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ellewritesx · 2 days ago

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explore me slowly

(part two of the teach me slowly series)

Summary: Firsts aren't always easy. Lucky for you, Harry's got patience— and a plan.

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, lots of talk about virginity and sex, fingering, brief oral (f!receiving), sexual guilt (it's so common and it's time we start talking about it)

Based on: this ask!

A/N: hi lovelies! sorry this update took foreverrr. i've had a rough week, but i'm back now and working hard on creating new content for you guys :) i'm so happy to see the love i received on part one of this, thank you all sososo much. series tag list is open x

Word Count: 4,319

...

You're nervous.

Not the jittery, wide-eyed kind of nervous, but the quiet kind. It simmers just beneath the surface, where your stomach feels light and fluttery, and your thoughts are buzzing too fast to catch.

You're sitting with Harry on his couch, tucked beneath the blanket that always smells like him, like fresh, warm laundry and cedarwood and something a little sweeter underneath. The movie he put on a while ago has turned to static now, background noise, barely audible under the sound of your pulse in your ears.

Your mind keeps drifting back to last Friday night, to that first conversation you and Harry had about your virginity, turning it over in your head, trying to decide what you want.

But now you know.

You pull back a little, tilting your head to look at him properly, and your voice is smaller than you mean it to be when you speak up. ''I think… I want to try something tonight.''

That gets his attention.

His arm, which had been draped along the back of the couch and absentmindedly stroking your shoulder, stills. He turns to face you, scanning your features with those sharp, observant eyes like he's trying to understand everything you're not saying. ''Try something?'' he echoes, but it's not teasing. It's curious. Encouraging.

You nod. Your fingers curl in the hem of your shorts, anchoring yourself. ''I don't know what exactly. I just… I trust you. And I want to explore. Whatever you think is best to start with.''

He stays quiet for a beat, his thumb brushing the side of your thigh under the blanket. ''Are you sure?''

You nod again, firmer this time. ''Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot. I'm not trying to rush into anything I'm not ready for. And I'm not ready for... everything, but we could do something else, right?''

Harry's expression softens into something tender. You can see it shift, the subtle change in how he's holding himself. The way he sinks a bit deeper into the cushions, like the weight of your blind trust, and his responsibility for it, slowly settles onto his shoulders.

''Okay,'' he says. ''We'll go slow. If you're okay with it, I'd like to understand where you're at. What you're comfortable with. What you like, what you don't like, y'know?''

You inhale deeply, your shoulders relaxing at the sound of his calm voice. You hadn't realized how much tension you'd been holding until now. You hum in response, heart thudding steady in your chest.

Harry's eyes flick to your lips, your eyes, your hands in your lap. He shifts slightly so he's facing you more directly. ''So… when you say you want to try something, what does that look like for you tonight? Is there something you've been curious about?''

You chew your lip. ''I don't know, really. That's the thing. I've never done any of this before, so I don't really know where I'm supposed to start, what I'm supposed to explore. That's why I'm asking you to... I don't know, lead. To tell me what to do.''

''I can do that. Is there anything that's off-limits tonight?'' he asks carefully, his hand moving to rest lightly on your bare knee.

You think about it for a moment, then shake your head. ''I don't want to… you know. Go all the way. Not yet.''

''Okay,'' he smiles, squeezing your knee softly in reassurance. ''What about me touching you? With my hands, or my mouth?''

Your breath catches, heat rushing to your cheeks. The words make you squirm, but you manage to give him a curt nod, forcing a tight-lipped, nervous smile. ''Yeah. I think I'd like to try that.''

He smiles gently, fingers brushing your neck, waiting for any sign of hesitation. When all he sees is curiosity etched onto your features, he dips his head under yours, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

Your heartbeat pounds under your skin as Harry caresses your arms, rubbing them up and down soothingly. You gasp when he sucks lightly on your skin, taking his time getting you in the mood.

''Do you want me to show you what feels good? Or do you want to tell me what to do?'' he murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You bite your lip, throat dry. ''I… I want you to show me.''

He stands up, then holds out a hand.

''Come here, love.''

You take it, and he tugs you to your feet, pulling a huffed laugh from you. He puts his hands on your waist and begins slowly walking you backward, firm and deliberate, toward his bedroom, not breaking eye contact once. Something about it, the effortless confidence he exudes, the air of nonchalance, makes your breath hitch.

And when your back hits his bedroom door, he pauses. He leans in, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours.

''You're sure?'' he whispers.

You nod. ''I'm sure.''

And then he kisses you, deep and passionate, his hand fumbling for the door handle behind you. He chuckles against your lips when he clumsily opens the door, and you both stumble in with a laugh.

Harry's bedroom is dim, the lamp on his bedside table painting the room in a soft yellow. You turn around, taking in his space. It feels intimate. It's simple, minimalistic, but so Harry.

There are sticky notes attached to the small notice board above his desk, filled with hasty scribbles like yoga pushed to 7 this Thursday!!! and pick up mum from the airport!!! and a nonsensical jumble of random words and phrases. Lyrics for new songs, you think.

The door clicks shut behind him and you feel his presence behind you, steady, unfaltering, unlike the beat of your heart. For a second, neither of you speak. You're not sure when the room got so quiet, but your pulse thrums in your ears, the sound of your shallow breathing seeming to mute everything else.

Then his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you back into the solid heat of his chest. He dips his head to your height and presses a kiss just behind your ear, then another one to the slope of your neck, and you melt into him by instinct.

His fingers find the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie, technically, the navy one you borrowed weeks ago and never gave back. It still smells faintly like his cologne, the way his clothes always do when he forgets them on your couch. He gathers the fabric, lifting it inch by inch until it bunches beneath your waist, right above your grey shorts.

It had felt a little silly when you put it on after your shower this morning, but his mouth twitches into a smile when he recognizes it, his fingers toying with the material. ''This mine?''

''Yeah. You were outgrowing it anyway,'' you tease, turning around in his hold and playfully squeezing his biceps. He's been frequenting the gym increasingly more often, and it shows. You assume it's his way of blowing off steam now that he's not performing.

''Hm. It does look better on you,'' he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple as his hands trail lower. He gently tugs at the hem, waiting for your approval. ''Can I take this off?''

You hesitate, just a second, but it's enough to make him pause, watching you closely. It's not that you don't trust him, or don't want to, but you can already feel the air on your thighs, your stomach, the dip of your lower back. And the idea of being completely bare under his gaze, no barriers, no fabric, no layers to hide behind, suddenly feels a little too exposed. Too vulnerable.

Your hands catch his quickly, wrapping around his palms, though you know that Harry wouldn't move an inch without your consent.

''I… would it be okay if I kept it on? Just for now?'' you ask, cheeks burning. ''I don't think I'm comfortable being fully naked yet.''

There's not even a beat of silence before he nods, brushing your hair back behind your ear. ''Of course. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You look beautiful like this, too.''

Your hesitation doesn't frustrate or deter him. Instead, he reaches for the hem of his own shirt, and in one smooth motion, he pulls it up over his head and carelessly tosses it aside.

Your breath catches. He's so close that you can see the faint freckles adorning his collarbone, the gold cross nestled between his pecs, the trail of ink curling down his strong arms.

You reach out before you can second-guess it, fingers brushing across the small tattoos above his heart, the ones you've only ever seen half-hidden beneath his clothes. Your hand grazes the tattoos that trail down the skin of his left shoulder, his bicep, his arm, like a river that meanders delicately through a forest.

He watches you, quiet and confident, as your palm flattens over his chest. His skin is warm under your fingers, smooth and solid and real. You trace one of the swallows across his collarbone, then dip lower, brushing your knuckles down the line of his sternum. The ridges of his abs flex slightly beneath your touch.

''You're so…'' you trail off, suddenly embarrassed by your own awe.

Harry gives you a lopsided smile, like he knows what you mean without needing to hear it. ''Thank you, baby. You can touch me as much as you want,'' he says, voice thick with something more tender than lust. ''Take your time, darlin'. I'm not going anywhere.''

You lean up to kiss him, and when your hands settle around his hips, he presses forward just enough to guide you backward toward the bed. Your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you land with a soft thud. Harry follows, kneeling between your legs, one hand curling around the back of your thigh to pull it around his waist.

You shiver when his knuckles graze the edge of your shorts, and he catches the reaction immediately.

''Still okay?'' he murmurs against your lips.

''Yeah,'' you whisper. ''I just… don't know what I'm doing.''

''You don't have to,'' he insists. The sheets are cool against your skin, grounding, while Harry hovers over you, broad and warm and impossibly gentle and patient. ''That's what tonight's for, yeah? You tell me what feels good. What doesn't. I'll listen.''

His fingers stroke over the outside of your shorts first, featherlight at first, then with a little more pressure. Just enough to let the heat pool low in your belly, your thighs pressing together instinctively at the unfamiliarity of it all. You let out a soft, shaky breath.

He looks up at you, lips curved, eyes kind. ''That feel alright?''

''Mhm.''

''Use your words for me, baby,'' he teases lightly, but there's no pressure. Just playfulness.

You swallow. ''It feels… really good.''

That earns you a kiss, warm and sweet, and this time his hand drifts over your stomach, fingers brushing under the hem of your hoodie. He doesn't try to lift it again, just slips his palm beneath the fabric, splaying it over your skin, stroking your bare side.

His hands don't rush. They just keep tracing the shape of you, mapping the curves and valleys like they're sacred terrain. Then his fingers slide down past your navel, knuckles grazing your skin, brushing the waistband of your shorts.

You draw in a shaky breath.

''Still good?'' he asks, watching you.

You nod. ''Yes. Please.''

He smiles reassuringly and continues his trail down your shorts. His fingers move over the cotton, just the faintest pressure, barely there. But even that is enough to send a jolt through you, hips twitching in surprise when he brushes against your clothed clit.

You're more sensitive than you expected. Everything feels heightened: his breath on your cheek, the press of his fingers through the fabric, the weight of his gaze on your face.

''Feels good?''

You nod, unable to speak.

He strokes over the same spot a little more firmly this time, slow and rhythmic. ''You're already wet,'' he groans, almost like he's in awe. ''I haven't even done anything. Fuck, that's so hot.''

You flush, turning your face into his shoulder, and he chuckles softly. ''You don't have to be shy with me,'' he whispers. ''Nobody's around. It's just you and me, yeah? I've got you.''

You nod bashfully. His hand slips under the waistband of your shorts and slides your panties aside with a gentle tug. For the first time ever, someone else touches you where you've barely explored yourself, the pad of his finger dragging softly through your folds.

You tense instantly, just from the unfamiliarity of it, but he doesn't push. Just keeps it slow, gentle, careful, learning the way your body responds, noting every soft whine and every stutter of breath. It's a different kind of touch than your own. More assured. Confident, but not cocky. He's paying attention to every shift in your body, like your pleasure is a language and he wants to be fluent.

He finds your clit and circles it with the pad of his finger, light and teasing, until your hips lift from the bed with a choked whimper, and his pace quickens. You didn't know it could feel like this. Every nerve is lit up, like your skin is catching fire in the best way.

''Oh,'' you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress as you sigh contently, the tension in your muscles melting away.

Harry smiles. ''Yeah?''

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, head thrown back against the pillow.

Harry glances up again, pride flickering in his expression. ''That good?''

''So good,'' you whisper.

He grins, but it's soft, not smug. He eases you further back onto the bed, and you go willingly, your legs falling open around his waist as he crawls down your body, pulling your shorts down with him as he goes, just enough to expose your panties to him.

Then he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. And another, closer to the edge of your underwear. He hums low in his throat, like the scent of your arousal has undone something in him. His hand is still between your thighs, and he pushes a finger inside, just one for now, testing, studying your reaction, while his thumb keeps stroking your clit to keep you relaxed.

Your breath catches at the stretch. It's not painful, just… new. Unfamiliar. Full.

But it feels good. Better than anything you've ever felt on your own.

Harry leans his cheek against your inner thigh, watching your pussy accomodate to the stretch of his finger with awe etched onto his face. His eyes flick up to your face, searching your expression for any discomfort or pain. ''Too much?''

You shake your head. ''No. Feels… good.''

Then he kisses your thigh again, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his hot breath against your cunt, and you realize what he's planning.

But when you feel the first swipe of his tongue, it's too much.

You gasp and your hand flies to his hair, not tugging hard, just enough to pull him back. ''Wait. Sorry. That's... a little overwhelming.''

He pulls back instantly, looking up at you with such gentle understanding it nearly makes your heart burst out of your chest. ''Don't apologize. That's totally okay.''

''I don't know why,'' you say, cheeks warm. ''It's just… a lot.''

''It's okay, love. This is all brand new to you,'' he soothes, pressing a kiss to your thigh. ''We can save that for another night, yeah? We have all the time in the world to go slow, baby.''

There's no disappointment in his voice. No pressure. He's just... here. With you. For you. The realization tugs at your heartstrings.

You nod, and he climbs back up your body, propping himself up on one arm, letting you catch your breath as he hovers over you. The warmth between your legs lingers, building slowly as his hand starts to move again, hushed praises falling from his lips.

His touch is focused, fingers slow, right where you need them. This time, you relax into it. Let the tension coil in your belly, growing tighter and tighter with every slow circle of his fingers, every kiss he presses against your shoulder, your jaw, your temple.

Your breathing stutters. Your thighs clench. Your fingers dig into his forearm, making him groan. He curls his finger slightly and your back arches with a sudden, gasping moan.

''Harry, fuck—''

''There she is,'' he breathes. ''There you go, darlin'. That's it. Let go for me. You don't have to think. Just feel. I've got you.''

He keeps the rhythm steady, his thumb circling your clit, his finger curling inside of you. Your thighs tense, your hips stutter, and then your whole body locks up with a choked sound as the pleasure spills over all at once. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming in the best way. Your fingers grip the bedsheets, and you can barely hear yourself moaning his name like a prayer, your breath stuttering out in broken gasps.

Harry's voice is low and tender as he eases you through it. ''That's it, baby. So good. So fucking good. You did so well for me.''

You're shaking while he helps you ride it out, only pulling his hand out of your shorts when you whine quietly in overstimulation, your chest heaving. His attention shifts to you immediately, cradling your face in his palm, brushing sweaty hair from your temple.

''You okay?''

''Yeah. Just…'' you swallow, blinking up at him, dazed. ''I think… I think that was my first real orgasm, Harry.''

He stills, his mouth curving into a slow smile. ''Yeah?'' he says, and he sounds so proud you could cry. ''That was your first?''

You nod again, cheeks hot. ''I thought I'd already had one, but it's never felt like that before. Not even close.''

He leans in to kiss you, cradling your cheek like you're the most precious thing he's ever laid his hands on. ''Fuck, baby. Thank you for letting me be the first. That means more than you know.''

He rolls over and plops down on the mattress with a content sigh, one arm falling over his eyes. You rest your head on his heaving chest, heart still pounding, and his other arm instantly wraps around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

Your body feels weightless, boneless, like you've melted into the sheets completely. The air around you is warm and still, the silence only broken by Harry's pants beside you.

The hem of his hoodie is still bunched around your thighs, and you're vaguely aware of the dampness between your legs and the faint throb in your muscles. It doesn't hurt, it just lingers, like your body is still catching up to the memory of being touched.

