#next to figure out how to draw hands properly

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83 @death-in-a-tar0t-card @straw--b3rry

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), gaslighting, manipulation, threats, Woodbury, the Governor.

Part 11

Between Brothers - Part 12

Seven months in Woodbury had changed things. The walls felt more like home now, the routine of daily life more natural. You'd grown comfortable with the safety, with knowing where your next meal was coming from, with sleeping through the night without keeping one eye open for walkers.

Merle had settled into his role as one of the Governor's most trusted men, though he still carried that edge of danger that made other residents give him a wide berth.

The morning started like any other - Merle gearing up for another supply run with the Governor. You were in the kitchen of your shared apartment, when he appeared in the doorway, already dressed knife firmly in place.

"Mornin', sugar," he drawled, that familiar smirk playing at his lips as his eyes raked over you in your sleep shirt. Damn, she looks good in the morning, he thought, imagination running wild about what it would be like to wake up next to you properly instead of in separate rooms like some kind of damn boarding house.

"Morning Merle," you replied, your accent soft with sleep. "Heading out early ?"

"Governor's got us chasin' some lead about supplies. Shouldn't be gone long." He moved closer, that predatory grace had never been lost, even with months inside the walls of Woodbury. "You gonna miss me or something, lil' doe?"

"You wish," you shot back automatically, though there was less bite to it than there used to be. Seven months of his constant flirting had worn down your defenses, made it feel more like familiar banter than genuine harassment.

Merle chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. She's gettin' softer. Good. Maybe one of these days - "Now don't go gettin' into any trouble while I'm not here to keep you safe, sugar-tits."

"I'll try to contain myself," you said dryly, but you were already moving to pack him food for the road - a habit that had developed over the months, one that made something warm unfurl in Merle's chest every time.

Hours later, Merle crouched in the underbrush with Martinez, Shumpert, and Crowley, watching two figures moving through the trees ahead. The Governor had gotten word about potential threats in the area, and they'd been tracking these two for the better part of an hour.

"Two of them," Martinez whispered. "Both armed."

Merle squinted through the foliage, studying the way they moved.

"Take them alive if possible." The Governor whispered to them.

Merle nodded, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

They moved like ghosts through the trees, using the skills that had kept them alive in this new world. Merle's boots made no sound on the forest floor as he circled around behind the two women, Martinez and the others flanking from the sides.

The moment came when the blonde - Andrea, Jesus Christ, it was Blondie - stepped into a small clearing. Merle rose from the undergrowth like a nightmare made flesh, his knife-hand gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

"Uh-uh-uh!" he called out as the black woman - Michonne, he heard Andrea call her - started to draw her sword. "Easy does it, girl. Mine's a whole lot bigger than yours."

Both women froze, weapons half-drawn, eyes wide with shock and recognition.

Look at that face, Merle thought with dark satisfaction. Bet you thought old Merle was long dead and buried. Out loud, he held up his knife-hand with a theatrical flourish.

"Now, how's about a big hug for your old pal Merle?"

Andrea's face went white as a sheet, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Then her eyes rolled back and she crumpled to the forest floor in a dead faint.

"Well, I'll be damned," Merle chuckled, genuine amusement coloring his voice. "Guess I still got it."

The ride back to Woodbury was tense, Andrea conscious again but pale and shaky, Michonne silent as death itself but watching everything with those sharp, calculating eyes. Merle kept stealing glances at Andrea in the rearview mirror, his mind churning with questions.

She looks good, considering. Healthy. That means she's been with people, been taken care of. Maybe...

"You gonna tell me where my brother is, Blondie?" he asked finally, unable to keep the question locked away any longer.

Andrea met his eyes in the mirror, her expression guarded. "I told you, I haven't seen him in a long time."

"But he was alive when you saw him last?"

A pause. "Yes."

Relief flooded through him so sudden and sharp it nearly took his breath away. Alive. Daryl's alive. "Good. That's real good to hear."

The Governor turned from the front passenger seat, his politician's smile in place. "Well, this is quite the reunion. Small world, isn't it, Merle?"

"Gettin' smaller every day," Merle agreed, but his attention was still focused on Andrea. Bet she knows something. Question is, how much is she willing to tell me?

Back in Woodbury, they brought the women to the medical facility first. Dr. Stevens checked them over - dehydration, exhaustion, but nothing serious. Andrea kept staring at Merle like she was seeing a ghost, which, he supposed, she was.

"I can't believe you're alive," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Merle laughed, the sound harsh in the clean medical room. "Bet you was wondering if I was real. Probably hoping I wasn't. Well, here I am."

He settled into a chair across from where they sat on the examination table, completely at ease despite the armed guards at the door. This is my house now. And they're gonna learn that real quick.

"I guess this old world gets a little smaller toward the end, huh?" he continued, his voice carrying that familiar mix of charm and menace. "Ain't so many of us left to share the air, right? You know, when they found me, I was near bled out. Starving. Thinking to myself a bullet might make a good last meal. Take myself a nice long nap after. Wait for Daryl on the other side."

Andrea's face crumpled with what might have been guilt. "Merle..."

"You seen my brother?" The question came out rougher than he intended, betraying just how much the answer mattered.

"Not for a long time."

"Makes two of us." The words tasted bitter. Seven months of dead ends, false leads, empty hope.

"He went back for you," Andrea said quietly. "Him and Rick. You were already gone."

Merle's laugh was genuinely amused this time. "Yeah. Well... not all of me!" He held up his prosthetic, detaching prosthetic with practiced ease.

"Rick," he said, the name like poison on his tongue. "He's that prick that cuffed me to the rooftop."

"Yeah. He really tired, Daryl saw that."

Something warm flickered in Merle's chest. "He's always been the sweet one, my baby brother."

"What do you want from us?" Andrea asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.

Merle smiled, spreading his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. "Damn. There she sits, four walls around her, roof over her head, medicine in her veins, and she wants to know what I want from her. I plucked you and your mute here out of the dirt, Blondie. Saved your asses. How about a thank you?"

"You had a gun on us," Michonne pointed out flatly.

"Oh, she speaks," Merle chuckled, delighted by her defiance.

Got some fire in her, this one. Dangerous, but I can respect that.

"Who ain't had a gun on 'em in the past year, huh? Show of hands, y'all." He looked back at the guards behind him.

"Anybody? Shumpert, Crowley. Y'all had a gun on y'all? Hell... I think I'd piss my pants if some stranger come walking up with his mitts in his pockets. That'd be the sonofabitch you'd really want to be scared of."

The Governor chose that moment to enter, his presence immediately commanding attention. "Ladies, I hope you're feeling better. Merle's told me you have quite the history."

"Governor," Merle said, straightening slightly. Even after seven months, the man still commanded his respect - partly genuine, partly calculated. The Governor had kept his promises so far, kept you safe and fed, kept searching for Daryl. That bought him loyalty, at least for now.

"I'm particularly interested in hearing about your time with Merle's brother," the Governor continued smoothly. "And of course, about your current... situation. Merle tells me you've been surviving quite well out there."

Andrea's eyes darted between them, clearly trying to assess the dynamic, the power structure. "We've been managing."

"I'm sure you have. Though I have to say, I'm curious about something." The Governor's smile turned speculative. "Merle's told me so much about his baby brother, but he's never mentioned having such... interesting friends. Tell me, Andrea, what made you decide to travel with Merle here originally?"

"We didn't travel together," Andrea said quickly. "We barely knew each other back then."

"Ah, I see. And yet here you are again. Fate has quite the sense of humor." The Governor glanced at Merle with something that might have been amusement. "You know, Merle's become quite the asset to our community. He's got his own place now, settled down with his girl. Quite the domestic arrangement."

Andrea's eyebrows shot up. "His girl?"

Merle felt heat creep up his neck. Damn Governor and his mind games.

"Real sweet little thing." he said gruffly, but the claim sounded weak even to his own ears.

"She is." The Governor's smile was knowing. "You should see them together. Quite touching, really."

Andrea looked genuinely baffled. "I... I can't imagine anyone choosing to..." She stopped herself, but the implication hung in the air.

Later that evening, you made your way down the hall carrying fresh towels and linens for the new arrivals, along with a covered tray filled with food.

The Governor had mentioned they'd found two women, survivors who'd been living rough, and your soft heart couldn't stand the thought of them going without basic comforts or a proper meal.

You paused outside their door to nod at the guard stationed there - Tommy, a middle-aged man.

"Hey there, love," he said with a genuine smile. "How's Merle doing? Heard he had a rough day on the wall yesterday."

"He's fine, just tired," you replied, shifting the tray to balance it better. "You know how he gets when he thinks someone's not pulling their weight."

Tommy chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like Dixon alright. Tell him I said thanks for fixing my rifle sight. Thing's shooting true as an arrow now."

"I will." You smiled back, the easy familiarity of the exchange warming you. It was nice having people who knew you both, who saw past Merle's rough exterior to the man underneath.

The residential unit they'd been assigned was smaller than yours and Merle's, more like a studio apartment with basic amenities. You knocked softly on the door, arms full of clean bedding and the dinner tray.

"Come in," a woman's voice called.

You pushed the door open to find two women sitting on the bed - a blonde who looked tired but alert, and a black woman with intense eyes there was something about the way the second woman held herself, that set every instinct you had on edge.

"I brought some clean linens," you said softly, your accent making the words sound gentler than intended. "Towels too, in case you wanted to shower. And Dr. Stevens asked me to bring you some painkillers."

You set everything on the small table, including the covered tray. "Plus dinner - figured you'd be hungry."

The blonde woman - Andrea, you remembered hearing - stared at you with undisguised surprise. "You're... you're Merle's..."

"I live with him," you said simply, uncovering the tray to reveal hot stew, fresh bread, and actual vegetables. "We share an apartment."

"By choice?" The question slipped out before Andrea could stop herself, and she immediately looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

You tilted your head, genuinely puzzled by her reaction. "Of course by choice. Why wouldn't it be?"

Andrea exchanged a look with her companion that you couldn't quite read, but you caught the disbelief in both their faces. "It's just... the Merle I knew... he wasn't exactly..."

"What, house-trained?" you interrupted with just enough edge to make both women blink in surprise. "Trust me, I'm well aware of his social graces ... Or lack thereof."

The other woman - Michonne, you thought you'd heard - spoke for the first time since you'd entered, her voice low and measured. "How long have you been here?"

Something about her directness, the way her eyes seemed to see right through you, made you nervous. She barely spoke, just watched everything with those intense eyes, and somehow that made her more intimidating than any of the loud, aggressive men you'd encountered. "Seven months. We came here together."

"From where?"

"We were traveling together after Atlanta." You shifted uncomfortably under her intense stare, but kept your voice steady. "Looking for his little brother."

"You were in Atlanta?" Andrea repeated, and suddenly her expression shifted to something sharper, more focused.

"I found Merle after..." you paused, choosing your words carefully. "After his group left him behind on a rooftop, helped cauterize his stump."

The silence that followed was deafening. Andrea's face had gone pale, while Michonne's expression remained unreadable but somehow more dangerous.

"His group," Andrea said slowly. "You mean the people who handcuffed him to that roof."

"That's one way to put it," you replied, your tone carefully neutral but with just a hint of steel underneath the sweetness.

Andrea was still studying you with that bewildered expression, like you were a puzzle she couldn't solve. "I'm sorry, I'm just... having trouble processing this. You really chose to live with Merle Dixon?"

Heat crept up your neck at the way she said it, like the very idea was incomprehensible. "He saved my life. He's not what people think he is. And honestly?" You paused, letting a small smile play at your lips. "I'm probably not what people think I am either."

"What people think he is," Andrea said slowly, clearly still struggling with the concept, "is a racist, sexist, violent redneck with anger management issues and a substance abuse problem."

Your spine stiffened at the casual way she threw out those judgments, though you kept your voice level. "Well, people get it wrong sometimes. They also probably think I'm some helpless little flower who needs a big strong man to protect her. Funny how people can stereotype others."

"What's he told you about Atlanta? Why he was handcuffed there ?" Michonne asked quietly.

"Enough," you said simply. These women clearly had history with Merle, bad history, and you weren't sure you wanted to know all the details. "If you need anything, just ask Tommy outside. He'll make sure you get whatever you need."

You pushed through the apartment door with more force than necessary, the frustration from your encounter with Andrea and Michonne still burning hot in your chest. The sound made Merle look up from where he was sprawled on the couch, a beer in his good hand and his metal prosthetic resting on his knee.

"Well hell, sugar tits, you look madder than a wet hen," he drawled, that familiar smirk playing at his lips. "Someone piss in your cornflakes?"

"Don't," you said sharply. "Just... don't with the jokes right now."

Merle's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't often you came home spitting fire, and damn if it didn't make his blood run hot seeing that flash of temper in those pretty eyes. Made him wonder what other kinds of passion might be hiding under all that sweetness.

"Whoa there, darlin'. What's got your panties all twisted up?" He set his beer aside, giving you his full attention. The way you were standing there, cheeks flushed and breathing hard, made him think about all sorts of things that had nothing to do with whatever was bothering you.

"I met them," you said, crossing your arms. "The new women. Andrea and Michonne."

"Yeah? And?" Merle's tone was casual, but something flickered behind his eyes. Something that looked almost like worry.

"Andrea knew you. From before." You studied his face, looking for tells. "From Atlanta."

Merle's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Yeah well, Small world and all that happy horseshit."

"She seemed... surprised. That I was with you. By choice." Your accent was thicker when you were upset, the foreign inflection more pronounced. "She acted like I was some kind of victim. Like you were some monster I was too stupid or scared to get away from."

Christ, Merle thought, that blonde bitch always did have a mouth on her. But looking at you standing there all riled up, defending him to strangers, made something twist in his chest that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with feelings he wasn't naming aloud.

"Well, honey, you know what they say about assumptions," he said, his tone light but his eyes watchful. "Makes an ass out of you and me."

"Merle." Your voice was steady now, but there was something underneath it that made him sit up straighter. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

"Shoot, lil-doe."

"Have you been truthful with me? About who you really are?" The words hung in the air between you like a challenge. "Because that Andrea... she said things. Things that made me wonder if there's more to your story than you've told me."

Merle felt his mouth go dry. Shit. This was the conversation he'd been dreading. The conversation where she learned what kind of man she'd been playing house with - not that they'd done anything, though God knew he'd spent plenty of nights lying awake thinking about changing that situation.

"Now sugar," he said, forcing that cocky grin back onto his face, "what kind of question is that? 'Course I been honest with you. Honest as the day is long."

"Merle."

The way you said his name - not angry, just tired and sad - made his chest clench. He could see it in your eyes, the doubt creeping in. The way you was starting to wonder if maybe those women were right, maybe you didn't know him at all.

"Darlin'," he said, standing up and moving closer to you. Close enough to smell that sweet scent you carried, close enough to see the hurt in those pretty eyes. "I ain't never lied to you about what matters. You asked me if I'd hurt you, I said no. Everything else is just details, honeybunch."

"Details?" Your voice rose slightly. "Merle, she looked at me like I was insane for trusting you. Like there were things about you that would make me run screaming if I knew them."

Well, she ain't wrong about that, Merle thought grimly. If his lil doe knew about the dealing, the fighting, the things he'd said and done before the world went to hell... You'd probably pack your pretty ass up and go find yourself a nice boy who'd never so much as jaywalked.

But looking at you now, all fired up and defensive on his behalf, made him think maybe you were stronger than he'd given you credit for. Still, no point in borrowing trouble.

"Let me ask you somethin'," he drawled, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. "In all the time we been together, have I ever done you wrong? Ever made you feel unsafe? Ever given you reason not to trust me?"

The fight seemed to go out of you at his words. "No," you admitted quietly. "You haven't."

"Then that's all that matters, ain't it, lil' doe?" The pet name rolled off his tongue like honey, carrying more weight than all his other endearments combined.

"Whatever I was before don't change what I am now. What I am with you."

And what I am with you, he thought, is completely gone on your sweet ass, even if I ain't got the balls to tell you so.

You sighed, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. "It's just... she made me feel so naive. Like I was some sheltered little girl who didn't know any better."

"Hey now." Merle's voice turned serious, and he reached out to cup your chin with his good hand. "Don't you let some bitter woman who don't know shit about you get in your head, you hear me? You ain't naive, sugar. You're kind. They ain't the same thing."

The touch sent heat racing through your veins, and you found yourself leaning into it despite your frustration. "Sometimes I wonder if there's a difference."

"There is, big difference." His thumb brushed across your cheek, and he had to fight the urge to lean down and taste those lips that had been driving him crazy for months. "Being kind takes strength. Being naive just means you ain't learned better yet. You? You learned plenty, but you chose to stay kind anyway."

"Merle..." you started, but he cut you off.

"Nah, Sugar, I ain't done yet." He dropped his hand but didn't step back, using his height advantage to make his point. "You want to know who I really am? I'm the sumbitch you found half-dead and decided to save. I'm the bastard who taught you how to fight those biters so you wouldn't have to depend on nobody."

His voice had dropped to that rough growl that always made your stomach flip, and you found yourself staring up at him.

"Everything else - every mistake I made, every stupid thing I did before I met you - that's just noise, sugar-tits. Static on the radio." He leaned down until his face was inches from yours. "The only thing that matters is what I am to you. And what you are to me."

"What am I to you?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Merle's carefully constructed mask slipped, and you saw something raw and desperate in his eyes. Something that looked almost like—

"Your the prettiest little angel in Georgia," he said finally, the words heavy with meaning you couldn't quite grasp.

You searched his face, looking for the lie, the deception Andrea had made you expect to find. But all you saw was Merle - crude, rough-edged Merle who called you ridiculous pet names and made inappropriate jokes at the worst times. Merle who'd never let you go hungry, who'd taught you to survive, who'd held you when you cried and never made you feel weak for it.

"Okay," you said finally, the last of your anger deflating. "Okay."

"That's my girlie," he said with visible relief, that cocky grin sliding back into place. "Now how 'bout you come over here and let ol' Merle make you feel better, hmm?"

He flopped back down on the couch and patted his lap with his good hand, the gesture so typically him that you couldn't help but smile despite everything.

"I'm not sitting on your lap, you pervert," you said, but there was fondness in your voice now instead of anger.

"Aw, come on, sugar pie. Just for a minute. I promise to keep my hands to myself." He held up his metal prosthetic with a grin. "Well, hand. Singular."

"You're terrible," you said, but you were fighting a smile now.

"Terribly good-lookin', maybe," he shot back with a wink that made you roll your eyes.

Terrible gone on you, he thought, watching the way your mouth curved despite your attempts to stay annoyed. Terrible in love with a girlie who deserves better than a busted-up redneck with more baggage than a airport.

But that was his cross to bear. For now, it was enough that you were smiling again, that the doubt Andrea had planted was withering under the weight of what you'd built together. Whatever else happened, whatever other secrets might come to light, he'd face it when he had to.

[queenjazzyart]

(Rinshi Implied) Shiemi(haza)‘s Love.

[jinusajas]

05/21/25; 12:10am

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ you get severely injured ]

warnings: blood mention.

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

it all happened so fast-

one second, you were simply following sylus from close behind, readying your weapon as you shot at the wanderers that lunged at you.

and the next, there was a sharp pain felt going down your spine and the sensation of blood staining your uniform. it was enough to take your very breath away as you fell to your knees with sylus shouting your name.

the last thing you remember was falling-

being surrounded by his powerful embrace as you succumbed to a dreamless slumber-

one that sylus was terrified of you not waking up from.

so with your unconscious body held tightly within his embrace, sylus barks orders at luke and kieran, telling them to finish off the job with mephisto acting as their eyes.

with you in this state, there was no way the onychinus leader could focus on the mission at hand, let alone steady his gun to even aim properly at the hoard of enemies.

however, due to how he was fueled by rage, he manages to use his evol to disintegrate the wanderer that had attacked you from behind, dealing his revenge while leaving the area with you still in his embrace.

{ … }

your body felt sore, seeming to ache all over when your eyes fluttered open. as your eyes adjust to the intimate lighting of the room, you were dimly aware of a record player playing some soothing music.

was that clair de lune?

you had most likely survived that attack and had been taken to sylus’s main base of operations. sitting up in bed, you gingerly touch at the bandages wrapped on your side (a clear sign that someone had cleaned and cared for your wound).

“you’re finally awake.” you startle slightly at the sound of his voice, his footsteps echoing throughout the room as sylus enters with a tray of food in hand. his expression was unreadable, yet you could see the hint of worry within his crimson gaze.

setting the food off to the side, you felt sylus’s added weight on the bed while he gently lifts you up. his hands kept trembling as they wrapped around your form, unable to hide just how shaken up he was when you lost consciousness.

“how long was i out for?” your voice was hoarse from who knows how long from disuse, with sylus shaking his head while letting out a bitter laugh.

“roughly a week, which is still far too long for my liking.”

you were ready to apologize for making him worry-

for not seeing the enemy in time-

yet when you open your mouth, sylus suddenly surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that takes your breath away. no words needed to be spoken when you opened up to him, allowing your lover to explore your taste as he wraps his powerful arms around your body-

and when you manage to embrace him as well, you gave his back a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that you were still alive and would never leave his side.

your mission had gone awry, with you sustaining multiple injuries as you could feel your blood staining at your clothes.

for some odd reason, even as you felt the life draining out of you, you had a compulsion to see zayne again. your feet makes its steady trek toward akso hospital, drawing in the public’s concern as they surrounded you in the lobby.

“what happened?!”

“quick, get a doctor!”

even with all the barrage of voices, you kept repeating a single name over and over again-

zayne zayne zayne zayne-

as if in tune to your cries of his name, you saw a familiar figure dressed in white, his eyes filled with fear as you managed to smile up at him.

finally, zayne…

knowing that you were safe now, you fell to the ground as the cardiac surgeon breaks your fall. he holds you tightly against his chest, calling out so many orders that his throat began to hurt. without wasting another second, zayne takes you into the emergency room, ready to save you at any cost.

{ … }

the first thing that rouses you from your slumber was the incessant beeping of some machine-

the second was the uncomfortably bright lights that were felt burning at your eyelids, making you wince as you moved, only to feel something restraining you.

yet your slight moans and movements did not go unnoticed.

immediately, someone was heard stepping closer to you, hands gently holding yours as a soft voice speaks to you, “no sudden movements, you’re hooked up to an iv right now.”

finally, your eyes manage to flutter open, meeting zayne’s tired eyes and concerned gaze. something akin to relief was seen in his expression as he gently frames at your face with his two hands.

“you finally opened your eyes.” his tone was tinged with reverence as he takes a hold of your hand to press a kiss against the back of it.

despite how dry your throat felt, you managed to tell him, “i’m happy… i got to see you again.” zayne was trembling now, pressing several kisses on your knuckles while you continue to speak, “even when i felt like i was close to dying, all i could think of was seeing you again.”

words could no longer be spoken when zayne manages to capture your lips in a kiss that conveyed how much you meant to him. he delves his fingers into your hair, not once moving away from you as he deepens the kiss-

making you wonder if zayne was actually crying when you tasted what felt like the saltiness of his tears against your lips.

it was supposed to be a normal mission, one that you and xavier had experienced a million of times in the past. yet because of the high influx of wanderers in the area, everything became a blur.

you had taken out a group of wanderers, ready to call out to xavier when the sight of the beast lifting its claw, ready to strike his back makes you act on instinct. shielding xavier from the attack, you felt its claws pierce through the front of your uniform while managing to fire a single shot to its head.

as a sharp, throbbing pain was felt burning across your chest, you were aware of someone screaming your name. blood rushes to your ears, making it more difficult to hear when you fell to the ground-

only to be caught by a pair of comforting arms.

