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storiumemporium · 7 months

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Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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milliesdiary · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐒

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; you’re a general's pants-wearing daughter: a skilled fighter, headstrong, and teased by others for not being feminine. during a sparring session with your friend, aemond, you two make a bet: if you win, he has to show you his eye. if he wins, you have to wear a dress — and kiss him.

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; aemond being aemond, confessions, just some good old sweetness ✨

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; thank you so much to the amazing person who asked for this :”) i hope i could do it justice! to be as inclusive as possible, i do not mention the reader’s father’s descent. i also do not specify her skin tone, body type, eye/hair color, or hair texture ♡

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄.

Not like any other woman, at least. You’re strong-willed. Unshakeable. Not as naïve.

As a child, you made mud pies, climbed trees, and kicked boys who made fun of you for acting unladylike. You would return to your parents with grime under your nails, grass stains on your pants, and a twinkle in your eyes. Blood never bothered you; you could get slashed open, bruised, and filthy, yet still make it home.

Maybe it was because of your father — a stubborn general hardened by war, with a sharp way of speaking and a stern sentiment. He taught you the way of the sword at the age of 9, and instilled you with a sense of discipline. Not once did he try to force you into the stereotypes of being a woman; the fancy clothes, the manners, the expectation to give birth at any chance possible.

That’s just not you.

You're not the kind of girl who crumbles beneath the weight of insults, who loses her mind, who cries. You give the same treatment to those who hurt you. You are Bloody Mary, the venomous spider, the wicked snake. You are a creature that can wander through flames without getting burned.

So no, you are not like the other women.

And the townsfolk are always willing to remind you.

The second you step onto the training grounds, all eyes are on you, and there’s an intense discomfort at how they look you up and down.

They are taking in your appearance; your black flowy cape, leather pants, and the tunic cinched at your waist to match. It’s not the style they are used to seeing, comprised of silk dresses and chiffon gowns.

People gossip about how you could steal the hearts of every man in Westeros if you just put on a skirt — if you sat with your legs crossed, prim and proper. If you smiled more often.

“Such a waste of a pretty girl,” they whisper.

How stupid.

You shrug away their stares and try to focus on something else.

It’s a beautiful day, perfect for sparring; the November sunlight veils the world in a golden shawl, and the cool air is sweet as a mandarin. The temperature has risen enough so that you can train without getting numb or going home with an earache from the wind.

You’re more than ready for a fight, to get your hands soiled and feel sweat bead down your face.

Walking over to a table where swords and blades of all kinds are spread along the surface, you feel that familiar rush of excitement. You’re about to grab a dagger until you hear someone call your name.

It’s Ser Criston. He walks over, armor clicking with every stride and gleaming in the autumn sun, only to stop beside you. “I was waiting for when I would see you again. Have you come to train?”

“Of course,” you say simply. “Did you expect any less?”

“Maybe not,” the knight replies, an accepting expression on his face. He knows that you enjoy playing dirty.

Luckily, you and Ser Cristin get along. He is outside a lot of the time helping to train the others, so it was not unusual that you both talked from time to time. You aren’t sure if he is bothered by your lack of femininity, but he never mentions it, so you do not mind him.

You focus your attention back to the blades, picking up a particularly sharp sword. You weigh it in your hands; the grey metal is dense and heavy, brand new. Your reflection stares back at you in the steel. Ser Criston catches your hum of satisfaction.

“That sword was gilded just days ago. A work of art,” He nods.

“Indeed it is,” you agree. Then you smile knowingly at him. “Is there anyone I can spar with?”

Ser Criston responds with a curt nod. Admiration dances in his brown eyes; he’s definitely not like the others. “Plenty.”

Eager, you follow Ser Criston to the patch of land reserved for sword fighting. People are gathered in a circle around two men who are already sparring; the crowd cheers, made up of men who are desperate to make a good impression and women who have come to watch.

You glance at the pair of individuals who are currently engaged in a duel, following their sharp steps as they parry each other’s hits. You remain near the back of the crowd, bringing the tip of your sword to the ground and resting both hands on the hilt.

You’re trying to act casual — but you’re actually itching for your turn. Impatient.

The fight turns out to be pretty boring. You’re able to guess every move before it’s done and correct every miscalculated block inside your head. It might be unfair to judge them so harshly; you’re a skilled fighter and have trained for years. The advantage is yours.

But you also can’t bring yourself to care. These are the same men who boast about their power despite being weak.

You’re genuinely relieved when one of the men knocks the other down, leveling their sword at their opponent’s face. The people around you clap for awhile, and then the crowd slowly breaks apart as some leave to continue their duties.

It’s fine; you don’t need the validation of a crowd during a match.

“Alright,” you say gruffly, ripping your sword from the dirt and skirting through the gaps of people, stepping onto the sandy soil of the sparring area. You turn to face a few of the trainees’ expectant faces. They are waiting for you to choose someone, though all of them seem pathetic. Might as well get it over with.

“Would you like to duel?” You finally ask a man toward the front.

For a second, he remains still. And then he smiles; fucking smirks like he’s a serpent and you’re a lamb ensnared between its teeth. He thinks you’re an easy opponent, all because you’re a woman.

Beating him is going to feel good, you think. Beating all of them.

Balancing the sword in a hand, you spit into the dirt just to spite him — which is successful in making multiple people cringe. Good. You have to bite back a smile and prepare yourself for your opponent’s first strike.

And you were right, of course.

They’re all useless, each more powerless than the last. There’s no challenge, no threat. Not even child’s play with any of them. You have more than half of your competitors on their asses before they even get an opportunity to attack, making every clang of your sword against another seem meaningless.

You ought to take pride in it, thinking back to their breathy chuckles as they whispered about how deluded you were. How unwomanly.

But you don’t. You don't feel prideful, self satisfied, or any emotion of fulfillment. It’s too easy.

The blows from your adversary are repetitive, almost as if he is rehearsing a list of strategies. The movements are easy to predict, giving you the upper hand. It’s not difficult to knock him on the ground, sweeping his legs out from beneath him with a blow that you wish he would have jumped over.

There is someone who definitely would have dodged it, though.

The enigma, the cunning raven, the Prince — Aemond Targaryen. The one man who doesn’t judge you or stare condescendingly. The only person who you consider an equal, an acquaintance.

Aemond is a man of honor. His eye is the shade of lavender, and every syllable that falls from his tongue is sliced apart by the sharp quirk of his lips. High cheekbones, fair skin, an eyepatch making a home over a scar that sits where his eyelid once was.

A dark serpent.

Just as you struggle with your identity, he does, too. You are aware of Aemond’s lack of restraint, lack of faith, lack of fear, and his internal conflict. You know why the man is the way he is.

Aemond had told you what happened once, after you had finished having a nice conversation with his nephews. It’s tragic: when a person doesn't feel valued as a member of a family, they develop a sort of outcast mentality. Childhood experiences of neglect paves the way for lifelong isolation, and as a result, Aemond withdrew. He started spending time alone.

But out of every person in the world, he chose to keep a spot open for you. It’s an honor, really.

The man you are sparring with gives in, standing to his feet with a grunt of humiliation and shooting you a glare. You return it with one of your own, ready to pick another opponent, and then—

“You have been busy, I see,” A familiar voice says.

You turn toward the sound of it, the lull and the accent — only to be met with Aemond standing in the front of the crowd. You size him up, sword dangling at your side.

Aemond’s arms are crossed behind his back in a casual fashion, head held high with interest. His white hair is in a half-up half-down style, the ends flowing over his broad shoulders like a silk scarf.

“My Prince.” There’s no stopping the grin that blooms on your lips. As embarrassing as it is to admit, you always find excitement in his presence. “Dare I ask how long you have been watching?”

“Long enough.” Aemond is silent as he scans you up and down; there’s not a single streak of dirt on you, nor a single cut. He takes notice. “Pray tell: how many men have you made fools of?”

“I don’t know,” you dramatically sigh, acting indifferent. You retreat from the center of the sparring ground to stand in front of him. “I have not had the luxury to count. I was too busy winning.”