Harry presses a kiss to your temple, then leans up on one elbow, brushing your hair back gently.

''Stay here,'' he whispers. ''Gonna get you some water and a towel to clean you up, alright? I'll be right back, promise.''

You nod, dazed. His voice is so soft. So safe.

A few minutes pass while he moves around the room. You hear the faucet turn on in the bathroom, the clink of a glass against porcelain, the shuffle of his feet across the floorboards.

Everything is ordinary. Normal.

But the longer you lie there, the tighter your chest becomes.

It starts slow. A little whisper in the back of your mind. You did that. You let someone do that to you. You gave it away. It's over.

Your thighs are still damp. You feel the stickiness on your skin and suddenly you can't breathe quite right. Your heartbeat starts to pick up. A sour kind of shame crawls up your throat, thick and hot, choking you before you can swallow it down.

You shift in the bed, curling your legs up to your chest. Your fingers tighten in the sheets, knuckles turning white from your grip.

It was good. He was kind. You wanted it. So why do you feel like this?

The door creaks open again. Harry enters quietly, carrying a glass of water and a warm washcloth. His eyes go to you first, always to you, and the second he sees how you're curled in on yourself, his face tightens, his brows furrowing.

''Hey,'' he calls out gently, setting everything on the nightstand. ''What's wrong?''

You try to speak but your throat closes up. The tears come suddenly, a choked sob leaving your chest. One moment your eyes are just stinging, the next they're spilling over, silent and hot, streaming down your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away.

Harry's at your side in an instant.

''Baby…'' He kneels beside the bed, cupping your face in both hands, eyes scanning yours like he's desperate to read your mind. ''Talk to me. Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?''

You shake your head, but your voice is caught in your chest.

''Do you… do you regret it?'' he asks, and you hear the break in his voice. ''Did I do something wrong?''

''No,'' you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracked. ''No, it's not you. You didn't, Harry. You didn't do anything wrong. You were perfect.''

His brows pinch together, eyes searching, lips parting like he wants to understand so badly, but can't. ''Then what is it? What's hurting you, love? Please talk to me. Tell me so I can fix it.''

You swallow hard, wiping your tears in silent frustration, your voice small and scared. ''I just feel… gross. I feel dirty. I don't know why. I wanted it, and I don't... I don't regret it, but now that it happened I...'' you hiccup a sob. ''I feel so fucking ashamed.''

The words are like acid in your mouth. Saying them aloud makes them more real.

Harry's eyes soften instantly, his whole body folding toward you. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, pulls you into his arms gently. ''Oh, baby,'' he breathes out, cradling you against his chest. ''I'm so sorry, love. I should've realized how you were feeling sooner.''

You press your face into his shoulder, fists curling in the fabric of his sweatpants. ''It's not your fault,'' you whisper. ''I promise. I just… it's me. Something's wrong with me.''

''Nothing's wrong with you,'' he says, kind, but firm. Definitive. ''Nothing. This is so much more common than you think, baby. Especially when it's your first time.''

''Really?'' you ask, timid.

He pulls back slightly to look at you. ''Yeah, love. You can want it, and it can feel amazing, and you can still feel overwhelmed after. It's okay to feel both things at the same time,'' he gives you a pained smile, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ''It's not because you did something bad. Not at all, baby. It's because we're taught to feel shame around sex. Especially women.''

You sniffle, the words loosening something in your chest.

''I just feel like I lost something,'' you say quietly, shame sinking into your bones. ''Something I can't get back. And I know I chose it. I don't regret it, I really don't, but it feels... sinful, almost. Like I should've saved it longer, or done it differently, or just… I don't know.''

Harry kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there. ''You didn't lose anything, darlin'. You shared something. With someone who loves being trusted by you. You didn't lose anything.''

Your eyes blur again at the softness in his voice. ''But it feels so wrong, and I know that doesn't make sense. You were gentle, and I wanted it, I loved it, and I still feel like I did something wrong.''

Harry wraps his arms tighter around you, holding you close like he can protect you from your own insecurities. ''It makes perfect sense,'' he says. ''You're not wrong for feeling this way. You're human. You're taught that virginity is something that gets taken from you. It's not. It's an experience you share, but nothing fundamental changes.''

You bury your face in his neck, your voice muffled. ''But why do I feel so small?''

''Because it was a big step,'' he says simply. ''Because it mattered. You've built this up in your head for so long, and maybe part of you started to think doing this would change you forever. But you're still the same person you were yesterday, baby.''

Your breath shudders and you collapse into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, and he just holds you, rocking you softly and murmuring sweet reassurances and praises into your hair.

Eventually, the tears ease. The ache in your chest dulls. You feel whole again, grounded. And you stay there, in his arms, breathing in the safety of his skin, until the world feels quiet again.

Harry kisses your hair and whispers, ''Wanna try that water now?''

You sniffle and nod, still tucked against him. ''Yeah. Thank you.''

He reaches for the glass and hands it to you, his fingers brushing yours. You bring it up to your lips and gratefully take a few sips before handing it back to him with a shaky smile.

''You okay to stay here with me tonight?'' he asks as he puts the glass back on his nightstand.

You nod again, taking in a shuddering breath. ''Please.''

He helps you under the covers and slips in beside you. You curl into his chest and he strokes your hair like it's second nature. Like holding you is something he was made to do.

''I think I'm in love with you.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73

teach me slowly series tag list

@maddiesalvatore1839 @mleestiles @imaginexxharry

...

435 notes · View notes

lovingpiastri · 1 day ago

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thinking 'bout balmy beach days with oscar

there's an underlying feeling that lives with in me, that oscar only takes a dip in the ocean when in australia. in any other country, he avoids it like the plague despite the waters being exceptionally safer.

you, on the other hand are paranoid of australian waters. the fear of an accidental sting from a blue bottle could send you into cardiac arrest. oscar calls you melodramatic, but doesn't mind at all carrying you through the water, as long as your feet do not touch the sand below.

the sun exposure isn't a joke either. your habit of forgetting to apply sunscreen has multiple times resulted in burns that you complain about for days. oscar, who always finds him on the receiving end on all the whining about your pain, is the one who now without fail softly massages it into your skin before you randomly embark into a beach nap.

on the rare occasion when oscar falls into a deep slumber, you collect a small array of seashells and place them onto his muscular back. a sight you've gotten more than used to in the months you've been together. shortly after you manage to forget about them, not without capturing a pinterest worthy photo. but when he awakes, the seashell tan lines are evident, yet you don't have the heart to tell him about it. though it's pretty in a way.

his borderline tanned back sugar coated with specks of sand, paired with minor sea shell tan lines.. it just all appeared so weirdly romantic. it was a sight for sore eyes, you adored it all too much, even flustering a little due to his toned muscular back. the same back that your nails knew all too well, allowing themselves to explore during your most intimate times.

woah! every nerve in your body was thumping up and down, desiring to force your eyes away from your boyfriend.. who was apparently sculpted by the greek god's themselves? oh and the sunlight was kissing his skin just right!

"love, are you sure you put enough sunscreen on your face.. it's going a bit red?" oscar's voice was just so sweetly caring, if digested it would probably rot your teeth beyond repair.

slowly you regain all sense of reality, planting your fingers gingerly onto your cheeks for any sensation of burning tingles.. but there was not a single bit of it anywhere. was your face tinted really that red from simply admiring your boyfriend? oh and the dryness infecting your tongue, that has to be from dehydration.. right?

"uhh.. yes i did!" you speak out, feeling irreparably parched. come on, seriously!?

as much as you try, your eyes cannot peel away for a second. it's grown beyond just oscar's broad back. the subtle happy trail peaking from below his trunks was enough to kill a victorian child. or you for the matter.

once you do look away, the image replays in your mind everlastingly. oh how you would just love to just follow that trail down to- HALT!

if those murderous blue bottles wouldn't take your life, then surely your boyfriend would instead.

575 notes · View notes

redlinespeedster · 3 days ago

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A FAMILIAR TOUCH !! ☆

lando norris 𝒙 best friend fem!reader

[summary] You like taking risks, you crave danger, yet he is your everyday routine… and somehow, that excites you too. You’d been friends for so long that his touch on your skin feels like a familiar whisper: his hands steady on your shoulders, his fingers slowly tracing your hips. You can recognize the warmth of his body from a distance. But when he finally slips between your legs for the first time, all that familiarity shatters into a rush of new sensations — an intense, addictive pleasure you never expected to feel with him.

[warnings] Smut !! car sex, oral sex & fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes. (2.5k)

[notes] Just writing this ‘cause I know deep down Lando would be the kind of friend like “you’re my best friend… but I’d totally wreck you if I got the chance” 🙃

He wasn’t in love with you, or anything like that.

Or maybe he was? He wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that he’d wanted you pretty much since the day you met in school. Even back when his preteen brain couldn’t fully grasp what desire or attraction even meant.

He didn’t know if it was your personality, how kind you were to everyone, the sun-kissed blush on your cheeks, or just how pretty you were—but he wanted to be close to you. And maybe that alone was enough to make you inseparable. Best friends. Almost like siblings? No, that was something your mom said once, and it made Lando’s stomach turn with disgust.

What truly mattered was that it wasn’t until his desire began to awaken that he realized what he actually felt for you. Intense fantasies and lust-filled dreams ambushed him at all hours, and you were in every single one of them—whether you were riding him in desperation or lying beneath his body, utterly surrendered. The position or place didn’t matter; what drove him mad was having you there, so vivid in his mind, pushing him to the edge even in the moments he tried hardest to stay composed… especially when you walked around in that summer pajama that barely covered the essentials.

You didn’t even try to make it easier for him. You’d sit on his lap, brushing up against him without realizing it, as if he weren’t a man, as if he couldn’t feel every one of your movements or sense what they were stirring inside him. For years, you never understood why he had to distance himself from you—you thought maybe you were crossing a line, taking advantage of his trust. But as you got older, you remembered it clearly and finally understood.

Still, you never spoke of it again.

It had never crossed your mind that he might be attracted to you—not even after everything that had happened. Sure, you’d noticed that constant need he had to hug you, to cuddle you, to run his fingers through your hair. You also remembered the times he’d move you off his lap because he was getting hard and his pants were too tight—but you figured it was just a natural physical reaction. Maybe his body just responded to the slightest touch, because in adolescence it’s common to get aroused from something as simple as a bit of contact. You were a complete idiot for not realizing what was really going on.

Because as you grow older, things become clearer—and the sexual tension between you becomes unbearable. To the point where neither of you really knows what you’re feeling… or how to define it.

Lando can’t stop imagining himself inside you, losing himself between your legs. And you’ve started to crave his touch—the one that used to be just warm and friendly—hoping he lingers longer, hoping his hands start to explore you with more intent and desire.

But despite it all, the two of you keep pretending in front of the world that you’re just best friends, both convinced that you’ll never be anything more than that.

That discomfort resurfaces every time you’re alone with him again. Even now—coming back from a party you didn’t want to go to and he didn’t want to leave, but did anyway, just because you asked him to. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly you can tell even without looking at him, because your eyes are lost in the car window.

He looks at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes, shamelessly, staring especially at the part of your thighs you left exposed. You feel that gaze—heavy, filthy—and a chill runs down your spine. Because you know he thinks you don’t notice. Like you’re naive. And that’s what pisses you off the most: that he’s such a coward. That he doesn’t have the guts to look you in the eye and admit he’s dying to fuck you.

You squeeze your thighs together just because you know he notices. You do it slowly, deliberately, like a silent challenge. What used to be an awkward tension between teenagers is now a game you play to perfection. You can almost hear him clench his jaw, feel his whole body tighten. And the best—or the worst—part is, he knows you’re doing it on purpose. To provoke him. To drive him insane.

His eyes don’t leave the road, determined not to get distracted—though the temptation you represent is nearly unbearable. He tries to convince himself that the sexual thoughts consuming him now are just a consequence of the alcohol he had earlier at the party. But he knows that’s not true. Those burning, forbidden desires have always been there, every time he’s with you. And not even alcohol can justify all these years of obsessive fantasies, of the deep urge to hold you in his arms.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

But Lando pretends not to understand. He thinks you’re talking about the party you just left, or about the fact that he’s driving at a snail’s pace after a few too many drinks.

But it’s clear that’s not what you mean.

“What d’you want me to say?” he asks. The car stops across the street, and he lets go of the wheel to focus all his attention on you.

The tension between you is almost unbearable.

You stare at him intently, and he notices a different sparkle in your eyes, something he had never seen before, almost as if it were new. He doesn’t know how to describe it because he was never used to you looking at him that way. It’s a gaze full of desire, intense and almost tangible, as if you longed to have him so close that you wanted to move until you were sitting on his lap, in the driver’s seat, invading his space and his skin.

His pupils dilate. Only he can decide when to kiss you, how to do it, and how much he’s going to leave you trembling afterward. Maybe that’s why his hand grips the back of your neck tightly, forcing you to lean in until his lips crash against yours with fierce need. The kiss is anything but gentle: it’s intense, clumsy, desperate. He bites you, licks you, invades your mouth as if it were his own. As if he had been holding back for years, when in reality it was only half a lifetime.

No one had kissed you like that before. No one had made you feel that a kiss could leave you breathless, without pride, without control. He kisses you as if he wanted to mark you, break you, tear your soul out with his tongue. As if with that kiss he could devour you alive and still be hungry.

You want to move toward his seat, but he’s the one who lunges at you, pinning you against the closed car window. His body presses against yours urgently, and your hands clutch his jacket, squeezing it hard to pull him even closer. He kisses you hungrily, as if what’s making him drunk isn’t the drinks he had but the taste of your mouth, your tongue, your hot saliva mixing with his.

His hands roam over your clothes with a slow touch that gives you goosebumps, as if he wants to memorize every curve through the feeling. He kisses you with desire while his fingers explore the sequins on your dress, stopping intentionally at your neckline. There, he strokes firmly and precisely, and for a moment, you feel your breath catch, as if his touch could ignite you from within.

Your heart pounds hard, almost painfully fast. Every brush of his hands against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and the heat pooling low in your belly becomes an urgent need. You’re so wet you can feel it clearly, soaking through the fabric between your thighs. Lando notices—he drinks in the sight with his eyes. Without hesitation, he pushes your dress up to your waist, leaving you exposed to him. A desire-filled smile spreads across his face as his fingers trace the edge of your underwear slowly, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail before taking it off.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, voice rough. “So fucking wet for me.”

And then he lowers his head, dead set on tasting you.

His lips press against your pussy, still covered by your clothes, licking and kissing with an intensity that seeps through the fabric. His hands grip your thighs firmly, forcing you to open up for him, exposing you, wanting you vulnerable beneath his mouth. You feel him move right where you need him the most, his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles, but everything is still filtered by the fabric, and it’s driving you insane. You want him with nothing in between—raw, skin to skin—but he just smiles against you, savoring the power of making you beg without a single word.

“Why are you so fucking desperate, baby?” he whispers. “You want my tongue to ruin you? Drive you insane?” He lifts his head slightly, and his eyes burn with a lust that mirrors your own, igniting the fire between you.

