn't have a one-time policy you would have chosen to keep her around. just for a little while.

but you could also see the inner turmoil in her eyes, the battle between dominance and submission. when you first met her you thought she'd be a stone top, so you decide to take advantage and reach one of your hands up to her hair and pull, forcing a loud moan from her as her mouth gaped open.

"not so uptight now, are you?" you laugh, awwing at her when she lets out a small whine.

you didnt realize until it was too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her because she was attaching her hands to your hips, planting her feet on the bed, and thrusting up into you like a wild bull, sucking a mark into your chest like she can't see you struggling to breathe.

"yeah, that's it. not so easy now, is it darlin'?"

and oh how you hate how you can't answer her, only able to muster up a weak glare as the pleasure grows, feeling the burning heat gross in your stomach. you're trying to hold off, not ready for this to end just yet, and hating the satisfied look on her face when your shaky arms wrap around her neck.

"you gettin' close, baby?" she maneuvers your legs to spread wider, hitting that spot inside you at just the right angle. god, everything feels so hot and overwhelming and so damn good-

"that's it, show me how pretty you look cummin around me." once she reaches a hand down and roughly rubs your clit it's over, moaning and gasping her name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. she never stops her movements, in fact, you think she goes harder once she feels your nails dig into her arms.

your head flops onto her shoulder, basking in your post-orgasm bliss as her large hands rub up and down your back. mind hazy, you feel yourself drifting off and giving yourself a mental pat on the back when you're shocked upwards by a fierce thrust from below you, wide eyes darting to abby's.

"what, ya thought we were finished? if you wanna claim me you gotta earn it, bunny."

"oh no, abby i cant-" you try to decline, not sure you can take another before she presses you back into her sheets, manhandling your legs over her shoulders and your arms under your back. she can tell you're about to fight it because she's pushing her strap into you again.

it's embarrassing how close you are already after a few minutes, unable to move as she splits you open in a damn mating press. trying to hide your face in the sheets is futile so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with her, which only brings you closer to the edge because she's looking at you like she wants to fuck you until she physically can't anymore.

she's quieter now but you can hear her mumbling under her breath about how 'you're too damn fine, jesus you're gonna be the death of me,' and the next thing you know you're both cumming, feeling the wet mess grow between your legs.

she sinks into you, boneless on top of you as she gently rubs at your sides as you do the same for her head. after a few minutes she gets up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips at your soft whine at the strap leaving you before heading off to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

it's gentle as you both clean the other, softly trailing the rag down her arms as she observes you. its almost...domestic. which you haven't done in quite a while. it feels nice.

when she gets up to throw it in the hamper you reach for your clothes on the floor before she questions you.

"excuse me, what do you think you're doin?"

"uhh...leaving?"

"nope, bad manners if i let you go home now," she tosses you a shirt from one of her drawers, finding her own pajamas before flopping on her bed. "i don't know what kinda girls in the circuit you've been seein', but I'm not like that."

you're on the fence, rubbing the fabric of her large shirt before putting it on and settling in next to her. it couldn't hurt just to sleep with her, right? "fine. but you should know i don't normally do...this."

"me neither. but there's a first time for everything, right?" she smiles, rubbing your hip from over the shirt before trailing it under. "besides, maybe we can go again in the morning. still need to prove to you I'm not uptight."

thank god for dolly parton.

sorry if this is shorter than expected i feel like death. can we all do rodeo!abby this summer. pretty please.

taglist : @euphternal @jupiter-502 @vqxen @youcallmeconnor @andersonlore i love you guys im giving you kisses rn

#rodeo!abby #buckle bunny!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby #tlou #abby x reader #tlou2 #tlou 2 #tlou smut #tlou x reader

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xoxo-surfergirl · 3 months ago

Text

the lady, the prince, & the sword

[in honor of spooky season]

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

abstract: over one hundred years after the dance, you grow up as a lady in the ruins of Harrenhal. One day, you get a little too curious about the prince and his dragon rumored to be rotting at the bottom of the lake, and awaken something beyond your understanding. 🕯️this fic is inspired by a post from @sapphirevhagar 🕯️ themes: spooky harrenhal, smut, ghost/undead aemond, aemond as a war criminal, forbidden romance if you squint, you are the lady of harrenhal, dark aemond (but like, he's a dark character so I just tried to stay true to who he is), piv & hand stuff

lucy's notes: ao3 link. I tried to make my characterization of aemond as true as I could, but I won't lie it was hard in this scenario!! I don't think he'd be the type to just fuck someone (but maybe he would...who knows), but for the purposes of this spooky halloween fic I tried to make it as realistic as I could. maybe he would if he was pussy starved for a century, so that's what I'm going for. ENJOY!

word count: 8.6k

The sun had struck its highest point in the sky, your very own guiding star to the lake below it.

From this bluff above God’s Eye, you could see all of what you called home: a boundless land, resilient despite centuries of war that had left each tree as a tombstone watered with spilled blood. And yet, the land was more alive because of it, or perhaps despite it. You weren’t sure which, but you knew just as well as any other riverman that if you listened close enough, you could feel the breath of the land under your feet.

The rolling evergreens murmured when the winds ran through their branches. Winter was coming, and soon the jeweled blue of God’s Eye would coalesce into bitter sheets of ice. But for now, the first light gusts coaxed the water’s surface into gentle catspaws, still forgiving enough on your skin to welcome you into the lake. There was no barrier between your toes and the grass. Your daily swims were the one time you went without boots, an activity of yours that the Lord of Harrenhal detested. Mud is unbecoming of a lady , your father would say. It was, but so was walking in squelching boots back to your chambers.

The faint line of sand at your favorite lakeside spot had finally breached your toes. It was better than all of the rest. Much of the lake had no such comfortable entry as this: a large swath of sand perfectly divoted for entry. Silence was a familiar friend here. It was a true silence, unlike the faint drips and echoes that seeped through your walls.

And so the last thing you were expecting was company. “And what finds my Lady at this cursed corner of God’s Eye?”

“My good Patrek, I did not expect to see you here.” Hiding your fright was easier said than done. An old family friend of the less noble type, with a face worn by time and a voice weathered by wind. Onlookers were rare here, and you wondered if he had followed you all the way from the keep.

“You should not be here, my Lady. You know the stories, educated as you are.”

You did—of how the very burrows of sand that now welcomed your toes were dug by Daemon Targaryen’s dragon Caraxes in a death-crawl to shore after his rider and opponent had perished. Every riverman knew of the tale.

“I swim here often. If there is a curse, I hope I have been spared it.” Brushing off a stubborn elder was something you were quite familiar with.

“Then you know the dragon’s blood soaked into the soil, dying where you stand. The very ground you walk on is damned.” His voice gruffed against his throat, but there was no mistaking the concern there.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in the power of such things—as a Lady of Harrenhal you knew very well from your own accord how often things are not always what they seemed. But even some tales were too far-fetched for your own belief.

Besides, if you heeded every tale and story from your surrounding men, you’d hardly be able to leave your chambers.

Telling an old riverman what to do was not a task you’d expected to find yourself involved in at this hour. The look in your eye did more talking than your words. “I appreciate your concern, Patrek. But I insist, I am more than alright.”

With one last stare, he dismissed himself. Thank the gods.

In front of you, fragile blades of grass dared to peek through the large sand trough. It was a perfect pathway to the water, gently sloping and kinder on your feet than the rocky mud surrounding the rest of the lake was. If this truly was Caraxes’ doing, he had carved such a fine entrance to the water. It had never regrown. Barren, unlike the greater parts of the rest of the lake—perhaps the agony of such a creature reshaping the dirt with its claws, belly dragging and wingless on one side, had scarred the land permanently. You could see it.

The water lapped at your toes now. Dragons were a far away concept, from a land and world that no longer existed, yet you wondered if their deaths really were something so traitorous to the gods that the land could never fully be right again.

Stepping further and further inside, the light billow of your dress danced in the water. There were times, like a moonlit night, where you would forgo your dress and let the lake feel you bare. Those moments were rare, and ladies hardly had enough privacy and virtue to spare to allow such brazen activities—but you indulged in them when the moon called. With a final push of your toes, you dove your hands ahead of you and released. For a second, you were flying, letting the water carry you before you pushed against it once more. Smiling came easy here.

And yet Patrek’s words lingered. None of the information was new. Perhaps it was the graveness of his voice that haunted you.

Words could melt in the water, and his were no exception. The water held you as your mother might have, or a lover—all over, bringing you a comfort you could find nowhere else. You ran your fingers and toes in the sand below you, feeling it sift in the weightlessness between them.

The sun had sunk low in the sky when you emerged from the lake, mind and body calm in your daily ritual.

A new day had brought with it new curiosities—it would be easier to say that getting the tales out of your head was a simple task, but over the course of the previous day, it had proved much more difficult than you’d hoped.

Sleep had evaded you, and restlessness drew you to the library. Each book was half rotted away from moisture that settled between each page and binding stitch. The candle light in your hand fought a losing battle with the mist, surrendering to a low bruising blue. Even still, you had found what you came there for.

It was readable despite the poor lighting. Dragons in the Riverlands were a sore subject—it was not a surprise to find that many, if not all of the manuscripts on dragons were loathsome at best, and near traitorous to your Targaryen overlords at worst.

Prince Daemon Targaryen and his dragon Caraxes dueled Prince Aemond Targaryen and his dragon Vhagar on the 22nd day of the 5th moon of 130 AC. Dragon shrieks rippled in the wind and dragonfire flamed into the sunset so bright that the sky itself was said to be alight. Prince Daemon is said to have leapt onto Vhagar, plunging the ancestral Targaryen Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister through his nephew’s good eye. Caraxes is believed to have crawled to shore before releasing a dying shriek. Prince Daemon, Prince Aemond and Vhagar’s bones are believed to remain at the bottom of the lake today.

Portraits of the two men and their dragons had accompanied the passage, with sketches of the battle gathered from the artists and bards surrounding God’s Eye. Long platinum hair framed both men, though Daemon lacked Aemond’s youth and sapphire eye.

What a peculiar thing, a sapphire eye. Imagining a dragon as large as Vhagar sunk deep beneath your nose was a strange thing, fitting for a strange man with a sapphire in his socket. Trying to imagine a creature, let alone a dragon as big as her, was incomprehensible. If she really was the size of a small keep, how could one command her?

Aemond Targaryen had—and perhaps that made him one of the most god-like Targaryens of all Targaryens to exist. And now he was damned to spend his eternity bound to the dark blue dungeon that was the depths of God’s Eye.

Your toes had found the water’s edge once again, among the supposed cursed grounds of Caraxes last breathing place. If one dragon’s death made the land cursed, then surely the death of two doubled it.

Today was a different venture than you were used to. The sun was even more forgiving than usual, warming your skin before you ever touched the water. It was a compulsion that drew your limbs to swim further from shore, an unexplainable magnetic lord that your limbs gladly obliged. With a hefty suck of air, you submerged your head. The chamber of echoing silence took its hold of your ears as you sank deeper and with a blink, you opened your eyes. The sun rays refracted in planes off of the water’s surface, down to the awaiting bottom. Only on the most clear days were you able to see this far, and yet it still wasn’t far enough to reach its furthest depths.

Arms and legs tugged on the water. You sank deeper, your hair and dress haloing your floating figure. Long tendrils of curly pondweed and brittle water nymph followed the soft current rippling through the lake. You could feel its light pull, but your limbs were much stronger than the fragile plants that lay there. Swimming forward into deeper territory, large rocks begin to take shape, with their own water thread and algae sprouting from aged cracks.

It was so faint, you almost missed it. A sparkle or two in the darkness, a trap of sunlight where sunlight didn’t belong anymore, just out of your sight. Another pull of your arms and you were closer: close enough to almost see what could create such a glimmer. Your lungs were calling but you just needed to get one more look—

Despite the near fade to darkness, the shape was unmistakable: a silver pommel, jutting out from beyond the deep. The dragon wings at the hilt were frozen in flight. Realization laid its heavy hand upon your chest and the call of your lungs became too loud to ignore. Frantically swimming to the surface, the bubbles spilled from your lips as the water became warmer as the sun drew closer. Your rift of the surface was punctuated by the loud gasp of your aching chest. Save for your weak disruption, the top of the lake sat as tranquil and undisturbed as you had left it.

If it’s what you thought it was—

A few more deep breaths later and you were down below the surface once again, heart thrumming with revelation. This time, you knew exactly how deep you needed to go. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, but the glint was visible even near the surface. It was a distant sparkle in the underworld, as if it was capturing the blue essence of God’s Eye itself. Blood pumped through your ears in the chamber of the deep as your arms tugged, stomach threatening to turn despite your precious conservation of air.

A sapphire and a sword, each a shining beacon of their own. The skull which held both tilted up towards the heavens. Beyond it, skeletal arms reached forward, nearly upward. Part of you knew that the same buoyancy which allowed you to float was the same that held him, but another part of you wondered if at the time of the prince’s death he was reaching towards the sky in hopeless defiance. His once royal leathers and armor were rusted and torn, ebbing like the eel grass that had taken root. Time submitted all to its will, even princes, leaving only rot behind.

The incomprehensible became comprehensible with one look downwards: crumpled and black, you realized it was not depth, but dragon bones themselves that seemed to create the darkness of the water that surrounded him. Thick spires of obsidian bone curled around what you could only put together as a rib cage the size of a small keep. Her skull was far from her body, large eye sockets gaping and maw stretched with rows of dagger teeth. The very maw that was the last sight of many in the Riverlands.

If you wanted to reach the surface, you needed to swim now. But for a few more moments, the urge to swim just a bit further was greater than your want for air. You don’t know what possessed you—it could have been the lack of oxygen, or that you were just fond of shiny things on occasion, but you reached for the bright pommel that was nearly offering itself out to you and pulled. The blade was heavier than you were anticipating, as much of a novice as you were, but you persisted. Drawing your arms tight into your chest and using your whole body to swim against it, you did your best to wrack it free from its hold in the prince’s skull. It felt almost wrong to pull so hard, but you persisted. Bubbles jutted from your mouth in the struggle until it wracked free.

It was now the second time you surfaced, and your gasp was much louder than the last. The sword was heavy in your arms, wanting to drag you back down to the bottom with it and join the prince and his dragon. There was no particular reason for taking it—it was a beautiful thing, untouched by the same rot and ruin as the prince and his dragon below. A sneaky voice in your head reminded you that a relic like this could pay to fill Harrenhal’s coffers for half the year or more if returned to the Targaryens, yet that is not why you sought it.

In fact, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to know what you had taken, and made quick work to wrap it in your swimming dress on your way back to the castle. A large object wrapped in cloth was not subtle, but the impossibility of manning such a monstrosity of a castle worked in your favor. Taking careful steps and hiding in the many alcoves to weave your way back to your chambers without spectacle proved a successful effort.

The afternoon had come and gone with little affair, besides a light dusting of rain. It rained at Harrenhal often. And often, you found it peaceful. The rain was a part of life, and the wetness with it.

But as the late afternoon carried on to evening, it became no such rain. The sky had darkened hours before sundown, bright colors and pretty horizons forgotten behind the undulating turmoil above you. The thunder went beyond simple sounds to full-bodied vibrations, shaking you from the bottom of your feet through your ears. It was not a storm, but a wroth sky. You were certain that no castle for hundreds of miles was spared.

The buckets meant to catch runaway leaks in the stones were overflowing from the violent rain. Wind raided every crevice it could weave through, whistling just to force itself through. Servants and your family alike had begun sheltering the most fragile of belongings: books, letters, artifacts, and wood sensitive to rot. The torches fought against the wind, a harsh back-and-forth that flickered all light around you into senselessness.

Retiring early tended to suit you better in many storms, though you doubted you would be getting any meaningful sleep. Earlier, you had unfurled Dark Sister. A small bead of blood on your finger taught you that valyrian steel was as sharp as they say it is. The sword rested against your desk, tall and lethal, catching every strike of lightning as it came down through your window.

Between each bout of thunder and battering of lightning, you managed to find moments of rest. Each time a strike would come down threatening to tear down the walls, you sat up, clutching your down quilt in your hands. And each time, Dark Sister was glinting in the corner, winged hilt spread like a pouncing bird of prey.

And yet the greatest of your fears lay not with the presence of the ancestral Targaryen sword, but came in your winks of sleep: a figure, tall and eerie, in the corner of your chambers. Each time you had awoken, your eyes flashed across your room, fearing that you would find a creature of the night standing there.

Luckily, it seemed the shadow had made its home in your head and not your chambers. When daybreak began to glow behind the clouds, your relief came with it.

This day was much the same as the last, yet there were fewer and fewer channels for excess water to pour away from the hearths. There would be no swimming today, that much was certain; making the walk down to the lake alone would be enough to sink you into mud, never to be seen again. All were set to help the effort to keep what was able to be kept dry, lady or servant.

“An omen, I fear,” said Mathilda, a favored handmaiden of yours, as she threw another bucket of water through the open window to the yard below.

“An omen of what?”

“Harrenhal hasn’t seen a storm like this in over a decade. It went against all folk predictions.” she breathed worriedly, “A bad omen. Something isn’t right.”

You had tucked the sword under your bed about halfway through the night when you realized that looking at it only made your stomach churn. There it lay still and waiting, inches from your two pairs of feet.

But there was nothing you could do about it at this very moment. “Is there anything to do to protect against a bad omen?”

“It depends on what’s happened. But for most of my knowledge, I am afraid not. The damage has already been done.”

The pit in your stomach stirred. In the same evening, the thunder was just as fierce and lightning just as fiery. Regret compounded with every shake of thunder for the stolen sword. It was better left under the lake where it belonged—you knew that now.

Purple cracked the sky in two from your chamber window, illuminating everything once more. Folktale or omen, bad tidings or tall whispers, on the morrow you would return it.

And yet that was exactly what didn’t happen.

Instead, it had happened like this: servants had been rushing around the keep all morning, doing their best to keep the rush of water from entering the hall of a hundred hearths and touching the rugs. Half soaked and boots trailing water already, you didn’t make it past the tower of dread before the guards crossed their swords and insisted that you shall not pass. Too much water could sweep you off your feet and carry you away, they had said, pushing you back to your chambers while you discreetly held a covered Dark Sister to your side.