Aemond exhales a sharp breath from his nose — his way of conveying amusement — and slightly tilts his head. “It seems that they have not prepared themselves for a woman of your caliber.”

It’s a compliment; a bit cheeky, yes, but a compliment nonetheless. It has you rocking back and forth on your heels in anticipation. “A woman of my caliber? I must say, My Prince, I am flattered.”

“I would not say it unless it were true.”

“Well, if it is of any comfort, you are not like any man I have ever known," you jibe. "You're like a character in a folktale. Someone from a history book.”

"The prince, I presume."

"No, you're the dragon. A magnificently evil dragon." Your tone becomes teasing. “How could anyone lead a regular life with a beast like you?”

“I should inquire the same, My Lady.”

“You just don’t understand a woman that dares to be different, that’s all.”

Aemond lets out a simple ‘hmm’ at that. You slap him in the arm playfully and he doesn’t flinch. He only graces you with the tiniest smirk.

The prince does not enjoy being touched, though the aversion seems to disappear when it comes to you. He can tell; he knows by how he does not scowl at the idea of your hand on his shoulder, or cringe at the feeling of your arm brushing against his. You do not give off negative energy.

Perhaps this is why you have remained in contact with each other; you don’t judge one another for the things you are and for the things you can’t be. Somewhere, deep down, you both think the same thing: take me as I am, or watch my back as I go.

You know of Aemond’s true nature, and he realizes yours.

Much like him, you cannot be picked and thrown away like a flower or an old manuscript. You are a hurricane: ferocious, unflinching, and authentic. A dagger that will slice through the flesh of anyone who dares to cross you.

Though he will not publicly admit it, your spunkiness delights him.

“Come then,” Aemond says.

You’re confused at his words — unsure of what he’s talking about — before he saunters to the center of the sparring circle. He brandishes his sword from a holster wrapped around his hip, the metal screeching into the air. “We have yet to train together. Demonstrate your skills to me.”

It’s true. In the years you’ve known him, you have never once challenged each other. You know what Aemond is capable of though, so it’s intimidating. It’s probably the main reason you have never asked to spar.

Maybe it’s time to change that; you’re not about to back down from a fight. It would hurt your pride too much.

“Fine,” you agree, slinking forward to stand before him in the training area.

There’s so much you want to know about Aemond, you notice. So much that you’d like to learn. Your gaze is focused on his face, and his eye, and then that eyepatch — and you realize that he has never showed you what’s underneath the leather.

You’ve heard the rumors: how the socket has been replaced by a sapphire, a deep, saturated blue that reflects the light at every angle. You wish so badly to see it. For him to trust you with the imperfect parts of him.

It gives you an idea.

“I will spar with you,” you begin, maintaining a serious tone in your voice. “But only if we make a bet.”

The look on Aemond's face changes from being neutral to intrigued. He slices the earth open by shoving his sword into the soil. “And what would that be, My Lady?”

“If I win,” you quip, “you must show me your eye.”

The silence is deafening.

Aemond frowns then. You’re scared for a second; scared that you went too far and bit off more than you could chew.

Looking back on the past can be very frustrating. You have to let it go, you want to tell his younger self, clapping him on the back. If you did that, he might get angry. Or maybe cry. Maybe you would, too.

You open your mouth to revoke the words, yet close it just as quick, unable to get a single syllable out.

But then he speaks.

“Then it shall be,” Aemond says firmly. He leans his weight on his sword, crossing one ankle over the other. You aren’t sure if he actually doesn’t care or if he’s just hiding his anger. He’s always been an expert at keeping his emotions at bay. “If that is what you wish.”

Relief is a godsend in that moment. You fix your surprised expression into one that is more calm. “…And if you win?”

Aemond seems to think it over.

Finally, he decides on something; with the mischief that glints in that one eye, you know it’s going to be less than satisfactory. “I propose you wear a dress for an entire day.”

“What? There’s no way—“

“And kiss me.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise.

Is this how he plans on winning? By threatening you with something so strange in the hopes that you will give up before you started? Like hell you’re going to kiss him. Fuck that. “You cannot be serious.”

“But I am,” he says coolly. Taunting.

In that moment, you consider your options. One, you could retreat. Two, you could fight him and win, effectively seeing the thing he hides most. Third, you could lose, and have to wear a dress, and…

The thought has you reeling. But, at the same time, you do not want to run away from a challenge. You never have. And never, ever will.

You’ll just have to win.

“It is settled then,” you nod, trying to remain composed. Your voice wavers a bit; if Aemond notices, he does not comment on it.

Aemond’s mouth creeps into the slightest smile. He tears his sword from the earth and spins it in the air with a flick of his wrist. “Whenever you are ready, then,” he deadpans.

“I have been ready,” you tease, stepping sideways as you both begin to circle each other. Your footsteps are light and airy in a silent prowl, a show of the expertise your father passed to you. “Are you?”

“The first to hold the other at sword-point wins,” Aemond states, ignoring your question. There’s a sharpness to his words as he tries to draw a reaction from you. Provoke you. “I hope you do not hold back.”

“You must think lowly of me, My Prince,” You retort. “I would never do such a thing. Are you worried that I am going to beat you at your own game?”

Aemond licks his lips, fixing you with a predatory stare; it looks as if he wants to use his canines to rip apart the air, the world, your body that stands before him.

It urges you into action.

You lunge with your sword, but Aemond knocks it to the side with ease, spinning his own in a hand and making a swipe at you.

You don’t hesitate to deflect it — once, twice, three times — before parrying another of his blows. You manage to hit Aemond’s sword particularly hard the fourth time, and you catch a glint of surprise in his eye.

You take a quick step back, before confidently transferring your blade from one hand to the other without breaking eye contact. Your head is buzzing with exhilaration.

“Did you think it would be that simple?” You grin arrogantly. “As a man who studies the way of the sword, I thought you would be more of a challenge.”

To your chagrin, Aemond doesn’t gift you with a reaction. His profile remains composed, although there is a fire in his eye; he has finally found someone who tests him.

You are about to say something else before he lunges for you.

Aemond is fast and skilled, the swiftness of his steps impressive, with a strength in his arms that could send you to the ground if you gave him an opening. With every clash of your swords, you know he’s evaluating your endurance, your attacks, the likelihood of you slashing him with your blade.

However, Aemond is not attempting to boast his power; not like the other trainees who argue like idiots about whose sword is the sharpest or who has the best balance. That’s what you like about him.

Aemond’s jaw is set and confidence keeps his chin held high, even as you deliver another strike to his blade. Your attention is drawn to the way his knuckles are white from the grip on his sword; veins protrude from the pretty skin of his hands, emphasizing the slender length of his fingers.

Focus.

Strike. Block. Dodge. Slash again. You score another hit, but Aemond follows it immediately with a jab at your chest, which has you losing your balance. You respond with a stab at his side, though he dodges it.

This dance of blades feels like it lasts forever; if it were anyone else, you probably would have won by now. Every second feels like a minute, each one longer than the last.

Just before a leap, Aemond tightens his grip on the weapon’s hilt. Before you can react and fix your stance, the sword swings towards your feet, his speed and skill working together to knock you off-balance. You land on your back in the dirt, your blade flying somewhere.

You’re fast, yes. But he is faster.

Quickly you try lift yourself up and grapple for it, but suddenly Aemond pushes you back down. He straddles you, careful not to place his entire weight on your body, and then the pointed edge of his blade is at your throat.

You’ve lost.

Aemond lets out a breathy pant, a wicked grin on his lips — it sends a chill branching down your spine, all the way to your feet. Spite coils in your chest, your nerves trembling with adrenaline, and you see the thrill of the fight reflected in Aemond’s eye.

You are both the same in that way.

“You do put up quite a fight,” Aemond jests, his tone low and deep. You let both arms lay flat across the ground, every breath labored as your heart punches the inside of your ribcage. “Though I am afraid it was not enough.”