You nod desperately, and Lando leans back down until his warm breath grazes your underwear again. The fabric slides to the side with a single movement of his fingers—not taking it off, just shifting it enough. Your legs tremble on either side of his head, open, exposed. Then his tongue begins to slowly glide over your pussy, tracing soft, deliberate lines—so slow it feels like sweet torture. Each stroke pulls a muffled moan from your lips, while he clings to your thighs like he has no intention of letting you go.

And then, when he hears you moan with a broken voice, writhing beneath his tongue and begging for more, he sinks between your legs with an almost feral devotion. He sucks you, licks you, devours you like the world ends there—like your body is the only drug capable of making him lose control. His tongue moves with precise rhythm, soaking in you, savoring every part of your sex, stopping to suck your clit until you’re trembling. He doesn’t let up: he spreads you open with his fingers, explores you, takes you to the edge again and again. Your back arches uncontrollably, your moans fill the car, your legs shake and your fingers tangle in his hair while your hips move on their own—seeking more, demanding more. You’re completely his, undone with pleasure, lost between his mouth and your gasps.

“Lando… fuck,” you whimper through sobs, voice trembling and your body utterly given to him. You’re so on edge that every touch, every thrust of his fingers, pulls you closer to the brink. You feel them pushing in and out of you with a steady, deep rhythm, then curling inside, rubbing that spot with a precision that makes your back arch and his name fall from your lips like a prayer. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every move he makes leaves you wetter, more desperate, more his.

He hadn’t realized just how long he’d craved having you like this—completely surrendered. It didn’t matter if it was in the car, his place, or your bedroom. He had only dreamed of seeing you like this: breathless with every lick, moaning with pleasure while his eyes glazed over with desire—never stopping, tracing every inch of you with his tongue until you were trembling, soaked, and drained of all strength.

He could spend hours between your legs, but he knows you won’t last much longer. Not like this—not with his tongue plunging deep inside you, exploring every spot with shameless hunger. There’s no resisting it. He feels the way you shudder and twist beneath him, right on the edge, seconds away from coming all over his face. His grip tightens around your thighs, ready to take the heat of your complete surrender.

“Bet you fuckin’ love my tongue inside you, huh? Didn’t even stop to think this shit might be wrong—that maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

You feel his eyes locked on you, unblinking, as his fingers drive into you without mercy, going deep until you can’t take anymore—until the pleasure overwhelms you and you have no choice but to give in.

His smile is wicked, not a trace of guilt in sight, fully enjoying the mess you’ve become under him. He loves how you let go, how you lose your mind with every touch, whether it’s his fingers or his tongue in control.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess—all wrecked and humiliated, you know that? Yeah, you fuckin’ know it. And you love every second of it.”

His fingers thrust into you with a steady, deep rhythm, until pleasure overwhelms you and your vision goes blurry. You gasp, breath ragged, back arched against the seat, heart pounding. It’s too much. More than you thought you could take. More than anyone had ever made you feel.

You can’t understand how something so spontaneous —fifteen minutes in a car, half-drunk, on an empty road— could make you lose control like that. It’s beyond any previous experience, beyond anything you ever expected sex to be.

And it’s with Lando. Your best friend.

Even thinking about it feels unreal… but the heat between your thighs and the trembling in your body are far too real to ignore.

“Hey, you good?” It’s the first thing he asks.

But you can’t even speak clearly; your body is still trembling from the orgasm, from the shiver that ran through you and hasn’t completely faded. It felt fucking amazing… and at the same time, something inside you twists, because you both know exactly what just happened, even if you didn’t technically have sex. It was just foreplay, sure—but it felt like something more.

His fingers—the same ones that were buried deep inside you just minutes ago—still glisten with the wet trace of your pleasure. His mouth, the one that devoured you like he was addicted to your taste, is still marked with your desire. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, like your body has completely surrendered, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to stand up anytime soon.

You’re satisfied. Not completely full… but deliciously sated. Though you know you’d need much more from him—more of his body, more of his strength—to feel truly complete.

You nod with a faint smile, and barely manage to whisper, “Yeah.”

Lando tries to put his clothes back in place with slow, almost distracted movements, because his eyes never stop watching you. His hands keep roaming over you, but no longer with the urgency from before. Now he caresses you calmly, with a softness that feels almost reverent. And in that touch, you recognize something familiar, something your body hasn’t forgotten. Because he has touched you like this before, and the way he does it still lingers on your skin like a living memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he lets his fingers gently sink into your sweat-damp hair. “I want you to keep touching me like you did today…”

He doesn’t answer with words, only nods with a slight smile, heavy with desire.

And you know he will. That he will touch you again with that same devotion every time you let him, until your body belongs to him by memory.

#lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x fem!reader #lando x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader

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hamilton-here · 1 day ago

Note

Heyyyy ! how are you doing? Feeling better? I hope the move went well. 🥺

I know your orders are closed, but I had to ask you before I forgot, lol

Please don't rush or feel obligated to write anything yet 🙏🏻 Get yourself together first, take your time, and feel better. ❤️‍🩹

I was wondering if you could write a story about what Lewis and the reader's first time together would be like. Something like they've just officially started dating and are starting to experiment and discover what they each like in sex, and Lewis unknowingly hurts her.😅 I honestly feel that Lewis is too (too😮‍💨) experienced a man🤭😂. And for that reason he gets a bit carried away.

If you don't feel comfortable going into sexual detail, that's fine, no problem. It's more how Lewis makes the reader feel, always thinking only of her well being and fulfilling what she likes.

Thank you in advance and I hope you make a full recovery very soon. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Thank you so much for all the kindness. I’m still sick somehow (it’s been rough), but the move went well. Don’t worry at all about sending this request in, I’ve been working on something else but I was more than happy to do this. This is my first ever smut hopefully it’s okay! Lots of love, xx

Summary: A tender, emotionally charged exploration of intimacy and trust unfolds between you and Lewis.

Warnings: sexual content, swearing

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The rain doesn’t just fall it cascades, a silver veil wrapping the city in a liquid hush. From this rooftop vantage, the storm feels alive, each drop a whispered secret against the sharp edges of vents and antennae.

You watch the slick pavement below glisten, neon signs blurring into long, trembling streaks of electric colour. Somewhere beneath this watery curtain, the city breathes: engines roar, muffled cheers rise, but up here, the sound is a distant pulse, a muted heartbeat beneath the storm’s symphony.

Inside the suite, a sanctuary from the storm, the glow is soft and golden. A single amber lamp casts a pool of warmth, spilling honeyed light across the deep grey sofa you sink into. The walls, glass and steel, reflect the lightning’s dance each flash setting the rain-dotted windows aglow like tiny stars caught in a prism.

The low hum of a vintage record player fills the room with cherry-red jazz the breathy wail of a muted trumpet, the sultry scrape of a stand-up bass like a lover’s heartbeat just beneath your skin.

The air smells like cedar smoke from the fireplace mingling with the subtle tannins of the Cabernet resting in your glass. It’s rich, dark, and alive - an anchor in your hand, cool with beads of condensation that you trace absentmindedly as you steal a glance at Lewis.

He’s across from you, relaxed but alert, a study in contrasts. His white tee clings damply to muscles you’ve come to know, and his posture - legs stretched out, one elbow resting on the back of the sofa exudes casual confidence.

But his eyes don’t rest. They study you in that quiet, intense way that makes your skin tingle, like he’s memorising the subtle curve of your smile, the way your fingers wrap around the glass, the slight dip of your collarbone when your cardigan slips just enough.

“This is nice,” you say softly, the words almost swallowed by the soft percussion of the cymbals in the jazz track.

He smirks, a slow, knowing tilt of his lips. “Nervous?”

You laugh a sound a little too sharp, breaking the spell. “A little.”

He swirls the wine with a lazy flick of his wrist, watching the liquid catch the light like a small galaxy. “Me too,” he admits, voice low. “Not usually. But this - you, it’s different.”

You blink, surprised by the bare honesty.

“Usually, I’m all control, all calm,” he says, voice dropping further, like a secret meant only for you. “But with you... I want to be honest. I want you to know the real me, not the guy behind the helmet or the headlines.”

The space between you seems to grow, but it’s a good space a breathing space.

You curl your legs under you, your cardigan slipping from one shoulder, exposing warm skin. The wine glass feels heavier, grounded, steady in your hand. “I’ve been thinking about this night. About us. What comes next.”

Lewis nods, inviting you to go on.

“I want it,” you say, voice stronger now. “But I’m scared too. I haven’t…done this before. Not like this. Not with someone I care about.”

He reaches out, his hand brushing the cushion near yours an unspoken offer. You place your glass down, your fingers trembling just slightly before you slide your hand toward his. The space between your hands shrinks, knuckles brushing. His palm is warm, steady, reassuring.

“Let’s be honest,” he says, eyes searching yours. “No pressure. Just truth.”

You draw in a deep breath, letting the words fill you.

“I haven’t been with many people,” you confess, voice barely above the rain’s rhythm. “And when I was, it was always rushed, never real. I want slow, discovery. Connection. I want to feel every moment.”

His gaze softens, the tension easing from his frame.

“I’ve had partners,” he begins carefully, “but it never felt like this. I want to know you. Not just your body, but your mind, your fears, your desires. I want to give, not take.”

His fingers twitch lightly, as if craving the connection.

“I like to lead, but gently,” he continues. “Like steering a dance, not forcing a step. I want to hear your breath catch, see your skin flush, feel your heartbeat quicken. I want trust, the kind that makes you forget everything else except us.”

Your pulse quickens. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks warming. “I like kisses that take time slow and searching. I like being touched like every inch of me matters. And I like hearing what’s happening. Words keep me present.”

He smiles, a tender, knowing smile. “Noted.”

You study the faint scar near his eyebrow, the curve of his jaw dusted with stubble, the veins along his forearm. Your fingers itch to explore, to memorise.

“I don’t want to rush,” you say. “I want to explore. Feel everything, every whisper, every heartbeat.”

His hand moves to yours, fingertips barely grazing skin but setting your nerves alight.

“Me too.”

The silence between you thickens, full and alive.

He asks, voice barely more than a murmur, “Is there anything you don’t want?”

The respect in his question wraps around you like a shield.

You breathe out, steadying. “Nothing too rough. If I’m uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.”

“Promise me you will,” he says, eyes locking with yours.

“I promise.”

“I’ll stop the moment you say,” his voice firm and gentle. “Tonight is about you - your comfort, your pleasure.”

His sincerity breaks something open inside you. You lean in, lips brushing his soft, tentative, tasting of wine and something new. His hand comes up, cradling the back of your head, thumb tracing your hairline.

The kiss deepens, slow and patient, every movement an invitation. You feel the heat of his body draw closer; your knees part, settling on either side of his hips. One arm encircles your waist, pulling you gently against him: the other anchors behind your back, fingers spreading like roots.

Your cardigan slips further, baring your collarbone to his lips. He trails a feather-light kiss there, breath warm against your skin. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs.

A thrill races through younot fear, but raw, aching anticipation.

“I want you,” you whisper.

He presses his forehead to yours, breaths mingling, unspoken promises passing between.

“Then let’s make this ours.”

Outside, the rain continues its endless dance. Inside, the world contracts to this moment of soft lamplights, jazz notes curling around you, two hearts learning to move as one.

Time stretches, slow and pliant, as you explore every new inch of trust, every whispered yes, every soft boundary met with care.

This was not the kind that crashes over you in a rush or sweeps you away in a wild storm. This was a slow unraveling, deliberate and controlled like he was reading your body’s every secret, peeling you open breath by breath, layer by layer.

You’re still perched on his lap, his weight steady beneath you, your fingers tangling into the tight braids at the back of his neck. His hands rest on your lower back, spreading wide, grounding you, even as your pulse quickens under the weight of his touch.

His lips move over yours with a softness that holds so much promise not frantic or desperate, but deep, filled with intention. The way he kisses you makes your breath hitch, your heart stutter, and every nerve ending scream. He’s here. Right now. And it’s enough.

Your thighs squeeze instinctively around his hips, a silent plea, a signal that you want more - want to feel him fully, close, pressing into every inch of you. He’s hard beneath you, the proof of his own restraint and need.

When he pulls back, the flush on his cheeks is unmistakable. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lips swollen and parted, as if savouring the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

“Bedroom?” he asks, voice low and rough, a quiet question that doesn’t need answering because you’ve already nodded, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might betray you.

He lifts you carefully, wrapping his arms around your waist, and the warmth of his body against yours makes your breath catch again. The door shuts softly behind you, sealing out the rest of the world, leaving only the two of you, suspended in this charged silence.

Once inside, something shifts not in the mood, not in the respect he shows, but in the weight of the moment. He sets you gently on the edge of the bed and stands, looming just in front of you, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants, eyes dark with anticipation.

He leans in, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that seems to wrap itself around you like silk and fire all at once.

“Undress for me.”

It’s not an order, not a demand. It’s an invitation soft, intimate and threaded with something raw and magnetic you can’t quite put into words. His gaze holds you captive, burning with quiet reverence and desire.

Your fingers tremble just the slightest bit as you reach up, your pulse thrumming through your veins, a mix of anticipation and shyness tingling across your skin.

You pull the hem of your shirt slowly over your head, savouring the way his eyes follow every movement, tracing the lines of your body as the fabric slips away. You catch the way his breath hitches subtle but unmistakable and it makes you want to pull back and forth between boldness and vulnerability.

His hands hover near your hips but don’t touch. He’s letting you own this moment, this act of revealing yourself to him, piece by piece, in your own time. The power is yours. The control is yours.

You let your bra come next, your fingers deft and gentle as the delicate lace slips down your arms and falls away, exposing the soft swell of your breasts. You catch the almost inaudible intake of his breath, and your skin flushes, warmth blossoming low in your belly.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes, voice low and thick with emotion, a reverence bordering on worship that sends a shiver sliding down your spine.

His lips find yours again this time rougher, hungrier, more insistent. His mouth presses against yours with a fierce need that ignites a wildfire in your chest. His hands slide up your waist, cupping your breasts with care, thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, sending sparks of heat swirling low and wild.

Your knees weaken, breath hitching, every nerve screaming for more. More touch, more closeness, more of him.

“Lie back,” he says softly, voice a command wrapped in velvet.

You obey without hesitation, sinking into the cool, soft sheets beneath you, every inch of your body alive with anticipation. Your pulse races, heart pounding against your ribs like a wild drumbeat as his body leans over you, the heat radiating from his skin a contrast to the fresh chill of the sheets.

His lips trail a path of fire down your throat, soft and teasing, each kiss a spark that sets your skin ablaze. His fingers find the waistband of your shorts, gentle but purposeful, and he looks up at you, eyes dark and searching.

“May I?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but no less certain.

Slowly, reverently, he pulls your shorts down, following the curve of your hips with his lips. Kissing every inch of skin exposed - the delicate lines of your hipbones, the tender inner curve of your thighs, the sensitive crease where your body already begins to burn with need.

He settles between your legs, his eyes locking with yours, intensity shining like a beacon in the dim light.

“If at any point it’s too much, you stop me. Okay?” he murmurs, voice soft but unwavering.

You nod, voice fragile and small but sure: “Okay.”

His mouth descends on you with a worshipful tenderness that steals your breath away. It’s slow, deliberate with each movement filled with purpose, reverence, and a hunger that’s more than physical.

His lip's part to reveal the warmth of his tongue, which traces delicate, teasing circles along your sensitive skin, mapping out every curve and hollow as if you were the most precious secret in the world.

