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uzurakis · 5 months

Note

jjk men w gf who’s overly sensitive and they said something that hurt her feelings? ^___^

FALLING INTO ARGUMENTS?!

featuring: megumi fushiguro. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji. geto suguru.

n. nonnie, allow me to spice your req a bit by make them getting into arguments which hurts your feelings in the process. sorry it took a longer time to write this cause i really don’t want to mess their characterization on this one t—t you also didn’t say i need to end it with comfort so…

GOJO SATORU.

the atmosphere was heavy with tension, as if every breath you took stirred up a storm of unresolved emotions. the soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the lines of frustration etched into gojo satoru’s face. his piercing gaze fixed into yours, a silent challenge hanging between both like a veil of uncertainty.

as you stood before him, the weight of his dismissive words bore down on you like a crushing weight. it was as if every syllable was a dagger aimed straight at your heart, each one leaving a deep, painful wound that threatened.

you cried out, "i can help, satoru," your voice quivering with a mix of hurt and desperation. "please, just let me help you."

however, his reply felt akin to a blow to the face. "i don’t need your help, alright?" he yelled, his voice snapping like a whip. "i've got this covered myself.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, filling the space between you guys with a palpable sense of defeat.

you begged, your voice almost audible, "but satoru, we're supposed to be in this together. i thought you trusted me. isn't that what relationships are built out of?”. nevertheless, his expression remained impassive, a mask of indifference that hid the pain lurking beneath the surface. “trust has nothing to do with it," he replied, voice colder than you had ever heard it before. "i do better alone."

with those comments, the abyss between you and gojo deepened, threatening to swallow both whole. then as you turned to leave his room, the weight of his rejection settled like a stone in your gut, leaving only a hollow ache and the bitter taste of regret.

the silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. every fiber of his being screamed for him to go after you, to swallow his pride and beg for your forgiveness, but something held him back, he didn’t want to pull you into his mess any further.

with a heavy sigh, gojo sank into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he let out a long, ragged breath. the weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with its suffocating embrace.

tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let himself break down in the face of his own weakness. he had always prided himself on his strength, on his ability to handle any situation with ease and confidence, but now, in the aftermath of this argument, he felt more vulnerable than ever before.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

"are you okay, megumi?" you asked softly as you reached out to touch his shoulder.

his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a tense energy that crackled in the air, setting your nerves on edge as he flinched away from your touch, his expression hardening as he turned to face you.

he snapped, "i'm fine," in a tone that was unlike anything you had ever heard. "stop asking me that."

the words were like a slap to the face, leaving you feeling with hurt and confusion. all you had wanted was to help him, to ease the burden he carried on his shoulders, but instead, you found myself faced with a wall of anger and resentment.

you tried to protest whilst trembling with suppressed emotions. "you know you can always talk to me, right? you don't have to go through this alone." yet he shook his head, his eyes dark with pain as he pushed you away. "i said i'm fine!” insisted, tone slightly went higher. "just leave me alone."

the tears threatened to spill over, but you just held it down and bit your lips. with a heavy heart, you turned and left his room.

as the door closed behind you, megumi let out a frustrated growl, the sound muffled by the empty room. he cursed himself silently, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the weight of his harsh words settled heavily on his shoulders.

"damn it," he muttered under his breath, very much thick with regret. "fuck you, fushiguro.”

the memory of your hurt expression haunted him, a reminder of the pain he had caused with his thoughtless words. he had never meant to hurt you, never intended to push you away, but in his fear and uncertainty, he had lashed out without thinking, building walls around himself to keep you out.

now, as he stood alone in the quiet solitude of his room, he realized the magnitude of his mistake. he had pushed away the one person who had always been there for him, the one person who had never given up on him, and now he was left to face the consequences of his actions.

with a heavy sigh, the man sank onto his bed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of the mess he had created. he knew that he needed to apologize, to make things right, but the thought of facing you again filled him with a sense of dread.

ITADORI YUUJI

under the soft glow of streetlights, yuuji and you found yourselves standing at the edge of a heated argument that threatened to consume the bond between you. the cool night air was heavy with tension, each word you and he exchanged hanging in the air like a cloud of unresolved emotions.

"i just wish you would trust me, yuuji." you said, sounding frustrated as you looked for any indication that he might understand.

however, he shook his head, his expression stubborn and closed off. "i do trust you, but this is different. i need to handle this on my own, babe.”

his remarks pierce deeply. it seemed that he was shutting you down even though all you wanted to do was to help him. you looked at yuuji and said, "i can't just watch you struggle."

"just, give me some time alone, okay?”

the hurt in his voice mirrored your own. as you watched him walk away, the sting of his words lingered like a bitter taste in your mouth. just as you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name, his voice filled with panic and regret. "wait! baby, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

you turned back to face him, the ache in your chest easing slightly at the sight of his vulnerability. in that moment, you understood that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared and uncertain as you were.

"it's okay, yuuji," you calmed him down, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "we'll figure this out together."

GETO SUGURU

you couldn't stand idly by as suguru pushed himself into further depression from time and time again, and tonight, you had finally reached your breaking point.

"suguru, you need to take better care of yourself," you begged, tinged with frustration and concern. "you can't keep treating yourself like this."

“is there really nothing i can do to help you?”

only he scoffed at your worries, waving off your concerns with a dismissive gesture, expression stubborn and unyielding. "i'm fine, babe.” with a deep sigh, geto suguru pointed out, "and what would you know about my problems, huh?" he reacted with resentment.

those words cut deep, leaving you mourning with hurt and disbelief.

"suguru..” you claimed, “do you really think i would just stand there as you destroy yourself? when you mean so much to me?”

his eyes softened at your words, a flicker of regret passing over his features before he shook his head, expression hardening as he turned away from you. "i don't need your help," he spat.

“i can take care of myself."

the finality of his words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing the last vestiges of hope that lingered in.

"fuck, i'm sorry," he murmured right before you decided to walk away. "i didn't mean to worry you."

“i, i just don’t know what to do with myself. shit, i’m so sorry.”

you turned back to face him, tears welling in your eyes as he crossed the room to pull you into a tight embrace. his familiar arms curled around you, providing comfort and warmth despite the tension. you could feel his heartbeat against yours, a rhythm that expressed both guilt and tenderness. at last, words were unnecessary as you allowed the quiet to envelope both, saying more than any apology could.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

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xo100 · 20 days

Text

Baking cookies - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando’s best friend Y/N babysits his daughter Nina while he’s away. They bake cookies, and when Lando returns, subtle flirtation and unspoken feelings hint at something deeper between Y/N and Lando.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1546

next part

୨ৎ

The sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm golden glow over the cozy space. The soft hum of the oven in the background and the quiet giggles from the little girl perched on a stool by the counter filled the room with a serene warmth. It was one of those peaceful days, and even though Lando Norris wasn't home, his presence was still felt in the laughter of his four-year-old daughter, Nina.

Y/N stood by the counter, her hands coated in flour as she carefully measured out the ingredients for the cookie dough. Every now and then, she glanced over at Nina, who was eagerly waiting for her cue to start stirring. Nina, with her bright, curious eyes and a cascade of brown curls that matched her father’s, was the spitting image of Lando. There was no denying she had inherited more than just his looks—she had his spirit, too. Adventurous, playful, and always looking for fun, Nina had become the center of Y/N’s world, almost as much as Lando had been for as long as she could remember.

Lando had been Y/N’s best friend since they were kids, a bond that had only grown stronger through the years. But when Nina came into the picture—after her mother had left without a word—it shifted something deeper. Y/N had stepped in without a second thought, supporting Lando through the sleepless nights and the uncertainties of being a single dad. There had never been a question about it; they were a team.

"Can I stir now, Auntie Y/N?" Nina’s voice broke through Y/N’s thoughts, filled with excitement. She had been calling Y/N ‘Auntie’ for as long as she could talk, a term of endearment that made Y/N’s heart swell each time.

"Of course, sweetheart," Y/N smiled, sliding the bowl closer to Nina. She handed her the wooden spoon, watching with fondness as Nina’s tiny hands wrapped around the handle, stirring with all her might.

“Don’t spill it everywhere,” Y/N warned with a teasing lilt, knowing full well that half the flour would probably end up on the floor.

“I won't!” Nina giggled, her tongue poking out in concentration as she mixed the dough.

Y/N leaned back against the counter, wiping her hands on a towel and smiling softly. These moments were her favorite—just her and Nina, baking, chatting, and sharing in the quiet joys of life. It had become something of a tradition whenever Lando had to travel for work or attend meetings like today’s with McLaren. Y/N would come over, and they’d spend the day making cookies or cupcakes, surprising Lando when he got home. Nina loved it, and Y/N loved that Lando trusted her enough to leave his most precious person in her care.

“Do you think Daddy will like these cookies?” Nina asked, her wide eyes looking up at Y/N, full of innocence and hope.

Y/N chuckled. “Your daddy loves everything you make, Nina. You know that.”

Nina’s smile widened, her face lighting up. “He always says they're the best cookies ever!”

“That's because they are,” Y/N replied, gently patting Nina’s head. “With you being the head baker and all.”

The little girl puffed out her chest, filled with pride. “I'm the best baker! Right, Auntie Y/N?”

“The absolute best,” Y/N agreed, a warmth spreading in her chest as she watched Nina’s joy.

The sound of a door opening in the distance startled Y/N for a moment. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Lando wasn’t supposed to be home yet; he had told her he’d be gone until late afternoon.

“Daddy’s home!” Nina squealed, hopping off the stool and bolting out of the kitchen before Y/N could even react. She followed after Nina, wiping her hands on her apron as she went, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing Lando again.

Sure enough, Lando stood in the hallway, his coat half-off, a smile spreading across his face as Nina launched herself into his arms. His laughter echoed through the house, and Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sight. He always looked happiest with Nina in his arms, her little legs wrapped around his waist as she peppered his face with kisses.