You've never experienced energy like this before. You’re trapped underneath him which is exciting in a strange way. You respond with sarcasm in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

“You offer to spar with a woman only to fling her into the dirt,” you pant. “How polite of you.”

“And you spar with a dragon.” Up close, Aemond’s iris is a startling violet, and the pupil reflects streaks of shadow and light. He’s agonizingly gorgeous. It makes you feel warm. “Is that not what you called me?”

“You are a man of the most preposterous kind.”

“And yet you still wallow in my company.”

There’s nothing you can really say about that. In a final act of defiance, you stare him down as long as possible; in this small way, you feel undefeated. “You can release me now.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgment, letting his sword hang at his side and slowly standing. In a rare act, the prince offers a hand for you to take, but you slap it away. He is entertained by your glare. “You never fail to reject kindness when it is given.”

“Kindness does not serve me.”

Aemond is amused at your annoyance. He spins his sword between his fingers before sheathing it back into its holster, and you pick up your sword to pass it to an observing knight. When you turn back around, Aemond is staring at you. “What?”

“You owe me a debt.”

There was the bet; you’d almost forgot. Gods, you were going to have to wear a dress for a day, and — and…

“Regretting your choices now?” The taught line of Aemond’s mouth evolves into a smile, coy and demure.

“No — no, of course not,” you snap. The words don’t come out as calm as you need them to, and it’s all because of him; he has a way of being frustrating. Always doing something to make you tighten your fists. But as much as you would like to blame him, it was your idea. You reap what you sow. “I never break a promise.”

“Good,” comes Aemond’s response. You both stare at each other for a bit, and then you realize: he’s waiting for you to kiss him. For real. Right here, right now.

“What is wrong, little bird?” He teases. “Do not fly away from me now.”

“I—“ you start, unsure of what to do. A split-second decision is made. “I am not doing this here.”

Before Aemond can say anything, you are grabbing him by the arm and tugging him along. You pull him past clusters of townsfolk, ignoring their curious stares and keeping your gaze forward. He does not resist you.

After peering around an empty alley and inspecting it for any stragglers, you drag him into the stony darkness and nearly slam him against the wall. It’s not on purpose; you’re just reacting to the aftershocks of adrenaline.

You need to be alone to do something like this.

You’re so close to Aemond now that you’re breathing the same air as him, nearly pressed against his chest. You can smell his jasmine shampoo, can feel the warmth radiating from his body. You try to slow your breathing: in and out, to clear your head and push every doubt away.

When you find the courage to look straight at Aemond, you find that he’s already gazing at you.

The light is dim, though you can still make out his profile. You expect his violet eye to be full of mirth, akin to a wild animal staring back at its prey — but what Aemond offers you is righteous and noble. It causes you to prickle with eagerness and anxiety.

“Do not look at me like that,” you mumble.

“In what way?”

“That way.” You don’t even know what you’re referring to. You just want him to stop staring; it’s burning you up from the inside. “You always act like this when you feel like you have won.”

Aemond’s smirk grows before your eyes. His gaze flickers to the sliver of space between you, and then back to your face. “Sometimes I feel that you know me better than I know myself.”

You would let out a sneer if you weren’t so terrified; you need to uphold your side of the bet. You know it. And you definitely don’t want to give him the chance to tease you for your hesitation.

“Maybe I do,” you breathe. Then, grappling with every single piece of boldness you can find, you press your lips upon Aemond’s.

The kiss is resolute — there’s no way you were going to half-ass it — and you fall into him roughly, slamming each emotion you feel onto his mouth. He tenses a little, but then his hands rise to your arms, thumbs pressing into the sleeves of your tunic.

And then it’s over.

You break away from Aemond, almost shocked at yourself. Did that really just happen? Your blood pressure is through the roof, pulse thumping like a war drum.

You stare at him, and he stares right on back, both of you saying nothing. You can't look away, as frightened as you are. His expression is soft. So soft that it scares you, yet his eye darkens with interest.

You try to make a joke out of it, to rid yourself of this awkward feeling.

“With the way you are looking at me, My Prince, I would assume you actually like me,” you jest. It doesn’t work. Your brain is mush and the words are flimsy. Gods, you feel overheated.

Aemond only blinks, those silver lashes fluttering against his cheeks. It seems like he has come to a realization, and you don’t know what that is. He’s testing the waters; waiting to see if you will run away.

“And what then, My Lady?” he finally replies.

Your body gets hotter in an instant. The implications behind his words are enthralling, holding you in a death grip and making it impossible to speak. You’re searching for something to say, anything, but come up empty handed. Part of you is glad when he fills the silence.

“I must admit,” Aemond says slowly. “There is a certain quality to you. You seem unbreakable.”

“You know that’s not true,” you whisper.

“Perhaps,” he says. “Though there are times where I am not so certain.”

“Aemond…”

“Tell me: what do you think of me?” Aemond suddenly asks. It’s not commanding, not a demand. It just feels…personal. You’re not sure how else to describe it, the sound of him speaking so softly. Your ears are accustomed to your father's stern instructions and peoples’ jeers of your boyish antics. His tone sultry, he asks, “Do I make you nervous?”

“No—you don’t make me nervous,” you stutter. It’s hard to look him in the eye as the lie comes from your lips. “I do not really think of you much, honestly.”

“Hm.” Whether or not Aemond knows you’re lying, you have no idea. “You would be astonished then if you knew the ways I have thought about you.”

“What do you mean?”

Aemond takes in your expression, gaze flitting down to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. “Would you like to know?”

“Yes,” you say automatically. You’re not sure why you’re hoping for something more — something other than just empty insults and jests. Almost as if he knows what you’re thinking, Aemond leans in. His lips brush against your ear as he speaks.

“You are alluring when you ache for chaos. The flesh of your opponents are beneath your nails and their blood stains your teeth, and I can see you are a woman on fire.” His voice just above a whisper, breath hot against your cheek. “We are both made of flame. You have stolen my attention, my love.”

My love. He has never called you that before.

And it’s in this very second that you have an epiphany. How could you not have noticed it earlier? Felt it? How did you ignore the passion whenever this man talked, the warmth he conjured within you, how grateful you were that he treated you differently than others?

Aemond has feelings for you. And judging by how you are instantly filled with a massive amount of satisfaction, happiness, and excitement, you hold affections for him too.

But what is love, anyway? It must be the imprints someone creates inside of you—bruises, scars, gashes. Maybe he had maimed you in the same way, except you turned a blind eye to it. Truthfully, you never even thought you would experience something like this.

After all, love makes humans do terrible things, and you do not consider yourself to be that bloodthirsty. So much of it is violent; there’s the desire to be split apart, defiled, twisted, and reinvented by another person.

You have seen lovers approach one another in a wolflike manner, ravenous and feral for their attention. People who challenge their love get dragged in between them and flayed open without mercy. It’s terrifying, though it’s not watching the wolves tear others apart that scares you.

It’s knowing that you would do that for him.

Aemond boldly stares you down. “You are unaware to the extent I defend myself and my sentiments. How you manage to get the truth from me is rather peculiar.”

He suddenly reaches out and touches your cheek; he does it slowly, almost as if you are a beast trapped in a snare and he might scare you away.

Then Aemond moves his thumb to the corner of your mouth, before skimming it over your bottom lip and pulling it down slightly. He stares down at the inside of your lip — the sensitive, shiny flesh — wishing that he could brand his name there. If anyone tried to entertain you after, you could simply tug your lip down and show them who you belonged to.

This is not a simple bet anymore.

The urge to kiss Aemond again breaks free from within your system. Against your control, the impulse expresses itself in dirty thoughts that invade the most intimate parts of your body.

Quickly, you grab Aemond’s wrist and tug his hand away so you can press your lips to his once more.

“I hate you,” you breathe against him, holding his face between your hands as your noses brush together. “I hate you so much.”

Aemond retaliates accordingly; the way he licks into your mouth sends a shiver that ricochets throughout your body. He’s hot. So, so hot. His fingers cup the back of your neck to keep you close as your hands fly away from his face to hold every inch of him possible.