The first gentle flicks of his tongue send jolts of pleasure rippling through your body, spiralling from your core to your limbs, setting nerves alight with electric fire.

You clutch the sheets beneath you, fingers digging into the fabric as your hips twitch involuntarily, trying to meet the rhythm of his mouth without thinking. Every nerve in your body hums, alive with sensation sharp, soft, urgent and sweet all at once.

His tongue moves with practiced grace, swirling and flicking in patterns that speak of both deep desire and profound reverence. It’s like he’s learning you, memorising your every reaction and teasing out pleasure with a gentle, almost sacred patience. He explores the sensitive ridge of your folds, the slick warmth that welcomes him, lingering on the places that make you shiver and moan softly.

You arch toward him, pressing yourself closer, breath coming in ragged gasps that fill the quiet room. Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest, so wildly, you’re certain he can hear it beating just for him.

The taste of you sweet, salty, utterly intoxicating fills his senses. His mouth deepens its exploration, lips parting to engulf more, tongue flicking faster now, but never losing that careful worshipful attention.

His fingers slip inside you then, slow and gentle, pressing against the soft warmth that welcomes him. A sharp gasp escapes your lips raw and needy, electric and urgent.

The combination of his skilled mouth and tender touch sends waves of pleasure rippling and building inside you, cresting higher and higher until your whole-body trembles with the force of it.

He holds you through it all, lips soft against your skin, eyes half-lidded and glazed with something fierce and tender at once - a mixture of admiration, hunger, and pure devotion. His hand moves in sync with his mouth, curling and stroking inside you, drawing out every moan and shudder.

Each time you think you can’t take any more, he slows down, grounding you with gentle kisses along your inner thighs, a whispered promise lingering in every touch.

Then he starts again slow, teasing, patient coaxing you back from the edge and up again, higher and higher, until you’re trembling in his arms, a shuddering wave crashing through every fibre of your being.

You’re lost in him, in the way he makes you feel seen, worshipped, utterly desired. You realise there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, under the weight of his mouth, his hands, his fierce, tender love.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against your skin, voice thick with desire and awe.

You reach up, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

“Come here,” you whisper, voice rough with want.

He climbs onto the bed, his lips claiming yours hard and hungry, hands cradling your face, thumbs tracing lazy circles beneath your jaw in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

“Still good?” he asks, searching your eyes for any sign, any hesitation.

“So good,” you breathe back, your voice thick with need. “I want you inside me.”

His forehead presses against yours, breath warm and steady as he murmurs, “Let’s take our time. We’ve got all night.”

You watch him undress with deliberate care, and its torture, the sweetest kind. Each motion is slow, unhurried, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. The shirt is the first to go, peeled off in one fluid motion that reveals golden-brown skin stretched over hard-earned muscle, a body carved by years of control and precision.

And you can’t look away.

Your mouth parts slightly without meaning to not in surprise, but in pure, helpless awe. Your lips go dry, eyes fixed, hungry.

There’s a heat low in your belly, coiling tighter with every new inch of skin he reveals. His shoulders roll back as he tosses the shirt aside and the motion sends a ripple through his chest, through the sculpted muscles of his arms.

That lion tattoo on his pec bold, regal, defiant stares back at you like it knows exactly what it's guarding. You’re drawn to it, to the way it rests over his heart, like a mark of pride and strength and something untamed. Your gaze lingers there too long, and he notices. He always notices.

But then your eyes drift lower, and that’s where your breath catches.

The compass tattoo inked in sharp, clean lines sits just low enough on the centre of his chest that your imagination races to fill in what’s hidden just beneath the waistband of his briefs. It draws your attention like a magnet, like a secret map that only you are meant to follow. The ink is stark against his skin, a piece of him etched so close to where you already burn for him.

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together without thinking.

“Jesus,” you whisper, barely audible.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He heard you. Of course he did.

He steps toward you slowly, and it’s like watching something inevitable come closer gravity itself bending to him. His hands move to his waistband, and you can’t tear your eyes away. You’re practically drooling now, breath shaky, pupils wide with anticipation.

But it isn’t just lust. It’s reverence.

Because the way he looks at you steady, dark, focused makes your chest ache. Like he sees everything. Like he wants everything. And he’s not in a rush. Not tonight.

He drops his briefs and your breath stutters. He stands before you, unapologetic, bare and beautiful and strong. His skin glows under the soft lamplight golden, warm, like sun-kissed bronze and the sight of him makes something deep inside you clench and flutter.

But still, it’s the way his eyes lock onto yours that undoes you. Steady. Focused. Like your hunger doesn’t scare him like it feeds him.

“I can feel you staring,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice like velvet over gravel. “You like what you see?”

You can’t speak. Can only nod. He smiles slow, cock and so achingly warm. He leans in close enough for your breath to hitch against his.

“Good,” he murmurs against your lips. “Because I’m yours.”

He settles between your thighs again, completely bare and slick with heat, every inch of him alive beneath your fingertips. The weight of his body presses down, solid and grounding, yet somehow featherlight in the electric tension that crackles between you.

His lips find yours once more and the taste of him, a little salty with sweat and sweet with longing, floods your senses. When he pulls back just enough to whisper into the quiet space between you, his voice is low, unwavering.

“I’ve got you.”

The promise lands inside you like a steady flame, warm and certain, anchoring you in this moment where everything else falls away.

His arms brace on either side of your head, framing your face like pillars of strength. You can feel the taut muscle beneath his skin, every sinew controlled and ready, yet patient as if his whole being is focused solely on you, on this perfect, fragile moment of union.

His gaze pins you, intense and fierce, but filled with something softer too something that reveres you, worships you, even as desire burns hot in his eyes.

Slowly, reverently, the head of him nudges your entrance, a tentative question without words. The heat of him presses gently against your slick skin, humming through your nerves, waking every inch of your body.

His breath fans across your cheek, warm and intoxicating as he asks quietly, “This, okay?”

Your voice trembles with need and certainty, barely a whisper but full of invitation.

“Yeah…I want you.”

And with infinite care, inch by inch, he presses inside you deliberate, unhurried, the exquisite stretch, memorising the subtle flutter of resistance and welcome beneath him.

The fullness of him inside you is overwhelming, a thick, pulsing heat that steals your breath away and sends an electric current racing through your core.

“Fuuuuck…” he groans, jaw clenched tight, veins pulsing along his neck as he fights to keep himself grounded.

He stops midway, forehead resting gently against yours, eyes squeezed shut as a subtle tremor of restraint ripples through his arms. It’s a raw, aching tension, the kind that screams how badly he wants to lose control but won’t not yet.

He doesn’t want to rush. He wants to give.

The feeling of him filling you is intense and alive warm, pulsing, like you’re both suspended in a private universe where nothing else exists but the breath between you and the press of skin against skin. Your fingers dig lightly into the taut planes of his biceps, nails tracing delicate crescents, grounding yourself as he sinks deeper.

He holds you there, still and utterly connected, every slow breath between you charged with unsaid promises and fierce devotion.

His lip's part against yours again, breath shuddering softly in the space between you, trembling with everything left unspoken.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, voice shaky but sure. Your hand rises to cup his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his beard in a gentle, grounding caress. “You can move, Lew.”

He pulls back just enough, then begins to move slow, steady, deliberate each deep thrust dragging molten heat through every fibre of your being. Every stroke is a slow, relentless pull that coaxes waves of pleasure to ripple and curl inside you, making your back arch instinctively, skin crawling beneath his touch.

His mouth leaves yours to find your neck, lips brushing, sucking softly each kiss a spark that ignites the fire burning low in your belly. The taste of him, the warmth of his breath, the scent of sweat and something more intimate wrap around you, shrinking the world to the space where your bodies collide.

“You feel…” he moans, voice ragged and raw, nearly breathless. “Fucking unreal.”

His words fall like worship against your ear, soft affirmations that make your heart swell with a tenderness you never expected.

“So beautiful.”

“You take me so good.”

“I’ve dreamed about this…”

Heat coils deep inside, spreading outward in slow-burning waves, making you shiver in his arms. You’re caught between vulnerability and desperate need, the tension between needing to be seen and utterly losing yourself in him.

You move with him legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him closer hips rising to meet every slow, sure stroke, every pull and push. Your bodies speak without words, in a silent language of rhythm, trust, and shared surrender.

The pace builds relentless but patient like a tide rising and falling with perfect, inevitable precision. You feel something deeper than mere pleasure, something forged in quiet moments and whispered promises, something raw and true beneath the skin.

His hands find your waist again, thumbs drawing lazy, teasing circles over slick, heated skin, grounding you even as every sense ignites. His lips trail from your neck down to your collarbone and shoulder, leaving a trail of fire and claim in their wake marking you as his in the most intimate way possible.

You catch his gaze again wild, vulnerable, utterly yours. In that fierce look, you see everything: desire, devotion and the quiet certainty that no matter what comes next, you face it together.

And in the shared heat of that moment, the outside world falls away, leaving only the slow, burning rhythm of your bodies moving as one breath mingling with breath, skin sliding against skin, heart beating wild and sure in the timeless dance you share.

It’s perfect.

Until it isn’t.

You feel the shift before it fully settles a subtle change in the angle, almost imperceptible, but enough to turn what had been a slow, delicious fullness into something sharp, twisting unexpectedly inside you. The pleasure flickers and then vanishes, replaced by a sudden, jarring discomfort that coils tightly around your nerves, making your breath catch in your throat.

Your body stiffens, muscles tensing as a rush of sudden pain flares.

His eyes snap open wide, startled, searching your face as if trying to read the shift in your expression. For a moment, panic flashes across his features, raw and unfiltered.

“Shit. Shit did I—? Are you okay?” His voice is urgent, breath ragged.

Before you can say anything, he pulls out quickly, leaving you feeling empty, aching in a way that wasn’t there before. The sudden absence of him only sharpens the ache.

“I’m okay,” you manage to say, voice shaky but steady. “It just…hit the wrong spot. It didn’t feel good.”

He backs up slightly on his knees, hands hovering uncertainly over you as if afraid to touch, eyes wide and searching like he’s trying to make sure you’re really alright.

“Baby…fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise. I thought fuck - I thought you were still okay.” His voice cracks under the weight of regret, thick with frustration at himself.

You reach up, placing your hand gently on his cheek, grounding both of you. “I was,” you say softly, voice tender but firm. “Until I wasn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just didn’t say anything soon enough.”

He lowers his gaze, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, thick with sorrow and self-reproach.

“No. I should’ve known. I should’ve felt it.”

You lean into his warmth, thumb brushing softly along his jawline, soothing the tension etched into his face.

“Hey. You stopped. The second I said something. That’s what matters.”

His whole body seems to sag with relief and remorse mingled together, the intensity in his eyes softening as he leans down slowly to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally the hollow between your collarbones each touch featherlight, as if trying to erase the sting of that moment.

“I never want to hurt you,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with emotion. “I never want you to feel like you have to push through something for me. That’s not what this is. Not ever.”

You close your eyes briefly, tasting the sincerity in his words, the steady beat of his heart against your skin. “I know,” you whisper back. “I trust you. I still trust you.”

When you open your eyes again, his gaze meets yours dark, shimmering with unspoken promises and raw, aching tenderness.

You shift beneath the sheets, reaching out to trail your fingers along his collarbone, then whisper, “Maybe we try something else?”

His brow furrows for a brief moment, hesitant, searching. “Are you sure?”

You nod, thumb brushing his jaw once more in a slow, deliberate gesture of reassurance. “Let me ride you. I’ll control the depth.”

The change in him is subtle but profound. The tension that had gripped his body loosens, replaced by a softness that melts into reverence and complete surrender.

He reclines back against the pillows, arms opening wide like a silent invitation, eyes full of nothing but adoration and trust.

“Come here, baby,” he says gently. “We go at your pace.”

You straddle him slowly, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you guide him inside this time with a careful, deliberate tenderness. The moment he fills you again, the sensation is full and encompassing, a contrast to before.

There’s no rush, no jagged edges just a warm, satisfying stretch that settles deep inside you. His breath hitches, a low, guttural groan vibrating through his chest as you lower yourself fully onto him, inch by slow inch.

You feel every inch, every contour, every subtle movement of his body beneath you. It’s intimate, sacred almost, the way your flesh molds to his.

You’re stretched, sensitive, but this time it’s a good kind of full better than good, like the ache of a perfect muscle burn after a long run. The kind of ache that speaks of effort and reward.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers spreading wide to grip you gently. There’s heat in his touch, but no pressure. No urgent need to take over. Instead, he holds you close, his palms firm but patient, steadying you without a word.

“Take what you need,” he whispers, voice low and rough, thick with desire and trust.

You start to move, rocking your hips in small, slow circles a shallow grind that builds heat without pushing, coaxing pleasure in soft waves instead of crashing tides.

The friction between your skin, the slick warmth of your bodies pressed together, sends sparks of fire trailing along your nerves. The scent of his skin, faintly musky and intimate, fills your senses, grounding you in the moment.

You catch the tension etched in his face the tight line of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers that want to claim control but don’t. He resists, letting you lead, and in that surrender, his desire burns even fiercer.

“That’s it that’s my girl,” he breathes, voice raw and reverent. “Just like that. You’re perfect.”

You lean down, pressing your lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss. Your hands settle on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palms. The rhythm of your bodies aligns entirely your own. Every movement, every breath, every shared sigh becomes a silent language spoken only by the two of you.

His hands slide to your ass, cupping and squeezing gently, guiding you with a tender insistence. They never force, never rush; instead, they invite you to explore the space between pleasure and patience.

Your second orgasm builds gradually, a deep, pulsing heat blossoming from your core like a slow-burning flame. It gathers strength, radiating outward until your thighs tremble with the tension, your breath catching and spilling into a moan pressed against his mouth.

He holds you through it all steady, unwavering. His lips trace a soft path along your jaw, then your neck, as you come down from the wave, shivering in his arms. When your body stills, he brushes your damp hair back, eyes shining with something fierce and tender all at once. Then, with deliberate care, he flips you beneath him, hands never hurried, every touch sacred.

“I need to come,” he says, voice rough and aching with need. “I need you.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck. You nod, breathless but sure.

“I’m ready,” you whisper.

This time is different.

His thrusts are deep but gentle measured with a tenderness that makes every motion feel like a vow. His forehead rests against yours, eyes locked onto your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every subtle smile, every breathless gasp. There’s an unspoken conversation in those dark, searching eyes a promise that he’s here for you, completely and utterly.

You feel the smooth slide of his skin against yours, the slick warmth of your combined heat, the subtle tension in his muscles as he moves with a slow, aching rhythm. The taste of salt and desire lingers on his lips when you kiss, a reminder of how close you are how much you belong to each other in this moment.

When he finally groans your name, raw and trembling, and comes deep inside you, his whole body shudders with the release. It’s not just physical; it feels sacred, as though you’ve woven your souls tighter with every movement, every shared breath.

He collapses beside you, arms wrapping around your trembling frame, holding you like the most precious thing in the world. And you rest your head against his chest, heart pounding in sync with his, knowing that this moment raw, tender, vulnerable is exactly where you belong.

It’s not just sex, it’s something more. Something true.