“Hey, munchkin!” Lando laughed, spinning Nina around. “I thought I was supposed to be back later?”

“Surprise!” Nina giggled. “We made cookies!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his gaze lifting to meet Y/N’s as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. His eyes twinkled with that familiar playful glint, the one that always made Y/N’s stomach do a little flip.

“Cookies, huh?” Lando grinned, setting Nina back down. “I think I’m the lucky one then.”

“They’re not ready yet, Daddy,” Nina explained, her little hands tugging at his. “Come see!”

Lando let Nina drag him into the kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. Y/N busied herself by checking on the dough, hoping to distract herself from the way her heart was racing at the sight of him. She didn’t know why it still happened after all these years, but there was something about seeing Lando with Nina that made her heart ache in the best way.

“So,” Lando said, leaning casually against the counter as Nina climbed back onto her stool, “How’d it go today? Any cookie catastrophes?”

Y/N shot him a playful glare. “We’re professionals, Norris. No catastrophes here.”

Lando chuckled, his eyes lingering on her a little longer than necessary. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

There it was again. That lingering look, the way his voice softened just slightly when he spoke to her, the subtle flirtation that had always danced between them but never crossed the line. It had been like this for years, an unspoken tension that neither of them addressed, and yet, Y/N couldn’t deny how it made her feel. How he made her feel.

“Daddy, can we have cookies now?” Nina interrupted, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Soon, sweetheart,” Y/N said, placing the tray in the oven. “They need a few minutes.”

Lando moved closer, standing beside Y/N as they both watched Nina eagerly eyeing the cookies. His arm brushed against hers, sending a shiver down her spine. She tried to ignore it, focusing on the cookies instead, but it was hard when he was this close, his presence so warm and comforting.

“Thanks for looking after her today,” Lando said softly, his voice low enough that only Y/N could hear. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her heart skipping another beat at the sincerity in his eyes. “You’d be fine. You’re an amazing dad, Lando.”

His smile softened, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looked back at her. “I couldn’t do it without you, though. Really.”

There was a vulnerability in his voice that made Y/N’s chest tighten. She had always known Lando was strong, but she also knew how much he struggled sometimes—how hard it was for him to juggle his career and being a single dad. He never said it out loud, but she could see it in the way his shoulders sagged at the end of a long day or the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at Nina, knowing she depended on him entirely.

“You’re not alone, Lando,” Y/N said gently, her hand brushing against his. “You’ll never be alone.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet kitchen, the warmth of the cookies filling the air, and Y/N wondered if maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to stay the way they always had. Maybe there was room for something more between them, something deeper than the friendship they’d always leaned on.

“Daddy, can we have the cookies now?” Nina’s voice broke the moment, and Y/N quickly stepped back, her cheeks flushing.

Lando cleared his throat, the playful smile returning to his face as he turned to his daughter. “Let’s see if they’re good enough.”

Y/N busied herself with plating the cookies, her mind still spinning from the closeness she had just shared with Lando. She handed a cookie to Nina, who immediately took a big bite, her eyes lighting up with joy.

“These are the best cookies ever!” Nina declared, her mouth full.

Lando chuckled, taking a cookie for himself. “You heard her, Y/N. Best cookies ever.”

Y/N smiled, watching as Lando took a bite, his eyes closing in exaggerated bliss. “I have to agree with Nina,” he said, his voice playful. “You really are the best.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her heart swelled at his words. There was something so simple, so perfect about these moments—the three of them together, laughing and sharing in the little joys of life.

As the afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the kitchen, Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where she was meant to be. With Lando and Nina, baking cookies, sharing smiles, and creating memories that were sweeter than anything they could ever pull out of the oven.

And as Lando’s hand brushed hers one more time, she realized that maybe he felt the same way too.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it. If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

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cosycafune · 2 months

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CAPTIVATING FLAVOUR

3.8k words. sure, you’re supposed to be taking sylus’ measurements. yet, what happens when you’re sexually desperate for him, pushing forward an offer that the two of you can’t refuse? once you’ve made a deal, you have to keep it. now, you're in his room — waiting for him to finally test out his self-restraint. pt 2/3. p1 here. masterlist.

acts: oral (f) receiving, teasing, restraints, cunnilingus, fingering, slight praise, mocking, boob sucking, corruption kink, begging, missionary, crying, orgasm, unprotected sex, breeding kink and aftercare. a/n: thank you for the love on the first part; reposts are appreciated.

NERVOUS, you listen to the soundless atmosphere – only your footsteps linger. Composing yourself, you fidget with the ends of your sultry robe – concealing all traces of your lingerie beneath. You knew doing this — visiting Sylus’ room in the dead of night – was bound to consume you.

As you drew nearer to Sylus’ secluded bedroom, your abdomen churned wickedly – subjected to a spot of mental weakness. Glancing at the door, you puff out your warm cheeks – smoothing out any imperfections you carry. Everything within you yearned for Sylus intimately, after your private dressing room encounter, but you were too scared to commit after.

“You can do this,” Whispering to yourself, you shed your emotional distress, rooted in lust, “If he’s sleeping, wake him up.” Nodding naively to yourself, you catch sight of Mephisto – causing you to furrow your brows.

“Stupid robot-bird,” Scoffing, you slowly open Sylus’ double doors – briefly glimpsing at the intricate patterns. Patterns that intimidate you in the same way he does.

He’s just behind those doors. The confirmation welcomed thudding between your thighs, pushing a fuzziness to conquer you entirely.

“You’ll be fine, girl,” Reassuring yourself, you gently walk into Sylus’ bedroom – your eyes discovering his slumbering self.

Slightly smitten, you admire his sitting self – enthralled by his stance. Oddly, it proposed a form of vulnerability – consuming you entirely. Entirely as you dart nearer to him, brushing your knee against the edge of the ample bed.

“Sylus?” Attempting to wake him up, you settle yourself onto the bed – contemplating poking him frantically.

Giving into your urges, you cast yourself into frantically poking Sylus — simmering with desire. Your demeanour is tainted with lust, an insatiable urge and a bottomless craving. Each fibre of you wanted him so deeply inside of you, regardless of your pride and ego.

After all, after you had given him the sloppiest oral, Sylus had momentarily coddled you. Yet, despite his praises and fleeting solace, he wouldn’t gift you more. Partially, it’s due to you two never sexually going all the way — simply participating in oral or something less marking than sex.

The two of you had done everything, but intimacy leaves you unnerved — and Sylus knows that. No, Sylus is aware of that — hence why he restrains and denies you of physically sinking on his cock. A cock you had handled with your mouth many times, cock warmed, breast fucked and more. The most Sylus would give you, if he was feeling generous, was clothed grinding against your soppy cunt.

“Sylus!” Growing frantic, you heavily poke him — prompting yourself into almost straddling his sleeping self.

Pouting, feeling a little embarrassed, you softly poke his cheek — observing his toned breaths. Irritation floods you narrowly, causing you almost to leave his lap. Testing your luck, you gift him one last poke — only to be greeted by silence.

“I’m leaving,” Huffing, you meekly express your desires — attempting to get up from his lap.

That’s when you felt it. No, you had fallen for his trap. You’re an idiot.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” Tauntingly asking you, Sylus grabs your wrist — positioning you within his lap again.

“S-Sylus,” Flustered, you blurt out his name — feeling the intensity of his crimson gaze penetrate you.

“Don’t get nervous now, sweetie,” Wickedly smirking with his statement, Sylus looks down at you — intrigued.

“I’m not—”

“—Did you dress up for me?” The restraint within Sylus’ question causes you to halt, finally meeting his intimidating gaze.

“I dressed down, Sy’,” Countering his inquiry, you playfully roll your eyes — only for his deft fingers to grip your doughy ass.

“No,” Sylus’ eyes contort with lust, “You’re in lingerie and a robe.” Groaning, Sylus speaks — gripping your hips firmly.

He’s losing composure.

“I just want…more, Sy’,” Hazily, you admit your truth — warm at Sylus’ intense attentiveness.

“More, sweetie?” Feinting brash incompetence, Sylus pulls you flush against his budding erection — wavering at your scent.

It’s as if you’ve evoked something primal within him.

“I want all of…you, Sy,” Remaining firm, you voice your thoughts. All you could feel is Sylus fondling your ass, enthralled by the feeling of you.

“This is a large step, sweetie,” Seriousness adorns Sylus’ deep tone, leaving you to almost shed your apprehension.

“I-I know, but I want to try, Sylus,” Determined, you speak — feeling his nimble fingers shape around your hip curves.

Relishing your physique, Sylus caresses your hips — occasionally feeling your robe brush against his knuckles. However, you knew he was testing your resolve — feeling you squirm heavily against his touch. If his touch, simply from teasing you, did this much to you, he can’t help but wonder what you’d do if he finally gave in to you for the first time.

“Promise me that you’ll tell me if you feel the littlest pain?” Sylus instantly asks you, and you know that he expresses not an ounce of humour.

“I promise, Sy’,” Responding to him, you place your forehead against his own — kissing his soft lips.

With your array of kisses, you indirectly told Sylus you felt your safest. Needily, you passionately grind your hips against Sylus’ erection — intoxicating his eager lips.

Commanded by your physical, sexual and emotional chemistry, Sylus immediately takes control. Unable to restrain his primal urges, Sylus gently wraps his arms around your hips — lowering you against the bed.

Turning you around, so you’re near his mountains of pillows, Sylus smugly manhandles you. Fuelled by his urges, Sylus instinctively cages your physique — using his energy manipulation to tie your hands above your heads.

“You really waste no time, my love,” Sylus cocks his head at your nickname, leaning closer to you — settling a kiss against your neck.