Aemond’s chest is warm, and his lips are scorching when he trails them over the corner of your mouth and then down your throat. You let your fingers roam to his hair, exploring the softness of each strand that drapes over his shoulder blades.

Aemond knows he’s getting a reaction out of you, that you are starting to feel the prickle of lust. It’s humiliating. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing you can be riled up so easily. It is not like Aemond would give in to your primal desires anyway; he cares too much about duty, about honor. The man follows house tradition — marriage comes before anything else. He is just toying with you now.

You break apart from him, something he surprisingly allows. You want to tell him that you love him, just so he knows. If only you had the ability to articulate such things.

“Is this all you wanted?” You ask instead. “A kiss from me?”

Aemond places his hands on your elbows to coax you back a bit further; he wishes to see you entirely. His hand then rises to your cheek, where his thumb strokes at the underside of your jaw. “I did not want just a kiss, darling,” he reassures.

“And for how long have you been thinking like this?” You steel yourself and continue more quietly. “How long have you loved me?”

“Since the boar hunt,” Aemond says without hesitation. “You begged your mother to let you join, and a girl said you might as well be a townsboy. You tackled her to the ground.”

“But that was the day we met.”

“It was.”

“…That is…quite a long time.”

Aemond only hums at that. The confession makes your heart flutter and threaten it to stop; you swallow down his words, grateful, and then try to collect yourself. You clear your throat. “My Prince—”

“Aemond,” he corrects.

“Aemond. I need you to know something.”

“And what is that, my love?”

“You can’t sweet talk me into wearing a dress. I will not do it.”

“You will.”

Damn it. He is really not going to give this up.

“I hope you burn in the Seven Hells,” you mutter. It’s a joke, of course. You can’t really be mad at him.

Aemond’s lips threaten to twitch into a smile. An emotion akin to pride rests in his eye. “I shall only go if you accompany me there.”

And maybe, just maybe, you were meant to burn together. Whatever your destiny is, one thing becomes very clear:

You will ruin him, and he will love you for it.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd imagines #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #millie’s works — 📓

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star-sparkler · 5 months

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(Found a lil drabble I wrote a while back that I wasn't gonna share outside of my buddies but you know what? Cute Brand New Papatello be upon you.) *

It wasn’t until he was cradling his daughter to his plastron, fresh from the tube she’d been grown in, that it occurred to Donnie he had never once in his life held a baby before. The thought was equal parts terrifying and surreally fascinating.

Distantly, he knew his family was losing their collective minds over the infant turtle mutant. He vaguely recognized a coo from someone - Leo? - telling the others to look at Donnie’s expression right now (“He’s a goner already.” An affectionate laugh. “You good, Dee?” “Shhh let him have this.” “Her fingers are SO small!”). But the longer Donnie looked at the baby curled into his chest, the less his family’s voices made sense.

Sound fell away. Hesitantly, Donnie brushed a hand - as big as she was - over the curve of her tiny shell. It was softer than his, the smooth leather surface still damp with incubator fluids. He could feel the ridge of her spine. The alien familiarity, the echo of his own shell, the smallness and fragility of her, the miracle that she was here and alive - a million thoughts and feelings simultaneously colliding - made Donnie’s breath hitch and a wave of warmth wash over him.

Donnie had already decided he cared about this baby, and his dum dum brain had already sent out all the dum dum hormones that filled him up with more dum dum affection for her than he knew what to do with. All the researching and the planning and the prepping and the step-by-stepping so that everything would be fully assembled to help her thrive and grow had been rigorously completed. And yet. And yet and….and yet….Donnie had never been so prepared while also being so helplessly lost and overwhelmed.

Words failed him.

His fingers were touching lightly over her cheek, her brow, hands so small they made his heart squeeze. She was incredible. She was the scariest thing he had ever beheld. And also the most beautiful. His stomach flipped. Instinctively, she searched for something to latch on to, mouth as toothless as a koi fish on the tip of his finger. The sound she made was an unmistakeable, Donnie’s-world-altering, high, sweet chirp. Donnie didn’t realized he’d clicked back automatically until an especially shrill noise of delight erupted from his brothers. With it, the vacuum tight bubble around himself and the baby popped.

Sound and smell and sight outside of himself and his miniature copy rushed back in. It was disorienting, but Donnie’s focus was resolute. He tried to ask for the bottle they’d prepared for her. She needed feeding and there was still some potential trial and error ahead in figuring out just what she would eat (baby formula? Turtle food? A Yokai recipe of some kind? Donnie had about a dozen different forms of nourishment prepped just in case. But he couldn’t manage to ask for a single one of them. The very thought of taking his attention off of her was absurd.

“How you holding up, Dad Man?” Leo asked with a laugh, the sound softer than usual. All of his family had settled down after Donnie came back to himself, maybe recognizing he was toeing the line of overstimulated, maybe just genuinely soft and happy themselves over seeing whatever it was they saw on Donnie’s face. He could worry about the implications of that when he reviewed the footage for his archives later. Right now however…

Replying should have been easy. Just string together a few coherent words, Donatello. Speaking was something he was perfectly capable of. He inhaled to do so. The rise of his chest for air, however, made the baby stir against him, peeping softly, and what little remaining rationale Donatello Hamato had flew out the window. Donnie was scooping her in closer, pressing his nose to the top of her head as he curled around his baby.

“Perfect.” He mumbled.

“Ha! Say again?”

“She’s perfect.”

Augustine Hamato, daughter of Donatello Hamato - his stomach flipped at the thought - was absolutely, two hundred percent…perfect.

#AugustineHamato #Papatello #this man is smitten ur honour I don't know what to tell you. scared senseless and overwhelmingly in love with da baby

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he-calls-me-kitten · 6 months

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Playlist Drabbles #01

Writing random smut drabbles based on songs from my playlist (Solomon, Asmodeus, Mammon)

"We don't gotta be in love, no,

I don't gotta be the one, no,

I just want to be one of your girls tonight."

(One of your girls - Weekend ft. Jennie, Lily-Rose Depp)

Solomon is just happy you're here with him right now. Wrapped up only in his bedsheets and his arms. He can't sleep, no it would be a waste. He needs to cherish this - he won't have it for very long.

When you're both back home, you'll be surrounded by everyone again. He will never be your only one - not with those brothers in the competition. But he is one of the many that gets to feel your warmth and affection and for now, this is all he needs. It's more than he can hope for.

"MC? You're still awake aren't you?" He coos softly knowing you're not asleep yet either.

"Yes, just like you." You say, tracing the bags underneath his eyes with your pretty fingers. He can feel his heart melting. What a lovely apprentice he has.

"Can we go...one more time?" Slowly, his hand traces your curves, so you can refute him anytime. But you clench your thighs around his waist and kiss him on the mouth, smiling.

"I'd like that." You say coyly. His eyes darken in desire as he climbs on top of you, positioning himself between your legs. He's not the only one that does this to you - but it's just been you and him every night since you came here. He'll have to give that up soon - but atleast not yet. Atleast not tonight.

"Please tell me I'm your one and only,

Or lie and say atleast tonight,

I've got a brand new cure for lonely,

And if you give me what I want,

I'll give you what you like."

(Give you what you like - Avril Lavigne)

Asmo doesn't always like using his powers. Why did he always have to use them to make people like him? Wasn't he enough just as he was? Wasn't he beautiful?

Who else can answer him, if not the only person who doesn't get affected by his charm. "MC..." He barges into your room, desperate to be held. To be loved.

"Asmo...you're so perfect." You cradle his face as you ride him. Tears pool at the corner of his eyes, out of joy, out of reassurance along with the obvious pleasure of your walls clamping down on him.

"MC...You really mean that?" Like a wounded puppy he tilts his head to the side, intertwing his fingers with yours. He bucks up his hips upward, deeper inside you. You moan and struggle to balance yourself.

"Of course, Asmo..." He doesn't care even if you're lying at this point. It just feels good to even hear you say that. He feels so loved and ethereal as you gently press kisses on his neck and shoulders so you don't blemish his flawless skin. And he impatiently flips you around to return the favor.