Tomorrow it was, then. Insistence would get you nowhere. A lady’s requests were either dutifully followed or carelessly ignored. It was imperative that the torrent stopped, or that you were able to more discreetly make your way to the lake.

The sword could not be by your side any longer. Perhaps you could leak your secret to septa Scully—you knew her folkwoman heart still beat inside her somewhere, and it could drive her to help you.

This night was no different from the last. Harrenhal and its eerie passageways and mangey essence had managed to frighten you as a girl, the darkest storms holding your fear hostage. It had been years since you had faced the same fear that licked at your erratic heart as it did now, tucked under your quilted down, thunder wracking itself outside.

It was in your head—the uncontrolled storm, the tales in your ear—they had simply wormed their way deep in your mind. It was a weak consolation, but your heart finally began its slowing.

A footstep in the darkness, outside your chambers, was enough to jolt it right back.

Any sense of sleep had left you now, and all of your focus rushed to your ears. Digging yourself deeper in the covers, you exhaled as quietly as you could in wait.

Just as you feared, there was another, and then another.

No matter how hard your forced your eyes shut, the fright remained, each boot knocking on the stone outside, coming closer, and closer, until,

The door creaked open softly, a rumble of storm to accompany it. Each finger, limb, and blink was frozen over. If you were still enough, perhaps whoever had opened the door would leave you behind. Each of your heart beats felt so loud it would give away your very existence.

The cold voice that met you instead was nearly enough to get your heart to stop beating all together. “You have something of mine.”

You dared not move, not even at the direct notice of your presence.

Squelching wet footsteps punctuated in between his words, each one slowly creeping closer to your bedside. “I know you’re here, little lady of Harrenhal. No amount of stillness in the world would hide you from me.”

With a swallow of fear, you scurried off of your bed to your night side table, hoping to distance yourself from the intruder. Sitting or laying felt too vulnerable for you to stay put.

“I don’t understand.” Were the only words you managed to choke out to the shadowed figure in front of you. There was no weapon for you to reach, unless you reached under the bed and grabbed—

“How do you not know? You took it from me.”

He lowered the hood of his cape. Platinum hair spilled down his shoulders over the black leather of his doublet that shined as if made from metal itself. His skin was pale as a soft moon, and a sapphire eye with a dash through his face—it was almost holy in nature, the beam of a celestial spell. Any thoughts of a common thief or crook left your mind. Even still, it did almost nothing to alleviate your fear, for you had recognized him.

The pages in your books didn’t do him justice. Any gasp that may or may not have left your lips was drowned out by a whip of lightning. “H-how?”

“Give me back my sword.” He answered plainly.

Shaky hands reached under the bed, eyes locked onto his fierce gaze as you gingerly felt for the hilt. Once in your grasp, you dragged it out, the weight even heavier in your arms than it had when you had pulled it to the surface. Your arm, lightly shaking, extended to his, the pommel and blade gleaming menacingly. His own palm lay over yours to reclaim the hilt. It was made of flesh, and warm—a mystery that evaded you.

You figured he might strap the sword to whatever sheath was on his side and go back to wherever he had come from, but instead, he set it aside. In yet another movement of unpredictability, he stepped closer.

“You must dive again and put it back yourself, I cannot do it for you.” His flesh eye studied you carefully, stepping forward to circle you. “But, you have given me reason to finally meet you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve had no one but you to keep me company for one hundred years” Now, he was at a distance where there was more familiarity and the details of his face became more prominent out of the shadows. “You swim in the lake almost every day.”

You watched him attentively, attempting to understand what it was you were seeing. The fear of the unknown and absurd frightened you. It could be another dream, just like the one you had last night—but you were certain you were awake.

He stepped even closer, daring to reach out his hand and brush it over your cheek, as if feeling the lifeblood that beat beneath it. “Who are you, one that swims in God’s Eye?”

“I am a lady of Harrenhal” you paused, still trying to gauge his danger with your disbelief. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am.” His sapphire was a burning blue ember in the night.

Denial reared its unforgiving head into yours. Backing away, you tried to reason with yourself. “It’s a trick. Harrenhal plays tricks—I know this.”

“I assure you, I am no illusion. Stop fighting it.”

“I—” You let it sit for a moment. He stood in front of you, tall and enshadowed even in the faint candlelight.

A deep exhale was all you could manage, closing your eyes in resignation. “Yes, my prince. Are you going to kill me?”

“No, my lady. I’m not going to hurt you.” Watching the ground, you could see his black boots stepping towards you once more. “You did take my sword, but more than that, I simply wanted to meet the only one who dared swim down to me and Vhagar.”

He tilted your chin up to meet his own eye. There was something curious there, almost soft. Aemond’s hand was so gentle it soothed your rabbit’s heart. “Now you see me, made of flesh.”

Fear, though not absent, was no longer the only feeling that sent your blood pumping. The feeling of being wanted was something that you had coveted, yet always remained outside of your grasp. You imagined every movement of yours in the lake, how you had never been truly alone on your visits, even the ones in the deepest of summer where you shed your dress and embraced the lake with all of your bareness.

Crafted in the image of the gods themselves or not, you knew it was impossible for every Targaryen to look the way he did; the beauty of him was something unique, you knew it. Another bolt fractured the sky outside, its flash illuminating both of you. It played a trick on your eyes, almost closing some of the distance between you with blinding light.

“Are you scared of the storm?” Aemond loomed above you.

“I’m of this land. Storms do not scare me.”

“Did I frighten you?”

He had to have known your answer, but you indulged him. “Yes, you did, my prince.”

“You don’t need to be scared of me, my lady of God’s Eye.” He stepped closer, resting his left hand on your arm. His hair hung above your face now, a tilt of his head altering its course. “Does this frighten you?”

You felt the soft weight of his palm, fearing breathing for the simple movement of it. “No, my prince.” With a careful pause, you continued. “My apologies for taking your sword. I didn’t know—”

“You can repay me.” Aemond replied, his voice assured yet tender for your ears. “You have been tempting me in the lake for long enough.”

You nodded lightly, delicately reaching out for your palm to meet his chest. There was a warmth coming from within, not cold like an undead body might be. The prince, real or not, was closer to you than any other man had ever been. He reached down, gently tugging you into a soft kiss.

He was warm here too, and wet, much to your pleasure. Your lips opened to his own, mouths deftly sliding against one another. Aemond’s hand smoothed over your cheek, his palm nearly swallowing it whole. You moved together in a gentle sway, mouths delicately pressed together. In an act of boldness, you pressed your own body closer to his, your palm holding his side to steady yourself.

The tempest outside your windows beat on. Your hands moved to crook in his neck. The skin there was soft like his mouth, and you wondered if the rest of him was just as welcoming. Aemond began walking forward, holding and kissing you through his guidance. Your lower back bumped against your mattress, and you broke your lips apart.

It was perfection: the softness of this moment and the synergy of your movements against one another.

Until it wasn’t. Perhaps it was the way the lightning had framed him, thunder dividing you two. Within its roar came the cries of those he had forced to their knees in this very castle. The fall of wood as the huts of innocents burned to ash, Vhagar’s fire hot enough to meld armor and flesh to one. The scar he ripped across the belly of your homeland still hadn’t healed hundreds of years later, and you laid your lips on the man, or the entity of him, who had done it all.

Your eyes must have given you away.

“So you are frightened of me?” His subtle sultriness didn’t evade him, even in the light of the hell he had brought upon the earth.

“You, Aemond Targaryen—reigned terror on this land,” you recoiled slightly, lifting yourself up onto your bed to inch away from him.

He looked down, but any semblance of remorse was absent from his face. “I did. The fire that raged could be seen from the wall to Dorne.”

History was a funny thing—something that becomes more intangible the longer it’s dead, fresh marks haunting only those who lived through it. But Aemond was tangible, here in front of you somehow. To him, did it happen yesterday or did it feel like a lifetime away?

Aemond paused, lifting his eye to meet yours, kneeling onto the floor, holding your gaze. “Let me atone for my sins then, my lady of Harrenhal.”

Your breath hitched in your chest at the slight of his hands lifting your nightdress.

Sitting up, you slowly pulled yourself away. “This is wrong. You’re—”

“A monster?”

Your lack of response was as much of an answer as anything else.

“I am much more than that, I assure you.” You tried to pretend like the smoothing of his palm against your calf didn’t feel good. It was even harder to pretend that the man doing so wasn’t the most dashing man you’d ever seen, cursed by the gods or not.

A lip bite was all he would get from you, uncertain of how to navigate your desire with your morality.

“I can show you many things.” he hummed against your calf.

You fell back onto the bed, whining lightly in frustration of the sexual kind.

“If you only let me.”

You closed your eyes.

“Which would you rather do?” His princely voice was a seductor’s poison.

“I can show you how deeply sorry I am for what I did to your home,” he said with a mocking sorrow as the featherlight warmth of his lips and tongue kissed the inside of your legs, up to the inside of your knee, and to the most sensitive skin on the inside of the meat of your thigh. Any resolve that you had was wafted away by the trace of his fingers.

He pulled away, watching you carefully. “Or, you can show me how sorry you are for stealing my family’s sword. Which would you have it be?”

Gods bless your ancestors. You prayed that they were not unlucky enough to bear witness to what you were about to say—the closest thing to treason you could commit.

“I want to see your forgiveness, my prince.” You said, unsure of his next move but knowing somewhere within you that you would only indulge yourself further.

Aemond smiled smugly. It suited him. “How about you feel it instead?”

Hooking his fingers under your smallclothes, he rustled them off of you smoothly. You were exposed, cunt glistening and pooling wetness before him. Yes, definitely treason.

You wondered what sins those long dead and buried beneath would have had to commit to be forced to hear your moan as one of his fingers entered your hole, ready and wanting. Aemond leaned over you, silver and knowing smile once more falling around your face. Using his thumb, he found your pearl so neatly in between your pillowy lips, touching you there lightly.

“All wet, for me?” his smirk hung over you once more, satisfied by how quickly you dissolved under his hand. And what a joy it was to dissipate into a syrupy essence soaked mess.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, eye observing every rise and fall of your breasts.

“Well—yes, but,” you whimpered, shame in your gaze. “I’ve never been touched by anyone else.”

“A good, pretty maiden then.” He added another finger, your body sucking him in and oozing wetness in its own craving. Every brush of his thumb and curl of his digits left your mouth hanging open and eyes pleading at the man above you for more.

Aemond could act as in control as he wanted, but you saw the embers of greed in his eye and felt his hardness at your hip.

“I am so terribly sorry,” Aemond started in your ear, his fingers working their way inside of your honey soaked walls and thumb expertly toying with your swollen bud, “for absolutely nothing.”

The words fell on ears too consumed by the talent of his hands to give a damn. Warmth in your belly bloomed as if he had planted the sun in there himself, your shining juices dripping the length of his palm. You had never been brought to the point of near blindness and incapacity by pleasure before, your own fingers too untrained.

When the peak of your pleasure came, your arms wrapped around Aemond’s shoulders, moans breathy and full. Your walls throbbed and dripped around his fingers and your body flexed underneath his. Thunder was your friend, drowning out every noise that bubbled from your lips.

Aemond Targaryen, or whatever was left of him, had been starved of a woman’s taste for over one hundred years. He savored every bead of syrupy sex that dripped from your cunt onto his hands while you panted in the final glimmers of ecstasy.

It was difficult to help your eyelids from closing—the man had sent you to the hands of the gods and back. All you could do was savor the feel of him under your fingertips, rubbing lightly, until your sleep claimed you without your will or knowledge.

The dawn broke and you were alone once more, nothing but disorder in your head and gleaming sword under your bed.

Light thunder beat through the clouds, a solemn sun hidden behind them. The rain had eased a touch, but there had not been enough reprieve to make it any easier for the servants to clean up what was becoming a half-drowned castle.

Yet the water navigating through the crack in the stones over your head took up the least amount of room in your head. It was real. You knew it was from the echoes of ease in your limbs from the pleasure he played you to. If that wasn’t evidence enough, your slippery juices coated the nestle of your thighs.

It was wrong—you knew it. What had materialized between you and the prince was highly improper, not only as a lady, but as a lady of Harrenhal, the very castle in which he was partially responsible for the large number of roaming ghosts and of the land which he brought to ash out of his own anger.

Aemond had said that you needed to return the sword to the God’s Eye yourself. Perhaps you had tampered with something greatly out of your knowledge, and restoration was imperative for your own good and the good of the castle.

And yet the sword never moved from under your bed. Perhaps you had forgotten, or perhaps, you had conveniently discovered a hundred and one other tasks that needed your attention. And perhaps, the prince would come again.

You could pray for forgiveness from the river people later. It was your own secret shame to have and to hold, for no one else’s eyes or ears.

It was last light. Mathilda swept a dollop of water that landed on her forehead. “This storm won’t break.”

“I was a girl the last time one like this hit.” Of all the many storms that wracked this land, few had the same unbroken rainfall and loud slaughter of thunder.

There was apprehension and fright in her eyes. Mathilda’s movements were unnatural to anything you had seen her, to the point that it struck its own fear in you .

“What is it, Mathilda?”

“There’s only one storm I remember like this,” she started, worrying her hands with another bucket of water. “I didn't want to believe it yesterday. You were a girl, yes.”

“And what of it?”

“This land is old. A mass graveyard is what it is. Someone had tampered with something they shouldn’t have.”

Your stomach sank, and your secret with it. “What happened?”

“The man was never seen again. And there’s only one place around here people disappear to.”

The lake. You remembered him, a guard in your father’s command, the storm that tore on, and his disappearance marking the end of it. Everyone had figured he got swept away in the storm, but it seemed that Mathilda, among others, believed something different. Still—there were plenty of cursed objects lying around, perhaps you had gotten a touch more lucky with your object of choosing.

But perhaps it wasn’t such a dismissive endeavor, and you were more than a halfwit for thinking so. And yet, the night had fallen once more—leaving you with no other choice but to wait and see.

The blade seemed to find a light of its own even in the blackness of the storm ridden night, peaking just under your bed. Finding a rhythm in between the bolts of lightning and thunder happened over time, but the past few nights had begun to give you practice. Your apprehension kept you from your sleep nonetheless.

There was always something more beyond the surface, that much you knew was true, and life was no exception. Gods existed, you were sure of it, you just didn’t know how, or why, or where—but there was something about the thread of actions over the past handful of days that connected pieces together in a visceral way you had never fully encountered.

Through each beat of lightning, the truth of every tale that you had ever heard came into question: the cook turned white rat, forced to eat his own young; the children of the forest and the Green King of the Isle of Faces, Sharra the witch queen and her inability to die. Before now, you had not fully disbelieved, but rather doubted the ability of magic or the whims of the gods to make profound changes in an instant.

“You did not return my sword.”

His entrance was silent but interruption swift, or you had been so lost in your own head you failed to notice. There was little shock this time. You had been expecting him. He stood there for a moment in patience, your eyes and finding the details of his trench coat in the shadow. There was much less fright in you now than there had been at his first intrusion, and you swung your legs to sit at the edge of your bed.

“You disobeyed my request,” Aemond said, “I do not take kindly to those who disobey me. Why didn’t you return it, my lady of God’s Eye?”

It was a fool’s endeavor, a disregard of any consequences. Eyes wide and waiting, you could do nothing but speak your deepest truth.

“I did not want to.”

He crept forward, a creature of the shadows coming to enact its wrath. “Explain yourself.”

With a swallow of the last inklings of your pride and dignity, you replied. “Because I want more of what you did to me last night.”

He stood as a relic, everything from his hair and skin and coat shining from within, regarding you with an intensity you had never had anyone offer you before. Time existed nowhere in this room; past and present converged in the tides of thunder that swayed over your heads, and you wondered if the world outside of your door still stood or if there was nothingness.

“Who would have thought a lady to be so lustful? A lady of the Riverlands, no less.” His boots were off now, making his way to you like an animal preys upon what it desires to snatch in its claws.

You held your chin in an acceptance of his mockery and all that came with it. Because he was right, and because you didn’t care so long as no one knew of it. Aemond moved to stand in between your legs, and you tilted your head to meet his own eye.

“I suppose I will make an exception to my usual punishment since you have been so honest,” he reached to hold your face in his hands as if he was holding a holy grail. “Do you promise to make such an exception worth my while?”

“I promise.” You nodded as well as you could in his soft hold, eyes large and pleading.

The kiss that followed was soft, just as every other first touch between you had been—but it quickly became emboldened; a drop of satisfaction in a lake of craving. His hands slid down your sides, past the sensitivity of your waist and moving to grip the full flesh that sat on your thighs.

Chest to chest, you were pressed against him, feeling through every movement and flex of the muscle beneath his flesh. Moving once more, his hand slid down in between your thighs where your smallclothes sat pitifully between your bare skin and his fingers.

He swallowed your whimper into his mouth as his hand moved once more to play with your bud. Skin holds memory, they say, and you knew yours did of him: his light touch was enough to have you squirming beneath him with little effort.

“My own little harlot of the Riverlands.” Aemond pulled away, moving to untie the wrap of your nightdress. You watched him carefully, a twing of shyness slowing your movements.

He took your timid hands into his, holding them to him as he moved his nose to meet yours. “And yet a maiden, all the same.”

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his tenderness. Both your hands moved now to take away what lies between your modesty and bareness.

“Do I please you?” softly you looked at him, hoping that your shyness was replaced by your attempt to be sultry despite your lack of practice.

He looked at you as a man starved, deprived of warm fleshy skin to sink into for a century, and there was no pretending in his eye that he hadn’t prayed that you would not return Dark Sister to its rightful place. No matter how powerful the man, beyond swords and war and life and death, the soft skin of a lover would always be a weakness. There was no hiding the membrane of vulnerability and desperation at something so human: the touch and feel of another.

Leaning down to offer you a kiss, in a near whisper he replied, “Very much so.”

Hands and lips tenderly felt you everywhere, the blood underneath beating against the glide of his fingers. It was worship of the most holy, or perhaps the indulgence of a sin most foul. The lines blurred and you sank under his want, whether it be worship or sin, you did not care.