The afterglow wraps around you both like a warm, protective cocoon. His body presses against yours, steady and grounding, like an anchor in a swirling world. His arms come around you slowly, gently, pulling you close as if to make sure you’re really there, really safe. Your legs tangle naturally around his waist, the fit so familiar it feels like coming home.

He moves with deliberate care, his hands steady and tender as he cleans you both a soft touch here, a careful wipe there. It’s not hurried or clinical; it’s intimate, sacred even, a quiet ritual that speaks volumes without words. Every stroke of his fingers against your skin feels like a vow, a silent promise that he’ll always cherish and protect this space you share.

When he finally folds you into his arms, cradling you close to his chest, you feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It’s a rhythm that seeps into your bones, making every breath easier, every worry quieter.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs softly into your hair, his voice thick with sincerity and something deeper a kind of fierce devotion. “I’ll learn you. Every inch. Every sound. Every want. Everything that hurts. I’ll never stop listening.”

His words curl around you like a warm breeze, soothing and exhilarating all at once. You tilt your head up, eyes shining with unshed tears and fierce trust. “I know.”

Outside, the storm has faded. The rain’s last heavy drops tap softly against the windowpane, a gentle rhythm that blends with the quiet sighs and murmurs between you. But inside, the warmth doesn’t fade. It lingers soft and fierce, a quiet blaze that fills the room with light and promise.

You trace lazy circles on his chest, fingertips lingering where your skin brushes against his. He shivers slightly under your touch, as if your presence alone sets him alight.

“This,” he says, voice low and sure, “this is only the beginning.”

You press your forehead against his, breath mingling, hearts beating a steady duet. In this silence, in this perfect closeness, you both know it’s true — something rare and precious is unfolding between you. Something that goes far beyond the physical, beyond the fleeting.

It’s trust. It’s hope. It’s a promise whispered in the stillness; a vow carried on the softest breath.

And as the first hints of dawn begin to lighten the edges of the night sky, you hold onto that promise tightly, knowing it will guide you both through whatever comes next.

morning light broke slowly across the room, brushing in like a whisper rather than a shout. It didn’t rush or demand attention. Instead, it seeped gently through the sheer curtains, folding itself around the edges of the furniture, pooling softly on the polished floorboards, and tracing delicate honey-gold patterns that danced with the quiet rhythm of the waking world.

The bed was a tangle of linen and warmth, the sheets twisted and half-forgotten kicked down to the foot, clinging lazily to a leg here, slipping off a hip there.

They smelled of heat and something intimately yours, the scent of skin meeting skin in that sacred place where barriers dissolve. Sweat mixed with the faint trace of his cologne, musky and comforting, weaving with the residual traces of passion and whispered promises that had filled the night.

There was something else beyond the physical. Something less tangible but no less profound.

Closeness.

You were the first to stir. Not because of a sound, not because the sun’s touch was harsh or urgent. You stirred because of the warmth pressed against your back a steady heat that felt like a tether to the world, a heartbeat just beneath your skin. His warmth.

Lewis was curled behind you, one long arm wrapping protectively around your waist, the palm resting just beneath your ribs. His body was steady, grounding, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressed intimately to yours like the ocean’s tide keeping time with the moon.

His breath ghosted over your neck in slow, even pulses warm and faintly damp with sleep and every so often, almost unconsciously, his thumb twitched, rubbing soft, half-forgotten circles along your side. It was a small gesture, but it said everything: you were his. You were here. You were safe.

You didn’t move right away. You let yourself feel the lingering ache deep in your muscle -thighs, lower back, and hips that whispered reminders of the night before. It wasn’t pain. Not really. More a soft echo, a carved memory, a testament to what had been given and taken, shared and held.

Eventually, you turned toward him, moving slowly so as not to disturb the fragile bubble between you. You shifted onto your other side, your eyes locking with his before your bodies fully settled. His eyes fluttered open almost instantly, heavy-lidded, those dark pools still swimming in the haze of sleep.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and roughened by hours spent speaking in sighs and gasps. That scratchy rasp should have sounded raw, maybe even gruff but on him, it was something intimate, something that slid under your skin and made your heart catch. Like the remnants of every moan, every whispered name, still echoed in the gravel of his throat.

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips lifting without hesitation because just looking at him felt like a balm. “Hey.”

Lewis blinked slowly, as if seeing you again was both expected and impossible all at once. His gaze searched your face - your eyes, still heavy with sleep but bright with something tender, the flushed bloom on your cheeks, the soft curve of your lips and for a flicker of a moment, something unspoken crossed his features. Worry. The silent check-in of a man who carries more than just himself.

You reached out without thinking, brushing your thumb over the edge of his beard, feeling the rough stubble beneath your skin. “I’m okay, Lewis,” you whispered.

His shoulders visibly eased, the invisible knot of tension loosening in his chest like it had just been unwound. He leaned forward, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your lips.

It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t urgent it was deliberate, a silent thank you spoken through soft pressure and the warm slide of his mouth. When he pulled back, his thumb traced the line of your jaw with infinite care.

“You’re sore?” His voice was low, a careful question.

You hesitated a moment before nodding, cheeks warming with a shy, small laugh. “A little. But not in a bad way.”

Lewis’s brows furrowed, concern knitting into his expression instantly. His hand slid down from your jaw to rest on your hip, fingers spreading like he wanted to feel for any hidden hurt himself. “I can run you a bath. Warm water, Epsom salts. I’ll even sit right here, on the floor, while you soak.”

You laughed quietly, curling your hand around the thin gold chain that hung from his neck, tugging gently until he stilled and looked down at you. “I don’t want to move yet. I just want to lie here. With you.”

That soft smile the one that cracked open something guarded and deep behind his eyes spread slowly across his face. “Yeah. Okay.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping you tighter into his chest and tucking you beneath his chin. His hand moved slowly across your back, tracing lazy, intimate circles on your shoulder blade. There was no rush. No noise but the faint hum of the city below and the air conditioning whispering softly through the suite’s vents.

Silence held you both for a long time, wrapping around your bodies like a protective cloak.

Then his voice came, low and hesitant, as if he was not sure if he dared speak the truth out loud.

“Thank you for telling me to stop.”

You lifted your head, searching his face.

He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, jaw working silently, the quiet battle of something unsaid twisting behind his eyes.

“I would’ve hated myself,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper, “if I’d kept going and you got hurt.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you said softly. “You listened. That mattered more than getting it perfect.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I’ve had partners,” he said after a pause, “plenty. But this is different. I’ve never cared like this before. Not just about how it feels but how you feel. If I’m making you feel safe. If you’re enjoying it, not just putting up with it. I used to think I was good at this. Sex. Being attentive. But that was just rhythm. Technique. This—” He exhaled slowly, “—this is something else.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently, coaxing his eyes back to yours. “You got it right,” you whispered. “Even when it wasn’t perfect, you got it right. Because you heard me. Because you stopped.”

His lips parted, as if to say more but swallowing the words. You could see the weight of what you said settling inside him, softening the tightness in his chest.

“Tell me again what felt good,” he asked, voice husky, eyes flickering down to your lips.

You blushed, but you nodded.

“When you didn’t rush me. When you kissed me after. When I was on topI felt so in control, and you were just watching me like I was…” You trailed off, heart pounding.

“Like you were mine,” he breathed.

You swallowed hard.

“And when you called me your girl.”

His smile broke slowly, warmth spreading like sunrise across his face. “You are.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in, your nose brushing his, legs slipping between his under the sheets. When you pulled back, your voice was quiet, vulnerable.

“We’re not done figuring it out, are we?”

“Not even close,” he said softly. “But we’ve got time. No pressure. No rush.”

Then more seriously: “Before we ever do anything again, we talk. What you like. What you’re curious about. What’s off limits. I don’t care how good it feels if it’s not good for you.”

Your heart thudded not from lust, but from something more profound. Love, or maybe something inching toward it.

“Can we keep asking each other stuff?” you whispered. “Even weird things?”

He nodded, eyes bright with quiet joy. “That’s how we get good at it. Us. That’s how we build this right.”

A pause.

“Do you want to know what I want next time?” His voice dropped lower, the teasing edge making your skin prickle with anticipation.

You lifted an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “Do I?”

He met your eyes, blunt and raw and utterly unfiltered. “I want you to ride my face.”

The words hit you like a sudden burst of heat, your breath catching in your throat. His honesty was disarming, vulnerable in its directness.

“Take your time,” he continued, voice thick with desire and something tender beneath it. “Grind down until you come. I want to see how you look when you’re the one in control again.” His eyes darkened with longing. “I want to be under you. Helpless.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity and openness the sheer weight of how much he wanted you.

“That’s…a lot,” you whispered, heart pounding, voice barely audible.

He leaned in, kissing you slowly. His lips were warm, certain, asking permission in every inch of that kiss. It was an unspoken promise that this desire wasn’t just physical it was about trust, about connection, about being seen.

“That’s how much I want you,” he said softly, breath warm against your skin.

You wrapped your arms around him instinctively, burying your face in the nape of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. “Then maybe…next time.”

His voice was steady, sure, a quiet vow you felt deep in your bones. “Next time.”

Later, you let him run the bath, but it was anything but rushed. He moved with deliberate care filling the tub with steaming water, the scent of lavender oil drifting through the air like a soft caress. He added Epsom salts, watching as they dissolved slowly, the surface rippling gently.

He rolled a plush, oversized towel and nestled it behind your neck, offering you a sanctuary of softness the moment you settled into the warm water. Then, with a gentle smile, he handed you a glass of water, a thin slice of lemon resting on the rim. “For hydration,” he said with a playful wink that made your cheeks warm.

But he didn’t leave you alone. Instead, he sat beside the tub on the cool tiled floor, one knee bent, his fingers trailing lightly along your shin.

His touch wasn’t hurried or lustful it was a steady presence, a quiet reassurance. Watching you relax, breathing in the warm, scented air, he seemed to find something healing in your peacefulness, as if your ease soothed some unseen ache inside him.

The water lapped softly against your skin, steam curling around you like a protective veil. Outside, the city hummed faintly, the distant sounds of life fading into the background as the two of you existed in this small bubble of calm.

When you finally slipped from the bath, chilled slightly as the warm water drained away, he was waiting with his oversized T-shirt, soft and worn, the fabric falling loosely around your body. He wrapped it gently around your shoulders, his hands steady and warm.

Then, taking the hotel towel, he dried your damp hair with an unhurried tenderness finger carefully combing through curls, mumbling something about heat damage and how beautiful you looked just like this.

You caught the softness in his eyes, the way he saw you in that moment bare-faced, hair tousled and damp, cheeks still flushed from sleep and the traces of last night’s closeness.

Without a word, he led you back to bed. The room was dim, the rain tapping a soothing rhythm against the windows. The city lights beyond the thick glass were muted, distant.

No distractions. No noise. Just the two of you.

He pulled you close beneath the covers, limbs tangling naturally, your skin warm against his. His fingers found yours beneath the sheets, their gentle squeeze grounding and familiar.

You breathed in the quiet, the comfort of the moment the steady cadence of his breath, the soft warmth of his body, the shared space between your hearts learning to beat in sync.

“Warmth,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Learning,” he answered softly.

“Love,” you breathed.

And in the hush of the room, wrapped in the quiet intimacy that only came from being truly known, you dared to believe in something more.

Forever.

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zushikiss · 2 days ago

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night time confusion

summary ; your lover is sleeping and you decide to wake them up.. only to tell them to sleep again!

warnings ; use of several petnames, mentions of cursing in wanderer’s but that’s it, feel free to send an ask if i forgot any!

pairing ; heizou, diluc, wanderer, kaeya x gn!reader (separately)

notes ; hi guys i love my gf btw, ALSO I SAW THIS PRANK ON TIKTOK AND idk i thought it was kinda funny teehee, i missed genshin so i think i’m gonna start posting again, also if i did the current boyfriend trend thing, who would you want to see?

HEIZOU

Your detective lover was already deep asleep, he’s been on leave since he cracked a huge case, though you think it’s time to have a little fun, just to keep him on his toes, y’know?

“Babe, wake up.”

Heizou was a pretty light sleeper, his eyes fluttered open, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he looked around.

“What’s wrong, lover?”

“You should go to sleep, it’s already late.”

He looked at the clock at your bedside table, nodding before laying down, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Go to sleep, ‘s not fun playing tricks this late, lover.”

He mumbled, still half asleep. In the morning he got you back with something mundane, like putting your coffee in a bowl and your cereal in a mug, or something of the sorts.

DILUC

Your fiancé was snoring slightly, deep asleep as his arm was heavily wrapped around your middle. You tapped his shoulder once. Then again, and a few more times before he shuffled around, pulling you closer. He spoke in a deep voice, still dripping with sleep.

“What’s the matter?”

One of his eyes opened, peeking at you.

“Hm, we should go to sleep, it’s already late.”

“You sure? What’s wrong?”

He waited till you fell asleep first, his arm cradling you a bit closer, he asked a couple bajillion times to make sure nothing was wrong and you didn’t need or want anything. The next morning, Diluc acted indifferent, simply shrugging it off while plating your waffles.

“I thought you needed something.”

“It’s fine if I wake you up in the middle of the night for something?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I’m marrying you.”

WANDERER

He’d been a little more teasing these days, maybe it was the Liyue air making him act up. You decided to go for a little vacation to the neighboring nations, just to explore a bit. You tugged on his collar. His brow furrows and you know he’s awake, he’s just not opening his eyes yet. You lightly yank his sleeve to which he wakes up.

“What?”

“Nothing, we should go to sleep.”

“That was what I was doing till you decided to wake me up, are you sure it’s for nothing?”

“Yes.”

“Archons, I’m trying not to cuss you right now.”

“You know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes, putting one of his arms on the pillow so you could lay your head on it.

“Go to sleep.”

The next morning he was a bit grumpy, but he still held your hand as you walked along the harbor, so you knew he didn’t care, much at least.

KAEYA

He’d always been the playful one, but lately he’s been teasing a certain cute spark knight a little too much. Now, you loved your husband dearly, but you also loved Klee, and you had made a little promise to get her uncle Kaeya back.

“Kaeya, honey, my love, get up.”

“What? What’s happening? Who’s there?”

“Let’s go to sleep already, Kae.”

You tried to suppress your laughter, though this cavalry captain had already gotten the gist of your joke.

“Not funny, my beauty sleep is important.”

He acted mad, had a pout, yet he still cuddled you a bit closer. The next morning, he acted dramatically, saying that he aged ten years from his lack of sleep.

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bunni-v1 · 1 day ago

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Bumps and Bruises

🍓This was a commission for the very lovely and delightful @thecaptainofcosmichorrors. It was very vaguely based on my mentioning PV and SMC were highly protective in their poly hcs. You were a delight to work with and talk to, and the commission was so much fun to write! At their request, I'm sharing the commission with you all <3 Enjoy!

TW: Blood (jam); Minor Injuries

Info: Commission; Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader x Shadow Milk Cookie; Angst & Fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

You wouldn’t consider yourself to be a particularly “sneaky” cookie. Average at sneaking around at best, unable to hide most secrets when directly confronted, and mostly straightforward. Especially when it came to your partners, not only was it incredibly hard with Shadow Milk’s monitoring and Pure Vanilla’s incessant hovering, but you just couldn’t lie to them. The embodiments of lies and truths could read you like a book, laying a flat look your way the second a little fib seems to sneak past your lips.