“i refuse to let it end, not like this!”

those were the last words that you heard before falling into an endless abyss.

{ … }

you awaken with a start, recognizing that you were currently in an infirmary at the association. you attempt to sit up, yet felt an intense ache that forces you back down on the bed.

“you shouldn’t have done that.” a low voice heard coming to your left breaks you out of your reveries, and your gaze lands on xavier. he was settled in a chair close to your bed, dark blue eyes appearing solemn, no longer having its usual tranquil, true blue hue.

“i’m sorry, but i didn’t want to see you get hurt-“

“and you figured that i would want to see you get hurt instead?!”

you were taken aback by how fervent his voice became, watching with wide eyes when he shoves aside his seat before coming closer to you. when he frames at your face, you could feel how his hands were trembling so much that they could barely keep still.

without another word, xavier captures your lips in a searing kiss. he moves against you with a desperation, telling you through his actions that he was terrified of losing you. and when you manage to kiss him back, you lift up a hand to delve into his hair, pulling him closer to you as you made an oath to get stronger so that you’ll never have to see the pain in xavier’s eyes ever again.

it was a deep cut on the back of your legs that rendered you unable to walk after a particularly grueling mission. in your throes of pain, you were immediately transferred to a hospital to get your wound treated.

admittedly, you had suffered through worse during past missions, yet your boyfriend of 3 years had other thoughts.

when he realized that you had gotten severely hurt, rafayel wasted no time heading to the hospital you were staying at. his expressive eyes were filled with tears as he remained glued to your side.

“l-listen, if this is to get back at me for pretending to not recognize you when i was a patient, then you’ve already got your revenge!” rafayel playfully whines to you, pressing the side of your face with a plethora of kisses, “don’t ever hurt yourself like that ever again!”

you spent a good amount of time comforting rafayel with your own kisses, reassuring him that you had no intentions of getting back at him for anything and that this was just an accident. yet still, you had to admit that it was quite cute to see rafayel clinging to you like a lost puppy.

it was also nice to see rafayel caring for you as well, even going as far as peeling an apple for you before cutting them into bite-sized pieces, feeding you with a playful smile on his face.

when night had fallen, rafayel manages to convince the medical staff to let him stay overnight with you. and despite how exasperated you felt with his antics, you were actually glad that rafayel was able to stay with you.

as he sleeps while resting his head on your bed, you smile and gently thread your fingers through his hair, rousing him from his slumber. he opens his hazy eyes, meeting your gaze while sleepily calling your name, “nnn, what is it, princess?”

remaining silent, you inch closer to him, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss as he responds eagerly to you. not allowing you to pull away, rafayel ends up deepening the kiss, conveying just how much you meant to him as he kept his lips locked with yours beneath the moonlight.

the rain manages to cover the stench of your blood, with you sustaining a wound on your left side. it was a surprise attack made by a wanderer, and you weren’t sure if you were going to make it.

with unsteady steps, you walk out of the alleyway, taking out your phone from your pockets as you called a single person. he picks up not even two rings later, his cheerful voice calling out your nickname-

yet all you could manage was cough up something bitter and metallic from your mouth.

“caleb…” you wheeze into your phone, coughing even more as your chest clenched in pain. “i’m so sorry… something went wrong with the mission, it hurts… so much-“

“stay on the line! where are you?!”

you detect the desperation in his voice, yet only smiled, “i love you, and i’m so sorry. so so so sorry.”

a sharp cry of your name was the last thing that you heard as you fell over face first in the rain covered street and dropped your phone, completely unaware of how the device was flashing as bold letters that spelled out TRACKING was seen across its screen.

{ … }

you wake up with a start, believing that you were still dreaming when you recognized the scent of caleb’s cologne surrounds you.

there was no way that you were still alive-

that you were actually within the safety of your shared bedroom with your boyfriend-

and there was certainly no way in hell that your boyfriend was glaring down at you at this very minute.

“i’m not dead?” your voice was hoarse, yet when you asked that question, a flash of annoyance was seen across caleb’s face.

“as if i’d ever let you die.” the colonel admits with a scoff, sitting next to you on the bed as he wipes the sweat from your brow. from his expression, it was clear that caleb was still shaken up from your near-death experience.

“what happened…?”

with his eyes flashing with pain, he shakily takes a hold of your hand while keeping it close to his lips, “i… i found you after tracking your phone. when i heard you collapse in the rain, my heart genuinely stopped. i was running on autopilot, rushing to you as i called someone- anyone to come and save you.”

he closes his eyes, taking a moment to breathe as you began putting the pieces together. “you called zayne?”

“he was the only one i could trust with saving your life.” caleb’s eyes were burning now as they met with your own, and you felt him press another lingering kiss against your hand. “and it was a good thing that he came at the right time. i didn’t know what i would do if he didn’t save you in time.”

as caleb thought about how much he owed zayne, he was broken out of his thoughts when you pulled him closer. “when i was out there, bleeding out-“

“don’t.” caleb sharply hisses in response, not wishing to relive the moment he thought he’d actually lost you, yet still, you continued.

“caleb, when i believed that i was about to die, all i could think about was you. i knew that as long as i heard your voice again, then i’d be okay-“

caleb doesn’t allow you to finish your sentence, the thought of losing you sending his mind into a frenzy as he crashes his lips into yours. he swallows the rest of your words and soft moans, tongue delving into your mouth as he tasted you, kissing you as if tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed while tightening his grip around you, swearing to never let you go for as long as he lives.

end notes: the new main story update got me feeling all type of ways, and i had to write a new story based on how everything made me feel 😭 currently unedited, but i’ll make any necessary changes once this is posted ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[cloudedangels]

A TEST OF CONTROL (18+)

2.3k words. PART 1/? not for minors! shoo!

Pt 2 -> here ♡ Pt 3 -> here

After being stood up three times, MC decides Caleb won’t earn her forgiveness without enduring some playful punishment. What starts as teasing quickly becomes a torturous test of Caleb’s self-control as she takes charge, drawing out every ounce of his restraint.

(Self-Indulgent and heavily inspired by 2-3 of Caleb’s lines in the cafe)

cw/tags: f!MC(reader), slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, dom!mc, sub!caleb, pilot!caleb, established relationship, teasing, punishment kink, edging, light power play, breath, withheld pleasure, delayed gratification, soft dom/sub, emotional tension, begging, dirty talk, gravity evol, fluff and smut, romantic smut, pining, touch, reward/punishment, kisses all over, oral tease, tension relief, switch dynamics, intimacy, NSFW, dominant/submissive, dubcon (mild), restraint, light pain play (scratching), suggestive language, mature themes, power imbalance, sensory teasing

MC is getting very, very annoyed with Caleb. He's canceled spending time with her twice with “emergency business” for the fleet. And even though when things like this happened before, Caleb tried his best to make it up to her, this time she figured she wouldn't be pleased until he received what she deems as a fair punishment. She sits on her couch, arms folded, waiting and waiting.  ‘I can't believe he canceled two days in a row and still has the nerve to be late today!!’

She flips through channels before hearing light boots and the sound of dangling keys. Then a soft rhythm of knocks follows. 

“It's open.”

She hears the soft click of the door but doesn't get up from the couch. Instead, she turns away and pouts, her head resting on the armrest. The footsteps come closer until Caleb is in front of her face, squatting down to eye level. 

“Hi, pipsqueak. Are you mad at me?” His big pretty eyes look like a sad puppy's.

“Guess.” She pokes him in the forehead with her finger, frustrated at how fast she wants to forgive him. “I was excited to see you. Two days ago, yesterday, this morning…” She scowls.

Caleb tries to hide a smirk at how bratty she's acting, knowing this show she puts on is a necessary and very cute step towards quick and easy forgiveness.

“I'm sorry, cutie,  you know I hate making you wait. The fleet—”

She pushes a finger to his lips before he can finish. “Shh. It's done anyways, no use explaining it again. But… I still haven't come up with a proper way to punish you.” She sits up properly on the couch and turns off the TV, the motion turning her away from him. But not before seeing his somewhat surprised expression.

He comes to sit next to her on the couch and suddenly her head is being turned to him. “Punish me however you like, I'm all yours, pips” She glares at the use of his gravity evol and shoves him onto his back as soon as he lets go of her face. 

“However I want, hm?” She hums.

Caleb lets out a soft “oof” as he lands on his back, laughing under his breath. His arm flops over his forehead like he's fainted. “Ah, Cruel Mistress, striking a defenseless man,” he groans dramatically.

MC narrows her eyes. “You don't look very sorry.”

He peeks at her through his fingers. “Maybe I'm just waiting to see what my punishment is.”

She climbs over him slowly, straddling his hips, and he swallows a bit too obviously. Her hands rest on his chest, steady, firm.

“You made me wait,” she says, low. “You got my hopes up. And you know how I get when I'm disappointed.”

He nods quickly. “You get pouty.”

“And a little mean,” she adds with a smirk, “Don’t you dare forget that.”

“Dangerous combination.” His voice is breathy now, no more teasing. “What are you going to do to me, pipsqueak?”

She leans in close, brushing her nose along his jaw. “You’ll find out. But not all at once. You’ll get it in doses… like I got my disappointment.”

His breath gets a bit heavy. There's no hiding the rises and falls of his chest as he searches for ways of maintaining control of himself. He doesn't touch her, his arms slack at his sides, his right arm hanging off the side of the couch. 

MC looks him in the eyes now, her face centimeters from him, and something dubious lights her expression. She holds his face in her two hands, their breath still mingling softly as Caleb searches her face for her next move, holding himself completely still. Her hips press into his abdomen, her arms across his chest,  her head tilted as she moves his chin down to look at her. “I know what I will do.”

He swallows again his Adam's apple bobbing. “Yeah? What is it, then?” His voice is a bit husky and low, she can almost hear the restraint. 

“Your self-control test is in order, I think.” She whispers into his ear, the action making him shiver beneath her. 

“My self-control test?” He says softly, eyes darting across her face for any sign of not meaning what she said. “Then do you want me to pass with flying colors... or fail miserably?”

She hums, low and thoughtful, the sound skimming along the shell of his ear. “That depends…”

Her fingers trail from his jawline down to the collar of his shirt, brushing barely-there touches that make him twitch under her. Her hips shift just a little, barely, but enough to remind him who’s in control.

“On?” he asks, and it’s a little breathless, a little desperate.

She meets his eyes again, her expression unreadable for a beat. Then, with a wicked little smile:

“On how entertaining your struggle is.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh caught in a groan. “Oh, I see. You want a show.”

MC nods, mock-innocent. “I waited three days. Seems fair I get some entertainment.”

“Then I hope you enjoy watching a man fall apart, your highness,” he mutters, trying to keep still even as her hands dip just under the hem of his shirt, palms warm against his skin.

She pauses, enjoying the tension curling tight between them. “You’re not allowed to move unless I say so,” she adds, brushing her lips against his cheek – but not quite kissing him. “And no evol. If I even feel a tug of gravity...”

“I won’t,” he promises instantly. “No evol. No hands. No movement. Just...” Torture.

She chuckles, finally settling her weight more firmly on his hips. “Exactly.”

His hands clench at his sides, his breathing uneven, and she can feel the tight coil of restraint beneath her like a drawn string.

“I should be mad at you more often,” she muses aloud. “You’re kind of cute like this.”

He closes his eyes with a strained smile breathing softly out his nose in an ironic chuckle. “Glad I can be of service.”

“Good,” she whispers, and leans in again. “Because I’ve just barely gotten started.”

His eyes flicker open at that, dark with anticipation and lust. She sees it all –  how tightly he's wound, how badly he wants to move, touch her, flip them over. And she also sees how hard he's trying not to. Her hands, splayed open, find their way slowly up his torso as she moves her hips, straddling him lower. He bites his lips, eyebrows knitted, breath catching as she can feel through their pants exactly how much he's holding back.

“Take your shirt off, Caleb.”

He doesn’t move. Not at first.

His eyes search hers, questioning, hopeful, desperate for permission, because technically, that would mean breaking the rules. And she's made those rules very clear.

So she just raises an eyebrow. “Huh? You need help understanding basic commands now, Pilot?”

That’s all it takes.

Caleb sits up slightly, just enough to reach behind his neck and pull the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, jaw tight the entire time. She watches the shift in his shoulders, the flex of restraint even in something so simple. He drops the shirt to the floor beside the couch without taking his eyes off her.

“Much better,  good boy.” She drags her palms across his now heaving chest, letting her nails trace faintly, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. She's always loved his muscles, and as they flex with tightly bound desire she drinks him in with her gaze and careful touch.  

“Remind me to never upset you again…” he groans, laying back down as she pushes him gently. 

“You won't forget, I'm sure.” She smirks at him, truly enjoying him being so helpless.

“Please, can I fail just a little, pipsqueak?” He begs huskily, almost making her weak enough to forget her plan, but it's not enough.

“No way. Pass this with flying colors like you have everything else, my sweet Valedictorian. Perfect marks. Be a good boy.”

He nearly whimpers and she revels in it. 

“You’re taking this seriously,” she whispers, letting a finger trace the edge of his ribcage, “I appreciate the effort.”

“I’m trying so hard,” he grits, voice tight, strained, barely holding onto control. “You have no idea.”

“Oh but I do.” She grins devilishly at that, leaning in and planting a kiss to his throat. 

He trembles beneath her. His muscles are tense, breathing shallow– but he doesn't move. Doesn't grab, and he doesn't flip her over like she can tell he's dying to. His pulse thumps erratically against her lips.

“Three days,” she mutters softly, breath hot against his throat. “Do you know what that does to a girl?”

“I’m learning,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut like he can’t take looking at her anymore without breaking her so called “rules”.

She leans in again, lips at the shell of his ear. “And if I decide I don’t want to let you pass this test?”

He grunts – wound up, helpless, so full of wanting it cuts through the air like static. “Then I’ll fail spectacularly,” he whispers, “but only if you make me. I'm already on the edge of it.”

She giggles softly, unable to contain how that pleases her. Her hands delicately grace his throat, resting there as she kisses just below his ear, then his jaw, the corner of his lips.  She slides her hands down his trembling body like reading scripture in braille as she kisses his throat (twice), his chest, his ribs… 

When her hands rest they are on either side of his waist, thumbs brushing up and down his stomach. His fists clench as she kisses his sternum, just above his belt, darting her tongue out for a millisecond. He twitches his hands, and in his pants. 

“I'm one move away from failing, MC," his voice is a husky groan as his head is thrown back, hands balled into shaking fists. "Is this a punishment... or...?”

“…Or?” she echoes, voice low, breath warm against his skin. She doesn’t lift her head. She just hovers there, lips parted just above the line of his belt, her fingers now resting unbearably light over his hip bones. The control in her touch is both maddening and deliberate. Calculated.

“...Do you want to keep going?” Caleb’s voice is gruff, harsh with self-control and want. “If you keep going, I won't be… able… to let you off the hook. Even if you claim you're doing… it on a whim…” He's breathless, frustrated, his knuckles turning white with gripped restraint. 

Her reply is syrupy and as sweet as it is torturous. “Shh… Are you forgetting” Another kiss to his sternum... “Who” A kiss to the cool metal of his buckle. “Is in charge?” Her breath hovers below his belt, her mouth centimeters away from his clothed arousal.

“Please…” Caleb chokes out,  desperately hanging by a tight thread of control. 

She lifts her head at this, allowing the word to linger in the air for just a moment before responding with a sweetened smile and a whispering voice. “You sound so desperate, Caleb… I like this… the sound of you begging for me… Music to my ears.”

He groans and it's deep and guttural, pained pleasure wrapped in reverence. His eyes flutter open, just enough to meet hers through the haze of desire and restraint.

“That’s because I am desperate,” he grits, voice shaking. “For you.”

Her lips curl into something between a smirk and a smile, satisfaction, maybe. Or mercy, laced with a promise she hasn’t decided to grant yet.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispers, almost mockingly tender as her fingers dip just under the waistband of his pants, but don’t venture further. Her touch is light, barely there, a spark without flame. “And you’ve been so obedient.”

His hips twitch, bucking just slightly beneath her, involuntary, restrained.

“I told you,” he breathes, “I’ll do anything. Just… please.”

She hums again, eyes half-lidded. “Mmm… you almost sound like you're sorry.”

“I am sorry,” he groans. “I’m so sorry.”

That does it.

She sits up slowly, eyes locked with his, hands dragging up his sides as she speaks.

“Good. Because only good boys get what they want.” A beat. “And you’ve been so good for me.”

He barely has time to exhale before she leans in again, this time with intent.

And then, all at once, she kisses him hard, pushing him flat against the couch again as the dam of tension finally, finally snaps. His hands rise, cautiously at first, then urgently, moving to grip her waist, as he grounds himself in the fact that yes, finally, the test is over.

She moves to unbutton his pants and undo his belt,  pulling it out of his pants and tossing it to the floor with a clank. Suddenly, Caleb's evol is hovering her above him, suspending her in air until he flips their positions. 

He's lifted up above her his hands and buff arms on either side of her head. “I might… fuck” he kisses her collarbone while moving one arm to take off her shirt. She lifts her arms as he pulls it up and off her, and the fabric joins his on the floor.

“You might what?” She asks him, her voice cracking with anticipation.

He bites her neck, drawing a mangled moan from her at last. He's breathing like an animal and already damp with sweat. “I might have… run out… of self control.” 

“You earned it… do your worst– and don’t make me wait for it.” She mutters, gripping him tightly. Knowing that with him, she always gets what she wants. One way or another.

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[illyrianbitch]

Winner

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

Warnings: alcohol mention, two competitive losers, a card game, a makeout, some wandering hands & fluff!!

Word Count: 4.6k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Cassian threw his hands up in defeat, letting out a deep groan as he fell back further into the couch— wings sprawled out, spine slumped. He turned his head to Mor.

“Looks like Az and Y/N beat us again.”

She only groaned in response, rubbing her face with her hands before running them through her hair— taking a moment to smooth it down and tuck a few loose locks behind her pointed ears. 

 “You guys are relentless,” she said in disbelief, “I’m out. You two can have the winner's title.”

You and Azriel exchanged a look— a quick, almost instinctual, response. 

“No way.” You shook your head with a frown. “We can’t both be winners.”

From beside you, Azriel nodded. The movement was eager in agreement, but the alcohol in his body caused his motions to be slower than usual, sluggish, and Mor raised her eyebrow in response. 

“One more game,” he said, eyes tracking between both Mor and Cassian. “Just to settle this properly.”

But Mor only raised her hands in surrender. “Dear gods, no,” she responded, “I’m way too drunk for this.” 

You let out a small sound of disapproval but Morrigan ignored it, turning to give Cassian one last look of retreat before she stood up— unsteadily and disoriented. “Good luck with your showdown. I’m going to bed.”

Azriel gave her a scowl, a look that she matched with another brow raise. With no verbal response given, she turned to offer Cassian an outstretched hand. “You smell like a bar. It’s bedtime for you too, I would say.”

Cassian stilled, staring at her extended hand in a moment of contemplation. His eyes darted towards where you sat next to Azriel—meeting your gaze momentarily before jumping back to Azriel. His lips pursed, eyes narrowing for a second before he seemed to draw a conclusion and his face relaxed. 

“Yup,” he said with a decisive clap of his hands on his thighs. He pushed himself up and grabbed Mor's hand. "I'm outta here. I still have a fun buzz and Az's seriousness is going to kill it."

You let out a small sigh, lips falling into a frown as Cassian met your gaze once more. "Come on, Cass, just going to give up like that?"

He gave you an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Y/N. You two can fight amongst yourselves.”

“She can't,” Azriel began as he turned to look at you. Something sparkled in his hazel eyes and the corners of his lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. “The only reason she plays so great is because you two make her look better with how awful you are at this game.”

Your mouth fell open and an offended scoff left your mouth. You smacked his bicep. "That is not true."

Mor chimed in, "Yeah—we aren't that bad."

It was Cassian who responded with a raised eyebrow at her. She scowled at the gesture. 

“Whatever,” she muttered, waving him off with a casual hand as she began walking away. “It’s bedtime."

“Night.” Cassian gave you and Azriel a lazy salute as he stumbled towards the exit. “May the best competitor win.”

You both watched as they left the room, emitting subtle groans as the weight of their drinks began to manifest in their bodies. When their figures disappeared from view, you and Azriel brought your gazes to one another at the same moment, eyes narrowing in on the other. The room quieted around you. 

“I know I can win,” you said, straightening yourself, “I’ll show you.”

Azriel stared at you for a moment, eyes darting around your face before holding your gaze again. A smile grew on his face— confident and slightly lopsided, and his shadows swirled slightly around him in response. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”

You hummed as you cleared the table from the previous game, grabbing a deck of cards and setting the scene for Speed— the perfect game for a winners victory. It required quick reflexes and sharp focus. 

You threw a glance at Azriel, whose eyes were already on you. This felt like a routine. 

Azriel was extremely competitive. He made everything a competition, whether it needed to be or not. Who could get somewhere the fastest, who could get Cassian to say a specific phrase first. And out of everyone, you were the one able to match that energy the most. 

You knew you were competitive. It wasn't something you tried to hide—not that you could. And when you were around Az, it tended to come out the most. But on nights like these, drinking and playing card games, it seemed to come out even more, like a monster at night feeling the strength of the full moon. Except the monster was your inability to accept defeat and the moon, in this case, was the glass of wine you had downed alongside Mor.

Your eyes shot to the empty glass of whisky Azriel had nursed before smirking at him.

“Ready?” 

Azriel's expression turned serious and he nodded slightly, the movement tousling a loose strand of hair on his forehead. You found yourself momentarily distracted by it before quickly snapping your attention back to his intense gaze.

"You sure you’re up for this?" he teased, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "Last time, I seem to recall you complaining about my unfair advantage."

You rolled your eyes. "Unfair advantage, my ass. Just because you have shadows whispering in your ear doesn’t mean you’re unbeatable."

Azriel chuckled and his eyes gleamed with the sound, something bright and warm, golden like honey. "We'll see about that."

With a final shuffle, you placed the deck between you. "I’ll start.”

You began the game, cards flying between you as you tried to outpace each other. Your fingers moved swiftly, eyes darting between the cards and Azriel’s focused face. 

"Is that all you've got?" you teased, slapping down a card.

Azriel gave a low, deep chuckle. "Just getting started."

You matched each of his moves with your own, feeling your competitive fire burning bright within you, a simmering, insatiable adrenaline that made your heart beat faster. The sound of cards slapping against the table echoed through the room, mingling with your rapid breaths and the occasional muttered curse. You bit your lip, tightening the hold on your card.

"You’re slowing down," Azriel taunted in a melodic, light tone. You could hear the grin in his voice and you resisted the urge to look over at him. 

"Wrong," you shot back, eyes darting to the next card. “I’m just giving you a chance to catch up.” 