Your hands searched for him, shrugging off his own clothing in the rapture.

“Whatever it was you did to me yesterday, please, I need to feel it again.” it was more of a breathy whisper in between kisses than an affirmative request.

“I’ll show you something even better.” Aemond sank to your hips as his right hand did, already weaving slow strokes against your bud. And yet he sank farther, until his head rested between your thighs.

He watched you carefully from there, sliding one finger into your hole. His rubbing continued, and your legs began to weaken once more. You had swung your head to rest your eyes on your ceiling, unexpecting the hot wetness that met your bud.

It was unlike anything you had felt before—heat on heat, wetness on wetness, his tongue skillfully lapping your clit.

You fell under his enchantment for him like a man dies gasping underwater: slowly with resistance, until want for release pushes you to frantically search for it all at once. All thoughts of doing anything but taking everything he had to give you had been locked away, perhaps only to be seen again once you had gotten your fill. And you weren’t sure if you could ever be satisfied.

From this point forward, you would be damned by this memory: Aemond sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking on your sex, and pulling pleasure from you as if he was born a hundred years ago to do it.

He was determined to feel every drop of your essence sliding down his throat, holding you to him with his hands clasped around your thighs. Your orgasm came with his lips and tongue never ceasing their worship of you, even as your thighs shook and moans echoed through your walls.

Even though heavy breaths and dazed eyes of the afterglow, you would not make the mistake of falling asleep so soon, not after the previous night. Your hands lazily reached for him, pulling him closer to you.

Because you wanted more . There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. If anything, it had driven you further into a wanting animal, a ravenous direwolf seeking to tame its taste for blood. Maiden status be damned, if doing such things with a long dead prince even counted.

“Eager, are we?” he drawled over you, hands rustling between your bodies. “Shh. Let me take care of you.”

You felt him on you then, skin to skin, his hard manhood heavy on your stomach. Aemond’s eye met yours as he slid his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness there.

It was just you two in this moment, one body and another, seeking something buried deep within one another’s skin.

Face to ear, you whispered about your inexperience and novelty. He did nothing but pull your lips into another kiss, allowing your bodies to slip against each other’s warmth for moments to come. Aemond was a desiring man, or creature—you weren’t sure which, not that it fully mattered to you anymore—and you could feel his own lust for you seeping into each of your kisses and all of his touches, much more wanton than they had yet to be.

“Let me take you,” he nearly whined in between kisses, “I need to feel you.”

“I want you. Show me this.”

Forehead to forehead, Aemond reached between your bodies to guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You knew why maidens and ladies got wet—it would be impossible to carry out the deed without such slipperiness. What hung between a man’s legs was far too large to fit without it.

Even still, it was always a challenge at first—your own sex squeezing so hard, seemingly wanting to suck his cock deeper inside you and milk it within your walls. As he went to the hilt, moaning was all you had to cope, the noises blending with the creak of the castle.

“Does it always feel like this?” you choked, more than happy to be full of him but surprised at the feeling.

With his forehead still against yours, his breath fanned in your mouth. “At first, and then it will feel even better.”

As if to show you, he began long strokes, the head of his cock sliding against the vice of your juicy walls. And you felt it bloom—the deep ember of pleasure at your core, both satisfied and left wanting more by each thrust.

Your moans and whimpers against his ear were compounded by the thrust of his hips, heavy against your own, pushing his cock to the hilt now in every stroke, the head of it brutally kissing the end of you every time.

He sat up now, hands firmly on your hips to control the angle of you and the drive of his cock to be right where he wanted them. Moving between your bodies, his thumb danced on your bud again, sending you to reflexively grip him further out of the sheer ecstasy of it. “What would your rivermen think of you like this, moaning like a whore on my cock?”

It was more of a suffocated squeal than words, chest heaving, not being able to help the way your body was in his hands, moving at the speed he set. “They would think me a traitor.”

“But you just couldn’t help it, could you? You needed more of me, no matter what I’ve done.”

Despite you both knowing the truth of it, hardly any shame could touch you now in the throes of your bodies. In between love bites on your ear and kisses on your neck as he took you, there was more than enough praise spilling from his lips: haughty whispers of you take my cock so well and your body is made for me.

It was as intense as it was pleasurable. Aemond’s platinum tresses locked you into a cage where it was only him: only his body, his cock—nothing else. He was making you into a woman of his own liking, his spell on you binding you to desire and breaking every one of your senses to want nothing but him.

There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. Reaching the peak of it, your cunt hardly willing to let his cock move inside you and pulsing and pleading for it to be even deeper, you cried out, your own howl into the night. Aemond fucked you through it, seeking his own peak within your walls and finding it in the vice you had him in, milking him for every drop of his own essence to spill in the hot syrupy tightness of your cunt.

The sedation you felt in your after-pleasure was familiar to the first night—leaving you in a daze, the murky waters difficult to navigate. Fighting it was futile, but you kept yourself awake enough to feel him pull away, save for leaving a kiss on your fingers and hear his final words.

Visit me, my lady of God’s Eye

It would be a selfish thing—you knew—to keep the sword, no matter how badly you wanted to satiate your desire during the night. But the storm raged on, and it was only right to do what had to be done to prevent the entirety of Harrenhal from being consumed by the water raiding every corridor and sieging nearly all chambers and apartments, only the highest of rooms in each tower being spared.

It was a difficult task, but you had managed. And not hours after the sword was back in the sheath it belonged in, the rain had ceased, to the relief of all in the castle except for one.

You hadn’t forgotten his last words to you. Sometimes, you swam back to the remains of the dragon prince again, hoping the hallowed skeleton could see you in the angelic light only water could give.

And sometimes, in the deepest chamber of the lake, you swore you heard whispers in the catches of the currents.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond targaryen/you #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #ewan mitchell x reader #smut

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winnisblur · 25 days ago

Text

“Cracks In Our Hearts.”

pairing ❤︎‬: gender neutral reader x sunghoon. w.c ‪‪❤︎‬: 4.5 - 5k (it’s word vomit at its finest) synopsis ‪‪❤︎‬: you’re a player in squid game, and thanks to a certain square guard, you’ve managed to survive (and get fucked).

this fic includes ‪‪❤︎‬: smut so mdni, death(s?), blood, sunghoon is a guard and is hot with a mask and pistol, he’s also cold(i think that’s the word), reader just trying to survive, ends up dying tho lol, bathroom sex, choking, pain and gun kink, degradation, sunghoon is actually a jerk beneath the mask, so is reader, unprotected sex, readers skin colour nor private parts are mentioned and etc.

warnings ‪‪❤︎‬: english isn’t my first language, not really proofread so srry about that, and i’m nervous af cus this is my first time writing T-T, this is based off of s1 so spoilers ahead (for those who haven’t watched both seasons”.

…..I shouldn't have survived the first game.

The thought clings to me like a stain as I sit cross-legged on the cold gray floor of the dormitory. Around me, everyone's faces wear that same haunted look-eyes sunken, shoulders hunched-but it does nothing to erase this truth: I'm still here, and a hundred others aren't.

My hands shake as I clutch the bottle of water they gave us, the only comfort in this nightmare. “Red Light, Green Light” was supposed to be simple. A childish game, nothing more. But then, when the first shot went off, the simplicity was in pieces. I kept my head down, my steps calculated. An act of luck rather than any skill saved me. Halfway, my legs had locked, but the chaos around saved me. I was too scared even to breathe, let alone blink while that giant, doll-like machine scanned the field. The screams. The silence. They cling to me as much as the relief of being alive.

But that leaves me with just one question: how long will I last?

Dalgona Game

As the guards herd us into the grounds, that feeling of luck is not there.

The sun knocks heavily upon the earthy ground, and a whispering wave curls through the players. In front of us stood a table piled high with tins, each containing the next nightmare: “Dalgona candy.” The guard with the square mask appears to be in charge; he steps forward. His voice rumbles from behind his mask. "You will each choose a tin. Inside is a shape. Your task is to extract the shape from the candy without breaking it. You will have ten minutes."

That's it? A shape?

But then I look at the examples on the display-circle, triangle, star…and an umbrella. My stomach does a flip. Not just precision, but luck too. A wrongly picked tin means my death. The queue moved fast; shaking hands reached for tins, people picking as if their lives depended on it. Because they do.

When it's my turn, I force myself to breathe and reach for the one closest to me. The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. I don't even open it right away, afraid to see what fate I've chosen. Finally, I lift the lid.

The umbrella stares back at me.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. I look around, and there are a few groaning in despair as they unveil their shapes. Most got stars or circles—luckies. The timer starts, and the courtyard almost becomes a battlefield of concentration. People start licking their candies, tapping needles at them, and quite a few try to bite them. I take the given needle and gently press it against the candy. The sound of cracking candy nearby makes my heart run. I start shaking and tracing the thin, delicate lines of the umbrella. "Steady," I say to myself. Halfway through, it happened.

Snap.

The handle of the umbrella broke off clean. My blood ran cold.

It was over.

Instantly, my head jerks up to find the nearest guard. They are already converging on other players who busted their candies. I heard shots ring out and immediately froze. That is when I see him.

One of the square-guards, taller than the others, stops a few feet away. I cannot see his face, yet there is something different in the way he looks at me. His head tilts slightly, studying me, and for that one fleeting instant, the noise falls away. Then he takes another step closer.

"No," I whisper. Shivering, my heartbeat surges as I hold the shattered candy tightly against my body, to hide it from view. But instead of brandishing his weapon, he leans in and whispers, "Pretend you're still working." I stare up at him, appalled. "Do it," he says sharply in a low voice, and I automatically comply. I push the broken pieces together, my hands shaking so severely it's a wonder they don't break into a hundred more pieces. The guard-he-stands close enough that I can sense his presence. He occasionally looks around, subtly blocking the other guards' view of me. “Why?" I dare to whisper. He says nothing.

Minutes tick by-although by some miracle, no one notices my snapped candy. When the buzzer goes off, I hold my breath for the worst to happen. Instead, the square-guard advances, feigning that he's inspecting the other players. Somehow, I get away.

The dormitory is noisier tonight. Some are cheering, others crying, but I do not think of anything besides him. Why did he save me? Was this some sort of mistake? A test? My head runs with the different connotations, but no sensible fact makes sense. Guards are not supposed to show mercy.

When the lights dim for night, I am awake. I play that moment in my head over and over-the quiet authority in his voice, the way he lingered just long enough to save me. There's just no getting answers, yet I couldn't help my mind from running over and over with thoughts of him.

Sunghoon’s POV

This was reckless.

I lean against the wall of the guard quarters, helmet in my hands, and let my breath out slowly. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I saw them-their trembling hands, the way they froze when their candy broke. I should've ignored it. I should've done my job. But something about the way their eyes widened, filled with fear and determination, stopped me. I don't know why I helped them. It wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of guilt.

It was them.

I have seen hundreds of players, most of them desperate enough or selfish enough to catch nothing but their own survival. But they're different. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Guards aren't supposed to feel anything. Yet every time I think about their face, my resolve cracks just that little bit more.

If anyone finds out, I'm as good as dead.

But somehow, I just can't seem to care. Tomorrow's another game, another chance to see them. I just hope I can keep my distance.

For both our sakes.

The Next Day

I wake up to this gnawing feeling in my chest. It isn't the ache in my limbs or the exhaustion of staying up all night, reliving the events of the Dalgona game in my head; it's the dread of what comes next.

Another game, another chance to die.

They walk us to the next arena as effectively, coldly, with all the same efficiency of people used to doing a day's labor. My head was down, letting myself just become part of a whole, not standing out too much. The cold-faced, geometric-mask-covered guard statues line the wall opposite. My eyes fly toward each square mask.

Grievously stupid. Insane even-but what did it matter? Had he watched me just then? Was he going to try to save me?

A small part of me wants him to, but the larger part is reminding me of one crucial thing: here, I am on my own. Completely and utterly. Not even him.

Sunghoon’s POV

There they are.

Perched atop the arena above, my eyes find them in a heartbeat. They scan the guards again, their shoulders tense, eyes keen despite the exhaustion clinging to every player out there. I shouldn't watch them. Shouldn't give a damn.

Yet I can't peel my eyes away, though. Still alive, that's what matters.

My grip tightens on the rifle in my hands as the Robotic Female’s voice booms across the arena, announcing the rules for today’s game. I already know what’s coming. Another trial, another bloody mess.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve sworn to follow.

The Tug-of-War Twist

We are brought to a very large outdoors arena, with several platforms towering up to the sky. Ropes traverse atop thick, and beneath these? A fall so long I could hardly see the bottom.

Tug-of-war.

The explanation is simple: teams of ten; whoever wins lives. Losers. well, the fall does the talking. I'm pushed towards a group, and panic bursts in my chest as I realize the dynamics are uneven. None of them appear to be very strong. A few even shake so hard that I don't think they can hold the rope.

This is bad.

The guards line the edges, rifles in place to take out anyone showing even a millisecond of hesitation. My eyes flicker to them out of instinct, and there he is-square guard. His posture is stiff, but his helmet angles toward me as I step on the platform. Is he looking at me?

The thought's cut off by a buzz. And with that, the first match begins. I am horrified as the opposing team pulls with ruthless precision. Losing is being dragged, inch by inch, toward the edge. Their screams echo when the rope jerks once more, sending them plunging into the void.

This isn't just about strength. It's strategy.

When it's our turn, I reach for the rope, my palms already slick with sweat. My team looks hopeless, all whispering prayers and clutching at whatever scraps of courage they can muster. The opposing team, however, is all muscle.

"Pull!" someone yells as the buzzer sounds, and I dig my heels into the platform. The rope's abraded heat against my palms sears the skin as we're yanked forward. Arms scream, legs wobble-it feels like we are seconds away from catastrophe. "Lean back! Use your weight!" someone yells, but it's futile. We're losing so much ground. That's when I saw him.

The square-guard stood near the edge, his head cocked as he watched me. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't move, before finally he moves a step closer and leans on his rifle at his shoulder. I'm stuck until his hand moves after all, and it does really slowly.

It was the signal.

I watch transfixed as his gloved hand takes direction toward the other guys on the opposition side of this platform, then he tap-dances his foot quickly yet small - almost in a blur-close around anchor point holding their ropes steady. My eyes widen.

Is he telling me their side is rigged?

I have no time to think. I lean back with all my strength and yell to my team, "Pull to the left! They're off balance!" The others hesitate but follow my lead, shifting our weight. The opposing team stumbles, losing their footing, and in the chaos, I catch something flicker in the corner of my vision-a quick, subtle motion from his side.

The anchor point snaps.

The opposing team barely has time to act before they're pulled forward, screaming as they tumble into the abyss. We collapse onto the platform, gasping for air. Relief washes through me, tainted with disbelief.

I should be dead.

I glance toward him again but he's already gone, sucked back into the sea of guards. Tonight, I cannot get him out of my mind. The square-guard. The one who has saved me over and over again. No one else is paying any attention to anything but celebration or mourning as I slip into the shadows near the edge of the dormitory. The guards patrol the perimeter, their masks gleaming under the dim lights. And then I see him.

He leans against the wall, a little apart from the others. As I approach him, my heart pounds, and every step sounds louder than it should. "What are you doing?" I whisper. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I think I have made a mistake. But then he steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I shoot back, emboldened by adrenaline. "You've been helping me. Why?” He hesitates, glancing around before tugging me further into the darkness. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," he says. "I think I deserve an answer," I say, crossing my arms over my chest despite the tremble in my hands. "You've saved my life twice. Don't act like that's normal." For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a sigh, he lifts his mask just enough for me to see his face.

He's younger than I expected. Sharp jawline, intense eyes that seem to pierce right through me. "You stood out," he admits, his voice softer now. "Most people here…they're just trying to survive. But you-" He catches himself, as if he's said too much. "But what?" I press.

“You fight," he says so simply. "Even when you're scared. Even when you shouldn't." The words dangle in the air, between us like a challenge. Heavy, electric. "I don't know why I do these things," he continues more irritably. "But if you wanna stay alive, don't trust me. Don't trust no one." His words shouldn't assure me, and yet suddenly, for the first time since I have been here, I do feel one thing: hope.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. He doesn't answer, but pulls his mask back down and steps away, leaving me in the shadows.

I trudge up the stairs, the fluorescent lights above me flickering with every labored step my legs take. It was mountainous, but I had survived another game, another step closer to whatever hellish end this place had in store. The other players say nothing. Their faces are hollow, their skin pale. No one dares speak anymore. Silence is safer.

I stop on the last step as a guard blocks my path. Square mask. My heart catches. "What's this?" I say, sharper than I mean to. Exhaustion has sucked any tolerance from me. "You're flagged," he says bluntly. "There's suspicion you might be carrying something you shouldn't be. You'll have to be searched." My blood turns cold. Suspicion? Prohibited? “That's crazy," I say, my panic rising into my chest. "I don't have anything-"

"Follow me." There's no request about it. The other players glance my way, their eyes wide and wary, but they don't get involved. They're too frightened to risk drawing attention to themselves. I hesitate, my mind racing. If this is a setup, if they think I've broken a rule, this could be it. This could be my end.

But I have no choice. Taking a deep breath, I follow the guard down a dimly lit corridor and into a bathroom. The sound of the door locking behind me makes me shiver. “Turn around," the guard instructs in a cold, emotionless voice. I do so, my heart racing. "Look," I begin, "I don't know what you think I've done, but-"

"Stop talking.” It cuts through my protest, and there's something about it-something familiar. I turn to face them, my brow furrowing. “What is this?" I ask. "Who are you?" For a moment, they don't respond. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the guard lifts their mask. My breath catches.

It's him.

The square-guard who's been helping me. The one I thought was gone, fired, or worse-killed for breaking the rules. "You-" I stutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had to see you," he says, his voice soft, yet urgent. "I couldn't stay away any longer." I blink, trying to process the rush of emotions-relief, confusion, anger. "I thought you were-what happened to you? Why did you stop-" "I had to lay low," he interrupts. "They were watching me. But I'm still here. I don't know what to say. My mind is racing, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Why did you bring me here?" I ask finally.