Not that you had a reason to lie to either of them in the first place. Well, usually, you didn’t have a reason. In the same sense, you usually didn’t have a reason to worry about either of them, but that wasn’t the case right now. Not when you were quietly following behind the three most adventurous cookies in the kingdom through a forest, thick trees looming overhead, which should’ve been an omen. Unfortunately, you didn’t take it as one.

When Gingerbrave initially approached you with the idea of “finding a super cool secret relic” somewhere in the nearby woods, you shut him down. There was no reason for you or the young cookie to put yourselves in danger for something that should be left for someone else. Yet, when you saw him, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie seriously heading out for it… You naturally felt the need to join them. So that they’d at least have one responsible adult with them.

Shadow Milk might not see the point in it, but it would soften the scolding from Pure Vanilla enough, and you could manage one of them being upset better than two. Besides, you’d missed exploring. The two of them together always had a reason to keep you away from it, but they couldn’t stop you if you were already gone.

So, with a soft smile and a skip in your step, you followed the three young cookies through the dense trees. They were far more capable than you’d given them credit for, honestly. Any threat that came along their path was swiftly dealt with, without you having to lift a finger. Gingerbrave gleamed when you’d called him strong, happy to impress, like any little cookie might be.

It seemed like this little adventure would be entirely harmless, a quick in and out, simple. There were no indications that anything could go wrong until you were right outside the “secret labyrinth” that housed this relic, the kids were looking for. It was subtle, almost undetectable, just a slight shift in the atmosphere. Being with Shadow Milk for so long had taught you to notice little shifts like that, though, pausing your steps as the kids poked around the entrance.

Subtly, you scanned the area around you. The trunks of the trees were thick, allowing for little visual input around them, and what you could see was shrouded in shadows and leaves. Your eye twitches, landing on a point in the distance. You could feel something there, something foreign and unsafe. A threat, even though you couldn’t see it, you knew it was there. You inch toward your weapon, ready to draw and fight whatever it was there, but a little tug on your sleeve breaks your attention.

You look down at Strawberry Cookie, wide-eyed and flustered at the intensity in your eyes. You soften immediately, “What’s up, Strawberry Cookie?”

She gestures to the now open entrance, “We got it open. Gingerbrave charged in without us, and Wizard Cookie ran after to stop him.”

You sigh, shaking your head in annoyed affection, “Of course he did…” You pat her back lightly, “C’mon, let's go before they get themselves in some real trouble.”

You try not to give her any indication that something was wrong, but you can tell she was a little more tense than earlier. You shove her along lightly, trying your best to distract her from your hesitation. There was no going back without all three of them, so turning around wasn’t an option now. For good measure, you look back to that same spot, a chill running down your spine when you realize whatever was there is gone now. Not good.

Tension keeps your back straight as a rod as you follow after Strawberry Cookie, observing the area with care, ensuring that she is safe first and foremost. You silently thank the heavens that Gingerbrave was so destructive, leaving an easy-to-follow path in his wake. The ruins here were surprisingly well-kept, only a little dusty, untouched by the world outside of it. You hear the ruckus Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie are making up ahead, calming down your nerves a little, reassuring you that they are both well.

“Are you okay?” Strawberry Cookie asks suddenly, blinking up at you.

It takes you off guard, having to shake off the surprise settling on your shoulders, “Yeah, of course I am, kiddo. Are you alright?”

She nods, but then takes a second to think it over, and shakes her head, “I… I thought that I… felt something out there.”

You nod your understanding, patting her head lightly, “Well, if there is anything out there, I’m here. Nothing’s gonna lay a hand on any of you if I can help it, okay?”

“...Okay… Thank you,” she mumbles, retreating into her hoodie.

You smile warmly, the reaction nothing short of adorable. She was such a timid little thing, reminded you of yourself when you were younger. Excited shouting draws your attention ahead again, and you sigh, pushing forward before the two young cookies get themselves into more trouble.

When you find them, they are in a small room, hopping around excitedly like little rabbits. It’s cute how they circle the relic, almost too much energy in their bodies for their brain to handle. You waltz up to their side, observing the shining silver medallion. It was unremarkable, but it seemed like it could be valuable enough, especially if it had magical properties to it.

You pluck it up off the pedestal, holding it up to glint in the torchlight around the room. The three cookies crowd around your legs, looking at you as if it were the most remarkable thing they’d ever seen. Which couldn’t be further from the truth, but you didn’t need to point that out to them. Gingerbrave grabs for it, and you only tease him a little when you pull it up out of his reach before handing it to him.

“Happy kids?” You hum.

They nod in unison, ‘oo’ing and ‘ah’ing at it, not hearing you at all. It was a cute sight, one that you would’ve liked to savor longer, if not for catching something move in the corner of your eye. You’re on edge instantly, grabbing your weapon tightly, stepping forward to shield the younger cookies from the entrance. You’re glad you do, because the second you step forward, the thing lunges forward.

You don’t have time to position yourself to block it properly, and as such, it clamps its jaws into your arm. You bite back a shout, not wanting to curse in front of the youngins, and shove the little monster off you. That’s all it was, really, an angry little cakehound that had wandered in after you. Maybe this was its home, and you were encroaching on its space; regardless, it had gotten a pretty good bite out of your arm.

Gingerbrave, ever the hero, immediately jumps to your rescue, bopping it on the head with his cane. The little cake hound whimpers, scuttering away into the darkness like nothing had happened. Gosh, you were worked up over a little thing like that earlier. You had lost your touch for exploration, far too spoiled now. You shake off the injury, flexing your hand to make sure nothing vital was hurt.

“Alright,” You announce suddenly, “that’s more than enough exploring for today, let's get home before we run into any more vicious little puppies.”

You heard the three little cookies with you out of the ruins, resealing it with a huff, and rushing them home. By now, you knew Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk had noticed the lack of your presence, and you needed to get back and patch up before they sent out a search group. Or worse, they started looking themselves.

–

You are within the kingdom's walls for all five minutes before you feel watchful eyes on you. The familiar gaze makes you tense as it roves over your dough, unsubtly checking you for injuries. You pull the slashed arm into your cloak, shrouding it from view, and since Shadow Milk is not physically present, there is nothing he can do to prove that you’re hiding it. You take the route back to your room without thinking about it, focused on cleaning yourself up first, explaining yourself later.

Cookies give you odd glances as you march forward with the determination of a soldier marching off to battle. You practically were. It was your white lies versus the epitome of truth and deceit, it would take quite the battle to get them to back down. You’re already formulating ideas on what to say as you nudge the door to your room open, muttering the potential conversations under your breath, preparing for every possibility.

Except, of course, the most obvious. Jolting in surprise as you run right into a soft chest, steadied by gentle hands that trembled just slightly, as if they couldn’t believe you were still alright. You look up guiltily as Pure Vanilla, who sighs in relief at your grumpy visage. Shadow Milk lies on your bed behind him, smirking, because, of course he was.

“Thank goodness you’re alright,” Pure Vanilla worries, feeling your face and shoulders for injury.

Shadow Milk scoffs, “Obviously they’re fine. They’re not as stupid as you.”

There is an underlying tenseness in his voice, though, nearly unrecognizable if not for how well you knew him now. His eyes keep darting to your hidden arm, then back to you, urging you to do the right thing here. You don’t listen, ego too bruised, and instead dodge out of Pure Vanilla’s hold and scutter over to your bathroom.

“Yes,” You affirm, “I just went out with Gingerbrave and the other little kids for a while. Nothing to be so worried about.”

Though you don’t turn back, you can feel the admonishment in Pure Vanilla’s gaze. He knows you’re hiding something from your actions alone. You didn’t even hug him to reassure him of your well-being. Why else would you avoid the very common and expected affection if not for some kind of hidden secret?

“Seems like our little cookies telling us a white lie~” Shadow Milk sings, floating over to your side.

He curls himself around you, forcibly turning you to face the very cross Pure Vanilla. Standing with his arms crossed and brows furrowed, the eye of his staff rapidly scanning over your body to find something to zero in on. Shadow Milk taps his fingers along your injured arm, drawing an annoyed huff from your lips and a glare his way. There was no winning with these two when they were united, but you were determined to try for your own confidence’s sake.

He tilts his head at you, turned in at an unnatural angle to keep your eyes locked, “I’ll make you a deal! You can show us that silly little arm of yours, oooorrrrrr~”

He pauses for dramatic effect, neither you nor Pure Vanilla is amused.

“I can pull it out myself!” He hums, patting your head like a little pet, “Seems like an easy decision, right? Don’t you agree, Nilly?”

You turn your head back to Pure Vanilla, resisting the urge to pout and beg him to make Shadow Milk stop teasing you. He stands his ground firmly, gesturing for you to get on with it with a graceful wave of his hand. Three taps on your shoulder are a reminder that you’re not getting out of this. Not without an insane amount of luck.

You give them a heavy sigh, nudging Shadow Milk off your shoulder so you can properly reveal the wound you’d gotten. The cloak slides off your arm, and it looks much worse than it is. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the dried jam made a mess of your dough, and the teeth marks look far deeper than they are with the caked-on jam stuck around the injuries. Suffice it to say, you were about to get the lecture of a lifetime.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes fly open for a second, then he is at your side without another word, pulling you into the bathroom. He rushes around to grab the first aid he needs, clearly more flustered about treating you than he would be with a regular patient. While he does that, Shadow Milk curls himself around your back, resting his face against your shoulder. Uncharacteristically gentle hands turn your arm in his hands, observing it with a flat expression.

You don’t know what he’s thinking, but you know that it’s not good when he gets so quiet. He’s probably planning on going on a rampage, tearing apart the forest to kill whatever he thinks hurt you. He doesn’t stop staring when Pure Vanilla nudges him out of the way, swiping the jam away to get a clean surface to work with. It seems to make him relax when he realizes that the injury is mostly superficial.

It’s eerily quiet as he works, the warmth of his magic seeping into your dough, mending the injury from the inside out. His focus is, perhaps, too intense for the severity of the injury. Telling him that would only serve to make things worse, so you hold your tongue and let him tend to you. Shadow Milk watches the skin cure itself, tense until there is nothing left but soft, smooth dough.

They stare at the skin like it personally wronged them for a long moment, blinking back to attention as you flex your fingers, proving that everything was fine. Shadow Milk slides his fingers into yours, further assuring himself that you were alright. Pure Vanilla sets his on top of them afterwards, sighing in relief when you wiggle your fingers again.

“What happened?” he sighs, shaking his head at you.

You frown, “It was a little cake hound, nothing more, nothing less.”

Shadow Milk jumps in now, “And you let it get to you, why?”

“I was trying to keep the kids safe,” you admit, “I wasn’t ready for the stupid little guy to jump out at me from the darkness. Just a misstep.”

“A misstep that could’ve cost you more than a bite had it been anything else,” Pure Vanilla scolds.

“But it wasn’t,” You argue back, “I used to be an adventurer, I know what I’m doing.”

“But you couldn’t handle an itty bitty little cake hound?” Shadow Milk reminds.

You groan, pushing both of them away with a roll of your eyes. You understand the concern, but you’re not fragile. You’re strong, and they both know it. It was frustrating to have both of them constantly undermine you because you are not a magical ancient creature like the two of them are. Just because you can die, doesn’t mean you will immediately from a little scar.

You can’t escape either of them, though, not within the walls of the kingdom. So you only stop over to your bed like a petulant child and pout up at the ceiling stubbornly. Ignoring the way the bed sinks next to you and the warm, gentle body that drapes itself across your side.

“We worry,” Pure Vanilla begins, “because you are far more… destructible than either of us. You could crumble so easily, it terrifies us.”

He sends Shadow Milk a look, and he rolls his eyes, “We know you’re a toughie, but you’re still not immortal. We aren’t willing to risk your safety for anything, you know that, don’t you, Dolly?”

You suck on the words, digesting them in your stomach, and then deciding it wasn’t worth it to play hardass any longer. Your hands slide into Pure Vanilla’s and against Shadow Milk’s face, giving in to the warmth of their comfort.

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” you mumble, “I just wanted to feel free again.”

“And you can,” Pure Vanilla urges, leaning closer to you, “We just want to know what you’re doing. Imagine if something had happened and we had no idea where you were?”

“I know,” you sigh, “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You should be!” Shadow Milk shouts, squeezing you tighter to his chest, “Nilly was practically ripping the kingdom apart looking for you.”

“Must I remind you of the tears?” Pure Vanilla pushes back, getting you to smile.

“Next time,” you ease before they can bicker, “I’ll talk to both of you before I run off into danger, okay?”

They nod, mutually leaning down to press soft kisses across your face. Peppering you with affection, worry melting away into sweet love and care. Within a few moments, it’s as if none of the past few hours had happened, easing the three of you into a blanket of comfort and security made of your mutual care for one another.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #pure vanilla x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #commission

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star-dust-no-name · 2 days ago

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My Father is Telamon!!!

ᯓ✦

TW: Mentions of gore,failed family and lots of angst

IN WHICH: Telamon (Shedletsky) fails to protect his own child

Shedletsky x Child reader (platonic only)

Mentions of BrightEyes and 1x1x1x1 too!

ᯓ✦

You were abandoned and found by BrightEyes

Or as you soon called her

Your mother

Your father was Telamon

A rather important and high ranking member of Roblox

He was known for his cold behavior towards anyone who wasn’t his wife

Not caring for exploiters or hackers as he would whip his ban hammer out and struck them down with one swing

And yet when he saw you

His heart melted and reformed

As you became older with your mother going missing your father had abandoned his position of a once high and glory position most would dream of to take care of you

He went by Shedletsky now

Yet as the days went by and no matter how much time he spent with you and his endless attempts to find his wife he couldn’t ignore it

His hatred

It was growing

It was too much

It was corrupting him

So he made a living manifestation of it

It was only supposed to be a mountain of code that expressed his hatred so he could keep on moving

So he could keep on playing pretend swords with you

Yet that code reformed

Into a child

In a way you could say 1x1x1x1 was your younger sibling

When you found him in a locked away cage in the middle of your exploration of the forest behind your house in a cave

You soon swore to him that you would take down whatever meanie trapped him there

You would visit him every day that you could when your father was too wrapped up in finding your mother to notice you slipping away

You would sneak in snacks and sugary drinks

You would laugh with them

Until

Shedletsky had found him

You brought him to 1x4 thinking that your father could free your friend

But when 1x1x1x1 saw him

He hated him

Told you he was the person who trapped him

Then everything spiraled

He banned 1x1x1x1 to the banlands

All while you cried and begged for him not to

And then that night when he tucked you in for bed promising that 1x4 just went to sleep in the dreamlands

You knew better

ᯓ✦

Shedletsky had cried himself to death basically

Not only was his wife missing but so was his child

And soon he went back to a shoulder to cry on

His best friend

Builderman

He drowned himself in missions

Returning to not his former position but as a weaker position alongside his friend

He thought it could drown his emotions yet on one mission…

He disappeared

ᯓ✦

A laugh echoed throughout Planet Voss as Shedletsky tried to run away clutching his bleeding wound that was being infected by corrupted code

And then…

That’s when he truly stopped for the first time in his life to think to himself and realize the emotions he kept down for so long as he looked up

Where did he go wrong?