He snorted beside you, a sound so casual and childish that you bit back a laugh at it. He scooted closer to the table, moving forward to place another card, his arm brushing against yours in the process. 

It only took that one movement for you to become acutely aware of the closeness between you, of the heat of his body radiating into yours. Each time he grabbed or placed a card, the sensation built, sending a nervous flutter through you— a flutter too strong to be attributed to the alcohol alone. His shadows brushed against your skin and you bit back a shiver. 

You tried to ignore it, focusing on the game, but his scent—dark and intoxicating—kept pulling you back in, his body continuing to brush against yours—his knee, his arm—each touch subtle yet electrifying as he drew his hand back.

You briefly considered moving away to regain your composure, but the thought of disrupting your flow and losing concentration on the game held you in place. Then Azriel moved again, placing another card down, and you found yourself fixating on his fingers more than the card itself. The card faded into a white blur against the dark wood table as you stared at the ridges of his scarred hands, his slender fingers, his tan skin— they were attractive. Real attractive.

Azriel was attractive. This was a fact. And if you were being honest to yourself, you always harbored a crush on him—- though, you'd never acted on it, even if there were times where you could've sworn he felt something for you, too. You were good friends, great friends. You never dared to think about it too much. There was no use in entertaining unrealistic ideas. 

But Azriel looked even more attractive now—laid back, hair tousled, cheeks tinged with an alcohol flush, shadows stilled, and determination set in his grin.

You blinked.

"What the hell am I doing?" you muttered under your breath.

Az turned to you. "What?" 

"Huh?" you responded, feigning innocence, but Azriel narrowed his eyes, scanning your face intently.

"What did you say?" 

"Nothing," you replied quickly, trying to regain your composure. Azriel’s gaze steadied on yours, probing and assuming.

"You seem distracted."

“Me? No. I don't get distracted," you asserted, straightening yourself and sizing him up. Azriel raised a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"No?"

"No.”

He leaned back slightly, his smirk widening.

"Then why are you losing?" he asked casually.

Your eyes widened as you snapped your head to the table, a movement so swift and abrupt that a dull ache pulled at the base of your neck. Sure enough, you were losing. Az was one card— two if you were lucky— away from a clean victory. You ran your tongue along your teeth, forcing a smile as you tossed a glance back at him. 

"It's part of the plan.”

"Right,” Azriel quipped, the amusement seeping through his dimpled grin. “The plan to lose?”

That competitive fire flared within you. Damned him and that smile— that arrogant, smug smile. You couldn't let him win so easily, couldn't let him win at all. You rolled your eyes. 

"Are we gabbing like old ladies or are we playing?" 

He raised a brow but pulled himself even further to you. “Neither,” he murmured, “I’m winning.”

You gave him a mocking smile as he placed his next card, falling into another quick-paced round. You were bound to lose— a reality that had begun to manifest right before your eyes, solidifying with every card Azriel placed down. 

You needed to see his cards to strategize, to figure out your next move. But Azriel was laser-focused, his determination etched into his features like details in a finely crafted statue. Each time he brushed against you, a subtle heat ran through your skin. You stilled, shifting your gaze to his face. 

"Oh, Az, wait," you murmured softly. He glanced at you, brows furrowing in slight confusion as you leaned closer to him. Bringing your lip between your teeth, you bit down on it lightly to contain your growing smirk, voice softening as you continued, "You have something."

Azriel frowned and you seized your opportunity, bringing your hands to his face and lightly brushing the corner of his mouth with your thumb. It was a feigned gesture, as if you were wiping away a crumb or a smear of chocolate from the pastries you all had enjoyed earlier that evening. 

There was nothing there, of course, but it served your purpose well.

You made sure to let your thumb linger there for a moment, to brush the pad of your finger against his lips as you pulled back. You held his gaze— a burning, deep hazel. His eyes danced across your face and you watched as he swallowed hard. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of your lips but you fought it away, letting your hand fall down. 

You stole a quick glance at his cards before you leaned back, casually examining your own cards as you pretended to ponder your next move. He remained still beside you and you ignored the flutter in your ribcage, the strange, trickling sense of excitement that filled your gut. 

You placed your final card down on the table, the sharp snap of it breaking the momentary silence. Azriel snapped out of his reverie and looked down at the cards, then up at you. You leaned into him once more, a playful grin now tugging at your lips— smug and confident. "Speed," you declared confidently.

He blinked and shook his head slightly as he leaned in further to the table, examining the cards laid out before him. 

"Looks like I win.”

He dropped his cards onto the table and his gaze shot up to meet yours.

"You cheated.” 

You leaned back slightly, a mock hurt expression crossing your features. "I did not.”

Pointing an accusatory finger in your face, Azriel's voice grew firmer. "You're a cheater." 

You swatted his finger away, feeling the brush of his shadows swirling around it. "Get your finger out of my face.”

Azriel looked down, seemingly addressing his shadows in a murmured aside, before his gaze returned to yours. 

"It's not my fault you were so distracted," you teased, goading him with a sly glance.

"You distracted me!" 

Casting a nonchalant glance to the side, you shrugged casually. "I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, leaning back into the couch with a playful grin. "You're just mad I won."

"No, you didn't win," Azriel insisted, his jaw tightening in determination. “Because you're a cheater.”

Waving him off dismissively, you rolled your eyes. "There's that word again. Blaming me because you were distracted is such a sore loser move, dude." 

“Dude.” Azriel scoffed.  "You'd be pissed if I did the same thing.”

You innocently shrugged again. "I don't know what you're talking about. I would never get so distracted.”

He raised a brow and a sense of challenge flickered across his face. “No?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

It was a flat, bolstering lie. You knew it well. A simple brush against you had you so distracted that you nearly lost. And gods, does he look good like this, flustered, focused entirely on you. His furrowed brow, the intensity in his eyes—it was all so alluring. Some being, some butterfly must be trapped in your chest because the fluttering deep within your ribs intensified. 

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes scanning you in a manner that made you itch— made you feel naked and completely bare before him. 

"Don’t move," Azriel said, his voice low and teasing. You felt it against your skin like it was something tangible. "I think you... you have something here."

He leaned in closer, bringing his hand to your face, fingers poised to wipe the corner of your mouth just as you had done to him earlier. The movement was slow, sensual almost, and your heart nearly stopped when his eyes moved from your lips to your eyes. 

You held your breath and the corners of Azriel’s lips twitched. 

"Oh, nevermind," he murmured, withdrawing his hand. "Guess I'm seeing things."

You traced the path of that lip twitch, watching as it grew into a subtle, sly grin. The game had shifted now and Azriel seemed to think he was in the lead— seemed content in his victory. 

Absolutely not.

You let out a small hum. 

“Aw, Az,” you said, softening your face at him. You brought a hand to his bicep— he was dressed casually tonight, a simple black, short-sleeved shirt adorning his frame. His eyes widened slightly at your boldness but he didn't pull away. You placed your palm on his exposed skin, tracing a light, delicate path up his arm. “Always so thoughtful.”

He tensed underneath your touch, and his shadows curled over his shoulders, still and curious, peering down at the motion. Goosebumps ran along his skin and you felt him shudder underneath you, an almost imperceptible reaction. 

When you met his gaze again, Azriel’s eyes were molten. A muscle feathered in his cheek.

You gave into your urge, delicately brushing a small strand of hair away from his forehead and tucking it back into place. In truth, it felt like an excuse to touch him, to feel the softness of his hair beneath your fingertips. You heard a quiet, sharp intake of breath as his shadows moved slowly around his shoulders, watching your every move just as precisely as he did. 

“Well,” he said, and the sound came out as a croak. He cleared his throat as he brought his hand up to yours, wrapping it around your wrist as he lowered your hand with his own. “I’m thoughtful when it comes to you.”

His words didn’t feel like they were said only to get under your skin, nor did they seem like words chosen merely to rile you up—they felt like a confession. You fought to balance your reaction as you felt yourself being pulled in three different directions.

His words made you melt in a strange, almost pathetic way. They felt tender, caring, and you thought about how true they actually were, how much Azriel cared for you, and how often he made that care known. It was one of the reasons you liked him as much as you did, why it was so easy and comfortable being around him, why you felt so emboldened to distract him, to play with him, in such a manner that you did.

But then there was another emotion, a spitfire of competition that felt as if he had exposed a very vulnerable, very delicate nerve. That he was winning this game, that you were so openly affected by simple words and his hand around your wrist.

And finally, there was something else, something as strong as those flutters, something warm and hot that filled you with an urge to run your fingers through his hair, to pull him against you and feel those hands somewhere else. 

You scanned his face, watching as his expression seemed to soften a bit, as a crease formed between his brows. He was thinking too—deeply, intently, thoroughly thinking. It was almost the same look he wore in every game when he was strategizing, but this felt more intimate, more charged. You tried to reel yourself in, tried to throw every thought away and pull your mind together, fix your scent, your posture.

But then his eyes dropped to your lips.

Your heartbeat quickened and something fluttered in your chest, deep within your ribs— that damned caught, trapped butterfly moving in a frenzy. Your eyes dropped down to Azriel’s lips, and when you met his eyes again, he mirrored your actions. You took in the dark, thick lashes that adorned his eyes—lashes that you were able to see so clearly as he looked down towards you, towards your mouth.

The next moment was a blur. You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours. They were warm and soft and swallowed you completely— mind and body. 

His taste was intoxicating, a blend of the whiskey he had been drinking and something uniquely him. There had been small fantasies of Azriel that had creeped past your restraint over the years— images and thoughts about his lips and how he mustve felt pressed against you, how he fucked the countless women you’d seen him with.

Even this simple, heated and frenzied kiss was better than your most detailed dreams. 

You felt his hand slide up to cradle your face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Your own hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned into him. 

This felt better than any win you’d ever experienced.

You needed to cheat more often.

You pulled away for a brief second, gasping for breath, but the separation was short-lived. His eyes, dark and filled with a desire that mirrored your own, locked onto yours before he captured your lips once more. This time, the kiss was hungrier, more urgent. Azriel's hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands— those large, rough, and beautiful hands— roamed, one staying at your neck while the other slid down your back, drawing you even closer.

The world narrowed to just this moment—  to the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his hands felt on your skin. His hands guided you, and before you realized it, you were laying down on the couch, Azriel hovering over you, his lips never leaving yours. His body pressed against yours and his shadows threaded through the strands of your hair, the silky, air-light touch of their movement contrasting with the warmth of his skin— a heady mix that sent shivers down your spine.

He broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jawline, planting soft kisses along the way. You felt a deep, thrilling ache as he kissed the sensitive skin there and you tilted your head back, giving him better access as your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch. You circled the base of his wings, admiring how they stretched out above you, and he shivered under the touch, leaving a small playful bite on your neck in response.

“Finally!" 

A heat of panic ran down your skin and you pushed yourself upright— a movement so quick that it sent Azriel falling back onto his side of the loveseat. You caught a brief glimpse of him—disheveled, lips swollen, breathing heavy—before your gaze snapped to the intruder.

Cassian stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" you managed to gasp, your own breath coming in shallow pants.

“This.” Cassian pointed a finger between you and Azriel. "Fucking finally."

You casted a glance at Azriel who stared at his brother with a single raised brow. 

“How long have you been standing out there, Cass?" He asked.

Cassian shrugged, still grinning. "Long enough.”

“A bit too long, actually,” Mor’s voice rang out as she rounded the corner, now adorned in a comfortable sleep set. She settled into a stand next to Cassian, offering a small, sheepish smile. “I was starting to feel like a pervert.”

You cringed, a heat flushing your cheeks as you glanced over at Azriel, who met your gaze immediately. But he only sighed, running a hand through his hair as a lone shadow moved down the couch to wrap around your ankle. You ignored the skip of your heart.

"That's real weird, guys," you said.

Just a semblance of dignity is all you asked for.

Cassian waved it off. "Trust me, I've seen more than a handsy makeout with Az."

You grimaced, scrunching your face in distaste. Mor gave Cassian a pointed look. "Cassian—"

He shrugged, unperturbed. "I gotta admit, though, I didn't think we could get you to go that far. I thought maybe a realization—but holy shit!"

Mor’s eyes widened and she smacked his arm with the back of her hand. "Cassian!"

You threw a glance at Azriel but he didn't meet your gaze this time. Instead, he sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing at his brother. It was both unnerving and incredibly attractive—oh gods, focus.

You sat up straighter. "What do you mean you could get us that far?"

Cassian gave an unsure smile before responding, "Oh, you know, just a friendly little push." He looked at Mor, who looked equally guilty but offered you a sheepish, dimpled smile. 

"We were just trying to help you two along.”

Cassian pointed a thumb at her. "Her reasons are selfless, mine are selfish. I just couldn't deal anymore. It's like shoving two dolls together and making them kiss." 

He brought his hands up, mimicking the motion of holding two dolls and repeatedly mashed them together while making loud, exaggerated kissing sounds. Mor watched him with an unamused, scrunched face. 

You furrowed your brows and opened your mouth to talk, but Cassian cut you off, falling into a tipsy ramble.

 "I didn't anticipate how much we needed to drink, though. I thought I was going to get alcohol poisoning before you even touched."

Mor rolled her eyes. "Alright, that's a bit dramatic—"

"It is not," Cassian interrupted, turning to her.

"We barely—"

“You call that barely?”

"—We had one bottle—"

"-— A family-sized—"

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, eyebrows slightly raised, lips twitching with barely suppressed smiles. His eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and mirth as Cassian and Mor continued their bickering. Leaning back, you extended your hand toward the shadow near your feet. 

Azriel groaned. "Guys—" 

They kept talking.

"Guys!" 

They finally stopped and turned to face him, the room plunging into an awkward silence. Azriel sighed deeply, then said, "Get out. Please."

Mor's eyes widened. "Right! Sorry," she said, giving you a sheepish smile. Cassian, however, turned to you with a grin. 

"You're welcome," he said, and then turned to Azriel, winking. "You're extra welcome."

Mor scoffed, pushing Cassian out of the room. She turned around as she left, flashing you another smile and giving you two thumbs up. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, and your fingers tightened around the shadow on your hand.

When they disappeared from view, you exhaled deeply and turned towards Azriel. His gaze softened as he looked at you and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. The room felt quieter now, more intimate, and your heartbeat began to slow—  the fluttering in your chest giving way to a warm, steady pulse.

He let out a breath. “Well, that was..." 

"Something," you finished for him.

You locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound echoing throughout the room. 

"I love your laugh," Azriel murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You went breathless, the last note of your laughter leaving your tightened chest in a whisper. 

"Yeah?" 

A flutter filled your chest. 

He nodded and your smile widened as he edged closer, his hand gently cupping your face once more, drawing you to him. 

“They interrupted us," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

You swallowed and your cheeks flushed subtly with a blush as you leaned further towards him.

"What a shame," you murmured back, your words a soft invitation.

"A shame indeed." 

Without any further hesitation, his lips found yours again. The kiss was filled with an undeniable urgency—a promise and longing that had simmered beneath the surface for far too long. You melted into the sensation, every nerve ending electrified by the closeness, by the brush of his shadows against your skin.

He pulled away for a second, his breath warm against your lips.

"You were really good at that game, by the way."

You frowned.  "I was losing. Badly."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he shook his head. "Not originally. I was."

His thumb circled gently along your cheek. "But who knew all it took was a couple of brushes against your arm to get ahead again."

Your eyes widened in shock and you let out a small gasp, pulling back further to observe his face in full.  He met your gaze with a smug smirk, and despite yourself, a grin of impressed disbelief spread across your face.  

"You dirty little cheat!" you exclaimed, half in playful protest, half in genuine admiration.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his touch still caressing your cheek. "I'd say it worked out."

“Does this mean I win—" 

He cut you off softly, "Just let me kiss you."

Your protest melted away into a sigh of surrender as he closed the gap between you eagerly. You welcomed the warmth of his lips against yours, falling lax in his touch as he moved to hover you again. The world around you faded into insignificance. 

You definitely won tonight. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

idk why but this is one of my favorite lil moments ive written, it gave me butterflies writing it (i am touchstarved and a sore loser)

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli

azriel tag list 🫶🏻

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder 

[starkeymeow]

lover of mine ₍₅₎

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sexual themes !! but eek another cliffhanger i fear yall are gonna eat me alive

prev next

authors note: i havent slept and its 8am because ive been writing this for U GUYS 😞 let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list tho thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

drew jolts awake, his heart racing from whatever dream he’s already forgotten. he blinks against the early light streaming through the curtains, his eyes squinting as he scans the room. instinctively, his hand reaches for your side of the bed, but it’s empty.

“y/n?” he murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. his brain tries to catch up to his surroundings, still sluggish from sleep.

just as he’s about to throw the covers off and go looking for you, the door creaks open. there you are, balancing a tray in your hands with a small but proud grin on your face. his lips curl into an instant smile at the sight of you, and it’s relief that washes over him.

“good morning,” you draw out playfully, your voice teasing as you approach the bed. drew watches, amusement in his eyes.

“what’s all this?” he asks, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes but already intrigued by the spread.

you gesture to the tray proudly, listing off the items you’ve prepared. “made us both some eggs, bacon, toast . . . oh, and fresh fruit,” you say, pointing at the colorful array of berries on the side. “figured i’d bring it to you since you were still sleeping.”

he chuckles, sitting up properly and glancing over at the tray with a grin. “so did the others get the same royal treatment?” he jokes, looking up at you with raised eyebrows.

“obviously.” you nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “the girls and i were up early making breakfast for everyone. the guys are already up and eating, but i thought I’d bring yours here. you know, special delivery.”

he shakes his head, still smiling as he takes it all in. “so, breakfast in bed? don’t mind if i do.”

“shut up,” you say as you crawl onto the bed carefully, setting the tray between you both.

as you settle beside him, drew is already popping a blueberry into his mouth. he chews thoughtfully, an amused look crossing his face. “you know,” he says, pausing to finish his bite before continuing, “you never did stuff like this when we were together.”

you glance at him, casual as ever. “we were always too busy,” you reply nonchalantly, reaching for a piece of bacon. “i don’t think we ever really had time to eat breakfast together in the mornings, or whatever.”

it’s such an offhanded comment, one you barely think twice about, but drew does. his fork hovers mid-air as your words sink in. he realizes how right you are—there was always something else, always a rush to be somewhere or do something. sure, you spent time together, but not like this. not with simple, meaningful moments that could’ve mattered.

his thoughts flicker back to the night before, to the messages he saw on his phone. that nagging feeling from last night returns, tugging at him. he quickly glances over to the nightstand, his head whipping around so fast that it draws your attention immediately.

you laugh, startled by his sudden movement. “dude, are you alright?” there’s amusement in your voice, but you look at him with mild concern.

he blinks, pulling himself together, and his heart beats a little faster. “yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” he replies quickly, trying to shake off the tension that suddenly crept in. he flashes a quick smile, picking up his fork again and taking another bite. “just thought i, like . . . misplaced my phone or something.”

you raise a brow at him but let it slide, not thinking much of it as you continue eating.

drew takes a bite of the eggs, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out an involuntary moan. his hand flies to his mouth, covering it as he starts to laugh, almost embarrassed by how dramatic his reaction is. “oh my god . . .” he mumbles, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

you look over at him, confused but amused by his reaction. “what?” you ask, smiling, not quite getting what’s so funny.

he finishes chewing, still grinning, and gestures at the eggs with his fork. “these. i know it has to be you who made the eggs.”

you raise an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. “what do you mean?”

“there’s just something about the way you make them,” he explains, his voice sincere. “i don’t know what it is, but it’s like i could pick your eggs out of a million different versions. they’re always so . . . perfect. they melt in my mouth every time.”

you laugh, slightly bashful but clearly appreciating the compliment. “whatever,” you say, though you’re smiling. “they’re just eggs.”

he shakes his head, still smiling back at you. “no you’ve got, like, the magic touch or something.”

curious now, you take a bite of your own eggs, chewing thoughtfully before pausing. you look over at him, nodding slowly in agreement.“you’re right. these are good.”

drew laughs at your half-joking realization, and you can’t help but join in. the moment feels light and easy, like a glimpse of what things used to be, even if it’s just for a second. “told you,” he teases, leaning into you as he takes another bite.

you grin, leaning back into him. “okay, fine, maybe i do have a magic touch.”

the laughter fades, leaving a comfortable silence as you take another bite of your breakfast. it’s easy, almost natural, how quickly you fall into this rhythm—like no time has passed. drew shifts beside you, the subtle change in his posture drawing your attention.

he clears his throat, looking over at you. “thanks . . . by the way,” he says, and you look at him as he gestures to the food. “for breakfast. this is really nice.”

you give him a small smile, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “just don’t get too used to it.”

you’re laughing and singing songs with the girls as you make your way down to the beach. you’re only really carrying your towel with you as you skip down to an open spot. libby’s protecting her large floppy hat as she runs there with you, shouting that you all should make camp here.

you look behind you and wait for the others. you spot drew immediately as he carries the bluetooth speaker in one hand but on his opposite shoulder is the large tote bag you gave him earlier. he posed for you when you said he looked like a mother.

“hurry, hurry, hurry!” you say, mainly to drew, because he has the groups shared essentials. “i can literally feel my skin aging the longer you guys take.”

roman trudges through the sand, clearly not enjoying the trek, even though it’s better than if they didn’t stay at a beach house like they are now. “you know, if you’re so concerned about your skin aging, maybe you should’ve thought about that before today,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

gia grimaces at how stupid he is. “or maybe you should’ve thought about showering before leaving the house, babe,” she says, then continues walking over until she reaches you and libby.

roman stops in his tracks, feigning offense. “i’m literally holding your second bag to the beach. like who even does that?” he gestures dramatically to the extra tote slung over his shoulder.

theo comes up from behind and pats his shoulder to say that it’s okay as he passes by, so roman mumbles something under his breath as he continues.

eventually, you’re stripping down to your bikini as you watch the waves. you unbutton your shorts and pull them down, shimmying out of them before tossing them onto your towel that’s already been laid out.

you pull your hair away from your face as you look toward the group. “is anyone going in the water?” you ask them, but there’s several no’s and not yet’s that make you frown.

“i’ll go in later maybe,” theo volunteers for you. “i just came down here to bring the chairs and set my towel down but i still need to cook the hotdogs in the backyard.” he’s pointing behind him, and you groan.

“so boring,” you mumble as theo nudges oscar before they start heading back to the house to begin making late lunch already.

“y/n?” gia says as she plans on handing you the sunscreen next. she and roman have already had a turn as they share their towel together. roman looks as grumpy as ever as he rubs the sunscreen into his skin while gia sits pretty and tries to keep her hair out of her face.

you drop to your knees on your towel and shuffle forward to reach for the bottle that gia hands you, and you plant your butt back down on your towel.

drew finishes setting up the speaker for leila to play her music, and he glances over just in time to see you about to apply sunscreen. he hesitates for a moment, then clears his throat, “you want some help?”

you look up, a bit surprised but also amused. “are you volunteering?”