His eyes lock with mine, intense and unyielding. “Because I couldn't take it anymore," he says, his voice low, stepping closer. "Watching you risk your life, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it-it's been driving me insane." I swallow hard, my heart racing as he closes the gap between us. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whisper. "If they find out—"

"I don't care," he says with finality. "I've already broken the rules for you. What's one more?" And before I can say another word, his hands frame my face, and he kisses me. It's not soft or tentative-it's desperate, raw, like he's pouring every ounce of fear and longing into the moment. I'm stuck in a freeze-frame moment for a second, mind whipping. Then I yield and cling to his uniform while kissing him back with every ounce of fierce intensity of my own. The world falls away, and I feel something other than fear for the first time since this nightmare kicked off.

But not for long.

He pulls away, forehead resting against mine, hard breaths mingling between our lips. "I can't protect you anymore," he says, his voice cracking. "Not with what's coming." I search his face, my chest tightening at the pain in his eyes. "You've already done more than enough," I whisper. He shakes his head. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough."

A heavy silence falls between us, and I know this is goodbye. Expect it wasn’t actually, his lips captured mine again, his lips….almost saying they wanted me, needed me. That is until he broke the kiss again, and pinned my back against the cold, colorful tiled wall of the bathroom. His body language seemed like he has longed for the dramatic (sort of) crash of holding me against the wall, kissing me like he was dreaming about this every single minute of the day.

He winced as my nails raked across his back through his pink suit, he probably felt like his outfit was being torn by my nails, which could get us both in trouble if that was actually to happen. He winced again as he took ahold of my wrists and slammed them to the wall in retaliation, wedging his knee between my thighs, which made a gasp leave my lips at the slightest bit of friction I was getting from his thigh.

“Didn’t know you were this desperate for me,” he teased after breaking the heated kiss for the nth time, leaving him and me breathless, panting with saliva connecting us. His low chuckle echoed through the empty, now suffocating bathroom, and making his vampire teeth pop out. “it’s laughable, really. Does the games make you horny?” he teased yet again, raising his thick eyebrows in a way that seemed mockingly, his thigh moving back and forth slightly, earning a whine from my lips as he chuckled like he was enjoying me being teased. “Does your life being on the line make you horny? You sadist bit-“ Pain blistered across Sunghoon’s cheek, he couldn’t help but grin as it sent shockwaves of sensation tearing across his body. Adrenaline hummed through his veins as he hungrily kissed me again, choking me with his gloved hands. I thrashed, ripping at the back of his head by a fistful of hair and biting down hard on his lower lip. Both of our lips were bleeding now, but the metallic tang only made him deepen the kiss even more, greedily trying to taste much of it as possible, masochist much?

“Fucking slut,” He hissed, licking blood and spit from my chin. “You’re a cunt and a dick, a motherfucking cunt and dick sucker.” I hissed back, he chuckled. He fucking chuckled this was all a fucking a circus show for him. “Damn right,” he teased. “But only good girls or boys get their cunts and dicks sucked by me, which isn’t you unfortunately.” he grinned, his hips rolling against my privates, yet again another chuckle slipped from his lips like he enjoyed watching me being frustrated sexually, and I could confirm it just by looking at his eyes that had a glint, a glint of giddiness everytime pain was inflicted upon me.

I hooked my foot behind his knee, forcibly collapsing it. First, he tries making me shit in my pants from coming out of nowhere and telling me that I had to be pat down, makeouts with me, choked me and almost knocked out all of the air in me, calls me names and now his hand is reaching up to my knee to bring me down with him…great. He smirked as he yanked me down onto him, flipping me onto my back and pinning me to the cold floor now instead. He gave just one slow, merciless grind of his hips against mine, and I’m only just realising but…he’s fucking big.

“Who said that…I want you to fucking suck me off or eat me out?” I bit out, nursing my injured lip to keep from moaning as he set out a torturously slow pace through our clothes. “It seems pretty eager to me,” Sunghoon teased, gloved fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “I bet I could make you cum in- shit-!” His head smacked harder against the tiles than it should have as I tossed him onto his back, thighs clenched tightly around his hips. The throbbing pain only added to the throbbing pleasure as I rolled my hips. “Just who do you think fucking I am? Just- fuck- just because I’m trying to survive and win doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your fucking bitch.” Sunghoon grinned up at me, I was already flushed bright red and riding his hips with rough, desperate japs of my hips. “Big talk for someone who’s riding me like their life depends on it, ironically.” he snickers. “I can feel you, asshole. You’re in the same situation as I am!” Sunghoon smirked, and in one quick move, he snatched my wrist and rocketed back to his feet, spinning me back around and leaving me face-first against the wall. “You might not be able to kill people like me, and neither I could survive the games you’re playing but god…you’re right, I do want you.” I shuddered at his deep voice. I shifted, legs spreading to support myself better and Sunghoon slotted his knee right between them once more, hands settling on my waist as I got my one free hand between me and the wall, trying to push and give myself some space. I only succeeded in pushing our bodies closer than before, his cock nestled firmly against my ass.

“Let me have you,” Sunghoon purred, squeezing my waist and slowly moving up my sides the way that turned me into putty. I moaned, shuddering again. “Fuck you! If you want me so badly, then come and take it, take me!” well, that is an invitation that Sunghoon hasn’t heard before, even before doing this whole crazy guard thing at a unknown island. He growled, jerking my pants down in a hurry, like he actually couldn’t believe that his dreams are about to come true. I threw my elbow back, but Sunghoon just pinned my wrist back to the wall. “Stop being a fucking brat,” he hissed. I struggled and choking back a moan, feeling the material of his pink suit against my bare ass. “Get your shitty ass outfit outta the way,” I demanded. “Shit feels like sandpaper!” I hissed. “So sensitive and demanding,” he cooed, even as he let me have both hands back to brace myself against the wall. Sunghoon didn’t dare to move back and give me an opening to escape, only reaching up to unzip his suit and free himself, mostly his cock that was strained against the fabric and begging for friction as it twitched in his underwear. I adjusted, leaning away long enough for Sunghoon to free himself. “If you were me, you’d complain too!” I hissed. “Yeah, yeah, stop running your big mouth. You want it or not?” he rolled his eyes, his suit and underwear failing to his ankles as he leaned forward, completely trapping me between him and the cold wall, his bare cock resting just on my ass, just right where I needed him, so far yet so close. “I told you you fucking idiot, just take it-“ Sunghoon couldn’t help but thrust all of his cock in one go. Making me moan out loud at the blissful pain from the thrust.

For Sunghoon, you were a wet dream come true to life; Sunghoon’s cock glided through you without resistance, soft and slick, tightening only as he rutted against a known sweet spot along your walls. I moaned, arching my back, wrapping tightly around him. He groaned in response, leaning over me, his hands covering mine, fingers almost interlocked. The sweat on my neck left a layer of salt on Sunghoon’s tongue, but beneath it was nothing but you. Sunghoon muffled his own moans against my throat, sucking and biting his way down to my shoulders. I turned my head, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow as he fucked me against the wall. Sunghoon hiked me up onto my tiptoes, leaning back to appreciate the view, your skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent lights. “…Please, I’m close da- fuck-!” your words and moans rang loud in his ears, in the bathroom, the silence sharpening your cries. They acted as pokers to the hot coals of fire in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach, making him embarrassed over how loud you were, neither was the wet and loud sound of skin smacking was making it any better. If any of his fellow guards were outside or just a tad bit close to the bathroom, he’s fucked and killed to death alongside with you.

That is when Sunghoon got an idea, an idea that satisfies his other personality, the one that was created whilst being here for a very long time that he has lost sense of time, and that is fear. He lives off of the idea of goosebumps appearing on the player’s skins just before he kills them, and in this case, while he’s fucking them and practically making them cock-drunk from his stroke game. Sunghoon leaned down and grabbed his long forgotten, abandoned pistol on the floor, aiming the barrel at your forehead, and with that his thrusts became harder, sloppier but you…you were terrified. Terrified on why there’s a gun to your head suddenly, is he going to kill you after using you like a worthless, lifeless sexdoll? Is that what’s going to happen? You couldn’t lie to yourself because the thought kinda turned you on and made you wetter even more, because you wouldn’t mind being his sexdoll if his cock was constantly inside you and making you go brainless. “Stop moaning like a whore unless you want me to pull the trigger right now, and kill you before they find us.” he threatened lowly in my ear, licking and bitting as he tried to muffle his own sounds. By now, you knew you looked pathetic with your eyes red, red and snotty nose as tears stained and wet your flushed cheeks as you began to bite onto your ragged and bloody jacket, trying to keep quiet because as much as it turned you on at the thought of dying on his dick, but you valued your life at the moment because, living longer equals bouncing on his dick for even more before you die.

Sunghoon barely managed to pull out on time, painting his pleasure all over your ass. He grinned at the realisation that you were still haven’t even came yet, still hanging on the edge as he lowered his pistol and patted his gloved hand on your ass, watching it jiggle with the motion of his hand, giggling to himself as he brought his head up and was met with the sight of you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. “Get your own self off, brat.” he teased, putting on his suit back and mask, giving you one last cocky glance before he makes sure he looks presentable in the mirror and walks out on you, leaving you frustrated at him, at not being pleasured enough, at the games, and yourself because behind his handsome looks, he’s actually just like the other guards, ruthless and cold.

The Final Game

The days blur all together.

The games are getting more brutal, and the players, myself included, are growing desperate. Every moment feels like a race against time, against fate. The tension among the remaining participants is palpable. We’ve all become numbers now, not people—just pawns in a game that doesn’t care about our lives. The final game is announced, and my heart skips a beat.

It's the one everybody's afraid of: the glass bridge.

We line up in a row, one behind the other, in front of the two routes laid out before us, each comprising several glass panels, some strong and some weak. We had to walk over them and choose appropriate ones to cross or plunge to death. A shiver runs down my spine as the first few players go up front, and what happened was inevitable. One after another, they fall. Screams pierce the cold air, but clear had been the instruction from the guard that no one was to move unless his turn came upon him. Just as I'm about to take my first step, I suddenly feel. something.

It's him.

The square-guard above watches on, his eyes tracking my every movement, and for a split second, our gazes meet. The connection is brief, but it's enough. I don't know what to make of it, but something in the way he watches me is different. There's something in his eyes-something almost…regretful.

It's my turn.

I step onto the bridge, my legs trembling as creaks come from within the glass as my body weight presses down upon it. The first few steps are just fine. My luck has to turn sometime. The crack starts to give under me and I freeze. I looked back, and that is when I see it-something shifting in Sunghoon's posture. Moving.

Too late.

Balance is lost.

I heard him scream my name-my real name, not a number-and did not care. I fell. This was a never-ending fall. The world spun and the only thing I was aware of was air rushing in as I dropped with the pretty firm knowledge I'd not live to cry out.

And then, there was nothing.

Sunghoon's POV

The world is silent.

I stand in stock-stillness, my heartbeat the only sound of the drumbeat as their body disappears into the void below, and with every shattered piece of me. I should have. I should have—

My fist slams against the metal wall. Its echo rings out into that space. Why didn't I act sooner? Why couldn't I pull them back? Why couldn't I protect?

I close my eyes, the guilt suffocating me. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. But here I am, crushed under the weight of it, the weight of my failure. I should never have gotten involved. I should never have helped them.

But I couldn't stop myself.

And now…

I failed.

I failed them.

The game goes on, but Sunghoon's mind is a maelstrom.

The rest of the players are like shadows, their faces hollow with fear and exhaustion. To Sunghoon, however, time has stopped. He stares at the rest of the players, his eyes searching among them for any sign of the one he couldn't protect. Every step weighs too much to be taken. Every decision he makes feels like a mistake. And when the final buzzer goes off, he barely hears it.

It's the end of the day now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

The only thing filling Sunghoon's head is the weight of his own guilt. The others are rejoicing, but his mind is consumed by you-your face, your eyes, and the time you spent together. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

And he never will.

#― enha !#sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon imagines #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha smut #sunghoon angst #enha angst #enhypen angst

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 8 months ago

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Time for today's silly Merlin au! This time featuring himbo Arthur!

I think that the show should have leaned into the whole "Merlin's technically a creature of magic" aspect, both in terms of being magic incarnate and kin to the dragons, and I think Arthur should have also been forced to come to terms with it as well. However, this is Arthur we're talking about, so of course he wouldn't come to the right conclusions right away.

In this scenario, around season 5-ish, there's an evil sorcerer seeking revenge against Camelot for the purge who puts a spell on all of the humans in Camelot, one that would weaken them and cause such fatigue that no one would be able to even stand up after a while. But it's a powerful and taxing spell to cast, so the sorcerer can only afford to target the humans in Camelot to keep the number of targets as low as possible. Besides, what could the livestock in Camelot do to stop him anyways?

So everyone in Camelot is falling under this spell, and Arthur and the knights are rushing to prepare for battle against the sorcerer to make him lift the spell. However, with each hour that passes, everyone grows weaker and weaker.

Merlin does, of course, know that this spell has been cast and what it does, but he doesn't feel its affects and assumes that his magic is protecting him. He acts like he's growing weaker so he doesn't fall under anyone's suspicions for the wrong reasons. However, after Merlin summons and talks to Kilgarrah for advice on how to break the spell, Kilgarrah informs him that Merlin wasn't protected by his magic, but rather by the fact that he isn't truly human.

And Merlin decides to unpack the implications of that some other time, because he's got a kingdom and a prat to save.

Fast forwards to the knights getting their asses kicked by the sorcerer and the evil sorcerer preparing to kill Arthur, who's lying on the ground with his eyes closed. All the other knights were knocked out by a blast from the sorcerer, but Arthur's still barely clinging to consciousness, yet he's too weak to even open his eyes. All he can do is listen helplessly as the sorcerer prepares to kill them all.

But then the sorcerer yelps, as if he were hit by something. Arthur's hope skyrockets as the sorcerer yells "You! How are you even still awake?! Every single human in Camelot should be feeling the full effects of the spell by now!" Arthur thinks for a moment that one of his knights has found enough strength to overcome the spell and fight back, but that hope is quickly dashed when he hears Merlin's voice responding like he isn't tired in the slightest, saying, "Well it's a good thing I was never really human then."

Merlin decided to say that to throw the sorcerer off-kilter enough to distract him and give Merlin an advantage in the fight. Besides, Merlin can see that all of the knights, including Arthur, are knocked out on the ground, so there's no harm in admitting it to this sorcerer who he's definitely going to have to kill.

Arthur, meanwhile, is still conscious and completely reeling from Merlin's words. What the hell did he mean he wasn't human?! Has some vile magical creature taken Merlin's place?

After the battle (which sounded to Arthur like a bunch of grunts, pained yelps, and a final, wet gurgle), Arthur could feel the effects of the spell lifting, letting him open his eyes with a gasp. He frantically looks around to make sure Merlin's ok, but Merlin's only a few steps away from him, while the sorcerer lies dead on the ground with a sword buried in his chest.

Hearing Arthur's gasp, Merlin turns to him with a relieved smile and helps pulls Arthur to his feet. Arthur, meanwhile, is too stunned to even ask how Merlin of all people managed to kill a powerful sorcerer by himself, but Merlin's giving some unbelievable explanation that involves distracting the sorcerer and then getting a miraculous opening and stabbing the sorcerer. Arthur's nodding along, but inside, he's really searching man who might be Merlin or might be some magical imposter posing as Merlin, as awful as that is for Arthur to consider, for any signs that he's truly Merlin.

If he's an imposter, Arthur has to give him credit, he plays his part well. The man in front of him looks exactly like Merlin, talks like Merlin, walks with Merlin's lanky gait, and seems to know everything Merlin knows, even their inside jokes. Still, Arthur needs to be sure, so after they get back to the castle, Arthur goes down to the vaults and grabs a secret object that Uther used in the purge that could detect illusions and glamor magics. It was a simple clear crystal in the shape of a sphere and small enough to fit in the palm of a person's hand, but if someone or something that was using magic to alter their appearance came into contact with it, the crystal would glow with a bright light.

Arthur plants the sphere in his chambers and disguises it as a new paperweight. The next day, Arthur pretends to accidentally knock it off his desk, sending it rolling across the floor, and orders the maybe-Merlin to pick it up and bring it back to his desk. Maybe-Merlin rolls his eyes in a perfect imitation of Merlin and walks over to the crystal. To Arthur's shock and relief, the crystal doesn't glow when Merlin picks it up, so he definitely is the true Merlin.

But then that leads Arthur to a horrible conclusion: the Merlin he knew wasn't a human, and never was. And the only creatures with the ability to look convincingly human were creatures of magic.

Oh god, Merlin was a creature of magic.

Arthur decides that, in order for him to plot an appropriate course of action, he needs more information. Namely, he needs to know what exactly Merlin is.

So, Arthur sneaks into the library and secretly takes some of the bestiaries, searching for what manner of creature Merlin truly is. Arthur tries not to jump to the worst possible conclusions, but all of the creatures of magic that can take human form that Arthur knows of are horrible monsters that prey on humans. Take the sidhe and the lamia for examples!

But people don't randomly go missing or turn up dead from monster attacks very frequently in Camelot, and Merlin cries when Arthur so much as shoots a bunny, so if Merlin's some sort of monster that kills and eats humans, he's doing a piss poor job at being one. So, Merlin must be some sort of creature that doesn't hurt humans, which certainly narrows down the list.

Arthur eventually finds a list of peaceful, human-like creatures of magic, and he starts trying to narrow down what Merlin is. He couldn't be an elf, since his ears were huge and round, not pointed. He couldn't be a gnome, he was too tall and gangly. He couldn't be a nymph, he spent too much time indoors to be a nature spirit. He couldn't be a leprechaun, he didn't have a beard or an affinity towards gold. He couldn't be a fae or a sidhe, he doesn't make deals with anyone (besides when he goes gambling at the tavern). And he certainly couldn't be a dragonlord, they were all dead!