You were there

Now grown up laughing as corrupted code had spread throughout

Your younger sibling standing behind laughing and drawing his sword

The Spectre had changed you

Warped your mind and memory to its liking

Made it so that Telamon and BrightEyes were just people of the past that you had forgotten

Made it so that Shedletsky was the only person you remembered before being forsakened

Made it so that Shedletsky had abandoned you alongside your younger sibling fighting to fend for yourself while you both suffered and eventually being banned by him

Wasn’t he supposed to be a father who cared for you?

Wasn’t he supposed to protect you?

To love you?

K I L L H I M

ᯓ✦

So as Shedletsky looked up he accepted his fate he knew he couldn’t escape this fate

Looks like you found him hiding!

Whatever it wasn’t like your creator ever bothered to play hide and seek with you and your younger sibling when you were younger

One day he would regain his position as Telamon

In order to escape

In order to uncorrupt your code as well as 1x1x1x1’s code

In order to find his wife again

In order to be happy again

In order to play house again

Where he would be the father, his wife would be the mother, you would be the older protective sibling and your younger sibling would constantly bicker with you

He would save you

HE WILL SAVE YOU

HE WILL PROTECT YOU

HE WILL LOVE AND PROTECT YOU JUST LIKE HE SHOULD HAVE DONE ALL THOSE YEARS AGO

ᯓ✦

Some headcanons^^

໒꒱ Just how the Spectre warped your mind when you first forsaken into the hell I would imagine that like when the Spectre was bored and becoming dull with the rounds he would give you your memories back completely

໒꒱ It never fails to entertain the Spectre as you would immediately bundle yourself up and cry when you were chosen as the killer

໒꒱ And each time you would cry in your fathers chest scared about your corrupted code crying about how you missed your mother, crying about how everything hurts, crying about how you wanted to go back home, to play swords with him and afterwards he would buy fried chicken as you both play hide and seek and then he would tuck you into bed so you could repeat it all over again

໒꒱ It hurts him to see his child again that’s why he would always mess around and joke (while secretly using both med kits that he had on him and his friend chicken just so that he had more time to talk to you again)

໒꒱ But of course every time he would eventually slowly die because of your corrupted code or if he managed to live he would watch as you slipped away crying and begging for him not to leave as you were both separated again

໒꒱ It never failed to make him cry and cry wishing for you to be free

໒꒱ And every time it would hurt even more when in the next round you were back to your corrupted self forgetting all that had happened

໒꒱ Again and again

໒꒱ While you gained your memories you would talk to 1x1x1x1 again since he was the only person you knew in a cabin full of strangers that looked weird

໒꒱ 1x1x1x1 always remembered those moments with you, he could never forget, it’s why when you went back to your corrupted self it hurt his heart a little bit when the only thing you would talk about was defeating Shedletsky

໒꒱ Don’t get her wrong she likes to kill Shedletsky but it hurts when it would be the only thing you would talk to them about, any other time you weren’t planning together on how to destroy Shedletsky you would ignore him

໒꒱ Pretending he was just an ally you could use (Destroying all your feelings inside that wanted to play with 1x1x1x1 like you were a child again)

໒꒱ No what’s important right now is destroying Shedletsky

໒꒱ And then you and your sibling could play all you wanted while the world itself would collapse due to the corrupted code

໒꒱ Sometimes when 1x1x1x1 misses you badly he will play with C00LKidd just so that it could bring up good memories again

໒꒱ She always tries her best to get your attention and praise when your in your corrupted form

໒꒱ Ranging from making you very burnt food

Is something burning??? you asked as you coughed while Jason tried to waft away the burning smell outside while 1x1x1x1 struggled to put out the flames of the now very burnt eggs

He was banned from the kitchen after that

But it didn’t stop him from still trying to cook for you

໒꒱ To handmade gifts

I made you something!

1x1x1x1 exclaimed as they showed you a handmade ring made from twisted leaves he found outside the cabin

Oh thanks…

You said as you grabbed the ring and as soon as he was out of vision you would secretly place it inside a box filled of his gifts for you and hide it secretly under your bed

You had to be strong for him

You can’t be weak

໒꒱ When the killers first found out you were 1x1x1x1’s older sibling they were surprised and less surprised when you turned out to be like 1x1x1x1 who would act cold and distant to others

໒꒱ Father like child I guess you could say

ᯓ✦

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algrimthestrong · 8 hours ago

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Closing the portal between their worlds with a wave of his hand, Aednan gave Mal a moment to acquaint himself with his new surroundings. The wide-eyed wonder on the mortal's face was endearing to behold, so different from the jaunty, self-assured Mal Aednan had come to know, and the elf delighted in watching him take in every detail. Mal had barely seen anything yet and he already seemed in awe of the beauty of the elven realm. "This is my home," Aednan confirmed, the smile on his face blossoming into a proud grin. "This is our rose garden and a favourite place of mine. I thought the Rose of Roseweald would appreciate it," he added, a flirtatious glimmer in his eyes.

"There's a lovely little pond over there and this path leads to a maze," the prince explained, nodding his head in the respective directions. "It would take us days to explore these gardens, but alas, you will only be here for a week and there is so much I wish to show you," Aednan teased, hoping to pique Mal's curiosity enough to make him want to come back again and again. He was the first mortal Aednan had ever invited to his home, the first to spark such wondrous sensations inside him, and the prospect of showing Mal around Alfheim made him giddy with excitement. Aednan threw his arms around the shorter man and pulled him tightly against his body. "I'm so glad you decided to come along!"

A group of elves, flushed and dishevelled, came tumbling out from between two rows of hedges that marked the entrance to the maze, their breathless laughter ceasing abruptly when they spotted the prince and his mortal companion embracing. "Aednan!" A tall elf, whose fiery red hair fell in long, luxurious waves down his back, waved a hand at them. "Where have you been? We missed you during the flower chase." Another elf came up from behind and wrapped his arms around his friend's waist, propping his chin on his shoulder to peer at the pair, his lips curved in a knowing smile. "I think our dear Aednan's been chasing a flower of his own, Alador, and a rather pretty one at that." The redhead's gaze flicked briefly to Mal, assessing him with a quick, sharp glance before returning to Aednan. "But you've never brought a mortal to Alfheim before!" His tone was incredulous. "What's so special about this one?"

"Oh, cease your yammering," Aednan laughed, releasing Mal from his arms. "He is my guest for the next seven days and you will need to find someone else to entertain you during that time. There are plenty of willing flowers for you to pluck." He inclined his head towards his friends, flashing them a playful smile. "Good night." Aednan curled an arm around Mal's shoulder and gently steered him away from the group of elven aristocrats. "Come Mal, let's go inside, I am thinking dinner in my chambers and then a bath?"

Amusing as it was to watch Aednan have to calm his libido in order to harness the focus that he required for summoning a portal to Alfheim, Mal supposed he was at least merciful enough to mention just how much enjoyment he got out of the sight; he could only provide the other man so much, after all. Searching about for his own pair of brown ankle boots, the leather soft and worn with use, he busied himself with tugging them on and tying the laces as Aednan readied himself, rising to his feet and approaching with a fascinated glint shining in blue eyes as he almost tentatively set his hand in his. It was safe to say that this particular form travel was an unfamiliar one, unfamiliar enough that he couldn’t exactly mock the elf for not having mastered teleportation when his own knowledge of magic was so sparse, eyes widening as there was a subtle shift in the air before them, almost like the shimmer of heat on a blisteringly hot day, a glowing, purple-tinged doorway coalescing before them as Aednan murmured an incantation under his breath.

This was it. Giving his cottage one last lingering glance, Mal supposed it was now or never.

As he stepped through the portal, clinging on to Aednan’s hand a little tighter as he did, squeezing his eyes shut for good measure, Mal only dared to breathe once he realised they were safely through to the other side, exhaling in a soft, awed rush of breath as he drank in the utterly beautiful sight unfurling before them. Passing from one realm to another had been as fleeting and as easy as blinking, the cosy interior of his home replaced with lush, sprawling gardens grander than anything he’d ever seen; even the scent of roses on the air seemed all the more dizzyingly sweet, perfuming the fresh evening air and joining the melodic trickle of water from the fountain nearby. All teasing and seduction forgotten, at least for the time being, Mal could only smile.

“This is…it’s beautiful.” He murmured, shaking his head in quiet wonder. Even the palace beyond seemed to resemble a flower — the petals of an orchid, perhaps? — his gaze flickering about as he tried to take in every single little detail when it was all so much more stunning and exquisite than the florist ever could have imagined. Perfect, dare he say. Though he had worried about just how similar Alfheim would be to Faerie, truth be told Aednan’s realm was beyond his wildest expectations already. It looked like something out of a storybook, a pastel-tinted watercolour come to life. “And that’s where you live?”

#beautifulmischief #beautiful-mischief #:side muse aednan:#the flower chase might be right up Mal's alley

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claidi · 2 days ago

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Scrolling through Apothecary Diaries posts and seeing the Jinmao and Shimao (I also saw this referred to as Pesticide shipping lol) ship war, I kinda want to give my take on it

Like Maomao cares about Both of them, but their relationships are very different. I'm not even talking romance here- Shisui started as someone Maomao could be on an equal level to, they're friends. Meanwhile, Maomao may have been avoiding how high ranked Jinshi really was, she did keep her distance due to the class difference between them. Now, Jinshi has been able to break though that a few times, and they do trust and depend on each other, but it's still a very different relationship. Jinshi is her employer. Shisui was supposed to be safe in a way Jinshi couldn't be. She started as a friend of a friend and it was super effective for getting close to Maomao.

Interestingly, Jinshi and Shisui are actually pretty alike in some ways. They both have their relationship with Maomao under an assumed identity of lower status. Both are trapped by the expectations of their family and enjoy getting to goof off a little while Maomao remains unaware of who they actually are. Maomao also gets annoyed by their antics at times in ways that for example she doesn't for Xiaolan. Jinshi has his ridiculousness and Shisui has her bug fascination lol. Also, they both use Maomao in their schemes. I haven't forgotten all the times where Jinshi and Gaoshun have discussed how she make a valuable pawn, meanwhile Shisui seems to have used her kidnapping to bring ruin to her mother. It's just... They do end up actually caring for Maomao beyond that.

However, to Shisui, her plan is more important than Maomao. She's sticking to it, even when it's put Maomao in danger and Maomao herself is trying to make her turn back.

Jinshi? He'll adjust. He may have just completely burnt his Jinshi identity for her and lost the freedom that comes with it (anime only here so I don't know all of the ramifications yet!). I know there were other factors as well and I'm sure that there are limits in what Jinshi will do for Maomao, but it's an interesting parallel.

All of this to say- Maomao's relationships with these characters are both complex and intriguing. I think both deserve to be explored and discussed. In my opinion, I appreciated that both relationships were given weight last episode. When it showed that as much as she tries to claim she doesn't care, she feels strongly. When she tried to deny Jinshi's royalness until she honestly couldn't. It's complicated. So complicated and tumultuous and neither of them are quite the person Maomao thought they were before. Jinshi is the one who came to save her and Shisui is the one she can't save. The friendship that was supposed to be safe put her life in danger while her high ranked boss who she's literally given requests for how to kill her if he ever executes her showed up to protect her. Liars who slipped through her cracks., that while they held different identities- they were closer to their true selves with her than the masks of who they were born to be. It's compelling. Both are important to Maomao's character and honestly I'd like to see the contrast be explored more.

#apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #shisui #jinmao #shimao #and like I don't care if they all get romantically shipped or not #I'm just having a good time with all of these character dynamics

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pegasus-omega · 3 days ago

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Picture source: @jocks--in--socks

Anonymous requested story via DM

Jackson found his new neighbor Trey extremely attractive. He would sneak a peek every time he saw him go out for his morning run. The prevailing thought in his mind was that he was so jealous of the socks he wore. The thought of absorbing all his sweat while he wore him gave him a hard-on each time. The thought of surrounding Trey's feet for hours haunted his mind like an agonizing thought that could not become reality. He so wanted to experience being his socks.

Jackson one day decided to stop dreaming and make it a reality. He downloaded the TF Pro Max app onto his phone. He went over to his neighbor's house and knocked on the door.

Trey came and opened his front door. "Oh, hey Jackson, what's up." He asked. He always thought his next-door neighbor was so nice and friendly.

"Nothing much, I just wanted to ask you something. Is it alright if I came in to ask you?" Jackson asked him. He was happy when Trey said yes.

Trey led him to his den. "What you wanted to ask me?" He was curious.

"Well, you see I have had this fantasy of being a pair of socks on your feet for a while now. I know that sounds strange, but I, really do want to." Jackson paused as he showed him the app on his phone. "With this, you can change me into your socks. I would be grateful if you do me that favor." He finished, waiting on his response.

Trey saw it as a rather strange request. He had never had anyone asking to, literally be his socks. Yet, to show the proof that it can be done was also bold enough. He thought himself a nice guy. There was no way he could turn his neighbor into a pair of socks and wear him on purpose. "I don't know if I could do that to you. My feet can get sweaty, really bad. Also, most of my shoes have a strong odor. Being a pair of socks might not be as enticing as you think. Just being honest." He tried to dissuade his neighbor from the notion.

"I still want that, please. I want to know what it feels like to be wrapped around your feet. I won't mind the sweat or foot odor, I promise." Jackson pleaded his request.

"You sure you, really do want this?" Trey paused. "If you were my socks, I would have to walk on you. It might not be as enjoyable." He continued to try and dissuade him again.

"Please! Please! Do this for me." Jackson pleaded even harder than before. He wasn't accepting no for an answer.

Trey saw that his neighbor wasn't changing his mind one bit. "Okay, but only for a little while. If I don't feel right about it, I am changing you back. Agreed?"

"Yes and thank you." Jackson handed the phone over to Trey.

Trey explored the app, getting used to how to navigate it. He then turned the phone camera at Jackson. "You asked for this, so don't complain about it." He hit the flash option. Jackson was instantly reduced to a pair of light grey socks on the floor. He picked them up. It was strange seeing a human being, literally turned into socks right before his eyes. He tried them on his feet. He saw the level of comfort was different from normal socks. They felt good on his feet. He didn't know whether it was because of the human factor or something else. He decided he would wear his neighbor for a little while at least.

Jackson was in heaven. It was just like he had imagined. He was tasting every inch of his neighbor's feet. He could smell with such intensity. Having his dream become reality was so perfect. He loved being wrapped around his godly feet. He wanted nothing more than this in his life.

TWO WEEKS LATER.....

Trey sat on his floor in just a t-shirt, underwear, and his favorite pair of socks. His former neighbor had been the best pair of socks he owned. They were so comfortable and durable at the same time. He no longer felt guilty for wearing him so much. If Jackson wanted to be his socks, he was fulfilling his dream. There was no harm in that. He honestly didn't know if he wanted to turn back to human again since socks can't speak or move. That choice was in his hands. It was also an easy choice. Jackson was the best pair of socks ever, and there was no way he was changing him back whatsoever.

Jackson loved his owner and master even more than when he was first changed into his socks. It was the greatest pleasure to support his feet and weight despite the pain he had to endure with each step. As for the foot sweat and odor, that was the best part in his opinion. He loved smelling like his owner's feet day in and day out. He didn't even miss his human life. As far as he was concerned, he was where he needed to be, wrapped around Master Trey's feet.