“maybe,” he replies, “just thought i’d help out.”

you bite your lip, considering it. “okay, but just my back, please.” you’ve already squeezed some sunscreen into your hand so you decide to spread it on your legs while he gets to work on your torso.

he steps onto your towel and crouches down behind you. as his hands glide over your skin, you can’t help but sigh in relief. “you’re kinda really good at this. i feel like i’m at a spa.”

drew grins, glancing at you. “guess i’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.”

there’s a moment of playful silence as you finish your legs, and he begins massaging the sunscreen into your shoulders. you tilt your head back a little, relishing in the feeling.

it almost feels nice to recognize the familiar hands across your skin. he’s dipping down toward your chest as he settles down to get closer, reaching around you. you make it easier by leaning back against his chest while watching his hands, making sure he’s not doing anything he shouldn’t be.

but it’s like you’re in a daze as you witness the way he rubs it into your chest, around your bikini top, and down to your waist. he knows your body well enough to know that he’ll cause goosebumps immediately, and he does.

a part of you feels guilty, like it’s almost wrong—but it is all for the plan, right? you make up the excuse for yourself as drew’s hands move back up, edging the bottom of your breasts as your breath hitches. you hear his breathing by your ear as you watch him be so careful, so cautious with where he touches you.

but before it goes any further, he pulls away, and honestly, you think it's a smart choice. you swallow down whatever you just felt as you pull yourself together, and you glance behind you as he gets up. “thanks, star,” you murmur, and you hear a faint ‘uh-huh’ as he sits back to do his own.

you make sure he’s rubbed everything in briefly before turning back to see what he’s doing. he’s already spreading sunscreen onto his arms when he catches your eye, and there’s a smile when he understands the situation.

he nods to the bottle that’s just laying on the towel, and you know what this means. that it’s alright if you want to help him too.

you take the bottle into your own hands and squeeze some out onto your palm, then crawl behind him to sit down. you work on his back for a while, and you can’t help but admire him while he can’t see you.

you notice everything. the way his back muscles flex, how he flinches the moment your hands touch him, but also the way he relaxes into your touch the second after.

he’s waiting patiently for you, and you hear him chuckle a bit after you finish, so you crawl on all fours to sit down in front of him. you give him a look, asking if he’s already done it yet, but he shakes his head.

you smile to yourself as more sunscreen lands in your palm, and you massage it into his shoulders first. he sits up straight for you as you slowly make your way down.

you can’t tell if he’s flexing his abs as a joke but you look up at him and make eye contact, just inches away, and you smile at each other. he’s stupid but it still amuses you regardless.

he leans back and holds himself up by his palms, looking up to the sun. his eyes are clamped shut as he scrunches his nose briefly.

you move your hands lower until you reach his v-line, a little underneath the hem of his shorts. you shouldn’t be going there but you do anyway. he tenses immediately when you start and you know what you’re doing—you can’t help it—but you pull away and spread the remaining sunscreen on his face to make sure he’s fully covered. you feel like a mother when you do, but ignore it.

“i appreciate it, thank you,” he says to you, and you close the sunscreen bottle and toss it back over to one of the open chairs in case anyone else needs it.

with that, you get up, looking toward the water as you adjust your bottoms. you look back at drew, “come on.”

“what?” he says out of habit, before realizing what you’re talking about. “no.”

“come on,” you say again as you walk to him and grab his arms, then his wrists, to pull him onto his feet. you know he’s willing because you’re even able to move him.

you let go of his wrists as you make your way over to the water. “let’s go! just for a bit! you can just dip your feet in.”

drew doesn’t say anything but him rolling his eyes tells you everything. he’s so sassy, but it makes you grin as you hold your hand our for him to take. he’s slow as he walks over, pretending to not want to, and you groan.

“okay then go sit back down if you don’t want t—”

you’re terrified when he starts charging at you, and you scream as you run to the water as if it’ll help you. he runs in there with you, but you’re constantly looking back and going deeper in when you see he’s still determined to catch you.

he’s pretending to be some monster as he fake growls, though it’s just his face with no round, while clawing at the water as he tries to make his way over to you.

the small waves hit your torso and your hair as it splashes up your body. it’s colder than you thought it would be, and your mouth gapes open in shock.

drew ends up catching up to you and he scoops you up with ease since you’re in the water, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you further into the ocean by your bum.

you look toward the group and see what everyone’s doing in just a brief moment—theo and oscar still gone, you see roman even heading back to the house to help probably, gia’s tanning while laying on her towel, then leila and libby are talking while on the beach chairs right beside her.

drew stops walking when you reach a good spot that won’t kill you in a wave. hopefully. but he doesn’t set you down. the water already reaches high on his torso, so he assumes it’s best not to put you down and risk an incoming wave.

you hold on tight as you look out to the horizon, and you pull away to look at him. there’s an instant smile that forms when you’re face-to-face.

“the water feels nice,” you say awkwardly. the ocean is cold against your back but any body part that touches drew’s body is warm. he’s warm. “i’m really glad you came.”

drew cocks his head to the side as he squints his eyes, “i’m pretty sure i had to. leila wanted to go to the beach today so uh . . .”

“no you fucking—” he’s laughing and you have to wait until he’s done. “you know i meant on this trip,” you tell him.

“i’m glad you came too,” drew says, and you pull him closer again, burying yourself between your arm and the side of his head, and you close your eyes as the waves push you back and forth.

hours pass, unexpectedly. you didn’t initially plan on staying there for so long—none of you do, but time just flies. you’ve eaten the hotdogs provided by the boys, which you heard some got burnt thanks to theo.

you played volleyball a bit after, boys vs girls. you wanted to sit out but leila convinced you to stay.

“don’t be such a baby, roman!” you remember gia yelling to her boyfriend from across the net, and then he was hit with the volleyball again.

now it’s nightfall. you’ve all packed up and returned to the house simultaneously to take showers. some stay to talk or build really sad sand castles out of cups from the house while others occup the showers.

“why don’t you and theo just shower together?” you remember libby asking leila as you and her laid on the chairs together while libby was on the floor with said sand castle.

leila grimaces. “washing sand out of his ass is not romantic whether you’re about to be married or not.”

now you’re all clean, dressed in your pajamas with your freshly wet hair as you sit on the floor with leila. drew is already taking his turn in the shower while you discuss the little scrapbook leila brought on the trip.

she said that she bought everything literally on day one, and she hasn’t gotten around to filling it out yet because she doesn’t know how to. she grabbed you to help and you went to your room to see what she had.

there’s different stickers, paint, flowers, glitter, possibly the entire arts and crafts store all over the floor as you two plan even the first page. she had absolutely no idea what she was doing—you’re certain that she went to the store that day and just started grabbing whatever she thought was cute, but you don’t blame her.

“i just want to show this to our kids or something when they’re our age,” leila says as she rearranges the photograph of her and theo when they first started dating, and she frowns at the memory.

“are you thinking about kids?” you ask her as you glue on a piece of paper in the corner of the page that leila insisted was aesthetic.

leila shrugs, “i mean, you know how it is. eventually, just not now. i don’t think theo and i are ready for that.”

“waking up to crying in the middle of the night,” you let her picture it herself as you scrunch your nose up, “when you already haven’t been able to sleep for days.”

“that’s the only part i’m not excited about,” leila tells you, and she pauses as she thinks about it. “besides the vomiting, the screaming, the pooping, so really i—”

“—should not have a child anytime soon,” you cut her off, and she chuckles, nudging you with her shoulder as she plays around with some of the stickers.

leila sighs after a bit and she looks around, but it’s difficult to see right away when all the stuff is on the floor. “what time is it? i feel like it’s getting late, or it’s ice cream sundae time.”

“probably the second one,” you mumble as you look around for your phone. you don’t know where it is but it clearly isn’t there. it must be in one of the tote bags downstairs, but that’s too far away. “hold on.”

you get up and carefully step over the mess you’ve created—though leila’s already collecting everything to call it a night—and approach your side of the bed. your phone isn’t there still and there’s no clock in this particular room.

you take a peek over at drew’s side of the bed. his phone is laid face down on his nightstand, almost about to fall off. you sigh as you grab it and plan on putting it safely on the nightstand after you check the time really quickly.

“it’s just 10,” you tell her.

she nods as she stuffs her bag with more supplies, muttering under her breath, “definitely sundae time.”

you’re about to put his phone down when a notification comes in. he has a million already pending but you don’t even plan on looking at them until this one comes in just now.

‘ are you seriously with her? ’

you furrow your eyebrows as you check the name.

mila?

is this his girl best friend or something?

another notification comes in right after that that you can’t ignore.

‘ i’m going to sleep. just text me tomorrow. ’

‘ please. ’

‘ i miss you. xo ’

the words blur together for a second, but the meaning behind them hits you all at once. he’s been talking to someone else this whole time, since before the plan was even made probably. you feel a twist in your stomach, but you try to steady yourself, taking a slow breath.

you weren’t expecting this, but it’s not like he owes you anything. you knew things had changed between you two, but seeing these messages—it hurts more than you thought it would.

you’ve been getting closer, laughing together, and just being there in the ocean in his embrace . . . and the whole time, someone else has been on the other side of his phone, waiting for him.

if you had known, if drew had told you he was still talking to someone, you never would’ve agreed to this plan.

you feel uncomfortable, a little betrayed, but not heartbroken. it’s not that deep—not yet. but it’s enough to make you feel like you’ve stepped into something you weren’t prepared for.

“you wanna make the sundae with me?” leila’s voice barely rips you from your thoughts as she gathers her things in her bag and stands up, waiting on you.

“what? no, i’m fine,” you tell her. “i’m probably gonna head to bed soon? i don’t know, i’m tired but i’ll let you know. i’ll probably join you, knowing me.”

she smiles at you but leaves it at that, and leaves the room, leaves your thoughts to grow bigger and louder now that you’re alone.

you don’t check any more of his messages, respecting enough of his privacy not to dig. the weight of those few words heavy in the air as you switch his phone off and set it back down on the nightstand.

i miss you. xo

you shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. this was supposed to be for your friends, just a harmless plan to avoid awkward questions. that’s all. but now, you’re starting to wonder if there’s more going on here than you realized.

this wasn’t part of the plan.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @cl4uus @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi

[eatfishies]

your touch sets me ablaze | 🔞

summary: Rafayel is determined to make all your worries go away.

or

Rafayel giving his "Miss Bodyguard" the time of her life.

word count: 3.5k words tags: NSFW, rafayel x reader (afab), porn without plot, oral sex (cunnilingus), clit play, swearing, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, public sex (or semi..? idk), pet names, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship fish notes: rafa fingers owo .. that’s it . i jus have an obsession w his pretty fingers ok . hehe hope all of u enjoy <3 ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ | my twt !

The long-awaited day of Rafayel’s exhibition is finally here. She smoothed out her dress, ensuring that there is no speck of dust or any creases. The dress hugged her curves like second skin, a dark blue shade that matches the ocean — she heard it faintly as she fixed herself on the mirror. The tidal waves swished around with fluidity as the birds chirped merrily, giving her a sense of peace despite the gnawing anxiety bubbling up inside her. She sighed, biting her lip as she mulled over her thoughts when the door opened, revealing Rafayel. 

Dressed in a white buttoned shirt, paired with a dark blue suit jacket and black tailored slacks. He looked mesmerizing as he always does whenever she sees him. Many people claim that Rafayel’s paintings are beautiful, each brushstroke has its own story and together, mixed with the soft colors is enough to draw someone in. It was easy to get lost in his artworks hence why his buyers are eager to get their hands on the latest pieces of his art. Every art dealer was entranced by the beauty of it. One could say, if you gaze at his painting, the sight of it could linger in your mind even as you slumber, dancing around and luring you into the depths of the ocean.

He smiled at her, his eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively, “Hey cutie, looking good there.” He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips, “Why the long face…? It’s my exhibition, not yours.” She knows he was just teasing, trying to quell her dwelling thoughts but she can only give him a faint smile.

“I know that… I just…” She sighed, unsure of how to properly form her sentence. Her mind is constantly racing, overlapping each fleeting thought. “I’ve just been… overthinking about all sorts of things, I suppose. Maybe it’s just the stress of everything…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the side.

The Lemurian hummed, studying his lover’s face with deep concentration, “Well, we still have some time left to kill. Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” His hands cupped her face gently, making her stare at his handsome face. 

“Uh… I’m not sure.” She responded, still preoccupied with her troubles. 

Rafayel’s hands fall to the side before grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the bedroom and into the center of the studio. He gently pushed her down to the couch, “Stay here.” He said before stalking off to grab something from the desk. She could only watch with curiosity, wondering what Rafayel had planned to distract her. 

When he came back, he was holding a box of Pile It Up. She couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a surge of competitive spirit bubbling inside her. “Oh, you’re so on!” She grinned at him.

And yet, after a few minutes of playing, she felt the same thoughts resurfacing. Rafayel didn’t need to be told twice to know that his partner is deep in her worries, he could see the frown etched on her features or the way she subtly tapped her fingers repeatedly against the block. 

He sighed, standing up and taking a seat next to her, “I hate seeing you like this.” He paused, searching her face before caressing her cheek tenderly, “We don’t need to talk about it but I wished I could take all your troubles away. It makes me sad to see you look so blue.” 

A small hint of guilt crept up, she forced herself to hold Rafayel’s gaze. “I’ll be fine, really. Just… stress, the usual.” She spoke tiredly, relishing the feeling of his hand on her cheek. 

Suddenly, an idea popped up inside the painter’s head. “Then… let me put your mind at ease, yeah?” But before she could inquire, the Lemurian pulled her into a soft kiss, effectively drowning out any single thought she had previously. Their lips moved languidly in a passionate yet loving kiss. His hands slid down to feel her curves, swallowing her needy whimpers as his fingers hiked the hem of the dress up, exposing more of her skin. 

He gently laid her down and pulled away, hovering above her, admiring the way her lips are now swollen and glistened with his saliva. No doubt that the lipstick has smeared onto his mouth as well but he couldn’t care less, slowly inching closer to her most intimate place. She bit her lip, growing impatient at his deliberate and sensual movements but the words of protest died in her throat when Rafayel finally touched her clit, feeling the wet patch growing as he kept stroking her.

“You’re already so wet for me… you sure are eager, aren’t you?” He smirked as she gripped his arms and bucked her hips. “Come on, let me hear your pretty sounds, cutie.” He purred, effortlessly pulling her panties to the side and rubbing her slick folds. A string of moans and whimpers fell from her lips as Rafayel continued to touch her, staring intently as her expressions contorted to one of pleasure. The worry lines on her face, the frown and the anxiousness emitting off of her earlier are all gone, replaced by fervent lust and desire. 

With a swift motion, Rafayel plunged two fingers deep inside her wet pussy. Her velvet walls clamping down tightly as he curled his digits, “Ha…! F- fuck! Raf…” She moaned out, it was the sound that he could never get tired of hearing. Her body writhed beneath her lover’s skilful ministrations. 

“That’s it… keep feeling good around my fingers. You’re doing so well for me, baby.” He uttered sultry and low, pressing kisses on her neck before biting onto the flesh. He knew that once she was clear-headed, she would scold him for leaving a mark, especially when they were both due to attend his exhibition later. But Rafayel couldn’t care less, he was addicted to her scent, her taste, her sounds and everything about her makes him want to lose himself completely, surrendering himself to the woman he holds dear to. 

The heat in her stomach coiled, the tell-tale signs of her climax approaching her as Rafayel fingers her faster and deeper, noticing the pitch of her moans getting louder. Her wet cunt squelched obscenely around his long digits as he worked to bring her close to her release. He licked her earlobe and nipped at it, “Be a good girl and come all over my fingers. Come on, you can do it, can’t you?” 

Spurred by Rafayel’s encouragement, she squeezed her eyes shut as her pussy clenched tightly around his plunging fingers. “I’m… I’m close! I’m gonna come!” She cried out, her cunt clamping down on his digits as she came hard, pussy juice gushing out and all over his hand and wrist. 

“Good girl. You did so great, my little conch.” He pulled his soaked fingers out and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Rafayel felt a swell of pride at seeing the state of his lover like this, she’s no longer concerned with troubling thoughts or anxieties. Only a look of pure bliss. 

He brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of her. “You taste divine, my love.” A blush spread through her cheeks as she stared at the sight of Rafayel delightfully tasting her essence. 

“But… I’m not done yet. Not even close.” His voice drops an octave lower as he spread her legs wide and tugged her damp panties off, tossing them on the floor. Her cunt fluttered around nothing, dripping with slick from her orgasm earlier. “I can’t wait to devour you.” And with that, he leaned in and lapped her pussy tentatively, keeping his gaze fixed on her face as her fingers tangled in his purple hair, gripping it. 

Debauched cries and moans bounced off the walls along with the erotic sounds of Rafayel eating her cunt out with vigor, like a man starved. “F- feels so good!” She whimpered as the Lemurian held her thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to her sopping core. 

Unable to resist, Rafayel delved in deeper, sealing his lips around her clit and suckling the sensitive nub. He flicked his tongue faster, determined to bring his dear bodyguard to her peak once more. The needy sounds spilling from her lips were like music to his ears, urging him on, to give her the pleasure that she so desperately sought. 

“D- don’t stop, Raf! Please!” Her hips bucked wantonly as she ground her slick cunt against his mouth. Rafayel smirked in response, letting her tug on his hair fiercely as he thrust his tongue deep inside her clutching heat, fucking her with his mouth, feeling incredibly turned on and eager to watch her fall apart beneath him. 

He could feel her juices flooding his mouth, could taste her arousal coating his tongue. Rafayel could go on for days burying his head in between her legs, couldn’t ever get enough of her sweet essence. “Come for me. Come on my tongue like the good girl that you are.” He spurred, the words vibrating against her sensitive flesh. 

The all-too familiar sensation coursed through her body as she moaned out, “I’m gonna come! Raf, I’m gonna come!” At that, Rafayel vigorously sucked hard on her clit, feeling her walls starting to flutter and clench around his plunging tongue. He could feel the heat of her core climbing, threatening to spill once more. The Lemurian easily slipped in two fingers, knuckle-deep into her dripping cunt. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so to hit that spot that made his lover writhe in utter bliss. 

It was too much, the stimulation was overbearing as her body tensed, her thighs clamped around his head as she teetered on the brink. Rafayel gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he ate them out with wild, desperate abandon. 

“Rafayel!” She cried out, arching off of the couch as her orgasm crashed over her for the second time. The painter moaned as he felt the flood of arousal coating his tongue and chin, lapping it up greedily as she shuddered and quaked beneath him. He could feel the way her walls gripped his fingers, sucking in and reluctant to let go, milking his hand for all it was worth. 

“P- please… too much…” She whined, riding out the intense wave of her climax. Rafayel gave her dripping wet pussy one last lick before pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “I could just drown in your taste for the rest of my life.” He spoke breathlessly, slowly withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean, just like he did earlier.  

Just as Rafayel was about to lean down and kiss her, the unmistakable sound of his ringtone snapped both of their attention. Rafayel stared down at her, a look of surprise on his face, “Let me get it.” He stood up and walked over to the desk, grabbing his phone. Frowning, he reads the message and pockets it away, looking back at her with a sigh. “It’s Thomas. Says we need to be at the exhibition in 20 minutes.” 

A small part of her felt disappointed at the fact that they would need to go out soon but she wasn’t just the only one whos’ feeling it. Rafayel gazed at her with a slight pout, he had hoped to fuck her silly before they were called to the gallery. But alas, duties calls and if they stalled any longer, Thomas would suspect something was up, even though Rafayel is known for arriving late to his exhibitions or not even appearing at all. 

“Should we just ditch this and not go?” He said exasperatedly, crossing his arms in annoyance. She smiled softly at him, sitting up straight and pulling her dress down, still panty-less underneath. She could feel her own slick running down her inner thighs, a faint blush spread through her cheeks as she briefly recalled the way Rafayel had brought her to climax twice. 

However, her gaze lowered to the sight of Rafayel’s painfully hard and obvious bulge, straining against his pants. Biting her lips, she quickly squashed down any lewd thoughts, refraining from losing her focus by daydreaming about sinking her tight wet cavern onto Rafayel’s thick cock. No, she needs to get it together and actually drag her Lemurian lover to the gallery, lest they face the wrath of Thomas. 

With a reluctant smile, she stood up and bent down to pick up her panties, slipping them on. “I guess it’s time to go. Come on, you pouty baby.” She pinched his cheek, earning a glare from her lover but it lacked no malice, instead filled with tenderness and love. Rafayel sighed dramatically, intertwining their fingers together, “Fine, fiiiiinee.” 

As they began to walk towards the front door, she paused, “Ah wait, I need to grab something.” But Rafayel wouldn’t budge, clasping her hand tightly as he stared ahead. He leaned in and whispered hotly in her ears, “Just keep your panties on. Don’t think this is over just because we’re going somewhere.” Heat rises up to her cheeks at the suggestive implication, was Rafayel planning something? It was a risky move, she knew she should go and grab the short pants to wear beneath her dress but Rafayel only gripped his hold on her, sensing the slight confusion. “Trust me, cutie. I know a way to make the exhibition waaaay more entertaining.” 

Alas, she gave in and nodded, “No funny stuff, alright!” She warned but Rafayel only smiled cheekily at her in response. “I’ll be a good boy and behave, dontcha’ worry, my darling.” He gave her a wink, a silent promise to be on his best behavior, yet there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes.

‧───────────────‧

The gallery was filled and buzzing with prestigious art dealers and other VIP guests, mingling around and admiring the exquisite artworks that were displayed on the walls. She stood to the side, a glass of champagne in her hand as she glanced at Rafayel who is, no doubt, forced to converse with the guests by Thomas. She hummed, taking in the scene before her, it was clear that Rafayel has always been popular but to witness it entirely was a different feeling. It warms her heart knowing that Rafayel is loved and cherished by many people here – a respected artist in his own field, earning awe-struck stares and quiet excited cheers. 

She took a sip of her drink, enjoying her solitude when Rafayel sauntered over to her. “How is my princess doing?” He smirked, standing next to her, his gaze briefly flickering down to the hem of her dress. She could tell a thing or two about what he’s thinking, all of the thoughts are most likely inappropriate. “I’m doing okay.” She replied casually, “Shouldn’t you be talking to your esteemed guests? Wouldn’t want Thomas to come hurling complaints again, hm?” 

At the mention of Thomas’s complaints, Rafayel grimaced and looked away, “Puh-lease, I’m his boss here, not him. He can’t control me, no matter how much he wants to.” His hand found their way on her hips, pulling her close. “Besides, I’m bored. Let’s go somewhere private, yeah?” Before she could voice out her objections, Rafayel immediately dragged her to the quieter, lonely 

 side of the gallery. There were no artworks framed on the walls nor are there any people here to disturb the couple. “Raf honey… are you sure we're allowed here? Isn’t this section of the gallery closed off?” Her voice tinged with uncertainty and maybe a little bit of unease at the blank and empty part of the gallery. 

“It’s fine, no one ever comes home.” He reassured her, letting go of his hand and cupping her face, “Now, it’s just the two of us here.” Rafayel captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire from before into it. She could taste the remnants of her pussy juice, rendering her completely into a puddle of mess as Rafayel’s fingers trailed down and slipped underneath her dress with ease. She whimpered against his lips as Rafayel rubbed her clit through her damp panties, soaked from the pleasure she received back in the comfort of his home. 

“R- raf… ah! Mhmm… we- we can’t” She murmured helplessly as Rafayel began to nip at her neck, licking the hickey he left there. It had bloomed beautifully, his mark on hers – a sign to everyone that she was his. Only his. 