Arthur was just about to give up when he finally found what he was looking for! The book's passage on fairies described them as benevolent relatives to the fae who would often disguise themselves as humans and would bring good luck and fortune to whoever befriended them, while sometimes engaging in some fun mischief! That must be Merlin!

Come to think of it, Arthur did have some great moments of luck, some of them almost miraculous! Morgana's magic failing her the day of a battle, defeating a dragon single-handedly, surviving the questing beast's bite, and of course defeating monsters that were said to only be killed through magic. And Merlin had been there for all of those events!

The book also describes fairies as creatures that love all living beings and are closely connected with nature, which makes perfect sense considering how much Merlin hates hunting! And fairies could see into the true hearts of people, which was how Merlin always knew if a person was untrustworthy!

It all made so much sense! This even explained Merlin's random "visits to the tavern", when Arthur knew that Merlin rarely ever drank. According to the book, fairies could only maintain their human forms for so long before they needed to spend some time in their smaller winged forms.

The book even addressed how fairies could be born from a union between a particularly powerful fairy and a human, which even explained why Merlin never knew his father and how Merlin could be a creature of magic while having a human mother!

Now that he knew the truth, Arthur felt so much relief! His best friend wasn't some diabolical monster, he was just a playful and friendly fairy trying to live as a human! It made so much sense!

And now all Arthur had to do was prove it. All evidence pointed to Merlin being a fairy, but he needed concrete proof before he could take any action. According to the book, the blood of a fairy in a human disguise sparkled under the light of a full moon. So, Arthur devised a plan to take Merlin out on an overnight hunting trip the day before the next full moon and "accidentally" cut Merlin's arm with one of the crossbow bolts. Arthur would then bandage the cut for Merlin and, after a couple hours, insist on changing the bandages, and pocket the first bloodied bandage.

Sure, Arthur felt guilty about purposely cutting his friend, but this was Merlin's fault for keeping the fact that he wasn't human a secret over their ten years of friendship! So, Arthur goes through with his plan, and when he held the used bandage up to the moonlight after Merlin had fallen asleep, he has to hold back a gasp as the red blood on the cloth shimmers and turns a bright golden color. Well, the book was right, the blood certainly sparkled!

(It was a shame that Arthur never read into warlocks, and how the magic in a warlock's blood made their blood turn gold under the light of a full moon.)

Arthur then turned to look at his peacefully sleeping friend, and swore that he would do everything he could to help his friendly little fairy.

Shortly after that revelation, Arthur starts actively noticing all of the strokes of luck he has. Bandits can never land a hit on him because they're too busy getting knocked out by tree branches or tripping over roots, his baths and meals are always the perfect temperature no matter how long he waits, and his injuries all heal at near-impossible rates. Hell, Arthur couldn't even recall the last time he got sick with something as small as a cold!

So Arthur tries to do little things for Merlin to show him his appreciation, like giving Merlin flower crowns (which fairies are said to like and Merlin absolutely adores), giving him a shiny silver mirror (fairies are supposed to like shiny things, and Merlin's never had a proper mirror before), and giving Merlin parts of his own meals as a food offering (which Merlin of course isn't about to turn down).

(Arthur's also kinda frustrated at the lack of information about fairy courting rituals lol!)

But Arthur isn't the best at keeping secrets, so the knights of the round table eventually catch him trying to set up a nice little fairy ring for Merlin in the garden, and they also "figure out" that Merlin is a fairy, and it all spirals from there until the entire castle is trying to show their appreciation for their fairy friend.

Merlin's very confused by all of this (since Arthur's terrible at actually communicating, Merlin doesn't know that Arthur thinks he's a fairy), but he's not about to turn down all of these lovely gifts!

And there's lots of different directions the story could go from there! A pretty funny scenario would be some rival king catching wind of how Camelot's great victories are all because of their king befriending a kind fairy, so he kidnaps Merlin in an attempt to make Merlin grant him such great luck and victory in battle. However, all they do to imprison Merlin is pour a circle of salt around him (since they firmly believe that fairies cannot cross a barrier of salt).

Merlin's just kinda raises an eyebrow and thinks that this is the weirdest kidnapping ever, steps over the salt, and escapes back to Camelot.

Thank you for reading through my rambling! :D

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin au #himbo arthur #merlin prompts

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rainyorca · 7 months ago

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I'll swim down with you 𓇼 Kenji Sato X Reader

Content warnings: F!reader, Established relationship, childhood friends, kissing, fluff, a little bit of smut.

Words: 1,916

Notes: Rewatching Ultraman made me realize that Kenji does in fact have pools on his deck but I don't know if they're meant to be swam in, however, i really wanted to write something involving them soooo…..I am very deeply in love with this man and have seen this movie more times than I’ve seen my dad this summer.

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

The setting sun casts beautiful rays of golden light on the Earth, blanketing everything in warmth. It’s mid-June, which means baseball season is at its all-time high right now. For Kenji, it’s rather exciting but for you, it’s a little upsetting. You don’t get to spend as much time with him anymore due to practice and his games, but you still attend his games, all of them in fact as long as your work schedule doesn't overlap. As well as his duties as Ultraman, sometimes you don't even get to have him in bed next to you.

You sit in one of the pools on his wooden deck, bathing in sunlight. You like to sit in the water and watch the sunset over the ocean, the view is out of this world. It's one of the many things you like about living with him. Ken is currently at practice, which he has practically been at all day in your mind, then again you left for work early this morning so you haven't seen him at all today. You close your eyes, sinking further into the pool and letting your head rest on the edge. The wood is smooth beneath your head, but you slide your hands under your head for more cushion. There's music playing softly in the background, one of your favorite songs from your favorite playlist. This was your idea of relaxing after work, especially with such a hectic day you had.

“Ken is home,” Mina’s voice erupts softly from behind you, making you jump. You turn around to face the floating supercomputer. “I'm sorry, did not mean to startle you,” she says, her tone flat as usual. “It's okay,” you smile softly, “thank you for letting me know, Mina.” The floating circle gives you a nod before flying off to greet Kenji. You turn back to the sunset, waiting for Kenji to come by. You can hear him talking to Mina inside but it stops momentarily before starting up again. Kenji’s footsteps could be heard approaching you now, but you're too lost in thought to turn around or even notice.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, you can practically hear the smile in his voice. You turn around, smiling when you see him. “I’d enjoy it a lot more if you joined me,” you respond, tilting your head at him. He shakes his head with a smile, “I know, that's why I put my swim trunks on.” You watch him lift his shirt over his head, the golden light hitting his toned body perfectly. He looks warm, and the light makes his skin look supple and soft. He dips his feet in the water, pulling back from the slightly coldness but slowly easing himself in. The water isn’t too deep, he can stand perfectly straight and it only goes to his waist. He rests his back against the edge just like your doing but he follows your movements when you turn around to face the sun. He squints a little, turning his head to look at you rather than the bright sun. “How was your day?” he asks, his voice as soft as silk. You peer into his big gray eyes, resting your head on your hands again. “Hetic,” you respond simply, “How was practice?”

He picks up on the simplicity of your answer quickly, dropping the subject knowing you don't want to go into detail. “Practice was good, but I was a little distracted today,” he responds, reaching up and brushing a water droplet off your face only to get more on you. “Why’s that?” you ask, giggling softly at his failed attempt. “Because I kept thinking about you,” he smiles, almost teasingly because he knows what you’re gonna say. “You’re so corny,” you scoff, smiling brightly, “why were you really distracted?” He shrugs, “I'm serious, I was thinking about you.” There's humor in his voice and his expression is rather playful. You roll your eyes, turning your head to face the sun again.

His eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in the softness of your face and admiring how your eyes look in the sunlight. A few thoughts from the past show up in his mind, like how upset you were when you found out he had to move back to Japan, or the sweet moments in high school when you went to all the school dances with him. You have always been a special person in his life and for so long, he feels rather grateful that you're back in his life as his lover rather than just a friend. He snakes a hand around your waist, turning you around so you're facing him and not the sun. Your back is pressed up against the edge again and he's standing in front of you, staring down into your eyes.

“You’re so warm,” he says softly, running his hands up your exposed torso. “I’ve been out here a while,” you respond, reaching up and resting your arms on his broad shoulders. “I can tell,” he hums, reaching up to cup your face with his large, wet hand. “You’re warm too,” you point out, tilting your head a bit so you can melt into his touch. He drops his hand, sneakily lifting you so he's carrying you. You wrap your legs around his waist, holding onto him as he backs up from the wall of the pool. He smiles, spinning you around slowly in the water. You close your eyes, throwing your head back and hanging off him a bit as he spins you.

There's a mischievous look in his eye, but it all goes away when you dip underwater. He surfaces you quickly, laughing at your surprised expression. “Oh you asshole,” you splash him with water, wetting his hair and face. “I couldn't miss the opportunity, sorry,” he lets go of you, protecting himself from your splashes. You give him your best angry expression, but it doesn't last long. You can't resist his charms, and that award-winning smile always makes you smile. He swims up to you, reaching out to grab you again and pulling you into his chest before you can get away. “I won't do it again, I promise,” he says, shaking his hair and sending water flying. “If you do, we're going to have problems,” you respond, pressing your hands into his chest.

His eyes glide over your face, his smile still plastered on his lips. He cups your face again, making you tilt your head upwards so he can have access to your lips. He tilts his head a little, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. You kiss him back almost immediately, sliding your hands over his shoulders as you have done before. The soft, pillowy feeling of his lips is enough to send you into a trance, parting your lips for him. Your heart rate spikes a little when you feel him pull you in tighter, his brows furrowing and what seems to have started off as an innocent kiss was now becoming something more euphoric and titillating. He tilts his head a little more, deepening the kiss with a quiet grunt before moving you back to the edge of the pool. Your back hits the smooth edge, the coolness of it suddenly more noticeable.

His grip on you tightens, his knee coming up to part your legs slowly before pressing into your clothed cunt. The sudden shift in demeanor, and movements, makes you gasp a little. He pulls away slowly, a new look in his lidded eyes. He leans down to kiss the line of your jaw and then your neck. “I haven't been able to give you much attention lately,” he says softly but sensually, “the attention you need and crave.” You tilt your head back just a little to give him more access to your neck. His breath is warm and it fans over your neck, the tickling sensation making goosebumps rise on your skin. His knee presses up against your cunt again, a little harder this time making you squeak in surprise. You lift a leg slightly, opening yourself up more.

Ken moves his hand down, further and further until stopping at the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms. He slips his lithe fingers underneath the fabric, inching closer and closer to your cunt. His lips find yours again in another aggressive, hungry kiss as if he's trying to devour you through the kiss alone. One of his fingers brushes over your sensitive clit, causing you to startle, and a sharp gasp erupts from your throat. The sound is like music to his ears, the noises you make are just perfect to him. You brace yourself, one hand on the edge of the pool, the other digging into his shoulder while he holds you still. He rubs agonizingly slow circles on your clit, drinking in your expressive behavior, soft moans starting to slide off your sinful tongue.

You were his weakness, just like he was yours. It was hard to resist him really, a struggle you’ve had since your younger years with him. In moments like these, it was even harder. The sun was still setting on the horizon, however only half of it was visible. The night sky started to pool in, blanketing the sky with specks of stars. He couldn't help himself, hearing your delightful and heavenly moans, he needed to hear more, to feel more. His fingers speed up, rubbing a little harder but oh so perfectly. You part from his lips with a rather pathetic gasp, your mouth staying slightly open as he continues to draw his fingers over your clit.

He leans in, mouth open against your soft neck, tasting, feeling, the area with his mouth. “I wanna memorize every part of your body,” he hums, breath ragged, “I wanna touch you everywhere, make you mine.” He blabbers, his words digging deep into your core, making you squeeze around nothing. He lifts his head to look at you now, bumping noses as he continues his movements against your clit. His eyes bore into yours, lovingly but lustful. You keep your eyes open, or at least try to. You can't help but close them every time a shock of pleasure rushes up your spine. “I wasn't lying when I told you,” his lips curl into a smug smile, “that I was thinking about you. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Ken,” you breathe, your moans melodic and messy. “You seem more sensitive than usual,” he points out a little teasingly. That warm tingling feeling starts to build up in your stomach, pleasure shooting up your spine as your climax starts to work its way out of you. Just as you're about to release, Mina’s voice sounds from behind Kenji causing both of you to stop.

“A phone call from your father, Ken,” she says monotone. Kenji sighs, looks back at Mina, and then back to you, his fingers still positioned on your clit. “Before you try to put it off, it's urgent,” Mina continued before Ken could even speak. He groans, clearly irritated, and then gives you an apologetic look. “I’ll be back,” he says, kissing your forehead before releasing you gently. Your body relaxes, and you catch your breath, watching him get out of the pool and follow Mina into the house. A sigh escapes your lips, irritated but otherwise calm. You decide to stay in the pool until the moon comes up.

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

#kenji sato smut #ken sato #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ultraman rising #⋆｡𖦹°‧Ukume!

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

Note

can u do r and lessi being in the gym together and less won’t stop teasing and annoying reader

i switched this around because it fit what i was going for better. hope you don’t mind !

The gym is air-conditioned within an inch of its life, but Alessia is still sweating. Proper athlete sweating, the kind where her cheeks are flushed and her hair’s falling out of its ponytail in damp little wisps. She’s in a matching navy-blue set that makes her look like she’s about to film an Adidas advert, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to help.

You’re sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat in the corner, sipping from a water bottle you don’t need because you’re not the one working out. You’re on holiday, after all. Alessia’s the lunatic who insisted she needed “just an hour” in the gym, despite the private beach literally shimmering outside.

“What exactly are you training for?” you ask, watching as she bends forward into some sort of stretch that’s objectively impressive but mostly just funny.

“Pre-season,” she says through gritted teeth, reaching for her toes. “Fitness doesn’t take a holiday”

“Oh, that’s inspiring.” You take another sip of water, just to make a point. “Maybe Adidas should use that. Fitness doesn’t take a holiday, but your girlfriend will”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” she asks, glaring at you from under her sweaty fringe.

“Not really. This is pretty entertaining”

She ignores you and moves to the weights section, picking up two dumbbells that look unnecessarily heavy. You watch as she starts a set of bicep curls, her form perfect, of course, because she’s Alessia Russo and nothing she does is ever less than perfect.

“Nice guns,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “Bet you could carry all the shopping in one trip”

“Do you want me to throw this at you?” she asks, but there’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much when I’m unconscious”

She rolls her eyes and moves to the resistance bands. She hooks one around her foot, stretches it, and starts some sort of kickback movement that you can’t take seriously because it looks absurd.

“Are you trying to win a world title or auditioning for the Rockettes?”

That one gets a laugh, though she tries to cover it with a cough.

“Seriously, Less, you’re on holiday,” you continue, leaning back on your hands. “Why are you torturing yourself in here when we could be doing literally anything else?”

“Because I don’t want to lose momentum,” she says, switching legs.

You tilt your head. “Is that what you call it? I call it masochism”

“Shut up”

“You know, I’m proud of you, babe. Really. But if you fall over in those squats, I’m recording it”

She pauses mid-rep to glare at you, and you grin innocently.

When she finally finishes her workout, she’s glistening like a Greek statue come to life. She tosses the resistance band onto a bench and strides over to you, towering above where you’re still sitting like a particularly lazy house cat.

“You done?” you ask sweetly, looking up at her.

“Yep,” she says, and without warning, she reaches down, grabs your hands, and hauls you to your feet in one swift motion.

“Alessia!” you yelp, stumbling into her chest.

She smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thought you could use a break , seeing as you’ve been sitting there running your mouth for the last hour.”

“I am pretty tired,” you quip, though your heart is pounding slightly from the sudden closeness. “Do you know how much effort it takes to keep up with you?”

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Come on, lazy. Let’s hit the beach”

“Finally,” you say, though you secretly think she looks ridiculously good in that gym kit and you might not mind her dragging you back here tomorrow.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso #woso x reader

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daydreaming-nerd · 8 months ago

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I’ll Crawl Home To Her (Azriel x Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be based off But Daddy I Love Him but it morphed into something else but I'm kinda happy about it.

Summary: The story of how the princess of Velaris and the shadowsinger came to be.

Warnings: blood, injury, dickhead dads, bit of smut but it's not too descriptive (It's for the plot), angst, fluffy ending.

Word count: 8053

As a princess I was told that “hate” is a very strong word. Consequently, there weren’t a lot of things that I hated. For example, I greatly disliked when my tea came with too much milk, and I absolutely despised corsets. But if there was one thing I hated, and I mean truly hated, it was my father.

If it wasn’t for the way he treated my mother and older brother then it would be the way he treated me. How he kept me from my beloved, my brother's best friend, the shadowsinger, my Azriel.

Azriel had been mine long before my father ever knew about it. When I grew to be 207 my mother finally convinced my father to let me go to Windhaven with her to visit Rhys. I hadn’t seen my brother in years, as he had begun training with the Illyrians.

He wrote me letters of course, detailing friends and enemies he made along the way. Two of which stood out to me, Cassian and Azriel. However these letters never made up for him in the flesh, which is why during my first trip to Windhaven I had never been so excited. To this day I still remember it…

The winter wind stung my cheeks as snow clung to the furs of my cloak. It was as if no matter how many layers I wore the wind found its way to barrel through and nip at my skin.

I found myself walking along the edge of the camp, where the light of the fires couldn't reach me and only the moon gave me the ability to see. When my mother and I arrived at the little cabin Rhys was not there, after speaking to Devlon we found he was on assignment and would be home soon.

After a few hours in the cabin I began to feel claustrophobic, so I took a walk around the heavily wooded area. There was something magic about the first snow of the season. The way the snow covered the ground and crunched under my boots. White capped trees that looked like they were frosted by the gods, and the still silence that came from the insulation the blanket of white provided.

“It’s a little cold out don’t you-” a voice crooned behind me and stopped abruptly as I turned to face him.

Standing frozen just a few feet from me was an Illyrian male with his mouth agape at the sight of me. He was large, his wings the biggest I had ever seen. Inky black hair framed his carved face as his hazel eyes frozen in shock as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head a bit, as if to clear the fog from his mind. “It’s just that I don’t see many beautiful things up here, you startled me.”