#inanimate transformation #permanent transformation #willing permanent transformation #sock transformation #inanimate tf

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awionetka · 3 days ago

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❝ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨 ❞ ft. 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛

with loyalty unmeasurable, strength unheard of and restraint hanging by the thinnest of threads, Sir Caleb falls victim to the simplest curse in the world – the forbidden fruit.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: fluff, suggestive (they want each other so bad it's making them look stupid). knight!Caleb x princess!reader. forbidden love. for the sake of the plot, Caleb is around ten years older than reader (who is, naturally, of age).

𝐜𝐰: mentions of weapons. flirting upon flirting with a sprinkle of some veiled seduction. all is fair in love and war.

𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

He seemed to be there always, lingering on the sidelines, observing from afar as you lived through what was meant for people like you.

When you lost your way in the garden maze outside the castle back when you were fourteen, he calmly guided you out of it, kindly allowing your hand to wrap around his forearm, knowing just how anxious you must’ve been. Or when you decided to begin riding horseback, it was him who followed you during your forest explorations, trailing behind at a respectable distance, not daring to invade your privacy. Even at the royal balls, oftentimes held in your honour, where you danced and drank freely, enjoying the good-natured fun – probably somewhere near the spiral staircase, body still clad in a full set of meticulously polished armour, with one hand placed firmly on the hilt of his sword. Silent. Solemn. Unreachable.

Yet still, always, always there.

Some would find that rather unnerving, how wherever you went, he followed, however for you Sir Caleb had always been a comforting presence. It was worth pointing out though that he was never appointed to you, not directly. He simply served under the King – your father – who treasured his sole daughter dearly, caring for you so wholeheartedly, you knew that you could ask him for anything in the whole wide world and he'd give it to you, no questions asked.

Anything except for one, gravely important matter – to marry.

In your father's eyes there hadn't yet been a candidate suitable for you – wise, doting, loyal, brave. The king believed you to possess all these qualities in magnitude and so many more, so why would he willingly give you away to those who had barely enough wit to make it to your Kingdom without falling off their horse? Such a thing could not be, not as long as your father was still alive and breathing.

Therefore, forbidden from any kind of adoration which could had been thrown your way, you spent your time with the ladies-in-waiting, practicing swordsmanship, playing with your most beloved puppy dog and, what had quickly become your absolute favourite, constantly bothering Sir Caleb with your presence.

"Will you be there at tonight's great ball, Sir Caleb?" you drawled, fidgeting with one of the arrows you'd pulled out from his quiver. "Truly be there, I mean. Not just standing menacingly in the shadows."

You'd managed to catch him during shooting practice at the training grounds near the pond and refused to let the chance slip. It was midday, the sun was partly covered by the most lovely of clouds and Sir Caleb's shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging onto his arm muscles with every precise move.

"I will be wherever I'm needed, Your Highness," he replied evasively, making you roll your eyes.

"Isn't all that just a fancy way of saying no?"

The knight didn't respond this time, focusing on his aim instead. Not like he needed much concentration anyway, you noticed. So far, each and every arrow hit the exact spot he intended it to hit. Truth be told, you preferred to observe him during hand-to-hand combat, as that seemed far more intriguing. Naturally, the fact that it usually made him much more worked up than archery had little to do with your preferences.

"What if I say I need you, then?" you said coyly, enjoying the falter in Sir Caleb's step as your bold words reached his ears. "Would you come then, Sir Caleb? I've been aching for a dance."

Hiding his fluster behind a dry cough, the knight resumed the practice, aiming for yet another target you could barely make out in the distance.

"I am more than sure that there will be many respectable gentlemen willing to dance with Your Highness this fine night."

You sighed ostentatiously, hopping off the ledge you'd been sitting on. "That I've heard, I admit..."

He just hummed, effectively avoiding your gaze as you made your way to where he stood, taut as the bowstring in between his fingers. The heat radiating off his body was palpable, even from a step away, and you couldn't help but wonder how Sir Caleb's skin would feel underneath your palms, bare and lifeful.

"But I." Tiptoeing, you leaned in, locking eyes on his current target with a wicked grin. "I wish to dance with you.

Walking away, not without a certain sway in your step, you noticed with unconcealed delight that his next shot was the first one you saw Sir Caleb miss.

Caleb was an honourable man.

At least he believed himself to be; patient and unyielding, reliable in both strength and sharp wit. He trained daily, cultivating skills of all sorts possible, raging from those used in combat to those needed elsewhere, spending hours upon hours reading and studying all that he'd deemed necessary. Caleb's social competency, conversational skill and gentlemanlike manners could be described only as perfectly immaculate, earning him a reputation of a dependable and fairly pleasant knight to His Majesty.

And yet, all those admirable qualities, accompanied by years of rigorous training and schooling could be diminished in less than a mere second, reducing Caleb to a man led by desires so carnal, he could barely acknowledge them without exiling his own damn self from the face of the Earth. For as soon as this Kingdom's most beloved princess stepped into the room, step light and playful, an epitome of joy, all he could think about was how it would feel to press you against the nearest wall and hike up your marvellous gown while confessing the most horrid, absolutely vile things right into your ear and watching as you squirmed in his grasp.

Oftentimes, he'd wonder, lose himself in all of the abominable daydreams which gnawed at his very soul each and every time you passed by, your aura enveloping him entirely, until there was no part of him that didn't belong to his delectable, brilliant princess. You were always so pristine, so impeccable. Even during combat practice, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, hair tied back revealing the lovely shape of your face, you looked positively magnificent, just as much (if not more) as caught mid twirl in the middle of the ballroom, all dolled up and giddy from excitement.

Caleb was an honourable man. However tonight, his restraint was beginning to run thin, your coy request (or demand? an order...?) from earlier echoing around his head as he grabbed another glass of wine from the table next to him.

Usually, he didn't drink much, if anything at all. Knighthood required him to stay as vigilant as one could humanly be, therefore alcohol was mostly off the table for Caleb, even during such grandiose events as this one. His mind stayed sharp always, observing the surroundings, so the others, so you, wouldn't have to. It was his duty, after all, and Caleb held great pride in knowing he could be relied on in such a way.

However tonight, he was in desperate need of some liquid courage, if he was truly to ask you for a dance. Especially tonight, when you looked just so ravishing, his eyes could barely steer off your silhouette to maintain at least some semblance of composure. And, the worst of it all, if he were to guess, he'd say that you knew of it all already.

Of course you knew. How could you not? With a mere gesture, a flicker of your finger and a promise of a smile, you could have Caleb as you wished, heart ripped out of his chest solely for your amusement. He'd kneel at your feet, go completely silent for years or speak exclusively in poetry, steal for you, lie for you, kill and die, if it only meant keeping you content. The rest was of no importance to him when you weren't present to witness or benefit from it.

And amongst these benefits, unluckily for Caleb, was a few minute waltz you wished to experience with him out of all people gathered that night in the royal ballroom. However, whatever his princess demanded, she would receive, so he uttered a brief prayer and made his way to where you stood, joking halfheartedly with your ladies-in-waiting.

"Your Highness." The cheerful chatter dimmed in an instant when he approached, bowing with precise deliberation. "If I'm allowed to be this bold, may I be granted the pleasure of a dance in Your Highness's company?"

One of the women squealed excitedly, tugging at the sleeve of your exquisite gown, as you pretended to consider his offer with an undoubtedly mischievous glint in your eye.

"Mmm, very well, Sir Caleb." Your gloved hand reached forward in a wordless invitation. "You may."

Caleb had touched you before, briefly, yes, and never in such a direct manner, but he considered himself no stranger to the weight of your palm in his. He'd aid you while exiting a carriage or help you hop on your mare of choice, skin burning underneath all the layers of cloth and leather, just aching to breach the barriers and graze your flesh.

However nothing in this world could have prepared Caleb for such a prolonged and intimate contact with the sanctum of your body, arms aligned with his own and fingers mingling as the two of you glided across the floor. He'd foolishly believed that he'd be able to endure it, this delectable torture of your proximity, but his godlike restraint had already begun to wear thin, with every step and move.

"Is my dress to your liking, Sir Caleb?" Batting your eyelashes, you smiled sweetly, clearly basking in his utter embarrassment.

Keeping his gaze as far away from your figure as possible, he attempted to swallow the growing lump in his throat. "I fear… Uhm, I fear I do not know enough to be a judge of Your Highness’s choice of garment this night."

Even with his head turned, Caleb could sense your smile grow, causing a grin of his own to flourish unwittingly.

"Well then, I suppose we’re lucky that beauty is subjective after all, no?" Your hand squeezed his a bit tighter as you toyed with him, seemingly enjoying his internal torment. "You do not need to be a seamster to have a taste in gowns. So? What would it be?"

If he were to be truthful in that moment, he'd say that he couldn't care less about the damned dress, for you'd look just as lovely without it, stripped of all the flimsy ribbons and tulle, basking in the moonlight like a nymph.

However those who love are tricksters and deceivers by nature, so he only bit back his reply and said something insignificant instead, still, somehow, managing to make you chuckle. Caleb's heart stuttered painfully in his chest at the sound, so bright and carefree, just as you were. It was then that he'd begun to truly enjoy the dance, anchoring himself in the moment and savouring these few minutes of being the one you held in your arms. And perhaps... he could get used to this after all, the feeling of your hand in his, the occasional witty comment and feisty look you'd cast his way.

Caleb knew well that he should not, by any means, allow himself to drag you down to his level, for you were so much more than he could ever possibly become, even at such a young age. But then you grabbed his arm a little rougher, squeezing in between the guests and leading Caleb somewhere far, far away from all the festivities which were taking place. Still giggling at something he'd said, something he couldn't even properly remember, and oh, so charming and full of life and whimsy, he was beginning to feel lightheaded just by looking at you.

How could he ever refuse you...?

"I am so glad you finally asked me for a dance tonight, Sir Caleb!" Clasping your hands together, you sat on the intricate wooden bench underneath one of the windows overlooking the gardens. "I must admit, I did not expect you to do so."

Encouraged by a simple nod from you, he moved closer, feeling the evening breeze on all the exposed bits of his skin.

"I go where I'm needed, Your Highness," he replied curtly, observing as you stretched out your exhausted limbs in a manner quite similar to a particularly lazy feline.

"Quite lovely, however I must say untrue," you drawled, gazing his way unapologetically.

Caleb's brows furrowed. "How so...?"

"Oh, well..." Placing your chin on your hand, you looked the knight up and down. "It is just that I need you, often, and yet... you fail to come to me, after all. Do you not hear me calling out to you, Sir Caleb?"

It was as though a dagger laced with the deadliest of poisons was held at his throat, just waiting for yet another foolish decision he would inevitably make. Backed into a corner, a delectable one, no doubt, yet a corner nonetheless. Caleb's body trembled with the sheer strength it took him not to lunge forward, falling right at your feet just to beg for forgiveness for what he was about to do to his princess.

"Come, now." Your voice was quiet, barely audible, and so entrancing he didn't even notice he began to move before he was already situated by your side like some dog.

He gulped, looking up at you from where he sat on the stone cold floor, ceremonial cape long forgotten somewhere down the corridor, hands shaking fervently at his sides.

"This… Your Highness, this is highly improper. If anyone were to see Your Highness with me, in such a compromising position–" His voice failed him then and he had to force himself to come back to his senses. "I’d be executed on the spot for tarnishing Your Highness’s innocence."

"Is that what you fear then?" you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his explanations. "Death?"

The way you looked at him then, brows furrowed and lips quivering with disappointment, forced him to reply without further thought, closing the distance growing between you at once.

"No," he uttered, fingers wrapping around the hem of your gown. "No, never. Not if it could prove to be of any use to Your Highness."

"And yet you hesitate still. You wish to look however that is precisely where your advances end!"

Before Caleb could process what you had just told him, he recoiled, as though burned, much like a kid caught misbehaving.

"Truly?" you laughed then, brief and mocking, sounding eerily akin to pity. "You cannot be possibly surprised that I’ve taken notice of your wandering gaze, Sir Caleb. You are not the only one who can observe."

"Your Highness, I–"

You leaned towards him, tugging at your skirt in frustration. "Who do you think I do all this for? Allowing them to dress me up like some doll! All those corsets and petticoats, sleeves so long they dip in wine and peacock feathers stuck in my hair, all of it in hopes of you granting me a single comment! And yet, you do not care at all!"

"Princess…" He reached forward, allowing his hand to ghost somewhere next to your cheek in the faintest of attempts to console you. "If you knew the extent of my care, the amount of thoughts that plague my mind each day, hour and minute, you would tremble. For they’re all of you, for you, each and every one, from the sweetest and gentlest to the most shameful, deprived desires you could possibly think of. You’re haunting my very soul, day and night, even when you’re not present. I dream of you, irrevocably, with such burning passion I can barely hold it in. You have consumed my whole life, for it has no meaning if it’s of no use to you. I beg of you, my heart, my all, allow me to keep lingering, to devote my entire being to you, do as you please, I do not care. There is no other meaning of my miserable existence than being of service to you, surely… Surely you must know that. Till the end of time itself, I will adore you with all my might, as long as you let me."

In his whole life, he had never witnessed you at a loss of words. His most beloved princess had a proper response to everything, trivial or crucial, it mattered not. Your wit was outstanding, mind nimble and admirable.

And yet, in that moment, with his fervent, pitiful confession, Caleb had rendered you absolutely speechless.

In the utter silence that enveloped the dim corridor, he could hear you swallow thickly.

"Is this…" Your voice was trembling faintly. "Are you being truthful?"

He nodded solemnly. "Wouldn’t dare to lie to Your Highness."

"Show me then."

It was Caleb's turn to be taken aback at the extent of your boldness.

"Your Highness…?"

Grabbing the front of his shirt, satin gloves tickling at his bare chest underneath, you leaned in, eyes pleading and ardent.

"You say you live to be of service." Caleb swore he caught you sneaking a glance at his parted lips. "Grant me a kiss then, my dear knight. Let us test the depths of your devotion. I wish to feel those thoughts you speak of."

He opened his mouth yet again, however no word dared to come out, only huffs of air and desperation.

You angled your head, nose grazing his in the sultriest of ways.

"A kiss," you whispered. "Don’t be gentle. No use for courtesy anymore, not when my body craves yours so. Even... even princesses have deprived thoughts."

Honourable men showed restraint. They never faltered in their duties and beliefs, serving loyally under those they had once swore to aid and protect. Their needs came last, always, as they were of no real use to anyone else other than themselves and to desire was to be filthy.

Caleb knew that, all of it, remnants of his oath echoing around his head each and every time you looked at him as though it physically pained you to stay away. Yet it appeared to be of no importance in the very end, for he fell for it, entirely, and no matter what the final outcome would be, he'd still do it all over again if it only meant keeping his princess thoroughly satisfied.

Perhaps Caleb had never been an honourable man.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn't need one in the first place.

Allowing his hands to sneak around your waist in a makeshift promise, he basked in the feeling of your body trembling underneath his touch.

"Let us see if our thoughts are a match, then." His breath enveloped you whole as he spoke, eyes locked firmly on yours. "Your Highness."

#ok why did this take me 20 years to finish. my bad genuinely #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #caleb x reader #archive #♂ archive

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