Of course, she hadn’t been a fool, she did try to cover up the hickey before they stepped into the exhibition but Rafayel wouldn’t stop pestering her and telling her to just leave it be. In the end, she caved in and proudly showed off the mark, albeit with much reluctance and embarrassment. Rafayel rasped, “Need you… need you here, right now.” 

Swiftly, Rafayel tugged her panties aside and unzipped his pants, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He pressed her against the wall, her back facing him, “N- now?!” She sputtered but Rafayel was already stroking his aching shaft on her sopping wet mound. 

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. Rafayel wanted nothing more than to slam inside, to consume her entirely, his body blazing with need but he knew she was still sensitive from the overstimulation. “Keep quiet, okay?” He whispered hotly before thrusting deep inside her slick walls, burying himself to the hilt, feeling it tighten. 

“You feel so fucking good.” He gripped her hips, staring intently at his lover, biting her lips to stifle the moans and cries of pleasure. Without wasting any time, Rafayel set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward as he fucked into her dripping cunt with deep, powerful strokes. Anyone could walk in on them, going at it like rabbits in heat but all caution and care was thrown out of the window. Rafayel could only feel her wet, clasping heat, determined to bring her to the edge and make her feel good. There was no denying the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, if a guard were to catch them, they would no doubt be in trouble.

Then again, the risk is what makes it exciting. Rafayel groaned softly, nuzzling into her neck as she held back her cries of ecstasy, the familiar coppery tang of her blood sinking into her tongue from biting her lips too hard. Rafayel’s hands slid up to cup and knead her breasts through her dress as he pounded into her. The sensation was too much, her brain was all mushy as her pussy fluttered around him, sucking him in deeper, wanting more. 

Her hands pathetically scrambled to hold onto the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as she desperately tries to not let a single sound fall off of her lips. Rafayel’s voice was low, “You're clenching me so tightly baby. Ha… what a dirty girl, taking my cock like this out in the open. You love this, don’t you?” 

A whimper escaped from her throat as Rafayel slammed his hips forward fast and deep into her dripping, clinging heat. He noticed the way her breath quickened, her face etched in a fucked-out expression, losing herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Her pussy clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering wildly as he drove her closer to the edge. 

Rafayel withdrew from fondling her breasts and gripped her face, turning her towards him as his lips met hers in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth as he fucked her towards her release. “Come for me, you can do it. Come one more time for me on my cock.” He murmured against her lips, feeling his orgasm nearing.

He felt her body stiffened, coming undone as he drowned out all her cries with a wet, sensual kiss. Rafayel grunted, his hips stuttering and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her soaked cunt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he pumped her full with his seed. Rafayel pulled away and panted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, a sheen of sweat trickling down from their coupling. He gazed at her with adoring eyes, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before he reluctantly pulled out of her cum-filled cunt. Rafayel tugged the panties to the center of her clit, covering her as she caught her breath. 

Wordlessly, Rafayel scooped her into his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. Her eyes shut closed, her mind dancing around cloud nine from the intensity of it all.  

“Let’s go home, my love.” He said softly as he made his way towards the exit, ignoring the curious stares and ogles from the people in the exhibition. When Thomas tried to question him, Rafayel dismissed him and continued to walk to his car, gently putting her down onto the passenger seat.

Once they were home, Rafayel put on a bath and scrubbed her clean with much affection. Afterwards, he prepared dinner and cuddled her, staring down at her peaceful expression as she slumber. 

“I love you, my treasure.” He spoke quietly, kissing her forehead before falling asleep with his lover in his arms. 

[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 17 ~ Wet Dream

Logan Howlett x AFAB! Reader

Summary: Logan gets some explicit dreams about you, the neighbor next door

A/N: Hope everyone's doing okay! I kinda like the timeline of these posts, I might do it like this for the rest of the month.

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next Kinktober '24 Masterlist

Logan Howlett was a man used to nightmares. Always waking up in a sweat, not being able to sleep for the rest of the night. The dreams varied on him killing someone he loved and all of the trials he faced during his 200 years of life. The Weapon X experiment. When he lost Jean. Everything.

Until recently, he met you, the cute neighbor next door.

You just moved in a month ago across the hall. The first time he met you, you asked for a few eggs for a cake you were making. All in your pjs, baggy shirt, sweatpants, and teddy bear slippers. No clear indication of being attractive at all. Yet, there was something about you.

Logan chopped it up as needing to get out for more fresh air. And he did get it. But that didn't stop his mind from thinking about you. How nice you were, dealing with Wade's shenanigans, promising to keep an eye on Althea and Dogpool when they went on missions.

Every single minute spent on you, how you would feel under his arms, taste against his tongue, smell along his nostrils. He wanted all of you, but he didn’t want to make that step. He was just figuring out how to be an honorable version of himself again. Bringing you into the picture was too soon.

So his dreams helped him out—goodbye nightmares and hello erotic dreams of situations that weren't going to happen.

They always started as if he was in a porno.

You coming over to say, “Can I borrow some more eggs?”

And he’d say, “I have some eggs you can borrow.”

That led to you making out with him in his bedroom, taking in how much you tasted. Logan can't wait to peel off those baggy clothes and feel your bare skin. He doesn't set unrealistic expectations in his mind about your appearance. He knows you're sexy as hell and thought about you in that way ever since.

He always takes you to his bed so he can fuck you properly. Not before deciding to draw attention to your breasts. Those voluptuous mounds of yours that he licks and sucks. Circling his tongue around your nipple as he flicks the other one. Logan’s dream you sounds better than any other song he's heard on the radio. He doesn't want you to remain silent while he divulges into your body.

Logan nips at your skin, kissing your navel before reaching below. He avoids your sex entirely to run his lips along your thighs. He makes a few marks on the inner thigh, grunting at your soft noises.

Sometimes, his dreams go two different ways. He's eating you out, desperate to know what you taste like against his tongue. He's submerged in you, closing his eyes and groaning into that soaked cunt of yours. Your hands dive into his hair, pulling him closer to you if possible. Whining for him to not stop, to keep going.

Logan's fingers push into you as he’s devouring you. Feeling those wet walls stretch out from his large digits. Preparing you for his thick cock to replace them. You whine to tell him you're so close, and he's always a gentleman. He makes you cum while licking your clit. Your thighs squeeze around his head as you cry out for him. You sound so good that cum starts leaking from his tip, desperate to be inside you.

There are other times when Logan gets impatient, and he enters you immediately. Not wanting to waste a second in having your cunt around him. And he fits you so perfectly. Logan holding back everything he can to not cum right then and there.

“You were made for me, princess.” He says with a gruff tone before beginning his thrusts.

A lot of times Logan makes love to you on your back. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he's showing you how much he's wanted to do this to you. Your nails dig into his skin, but he likes that. It spurs him on even more, his thrusts picking up more speed.

If he wants to experiment more, your legs are over your head, not giving you much room to move as his hips snap against yours. Or you're riding him and he's entranced at the way you fuck yourself on his dick. All sloppy and desperate. Aching to make yourself cum for him.

But his dreams always ended the same way. With his seed inside you, leaking from your cunt. You're in complete bliss when you cuddle beside him, caressing the hairs on his chest.

Then he wakes up. Still covered in sweat and his boxers stained with cum. Like a damn teenager.

Logan knows it's embarrassing, but he's not ready to ask you out yet. He's okay with pining over you from afar.

Tags: @fandomfics @freythecrazyfae @maddyperezzzsstuff

@mynamesstevenwithav @eyes-ofhell @maxad99

@howlingco @cherrypieyourface @snails-doodles22

@siren-141 @nega-omega @sweetimpurity

@hehekittyhawk @spencerswh0r3 @saintdiior

@maliaofthevalley @wolverigrl @pigeonmama

@shybluebirdninja @tomie-it-girl @antishadow2021

@honey-and-olives @yxtkiwiyxt @wtfhasmy-lifecometo

@ripleyswife @davidboqie @angelic-sturniolos111

@golden-ebony @ethanhoewke @marit332

@smokeywhalee

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Mesmerized.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 0.8k.

TW: Hypnosis, Unhealthy Relationships, General Lose of Autonomy, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]

“You’re getting crueler, brother.”

Lynette watched you stir at the sound of her voice, nearly identical to that of your dearly beloved, but you slackened as soon as you realized it was only his sister, melting back into place against Lyney’s side. Your expression was one of vacant bliss; all glassy eyes and careless smiles, worry only visible in the dark circles laced under your eyes, the pained creases folded into either corner of your mouth. A poor imitation, altogether. You looked more like yourself when you were angry.

Lyney hummed, resting his head on your shoulder. As if trained to, you cooed softly and raised a hand, carding your fingers through his hair as he spoke, self-satisfaction heavy in his voice. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Is it cruel to want to spend time with one’s dearly cherished?”

“Father said not to let the public see them until—”

“—until we’ve fallen in love,” Lyney finished. It was a clipped summary, to say the least. In reality, Lord Arlecchino’s order had played more closely to the tune of ‘until you’ve collared your pet properly’, but admittedly, Lynette might’ve missed something. She and Freminet had been listening from the other side of a steel door, and Lyney hadn’t been eager to discuss their conversation after her lecture ended. “And I’m sure, if you bothered to ask, you’d already know that we’re quite in love. Aren’t we, beautiful?”

“Quite in love,” you parroted. There was something strange about your inflection, as if you were trying to speak in a language you hadn’t yet mastered, but Lynette chose not to dwell on it.

“And I’d hardly call this the public,” Lyney went on, when Lynette made it clear that she had yet to be impressed. He made a quick, sweeping gesture to the rest of the backstage area – as if the technicians and stage-hands rushing between lighting rigs and half-assembled props were no more real than the silhouetted figures painted onto the set dressing they were hauling into place. “Think of it as… a trial run, to see how much we’ve improved. If everything goes well tonight, perhaps we’ll be able to attend Father’s next banquet together, too. I’ve been dying to introduce them to the rest of our family – preferably without all the screaming and biting, this time.”

That, Lynette could admit, would probably be for the best. She still had a bruise in the shape of your teeth on her left wrist from the day she’d met you, but Lyney still claimed it’d been one of your better first impressions.

“I’ve always wanted to see one of your shows.” You were cupping Lyney’s face, now, using your thumb to draw tender circles into his cheek. “I’ve always loved the opera. You’re playing the male lead, right?”

Lynette pursed her lips, her eyes widening slightly as she turned her attention pointedly towards her brother. He looked away. “I’m still working out the kinks. By this time next week, it should all be right as rain.”

Reluctantly, Lynette let her attention shift back to you. Your sleeves were long, dense with lace and tulle, but a patch of reddened, raw skin where the shackle had been wrapped around your wrist was just barely visible underneath the frivolous material. There was a slight tremble in your stiff shoulders, and when she looked closely, she could see that you were swaying; your legs weak from disuse, barely able to hold your own weight. Her brother, on the other hand – she could remember the last time she’d seen him smiling so widely. He been in a state of pure, untethered euphoria since the moment you were dragged, kicking and swearing, into one of the Fatui’s lesser-used underground holding facilities, and she rarely saw him without a glint in his eye and a light flush painted over her cheeks. It was almost upsetting, to see a face so much like her own so distorted. If she hadn’t been so used to his sudden flurries of passion, she might’ve been disturbed.

“It can’t last.” Lyney straightened, but she didn’t give him a chance to cut in. “The—the trance, I mean. You’re a magician, not a hypnotist. It’s going to wear off, eventually.”

“I’ve always hated stage magic,” you muttered, dreamily. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I hate feeling like I’m the only person who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It doesn’t need to last forever, just long enough.” This time, it was Lyney who caught your chin in his hand, pulling you just close enough for a quick, shallow kiss. Lynette looked away before she could be forced to endure yet another unabashed show of affection, but she could still hear him far too clearly when he spoke seconds later, his voice now nearly distant as your own.

“Until we both manage to forget how we could ever live apart.”

[typing-catastrophe]

could you write a stanford pines x reader headcanon where the reader is an artist and always draws him and draws in his journals when he isnt looking? maybe he talks to the reader about the drawings and they get really flustered i dunno!!! <3

oohhh! yeesss, that's a great idea! thank you anon ^^ hope this is okay, enjoy!

1.2k words, no warnings --------------------------------------------------

Your little habit started out even before Stanford came back. Dipper saw you sketching in your notebook from time to time, and asked you to draw something for him in the journal. He handed it to you and pointed next to a text he'd written about some anomaly (maybe a Manotaur or the Pterodactyl). First you were unsure, how would you feel if someone randomly decided to draw in your sketchbook? But it actually seemed really fun, and you didn't want to disappoint Dipper. Also it was in the spirit of research and preserving observations. And honestly, what were the odds the mysterious author would ever show up again?

With that attitude you began, whenever you got the chance to, to doodle yours and the twins encounters with the countless strange phenomena in gravity falls into the journal.

Well, oops? Seemed like the universe decided that not long after you started doing so, it was the right time for the author to come back.

It wasn't a big deal really, Dipper kept the journal for most of the time and Ford told him that he liked the additions he made. You weren't sure if he only meant the notes Dipper added, or if he even knew that someone else drew the newly added creatures.

It didn't take long for you and Ford to get to know each other better and spend more time together. Literally everything about him was just so fascinating. From the way he talked about his dimensional travels, anomaly hunts and research, his interest in a shared hobby of yours (dd&md), to the way he held himself. And, even if you were a bit embarrassed to admit it, his looks.

You couldn't help it, he was captivating. So to no surprise, one day you found yourself sitting on the shack's porch, looking over at Ford standing in the yard, working away at something that was too bulky for the basement. You didn't even realise what you were doing until something startled you out of your thoughts and you looked down at your sketchbook, seeing a familiar figure on the open page.

And then it happened again, in the lab. He was explaining away, deeply invested in whatever topic he was rambling about, not really taking in his surroundings. You had started out just sketching his study, but somehow he turned out to be the main focus of it.

One evening you found yourself in the living room of the shack. Ford was sitting on the floor, which was almost entirely covered in graph paper. You had joined him while he prepared the next campaign session, the tv quietly providing some background noise. While he was franticly scribbling away sheet after sheet, you propped open your notebook and began sketching some of the characters that came to your mind. Ford's, Dipper's and your characters and some npcs you encountered on your travels. But looming over all of them, half hidden behind the dm-screen, the scheming face of the man before you took his shape.

The end of the evening was rather blurry, you remembered falling asleep on the floor and being carried to bed, half asleep in someone's arms.

"hmm thank you", is all you could mumble when you felt the soft pillow under your head.

"No problem, dear", you heard a deep voice chuckle.

-

When you thought about it the next morning, a smile crept unto your face and you kinda wished, you would've been more awake, so you could've enjoyed the moment properly.

The smile was quickly wiped off though, when you realised that you must've left your sketchbook in the living room, given that Ford probably didn't bring it with him last night. You panicked and jumped out of bed, stumbling to the door when your gaze was caught by something. Your sketchbook, laying on your desk. You exhaled, glad it didn't lay around for anyone to see. You took it into your hands and opened it to the last page you were working on. But instead of the drawing from yesterday evening, only the one before that stared back at you. Confused, you turned the pages a few times, examined it, maybe someone ripped it out? No, no remnants of a torn out page....

Then, it dawned on you. You left your notebook in your room yesterday. You didn't plan on staying or even going to the living room. God knows how you ended up there, but it definitely was without your sketchbook. Which could only mean one thing...

In record time you were out the door, down the hall and in the living room. Right in time to take in the scenery of Ford staring down at his campaign notebook, opened to the page of your drawing.

"Ahh!! No no don't look!", you jumped forward and put your hands over the drawing. Ford furrowed his eyebrows, looking quite puzzled.

"This? Oh I already saw it last night after getting you to bed. It is incredible!"

Your cheeks heated up. "Oh" was all you could utter.

"It was also you who added the depictions of the twin's adventures, right?"

"Uhmm" You didn't keep your passion for drawing a secret, but you also didn't make a big deal out of it. And honestly, the way Ford was always so indulged in his own mind, you didn't think he was paying much attention to what you were doing. Now you felt a bit stupid for believing he wouldn't connect the - admittedly - obvious dots.

"They really are marvellous. And this?", he gestured to yesterdays page "Truly phenomenal!"

You didn't know what to say. You weren't even sure if you could say anything at all. All you felt was blood rushing to the tips of your ears and a flaming hot sensation in your cheeks.

"I- well uhm, thank you", you managed to stutter "I uh, I actually didn't mean to- uhm, use your campaign book. It was a mistake, I'm sorry."

"You've got to be joking! It's the perfect addition!" Ford exclaimed. "Do you mind if I keep it?"

"Oh", his enthusiasm caught you off guard. "I-, I guess not. Actually, that would mean a lot to me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Very well then! Thank you, dear." He looked at you with a fond expression.

You were about to retreat back to your room, turning around ready to leave, when Ford spoke up again, the smile apparent in his voice. "I also liked your artistic rendition of the twins adventures. Anything else you want to show me?" You froze.

Your heart started beating ridiculously fast. Did he knew? Did he notice you staring at him while drawing? Your thoughts started racing, but came to a sudden halt when he leaned down. His lips were almost touching your ear when he started to whisper.

"Maybe another time." And with that he walked by you, leaving you to yourself.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

a/n: if you want a second part with romance and/or where ford discovers the drawings of him, let me know! Have a nice day/night!

[blackcat-star]

[Married] Wiege.

Husband!Jinwoo x Fem!Reader.

« Someone who loves you | That's all he needs »

_____________________________

"흠, 음, 아가 (Hush, my little child)

어서 잠들거라 (And drift into your dream)

눈을 감으면 낙원에서 (A place where you can leisurely play)

뛰놀거라" (Our paradise)

Night has fallen over Seoul. It is time to start your bedtime routine which will help you unwind and sleep deeply tonight.

The moon radiates its bright light from the night sky tonight as it floats above like a large shining pearl. A soft spring wind moves across the landscape and enters the small room of a house near the city limits.

The pale curtains move slightly with the passing of a soft wind. Soft moonlight enters through the window to brighten the space where stuffed animals mingle with children's books in a pleasant and magical setting.

The room remains dark because the main lights are off while the night lamp shines softly and moonlight enters through the window.

Tonight is another quiet and peaceful spring night.

People who want peace should choose to live in the areas beyond the city limits. The outer city area remains quiet throughout the night with no vehicle noise or crowds like downtown but instead offers peaceful sounds of a baby sleeping next to its mother.

Sung Jinwoo remained still at the entryway while gazing into the room. He had just returned, he always came home late, his wife often nagged him about it. What could he do, the night was his territory, the most suitable time for all investigations and crimes. His job was to investigate and detain criminals, it sounded heavy and tiring.

But he did all this just to return to the warmth of his family's love.

His liitle, beloved family.

You were sitting by the crib, holding your little child in your arms. Your lips moved slightly, singing a lullaby in a deep, sweet voice like honey, so gentle that it made his heart skip a beat. You reached out to pat his back, your eyes strangely gentle.

He should have showered, changed, and crawled into bed like every other day. But that lullaby stopped him. Fixed him there, as if if he stepped into... this peaceful moment, it would shatter like glass.

Suho slept soundly in his mother's arms. Enveloped in the warm breath of mother's arms, mother's heart and the warmth of home.

Jinwoo's heart suddenly felt like it was melting.

He never thought that one day he would be able to start a small family of his own. The E-rank hunter back then never thought that his life would be like this, he didn't even dare to dream. Back then, he only cared about how to live, how to make money, he didn't think about falling in love, getting married, and having children.

Looking back at himself now, Jinwoo felt that he had accomplished so much. This was the greatest achievement he had ever had.

His wife and son.

You used to be a very strong and free-spirited person. You were always full of life and enthusiasm. Now that image has been replaced by a gentle image of you, the image of a mother and a wife.

You were once the brightest light on the battlefield.

He met you during the most chaotic days of his life.

A young girl with eyes that never looked down, walking through the ruins of a destroyed gate as if victory was inevitable. I once told him.

"This world is cruel, Jinwoo. But if we don't fight it, who will protect the weaker ones?"

You once stood alone in front of a high-level ogre, blood flowing from your forehead to your chin but my lips still curled into a smile. You once carried the wounded Jinwoo out of the battlefield, cursing profusely while your hands trembled with worry. You once rushed forward first, drawing your weapon from your backpack and shouting.

"Back off! Let me clear the way!"

Jinwoo never forgot that small but burning figure. Like a flame that resisted the storm.

You were never afraid. You were the first person to teach him how to hold a knife properly, the first person to swing a shield for Jinah when she was ambushed near the school gate. You were the one who climbed over the corpses of monsters alone to save a living child. And who once said, "We do not fight for fame, but for those who cannot fight."

There was a fire in you - strong, fierce, unyielding.

Yet, you were the one who put down your weapon first.

During your daily morning routine you started talking as you both drank coffee on the balcony. During your morning coffee you asked "What if I stop wanting to fight tomorrow? All I want is to become a wife and mother while devoting my time to my family."

Jinwoo paused to think before responding with a smile. "You made me realize this is the most lovely statement I have ever heard."

You smiled. Those eyes were no longer as fierce as on the battlefield. But gentle. Soft. But still you.

Jinwoo entered the room, very quietly, as if afraid to break the warm image. He sat down next to you, looking at the little boy who was dozing off. Suho's jet-black hair was like his, but those plump lips and rosy cheeks - they were clearly yours.

You didn't say anything, just leaned against your husband, your hand still patting Suho's back, the lullaby still on your lips.

"부드러운 (The gentle wind)

바람이 춤추고 (Writing its symphony)

간절하게  (The morning comes)

숨결을 스며들 때 (Unshaken and so certain)"

Suho is still sleeping soundly in his mother's arms.

Little Suho doesn't need to worry about anything, because his mother is always here to take care of him, his father is still here as a strong shield, protecting him from nightmares. And the shadow soldiers, always silently following behind, making sure everything is okay.

Suho was born with all the joy and love, so don't worry about anything, just sleep well, sleep soundly.

Jinwoo gently touched his son's cheek with one finger. The baby moved slightly, his tiny hand waving as if welcoming his father's presence, then lay still in your arms.

Then he looked at you. The soft light fell on your face, highlighting your eyes and lips.

In Jinwoo's eyes, you were always beautiful.

Jinwoo suddenly wanted to cry.

He would give anything for moments like this.

He would give up everything, even his blood and life, just to be able to keep this moment forever.

Jinwoo reached out, gently grasping the hand that was placed on Suho's back. That hand was still as strong as before, pulling him back from the brink of life and death. Now, that hand was caressing a small creature, with all the gentleness in the world.

The moonlight fell on your hair, creating a soft glow around your face. You were no longer the warrior you once were – no more blood, no more wounds, no more strong eyes that always looked forward. Now, you were Suho's mother. Jinwoo's wife. Home.

He just sat next to you, quietly listening to Suho's steady breathing, your lullaby, the spring breeze gently blowing through the window, and... the sound of his own heart beating.

He had thought he was dead, since the day his father went missing, then his mother fell into a coma, since his heart was covered in darkness, since he stepped into those dark and bloody dungeons. He had thought his heart would only live for fighting, for revenge, for protection.

But after he had solved everything, his heart beat for something else – for love.