My cheeks flush and I pray he thinks it's from the cold and not the butterflies in my stomach.

“I find that hard to believe when this is your view,” I smile, gesturing to the snow valley below us. “There’s nothing more beautiful than the first snowfall of the year.”

Footsteps crunch behind me as he comes up on my right, “Perhaps, but it pales in comparison to you,” he smirks and this time I know he can tell he’s the reason my cheeks are pink. “Might I have the honor of knowing your name?”

I turn to meet his gaze once more but before I can answer back I hear a shout coming from far away.

“Y/N!” my brother shouts charging towards me.

“Rhys!” I call back running into his embrace.

He lets out a groan as I leap into his arms, a pile of furs and wool as I pull him into me. The scent of sea salt and citrus filling my nose, the warmth of him seeping through my clothes.

“Ahh little sister I’ve missed you,” Rhys says, setting me down to get a good look at me.

“Little sister?” called the male behind me, his snow crunching footsteps coming towards Rhysand and I’s side.

“It seems you’ve already met her, this is my little sister, y/n.”Rhys beams, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Y/n this is my very good friend, Azriel.”

“Azriel,” I blink, holding out my hand for the shadowsinger to shake. How had I not realized? Rhysand’s letters spoke of his shadowsinger friend, now that I looked at him, and I mean really looked at him, I could see the dark matter swirling around him.

“Princess,” he says, bowing his head and pressing a kiss to my hand. “It is an honor to meet you. You’ll have to forgive my previous informality, I didn’t know who you were.”

Rhysand let out a hearty laugh behind me, “Azriel my friend there is no need for such formalities, in fact my sister detests them.” he smiles.

“It’s true, you can just call me y/n, I’m sure that we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the years to come.” I smile hoping I was speaking the truth into existence.

“Come, mother has made dinner for all of us and you have yet to meet Cassian,” Rhys said enthusiastically, throwing an arm over my shoulder.

From that day forward I found myself spending more and more time at Windhaven, in hopes of seeing Azriel. Sometimes I would see him for only a minute or so, other times he would be able to stay and have dinner with my mother, myself and of course Rhys and Cass.

Those were always my favorite nights when he and I would share stolen glances across the table. Sometimes we might brush hands reaching for the carafe of wine, other times I would feel his boot brush my ankle under the table. Both of us danced around the other like flickering flames.

It wasn’t until a few years later when all three of them conquered the blood rite that Azriel and I were finally able to admit our feelings for one another…

We stood behind one of the many rows of cabins, the sound of laughing warriors celebrating their victories or mourning their losses ran through the camp. Before he even spoke I knew why he asked me to meet him back here, I could feel the tension between us both.

“I’m tired of acting like I don’t care about you. I’m tired of saying “nothing” whenever Rhys and Cassian ask me what’s on my mind. I’m tired of trying to hide that everytime I come back to camp that I’m looking for you and hoping I can see you for just one second. I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you,” Azriel confesses, caging me against the back wall of a cabin.

“Azriel I-” I begin but he cuts me off.

“When we were on the mountain, there was a moment where there was a dagger to my throat and I thought I was going to die. I thought I would leave this world without telling you how much I loved you. If it wasn’t for Cassian that would’ve been the case. I won’t make the same mistakes twice,” he finished.

“Azriel, I love you too,” I shuddered a sigh, aware of how close he was to me.

The second the words left my mouth he was on me, large hands encircling my waist as I felt every inch of his body pressed against mine. His breath was hot on my face, contrasting the bitter cold of the night air.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed, lips mere inches from mine.

“Please,” I begged, but once again the word hung in the air for mere seconds before his mouth was on mine.

Every part of it felt so right. His hands on my waist, my fingers in his hair, his lips on mine claiming me in a way that made my head spin. My arms pulled him as close as possible, needing to feel him, smell that scent of rain, leather and whatever intoxicating cologne he was wearing. I was so drunk on him that I was shaken when I heard a hearty laugh ring out through the camp.

I pulled back immediately realizing what was happening, “Oh my gods, we can’t do this here, my brother he-”

“Shhh, shhh,” he cooed, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. “I talked to Rhys about it, I have his blessing to court you. He took it rather well, he actually seemed excited.” Azriel laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he held me closer, his body blocking the wind from seeping into my clothes.

“Oh Azriel,” I smile, kissing him hard as I feel him lifting me into the air, my head spinning just as fast as he spun me.

We spent the rest of that night lying on a blanket in a field away from the world. The sound of distant celebrations making us laugh every now and then. At some point I could’ve sworn I heard Cassian singing a tale of an old drunk warrior.

I had tried to tell Azriel that he should join his brothers in their celebration but he insisted that he would much rather spend his few moments of peace with me. It was one of the best nights of my life.

Our relationship was kept secret from everyone but Rhys and Cassian. Even my mother, who always accompanied me to Windhaven, was kept in the dark. No one with close ties to my father could know. That being said, it was hard for Azriel and I to find quiet moments together.

Most of the time we met in the woods behind camp. Azriel would go away and bring me little trinkets, pretty rocks and feathers he found while in the mountains. In the spring he always came with a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers. We always ended up making out and getting carried away, on more than one occasion I tried to take things further but he never let me.

“I won’t have the first time I bed you in the woods. You’re a princess, you deserve a soft bed to be worshiped on.”

Was what he always said to me. While I appreciated the sentiment, I couldn’t help but wish for more.

It wasn’t until a few months later that I finally saw an opening. Father and mother were going to be at a meeting in the Winter Court, leaving Velaris in the care of Rhys. More importantly the cabin at Windhaven would be empty. That night was truly the best night of my life.

My back hits the warm sheets below me as Azriel looks at my bare body with hungry eyes. I had never been with a male before, my father and mother dead set on having me intact for whatever husband they shackled me to. But Azriel would be my husband, even if he wasn’t noble or the son of a High Lord he was mine, and I was his. I didn’t care how many rules I had to break to have him.

“My beautiful, beautiful princess,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my neck.

His hands wander the expanse of my bare skin, both warming and leaving goosebumps wherever they trail. I arch my back into him, needing more, needing the very essence of him branded into me.

“Azriel I need more,” I breathe tugging on the ends of his hair.

He had already stripped me bare and kissed every square inch of me before falling to his knees and feasting on me like I was his last meal. I had read about such sinful touches before, dreamt about experiencing those sensations with him at night. None of it compared to the real thing.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks me once more, brushing the hair from my face.

“I’m sure, I want it to be you,” I nod running my hands through his hair again.

The wild twinkle in his eyes was enough to make my toes curl as he smiled at me, “I promise to be gentle, to make you feel good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“I trust you Az,” I nod and his lips kick up again at his nickname.

I feel him nudge and my entrance and my breath hitches as he inches himself inside. The stretch was painful, but the sting faded as he peppered kisses all over my face, whispering sweet nothings to me.

“Shh you’re doing so well princess…”

“You’re so beautiful…”

“Can you feel me? Can you feel us?”

“I love you…”

I must’ve seen stars a million times that night. His gentle nature only made me fall deeper in love with him. It wasn’t the brutal fucking I had heard about in taverns and from drunk men at balls. He had taken his time, and been even more gentle than he had promised me.

We made love a dozen times that night. Kissed and touched and worshiped until I fell asleep, bathed and warm in his arms.

The next morning was hard to face. Knowing we had to leave the cabin and act as if we didn’t spend the entire night exchanging souls, and tangled in eachothers arms.

Az especially was on edge, so much so that when a younger male offered to tie my boot for me Azriel marched over and pushed him into the mud before pulling my foot onto his bent knee and tying it himself.

Of course I yelled at him for being an Illyrian baby while Rhys and Cassian laughed and poked fun at their friend. Azriel just huffed and shot a warning glance at the poor male who had tried to tie my boot.

From there on out we spent every possible moment together. I would tell my father that I was visiting friends in other courts just so I could see Azriel, which wasn’t often. As the war between humans and fae grew more iminanent I saw less and less of the shadowsinger. Our meetings became more fervent, and well…passionate. We became careless and it’s what ended up tearing him away from me for good.

My back was pressed against the cabin wall, my hands pinned by my head as Azriel’s lips consumed mine. We had no longer than an hour together before he would be set back to scout for Hybern’s troops, but we intended to make the most of it.

“I missed you,” he breathed into my neck.

“I missed you too, two weeks is too long,” I murmured, breathing in his scent. He always left me one of his many shirts to sleep in but it never did compare to the real thing.

“I don’t have much time, they’re sending me to the border to scout for Hybern’s troops,” he says in between kisses.

Scarred hands drift over my waist and graze my bum as I feel him collecting fist fulls of my skirt. Before my dress can be pushed up much further than my knees the door to the cabin barges open, startling both of us. Azriel placed his hand on one of the daggers strapped to his side, but not even he could defend me from who stepped through the threshold.

“What the hells is going on here?” My father’s voice boomed from the doorway, the cold air from outside seeping into the place that was once our own.

I peek out from behind Azriel’s shoulder to find not only my father but Lord Devlon standing before us. My fathers eyes locked on mine, and white hot fear seared my nerves.

“What are you doing with my daughter?!” My father roared, his power slamming Azriel aside.

“Father no!” I scream, clinging to his arm to interrupt his antics.

Devlon screamed for backup to come as Azriel’s feet hit the floor again. The commotion outside beginning to stir.

“My lord, I-” Azriel starts to explain but my father cuts him off.

“You will not speak unless spoken to, you bastard born brute!” my father screams as Devlon’s men come to detain the Shadowsinger.

“Father stop it! He didn’t take advantage of me, we’ve been seeing each other.” I plead with my father as tears start to well up in my eyes.

“What?!” he scoffed, looking at me like I was a common whore. “You are promised to one of the sons of Spring and yet you soil yourself with filth of his kind?”

“He’s not filth. He’s Rhys’ friend, and he’s good, brave and kind.” I beseech him as I hear Azriel struggle against the men who have him bound.

My father takes a deep breath and turns his gaze from me. The sound of his boots crossing the wooden floors to stand before Azriel are the loudest most impending sound I had ever heard. He stands before my shadowsinger before raising his hand and letting his fist collide with that beautiful face I had spent so long kissing.

My gasp reverberates through the room but Azriel doesn’t make a sound, as if he’s challenging my father, or proving his worth.

“What should we do with him?” my father asks, not taking his eyes off Az.

“The boy has completed the rite, we can send him to one of the battalions on the border. Perhaps the trash will take itself out,” Devlon laughs. I had known that the Lord had a chip on his shoulder for my brother and his friends. But sending him to the slaughter?

“Father please I love him!” I cry falling to my knees before my father, grasping his hand. I would never beg my father for anything, never fall to my knees for anyone. But for this I would… for Azriel, I would die on my knees.

Despite my pleading my fathers gaze never falters from where it is fixed on Azriel. As if he’s trying to decide if he should slit his throat now or let him die on a battlefield. Azriel’s face remains steadfast and strong, showing no signs of weakness, like he will accept whatever punishment befalls him with the grace of a warrior.

“Send him,” he says resolutely before turning away.

“NO PLEASE!” I beseech as my father hauls me to my feets again, but my knees are giving out under me.

“It is done,” his gruff voice says in my ear as I watch them haul Azriel to his feet. “One day you’ll thank me.”

I watch as they pull Azriel toward the door. Dragging him unnecessarily letting his wings drape across the ground. It was all happening so fast and could be the last time I ever saw his face.

“Let me say goodbye! Please let me say goodbye!” I shouted thrashing in my fathers grasp. Needing to touch Az one last time, needing one more moment with him.

Azriel’s eyes were frantic as he heard my screams, as he watched my father use his strength to detain me.

“Listen! Listen!” he called trying to get me to stop my frantic blubbering, the guards pulling him out the door. “You have to be strong princess. I love you , and I will find you again, if not in this life than in the next!” he shouts as he is hauled past the threshold of the cabin.

“Azriel!” I scream, my voice cracking under the weight of my tears.

“I love you!” he shouts again from the outside of the cabin.

“I love you!” I call back to him, not knowing if I’ll ever get another chance to say it.

That was six months ago...

Since then the war had gotten more and more bloody, and unavoidable. As far as I knew Azriel was still alive. I hadn’t seen him since the night he was ripped from my arms, a night I often had nightmares about. I sent him letters whenever possible and every so often I would get one back.

I could tell he had tried to send more, as every date on the ones that did make it through were skewed. The most recent one, dated two months ago, burned a hole in the pocket of my dress. The folds were so worn from reading that I feared they may fall apart the next time I opened it.

My love,

I am alive and well, though my battalion has suffered great losses. More and more Illyrians are sent to the frontlines every day to take the place of the dead. There are times I wonder if a wide eyed recruit will ever take my place…

At night I lie in bed and dream of you lying next to me, your warmth. Or the way your hair looks sprawled in swirling over the green grass when you’re under me. The sound of your voice calling my attention. The softness of your hands. The night you came undone for me in the cabin.

My only consolation is that when I look up at the night sky. I know you are looking at those same stars. And if what I’m doing is keeping you safe. Keeping you fed and swathed in those blue silks that drive me crazy. Then I will sleep in this tent and fight alongside my peers happily. My love is safe and warm because of me.

I love you, and I will return to you.

Yours eternally,

Azriel

I fold the tattered parchment with gloved hands and tuck it securely into the pocket of my dress. The shouts of men and the clash of swords outside my tent drown out the peace I had struggled to preserve.

Hybern’s army had marched on Velaris and while the border hadn’t been breached, my father decided it was unsafe to leave my mother and I there. My mother was sent to a camp with my father where he would watch over her, I was sent to Rhys’ camp.

The flap of the tent is thrown open, my brother charges in wearing his leathers, his hair disheveled and a letter in hand.

“What is it?” I stand upon seeing the worry gracing his face.

Armies had been marching upon another camp a few miles away. If they had breached the encampment that would mean they were coming for us next. We would have just minutes to evacuate and find a safe place.

“The men were able to hold the front lines,” he says, setting down his swords with a sigh that told me that there was still news to be revealed.

“Then what is it?” I asked quietly, unsure of whether or not I wanted to know the truth he had to say.

Violet eyes met my own, in them, a sorrow and worry I had not yet seen from my brother, “It’s Azriel.” he said.

My heart stopped and my world quieted as I perched myself on a nearby chair, not trusting my legs to keep me upright. Not when my heart lay in the balance, the very reason I was alive.

“He was injured, severely. He may be dying y/n.” he said sadly, coming to stand before me.

May be dying. Which meant he was alive, which meant there was still a chance.

My head snaps up to him, a new fire in my gaze that no one had seen in six months.

“Take me to him,” I ordered my brother as I stood to collect my cloak.

“You’re asking me to take you, my sister, to the front lines. I won’t do it.” Rhys shakes his head.

“I am going with or without you Rhys,” I say firmly, wrapping my cloak around my shoulders.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before picking his swords up again and strapping them to his sides. With my hood over my head and my brother's hand at my back we made our way out into the night. Once we reached the wards at the edge of the camp we winnowed to the encampment near the frontlines.

Immediately as we walked through the rows of tents and campfires I could tell that these males had seen hell. All of them looked significantly worse than the males at the camp we had just come from. Most of them were caked in mud and blood, some were drunk on whatever filled their cups. All of them were loud and rowdy and most likely celebrating their last nights in this life.

Rhys led me through the camp, until we arrived at a lonely tent in the center. It was large and from the outside I could practically smell Azriel. I bolted for the entrance and threw open the flaps, my heart racing, unsure if I would find him alive or dead.

But there he was, breathing. Leaning against the back of his bed with a large bandage over his left thigh. He was awake and refreshingly himself, as if nothing was truly wrong and most importantly he was alive.

I run to him throwing my arms around his neck, “Oh Azriel,” I coo breathing him in.

“Y/n?” he says, his mind clearly still foggy.

I pull back to cup his face, whoever had healed him has cleaned him up, the small cut above his eyebrow already starting to heal, “Az,” I breathe.

His hand comes to cup my face, “How are you here? This can’t be real,” his eyes search my face as if to try and wake up from a dream.

I place a kiss on his lips, “I’m real, I’m here,” I assure him as tears spill from my eyes. “They told me you were dying.”

“I am well, it was a deep cut but the healers say I’ll be okay,” he assures me as his eyes continue to take me in.

I let my eyes do the same, taking in every cut and bruise on him, even the patched holes in his wings no doubt from arrows piercing the beautiful, leathery flesh.

“Faebane?” Rhys’ voice croons from the entrance of the tent as he watches us, it seemed that his nerves were also settled upon seeing Azriel well.

“Yep,” Azriel said nonchalantly, but his eyes told the truth of how happy he was to see my brother, or maybe how relieved.

“Hurts like a bitch doesn’t it?” Rhys chuckles stepping into the tent and closing the flap.

My eyes widened at his causal tone, “How can you both be so docile about this? He could’ve died.” I exclaim, looking Azriel over once more in case I missed any lingering wounds.

Azriel's chest rumbles with a chuckle, “Shhh my love. Everything will be alright.” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But what are you doing here? It isn’t safe.”

“The border of Velaris is almost breached,” Rhys started from behind me. “We couldn’t leave her and my mother there, it wasn’t safe.”

“Mother is with father and I’m with Rhys. We found out you were injured and just a camp away and I asked him to take me to you.” I continue Rhys’ explanation.

Azriel cuts Rhys a somewhat harsh look as if to say ‘why the hell would you take her somewhere so dangerous?’

“You needed to see each other,” Rhys explains further. “If anything were to happen to you and I didn’t let you two say goodbye, I would never forgive myself.”

Azriel’s shoulders softened in understanding before turning to me once more, “You have to go princess,” he said, eyes full of sorrow.

My breath hitches as I stumble back a little from where I sit next to him, “What? No, I won’t leave you,” I say resolutely.

He cups the side of my face, “Please it’s not safe here,” he eyes pleading as his voice falters.

I go to argue but Rhys speaks up behind me, “He’s right y/n, It’s the most vulnerable camp we have.” my brother says, his words solemn.

“I don’t care!” I exclaim turning back to brush Azriel’s hair from his face. “I’m not leaving him Rhys, we will be okay.”