"With all the lights off,

Everything is wrong, but it's alright,

You're the only good thing in my life."

(You're the only good thing in my life - Cigarettes after Sex)

Mammon feels like shit some days. With his sin taking over, Lucifer's overbearing rage, his brothers' disappointment - it's all too much for him. Sick of being holed up in his room, he decides to get out of house to clear his head.

You are late that day, and he's already disgruntled about it. Maybe he'll go out and fetch you himself. Some attendant you are. They should increase your hours at HOL.

But lo and behold, there you are standing right at the door. "Hey Mammon, going somewhere?" He takes you by the hand and leaves the house. "Oi, you know Devildom like the back of your hand, don't ya? Take me somewhere new." He asks.

You take him to a hotel with a shimmering pool. He's never been here before, but he feels an odd sense of familiarity with it. Especially when he kisses you fervently, his hands practically ripping your clothes off you. He feels so much better once he's inside you.

"The Great Mammon likes this place. Bring me back here again soon." He says as he keeps driving with one hand on your thigh. His life might be a hot mess but atleast you're here. And that makes everything so much better.

#obey me #obey me solomon #obey me smut #obey me solomon x reader #obey me asmo #obey me asmo x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #mammon smut #asmo smut #solomon smut

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fillinforlater · 10 months

Text

The Gamer and the Pornstar

Male Reader x Miyawaki Sakura, Song Hayoung

Length: 3725 words

Tags: one-night-stand turned porn turned friendship, gaming buddies, shy yet prepared, ANAL, missionary, GAPING, anal creampie, slow sex, love making, SLW, making out, extremely loud moaning, cumshots?

TW: barely edited, kind of rushed

Inspiration: @gangplanksorenji and @praeluxius because you know: GAPE KKURA and SLW gang

(A/N: This popped up in my mind and for some reason was easier to write than all my other drafts. An almost plotless mess mess mess mess mess, but I hope you enjoy it.)

“Hey, you wanna come over?”

It all started a couple of months ago, when an adorable young lady tapped on your shoulder. Her name was Hayoung and she immediately started to shower you with compliments. Your body's imminent reaction was to blush and increase your heart rate, but after a while you assumed there was a catch. Your intuition was right.

“Thank you for all the kind words,” you said. “But I bet you’re not doing this just to brighten my day at this boring-ass party.”

“You’re right,” Hayoung responds with a huge smile on her small face. “Let me be blunt—”

Oh, she was blunt. Hayoung, you see, is a self-made porn star, using a brand new site called Only Fans to promote her lewd, addictive videos (her words). However, she needs to spice things up, try different sizes and girths in her holes, so she is going around and finding attractive guys who’d like to help her (once again, her words).

Hayoung, pretty and pure looking, it all changed with every new word dropping from her lips like the pin of a grenade before she exploded onto you, arms wrapped around your nape, her lips on yours. You turned into the Flash: in the blink of an eye you found yourself in her apartment, balls deep in her cunt, surrounded by two cameras. Hayoung loved to moan and scream over the top, the neighborhood surely knew of her new hobby right from the get go, and she had them all inside her (her words, her stupidly lewd words).

Needless to say, you had a great time, and after wrapping up the shooting, you wanted to leave the apartment. The mind-blowing sex with Hayoung really had your mind blown, because instead of taking the exit, you entered another bedroom. Hayoung was sharing the apartment with someone else, a poor roommate who had to listen to the endless amounts of sex coming from the walls behind her.

To block off all the noise she was wearing a large headset and her entire focus was on this game, League of Legends. You were familiar with the game and started watching her. She must not have noticed you, even when you inched closer as the game got more intense. Her defense was on point, the towers did not fall until one of her chips-grease covered fingers slipped off and she eventually lost.

Both of you sighed—and then she started screaming as she finally noticed your presence. That’s how you met Sakura.

“I’ll be there in 10.”

You put your ear on the door. No screaming, no moaning. Either Hayoung is trying out choking or a ball gag or she is not shooting anything today. The last one is the least likely, yet you still give it a shot and knock a couple of times. Quick taps of tiny feet can be heard.

“Hello you guys—oh, it’s just you,” she sighs in disappointment, the horniness on her face vanishing in a moment's notice.

“Nice to see you, Hayoung,” you sarcastically respond and make your way past the small girl. “I see, you’re waiting for someone.”

“Yeah, but not for you. You’re only hanging around with Sakura-unnie all the damn time.”

“Hey! I thought you wanted to try new cocks all the time.”

Before you can reach the door to Sakura’s room, Hayoung grabs your wrist and stamps your foot. It does not hurt one bit, as her feet are naked (to be honest, she is almost fully naked, except for shorts that barely cover 80% of her ass and a bikini top to show of her small breasts) and you’re still wearing shoes.

“That does not mean you couldn’t be useful to me,” Hayoung whispers sultrily, her fingers fiddling with your zipper, pulling it down and up.

“I think I’ll pass for now. Don’t wanna keep your Unnie waiting,” you respond and remove her hand without resisting the temptation to feel more of the silky smooth skin on her arm.

“If you’re not gonna undress for me, at least take off your shoes for her.”

“S-sure, sorry.”

Kick them off then kick in the door. The way Sakura jumps always amuses you. Her shocked expression with huge, round eyes and a wide open mouth is just gold.

"Stop doing that!" she shouts and quickly turns back to her game. Sakura looks tiny in the gaming chair, the black fabric swallowing both her pale skin and white outfit. Her raven hair is a tangled mess, weaving through every possible opening of her pink headphones.

"How is it going?" you ask and lean onto the table, something she despises and you know that. Luckily, there are no more snacks next to her colorful keyboard. Living off of chips and chocolate could have really ruined her health, so you had to help her get rid of this habit.

What she won't get rid of is the large bottle of Pepsi. You tried to convince her of drinking water, but she wouldn’t budge a centimeter on that. Even Pepsi Maxx seems to be a no-go for her, so the dark, sugary liquid still sits on her table—until you close the lit and hide it behind your back.

“Put it back,” Sakura barks, eyes switching in between your face and the match in rapid intervals. She taps her feet in annoyance, you grin.

“Only if you answer me~” you tease her.

“It’s been going good, until you joined. We are four thousand gold ahead, everything is working, so please, don’t ruin this for me.”

You put your hands up in defeat and place the bottle back down. Then everything happens rather quickly: Sakura stands up and you immediately get on her chair, spread your legs far enough so the japanese girl can get in between them and she does so. Just a second, Sakura’s rhythm is not interrupted as the team fight starts.

“Let’s get it,” you whisper, while Sakura still adjusts herself on your lap. The two of you, though there might be a lot of bickering on the outside, have become a coordinated team. After that fateful incident a couple of months ago, you came over more often to watch Sakura play. She was very talented, but her erratic behavior has led to her losing games she should have won, so you started to assist her.

Sakura sits on your lap. This has multiple reasons. One is that you can easily hand her something to drink while she still has both her hands occupied with the game. The second is that you can easily grab her and keep her down when she has one of her outbursts again. Sakura is used to jumping up from her chair and then lose control and focus on her character. To prevent that, you can hold her light frame down. The final reason is that after a while, Sakura finds your lap more comfortable than the chair.

Why did you agree to taming this small lioness during her gaming sessions? For starters, Sakura is gorgeous. Her face, her body, everything is pretty and basically perfect, Who wouldn’t like to have her sit on their lap? Then comes her impeccable smell. Ever since you got rid of the greasy snacks, Sakura’s true odor of sweet sweat and even sweeter cherries has you in a dazed state.

This is your favorite job. You can’t help but smile stupidly while handing Sakura another drink or adjusting her posture, while watching an intense match of your favorite game. It’s literally perfect. If only someone could turn down the volume of Hayoungs porny moans coming from her room—who are you kidding, she sounds hot.

“Okay, let’s go to the base. Thirty more seconds of buff, go go!”