Jinwoo lifted his gaze to study the window frame. The moon shines like a perfect round pearl in the night sky. The spring breeze continues to softly move through the grass blades as if a gentle spirit touches everything.

"자연스레 (Without a word)

품을 거야 (You will embrace)

노래하던 바다" (The endless sea that sings)

TAfter the song ended you placed Suho back into his crib.

Jinwoo held you close as he asked "Do you need rest?"

You leaned against his chest for support and pressed your face into his muscles while saying "Yeah...Suho tested my patience tonight and took forever to fall asleep."

He laughed quietly before placing a kiss on your hair and said "Thanks, love."

You studied him as you asked, "Why do you thank me?"

Jinwoo held your hand softly while keeping his gaze fixed on the peaceful face. "For choosing me. For staying here. For giving me a lovely family."

The moonlight remained suspended like a precious stone above the night sky. The soft spring air brought the fragrance of flowers and the night's fresh air into the room. Inside the small room three hearts made a soft family beat as they all throbbed in harmony.

"You are my home."

"And you are the last person I trust to turn my back on without defense."

_______________________

the song lyric: Wiege - Alien Stage

_________________________

Part of LIFE WITH YOU.

__________________________

[0womae]

Lost in the Fire ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆

Ellie Williams X fem!Reader

tw: 18+ content, Minors & Men dni!! Dom!Ellie, fingering, oral sex, makeout, grinding, r receiving, Ellie receiving.

✎4.1k

‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Like most nights in the small town of Jackson, it was a cold, snowy and brutal one. You had just gotten off of patrol with Jesse, and were making your way to the small humble abode you resided in alone with your cat, Luna. As you walk to your house, the gravel and snow crunching beneath your feet, your eyes flicker to the house Ellie, the girl who had came to Jackson with Tommy’s brother, Joel, a while back lived in, they were seen through the window, watching a film on the box television in Joel’s living room.

Joel was always so sweet to you, since you always asked him questions about the films he always talked about, that and how to properly pull weeds and which plant to pull when it was your turn to garden, or how to properly brush the horses.

Whenever you had a question, Joel was always around to help show you the way, and that’s why you started to take a liking to him, as some sort of father figure in your life.

Ellie, though, is the one who peeked your interest from the beginning. As soon as you laid your eyes upon her, when she was sitting on the porch swing, drawing in her book around 4 years ago. You two were close friends, but not as close you would’ve liked. You wanted to be more.

You always told your best friend, Dina, your patrol partner for this week, girlfriend, how much you had liked Ellie, but always too nervous to make a move, that and you weren’t sure if she was over Cat after their break up.

You tilted your head in thought, pondering whether or not this would be a good opportunity to make a move, you were an opportunist anyway, what the hell? You thought.

But what would you even ask her about?

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, just turn around and go home, Y/N.” You muttered quietly to yourself, luckily it was already late and no one was around to look at you like a maniac.

Not crazy, just trying to grow a back bone.

You sucked in the cold air, fixing your posture as you walked confidently to the door.

You close your eyes for a second, feeling the breeze of the chilly wind.

You knock on the door, clearing your throat. The faint noises from the Television paused, indicating that they heard your knock.

You heard muffled chatter inside before the door opened, seeing Ellie opening the door, a surprised look written all over her face.

“Y/N, hey, what’s up?” She asked, she stood there with smile on her freckled face, she wore jeans and a grey sweatshirt she’d normally wear.

Ellie stared , watching as you snuck your arms around one another. She noticed the tip of your nose red, burning from the cold.

“I’m sorry to bother you guys, Ellie, I was just wondering if you..” Your head tilted to the side, words trailing off as you both looked to Joel.

“Ellie! What’s the hold up? Come on, it’s getting to the good part!” Joel bellowed from the couch, turning his head to see you standing at the door, looking at him.

“Y/N, What’re you doing here?” He sat up, smiling at you. “I was just, I don’t even know, I guess I had a question.” You shook your head, “Well, come on inside, we just started Curtis and Viper,”

He turned to the TV, holding the remote in his hand. You looked to Ellie as she looked at you, smiling, she stepped aside, allowing you to come in.

The warmth of the house overpowered you, almost instantly warming you up.

She put her hand on the small of your back, leading you to the couch, letting you take a seat next to Joel, “Do you want anything? Water, coffee, tea? Popcorn?” She stared down at you, you gently shook your head, smiling at her.

“I’m okay, really! You can resume the movie!” You voiced, throwing your long hair over your shoulder in attempts of getting it out of your way.

She collapsed next to you on the brown leathery couch, it was cramped since Joel was also sitting on it as well, so your bodies touched.

You notice every breath you took, your chest heaved, slightly grazing her arm. Ellie noticed, glancing down at your chest on her arm, and back up to your face. You intently stared at the screen, ignoring her glance.

You felt her eyes on you. Piercing through your soul. Joel muttered something about what had happened in the movie, that you weren’t even really paying attention to, your eyes were on the screen but your mind was somewhere else entirely.

You crossed your legs, wrapping your arms around yourself, pushing your breasts together.

Ellie looked away, but kept glancing at you. You smirked to yourself. You didn’t know where this new found confidence came from, especially in front of Joel, but you had to do what you had to do, right?

Ellie put her hand on her thigh, gently touching your thigh with the side of her hand. Sending jolts up your body.

You’d be lying if you said you’d had sex with anyone before, the opportunity presented itself a multitude of times, but you never were interested in the person to let them take your virginity, not like you were with Ellie.

Of course, you knew how to kiss and knew what sex was, you just never let it get that far with a person before. You always stopped, always made up an excuse to get out of it.

You sighed, leaning back more comfortably now. Ellie tapped your thigh gently, gaining your attention, you looked over at her and she motioned to Joel, you looked beside you and see him passed out, mouth slightly opened as he gently snored.

“Must’ve had a long day,” You mutter, snickering lightly. “Must have.” Ellie smirked, looking at him before the two of you made eye contact.

She stared at you, making you squirm awkwardly, unable to maintain eye contact.

You cleared your throat, looking toward the television once again.

You leaned into her arm once more, gaining her attention, you looked up at her as she turned her head to you.

You both stared at each other, this time you tried not to pull away out of sheer fear, again.

“What did you want to ask?” She whispered, glancing at your lips and back to your eyes.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, “What?” You inquired quietly. “You came over to ask something, what was it?” She replied back in a low whisper.

“Oh, uh.” You scrambled to think of a quick question to ask her, “It was really nothing, I just, um, wanted to ask if you..”

Ellie sat up, turning to you, listening to your next words, “If you had any weed.” You whispered, grinning awkwardly, you noticed the slight fall of her shoulders, making you look at her curiously.

“Is that all?” She smirked at you, you nodded slowly, looking up at the ceiling as if to think if there was anything else you wanted to say to her.

“Well, you’re in luck, because I just so happen to come across a couple of joints from a stash Eugene had,” She continued, “But, the bad news is, that it’s at my place,” She voiced, turning her head to the window.

You followed to where she was looking, watching as the snow fell lightly, leaving a thin blanket of fresh snow on the ground.

You sighed out, looking defeated. “Don’t worry, it’s not too far, you can come back to my place, and I can warm you up.” Ellie smirked, gaining your attention, your eyes slightly widened at her words.

“I have a fireplace,” She leaned in, whispering in your ear smugly, pulling back with a sly grin on her face.

You punched her arm, getting up whilst laughing lightly. She rubbed her arm, as if you hit her hard enough to hurt her, looking up at you as you stood over her.

You both stared at each other, grins on your face as something stirred in you.

There was a spark of electricity, as you both stared deep into each others eyes, your arms tempted to wrap around her arm and straddle her right there on the spot.

Joel shifted in his sleeping, pulling you and Ellie out of the trance that enthralled you both.

Oh, right. You sighed in defeated, drawing your attention back to Ellie. She stood up, taking your hand as she helped you put on your jacket you hung up before taking a seat.

A light blush crept up your face as you held onto her cold fingers. She opened the door, the cold air instantly hitting the both of you. “Come on, it’s not too far, don’t worry.” She turned back at you, smiling.

You tipped your head, watching as she drug you by your hand, warming your hand up from her body heat.

You smiled silently to yourself, she glanced over at you, looking at you with a curious expression.

“What?” She chuckled, “Nothing, it’s just, it’s cold, your hand is warming mine up,” You laugh lightly, it’s not funny, but you’re all mushy and soft from her being affectionate.

“I’d rather my hands warm up another way,” She muttered, almost to herself. You tilt your head, urging her to go on. She glances down at your breasts, and back to your eyes.

Your face heats up, your breath hitching in your throat. “You can’t just be sweet and cute for once, can you?” You quickly voiced, trying to act smug after being caught off guard.

“Aren’t I always?” She looked at you, a grin on her face. You playful rolled your eyes, mouthing a ‘No’. Making her snap her head back at you.

The two of you got to her door, she opened it for you, letting you go in first. The warm air consuming you. You let out a sigh, Ellie coming up behind you to help you pull off your jacket.

“Do you want some tea? Or hot chocolate? It’ll warm you up,” She inquired, turning to face you. She finally was able to get a good look at what you had on.

You wore a thin, dark green long sleeve, a pair of blue skinny jeans and converse. No wonder you were so cold, she thought.

She stares at you as you hung up your jacket on the coat rack next to the door, taking in your appearance whilst she can.

You glance over at her, watching her eyes look you up and down approvingly, as if you were a big juicy steak. She stopped when she saw your body turn to her, seeing your perked nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.

Her eyes snap back at yours when she realized you were looking at her, “Sure, I’ll take some hot chocolate, please, that sounds good.” You smile, rubbing your cold arms.

“Here, go sit next to the fireplace and I’ll bring you some,” She muttered, smiling. You nodded, sitting on the couch that sat next to the warm fireplace.

You closed your eyes for a moment, sucking in a breath of air, the smell of her house, where she slept, ate and bathed.

You snuggled into the couch, your eyes wandering the scenery in front of you, you were never in Ellie’s home for longer than 2 seconds, so this was new territory for you.

You took off your converse in the sake of being respectful, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them.

After a few seconds, Ellie walks in, holding two mugs in her hands, placing them down on the coffee table in front of you.

She walked toward a cabinet near her bed, shuffling through the drawers.

She brought out a lighter and a joint between her fingers. She made way to you and where you sat, sitting next to you on the couch.

“Are you still cold?” She asked, positioning herself to look at you. “I’m warming up,” You smiled, leaning over to pick up the hot mug.

She leaned over to pick up hers, her shirt lifting slightly, showing you a sliver of her abdomen.

You looked through hooded eyes, taking small sips of your hot chocolate before placing the cup back on the table.

Ellie handed you the joint as you put it between your lips, staring at her as she lift the lighter to the joint in between your lips, lighting it for you.

You stared at her in her eyes, inhaling the drug. You held it in your lungs for a moment before slowly letting it out.

“Why are you so quiet?” You asked, pulling the joint away from your lips, she titled her head slightly, giving you a questionable look.

“You always have something slick to say, why are you so quiet tonight?” You wondered, handing her the joint.

“I just don’t have anything to say.” Ellie voiced, inhaling. She, of course, had things to say, but she was too concerned on taking glimpses of how your perfect, hardened nipples peered through the thin layer of your shirt.

“I find that hard to believe. Something is distracting you, what’s up?” You voiced, getting comfortable on the couch.

She looked at you, as she inhaled once more, exhaling the smoke, “You.” She said, pulling it away from her lips and handing it to you.

“Me?” You pondered aloud, accepting the joint. “Mhhh. If Joel wasn’t there tonight, what would’ve happened?” She finally asked.

Your eyes flickered to hers, the drug hitting you slightly, making your mind loopy and you laughed.

“I don’t know,” You laughed, looking at her. She blinked, staring at you, as if waiting for you to continue.

You cleared your throat, sitting up. “What’re you trying to do?” You muttered, inhaling the joint.

“I’m just curious.” She tilted her head at you, smirking. The light from the fireplace casting shadows on her lightly freckled face.

“Things probably would’ve … happened.” You awkwardly said, inhaling once more. “Things?” Ellie questioned, her finger grazing your leg.

“You’re irresistible, Ellie. You’re hot. What else can I say?” You rolled your eyes, lightheartedly, smirking, looking down at your fingers. Allowing the drug to control your mind.

Ellie tipped her head to look at your eyes, you looked up at her, chest heaving. Her eyes wandered down to your breasts again.

You watched as she stared at your chest, her eyes dragging back to yours after she realized you were watching her.

“Be more noticeable, won’t you?” You smirked. Ellie looked at you with half lidded eyes, this time you couldn’t find any hint of smugness, the only thing that showed in the expression on her face was pure… hunger.

Lust.

Ellie leaned into you, you leaned into her, she grabbed your jaw, pulling you in for a deep kiss. Chills ran down your spine, this took a turn for the best.

She hungrily kissed your lips, you tried to match her pace, kissing back. Soon her tongue grazed your lip, granting access, your mouth fell open, her tongue slipping in your mouth.

Your tongues danced together, a small moan rippling through your throat. Only fueling the burning desire Ellie had for you.

She continued, slipping a cold hand around your hip, pulling you on her.

You straddled each side of her legs, your back arched against her. You breathed in her scent, her natural smell. She always smelled so wonderful to you. You were always attracted to how she smelled.

You ran your fingers through her hair, she slid a hand up your back, feeling the soft, warm skin, sending goosebumps spread like wildfire throughout your skin from the touch of her cold hands.

She pulled at the hem of your shirt, you broke away from the kiss, taking the hint and lifting up your shirt, exposing your bare chest.

She wasted no time with fondling one whilst kissing your neck, your head tilted back, feeling the sensation between your legs build.

You pulled at her sweatshirt, she broke away from you, removing the article of clothing, throwing it somewhere on the ground. She looked so irresistible sitting there under you, with a sports bra on and breathing heavily, staring up at you, lust and hunger in her eyes.

You could just moan at the sight of her like that, you wrapped your arms around her neck, leaning back into her, you captured her lips in a heated kiss again. Grinding your hips on her lap, trying to feel some sort of pressure on your dripping core.

Ellie noticed this, breaking away from the kiss and looking down at your crotch straddling her lap, making her bite her lower lip seductively.

“I think these pants are going to have to go,” She looked up at you with half lidded eyes, a smirk playing on her red, swollen lips.

“Oh, really? Whys that?” You grinned, acting stupid. “Because I can’t feel your wet pussy through jeans, babe.” She purred, looking up at you, her hand sneaking around your ass.

You lifted off the couch, unbuttoning your pants slowly, teasing Ellie as she stared at your hands.

Her eyes flickered to yours, her stare was devious and filled with yearn for you alone.

You smirk, pulling the pants off you, she stared at your panties, black thongs, “It’s like you’ve been ready for me to fuck you, pretty girl.” She seductively voiced, scooting closer to you as you towered over her. Her hands reached around you, feeling your bare ass.

You kneel in front of her, her face contouring into curiosity and confusion, mixed with lust and want.

You unbuttoned her pants, “I’m not the only one who is going to be stripping, Els.” You tut jokingly, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of her pants, she lifted her hips slightly, allowing you to pull them off.

After she was just left in her bra and boxers, you climbed on her, only straddling one leg, your knee gently pressing against her clothed core.

She gasped slightly, looking up at you. A playful smile dancing its way on her lips, you looked at her and then her lips, leaning in to kiss her again.

After hovering over her thigh, you sat on her carefully, not putting your full weight against it, you rubbed your pussy against her thigh, whilst rubbing your knee slightly to make her feel some friction as well.

Your panties were soaked at this point, Ellie cupped one of your breasts whilst suckling and kissing the tinder part of your neck. Sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

You moaned, riding her thigh slightly faster, stabilizing yourself by putting both of your hands against each of her shoulders.

Ellie made her way down your neck, leaving open mouth kisses against your skin, making her way down to your collarbone and finally she found your nipple, sucking and nibbling gently.

You squirm under her touch, trying not to be too loud as you threw your head back out of pleasure.

Ellie pulled away from your breast, wrapping a hand around your back and another around your thigh.

Ellie lifted up from the couch, you still on her, you looked at her confused, wrapping both of your arms around her neck, pushing your tits against her chest, making her want more.

She made way over to her bed, laying you gently down on the bed, your chest heaved, staring up at her as she looked at you, as if she were a lion ready to pounce on her prey.

You rubbed your thighs together, trying to feel something. Anything.

Ellie tutted, walking to the end of her bed, she climbed the bed, snaking a hand in between your legs, pulling them open.

“Ellie..” You whispered out, coming out a little too whiny. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.” Ellie smirked, lowering her face to your heat.

You felt her warm breath, you lifted your hips, trying to get closer to her face. She put her hands on your hips, pushing them back into the mattress.

“Use your words,” Ellie smirked, trailing her hands up your body, landing on your breasts.

You decided to suck up the embarrassment, playing into her little game. You arched your back, using your middle finger and pointer finger to spread your lips apart, allowing her to see how wet you are.

“I want to feel your fingers in me, Ellie. I want to feel your hands exploring my body, I want to come on your tongue.” You moan out, Ellie stared intently up at you with half lidded eyes.

She wrapped her arms around your thighs, lowering her face to your bare core.

She licked a stripe up your swollen, wet cunt, tasting you. She kisses your clit sloppily, sucking and gently nibbling on it. Ellie forces your legs over her shoulders, her tongue exploring your hole, allowing her to bury herself deeper within you.

You moan out, back arching, “Ellie, please!” You pant, already feeling the knot in your stomach forming.

She pulls away slightly, feeling your clit with two fingers before she slowly inserts them. You moan out more, putting your hand over your mouth.

“Don’t you dare cover up those pretty moans,” Ellie groaned, her mouth sucking your clit.

“I..I…” You trail off, your fingers entangling in with her hair. “I want to taste you.” Ellie muffled out, the voice vibrating your clit.

You gasped, you looked down at her, her dangerous eyes staring right into yours as your mouth fell to an ‘o’ shape. Your back arched, your body tensed up as the knot in your stomach comes undone.

You moaned her name out, trying hard not to clench your legs around her. The sound of you screaming her name got her even more horny, if it were even possible.

You laid there, out of breath as she came up next to you, laying down as she stared lovingly in your eyes.

You stared at her, catching your breath. She only smirked, looking at you.

You lifted up from the mattress, her face contorting into a confused look.

“Oh, you don’t think we’re done, do you?” You smirked down at her, leaning in as you kissed her neck.

“But you—, you finished?” Ellie pondered, staring up at you.

“Mhm… and now it’s my turn to make you come.” You slyly voiced, palming her clothed heat.

Her eyebrows raise, her mouth falling slightly open. You lean next her ear, kissing it gently as your hand travels down from her bare abdomen, to her cunt.

Your finger explored her heat, playing with her clit and then gently dipping a finger into her, teasing.

“Oh, shit.” She cursed, a moan rippling out her mouth. You hummed, kissing her neck some more.

You feel her hand wrap around your wrist of the hand that was in her boxers, her fingers pressed your middle finger and pointer finger into her pussy.

Guiding your wrist, you fucked her wet hole with two fingers. “Fuck, Ellie, you’re so wet.” You purred, soaking up this vulnerable moment for the both of you.

Ellie groaned, letting a ‘fuck’ slip from her lips as you felt her clench around your fingers, making your own cunt throb with need. You pressed light kisses over her neck, and chest. You felt her body tense below you, as you pulled out your fingers to massage her clit before dipping back in.

Ellie’s hitched breaths were the only thing to be heard in the quiet room, that and the pornographic squelching noises coming from her drenched heat from you playing with her.

You moaned in her ear, pushing her over the edge.

Her hips bucked, her hands wandering to your back as you felt her shake underneath you as the knot came undone, she was seeing stars at this point.

“God, you’re so hot,” She breathed out, staring up at you as she came down from the high. You smirked, kissing her lips gently as you moved to lay on her side, cuddling in her.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been longing for this,” She muttered, looking at you with a genuine smile. “Oh, so you’ve thought about me a lot, have you?” You slyly smirked, reaching over to press your lips against hers.

You pulled away, smiling down at her. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, as well.” You sighed out, wrapping your arms around her as you cuddled into her chest.

[aayakashii]

For seven days, I'll be posting Valentine's Day themed headcanons for each House in Tokyo Debunker!

All prompts come from this post here ♡

And dividers are from @saradika-graphics 🫶

Taglist: @wannaberecluse

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

Valentine’s Day in Vagastrom

Alan

how does he show affection?

Through his hands. He is always touching you somehow. If he's nearby, his hands will rest on the top of your head or on your shoulders. Alan's not that good at expressing himself through words, but the way he's constantly drawing impossibly closer to your body leaves no doubt in your mind – he craves you near.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He loves them, but will always be hesitant to give them first due to his insecurities. Alan absolutely melts, however, when you settle yourself on his chest and hug him tightly – fondness for you immediately warming his heart and allowing him to hold you just a bit closer. His hugs feel like safety; you found your rock and it will be your very own shelter forevermore.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's quite aware that he's awful at flirting, which is why he doesn't even try. He does compliment you frequently – and meanwhile, his hand goes up to rub his neck in order to dispel the embarrassment, and his eyes are cast downwards. He would love to be able to look at you properly the next time he says you look pretty.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He tries his best, but Alan probably doesn't even realize Valentine's Day is coming around until he overhears some students talking about the date. At that point, there's no time to go out anymore (it's already Valentine's Day after all). So he'll most definitely give you the safe options: chocolate and flowers. He'll try harder next year (he'll ask someone to put a reminder on his phone).

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He falls fast, but it takes him a long time to come to terms with it. Thoughts of being unworthy of you are too loud in his mind most of the time, and he pushes the need to be close to you deep into the corners of his consciousness. When it all boils over and he can't hide it behind his stoic façade anymore, he finally gives in to you and to his emotions, tired (but also relieved).

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Extremely hard. He knows he feels it, that's for sure. But his whole life, he talked with his punches. The words feel weird in his tongue, and it frustrates him. He can only hope he's clearly conveying his feelings for you every time you hug each other. He hopes you feel it all, right there, in the pores of his skin. And you do.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not really. He trusts you, even though his confidence might falter and the self-deprecating thoughts might take hold for a moment. You're quick to know when to reassure him, so all the negative emotions dissipate as soon as you hold his hand again.

what is his ideal date?

Wherever you want to go with him. He doesn't have a secret spot, nor a safe place to show you. His garage doesn't feel proper, and the campus holds too many memories he would rather not think about during a date. Wherever you decide to go, it'll be fine with him, as long as you're there.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He doesn't expect anything, honestly. He's fine with just being together, but if you propose to him, he will obviously say yes (after a long, awkward moment of silence in which he was trying to get his bearings straight). If you want HIM to propose to you, you'll have to tell him and express your wishes.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Never really thought of it, doesn't really care about it, but he saw the way GA students were fretting about it, so he figured you might be into the date, like them. If you care, he cares. That's basically it.

does he get protective easily?

He's EXTREMELY protective. Acts like a guard dog – a menacing shadow that follows you around and glares at anyone that might try some funny business. Sometimes, you have to tell him to relax and just enjoy the stroll with you, but his doberman senses just won't turn off, ever.

does he believe in true love?

He never thought much of it. He knows he loves you, so it must be real. He wonders if he deserves such a delicate, sweet experience like being truly in love with you. And every day, you make sure he knows he does.