Azriel’s eyes flare, “Look at me!” he shouts gesturing to his leg. “I can’t protect you here,” his voice is laced with frustration, not at my unwillingness to leave, but his inability to do the one thing he swore to always do, protect me.

“Then I’ll die here with you!” I proclaim, fiercely. “If you cannot protect me, then you cannot protect yourself. Please Azriel, please don’t make me leave.” I cry lying down on his chest, gripping the leathers there, as if it might keep my brother from ripping me away.

“I can’t,” I sob as my words get caught in my throat. “I can’t lose you again I-”

“Shhh,” Azriel coos, his hand stroking my hair as he pulls me into his chest. “You’ll stay here in my arms.” he assures me and I’m finally able to relax into his touch.

“Y/n, I can’t stay here. I need to go back to my own troops and prepare them for tomorrow,” my brother said softly, not trying to persuade me to return, but to inform me of the increasing danger.

“I understand,” I say standing to say goodbye.

“I’ll come back for you tomorrow morning, before the troops march,” he said, his words tinged with sorrow.

I take in the sight of my brother looking defeated, a look I so rarely saw on him. It broke me to realize I might never see him after this. If the enemy marched on this camp there would be no one to keep Azriel and I from the slaughter given his injury.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I threw myself onto my beloved brother.

Rhys said his goodbyes to Azriel, both of them not wanting to get too deep, say too much, for fear of manifesting defeat on both sides. When my brother exited the tent I took my spot next to Azriel on his large cot and waited for either death or the sunrise.

Later in the night, the raucous from outside got louder and louder disturbing my sleep. When I raised my head from Azriel’s chest I found that his eyes remained open and fixed on the tent entrance, like he was ready to challenge anyone who dared to walk through despite his inability to walk.

“Hey,” I smiled weakly, my voice shaky from sleep.

“Hey,” he smiled back, pushing a hair from my face.

I moved back the blanket to check the gash in his thigh. Lifting the white bandage, I could see that it was almost completely soaked through, if I left it that way he would never get better.

I throw my legs over the edge of the cot and search for my discarded cloak, “You need fresh bandages or you’ll get an infection. I’m going to go get you some.”

“Y/n don’t you dare leave this tent. There are war bound men out there looking for one last lay before they leave this world,” he pleads, reaching for my hand that’s just out of reach.

“I’ll only be a moment Az,” I assure him before raising my hood and slipping out of the tent.

I can hear him shouting my name as I exit, but his protests are quickly drowned out by the sound of drunken men. Azriel was right, these men were drunk and not in their right mind. But if that wound got infected and he died I would never forgive myself. So I kept my head down walking towards the medic tent I passed on my way in, ignoring rambunctious cheers and stumbling men.

The light of the medic tent comes into view and relief washes over me swiftly before the rug is pulled out from under me and I run smack into a broad chest.

“Well what do we have here?” laughs a drunken male. I can smell the sweat and alcohol on him.

“Looks like we have a little birdy who lost her way,” laughs a male from my right.

My feet take two steps back before bumping into another mountain of a male. His hand comes up to rip the hood off my head, if all three of them recognized me as their princess they didn’t show it. My pulse began to race as I frantically looked for a way out of this hell.

“What’s a beauty like you doing out here?” crooned the male behind me.

I put on a stoic face, “I’m leaving if you’ll excuse me,” I state, but before I can even take my first step I feel large hands grasping my shoulders holding me in place.

“Whoever bought you for the night must’ve paid a pretty penny,” jested the man to my right.

“What do ya say darlin? Are you gonna give these brave men a proper send off?” the man behind me says low into my ear as he grabs me around the middle, plucking me off the ground.

I start kicking trying to break free, my screamed muffled by his hand over my mouth. All the trashing in the world wasn’t enough to break their hold as the other two males descended upon me, as if they were willing to take me right there in the middle of camp.

“I’ll thank you to take your hands off my princess,” drawled a voice from behind me.

The eyes of the three men surrounding me went wide at whatever figure stood behind us, all three of them scurrying off to gods knew where. I turn slowly to face whoever my rescuer was, and I’m met with a mountain of sheer muscle and bright red siphons.

“Cassian!” I cried running to throw my arms around the burly warrior, I hadn’t seen him in over a year.

He hugs me tighter, the kind of bear hug only he could provide. It was clear to me that he missed me just as much as I had missed him. When he releases me he bends down to cup my face, and wipe away the tears I didn’t know had fallen.

“Princess, what are you doing here? Where is your brother?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Rhys brought me here but he’s gone now, he’s gone back to his own camp but he’ll be back tomorrow,” I say as Cassian continues to wipe away the fresh tears, this time tears of happiness and not fear.

Cassain stands up as if to assess for danger before tossing an arm around me, “Stay with me, I’ll keep you safe. Where is Azriel? I was told he was injured,” he asks, remaining vigilant.

“He’s okay, I was just getting him fresh bandages,” I report, pointing Cassian towards the medic tent.

“He let you leave his tent?!” he balks corralling me inside the tent.

“Uh, no. Not really,” I laugh nervously.

He rolls his eyes and grabs a few armfuls of bandages before shoving them into my arms. We weave through drunken men who do a good job of staying at least three feet away from me, no doubt seeing The Lord of Bloodshed trailing me.

I throw open the flap of Azriel’s tent, running to his side at once.

“Oh thank the mother,” he sighs in relief upon seeing me.

I laugh at his fussing and begin dressing his wound, “Look who I found,” I say nodding my head to where Cassian stands behind me.

“I believe I found you,” Cassian corrects me, sheer amusement in his voice.

“Cass!” Azriel beams as his brother gives him an affectionate smack on the shoulder.

“Brother you look a little worse for wear,” Cassian chuckles looking at the wound I was currently cleaning.

“I’ve been better,” Azriel winces as I wrap the wound in a clean bandage.

“I heard what happened and came as soon as I could. Ran right into your princess here, causing trouble as usual,” the warrior chortles beside me making me roll my eyes.

“What?” Azriel asked, more alert than he previously was.

“You were right, the men out there are assholes,” I scoff, tying off the fresh bandage.

“Did they touch you?” he inquired, his eyes ablaze.

“Az it’s fine Cass was there,” I assure him placing a hand on his shoulder feeling the palpable tension there, like he was ready to pounce.

“Y/n did they put their hands on you?” he asks again, this time more unyielding than before.

“Yes but look at me, I'm fine!” I say with an exasperated sigh.

Azriel’s eyes flit to Cassian as he extends his hand to his brother, like he needs support.

“Cassian help me up,” he orders, already scooting to the edge of the cot.

“Azriel don’t you dare!” I shout smacking his chest. “Enough with the territorial, Illyrian nonsense! You’re injured, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

The shadowsingers body slumps back into bed in defeat with a huff, clearly upset he couldn’t pummel the shit out of a couple of lowly males who weren’t worth it in the first place.

Cassian’s chuckle reverberated through the tent, “Good to see you two picking up right where you left off,” he joked, remembering all the times we had similar quarrels.

It was the early hours of morning, and while the sun was still hiding behind the mountains, it would be rearing its ugly head soon enough. The partying and cheering from outside the tent had died down. Men either passing out drunk or choosing sleep over thoughts of what might happen tomorrow.

Cassian snored softly in the corner of the tent in the chair he took up. He had elected to stay behind and watch over us at Azriel’s request and I was smart enough to not argue with two Illyrians.

I layed on Azriel’s chest, waiting for sleep to claim me but it never came. Sleep didn’t find Azriel as well, his hand twirling through the strands of my unbound hair as we sat in silence.

“You know what kept me alive out there on that battlefield after I was injured?” Azriel whispered into the night.

“A healer that I’ll be paying a very handsome bonus to?” I laugh squeezing my arms around him a bit.

“No, you” he said seriously rubbing my shoulder

“Me?” I gawk, sitting up so I could look him in the eye.

“Yes, you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “When I was downed they thought I was dead. Horses and men clamored over me. It was all so loud, such a blur but then I closed my eyes and there you were.” he said looking at the canopy of the tent, as if remembering the event.

“It was a memory from the first time I saw you, before I even knew who you were. You were standing in the snow waiting for Rhys and your mother and there was snow all over your hair. It was the first snow of the year and you were entranced just like you always are.” He chuckles, pulling me closer. “But I knew then and there that I had to open my eyes. Had to get up. Even if it was just to see your face one more time, kiss your lips, tell you I love you. I woke up in this tent reeling from it. I could’ve sworn you were here, in the vision I felt your touch. And then hours later you storm in here with your fussing and worrying.” he says.

I feel a tear roll down my face as I cup his face, pulling his gaze from the canopy to me. I pulled his letter out of my dress pocket, the paper flopping about from how many times it had been folded and unfolded.

“I kept this letter with me every single day. I must’ve read it a hundred times, hells I might even have it memorized.” I laugh, shaking the paper in my hands. “I never once gave up hope that I would see you again. No matter what happens after tonight I still won’t give up hope. I know I’ll find you again.”

Azriel chuckles, pressing his forehead to mine, “I’d crawl home to you if I had to princess,” he says resolutely.

I wake the next morning to the sound of men moving about outside the tent and an empty cot. The covers before me are still disheveled from where Azriel slipped out from under me. I threw the blankets off the bed and pulled my cloak from where I set it last night, fastening it to my shoulders.

When I toss open the flaps of the tent I’m momentarily blinded by the bright sun before the sight of men collecting their weapons and armor come into focus. My eyes darted frantically for a trace of Azriel, surely he couldn’t have gone far, surely he wasn’t going to fight today.

“Azriel!” I call out roaming around looking for a flash of a blue siphon.

Heavy footsteps come up behind me grabbing my arm and I turn around to be met with Cassian. I looked back to the tent and realized he had been keeping watch outside.

“Cass, where is he?” I ask him, but all I’m met with is a heavy gaze from Cassian.

“Y/n?” calls a voice from behind me and I turn to see my father, mother and brother walking towards us.

My mother runs over to me taking me into her arms and holding me close. It was clear to me that they had found Rhys and instantly questioned why I wasn’t under his care.

“Thank the gods,” my mother breathed taking in my unharmed appearance.

“You smell like that Illyrian brute,” my father sneered and I knew right away he ment Azriel.

“He could have been dying,” I reply with equal venom, my gaze narrowing at the man who went through such great lengths to keep us apart.

“Of course, why do you think I sent him to the frontlines again today?” he scoffed, already turning his attention to the hordes of men preparing for battle.

My blood turned to ice in my veins and my heart plummeted.

“What?” I cried looking at Rhys who wore a solemn look on his face. “Rhys, you knew?”

My brother lets out a shaky breath, “I knew before we even arrived last night. When he tried to get you to leave I used daemati to tell him he was being sent to the front lines. He knew it would be the last time he ever saw you.” he confessed.

He knew.

Haste clouds my mind and I turn to run in the same direction with the rest of the men, my father and brother joining their ranks without another word. My mother catches me around the shoulders and pulls me into her embrace as my knees hit the muddy ground beneath us.

“No, no, no, no no!” I scream trying to run to the front, as if I could keep Azriel from death myself.

“The battle is not yet over sweetheart, he may still live,” My mother coos stroking my hair.

“He was injured mother,” my words come out as sobs as I cling to her cloak.

“Have faith,” she pleads, kneeling on the ground with me, trying to calm me as best she can.

“Azriel,” I cry. “My Azriel.”

I give into my mothers embrace and after a while she ushers me toward a tent. She wipes my face with a cool towel trying to calm my swollen eyes, but it’s no use. Every war cry, and ear rupturing blast feels like the one that takes Azriel’s life. Each one sends me back into a mess of shallow breaths and tears.

Only when the battle cries fade, and the blasts of siphons and raw power cease do my tears stop. Soldiers and Illyrains come filtering back to the camp, some whole, some being carried by their peers. My brother and Cassain are the first to find us. Rhys was unharmed, but Cassian was wheeled to a healer immediately. Thankfully, she claimed he would be alright.

I took to the masses, weaving through men making their way back occasionally running into some as my eyes were focused on the skies. Searching amongst the hordes of Illyrians flying in. If Azriel was anywhere it would be there.

“Azriel!” I shouted, my voice going hoarse from the screaming I had been doing.

More and more Illyrians fly overhead, not one of them resembling my Azriel. If he was amongst them he would see me standing out like a sore thumb amongst the rabble, going against the grain of everyone before me.

“AZRIEL!” I call out even louder, cupping my hands around my mouth as if it will help.

“Y/N!”

I hear my voice being called, not from the skies, but from the ground. My eyes snap to the crowds before me before I see a pair of wings over the top of a million heads.

“AZRIEL?!” I call out moving in the direction of the voice that called to me.

Then I see him, my Azriel. The wound on his leg is split open and his wings are pierced with a dozen arrows which explains his inability to fly. But he’s there, and he’s whole, and alive.

“Y/n!” he calls out to me again.

I pick up the skirts of my dress running to him, my shoulders bumping into all the men I weave around. I jump into his arms feeling him pick me up, pulling me impossibly close.

“Oh Az,” I breathe running a hand through his hair as my feet hit the ground again, his eyes assessing me for any injury. “My love, I thought I would never see you again,” I cried.

His thumbs wipe away my tears as he cups my face, “Death, nor a thousand evil men could keep me from you,” he smiled before pulling me into his chest.

As we hold each other, the chaos around us fades into the background. For a moment, time stands still, and all that matters is that we are together. He was here, in my arms and he was alive. Both of us were, and there were many more years ahead of us. Many, many more years.

Epilogue: third person pov

Rhysand and Feyre stood in the living room of the townhouse. The world outside was near silent as Velaris slept, having spent the day celebrating solstice. Even the faelights in the home seemed to have dimmed. Members of the Inner Circle worked to clean the dessert plates off the table where they had their magnificent feast.

“And that’s their story,” Rhys finished saying to his mate, rubbing her shoulder as they continued to admire the scene before them.

On the large couch before them y/n was asleep on top of an even sleepier Azriel, his arms, legs and wings all but draping off the edges just to keep her comfortable.

When Feyre stumbled into the adorable scene it had occurred to her that she had never heard the story of how the two came to be. Rhysand was more than happy to tell her the tale of forbidden love and near death experiences.

“They’ve been through so much,” Feyre said, leaning into Rhysand’s touch.

“They truly have,” Rhys nods, pressing a kiss to his mate's temple. “But now they get to eat too much turkey every solstice and skip out on dish duty so I think it worked out okay.” he chuckles.

Feyre slaps him on the chest playfully but laughs right along with them watching as the pair lounges on the couch, mouths open and completely and utterly relaxed. The High Lord and Lady turn from the living room to rejoin the rest of their family in the kitchen. There would be time to make fun of the princess and the shadowsinger tomorrow.

They had all the time in the world.

my masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202 , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark , @cheneyq

Taglist: @andreperez11

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel s #azriel smut #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader fluff #azriel x reader smut

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yeetmyboi · 2 months ago

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Surviving the Holidays

a/n : MDNI. festive lights banner by @/strangergraphics. MDNI and support banners by @/cafekitsune. simonxreader, relationship est. reader is said to be female and bit of a bigger gal. just some fluff for this holiday season. this is for my fellow retail workers who are just trying to get through this festive hellscape and make it out to the other side.

— — —

You stumble home. Feet and back aching after yet another long shift. All these doubles might kill you. Between the holidays and everyone calling in sick, you’ve been running yourself ragged. It makes you bet on which one might get you first, work or the nasty flu that’s going around. At least you’ve managed to miss any icy patches climbing up the apartment’s steps tonight. Take the wins where you can get ‘em.

Sliding the key into the lock, you hurry and slip inside before the cold can sneak in. A shiver rattles your bones as you shrug off your jacket. One by one your winter layers fall away—hat, scarf, gloves, boots—all returning to their designated homes till they’re needed again. You shed your winter gear like a snake sheds its skin, only you don’t have a heat lamp to sun under after.

Despite the deep chill that still resides in your bones, the warmth you feel from knowing you’re not alone is enough to thaw you out.

Simon’s home.

Muffled noises come from the tv, filling the otherwise silent flat. The smell of something cooking hits your nose, making your tummy grumble. All signs that you’re not alone. It’s enough to bring a tired smile to your face.

Your socked feet shuffle as you make your way to the living room. The sight before you fills you with a warmth that can only come from the word ‘home’.

Simon sits there on the couch, lounging on his back, reading a book that looks as worn down as you feel. He glances over his readers as he greets you, “Welcome home, lovie.”

Like a weary soldier returning home, you make your way over to him without a word. Swinging your leg over his hips, you straddle him and lean forward, crawling up under his arms. Usually you’re conscious of how much you put your weight on him, but that seems to have floated out of your head the moment you saw him. All you can think about is burying your face into his soft pecs.

So you do. Nuzzling into the softness much like a cat, rubbing its cheek against its favorite person—purring and eager for more contact.

His chest bounces gently as he laughs at you, amusement and fondness clear in the teasing tone he takes. “Missed me that much, did ‘cha?”

You still don’t answer. Just a pleased hum from your throat as you continue to rub against his chest. Absorbing his presence and scent, letting it ebb away the stress that’s been heavy on your shoulders all day.

Simon slowly wraps his arms around you, already knowing what you need. He squeezes you, nice and firm, letting the pressure ground you. Not letting go until you start to squirm. Another chuckle and his arms slowly fall away, a hand coming to mindlessly run up and down your back.

“Made a stew tonight. Somethin’ to warm ye up,” he states.

You acknowledge his comment with a content sigh, nodding with your head still firmly on his chest. A small voice in the back of your head tells you that this is probably his way of politely asking you to get off.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to crush you. I just really needed…that.” You mumble, already pulling away.

“‘M not broken, love. In fact, ye make a lovely blanket.” He says as he wraps his arms around you once more, pulling you back and squeezing tightly. “Might ‘ave to keep ya here. Supposed’a be chilly t’noght.”

“Nooo, Si!” You squeal with surprised delight, pushing against his hold with both hands.

“Sorry, lovie. Looks like you’re not goin’ anywhere.” He gleams with delight at your pretend struggle. “Ye wouldn’t let me freeze, would ya?”