Sakura is winning. You try everything in your power to keep it that way. Your hands find their way to her slim waist, holding it firmly so she doesn’t stand up. On some days, she wears a crop top, exposing her amazing midriff, which makes holding onto her like an ascend to heaven. Sadly, she only wears a pretty, yet modest dress so you have to live with feeling silk rather than silky skin.

“A couple more hits, come one!”

Wrap your arms around Sakura as she almost flies off the chair in enthusiasm. Even as her teammates die at the hits of the enemy, she is able to close out the game with fantastic gameplay. Although you could let her go the second she closed out the game, you still hold her tight and she falls backwards onto your chest.

“Good job, Kkura,” you say with a smile as she struggles to get her headphones off. Her messy black hair falls over her face like drapes and the way she frees her vision is beyond beautiful. Sakura is a goddess, she plays, looks and smells like one.

“You weren’t so bad either. Thank you,” she responds and stays. She does not stand up or shift away. She stays in your tight embrace.

“S-so shall we—”

“Fuck, yes! Fill my pussy with your big cocks, ah!”

You can feel your cheeks burning. Sakura’s are doing the same. Hayoungs never ending screams of pleasure make the two of you tense up in awkwardness. You’d love to say something witty, but everything feels so wrong, especially with how your fantasy leaps into dangerous territory.

“Sh-she is unbelievable,” Sakura laughs awkwardly. “She said something about inviting t-t-ten guys a-and… yeah.”

“She is crazy.”

More silence from you and Sakura, while a whole choir of guys starts to groan in the background, only interrupted by Hayoungs demand for rougher, faster, deeper sex.

“Yes, fuck my ass! Stretch my hole with your—yes, right there! I’m cumming!”

Sakura melts in your grip. The word cumming has her dazed, you can see it in her expression when she looks up at you. Her round, puppy eyes have narrowed in desire and you feel her butt rub over your crotch, intentionally feeling more of your cock and making it erect.

“I-I always wondered,” she suddenly whispers, unable to hold eye contact with you. “How this w-would feel.”

“How what f-feels?” you ask her, unable to focus as she suddenly starts to face you and reveals a lot of cleavage. Wait, is she even wearing a—

“L-like… ha-having sex in th-the—

“In my b-butt…”

You have never seen Sakura so abashed, so uncertain about something. She looks fragile, a shy girl who is incapable of asking for what she really wants because it’s so lewd, so wrong. At the same time, she is already all over you, not even wearing a bra. Her hands are on your chest, you can easily pull her closer, yet your heart forces you to ask away.

“Why… why are you thinking that?”

“I-I just wondered because… when I lost my vi-virginity… Hayoung showed me how to ride th-this guy. My-my first was not that big, b-but Hayoung couldn’t stop. I-it was very… and then he put it in her… butt.”

Sakura hides her flushed face, but continues nonetheless.

“I have never s-seen a girl c-cum s-so hard.”

“So… you want to t-try it?” you carefully ask, hands still on her waist, eyes fixed on the opening of her dress. Her small, bare breasts with dark pink areolae look like a feast and her also small, not (yet) bare waist fits perfectly into your hands.

Sakura peeks through the gaps in between her fingers and takes deep breaths. “Yes, I want to try it. With you. I-I don’t want to wait any longer, please… say yes.”

You try not to smile stupidly and carefully nod. Sakura lowers both her hands, one weakly squeezes the growing bulge in your pants, while the other reaches for her drawer. In it you eye a surprising amount of condoms, douching devices and lube containers. Sakura reaches for one of them.

“D-don’t worry,” she stutters. “I did s-some preparation.”

“Can I see?” you ask without thinking. Rationale is a steadily decreasing factor in your decision making, especially because Hayoung continues to moan with all the power her vocal cords have. She could have been a great singer—

“S-sure.” Sakura gets off of you and reaches underneath her dress. She pulls down slutty, soaked panties that only Hayoung would wear (if she wears any underwear at all). Hesitantly, she spins around and her fingers dig into the hem of her dress, her knuckles turning white.

“You don’t have to, you know?” you chuckle and take the container before any of the clear liquid will be spilled out through Sakura’s digits. Your attempt to relieve her of some pressure seems laughable with Hayoung’s crescendo reaching yet another overhyped climax.

“No!” Sakura rebuts, a pull sending her dress up and exposing her most private part, a smooth, shaven nether region and a firm, spreadable butt. Why spreadable? Because even a somewhat timid Sakura can’t help but pull apart her ass cheeks to show you what’s in between. “My-my fingers, the toys—they are not enough. I-I need you.”

Your cock threatens to break through your pants at the sight, the smell, the absurdity. Is this the b-plot to Hayoung’s porn? A slow burn scene only now reaching its final destination? Things developing at a snail's pace and now the tip of your fingers are almost in her flesh and your tip is almost in her lubed rear end? You can’t complain about this movie.

“Now?” you ask, a final stern facade to hide your desire.

“Yes, please,” Sakura’s last, final, ultimate whimper, her lower lip tucked underneath her teeth in a bite to sever all doubts—

Wrap an arm around Sakura, her slutty little waist perfect in your hold before you let go and send her backwards on her bed. The disconnect between your bodies is not for long; one hand is already hiking up her dress further, the other is in her marvelous strands while your knees only start to make contact with the mattress.

Sakura sinks back, laying down into her pillows and your hands exploring everywhere but her stimulating spots, yet your touch and longing alone make her feel a bliss that numbs her feet, her legs, her arms. They all become idle as you spread apart her knees and get in between them, still fully clothed.

When your lips suddenly initiate a feverish attack on her jaw, she can’t hold back. More of you, more of you—her dizzy eyes jump open and her fingers find ways to permanently reveal your body. Your bare chest is only a breath away from hers, her crotch almost on yours. You smile down at her.

“You want me this badly, Kkura~?” you tease and rub a circle on her thigh with your stupidly hard cockhead. Sakura’s soles swirl in the air, her entire body flooding with heat.

“Be careful, please.”

Her fingers sneak to her ass once more, this time showing off exactly where she wants it. The puckered entrance is not only clean, hell, even prepared would be an understatement to how inviting her hole is. Sure, the pussy above it looks fabulous, oh-so tempting to fill up and make endless love to, but the there is an unbridled thrill to the way Sakura’s asshole lightly clenches and relaxes and clenches and relaxes and—

Align yourself. Stop yourself. Sakura’s lips tremble more than the rest of her small frame. Place your elbows on each side of her head to gaze at her beauty, maybe find out what’s wrong by the glassiness of her eyes.

“Kiss me already,” she husks.

“But I want to see your face while I do it,” you whisper.

Sakura mewls, all ten of her sweaty fingers on your lower back as she locks eyes with you. No further instructions, this is where all your knowledge ends and you can only act due to instinct. Push your hips forward, slowly, but with force to get your swollen tip into the tight hole.

Sakura’s lips part wide open, her eyes are even wider. Her short, yet pointy nails find their way under your skin, creating a pool of pain in your lower back that you have to push through. The way she wraps snuggly around your cock negates all the pain elsewhere. Half way in, you grit your teeth and see Sakura doing the same. She is certainly in pain.

“Relax,” you whisper between profound breaths.

“K-kiss me!” she demands and you let your face finally sink to hers. In wanton need she offers her tongue and you take it for a ride, pushing it around in her mouth in a tornado-like kiss. The torrential pace tears out tension from Sakura’s body, first her limbs, then her face and finally, her insides relax. It’s a gradual process in which you become well acquainted with Sakura’s mouth, making it entirely yours.

“You feel so good,” you compliment her when your lips disconnect. “Did I ever tell you that—”

“Shh, not now,” Sakura interjects with a smile. “C-can you start… now?”

“Sure~”

For the first time since the initial penetration, you move your hips backwards, dragging your cock alongside Sakura’s lubed walls. It’s a lewd sound, a sound only the two of you can hear because Hayoung once again trumps it with her scream, though there is clearly a cock in her mouth.