“You put effort into looking more beautiful for me, sweetie, of course, I’m going to ravish you,” Appreciative, you grow flustered at Sylus’ praise— knowing he’s more riled up at your nickname.

“I can’t even be in control?” Pouting, you question him — flaunting your battering lashes.

“Not with what I have in store for you, sweetie,” Replying with authority, Sylus tightens the reddish-black bonds around your wrist – smitten at the way you gasp. Gasp at the control he’s planted over you, having access to every limb of you.

“S-Should I be scared, my love?” Sincerely, you ask Sylus – watching his soft cheeks and gruff ears turn a beautiful crimson hue.

“Terrified, sweetie,” Sneering, Sylus teases you – smothering meaningful kisses along your neck.

“Mhm,” You moan out, mesmerised by Sylus’ lips skimming down to the middle of your breasts – stopping at your heartbeat.

“Your safeword is crow, sweetie,” Sylus speaks, swiftly tearing apart your robe with a swift motion of his evol.

“Sylus!” Bellowing with shock, you look at his pleased expression — his brow lazily rising.

“I can buy you many more, sweetheart,” Boyishly grinning, Sylus needily informs you — enthralled by your sheer bra.

“I’m expecting a new pair,” Fake huffing, you respond to him — groaning at Sylus kissing between your pushed-up cleavage.

“Always,” Planting kisses against your breast curve, Sylus murmurs.

Basking in your anticipation, Sylus smothers slow kisses against your thin bra — running his warm tongue against your taut nipple. Practically, you could feel his smile — shivering at his teeth grazing it.

“Sweetie, tell me what you want,” Admiring you, Sylus questions you — hastily disregarding your bra with his evol.

“Aside from you destroying my lingerie, I want you between…” Pressure clings to your words; Sylus’ gaze intimidates you vastly.

“Use your words, darling,” Purring, Sylus taunts you — bringing his lips against your exposed nipple.

Naturally, you were shy beneath his gaze — within an intimate setting. However, being propped before him, caged, almost naked, left you a flustered mess. This scenery contradicted the usual you, whether Sylus is your boyfriend or not. You were both going down a territory that had been unmarked, something that was fated to strengthen your intimate bond with him.

“I want head, Sy’,” Crushing your ego slightly, you express your needs — groaning at him sucking your nipple.

“Say please, sweetie,” Dominance floods Sylus’ order.

“Please, Sy’,” Shedding your ego, you plead with him — slightly arching at Sylus’ insistent nipple sucking.

“Hm, you’ve earned it,” Indirectly agreeing, Sylus kisses around your breasts once more — gifting them a sensual squeeze.

Monitoring your flustered state, Sylus begins to descend down the length of your body — marking patches of your skin with kisses. Kisses of love, devotion and mellowness, that contrast his usual demeanour. Sure, he’s much softer with you — but this intimate softness pales Sylus’ past acts.

Observing him with love, intrigue and bubbling yearning, your breathing rises. Sylus’ lips upon your nimble skin consume you, leaving you letting out explorative moans, shudders and squeamish movements.

However, Sylus’ warm breath against your stomach left you so flustered. He’s savouring you, taking his time to relish every contort of your abs.

Desperation seized his composed breaths, leading to Sylus lowering his kisses — arriving towards your sheer underwear. Instinctively, Sylus’ head lifts — his crimson eyes meeting yours.

A message’s stored in his gaze.

“I’m trusting that you don’t have any doubts?” Sylus’ voice rings through your mind, causing you to frantically shake your head — irritated at his lack of touch.

“Nu-uh, don’t stop,” Pouting, you breathily respond to Sylus — longing for him to finally consume all of you.

“Don’t be impatient, sweetie,” Softly chuckling, Sylus murmurs — instantly disintegrating your sheer lingerie.

You’re completely naked now. Vulnerability clings to you.

“I want to see you, too, Sy’,” Shying at Sylus’ resumed kisses, you mutter — slightly unnerved at his lips kissing your smooth base.

Growing obedient, you watch Sylus’ lips with anticipation. Your lips part as Sylus’ mouth brushes against your clit, teasing you with his mouth’s warmth. Warmth you can’t help but try buck into, but he restricts your legs — smiling at your evol-tied down wrists.

“Not now, you saw me earlier,” Scoffing, Sylus grins, “Don’t be impatient, sweetie,” Sylus says, enjoying the look of innocence upon your facial features.

“J-Just wanna…see,” Knowing Sylus won’t cave into you, you stutter.

Your mind is hazy at his chuckling vibrations, against your soppy cunt, compelling you. And, as expected, you knew Sylus’ ego skyrocketed at your attempted grinding. In his mind, it spells that his touch is intoxicating to you — leaving you longing for his corruption.

“You heard me, sweetie,” Nodding at Sylus’ stern statement, your protests are lost. Lost the moment he ran his ample finger down your slick folds, bringing your sticky arousal to his swollen lips.

“‘More, Sy’,” Requesting more, your mouth’s agape — intrigued by Sylus’ long middle finger teasing your clit.

“Our safeword’s crow,” Sylus reminds you, dragging your slick towards your pulsating entrance.

As you process Sylus’ warning, you feel his thick fingers begin to sink into your entrance. Not expecting his swiftness, you loudly moan — your eyes barely able to stay open. Even if it was half of Sylus’ fingers, it doesn’t matter. His fingers are huge, and ample, leaving you feeling full and slightly unnerved.

“‘So…much!” Unable to hold back, you blurt out your thoughts.

Your body flutters at Sylus’ large fingers plunging deeper inside of you, causing a haziness to dance over you. Overwhelmed, you fall breathless — unable to spew coherent sentences. Maybe that’s why Sylus wasn’t keen on giving you his cock? If you’re barely able to handle him plunging his fingers into you, what makes you think you’re able to handle him? He’s a big man.

As Sylus intensely watches you, he uses his energy manipulation to secure your legs around his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, you cry out — hypnotised by his lips wrapping around your clit. All you could feel was this fuzzing warmth that dissipated your sanity, stirring you into attempting to squirm around. However, your arms and legs are tied by Sylus — leaving you unable to move.

“Oh! Yes!” Lazily moaning, you lewdly smile. Your eyebrows and lips twitch drastically, conducted by Sylus ravaging your clit.

“Look at you, so desperate,” Mocking you, Sylus chuckles — thrusting his fingers rapidly inside of you.

“Mhm! Ngh! C-Can’t… breathe,” Whimpering, you’re barely able to listen to Sylus’.

The only thing you can do is grow embarrassed at being able to hear your pussy squelching, along with Sylus’ consistent sucking, and the perfect power imbalance. Everything within this moment captured you, leaving you an undeniable mess — monitored by Sylus’ gaze.

“Just say…crow,” Harshening his speed, Sylus speaks — basking in your crazed struggle.

Undeniably, you’re a mess — drooling, trembling and unable to handle this. Sylus’ groaning and lust-draped eyes didn’t help you further, prompting you to be louder. Whenever it came to intimidating moments, it didn’t truly take Sylus much to make you finish — and you knew that, too.

However, you want to prolong this moment. No matter what your ailing physique was screaming and no matter what your knotted stomach preached. Just seeing the unjust pride in Sylus’ gaze caused you to simply moan, knowing you didn’t want to validate his accurate judgment. A judgement that could potentially deny you of his cock.

“Fuck! A~Ah! N-No!” Countering his calm teasing, your body strains heavily — desperate to finally cum against his tongue.

“You’re so stubborn, sweetie,” Tutting, Sylus answers back — increasing his inhumane pace.

Naturally, your body’s compromised — almost Sylus’. Sylus’ speed and agility sapped your willpower, cramming the lewd squelching that fills the atmosphere. His proud smirk lightly ticks you off, as you’re so close to finishing with his tongue and ample fingers. Fingers you know you struggle to stand against.

“Here it comes,” On Sylus’ worded cue, you forcefully cum — your physique trembling from your crazed high.

“You’re…so smug, Sy’,” Huffing in embarrassment, you avoid Sylus’ gaze — flustered at Sylus slowly drinking up your seeping cum.

Taunting you further, Sylus unhurriedly removes his fingers from you — bringing his attention towards lapping up your cum. The grin he wore almost irritated you, but it warmed you at how attentive Sylus remains. All you wanted to do was run your fingers through his ivory hair, but he still had your wrists tied.

“Yet, you still love me,” Heckling you, Sylus frees your restrained legs — admiring the messy art he made of you.

“Yeah, but I’m ready now,” Flaunting your glassy eyes, you voice the unsaid — distorting the lingering tension.

“This is a big step for us,” Addressing the elephant within the room, Sylus meets your flustered gaze — amused by your messy state.

“I know, but I’m ready, my love,” Reassuring a sceptical Sylus, you silently ask him to release your tied wrists — but he doesn’t.

“I’m trusting you, sweetie,” At Sylus’ worded approval, you happily smile — a little teary at his intimate trust.

“Finally, I’ve been kind of deprived,” Relieved, you speak — waiting for Sylus to conduct his next move.

“Hm, I could tell,” Teasing you, Sylus inches closer to your face — quickly disregarding his large robe.

“You’re so pretty, Sy’,” Subconsciously babbling, you admire Sylus’ scarlet eyes — honoured by his heated cheeks.

“Pretty? Not handsome?” Feinting irritation, Sylus is heavily flustered — allowing his toned abs to greet your eyes.

“You just want compliments, greedy,” Responding to his disbelief, all your playful banter is eliminated — replaced with a suffocating lust.

“Of course, but those can wait,” Sylus’ voice is authoritative now, stripped of playfulness and painted with sexual intent.

Sylus’ eyes are coated with his bubbling desires and primal intent. Seeing you, so vulnerable, tied up, left him unable to restrain himself. Even as he spoke, tearing away his underwear, he couldn’t help closing in on you. Right now, you’re his prey — someone to be consumed entirely. There isn’t to be a fragment of you that doesn’t belong to him.