Leo

how does he show affection?

He would rather be caught dead than explicitly show you genuine affection. Instead, he'll be calling you annoying while draping his legs on your lap and laying his head on the crook of your neck. He expresses his true feelings every single time he clings onto you, never letting go as soon as you come around his vicinity.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He hugs you like it's second nature. He's unable to stand beside you and not hold you somehow, all while acting as if him clinging onto you like a koala is perfectly normal. If you try to hug him, however, he'll throw a hissy fit, much like a cat that doesn't want to be pet.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's fantastic when it comes to flirting ironically with ANYONE. When it comes to flirting genuinely with you, however, he simply malfunctions – much to his dismay, his cheeks burn bright red, he stutters stupidly and Leo wishes a hole could open up in the ground and swallow him. He's great at getting what he wants from others; terrible at getting what he wants from you.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He knows exactly what to give you. But he also thinks about how he could entertain his followers. He'll most likely film your reaction when he gives you the trendiest, most expensive Valentine's gift and relish on the compliments of his fans as they call him a great boyfriend. But don't worry. Once the camera is off, he hands you a smaller, more thoughtful gift. All while saying he just doesn't want you to whine about him not paying attention to you.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He gives his heart to you slowly, little piece by little piece. He doesn't like the vulnerability, nor how much trust is involved with handing you his heart. Therefore, it might take a while until he feels completely comfortable with the thought of being wholly yours.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He never says it, preferring just to think to himself. You've learned to hear the fondness that coats his voice whenever he's thinking that, though. The way his eyes are half-lidded, his smile is sincere, and how he calls you "silly" – which is probably the closest to a compliment that you'll get for a long time.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

He's painfully jealous of everyone and everything. If someone just touches you accidentally, he will go into a fit of jealous rage. Under all the layers of nonchalance and assertiveness, Leo is terribly insecure. He doesn't realize his rage stems from jealousy, nor does he know his jealousy comes from the fear of being left behind. He just lets that green little monster take over his body until you manage to calm him down, and he finally retracts his fangs.

what is his ideal date?

Surprisingly, he wouldn't mind turning off his phone for a little while to spend quality time with you. He would like somewhere calm and quiet, that wouldn't overwhelm his senses. An onsen in a small town isn't exactly the type of place you'd imagine Leo visiting, but if it's to spend time focusing on you, he would very much prefer that.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wants to ask because he wants it to be pompous and glamorous. He wants to post the photos on his sns, obviously, but more than anything, he wants to keep the memory of every meaningful date for you two registered on as many photos as possible.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

He never cared about it, but loved to pretend he's looking forward to it whenever he posts. His flings were never important enough to warrant celebrating Valentine's together, but with you, he's finally gonna know the true experience. You could say he's kinda looking forward to it for real now.

does he get protective easily?

Not really. Most times, he's the one playing damsel in distress. If push comes to shove, however, he'll change his inoffensive behavior in the blink of an eye.

does he believe in true love?

Leo is too much of a skeptical man to believe in things that come from fairytales. But he's open to changing his mind if you want to give it a shot.

Sho

how does he show affection?

He doesn't hesitate to hold you and say sweet words into your ear, but his most genuine way of showing affection is through food. Whenever he asks if you've already eaten, what do you want to eat, if you'd like to try his new recipe – these are all his very own ways of saying he cares deeply about you.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He loves them, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up with every chance he gets. If you hug him first, he takes that as permission to just keep holding you wherever he goes, like you're just a little keychain. His hugs feel grounding and you can feel the comforting scent of bread and cake emanating from his clothes (even if he doesn't even work with pastries).

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's annoyingly good. It genuinely feels like he was born with this skill and he makes good use of it with you. He's all lazy smiles and half-lidded eyes whenever you pass by, kisses in empty rooms with promises of more and compliments that leave you fuzzy and floaty.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's great at gift giving, especially because he's very into making your gifts himself. He's a crafty man and don't people say that handmade gifts are more thoughtful? He'll make you a whole bouquet of paper flowers, carefully painted, that will never wither AND homemade chocolate. And you just know that chocolate is more delicious than any store-bought brand.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He goes at a normal pace, but once he realizes he has feelings for you, he feels like a middle school kid with a crush. What do you mean he stutters and blushes whenever you're around? He's an adult, for fuck's sake. He confesses to you like he's ripping a band-aid off. He just wanted to get over it as quick and painlessly as possible, shoving his heart into your hands for you to do whatever you want – step on it, throw it away or keep it safe. He was more than relieved when you decided to give yours in return.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He's still embarrassed by it, so it's quite hard. He says it during meaningful moments, but it still comes out of his lips a bit too stilted. He loves you, he does, but he also has years of building an aloof persona on his back – it was his defense mechanism. It'll take a little while to destroy those walls.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not that much, he just gets mad at the audacity of some people to try and shoot their shot with you. He's quick to appear right by your side and hold you tight and close to him, just to let them know that you're with him.

what is his ideal date?

Sho loves to go to every type of festival with you. Spending time with you trying different foods, finding silly matching trinkets, and playing all sorts of rigged games – that's a perfect day in his book. And of course, the day has to end with you two cuddling after spending so much energy outside.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He doesn't have a preference, honestly. It doesn't matter who asks, if it's you or him, all that matters is that both of you will say yes and start a new chapter of your life together.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Before his food truck, he really didn't care. After his food truck, he just thought it was a great sale opportunity. After you, however, he began seeing it under a new light: a holiday to look forward to, a chance to make it a special day for the two of you.

does he get protective easily?

Very much so, but he's subtle about it. Like when he's jealous, he just stays nearby, ready to step in if anyone ends up being an actual threat.

does he believe in true love?

Sho used to think that these types of things are embarrassing, even a little childish, but when he looks at your figure whenever you're sleeping beside him, he can't help but believe in it a little bit.

[the-monkeies-girl]

Berry Foraging. ( Planet of the Apes Imagines. )

Characters below includes: Ceasar, Noa, Anaya and Soona ( The Trio babey. ), Blue Eyes, Koba. Prompt: You've gone Berry Foraging. How would the scenario play out with each characters? Rating: T. ( Some language, primarily in Koba's LOL. ) Caesar.

The sun felt good against your skin now that you had shed your jacket, leaving you delectably exposed to the clean air. Caesar found it difficult not to watch how your shoulders move when you worked, when you shifted next to him to dive inwards towards the blackberry bush in front of the two of you. As simple as an activity it was, and as easy as it was for the Ape King to pin the task on someone else, to have you escorted to the Red Woods to pick berries, he did relish in the mild silence that surrounded the two of you as you intently placed your fingers against a vine and inspected it for ripeness, bringing it ever so closer to your face as your eyes narrowed at it. The way your mouth opened as you muttered to yourself, saying that it wasn’t ready before seeking another vine to inspect… Caesar found it difficult to actually focus on finding his own to pick. Like he would know how. Like he actively came foraging with the female Apes when they came out once a week in a group. Huffing to himself at that, he was careful to watch you.

You were surely faster than he was, deducing that the vine you had turned your attention to was more than good and you began plucking them berries off one by one, placing them delicately into the basket that was between your bent knees as you had crouched down to inspect the berry bush properly. Admittedly… This was something that Caesar had not done for years.

Well, at least since the Colony first took hold and he was demanded to be stationary there in case danger arose. Always easier to be in the same spot than to be missing in action and having tens of Apes out in the woods on horseback looking for their leader. Now, with Blue Eyes coming to age, and with the assistance from Rocket and Maurice, Caesar was able to take in moments like this, laced intricately with his favorite type of intimacy.

“No, no,” Your hands were suddenly grabbing at his own, the touch itself setting Caesar’s calloused hands alight as you grasped at them and pulled them towards you, “Do you see here?” Your pointer finger gestured at a berry at the very top of the vine that Caesar had figured was okay to pick at. Obviously not as you explained to him in a gentle voice, one that he would drown in if he was allowed, “They’re still a little green. Not ready yet.”

Were… Were you… telling him how to do this? Caesar narrowed his eyes, brow pulling in on itself as he looked at you, perplexity written completely over his expression. He chortled at that- At someone telling him what to do, how to actually do something correctly.

“Look here,” Lifting a hand up, you placed it against his bicep as your other hand reached and grasped it considerately as to not place any damage to it, “See how they’re colored? Darker?” Caesar looked at what you were referring to and gave a slight nod. Smiling at him, you squeezed where your grasp was placed on his body before pushing both hands forward and plucking the berries off with content, “That’s the color you want. Otherwise they’re going to be too bitter to eat. I don’t know any Ape who would enjoy that.”

Caesar tried to follow suit, almost mimicking your body language as he fell into a deeper crouch, inspecting the bush for what you had in turn told him to seek.

“Koba,” He said suddenly, the brazen and deep baritone of his vocals drawing you in without any regard for your other senses. He knew you liked to joke, in fact, Caesar found himself more prone to do just that when alone with you and it was a great way to put you at ease, to put you in a good mood - Or, if flirtatious in nature, enough to get you to lay with Caesar. This joke fell into the ‘good mood’ category as he finished his statement, “Koba would enjoy.”

That made you snicker, nodding in agreement. Caesar felt entranced momentarily as the sun caught your hair, giving the impression that you were ablaze as your gaze reached his own and you laughed in return, “Bitter berry for bitter Ape.” Noa, Anaya and Soona.

There were tears very visible at the corner of your eyes. Noa felt a small sense of panic wash over him at the expression, how you looked down at your feet in absolute defeat. Rested right in front of you were the remains of the berries you were so careful to pick, so careful to clean as you placed them in the wickered basket, scattered all along the floor of the woods. Now covered with mud and sediment and you were on the very verge of crying as a result. Anaya hadn’t meant to - He apologized the moment it happened, the moment the basket hit the ground and you let out a rather startling yap. Anaya swore to Noa he was just playing around, hiding behind a tree in a bid to scare you. In fact, your hands were still dangling mid-air out of shock like you were still holding the basket. Soona was silent next to Noa, her eyes looking between the raspberries and you, wondering why you were having this reaction. She then turned her attention to Noa in hopes that maybe he could translate. Unfortunately, for all three Apes, there was no clear translation. The look Noa gave her, the look Noa gave Anaya, biting around the edges but never enough to ruin a friendship, told them to back off slightly. You spoke - alerting all three of them that you were still there, not completely lost in the abandonment the poor berries must have felt being on the ground. “My… rasp… berries….” Shaking in tone, Noa tried to flank you so he could see your face but your chin was dipped and your eyes were now tracing the shapes the berries made. A few of them, in your mind at least, looked like a poorly drawn flower. You swallowed softly and looked at Noa with a distressed gaze, “They’re all gone.” Anaya yipped, “Sorry---” Noa placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Removing his hand just as quickly as it was placed, Noa reached down and grasped the basket in front of you, crouching on all four in front of you to obscure the vision of your now wasted forage. The pads of his fingers lined the wickered basket, catching here and there against the rough nature of his skin as he attempted to hand it back to you, his arm extending before dropping at the crushed visual of your face. The twist in his stomach was incredibly uncomfortable as the basket was placed on the ground and suddenly, Noa was encapsulating your entire vision. He placed a hand to your cheek first, caressing the smoothness of your skin before bringing his head in to rest against your own to comfort you. You didn't move in response and Noa took a step forward in a bid to captivate your attention.  “A… A lot of bushes here, can pick more.” A small sniffle hit your nose as you nodded in agreement, suddenly aware of your mated love’s closeness. Of course there were more. You were in the middle of the woods, your favorite spot in fact, and were surrounded by many bushes, riped, lush for the picking and taking.

You sniffled again, finally breaking the awkward stance you were holding and raised a hand to wipe the underside of your nose before you grasped Noa’s forearms, beckoning him nearer, to keep him close to you so you could have a speckled moment of privacy in front of Anaya and Soona, who were entangled in their own argument about the entire situation. You could vaguely make out Soona telling Anaya to apologize again. “T-They were for you,” Noa’s eyes widened at the declaration and with that, he held you a bit closer, almost to the point where it felt like a headache was forming where your foreheads were cusped. “I picked them for you, you-you really like raspberries and we-we never have enough at dinner and I---” Anaya shifted towards you and Noa, looking at his friend first who stepped aside slightly. Anaya  offered you the basket that was against his back, half full. He never went back with a full one, often picking some out to eat while plucking subsequent berries from the bush and often indulged on the journey back to the Clan. He gave you a gracious smile, extending his arm out with the basket. “Can… can take Anaya’s.” Swallowing gently, you grabbed his basket delicately and gave him a half-hearted smile as he apologized under his breath again, “Th… Thank you.” Noa watched the encounter and softened his gaze at that. Just one more thing; the Eagle Clan leader stepped forward and lightly brought his thumb along the top of your right cheek to catch a tear from falling. You smiled slightly at him, looking down at Anaya’s basket and finding yourself maniacally entranced in laughter. 

“He ate all the raspberries.” Blue Eyes.

Cornelius was so… Small. You tilted your head at that thought, hands full of fuzzy blackberries. You found it difficult at the moment to find a better description. But, it was beyond true. The berries in your hand found a home in the basket in front of you. Incredibly cute and so very small. Fragile, almost. That was not the case at all; if anyone even looked at the baby Chimp with the wrong indentation, Blue Eyes was prone to attack out of protectiveness. Watching with bated breath, Cornelius brought himself to cling a little further closer to his older brother, splatted along his back as Blue Eyes was crouched next to you, Ash on the other side. They had gotten you to go fishing, it was only fair you got them to go berry picking.

The added bonus? Cornelius was under Blue Eyes’ care today, and the little stow-a-way was eating the berries right out of the basket that his older brother was trying to fill. You chuckled at that, watching the small frame dip himself down Blue Eyes arm, onto the ground and then quite literally, into the basket itself. The quaint hoots and small howl at a blueberry warmed your heart, but the absolute chaos of Blue Eyes' gaze on his baby brother was universally known. Wise older brother, annoying little brother who got in the way. It was not more evident than in the moment as Blue Eyes grasped him softly, placing him outside of the basket before Cornelius jumped right back in. A growl escaped the older of the two before he repeated it and signed at his brother, ‘stay’ with one hand. Smiling at him when he made eye contact with you, you were flushed and eager to turn your face back towards the action of your hands.

Funny how that worked. Sibling annoyance was truly known across all creatures. Smiling at the Ape Prince when he made eye contact with you, you were flushed and eager to turn your face back towards the action of your hands. Pulled into a state of lulling day-dreams, you slid your fingers along the vines that held the berries and found a mild prickle sitting at the base of your spine when Blue Eyes’ fingers brushed against yours when you went for the same bunch. You apologized quietly, letting him have his fill, Cornelius’ small eyes watching the berries fall into the basket with intensity. He raised his hands to grab one but Blue Eyes simply ignored it as if it were second nature to deflect the annoyance that rose when Cornelius ended up in his way. Truly siblings, you thought to yourself with a small chuckle.

You were being nudged--- Humming under your breath, your focus turned to Ash who was peering down at your basket with focused intent. You blinked, swinging yourself back into reality, right out of the nice thoughts of Blue Eyes and his baby brother. Wh--- You blinked again, the munching sounds overtaking all of your senses as Cornelius shoved the freshly picked blackberry into his mouth before looking up at you.When did he get there? How long were you daydreaming? There was a mild stare down between yourself and the younger of the two brothers. It felt like you were enthralled in each other’s presence but it was quickly shot down when Blue Eyes finally took notice and pulled his baby brother out of your basket and placed him back onto his shoulder silently.

‘Sorry.’ Blue Eyes signed at you, digging into his basket and placing a few of his berries into your own as recognition that Cornelius had eaten some of your own. His were okay to eat, but yours? Off limits.

Koba.

“Human,” The gruff nature of Koba’s voice was more than grating enough to take you out of the quiet day-dream you had going in your head as your fingers were quick to push blueberries off their twig home and into a basket laying beside you. Groaning to yourself, you dropped your head before looking up at the Bonobo who had been so graciously blessed by Caesar to take you into the woods to forage for berries. He didn't even bother to dis-mount his stallion and rested on it for the last thirty minutes. “Almost done?”

This was the fifth time he asked you if you were ready to leave in the last ten minutes. Your patience felt like it was teetering between an insane breakdown, which you resisted waging that yelling at Koba was not going to earn you any favors, and quite aggravation. You drove with the second choice and smiled sarcastically at him, “Do you think my answer is any different than it was two minutes ago?” Silently, Koba fell back on his saddle, the action in itself rather reminiscent of a child who wanted to leave the grocery store but was placed in the shopping cart of a prison to ride the remainder of the trip in disappointment. Without a doubt, he was going to have words with Caesar about this later, figuring it to be just a punishment for causing mutiny without a abandonment. You laughed at that to yourself, knowing that Koba’s complaints were going to fall of deaf ears.

Bothersome silence ensued beyond your capacity. It felt bubbling, the way that he looked at you with his one good eye. The sweep against your entire body as you moved to another bush, content with what you had foraged from the previous. The glare against the back of your head as you began diligently working the new bush. You quipped sarcastically at him, looking at the berries in your hand before letting them slide down your palms into the basket, “You know what would make me go faster?”

Koba tilted his head in thought, though you knew what he was thinking with reckless care. He’d surely say something like ‘you… to be dead’ or a rather clever ‘Koba… threatening you’. Smiling at the sudden wash of familiarity at the fact that despite his best efforts, you knew how he could respond, the grin you gave him was more than shit-eating as you grumbled, “If you’d get off your horse and help me. I need to fill the basket.”

The narrowing of his expression was something you could write a book on. The tense nature of his muscles, gleaming it seemed as the sun vibrated off his fur, the permanent scowl of his brow and mouth. Koba had to be the metaphorical poster child for ‘human hater’. Not that it was a problem most days, but right now, you wanted to be left in some semblance of peace to pick your berries without having to hear him complain over and over again about wanting to go back to the Colony. Without his absolutely relentless dry inquiries about whether you were done or not. He hummed - deep in his chest and the sound was brutal to your ears. “Koba does not…”

The grimace on his face tempted you to double over in laughter, but you were positive that would be interpreted as a threat and you’d be pinned to a nearby tree with his teeth in your jugular. Bringing your knees together, you bounced in your squatting position and looked up at him, almost asking with your eyes to finish his statement. “Koba… does not… pick berries.” No shit, you wanted to say but refrained. You filed away the response to be used at a moment when you were around others who would ensure your safety. “Just thought I’d throw the option out there. If two of us were doing it, we could go back in like… Ten minutes.”

There was no processing your words, or at least, there was no clear indication that Koba actually considered them. More often than not, they slid right off him and he just ignored them, preferring to sit in petulant silence which was exactly what he was doing. With one more look at the Ape, you proceeded forward and found pleasure in how your fingers moved around the bush to find what you were seeking, all too aware of the heated scrutiny you were now being surveyed under. Looking right into his eyes, you smiled viciously as you popped a berry into your mouth and chewed painstakingly slow. For sure, you thought to yourself with a chortle, Caesar was going to hear about this from Koba.

[alltoolewis]

Sports car- Lewis Hamilton

GIF by solgif

summary- Since joining Ferrari, Lewis has grown close to all members of the Leclerc family including Charles's sister. Despite knowing she's forbidden, he offers to take her to the gala where the tensions begin to rise in his sports car...

I LOVE THIS HOWEVER IT IS VERY STEAMY!!! PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION!!!

You’ve always lived in someone else’s shadow.

Not because you were invisible — quite the opposite. As Charles Leclerc’s younger sister, you became part of the Leclerc legacy before you even understood what that meant. In Monaco, people knew your last name before they knew your first. At family dinners, relatives discussed your future in terms of your brother’s next podium. Even at school, teachers smiled at you like they expected greatness — or at least headlines.

You didn’t hate it. You loved Charles. But you learned early that silence was easier than explaining who you were beneath the family name.

So you built a career on the sidelines. Quietly brilliant. A digital strategist for Formula 1 media — someone who belonged in the paddock without drawing attention. You were everywhere and nowhere, a lens behind the lens. And that’s exactly how you preferred it.

Until him.

Lewis Hamilton doesn’t enter rooms. He arrives. He doesn’t speak; he commands attention. And somehow, in a sport obsessed with youth and fresh talent, he still walks like he owns every corner of every track.

You never intended to notice him. Older. Untouchable. Far too famous. But notice him you did — and that changed everything.

It started with a glance across a crowded paddock. A glance that held weight. Electricity. The kind of look that rewrites personal histories in a single breath. He didn't smile. Didn't wave. Just saw you — really saw you — in a way no one ever had before. Not as someone's sister. Not as a background figure. But as you.

The first time you actually spoke was three weeks later. You were rushing through the Ferrari garage with a tablet full of content schedules, head down, focused on deadlines. You didn't see him until you collided — shoulder to chest, your tablet clattering to the concrete.

"Shit, sorry—" You dropped to your knees, scrambling for the device.

"Easy." His voice was lower than you expected. Warmer. He crouched beside you, picking up the tablet before you could reach it. "No damage done."

You looked up. Met his eyes properly for the first time. They were darker in person, more intense. The kind of brown that held secrets.

"Thanks." You reached for the tablet, but he didn't immediately hand it over.

"You're Charles's sister." Not a question. A statement of fact, delivered without the usual reverence people used when connecting you to your brother.

"Guilty." You tried for lightness, but it came out flat.

"I'm Lewis."

As if you didn't know. As if everyone in this garage — in this sport — didn't know exactly who he was. But something in the way he said it made it feel like an introduction between equals. Like he was offering you his name, not his reputation.

"I know who you are." You finally took the tablet from his hands, fingers brushing briefly. "Everyone knows who you are."

"But I don't know who you are." He stood, extending a hand to help you up. "Beyond the obvious family connection."

You hesitated. Took his hand. Let him pull you to your feet.

"I'm nobody important."

"I doubt that." His smile was slight, knowing. "Nobody unimportant moves through this world the way you do."

That moment — that single, electric moment — became the first thread in a tapestry you never expected to weave. You didn't know then how profoundly Lewis Hamilton would unravel everything you thought you understood about yourself, about visibility, about the quiet spaces you'd carved so carefully between the headlines.

You didn't fall. Not immediately. Not obviously. But something shifted in that moment — a tectonic realignment of your carefully constructed universe. You felt it in the way your pulse quickened, in the subtle electricity that lingered where his hand had touched yours. This was different. This was unexpected. This was the beginning of something that would rewrite every narrative you'd ever told yourself about who you were supposed to be.

And that it did...

The connection deepened in stolen moments. Brief conversations in empty corridors. Shared glances across crowded press conferences. Text messages that started professional and slowly became personal. Lewis had a way of asking questions that made you forget to guard your answers — about your work, your thoughts on the sport, your dreams that had nothing to do with racing.

You found yourself looking forward to race weekends not for Charles's results, but for the possibility of running into Lewis. The way he remembered details from conversations weeks old. How he listened when you spoke, really listened, like your words mattered more than the noise surrounding them.

"You see things differently," he told you one evening after a particularly chaotic qualifying session. You were both lingering in the paddock long after most people had left, the setting sun casting everything in golden light. "You notice what others miss."

"Occupational hazard," you deflected, but your heart was racing.

"No." He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "It's who you are."