When only your tip remains inside her, you gently grab her tiny waist and begin to both push in and pull her towards you. Sakura melts into the mattress, her sweaty body becoming one with it, one with yours when you gradually fill her with more of your inches. You stop before the final one and the two of you groan straight into the other's face, eyes closed, deeply satisfied.

Or not?

“M-more,” Sakura whispers, one of her arms loosely around your nape, the other moving over her midriff to her pussy. “I want all of you.”

And you want all of her all over your dick. So you push in, further than any of her toys, girthy, pulsating; you’re close to losing your mind over her incredible body and marvelous insides. Sakura gets everything she asked for, your sack is already crazing her buttocks and in a drawn out moan, you know that she does not regret asking.

“Kkura, I can’t—”

“D-don’t stop, fill me aga—”

She gives you a hint of permission and you take it. Like her body is just a light fleshlight, you take her slutty little waist and slam her slutty little asshole on your length to force screams from her slutty little mouth. You want Sakura to succumb to the same pleasure as you, yet she still finds a way to give you more leverage, an easier time to fuck her rear end.

Hayoung’s porny sounds are nothing anymore to the sheer lewdness of you pistoning back and forth along lubed walls and Sakura rubbing her clit manically. You and Sakura suddenly start to lick all over the other person. It’s devouring the other without hurting them, consuming more of them without having to stop the grabbing and thrusting, both increasing their pace.

There is a perfect rhythm, which is no rhythm at all. Switch from slow thrusts and biting her collarbone to stopping it all together and just feeling her flex and struggle around to suddenly go all out for dozens of hits that make her eyes disappear in the back of her head. Sakura is the same, her fingers rubbing her clit then two of them disappearing into her pussy for a quick double penetration, before suddenly invading your mouth. She tastes even better than she smells. Impossible.

“I’m—”

Sakura’s moan is cut short by you jerking her clit side to side. Her orgasm pulsates through her body, initiated from both her deeply penetrated asshole and her continuously flicked nub. To your surprise, she is rather quiet, unlike her roommate who never stops shouting out her pleasure. Sakura instead goes for your lips, loving biting your lower lip, evoking groans out of you.

You realize there is nowhere to go, it’s either you cum now or you’ll be painfully blueballed, so you fold Sakura further, slam down harder and watch her narrow eyes release tears of pleasure. Everything goes quiet, except for skin slapping on skin and you groaning your final words right into her ear:

“F-fuck, I’ll fill you up, Kkura. I’m gon—”

Your vision blurs to white lick a bad transition during a powerpoint presentation. You feel Sakura’s butt squeezing out your sperm in multiple massive dumps that make her warm deep inside. But that’s not the only thing she squeezes tightly: her arms are wrapped around your upper body, forcing it onto her sweaty tits and you want to mold into her, to become one.

Only after your final droplet of cum is inside Sakura’s ass, you slowly pull and while caressing her buttocks, you feel a lot of you running out of her. She giggles in embarrassment.

“Gu-guess you spread me pretty good.”

“Ye-yeah.”

You can’t help yourself but look at the mess you made out of her hole. It’s utterly gaped, endlessly oozing your load onto the bedsheets with her body only supported by your arms on her thighs.

“That was great,” Sakura sighs, still out of breath. “We need to clean up though.”

Suddenly, someone goes apeshit on Sakura’s door, banging it like the drumset of a metal band.

“Hey! Hey! I know you’re inside there! I need your help, quick!” Hayoung shouts at the top of her lungs. It baffles you how she still can after all the ‘performing’ she’s been doing in the last couple of minutes.

“Uhm… bad timing,” you respond and quickly cover Sakura with a blanket. “U-unless the house is burning down, I won’t open this—”

“I need someone to cum on me, for a cumshot scene! I know you have one in you for me, please, quick!” Hayoung begs. In front of your inner eye you can see her, glazed in cum running down her entire lewd body, yet there is one part of her face not yet properly covered. Maybe one of the guy shot blanks—

You look at Sakura, her gaping hole, your thick creamy load on the bed sheets.

Yeah, you won’t be of any help for her today.

#kpop smut #male reader insert #female idol smut #girl group smut #izone smut #male reader #male reader smut #le sserafim smut #fromis 9 smut #hayoung smut #sakura smut

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leafofkudzu · 18 days

Text

Slightly delayed post compared to usual, but hi hello and happy Spring, everyone! I hope the past month has treated you well, because the first Saturday of a new month is coming up real fast, meaning it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield!

For those who aren’t familiar with art parties, they’re a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all types to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your favorite character/look together, head to the location, find someone that catches your eye, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! Tl;dr: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will also be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

While scouting out more Ascalon-aligned locations to even out the spread, I remembered this little corner of Fields of Ruin. It houses a grave of one of the characters from the Ghosts of Ascalon novel - and for trivia purposes, everyone who's done Icebrood Saga has met another character from that novel: Ember Doomforge! But this isn't about Ember, it's about Killeen, and her lovely little resting place protected from the Brand. It's very easily accessible just by scooting up the marked path from Tenaebron Waypoint, which is in itself up in the Northwest corner of Fields of Ruin!

Time & Squad Details:

As we always do, we’ll be having two parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People tend to arrive early and/or jump between accounts as soon as the break comes up, so don’t be surprised to see tags and announcements going up ahead of schedule!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Ashelin Falstaff for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or an hour before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Beldahvia for an invite.

Closing Words:

My apologies yet again for a) being delayed in posting this, but also b) posting this in the dead of (NA) night - I've been a bit sick the past week and lost track of time, but we're here now! I do feel like a broke record every time I say this, but thank you to everyone who turns out to these events - you guys are what make everything so memorable and fun! Have a good rest of your week, and I hope to see you all there on Saturday! ♥

#yelling it's past 12am but i must post it before i go to sleep and forget #i'll reblog this tomorrow at a normal time too aaaaa #gw2 #guild wars 2 #vsartparty #obnoxious tourist simulator #📢🎨

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mamaestapa · 10 months

Note

You and joe broke up but his sister in law invites you to his nieces bday party and he realizes the mistake he made

Forever and Always|| Joe Burrow x reader

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•summary: You and Joe find each other again at his nieces fourth birthday party

•warnings: just some angst and fluff!

"Y/n!" Robin grinned as she watched you walk into the kitchen of Joe's sister in law's kitchen. She placed her plate down on the counter and rushed over to give you a hug. You laughed happily as she wrapped her arms around you, swaying you back and forth.

"Hi Robin," you smiled, "it's good to see you."

The two of you pulled away from each other. Robin grabbed your hands and stepped away from you, taking in your appearance. "Oh honey I didn't think I'd see you, you look great!" You smiled, "Thank you. It's a little tough seeing every one again, but, I wasn't going to miss this." Robin nodded, "That little girl loves you so much. You'll always be an aunt to her, Y/n."

Today was Amelia, Joe's four year old nieces birthday party. You have been around the Burrow fam since the day Amelia was born. She grew up calling you Aunt Y/n and just absolutely adored you and everything you did. She constantly tells her mom that you are her "favorite person in the whole wide world". You used to see Amelia all the time, but that unfortunately stopped when you and Joe went your separate ways after five years of dating. The two of you just seemed to be in a funk, deciding it was best to take a small break from each other and your relationship. However, that small break turned into weeks, which turned into months, until eventually it was no longer a break. You two were broken up. No longer together. And that broke poor little Amelia's heart. When Uncle Joe showed up to Christmas and family barbecues without Aunt Y/n, she was heartbroken. Amelia was convinced she would never see you again. You were even convinced you would never see her or any member of the Burrow family ever again.

However, that all changed when you received an invite in the mail and a text message from Joe's sister-in-law, Cassie. Cassie invited you to Amelia's fourth birthday party, stating how much Amelia and the rest of the family (including Joe) miss you very much. She didn't pressure you to come, but she stressed how much she and the others would love if you were to go.