Shy, with no way to cover yourself, you nervously look down at Sylus’ cock — realising your mistake. This moment left you conjuring a strategy, gulping at his massive cock. It made so much sense since Sylus’ is a big man. His hands are large, his ego is large, and his physique is large. Of course, his cock is going to be massive — it’s fate’s rule. Naturally, you knew sucking his dick is so much different from being stuffed with it.

“Sylus, I’m ovulating,” Informing him, you blankly stare at him coming extremely close to you — his cock moments away from your soppy folds.

“And?” Unimpressed, Sylus responds — placing his fat cock against your stomach.

“I don’t want you to pull out,” Blurting out your deepest desire, your breathing grows choppy.

Your pussy pounds crazily at Sylus sizing you up, grinning at how far his cock’s to be in your stomach. To him, he basks in this revelation — encouraged further at your abdomen rising and falling against it.

“You’re willing to risk your future?” Enthralled, Sylus strategically questions you — bringing his pulsating cock towards your folds once more.

“Let’s think about the consequences after,” Playfully rolling your eyes, you reply to him — your eyes twinkling with desperation.

“As long as you’re comfortable,” Sylus mutters with subtle concern, settling his pre-cum-coated tip against your entrance.

Still restrained, you maintain eye contact with Sylus — waiting for his primal instincts to absorb his sanity. Carefully, Sylus grunts sensually — hazy at the tip of him slipping within you. Even as you softly moan, unable to clutch anything, you stare directly at Sylus. You’re swarmed by the feeling of his cock head inside of you, stretching you heavily — for the first time.

He’s not even all the way in.

“I-It’s warm, Sy,” Telling Sylus your thoughts, he quickly captures your lips in an opened-mouthed kiss.

As if distracting you, Sylus plunges more of his cock into your soppy cunt — whimpering at your pulsating warmth. Gasping, you grow lightheaded — attempting to adjust to his large cock. A cock that left you dumbfounded already, even with only half of it in. It didn’t help that Sylus’ deep voice mewled within your ear, his brows furrowed as he watched your contorted face.

“Are you…okay, sweetie?” Cloudily questioning you, Sylus watches you mellowly — purring at your warm cunt swelling him.

“‘M… fine,” Kissing Sylus mid-speech, you accommodate more of his sinister dick — arching beneath him.

“C-Can…I start moving?” Desperate to ravish you, Sylus passionately asks you — pressing his forehead against your own.

“Y-Yes,” A little nervous, you agree — love and trust adhering to your eyes.

“Remember, say crow if it’s too much, sweetheart,” Reminding you, Sylus gifts you a few experimental thrusts — his toned arms settled on each side of your head.

“Ngh! Fuck me! Yes!” Instinctively, you’re forced to let out your suppressed moans — warmed by Sylus’ pleasurable cock.

“You’re as…beautiful as the day I lost you,” Whispering in your ear, Sylus builds up a fast pace — thrusting harshly into your soppy cunt.

Beautifully, the large, raven room is coated with you and Sylus’ clustered moans, grunting and whimpering. The bed beneath you both creaks slightly, controlled by Sylus settling a pace you’re forced to handle. A pace that leaves you screaming with pleasure, unable to restrain your sounds.

“‘Need…more!” Begging at this point, you smile instinctively as Sylus quickens the snapping of his hips — colliding with your gushy cunt.

With your hands still bound, you’re unable to writhe against Sylus — suffocated by his warmth. Fuzzy with love, desire and everything just, you grow trusting with each moan. Sylus completely decimated you, conquering your squelching cunt — flooding the room with effortless skin slapping. Skin slapping, gushy macaroni sounds and your expressed love.

“Mhm, you’re…so good for me,” Sylus moans out, his eyes rolling back as he increases his pace — grinning at your breaths coming short and large breasts bouncing.

“Ah! Yes! More!” Spewing subconscious thoughts, Sylus continues to pound you recklessly — sparing not a fragment of mercy towards your gushing cock.

“So…tight,” Lazily smiling, Sylus increases his pace at your out-of-it state — proud at you being barely able to moan anymore.

“Ngh! Too… much!” Crying, you relish Sylus’ balls beating against your bubble butt — his thick cock drilling you senselessly.

As your hazy eyes barely meet his, teary and rolling back, you grow a little soothed at Sylus’ deft fingers caressing your forehead. He takes a moment to halt his pace, but he continues afterwards — enthralled at your cunt’s sounded praises towards him.

“Say it and…I’ll stop,” Addicted, Sylus frantically moans against your lips — bucking his hips as if it’s the only life he has left.

He’s been waiting for a moment as sacred as this.

“N-No,” Discovering a slither of sanity, you slowly respond — feeling your body tremor with a familiar essence.

“Let…go, sweetie,” Lewdly grunting, Sylus helplessly pounds into your inescapable cunt — loving the way your cunt devours his greedy cock.

Silent, Sylus’ voice is a distant wave to you. Everything within your physique is a warm, bubbling lava pit. There’s a fragment of sanity within you, yet it comes the moment you crumble beneath Sylus. Harshly, you cum — coming undone and crying out beneath Sylus. Not an ounce of silence consumes the both of you, yet you’re unable to register how loud your post-orgasm wails are.

“Hmm,” Satisfied, you’re weak beneath a relentless Sylus — rendered vulnerable as you try to pull him away. Pull him away at the suffocating intensity, warmth and consistent stimulation.

“You’re…swallowing me,” Sylus’ stern demeanour crumples slightly with his worded revelation, but he’s so near to cumming.

Overstimulating you extensively, until straggled moans flee you, Sylus finally gives in to his suppressed needs. First, he had guided you extensively through your first time with him — resisting the urge to cum immediately.

Yet, now, his breaths become straggled — his thick cock expanding within you. A mental mess, Sylus glances down at your sleepy self — snapping his hips a few more times before he prepares himself to finish.

“‘M close,” Flustered, Sylus can barely form a sentence — so close to pulling out.

Instinctively, you muster out your last strands of strength — wrapping your toned legs around Sylus’ waist. Restricting him, you grin the moment Sylus surrenders — filling and swelling you with his plentiful seed. Satisfied, you slowly allow your legs to fall — happy at finally being creampied by Sylus.

“Glad you wanted more, sweetie,” Pulling out of you, fatigued, Sylus speaks, “I love you,” Sylus smirks at his cum pooling out of your swollen cunt, completely painting your folds with all of him.

“I love… you, too, Sy,” Tiredly responding to Sylus, you barely register him placing you against his chest — subjecting you to his heartbeat.

Softly, Sylus kisses your lips — pleased at how you were able to handle him.

“You did so well, sweetie,” Sylus speaks, gentle praise detectable in his love-stricken tone.

“Can we do it again, forever?” Star-stricken, you ask Sylus — unable to hold back your heart.

“As many times as you want,” Content, Sylus answers — his chest vibrating beneath you.

“Let me take care of you in the bathroom, sweetie,” Sylus adds to his sentence, not willing to leave you so battered, marked and bruised without him attending to every part of you.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Grinning at Sylus’ extensive love, you reply — grateful at his attentiveness.

—

1K notes · View notes

driverlando · 3 months

Note

🏎️ oscar holding your legs down and pressing his hand on your stomach when he’s eating you out so you can’t squirm or squeeze your legs around his head because he wants you to take it

here you go lovie!

—

The room was filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that envelops two people who are completely at ease with each other. The glow from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on the walls, adding to the intimate atmosphere. You lay on the bed, heart racing with anticipation as Oscar stood at the foot of it, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

Oscar’s public shyness was endearing, but in these private moments, he transformed into someone else entirely—confident, commanding, and irresistibly alluring. He slowly crawled onto the bed, his hands gliding over your thighs with a tenderness that belied the heat in his gaze.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a deep, soothing rumble.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, the anticipation making your body hyperaware of every touch, every movement. Oscar’s lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself between your legs.

He leaned down, pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, each touch sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Your instinct was to squirm, to close your legs around him and pull him closer, but Oscar had other plans.

“Stay still for me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing.

You tried to obey, but the sensation was overwhelming. Oscar’s tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate path that made you moan softly. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more contact, more of his touch.

Oscar’s hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly. “I said, stay still,” he repeated, his tone a mix of authority and patience. His hands slid up your body, one hand resting on your stomach, pressing down gently but firmly. The pressure was grounding, a reminder of his control.

He resumed his ministrations, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony. Each movement was calculated to drive you wild, to push you to the edge and keep you there. The pressure of his hand on your stomach intensified the sensation, making every touch feel even more powerful.

You could feel the tension building, your body trembling with the effort to stay still. Every nerve ending was on fire, every touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. Oscar’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin as he worked.

“Don’t move,” he commanded softly, his voice a dark promise. “I want you to take it all.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching the sheets as you fought to obey. The sensation was almost too much, your body aching with need. But Oscar’s firm touch, his steady presence, kept you grounded, kept you focused.

His mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking and swirling in a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge. The pressure of his hand on your stomach kept you pinned, unable to escape the intense pleasure. You could feel the orgasm building, a tight coil of desire winding tighter and tighter.

“Oscar,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t… it’s too much…”

“You can,” he replied, his voice filled with determination. “You’re going to take it for me. Every bit of it.”

His words sent a thrill through you, his dominance a potent aphrodisiac. You surrendered completely, letting go of any semblance of control. Oscar’s touch was everything, his hands and mouth guiding you to a place of pure ecstasy.

The coil inside you snapped, and you cried out, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Oscar didn’t let up, his mouth working you through every wave of pleasure, drawing out your release until you were a trembling, breathless mess beneath him.

Only when he was satisfied did he finally pull back, his eyes dark with desire and pride. He moved up your body, his hands gentle as he cradled your face, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “So beautiful, so perfect.”