The almost-kiss happened in Singapore. Rain had delayed practice, and you'd found shelter in an empty hospitality suite. Lewis appeared like he always did — as if the universe had conspired to put him exactly where you needed him to be. The conversation flowed like wine, intimate and intoxicating. When he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you didn't pull away.

"We shouldn't," you whispered, even as you leaned into his touch.

"I know," he replied, but neither of you moved.

The space between you crackled with possibility. With want. With everything you'd been denying for months. But as his thumb traced your cheekbone, reality crashed back. The cameras. The headlines. The inevitable comparisons. Lewis Hamilton's Mystery Woman. Charles Leclerc's Sister in Secret Romance.

You stepped back.

"I can't be another story, Lewis. I can't be the girl who fell for the famous driver. I won't disappear into someone else's narrative again."

The hurt in his eyes was immediate, but so was the understanding. He'd watched you navigate this world, seen how carefully you'd constructed your independence. He knew what you were protecting.

"I would never ask you to disappear," he said quietly.

"You wouldn't have to ask. It would just happen." Your voice cracked slightly. "I've spent my whole life being someone's sister. I won't spend the rest of it being someone's secret."

So you pulled back. Created distance. Kept your conversations professional, your glances brief. But the want remained, simmering beneath every interaction. The way his jaw tightened when you laughed at another driver's joke. How your breath caught when he said your name. The careful space you both maintained, electric with everything you weren't allowing yourselves to feel.

You were falling — had already fallen — but you refused to let yourself land.

The Ferrari gala changed everything.

You'd managed three weeks of careful distance. Three weeks of professional smiles and conversations that never strayed beyond work. Three weeks of pretending your heart didn't skip when Lewis entered a room. It was working — or at least, you'd convinced yourself it was working.

But Monaco's grandest hotel had other plans.

"What do you mean there's no room?" Charles frowned at his phone, Alex beside him looking equally confused. "We booked the car service weeks ago."

You stood in the hotel lobby, evening gown already on, makeup perfect, watching your carefully laid plans dissolve. The Ferrari gala was in an hour. The venue was twenty minutes away. And apparently, the luxury car service had overbooked.

"They can send another car in forty-five minutes," Charles continued, running a hand through his hair. "But we'll be late. Really late."

"Go without me." You forced a smile, already calculating backup options. "I'll figure something out."

"Absolutely not." Alex shook her head. "We're not leaving you behind."

"I could call—"

"No need."

The voice came from behind you, warm and familiar. You turned to find Lewis approaching, car keys spinning around his finger. He looked devastating in his tuxedo — all sharp lines and confident elegance. Your carefully constructed composure wavered.

"Problem solved," he continued, those dark eyes finding yours. "I was heading there anyway."

Charles looked between you and Lewis, something unreadable flickering across his face. "You sure? We don't want to impose."

"No imposition." Lewis's smile was easy, casual. But when he looked at you, there was something deeper. A question. An invitation. "What do you say?"

You should have said no. Should have waited for the delayed car service, shown up fashionably late rather than risk twenty minutes alone with Lewis Hamilton in an enclosed space. Should have protected the distance you'd worked so hard to maintain.

Instead, you heard yourself saying, "That would be great. Thank you."

Charles kissed your cheek, whispered "have fun" in your ear with a knowing look that made your stomach flip. Alex squeezed your hand. And then they were gone, leaving you alone with Lewis in the marble lobby.

"Shall we?" He offered his arm, perfectly gentlemanly.

You took it, trying to ignore the way your skin burned where you touched him.

The car was exactly what you'd expected — sleek, expensive, powerful. A reflection of its owner. Lewis held the passenger door open, his hand briefly touching the small of your back as you settled into the leather seat. The contact lasted less than a second, but it sent electricity shooting up your spine.

He slid into the driver's seat with fluid grace, the engine purring to life. The first few minutes passed in careful silence, Monaco's glittering streets sliding past the windows. You focused on the view, on anything except the way Lewis's hands looked on the steering wheel, the subtle scent of his cologne filling the small space.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said quietly, eyes still on the road.

Your breath caught. "Lewis—"

"I know." His voice was rough. "I know we agreed to keep things professional. But sitting here, with you looking like that..." He glanced at you briefly, and the want in his eyes made your heart race. "I'm only human."

The car slowed at a red light. In the sudden stillness, the tension became unbearable. You could feel him looking at you, could sense the careful control he was maintaining. When you finally met his gaze, the air between you crackled.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of," you whispered.

"What? That we'd be alone together? That I'd tell you how stunning you look? That I'd want to pull over and kiss you until we both forget why we're fighting this?"

Your pulse thundered. "Yes."

The light turned green. Lewis accelerated smoothly, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"Then we're both afraid of the same thing," he said.

The rest of the drive passed in charged silence, broken only by the occasional comment that danced dangerously close to flirtation. When Lewis mentioned how the dress brought out your eyes, you countered by telling him his tuxedo was "almost unfairly handsome." Each exchange felt like a small rebellion against your own rules.

By the time you arrived at the venue, the tension had wound so tight you could barely breathe.

The Ferrari gala was everything you'd expected — opulent, crowded, buzzing with the energy of Monaco's elite mixed with Formula 1's biggest names. You found your assigned table quickly, settling between Charles and your parents, grateful for the familiar buffer of family conversation.

But across the room, at the drivers' table, Lewis Hamilton was impossible to ignore.

It started innocently enough. A glance in his direction during the welcome speech. He happened to be looking back, and for a moment, the crowded ballroom faded away. He raised his champagne glass slightly — a subtle toast meant only for you. You looked away quickly, cheeks warming.

Ten minutes later, during the appetizer course, you caught him watching you again. This time, when your eyes met, he smiled. Not the polished, public smile he wore for cameras, but something private. Intimate. The kind of smile that made your stomach flutter and your resolve weaken.

"You okay?" Charles leaned over, following your gaze. "You seem distracted."

"Fine," you lied, forcing your attention back to your plate. "Just tired."

But it was impossible to stay focused on your family's conversation when Lewis kept drawing your attention like a magnet. When he laughed at something Lando said, you found yourself watching the way his whole face lit up. When he stood to greet someone, you noticed how the tuxedo fit perfectly across his shoulders. When he ran a hand through his hair, you remembered how it felt when those same fingers had brushed your cheek in Singapore.

The worst part was that he seemed equally distracted. You'd catch him looking during your father's story about Monaco's early racing days. During your mother's animated discussion of charity work. During Charles's analysis of the upcoming race weekend. Every time your eyes met, the air seemed to thin, the noise of the gala fading to background static.

"Excuse me," you murmured during the main course, needing air, needing space, needing to escape the magnetic pull of Lewis's attention. "I'll be right back."

You made your way toward the terrace, weaving through tables of glamorous guests, but you could feel his eyes following your movement across the room.

The terrace was quiet, cool marble beneath your heels, the Monaco night spread out like a glittering canvas. You knew he would follow. It wasn't a question of if, but when.

Three minutes later, the glass door slid open behind you. No hesitation. No pretense. Just Lewis, closing the distance between you with the same deliberate grace he brought to everything.

"You're running," he said. Not an accusation but an observation.

"Always," you replied, turning to face him. The Monaco night framed him perfectly — city lights glinting off his skin, the sharp lines of his tuxedo cutting a silhouette that was equal parts danger and desire. "Running is what I do best."

He took another step closer. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the subtle notes of his cologne. Close enough that one more step would mean touching. "Not always," he said softly. "Sometimes you stand perfectly still. And those are the moments that change everything."

He was right. And in that moment, with Monaco's nighttime skyline as witness, you knew you were about to make a choice that would rewrite everything.

Your hand reached out — almost involuntarily — and touched the lapel of his tuxedo. Not pushing away. Not pulling closer. Just contact. Connection. A point of no return.

"Lewis—" your voice was barely a whisper, "—we can't."

But even as you said it, you both knew the word "can't" had lost all meaning. The space between wanting and doing had collapsed, and there was nothing left but pure, electric possibility.

His hand covered yours where it rested against his chest. Not grabbing. Not demanding. Simply acknowledging the electricity between your skin.

"Watch me," he said, and then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was everything you'd imagined and nothing you'd prepared for. Soft at first, tentative, like he was asking permission even as he took it. But when you didn't pull away — when you leaned into him instead — it deepened. His lips moved against yours with practiced confidence, tasting like champagne and promises you weren't sure you could keep.

Your free hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. He made a sound — low, appreciative — that sent heat spiraling through your chest. His other hand settled at your waist, thumb tracing small circles through the silk of your dress.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. "I've been thinking about doing that for months," he murmured, voice rough with want.

"Lewis." Your pulse was racing, every nerve ending alive. "We can't do this here. Anyone could see—"

"My room," he said immediately, the words barely more than breath against your lips. "Come back with me. Please."

The please undid you. Not a demand but a request, vulnerable in its honesty. You could see the want in his eyes, but also the question. The choice was entirely yours.

You thought about the gala still happening inside. About Charles and your parents at the table, probably wondering where you'd gone. About the careful distance you'd maintained, the professional boundaries you'd constructed.

Then Lewis's thumb brushed across your lower lip, and all those careful considerations scattered like leaves in the wind.

"I can't," you said, stepping back from his touch. The words felt like glass in your throat. "Not your room. Not tonight."

The disappointment that flickered across Lewis's face was immediate and devastating. His hand dropped from your waist, jaw tightening as he processed your rejection. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, might push back against your boundaries the way he pushed his car to its limits.

Instead, he nodded once, sharp and final. "Of course. I shouldn't have—"

"Wait." The word escaped before you could stop it. Lewis paused, hope and wariness warring in his expression. You glanced back toward the gala, toward the golden light spilling from the ballroom windows, then back to him. "Your car."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "My car?"

"You're not leaving the gala completely. Not with so much time left." Your heart hammered against your ribs as you spoke, each word a small rebellion against your better judgment. "But we could... we could have privacy. Just for a few minutes."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed immediately by something darker, hungrier. "Are you sure?"

You weren't sure of anything except the way your body responded to his proximity, the way every careful rule you'd constructed seemed meaningless when he looked at you like that.

"Lead the way," you whispered.

The walk back through the gala required careful choreography. Lewis left first, weaving through tables with the easy confidence of someone simply making social rounds. You waited three minutes — counting each second — before following a different path toward the exit.

You almost made it undetected.

"Going somewhere interesting?"

Alex's voice stopped you cold just steps from the terrace doors. She was standing near the bar, champagne flute in hand, eyebrow arched in that knowing way that meant you were absolutely caught.

Your heart hammered as you glanced around, confirming no one else was paying attention. Charles was deep in conversation with Ferrari executives. Your parents were laughing at something with the Binotto family. The coast was clear except for Alex's sharp, amused gaze.

You pressed a finger to your lips — the universal gesture for please keep this between us — and gave her your most pleading look.

Alex's smile was pure mischief. She raised her champagne glass in a mock toast, mouthed "have fun," and turned back to the bar as if nothing had happened.

Relief flooded through you as you slipped out into the Monaco night, but it was quickly replaced by anticipation. Lewis was waiting by the valet stand, car keys already in hand, looking like sin in a perfectly tailored tuxedo.

"Ready?" he asked, and the single word carried the weight of everything you were about to cross.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and followed him into the night.

The valet brought Lewis's car around with practiced efficiency, the sleek machine purring in the Monaco night. Lewis moved to the passenger side, opening your door with the same careful attention he'd shown all evening. But as you approached the car, reality crashed over you like a cold wave.

"This is insane," you breathed, stopping just short of the open door. "Lewis, I can't— we can't do this. Charles trusts me. He trusts you. And here I am, sneaking around behind his back like some kind of—"

"Hey." Lewis's voice was gentle but firm as he stepped closer. "Look at me."

But you couldn't stop the words tumbling out, months of suppressed anxiety finally finding their voice. "He's going to find out. Someone's going to see us, or Alex is going to say something, or—God, what am I even doing? This is so disrespectful to him, to our family, to—"

Lewis's hands found your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones as he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. "Breathe," he said softly.

"I am breathing, I'm just—"

He kissed you. Soft, brief, just enough to quiet the spiral of panic in your chest. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Charles loves you. More than racing, more than winning, more than anything in this world. And you know what he wants most for you?" Lewis's thumb traced along your jaw. "He wants you to be happy. To find someone who sees how extraordinary you are."

"But—"

"No buts." His smile was tender, understanding. "We're not betraying anyone by feeling this. We're not disrespecting Charles by wanting each other. We're just... human."

His hands slid down to yours, fingers intertwining. "If you want to go back inside, we go back inside. If you want me to drive you home and pretend this never happened, I'll do that too. But don't run because you're afraid of what other people might think. Run because it's what you want."

The choice hung between you, suspended in the warm Monaco air. Lewis waited, patient and sure, while you wrestled with every careful boundary you'd ever constructed.

Finally, you stepped toward the car. "Help me in?"

His smile was radiant as he guided you into the passenger seat, his hand warm and steady at your elbow. The leather was soft against your skin, the interior intimate and shadowed. When Lewis closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, you felt the last of your resistance crumble.

This was happening. You were letting it happen.

And for the first time in months, that felt exactly right.

Lewis started the engine but didn't drive anywhere. Instead, he found a secluded spot in the venues's private parking area, tucked between shadows where the valet lights couldn't reach. The sudden quiet felt intimate, charged with possibility.

"Come here," he said softly, and you found yourself sliding across the leather seat until you were close enough to feel his warmth.

His first kiss was feather-light, barely a whisper against your lips. Testing. Asking permission. When you didn't pull away, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your cheek with reverent gentleness.

"You're trembling," he murmured against your mouth.

"I'm nervous," you admitted, the honesty surprising you both.

"We don't have to—"

"I want to." The words came out stronger than you felt. "I want this. I want you."

Something shifted in his expression then, heat replacing the careful tenderness. His next kiss was hungrier, more demanding, and you met it with equal fervor. Your hands found the lapels of his tuxedo, pulling him closer, and he responded by threading his fingers through your hair.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed against your neck, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone. "I've wanted this for so long."

The careful control you'd maintained for months began to fracture. Your usual composure, your measured responses, your need to be perfect and untouchable — it all started to dissolve under his touch. When his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear, you made a sound you'd never made before, breathy and wanting.

"Lewis," you gasped, and his name on your lips seemed to undo something in him too.

"Tell me what you want," he said, voice rough with desire.

The question hung between you, heavy with implication. This was your moment to retreat, to pull back into the safe space of almost-but-not-quite. Instead, you surprised yourself by meeting his gaze directly, letting him see the want you'd been hiding for months.

"I want you to stop treating me like I might break," you said, voice steadier than you felt. "I want you to stop being so careful with me."

His eyes darkened at your words, pupils dilating in the dim light. "You sure about that?"

Instead of answering with words, you kissed him with a passion that had been building for months, pouring all your suppressed desire into the contact. Your teeth caught his lower lip, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending heat spiraling through your chest.

This time, when his hands moved to your waist, there was nothing gentle about it. His grip was firm, possessive, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, rapid and strong, matching the frantic rhythm of your own pulse.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said against your lips, and for the first time, you let yourself believe it might be true.

Your hands moved to his bow tie, fingers working at the silk knot with surprising steadiness despite the way your pulse hammered. The fabric came loose under your touch, and Lewis's breath hitched as you pulled it free, letting it fall forgotten to the car floor.

"Back seat," he said, voice rough with want, and you didn't hesitate.

The transition was clumsy, graceless in the way that real desire always is. Your dress caught on the gear shift, his knee knocked against the steering wheel, and you both laughed breathlessly at the awkwardness of it all. But then you were in the spacious back seat, and the laughter died as the reality of what was happening settled over you both.

Lewis's jacket came off first, your hands pushing it from his shoulders while he worked at the tiny buttons running down your spine. Each one he freed sent a shiver through you, his knuckles brushing against your skin as the silk loosened.

"You're sure?" he asked one more time, even as his fingers traced the newly exposed line of your back.

"Stop asking," you breathed, reaching for his shirt. "I'm sure."

The crisp white cotton parted under your hands, revealing the lean muscle beneath. You'd seen him shirtless in countless photos, magazine covers, social media posts — but this was different. This was intimate, private, yours to touch and explore without the barrier of cameras or crowds.

His skin was warm under your palms, and when you pressed your lips to his collarbone, he made a sound that sent heat pooling low in your belly. The careful control he'd maintained all evening was finally cracking, and you could see it in the way his hands shook slightly as they found the zipper of your dress.

"Beautiful," he murmured as the silk pooled around your waist, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in the dim light. "So fucking beautiful."

The reverence in his voice made you bold. You arched into his touch as his hands mapped the newly revealed skin, your own fingers working at his belt with determined focus. The leather came free, and Lewis groaned when your hand brushed against him through the fabric of his trousers.

"Christ," he breathed, head falling back against the leather seat. "You're going to kill me."

But his hands were moving too, sliding the dress down your hips until it joined the growing pile of expensive fabric on the car floor. The cool air against your heated skin made you gasp, and Lewis took advantage of your parted lips to kiss you again, deeper this time, hungrier.

You were both breathing hard now, the windows beginning to fog from the heat you were generating. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint sounds of the gala continuing, but it felt like another world entirely. Here, in the intimate darkness of Lewis's car, there was nothing but want and touch and the electric connection that had been building between you for months.

His mouth moved lower, trailing hot kisses down the column of your throat. You arched beneath him as he found the sensitive hollow at the base of your neck, his tongue flicking against your pulse point in a way that made you gasp his name.

"So responsive," he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers through you.

When his lips moved lower still, lavishing attention on the swell of your breasts, your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close. He took his time, worshipping you with a patience that bordered on torturous, his mouth and tongue drawing sounds from you that you'd never made before.

"Lewis, please—" you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for.

But he seemed to know. His kisses moved lower, across your ribs, your stomach, each press of his lips like a brand against your heated skin. When he settled between your thighs, his dark eyes met yours in the dim light.

"Still sure?" he asked, though his hands were already sliding up your legs, thumbs tracing maddening circles on your inner thighs.

You could only nod, words lost to the anticipation building in your chest. And then his mouth was on you, and coherent thought became impossible.

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your back arching off the leather seat. He worked you with the same focused intensity he brought to everything else, learning what made you gasp, what made you writhe, what made you forget your own name.

"God, you taste incredible," he said against you, the words sending vibrations through your core that made you tremble.

Your hands fisted in his hair as he continued his ministrations, building you higher and higher until you were balanced on the edge of something overwhelming. The sounds you were making would have embarrassed you if you'd been capable of caring about anything beyond the sensation of his mouth on you.

Your thighs trembled against his shoulders as he found a rhythm that had you gasping his name like a prayer. The careful, methodical way he explored you — tongue tracing patterns that made your vision blur — spoke to the same precision he brought to the track. Every flick, every gentle suction, every moment where he pulled back just enough to make you whimper in protest.

"Don't stop," you managed, voice breaking on the words. "Please don't—"

He hummed against you in response, the vibration making your hips buck involuntarily. His hands moved to hold you steady, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs with just enough pressure to ground you even as he sent you spiraling higher.

The tension coiled tighter in your belly, every nerve ending alive and singing under his attention. You could feel yourself getting close, that familiar tightening that promised release, and Lewis seemed to sense it too. His pace intensified, tongue working against you with devastating accuracy.

"That's it," he murmured, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in with renewed focus. "Let go for me."

The command in his voice, rough with his own desire, was what finally pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, back arching as you cried out his name into the heated air of the car. He worked you through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks rolled through your body, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you came back down.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction and want. "You're incredible," he said, voice rough as he kissed his way back up your body.

You pulled him up to you, tasting yourself on his lips as you kissed him deeply, your hands already reaching for the waistband of his trousers. "Your turn," you breathed against his mouth.

You kissed your way down his body, tongue tracing the intricate ink that decorated his skin. Each tattoo told a story — victories, losses, moments that had shaped him into the man beneath you now. Your lips followed the compass rose on his chest, the script along his ribs, the geometric patterns that wound around his bicep.

"Fuck," he breathed as your mouth moved lower, his hands tangling in your hair. "You don't have to—"

But you wanted to. Wanted to worship him the way he'd worshipped you, wanted to draw those same desperate sounds from his lips. When you finally took him in your mouth, his reaction was immediate and devastating.

"Christ," he gasped, head falling back against the seat. "Your mouth—"

You worked him slowly at first, learning what made him groan, what made his hips buck involuntarily. He was generous with his praise, voice rough with pleasure as he told you how good you felt, how perfect you were, how long he'd dreamed of this moment.

The power of reducing someone so controlled, so commanding, to breathless gasps and whispered pleas was intoxicating. You could feel him getting close, his breathing ragged, muscles tense beneath your hands.

"Stop," he said suddenly, tugging gently at your hair. "I want to be inside you when I come."

The raw honesty in his voice made heat pool low in your belly all over again. You moved back up his body, straddling his hips, both of you breathing hard in the steamy confines of the car.

"Are you sure?" he asked, hands settling on your waist as you positioned yourself above him.

Instead of answering with words, you sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch until you were fully seated in his lap. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming, exactly what you'd been craving without even knowing it.

"God," you breathed, head falling forward to rest against his shoulder as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you.

His hands roamed your back, soothing and possessive at once. "You feel incredible," he murmured against your ear. "So perfect."

When you finally began to move, it was with a rhythm that built slowly, deliberately. Each roll of your hips drew soft sounds from both of you, the leather seat creaking beneath you as you found your pace. Lewis's hands guided your movements, helping you find the angle that made you both gasp.

The windows were completely fogged now, the outside world invisible beyond the steamed glass. There was nothing but this — the slide of skin against skin, the sound of your breathing mingling in the heated air, the way Lewis looked at you like you were everything he'd ever wanted.

"You're so beautiful like this," he whispered, voice strained with pleasure as you moved above him. "So fucking perfect."

His words sent electricity through you, spurring you to move faster, to take him deeper. The praise fell from his lips like a prayer — telling you how incredible you felt, how he'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted you, how watching you take your pleasure was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Lewis," you gasped, feeling that familiar tension building again, stronger this time with him buried deep inside you.

"I know, baby," he breathed, one hand sliding between your bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves. "I can feel you getting close. Come for me again."

The combination of his touch and his words and the perfect angle of him inside you was devastating. Your rhythm faltered as the pleasure built, becoming erratic, desperate.

"That's it," he encouraged, his own breathing ragged now. "Let me feel you."

When your second orgasm hit, it was even more intense than the first. You cried out his name as you shattered around him, your body clenching and pulsing in waves that seemed to go on forever. The sight and feel of you coming undone above him pushed Lewis over the edge too.

"Fuck, I'm—" he groaned, pulling you down for a desperate kiss as his own release claimed him, his body tensing beneath you as he spilled himself deep inside you with a broken cry of your name.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat despite the cool Monaco night. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the aftershocks slowly faded, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

"That was..." he started, then trailed off with a breathless laugh.

"Yeah," you agreed, not trusting yourself with more words yet.

For a long moment, you stayed like that — wrapped around each other in the steamy confines of his car, hearts gradually slowing to normal rhythms. Reality would intrude soon enough, but for now, there was only this perfect, stolen moment of intimacy.

Not worried about sneaking back into the gala. or your brothers reaction. It was just you and him.