A thought pops into your head, and without much consideration for the consequences, you act on it. Your teeth teasingly nip at his soft pec, hitting his nipple with precision.

“Oi!” He jolts at the contact, sending the abandoned book tumbling to the floor. “Blankets don’ bite!” The bark in his voice is a playful one, like yips from an older dog trying to match a pup’s energy.

You dissolve into giggles, smothering them in his chest. Simon squeezes and gives you a shake. He huffs, but the warmth in his chuckle betrays him. “Cheeky lil’ thing,” he mutters, his hand resuming its slow rub up and down your back.

You sigh into him, letting his touch melt the day away entirely. The smell of a warm meal wafts through the flat, promising warmth and comfort, but for now, Simon’s arms are enough. This is enough.

This is home.

— — —

me while writing this :

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cherry-leclerc · 1 year ago

Text

fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.”

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging: Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening.

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt.

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth.

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence.

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando.

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring.

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck.

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him.

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go.

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself.

“Need a lift?”

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life.

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile.

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs.

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone.

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively.

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first.

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile.

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea.

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways.

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair.

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot.

“In the mood for something sweet?”

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one.

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes.

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no.

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him.

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake.

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off.

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool.

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street.

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini.

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes.

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe.

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?”

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised.

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up.

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary.

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it.

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into.

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling.

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back.

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion.

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling.

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him.

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth.

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face.

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders.

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood.

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel.

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips.

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you.

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name.

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy.

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response.

“You’re not?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?”

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus.

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss.

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm.

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough.

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless.

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to.

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets.

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave.

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder.

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own.

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly.

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more.

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you.

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled.

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend.

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine

2K notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 2 months ago

Note

omg omg your work is so good oml. quick request: anything for logan sargeant because i CRAVE that man in my bones frfr

Late for Logan | LS²

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Sorry in advance, but it's your fault for giving me that type of freedom 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── After being dropped mid-season, Logan returns home overwhelmed with frustration and self-doubt. Luckily, he has her, and they manage to find solace in each other, reminding him that it’s never too late to rebuild.

𐙚 pairing ──── Logan Sargeant x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, emotional distress, mentions of career challenges, vulnerability & emotional support, fluff & smut, descriptive language, mature/sexual content, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.5k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 5, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── If you miss Logan say I ☝🏻😔

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE AIR IS tinged with the faint aroma of Logan’s favorite cheat meal sitting under its foil wrapper. She’s set everything up exactly as he’d like it: snacks in a tidy line on the table, his favorite series queued on the TV, and a stack of games ready in case he wants to lose himself in a familiar world, just to escape the real one.

She tried her best to bring him some comfort, though it also helped her keep her mind occupied. After Logan dropped the bomb on her, her blood has been boiling ever since. She knows there is no point in being angry, because as he said, what's done is done. But that won't stop her from cursing the name of that entire garage of snakes.

The clock creeps toward 2 a.m. She's tired, but she doesn’t let herself drift. Not tonight.

Tonight is for Logan.

She perches on the edge of the couch, fiddling with the edge of a blanket, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock, while aimlessly scrolling through her feed.

When the door finally clicks open and Logan steps inside, his movements are heavy, yet cautious.

His bag slung low on one shoulder, all the lights are low, and he doesn’t seem to notice the setup she’s spent hours on. He doesn’t call out, either. Doesn’t move toward the living room. He simply heads toward the kitchen, thinking she's been asleep for hours now.

Her stomach twists when she hears the noisy thud of his bag hitting the floor. She expects him to walk back, to see the small effort she’s made to make him feel loved, seen, and appreciated, but the silence is louder than ever. Then, there’s the crash of something — a plate or maybe a glass — and a muffled curse.

Quietly, she stands up from the couch, stepping toward the doorway.

She finds Logan on the kitchen floor, his knees pulled to his chest, and his head in his hands. His frame trembles, wracked with uneven breaths that she realizes, with a sinking feeling, are sobs.

His frustration spills into his voice, sharp and broken, as he tries to keep quiet. “A failure… such a fucking failure.”

Tears burn behind her eyes as she watches him fall apart. She hadn’t imagined it would be this bad — she knew his season so far sacked, but it wasn't always his fault, and he seemed okay for the most part. Although, Logan had always been good at pretending he was fine. Tonight, though, there’s no mask. Just raw pain and anger and exhaustion and frustration.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft, yet slightly shaking.

His head snaps up, his red-rimmed eyes locking with hers. “Shit. Did I wake you, baby?” his voice cracks, the words rushed, as though he’s trying to cover the vulnerability she’s already seen.

She steps closer the moment she sees him trying to get up, her bare feet cool against the tiles. “No, I wasn't… I wanted to surprise you,” her voice falters, and she kneels beside him, reaching for his hand. “I'm so sorry, Lo. I didn’t know you were hurting this much.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I’m supposed to—” his words choke off, hitting his head with the bridge of his palm, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

“Oh, pretty,” she grips his hand tightly, pulling it away from his self-inflicted punishment. “It's going to be okay. You're home now.”

“I’ve worked so hard for this,” he whispers, ignoring her pitiful look. “And now it all went to shit, because I couldn't get it together. Everything… gone.”

Her heart breaks for him. At the same time, she's offended by his statement. After all, she's still here; there's still something. But it's not about her, so she pulls him into her arms, without thinking about the technicalities of his affirmation. His body folds into hers like a little child, his head pressing into the crook of her neck.

He tries not to cry, but it's been months since he's been suppressing those tears, thinking he wasn't allowed to lash out, because that's not what strong people do.

It doesn't matter.

She's still here, and she is holding him together when he feels like he’s falling apart.

“It’s not gone,” she whispers, her hand stroking through his hair. “Baby, it was a shitty team, anyway. You’ve still got so much ahead of you.”

“Not in F1, I don't,” he reminds her bitterly.

She pulls back enough to look into his eyes, her thumb brushing away the tears on his cheek. “So what? At least you can say you've been there. You did great things. Things that other people can only dream of. And no matter what happens, you'll always have that. Isn't that amazing?”

His lip quivers, looking at her as if he sees her for the first time. Again. As if he's falling in love. Again.

“You deserve someone who’s not falling apart at the moment.”

The girl frowns. “Shut up. I choose you, Logan. All of you. Every single day,” she says with so much conviction in her voice that he almost believes her.

He exhales shakily, his shoulders slumping. “I might need you more than you need me.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in confusion. “If anything, we'll have more time. More time to figure things out. More time to put everything in order. More time for us.”

Logan nods, realizing she's not entirely wrong. Though it sucks, maybe all the bad happened now to make more room for the good that is about to come.

They stay like that for a long time, tangled on the cold kitchen floor, until his breathing steadies and the tension in his body ebbs. He feels sorry she had to see him like that, but at least all the shame subsided. For now.

Next, she pulls him to his feet, their hands still entwined, and finally leads Logan into the living room.

His eyes widen when he sees the setup. “Baby, this looks amazing. You shouldn't have…”

“I wanted to,” she admits softly.

He pulls her into a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop with that already,” she whispers. “Or else, I'll eat all your food in front of you.”

THE CLOCK ON the bedside table reads 3:34 a.m. when they finally settle in bed, under the blanket. The TV hums softly in the background, playing Logan's favorite series, though neither of them is paying much attention.

He's still deep in thought, and she's still worried of how is all this going to actually affect him in the long run.

Logan is lying across her, his head resting on her stomach, one arm draped over her thighs. His body feels heavier than usual, burdened by the weight of the day. Her fingers move lazily through his hair, a repetitive, soothing motion that almost puts him to sleep.

No one says anything; they don't need to. She knows Logan. Knows the storm raging inside his mind despite the quiet exterior. And he knows her — patient, calm, and supportive.

Everything he's not, at the moment.

Suddenly, he tightens his grip on her thigh, his knuckles brushing the soft skin. The motion is unconscious, but the pressure betrays the frustration that's still boiling inside him. She inhales sharply under the force of his hand, the pressure taking her by surprise, a little sound slipping from her lips before she can stop it. It’s enough to make his head lift slightly, enough to draw his attention.

Logan freezes for a moment, but then something in him snaps. His heart starts racing, his blood travels faster throughout his body, and his mouth goes dry. He shifts, sliding his head beneath her oversized shirt — his shirt, that she chose to sleep in for the night. His lips find the soft plane of her stomach, planting warm, deliberate kisses against her skin.

“Logan,” she whispers his name, half a question and half a plea.

He doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, his hands trail upward, gripping her waist firmly, his thumbs brushing just beneath the curve of her breasts. When his mouth moves higher, kissing just beneath her ribs, his hand slides under the shirt, fully cupping her flesh. The touch is possessive, almost reverent.

“My everything,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice raw. It gives her goosebumps, but she doesn't have time to process his words too in depth, because feeling him like that occupies her entire brain capacity. “The perfect design. Smooth, precise, so responsive, baby. I should’ve been able to handle you better.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She understands pretty quick that he’s not just talking about her body, and knows he’s still thinking about everything he feels he’s failed at. “Logan, stop—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice an octave deeper. “No one gets it, but you. If I’d just had the right tools, the right… Fuck. If I’d been allowed to drive you the way I wanted to, I could’ve done it. I could’ve taken you further than anyone else ever could.”

On one hand, it's hard for her to hear him talking like that — as if he's gone mad. But Logan is right about one thing: she understands. She does, because she's been a first row witness since day one. So, even if it hurts, she lets his words sink in, lets him vent the pent-up frustration in his own way. It's the least she can do.

His hands tug her shirt over her head, leaving her bare before him. His gaze darkens as he looks at her, his lips parting slightly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Logan whispers, acting like it's the first time he sees her naked. His hands run over her sides, mapping her curves as if committing them to memory. “The perfect design,” he repeats, “And I’m the only one who gets to race you. Is that right, baby?”

She feels the weight of his words in her chest, the underlying desperation beneath his need for control. She nods, because there's truth behind them — they belong to each other, a silent pact they made right at the beginning of their relationship. Besides, he needs it — not just her body, but her trust, her willingness to let him take the lead. It’s his way of clawing back the confidence that’s been stripped from him so prematurely.

“I’m here,” she whispers, her voice steady. “I love you. I’m proud of you. I'm with you.”

She would stop talking, but Logan moves with a hunger she’s never seen before, his lips tracing a path down her body; it makes her head spin with things she should've told him sooner. His hands grip her thighs, spreading them wide as if he’s opening the doors to a new track, one only he has the right to drive on.

“You feel like silk,” he mutters, mostly to himself, gently tracing his palms over her skin. “So warm, so smooth… God, the handling is unreal.”

She arches into his touch, her fingers finding his hair again as his mouth moves lower, claiming her inch by inch. He’s precise, knowing exactly where to push, where to pull back, where to accelerate — he's so good at it. Why did they think he wasn't?

“It’s like you’re built for me, my love.”

She’s lost in him, in the way he talks, and the way he makes her feel like the most coveted machine in the world.

Logan’s frame hovers over hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he captures her lips in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s raw and unrestrained, his need pouring into every brush of his mouth against hers. She doesn’t fight it, doesn’t hold anything back. She lets him take her in every way he wants, surrendering completely because she knows he needs this.

His hands are firm on her, no longer tentative as they roam over her body. Her breath hitches when his fingers curl into her hips, holding her so tightly she knows she’ll find faint bruises by the time they're done. But she doesn’t mind — she loves the unfiltered and unapologetic Logan, the fire in his touch telling her everything he hasn’t said.

“I'm glad you finally see it,” she whispers against his lips, her voice soft but encouraging. “Who you truly are.”

Logan pulls back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving, his blue eyes darkened with intensity. “Yeah? Who am I, then?”

Her fingers trace along his jaw, tender even as her words cut straight to the heart of him. “My strong, beautiful boy,” she says without hesitation, “You’re everything I’ve always seen in you.”

It's her honesty that gets to him, making him tightening his grip on her thighs and pulling her legs around his waist as if to anchor himself. He peels off her panties, discarding them on the floor, and she wastes no time helping him get rid of his sweatpants. His skin burns as their bare chests touch again, making her moan softly at the contact with his hard muscles.

She feels his hand traveling down between their bodies, so she breaks the kiss to look at him. Logan hesitates, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second as he shifts his weight.

“What's wrong, baby?” he asks, confusion evident in his voice.

In response, she reaches out to grab his cock, pumping it deftly before guiding it to her entrance. She lets out a short whine at the initial contact, feeling him hard and leaking at the tip, as she helps him sink in slowly, savoring every inch.

“No foreplay tonight. Please,” she whimpers the words out, wrapping her legs tighter around him.

“Are you su—fuck,” he breathes against her shoulder, his body suddenly on fire.

“Promise,” she moans, feeling him stretching her pussy wide in ways she didn't experience before.

Logan grunts, pushing deep inside her, full and heavy, exhaling in gasps the moment he's all in. He feels her so tight around him that he can't help but thrust a couple of times, pulling only halfway out, just to spread her wetness all over his length. The thickness of his cock takes her breath away while it keeps her open for him, and she makes a mental note to let him take her like this more often from now on, even though she expects to be sore in the morning.

“You're so good to me, baby,” he chokes out. “So tight, I just…” his words die in his throat when she raises her hips to meet his.

Logan needs tremendous self-control, but that doesn't translate into how his slow, hard thrust make her body slide against the sheets. The image displayed under him is rather obscene, his eyes following her breasts bouncing up and down as a result of his powerful movements. It makes his mouth water, so he attaches it on one of her nipples, taking the other one between his fingers.

“Lo…” she exhales sharply, arching her back against the mattress.

His thrusts grow rougher, more insistent, his hips snapping against hers with a force that sends shocks of pure pleasure through their bodies.

She cries out, but it’s not in protest. Her nails dig into his back, her head falling back against the pillows as she lets herself drown in him. “That’s it,” she gasps, her voice shaky but full of want. “Don’t hold back, baby, yes. I want all of you.”

Her praise spurs him on, his pace quickening as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he’s spent doubting himself, every ounce of self-restraint he’s forced upon himself this season. Each thrust is deliberate, punishing in the best way, and she meets him halfway, giving herself over completely.

“Shit, you like this, don't you?” he growls, his voice rough as his hand slides up her body, gripping her breast more firmly.

“Mhm, yes... yes, you feel so good,” she moans, tracing her palms over his back. “I love every part of you, Lo. Every damn part.”

Her words push him further, and he leans down, capturing her lips in a kiss so fierce it leaves her breathless. His hand moves to tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her whimper, and he groans at the sound.

“And I love your pretty noises, baby. Keep making them for me, and I won't last much longer,” says Logan, breathing wetly against her skin, his cock dragging against her walls, and thrusting back in full force to show her that he means it.

She squeezes her eyes in pleasure, the pressure building rapidly inside her stomach.

His pace becomes erratic, every movement driven by pure emotion — frustration, need, love — all colliding in a chaotic duet of moans and whimpers. He’s rough, but not careless, every touch and thrust a declaration of everything he feels but can’t put into words.

That just makes her clench her involuntarily around him, dripping wet every time he pulls out only to shove himself back in. The slick sound is accompanied by their heavy breaths blending together, and the final result almost pushes both of them over the edge.

Except Logan's movements are getting restrained, his grip on her hips tight but trembling as if he's holding himself back. She feels it in the way his body hesitates, the tension coiling in his muscles but never fully released. It’s like he’s afraid to lose the last ounce of control, afraid to let go of the last thread of composure he’s clinging to.

“Lo,” she whispers, her voice cutting through the haze between them. He doesn’t stop fucking into her, but his eyes flicker up to hers, confusion mingling with the intensity in his gaze.

She cups his face with both hands, her thumbs gently brushing against his cheekbones. “It’s okay,” she says softly, her voice laced with reassurance.

His brows furrow, his thrusts stalling for a heartbeat. “No, baby.”

She tilts her head, holding his gaze steady. “Please. Whatever you’re feeling, let it out. I can take it, love. You know I can.”

He buries his face in her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin as he drives into her harder, rougher, with an urgency that leaves her gasping.

Her fingers slide down his back, nails scraping lightly against his skin as she holds him closer. “My perfect boy,” she murmurs, her voice small but encouraging. “I’ve got you.”

The sound he makes is guttural, almost pained, as if her words are the final push he needed. He drives inside her with a desperation that’s raw and unfiltered, pouring every ounce of frustration, anger, and self-doubt into fucking his girl. His girl, who was always there. His girl, who loves him, needs him, trusts him enough to let him ruin her.

No questions asked.

Suddenly, it's too much. All of it.

Logan stills inside her, wrapping his hand around her neck as their eyes meet.

Watching him come while his hand tightens possessively around her becomes quickly her favorite thing in the world. He looks like a dream, all drenched in sweat, floating above her like an angel, his chest heaving rapidly. His mouth falls open, letting out a noise so melodious, that she is sure it has the power to wake her up from the dead.

At that, it doesn't take much for her to follow him, coating them both in their release. He thrusts a few more times, lazily, before crashing on top of her, his face buried in her shoulder.

Right after, she feels the first shuddering sob escape his chest.

“Lo? Baby, look at me,” she whispers, her arms wrapping around him instinctively.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice muffled against her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears prick her eyes, and she strokes his hair gently, her own voice shaking. “No. Don’t ever be sorry.”

His sobs grow quieter, but they don’t stop, and soon she’s crying with him, their tears mingling in the quiet intimacy of the room.

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispers, her lips brushing against his temple. “I'm with you, baby,” she reminds him all over again, determined to keep doing it until he believes her. “And it's never too late to start over.”

He clings to her like a lifeline, his fingers digging into her sides as if afraid to let go. “I don't… know where to start.”

“We'll figure it out,” she says firmly, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. “You’re not done, Logan. Not by a long shot. Yeah?”

He stares at her, his eyes red and glassy, but there’s a flicker of something else there now — hope, gratitude, and so much love.

“Thank you,” says Logan, his voice cracking under the weight of his own doubts.

She presses a kiss to his forehead, holding him as close as possible. “Always, my love.”

MASTERLIST

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