You lay there, panting and spent, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Oscar’s touch had been commanding, almost overwhelming, but it was also filled with a deep care and tenderness. The contrast between his public shyness and private dominance was intoxicating, leaving you craving more of his touch, more of his control.

He held you close, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin, as you slowly fell into a deep slumber.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 smut #formula one smut #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri drabble #driverlando1k

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spider-stark · 3 months

Text

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object.

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?”

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.”

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head.

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.”

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop.

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken.

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm.

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House.

Grover said to send our best.

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House?

No one’s a better shot than her.

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage.

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived.

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer.

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs.

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side.

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?”

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat.

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders.

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.”

Your cousins fall silent.

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.”

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss.

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.”

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either.

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?”

Strange.

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies.

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red.

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.”

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really.

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you.

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters.

And red—for House Blackwood.

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.”

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours.

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists.

Not red.

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp.

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart.

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.”

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side.

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do.

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away?

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you.

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.”

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery.

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.”

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even.

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.”

Your spine turns to steel.

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council.

The Blacks and the Greens.

The rightful heir and the first-born son.

And the very reason your father had called you home.

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.”

A heartbeat passes. Then another.

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands.

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like.

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong.

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.”

Your brow furrows. A hunt?

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.”

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air.

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest. “And when is this hunt to take place?”

Elmo grins. “Now.”

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts.

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!”

“It is already sunset!”

“Is this a jest?”

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done.

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.”

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise.

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles.

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord.

“A hunt?!”

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head.

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?”

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.”

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.”

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?”

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!”

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?”

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.”

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-”

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–”

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures.

“Yes!’

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.”

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass.

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him.

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir.

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins.

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?”

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned.

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe.

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!”

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji.

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down.

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.”

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!”

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.”

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!”

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not?

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!”

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.”

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head.

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers.

Not Benji, though.

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones.

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!”

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat.

Red.

“Is that a threat, Bracken?”

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.”

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand.

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago.

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?”

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine.

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge.

“Stop.”

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound.

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver.

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.”

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear.

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury.

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered.

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

You could have killed him, you glare.

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t.

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–”

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground.

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.”

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you.

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that.

But did he take pride in you?

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.”

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates.

“I don’t trust him,” he says.

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you.

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.”

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too.

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.”

“And the New?”

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot.

Ignorant. To continue pushing—

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.”

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.”

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners.

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.”

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too.

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt.

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails.

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows.

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary.

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose.

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though.

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall.

He’s just Benji.

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier.

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty.

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer.

A fool’s errand. An impossible task.

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt.

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely.

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp.

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience.

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.”

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?”

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.”

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.”

True.

“Then we find one without sense, then.”

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.”

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.”

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name.

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there.

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart.

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–”

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?”

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–”

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls.

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away.

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.”

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–”

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!”

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling.

—through-and-through.

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?”

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek.

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it.

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?”

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house.

—Take pride in that.

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.”

The birthright of a drunken craven.

The betrayal of a beloved princess.

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.”

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense.

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe.

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his.

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?”

I don’t want to, you think.

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.”

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides.

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally.

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm.

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut.

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.”

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword.

Gold on your back. Red in your veins.

A Bracken by name, but…

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.”

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it.

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow.

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes.

But duty…

That was something else entirely.

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red.

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable.

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles.

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour.

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours.

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.”

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair.

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red.

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him.

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you.

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here.

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.”

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover.

And you.

The bridge to a great chasm.

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity.

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth.

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.”

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow.

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees.

There.

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak.

A single shot and you could go back to camp.

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold.

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack.

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

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foldingfittedsheets · 7 months

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In college I did this production of Alice in Wonderland. I got cast as the Dodo who’s part of the caucus race and it was really fun. As part of my character I developed this absolutely unhinged laugh, because our scene is basically just chasing each other around in a circle screaming.

The laugh was a full throated undulating crazy burst of sound, like a mashup of every other 90’s anime villain and SpongeBob, if they were tripping balls and having the best time of their life. It is not a laugh for indoors.

As the production got under way our costumes rolled out and it was Very low budget so my costume was a purple tshirt with a feather boa wound through it, feathers spirit gummed to my face, a purple skirt, and purple pantyhose.

Now the trouble was that my scenes were all running, and there wasn’t shoes in my costume. The pantyhose slid on every surface like ice, from the stage to the aisles. I brought up concerns about falling but basically got told to just be careful.

The show must go on and so I took to the stage with my extremely slippery feet, vowing that if I fell I’d stay in character.

We had two performances and a dress rehearsal and in each one we run out three times and on the last we run down through the audience. The dress rehearsal and first performance I got through and kept my feet, slipping but flailing myself upright each time and laughing my insane character laugh at the foibles.

The final show dawned. I was confident I’d be able to manage. The first two caucus races went by and I stayed up. On the third I circled the stage okay but as I was dashing off stage through the aisle, my foot slipped out from under me.

It was slow motion for me as I felt the eyes of the audience tracking my slow tilt forward. I reached out to catch myself and landed with a hard whumpf on my stomach, seeing stars as all the air left my body. A hush fell as everyone waited with bated breath to see if this was part of the show or if they’d just watched a performer eat shit and injure themself.

The second I could reinflate my lungs I shrieked out with, “AhAhaahaHaA!” Scrabbling to my feet I flapped my arms and followed after the dormouse and turtle, laughing hysterically.

My elbows and pride were bruised but by god, I stayed in character.

Afterward my friends said, “Did you have to do that every time? It was my favorite part! Your laugh was so good!”

#ramblies #ffs foibles #funny #story #theater #acting #alice in wonderland #dodo

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kezzanza · 2 months

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EARNED IT.

Pairing: Jude x Girlfriend ! Reader Tags: Celebratory Sex, Established Relationship Word Count: 3.6k Content Warning: Smut, 18+ Jude celebrates winning his fifth trophy, the Super Cup, by fucking you.

Sex with Jude is amazing.

His strong body moves in harmony with yours, knowing exactly how to touch you to make you shiver with pleasure. His possessive gaze leaves no room for doubt or inhibition, piercing into yours, as if he could read your every desire and need. Each touch, each caress, each time he enters you, it’s as if he is claiming you all over again.

But after Jude wins a trophy, the sex is heavenly.

Jude strides to the edge of the pitch, a victorious beast of a man, his muscles rippling and damp with the sweat of triumph. He pulls you into an embrace, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he holds your body.

His eyes lock onto yours, you know what’s coming, you can see it in his gait, the way he moves like a predator—the rough post-win sex is as much a part of the win as the trophy itself.

You wouldn’t want it any other way—submitting to Jude after watching him dominating the game.

The ride home crackles with electric tension as Jude drives you back to his place. Every glance and fleeting touch hint at something known but unspoken between you. The air is thick with charged silence, each second drawing you closer to the inevitable passion you will share.

You step through the door of Jude’s luxurious penthouse, feeling as if the energy from the stadium still pulses through your veins. Jude, your boyfriend, the star of the game, is behind you, his presence a palpable force.

The door slams shut, and without a word, he spins you around in the entryway. The yellow light from the pendant above casts sharp shadows across his face. The warm glow highlights the contours of his cheekbones and the square jaw that had been clenched in determination just moments ago.

His strong arms, wrapping around your waist, feel grounding. Your heart races as his gaze roams over you. His eyes burn with a fiery intensity that surpasses the passion that you saw in him on the pitch.

“You've been my lucky charm tonight,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

You had been there through every moment—caring for him after training and encouraging him before the game. Your heart had raced in rhythm with the roaring crowd as he helped his team to victory. Pride surged through you when he was named ‘Man of the Match,’ especially as you wore his jersey—one he had personally given you—with his name written on your back.

Now, here you were, alone with him as the city lights twinkle below like a sea of stars. You step closer, your hands reaching up to cup his face, feeling the rough stubble against your palms.

“You were amazing.” you say, your voice soft yet filled with emotion.

Jude’s gaze turns intense, his eyes locked on yours with a dominant, smoldering heat.

“I dedicated that performance to you,” he whispers, his voice low and deep. “You deserve a prize for all your support.”

His hands pull you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. His gaze is like a predator's stare, and you feel yourself being pulled into his world—a world of raw, unfiltered desire. He leans in, capturing your lips in a short, hungry kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

“When the whistle blew, all I could think about was you,” he confesses. “How I wanted to celebrate with you.”

Your heart races, overwhelmed by his words and the intensity in his eyes.

“I need you, Jude,” you breathe out. “I need to feel you.”

His hand is warm and firm as it wraps around yours, leading you through the entryway. You follow closely behind him, trying to keep up with his brisk pace, anticipation building with every step.

The kitchen is a stark contrast to the bright entryway you've just left behind. It’s bathed in only the dim glow of under-cabinet lighting.

Upon reaching, he presses you against the hard surface of the island, his body looming over you. The coolness of the marble island seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat emanating from his body.

Jude's hand rests gently on the small of your back, drawing you closer as he leans in for another kiss. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. His other hand lingers at your hips, tracing the curve of it before sliding up under your jersey.

His warm fingers brush against your skin, making you gasp softly. The kiss deepens, and you can't help but melt into him, his heat seeping into your very soul. The sound of your breaths mingling fills the space between you, the only noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

His hands roam further, exploring the contours of your body, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You're lost in the moment, in the feeling of his fingertips all over you.

Jude's hands trail down your torso. His fingers undo the button of your jeans. He lowers the zipper, the sound echoing in the room.

With surprising gentleness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and begins to tug them down. You feel the roughness of the denim give way as gravity takes over, pulling the fabric down to your ankles.

You lift one leg and then the other, helping him as he guides your jeans over your ankles, clinging to him as he drops the garment on the floor behind him.

Now, you are left in just your soft pink underwear and the jersey with his name on the back. His eyes darken as he took in the sight of you, his hands gently caressing your bare thighs. You look up into his eyes and feel yourself melting under his gaze.

“Kneel for me baby,” he commands, his voice a low sound that sends shivers down your spine.

Slowly, you obey, lowering yourself to your knees, hitting the cold black tiles with a soft thud. Looking up at him, you see the mix of triumph and hunger in his eyes, a look that both terrifies and excites you.

His hands reach into his shorts. The air is thick with tension, the kind that makes it hard to breathe. He pulls out his long and thick erection with practiced motions. His eyes never leave yours as he strokes himself, watching the play of emotions across your face—lust and need.

His cock, thick and hard, is a testament to his desire for you. You reach out to touch the warm length of him, feeling his pulse throb against your fingertips. You lick your lips, the hunger in his gaze making your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, his tone offering no refusal.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping gently but firmly, guiding your head forward. Jude groans, his head falling back as you stroke him, your fingers feeling the texture and the shape of him. You lean in, your lips brushing the tip, tasting him—the salty flavor ignites a fire within you.

His grip on your hair tightens just a fraction, a silent demand that sends a thrill of excitement down your spine.

Finally, you do as he says, letting your mouth fall open. He presses the head of his erection on your tongue. You close your mouth around him, your tongue exploring the familiar contours of his length. His hands guide your movements as his breath comes out in rough groans.

The taste of him fills your mouth and you find yourself lost in the sensation of sucking him. Your own need rises with each passing second, the fabric of your panties becoming damp with desire.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, one of his hands gripping the counter as you take him into your mouth.

He’s huge, filling your mouth, stretching you, but you revel in it. His hips moved with a slow, steady rhythm that built with each passing moment. Your tongue swirls around him. Your lips are tight as you move up and down his length.

His hips thrust forward quicker, pushing deeper into your throat. You suck harder, taking him deeper, eager to submit to all of him, to be the source of his pleasure and release. Jude’s groans fill the room, and you know he's close, his body taut with the tension of release.

Suddenly, he pulls out, his eyes dark with lust. “Not yet baby,” he says, when he sees your confusion. “I need you cumming on my fingers first.”

The intensity of his gaze is overwhelming, igniting a fire that burns through you. You stand up, your lips finding his lips in a deep kiss. His tongue slides against yours. It’s a gentle yet demanding exploration that makes your knees weak.

Your hands reach for the hem of his jersey, slowly lifting it over his head. His skin was taut with muscle, evidence of the hours he spent on the field. You traced the lines of his chest, your fingers trailing the waistband of his briefs. You push them down and let them pool on the floor, leaving his muscular body bare.

His abs ripple with every breath he takes. The contours of his muscles tell tales of countless practices and games won. The light dusting of hair on his body travels from his chest to the V that points to his hips.

As the heat between you escalates, Jude's hand slides down your body, tracing the contour of your waist before dropping lower. His fingertips graze the waistband of your pink panties.

His eyes never leave yours as he says, "I love how you look in these," His voice is low and gruff with desire, sending shivers down your spine. “So innocent, yet so fucking tempting.”

You can feel your wetness seeping through the fabric, a silent declaration of your arousal. His fingers cup you through your underwear, his possessiveness making you ache for more, leaving you moaning breathlessly.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to touch you?" he whispers, the question hanging in the air like a promise.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he hooks his thumb under the waistband, sliding it down and letting the fabric pool at your feet. Your gasp softly, unable to form words as his fingers finally make contact with your slick folds.

He groans at the wetness he finds. You can see his cock straining against his stomach, eager to join the intimate dance his fingers have started.

With the lightest of strokes, Jude's thumb grazes over your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through you. You moan, your knees buckling slightly, and he steadies you with his other hand on your waist, holding you in place as his thumb starts to circle with increasing pressure.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “So wet just for me.”

Each pass over your clit sends waves of desire crashing through your core. You can't help but arch into his touch. He watches your reaction with hungry eyes and you know he's just getting started.

“I love seeing my name on you.” Jude admits, removing his fingers from your wet core. “But right now, I need to see you naked.”

Jude gently tugs at the hem of your jersey. You lift your arms as the fabric glides over your head, revealing the contours of your body.

Then, his lips are on you, making you gasp as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck. His hands move to your back, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra, which yields to his touch with a soft click.

The cool air hits your bare skin. It is quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth as he bends down and his tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him. His hands cup your other breast, thumbs teasing your sensitive nipples into peaks. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as he continues his exploration.

“Jude,” you gasp, your hands threading through his hair, holding him closer.

He moves his mouth to your other breast, his actions deliberate, each kiss, each nibble building the tension inside you. You could feel the ache low in your belly, a throbbing need that demanded release.

Jude seemed to sense it, his hand sliding down your body, his fingers finding where you are already wet and ready. He doesn't ask for permission; he simply knows. You moan, your head falling back as two of his fingers worked into you.

He moves slowly, deliberately. His fingers slide in deeper, filling you in a way that makes you feel vulnerable. Your breathing quickens, your pulse races, and you know that tonight will be one of those nights you never want to end.

His hands move expertly, finding your g-spot, his fingers building the pressure inside you. He seems to know exactly how to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and when to slow down or speed up. You gasp, your body arching towards his touch, your mind consumed by the pleasure he's giving.

"You like that?" he whispers, his voice a seductive growl in your ear.

You can only moan, your words lost in the whirlwind of sensation. His fingers delve deeper, hitting that sweet spot, and you feel the orgasm building, a wave threatening to crash over you.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice thick with desire.

You obey, your eyes locking with him. He watches you, his expression a mix of tenderness and raw passion. The sight of him, so focused, so intent on your pleasure, pushes you over the edge.

You cry out, your body trembling as your orgasm sweeps through you, leaving you breathless and weak. Your mouth forming a perfect 'O' of pleasure. Your breasts heaving with each panting breath you take.

But Jude isn't done.

He spins you around you, bending you over the counter, his body pressing against yours. You feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, his hands firmly gripping your hips as he pulls you closer.

He whispers in your ear, "You're mine," his voice a seductive growl that sends a thrill through your body.

Your heart races with anticipation, the room filled with the sweet scent of desire. He whispers your name, the sound sending shivers down your spine. You lean into his touch, as his mouth trails kisses along your neck, sending waves of pleasure that mingle with the lingering tremors of your climax.

You can feel his arousal pressing against your backside, insistent and demanding. His hands roam over your body, caressing every inch of your exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touches. You arch your back, pushing yourself closer to him, silently begging for more.

The head of his cock nudges against your wetness, seeking entry, and you gasp as he slides into you with one smooth, powerful thrust.

The sensation is overwhelming, and you bite your lip to keep from screaming out his name. Your hands clutch the counter for support as he begins to move, his rhythm slow and deliberate, savoring every moment.

Each stroke fills you completely, stretching you to the brink of pleasure and pain. You know that he's holding back, keeping you poised on the edge, and the thought of what's to come makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

His grip tightens, and he pulls you back into him, increasing his pace, driving you towards another peak. You're lost in the sensation, the world around you fading away until there's only the two of you and the passion that fuels your every move.

Your breath hitches, and you moan, unable to hold back the sounds of pleasure that spill from your lips. Jude's breathing is ragged in your ear, his own passion evident in every pant and groan. You feel him swell inside of you, and you know that he's close.

You want to feel him let go, to be the one to push him over the edge. So, you push back into him, matching his rhythm, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter, until you hear him groan, filling you with his release.

You feel the intense, almost painful pleasure of your second orgasm wash over you, as if the first one wasn't enough to satisfy the ravenous beast that Jude has awoken within you.

Your muscles clench around him, milking every drop, leaving you both panting and trembling. You rest against the countertop, your body feeling like a deliciously stretched canvas of sensation, pulses of pleasure still rippling through you from your last two orgasms.

Your eyes are heavy, and the room is a warm, soft blur. You're about to drift into a peaceful post-coital slumber when Jude's voice, thick with desire, brings you back to reality.

“Come on baby,” he whispers, his voice edged with a hunger that hasn't yet been satiated. “Just one more round.”

The way he says it, the promise in his voice, makes you want to give in. He kisses you then, a kiss that starts out as a gentle request and quickly escalates into a passionate demand, his tongue coaxing yours into a dance that leaves you breathless.

His hand finds your waist, his touch rekindling the embers of desire that you thought had faded. You feel yourself respond, your body arching into him despite your earlier exhaustion. He notices, his grin growing as he kisses you harder, deeper.

“You're still with me, aren't you?” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr.

You nod, your breath still ragged, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure. He smiles, a genuine smile, and you feel a surge of love for this man— passionate and who wears his heart on his sleeve, especially after a win.

And with that, he lifts you up, placing you on the counter, his body fitting between your open legs.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands, his voice back to its rough, dominant tone.

You do as he says, your legs locking around his waist. Your hands reach for his shoulders, guiding him to you as he positioned himself at your entrance.

He pushes inside you again, filling you inch by inch until you are stretched around him, full and tight, his hands firmly gripping your thighs.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours as he paused, letting you adjust to him.

You moan in pleasure, wincing at the soreness. “Fuck me,” you urge, your voice a husky command.

He does, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward, a steady rhythm that builds with each passing moment. Your body arches into each thrust, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Your muscles quiver with each of his powerful thrusts, a delicious reminder of the two orgasms that have already claimed you. He's relentless, his eyes dark with need, as he drives into you, his rhythm unyielding despite your protests of exhaustion.

Each stroke feels like a battle between pain and pleasure, your body a canvas for his hunger.

He whispers, “Come on, baby, just one last time,” his voice thick with lust, and you know he won't be satisfied until he feels you come apart beneath him again.

Your heart races, your breath hitches, and you clutch his shoulders, bracing for the inevitable. The third orgasm begins to build, a crescendo of sensation that fills every inch of you, threatening to shatter you into a million pieces.

His movements grow more forceful, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You could feel the coil inside you tightening, the pressure building, the need for release overwhelming.

“Jude,” you cried out, your body trembling.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “Show me how much you love this.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the intensity becomes too much, evidence to the depth of pleasure he's coaxing from your weary body.

You feel the familiar rush of an impending climax, and you know this time, it'll be even more intense, a fitting end to tonight's victories.

Your eyes roll back in your head as your nails dig into his shoulders, desperately seeking purchase amidst the tumultuous sea of sensation. You orgasm as your body convulses uncontrollably, muscles tightening and releasing in rapid succession. Each stroke feels like a bolt of lightning, sending electric shocks through your core, making it impossible to distinguish where one climax ends and the next begins.

The room is a blur of sensation, the only thing in focus is the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your moans, and the wet slapping of skin on skin. The wave of euphoria is so intense that you can't help but scream out his name, the sound echoing off the walls.

Jude's grip on your hips tightens, his movements becoming more urgent, his breath hot and ragged in your ear as he whispers sweet nothings and dirty promises. He follows you soon after, his own release coming swiftly. His body tensing, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the pounding of your hearts, the sense of completion, of fulfillment. As the waves of pleasure subside, he kisses away your tears, his eyes filled with awe and adoration.

“I love you,” he says, his voice soft, tender.

“I love you too, Jude.” you say, smiling.

Your body is spent yet satisfied. And you know that in this moment, in this intense, intimate moment, you are exactly where you're meant to be.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #kesswrites

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23victoria · 2 months

Text

slow motion

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut (wrap it before you tap it), cussing, fluff, i think that’s it

authors note: it’s been a min so i need to get something out to you guys!! hope it’s not bad and ignore any typos! ALSO SO PROUD OF OSCAR!!! HE DESERVED THATS WIN!! LOVE HIM SM!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

wanna be tagged in my works?! CLICK HERE!

f1 masterlist 1k celebration

“What the fuck, why would they do that?!”

The frustration coursed through you as McLaren’s decision to box Lando first flashed across the screen. Oscar was leading the race, on the brink of his first victory, and yet they chose to pit Lando first. It didn’t make any sense. Every nerve in your body was on edge as you watched the race unfold. The radio messages about switching positions were maddening. It felt like McLaren was orchestrating the race rather than letting it happen naturally.

Finally, when the order came for Lando to let Oscar through, you felt a mixture of relief and lingering irritation. This was Oscar’s moment, his hard-fought victory, but the team’s strategy had cast a shadow over it, making it seem as if it was a gift rather than something he had earned.

When it was time for the podium celebration, your heart swelled with pride. Watching Oscar spray the champagne, his face illuminated with joy, was everything you had dreamed of. The crowd’s cheers echoed in your ears, and you could hardly contain your excitement. He had done it. He had won his first F1 race, and you were bursting with happiness for him.

After the celebrations, you and Oscar are on the way to the hotel. "McLaren needs to get their stuff together," you told him, shaking your head. "They almost ruined it with their strategy. But you, babe, you were amazing out there. You earned that victory."

Oscar smiled, a tired but satisfied look on his face. "Thank you. I can't wait to go home and sleep."

You shook your head playfully. "Oh no, we have dinner tonight. We're celebrating, sorry not sorry."

He groaned, half-jokingly. "Can't we just stay in?"

"Absolutely not," you insisted, laughing. "We're going to have a nice dinner, drink, dance, and celebrate your victory properly."

The dinner party was a nice turnout. Friends and fellow racers gathered around, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement and congratulations. You and Oscar mingled, shared drinks, and danced, reveling in the celebratory mood. Laughter and cheers filled the air, making the night unforgettable.

On the way to the hotel in the car, you couldn’t keep your hands off Oscar. The excitment from the victory was still coursing through both of you, and your desire for him was at an all-time high. You leaned in, kissing his neck softly at first, then more urgently, as your hands roamed over his chest. He tilted his head back, giving you better access as you whispered dirty words into his ear, your breath hot against his skin.

"You're so amazing, Oscar," you murmured, your voice low and seductive. "I can't wait to get you back to the hotel."

He groaned softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "You're driving me crazy, Y/N."

"Sit on the bed," you instructed him, a mischievous glint in your eye.

As soon as you reached the hotel room, you pushed him inside, locking the door behind you. "Sit on the bed," you instructed, your voice commanding yet playful.

Oscar obeyed, his gaze never leaving yours. You slowly began to undress, swaying your hips seductively as you removed each piece of clothing. His eyes followed every movement, his breath hitching as you revealed more of your skin.

Clad only in your lingerie, you straddled his lap, feeling his arousal pressing against you. You ground your hips against him, eliciting a deep moan from his lips. Your hands roamed over his chest, teasing and caressing as you kissed him deeply, your tongue exploring his mouth.

He reached out to touch you, but you pushed his hands away playfully. "Not yet," you teased, moving his hands to his sides as you continued to dance for him. You could feel his arousal growing beneath you, adding to the heat between you.

Finally, you couldn't take it any longer. You pushed him onto the bed and climbed over him, your hands deftly unzipping his pants. You kissed his neck, nibbling on his skin as your hands roamed his body, teasing and tantalizing.

You pushed him back onto the bed, crawling over him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Your fingers deftly unzipped his pants, freeing his erection. You kissed down his chest, trailing your lips lower and lower until you reached his hard length. You took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him deeper, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn't reach.

Oscar's hands tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as he groaned with pleasure. "Fuck baby, that feels so good," he breathed, his voice husky with desire.

You slowly sucked his cock, taking your time to pleasure him until he was teetering on the edge. Then, you pulled back kissing his tip, climbing back up to straddle his hips. You guided him inside you, both of you gasping at the sensation. You moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of him filling you completely. Then, you began to ride him harder, your movements becoming more urgent as the pleasure built between you.

Oscar's hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he helped guide your movements. You rode him slowly at first, savoring the feeling of him filling you completely. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, your moans mingling with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Every movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You leaned down to kiss him, your lips meeting his in a passionate embrace. Your tongues danced together, the kiss deepening as your bodies moved in perfect harmony. You felt his muscles tense beneath you, his breath hot against your mouth as he groaned with pleasure.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer as you continued to move together.

You began to ride him harder, your hips moving with increasing urgency. The friction between your bodies was intoxicating, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Oscar's hands moved to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, Oscar suddenly flipped you onto your back, taking control. He thrust into you with a new intensity, his movements faster and harder than before. The change in angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you cry out his name.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss as he drove into you. "You're mine," he growled against your mouth, his voice raw with passion. "Every inch of you."

"Yes, Osc," you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "I'm yours. Always."

His pace quickened, his hips slamming into yours with a relentless rhythm. The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin. His name fell from your lips in a litany of pleasure as he brought you closer and closer to the brink.

"Come for me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice a low, sexy growl in your ear.

His words sent you over the edge. Your body tensed, a powerful orgasm ripping through you. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. Oscar followed soon after, his own release hitting him hard. He buried his face in your neck, groaning your name as he filled you with his warmth.

You lay there together, your bodies entwined, both of you breathing heavily as you came down from the high. Oscar gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice tender.

"I love you too, baby," you replied, pulling him into a soft, lingering kiss.

✿ .° • everything taglist • °. ✿ : @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens

✿ .° • oscar taglist • °. ✿ : @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel l @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen

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esouliie · 4 months

Text

everything comes out, teenage petulance ⋆⟡˖

– synopsis | someone from wanda’s past interrupts your saturday morning and you’re not happy about it. wanda, however…

– warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, age gap couple, reader is younger & inexperienced and with that comes✨ emotional immaturity✨ but wanda is *chefs kiss* at giving reassurance :3

– notes | not proof read but the writing is rough!!! but but but i tried to write the inexperienced reader in an age gap relationship with the concept of conflicting emotional maturity… and i hate it lol, the dialogue sucks ass :/ i wish i could write reader with better petulant teenager energy!

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and the soft hum of Wanda moving about the kitchen. Saturdays with her are your favorite, a break from the routine of the week. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Wanda's voice floated in from the other room.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," her tone gentle and affectionate. "I've made us some coffee."

You stretched and yawned, making your way to the kitchen where Wanda stood by the counter, her eyes twinkling as she hands you a mug. You took a sip, savoring the rich flavor of your favourite Colombian blend, overloaded with the insurmountable amount of sugar and cream she put in. Usually, she complains about how you take your coffee - constantly complaining how your daily sugar intake was enough to knock out an elephant - but she knew you wouldn’t drink coffee any other way.

And you needed coffee.

"Thanks, Wands," you mumbled as you smiled up at her, noticing her nose scrunch as she mimicked your smile. She's a few years older than you, and she wore it with pride. She was confident in herself, there was never a time she felt insecure about her age, and the most emotionally intelligent person you’ve ever met. In the beginning of your relationship, all of your “arguments” ended with healthy communication from Wanda’s side whereas you’d close up like a clam, refusing to talk or fight or even run away. You’d just switch off. And so, her maturity and confidence used to make you feel a bit self-conscious. But every day was better, because you have an excellent teacher who loves you endlessly.

You and all your emotional problems.

"Ready for our walk?" she asked, reaching for the leash. "Lucky's been waiting all week."

You nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Let's go."

You both had been watching Lucky for the past couple weeks. Your bestfriend - Kate Bishop - had recently gone to Russia to visit her girlfriend’s parents. You were all for it, an exciting buzz had followed you the whole upcoming week. Wanda was a bit unsure at first, having never owned a dog, she wasn’t sure how to take care of it, but you reassured you had enough experience for the both of you.

The park was just a short walk from your house, and as you stepped outside, the crisp morning air filled your lungs. Lucky, the exuberant golden retriever, darted ahead, his tail wagging furiously. but never too far away from you both. The park was alive with people and their pets, the sound of laughter and conversation mingling with birdsong. Children ran across the grass, their gleeful shouts echoing through the trees.

Wanda took your hand, her fingers warm against yours. "It's such a beautiful day," she said, her eyes scanning the park. "Perfect for a walk."

This week had been especially busy for both of you. Wanda had been tirelessly working as the director of her own gallery, a lifelong dream that she had finally realised after months of dedication and effort. Meanwhile, you were preparing for your finals, which meant spending countless hours holed up in the library or Wanda's home office. As a result, the past few days you had seen very little of each other, making the rare moments like this morning even more precious.

You hummed in agreement and squeeze her hand, feeling a rush of affection for the blonde. “Here! You take this!” She offered, handing you Lucky’s ball in exchange for his lead.

Just then, before you could run off to play fetch, someone called out, "Wanda!" Her grip on your hand immediately loosened, and she dropped it, stepping a few steps away. You turned to see an older man - his mousy brown hair styled neatly with a suit jacket over his arm - approaching with a skip in his step.

There was no ring on his finger.

"Wanda, is that really you?" he asked, a broad smile spreading across his face , showing a bit too much teeth for you, as he hugged her warmly. You almost rolled your eyes as they rocked side to side in their embrace, shared laughter floating between them.

As fucking if.

“Vis! It’s been ages.” Wanda is the first to pull away, and yet her arms are still wrapped around his biceps. Your eye twitched as you notice her brush her fingers along the stretched fabric.

You stood there awkwardly. The pair fell into easy conversation as if they were ex lovers or something, and you waited for an introduction that never came. Their voices became a distant murmur as you drifted away from the conversation, your attention returning to Lucky, who was no longer by your side, and who was dangerously close to the pond, trying to reach the ducks with his snout.

“Lucky! Leave the ducks alone!” You called, grabbing his lead from Wanda’s, albeit loose grip, hurrying over towards the dog who was either ignoring you or hyper-fixated on reaching those ducks.

You’re not sure what happened next. You either spooked Lucky out of his trance or he really was being an ass today, but as soon as you got close enough to clip his lead to his collar, he spun on his back legs, knocking into you and zooming away. You stumbled, your balance slipping as you flailed to stay upright. With a yelp, you tumbled down, your body hitting the muddy bank. Your leg splashed into the water, soaking your entire leg. Wet and cold, you scrambled to stand up but a sharp pain shooting through your ankle had you sinking back on to the bank, before you managed to pick yourself up on your good leg. Tears from the pain and embarrassment blurred your vision as you looked down at the state of you. Your pretty dress Wanda had picked out for you this morning was coated in mud and all sorts of dirt. You watched in grimace as pond water dripped out of your shoe as you moved away from the scene of the crime.

Remembering you weren’t alone, and your girlfriend had probably seen the dog wipe you out, you searched for Wanda, only to find her still with her “old friend.” In fact, they seem to have moved over towards a spare bench as you noticed how close they were sat next to each other. Turned towards one another, their arms were basically brushing. Wanda had laughed at something Vis had said as she threw her head back, almost falling backwards until he grabbed onto her, pulling her closer towards him.

The sight made your stomach churn. Anger swirled in a violent revenge inside, and yet, it was sadness that slipped down your face. You felt a burning sensation in your chest and a lump forming in your throat.

All you wanted to do was go home.

A mother and her young daughter who had watched you fall made their way over to you, the question already posed in the way she looked at you. “Are you alright?”

Your teary eyes shifted back to the bench. Still lost in conversation, you watched and waited, wondering what it was they were talking about, wondering if she had even noticed you’re hurt.

But it’s clear she hadn’t seen you fall… or maybe she just forgot you were even here.

“I’m fine.” You replied, but your eyes deceived you.

The woman followed your gaze, “Oh! Are they your parents?”

You scoffed but there wasn’t any bite to it, and fresh tears rolled off your face, “No.”

You began to hobble forward, in search of Lucky but the stranger was one step ahead of you. She grabbed onto your arm, claiming you shouldn’t put your weight on your injured ankle, as she sent her daughter ahead looking for Lucky. She found him in no time, on the other side of the pond, no longer trying to reach the ducks but sat watching them.

You called for him, and without a fuss, he came. You clipped him to his lead, as he stared up at you curiously. He seemed to sense your distress and was suddenly still, looking up at you with a sorrowful expression, as if he understood the part he had played in this. Before you could return to full height, he leaned his head into yours. His actions saying a thousand words, and you couldn’t help but smile at the pup, giving him a little scratch. “It’s okay, bud. I know you didn’t mean to.”

Meeting the concerned mother’s gaze, you pointed towards Wanda, “I’m just gonna…” You trailed off but she understood, turning away with a genuine “get well soon”, instructions to ice your ankle as soon as you get home, and her daughter in hand. With that, she turned in the opposite direction, heading back towards where you fell.

You walked in the other direction, deciding to go around Wanda. You didn’t want to see her right now. Noticing the park exit in sight, Lucky dragged on his lead, trying to turn back the way you came.

“No, Lucky. We’re going home.” You ushered him through the gates, “She can stay here with him.”

A shout caught your attention. Behind you, Wanda was walking - almost running - towards you. The man was nowhere in sight. “Y/N! Where did you go? Why are you leaving?” You noticed a tinge of frustration in her voice, but that was dropped as soon as she took in your soaked state. “What happened?”

“Oh so you did remember I was here.” With that, you turned and walked away as fast as your ankle would let you.

“What-?” You heard Wanda struggle for words behind you before she caught up, her hand grabbing your cold, still - damp arm. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You would know if you weren’t so impressed by your boyfriend back there.” You spat, shrugging off any hold she had on you.

She grabbed your arm again, firmer this time. “He’s not my boyfriend. His name’s Vision. We went to school together. I haven’t seen him in years.”

Her tone remained the same soft melody, despite the obvious frustration earlier.

You remained silent, scoffing in reply, as you tried to walk away, but she stopped you again, turning you around to face her.

Her warm hands held your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact. “Hey, what’s really wrong?”

Her gaze softened, concern evident, and you felt tears pooling again as you fought within yourself, torn between letting go of your anger or clinging to it like petulant teenager.

“Don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You forgot about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your face. She wiped at them and a hum encouraged you to continue.

“You dropped my hand, and was talking to that guy so much, you didn’t even know I was still there. Lucky was acting up, so I went to get him, and I fell in the pond. My ankle really hurts, I think I sprained it, and I’ve ruined my dress and—” A sharp sob cut you off as your emotions overwhelmed.

Sensing your distress, Wanda pulled you into her arms. “It’s okay, baby,” she consoled softly, her voice remaining gentle and soothing.

Being in Wanda's arms usually helped you calm down. The warmth of her embrace and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed steadily would bring you a sense of peace. You would listen to her heartbeat, syncing your breath to its comforting rhythm, as her presence soothe your worries away.

However your anger surged, unable to latch onto a single thing as it flailed wildly. You pushed back against her chest, but she didn’t let go. "No, don't baby me! You forgot about me! I fell into a pond, and you weren't even there to help. A stranger did, Wanda. A fucking stranger cared more about me than my own girlfriend because she was too busy with some fucking guy!"

Her grip tightened slightly as she whispered, a juxtaposed effort to your loud volume, “I know, and I’m so sorry.” But you were too upset to care, your hurt and frustration drowning out her words of apology. You tried to close down on yourself, shielding away from the pain.

“Wanda, let go of me,” you said, hands pushing against her as your voice trembled with the effort to hold back the flood of emotions.

“No,” Wanda replied firmly, her eyes searching yours. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I already told you! ” Her persistence had you shouting again, the walls you were trying to build around your heart crumbled. Tears welled up in your eyes as your throat closed up as you started to sob uncontrollably. Frantic images of Wanda on the bench with the man flashed through your mind, tormenting you. You wiped at your face desperately, but the tears kept coming, a torrent of pain, betrayal and immeasurable grief.

“You acted like I didn’t exist,” you choked out between sobs. “It was like you were ashamed of me.”

Wanda’s eyes widened, not expecting that to be your response. “I’m not ashamed of you.” She said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t know why I dropped your hand or why I didn’t introduce you as my girlfriend. It was a mistake and I’m so sorry.” Her own tears began to pool, her sorrow evident.

“I could never be ashamed of you, Y/N.”

She pulled you into a tight embrace, tears falling on top of your head as she whispered a few more apologies, and a promise to do better, to never make you feel invisible again or doubt her love for you.

“I want to go home.” You whispered, with a defeated energy.

Wanda remained unconvinced, though she understood your struggle. She had been tirelessly encouraging you to be more open about your feelings, and she had seen you make significant progress. However, she knew that progress wasn’t linear. Despite your improvements since you first started dating, she anticipated the occasional bad day. Recognising that this conversation wasn't suited for a public setting, Wanda shifted the focus. “I think Lucky does too,” she said softly, nodding towards the enthusiastic dog at your side.

You followed her gaze to Lucky, who was wagging his tail so energetically - despite the tense conversation he had just been present in- it seemed he might take off at any moment. “Okay, boy. Let’s go,” you said, giving him the command he was eagerly awaiting.

As the golden retriever began to trot down the street, you turned to the older woman. “I’m sorry Wands.”

The weight of those few words lingered in the air, before you felt a gentle squeeze on your hand as Wanda had intertwined her fingers with yours, her grip reassuring and steadfast. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

She didn't let go the entire way, and once again, her presence was a silent promise of growth, support and understanding as you made your way home together.

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff

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