So here you are, at Amelia's birthday party with your ex-boyfriends family that you still loved like your own. You'd been at the party for maybe twenty minutes, and you had yet to see Joe, only seeing his brother, sister-in-law and mom. You knew it would be a little awkward seeing Joe, but part of you felt excited to see him again. Those butterflies you got when the two of you first started seeing each other, were slowly creeping back just at the thought of seeing Joe. You shook yourself out of your thoughts of you ex-boyfriend, instead deciding to find Amelia.

"So, where's the birthday girl?" a warm smile on your face as you asked Robin. Cassie walked into the kitchen with a brand new fruit tray. She smiled at you and pointed to the backyard, "She's out back in the bouncy house with some of the neighbor kids." Cassie set the tray down on the counter and beckoned you over, "Here," she said, "follow me."

You followed Joe's sister-in-law out to the backyard, waving at and saying hello to all of the familiar faces. You stood next to the patio furniture, scanning your eyes around the backyard full of Joe's family as Cassie went to get Amelia. As you were looking around at the guests, your eyes locked with a pair of blues you thought you'd never see again. You always thought Joe's eyes were his best feature, constantly finding yourself getting lost in them when you were dating. You felt butterflies swarm in your tummy as you kept your eyes locked with Joe's. He looked different than the last time you saw him. It was a good different. His dark blonde hair was grown out, showing off his unruly waves. His arms looked bigger, stronger, and his jawline and veiny arms and hands were more prominent than ever. You gave him a tight lipped smile—which to your surprise he returned. The tension between the two of you felt like it was growing deeper. So many memories came flooding back to you just from one look at Joe.

"Aunt Y/n!"

You snapped your head away from Joe and looked in the direction of the squeal. You dropped to your knees and held your arms out as a wide grin pulled at your lips. Amelia came running at you, giggling happily as she fell into you arms. You wrapped your arms around her little body, squeezing her gently.

"Hi sweetie!" You said, voice full of excitement. The little blonde girl pulled herself away from you and smiled happily. She was glad to see her favorite aunt again.

"Happy birthday Amelia."

Amelia there herself at you, wrapping her arms around you once again. "I missded you." You smiled as you rubbed her back, lovingly stating, "I missed you too, sweet girl."

As you shared a sweet moment with Amelia, Joe was watching from afar with a smile on his face. It warmed his heart to see his niece this excited, but it also made him so happy to see you again. As Joe watched you interact with niece and catch up with his family, he realized two things: you still give him butterflies and he made a huge mistake.

Amelia gave you a third hug as she wasn't able to conceal her excitement over seeing you for the first time in a long time. She pulled herself away from you, an excited grin on her face.

"Hi Uncle Joe!"

Your grin fell as your body immediately froze. Joe was standing right behind you.

"Hi 'Melia. You mind if I steal Aunt y/n for a second?" joe's niece nodded, "Uh huh, just bring her back."

Joe smiled, nodding at the blonde girl, "I will, don't worry. Once I'm done talking to her, Aunt Y/n is all yours." Amelia nodded and ran back to the bounce house, already forgetting about you as soon as she was bouncing away with her best friends. You stood up, brushing your knees off before you turned around to look at Joe.

"Hey," he breathed out, "can we talk?"

You haven't spoken to Joe in almost a year. It was tough for you to see him and his family again. It was even more tough for you to speaking to him right now. You didn't think you wanted to talk to him, but your heart was aching for you to speak to Joe again. You nodded, making him smile softly at you before he pulled you over to a secluded area in his brothers backyard. Once you were away from the crowd of people, Joe started to talk.

"It's good to see you again Y/n."

You nodded, "It's good to see you too," you gestured to his figure, "you look great by the way." Joe smiled, "Thanks, you do too. You always look great though." he finished softly, making a blush creep up your neck and onto your cheeks. The two of you stood in silence for a moment before Joe poured his heart out to you.

"Look, Y/n, I made a huge mistake." Joe sighed, "I thought taking a break from us would be good for me. I needed to focus on my career and winning a Super Bowl, and I thought that if I took a break from our relationship, then I could focus and achieve that goal." He rubbed his hands together as he continued, "but the truth is, it was the complete opposite. Ever since we broke up, I've been a mess. I'm not myself on and off of that field. I need you, Y/n. Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life. I can't achieve any of my goals in my career or my life without you there with me."

Your mouth hung open in shock. You weren't expecting him to say any of that to you. You weren't aware that Joe still had those feelings for you. You always hoped that he did though, because you too, shared those same exact feelings. Even though you've been broken up for almost a year, you were still in love with Joe. You always have been, and always will be.

"I've," you took a deep breath, "I've missed you Joe." Joe smiled sadly, reaching out to grab your hand. "I've missed you too." He said softly. You looked into his eyes, feeling the butterflies swarm and your heart fill with love as he gazed at you. "What do you say we give it another try?" you asked, voice hopeful as you looked up at Joe. A smile pulled at his lips, "I'm willing to try again if you are."

"You promise?"

"I promise Y/n. It's you and me, forever and always." Joe said as the two of you leaned in and shared a passionate, love filled kiss. Something the two of you have been dying to do for months now. You were finally back in each others lives, all thanks to Joe's nieces fourth birthday party.

And Joe was right—for the rest of your lives it was you and him...

Forever and always.

hey loves!!

so this one was pretty long, i guess it’s more of an imagine than a blurb. um but it kind of sucked, lol. I'm so sorry! I got carried away, but I also didn't really know what to write? it is also currently 3 am for me, so my writing doesn't really make sense when I write at this time . I apologize😂 but I hope you still somewhat liked it!

this is also the last blurb for the night. I hope you enjoyed this blurb night loves, I know I did! ill do another one again next week ;)

thank you for all of your love and support!🤍🤍

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow blurb #blurb night

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moondirti · 1 year

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Ok so I’d love to imagine Simon’s reaction to an s/o who’s been put through the ringer, like I’m talking hell and back again, has definitely been covered in the blood of her enemies at some point, but still managed to be the team’s ray of sunshine. Laughing, unafraid to trust them as soon as she meets them, affectionate with all of them even. I imagine that as soon as Simon has her, he’d never let go. Even if the voices in his head are reluctant to welcome her in the first place, doing everything possible to convince him he’s undeserving.

I have so many feelings for him 😭❤️

okay but he definitely would initially think smth along the lines of 'what the hell is wrong with this girl' because, well:

It's the festering aftermath of an awry mission; a gaping wound, splattering continuous ichor onto tiled floors. They'd lost three men. No one is doing good - not even Soap, who usually has some quick intervention, alcohol he seemingly pulls from midair.

You're new, only familiar with Gaz from a previous mission. Ghost thinks there might be something more between you when you smooth your hand on his shoulder and mutter a quiet word to the man.

But then you drift over to Soap, who attempts to crack a smile when you sit next to him and prod at how he's doing. It's... bizarre; the most the men share is a gruff 'you broken?', the bare minimum when it comes to reassurances. Yet, you breeze past all that, feathered grace, and stick your hands a little deeper, right over where it hurts.

After you get Johnny to genuinely laugh, you start to approach Ghost.

He leaves before you can ask.

And you don't change. Not after a month, not when it's been a year - packed with never ending, hardened turmoil. He sees you lose the people closest to you, comes to learn about how you got here in the first place. It's some tough fucking luck, he admits. Enough to drive the strongest wild.

So when you still extend a positivity he knows you lack internally? Ghost makes a silent vow to himself to try and extend the favour. He can never measure up to you, will never move with such kindness, but-

He keeps an eye on you on those particularly rough days. Makes an effort to silently learn your favourite snacks and brand for socks and leaves a bag full of them by your room. He takes care of himself so when you see him next, he can answer with some semblance of honesty:

How are things?

Solid.

And he has you to thank for it.

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from-memphis-with-love · 1 month

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Hi. May I request a late 60s Elvis (charro era) in which he leaves the beard a little longer and female reader is horny because of it. He catches her staring intently until she jumps at him. Smut detailed, not rough but passionate and sensual. Thanks.

Stubble Trouble

(I won these unreleased photos of Elvis on the set of Charro! at an auction recently. I felt they were appropriately delicious for this one-shot)

Summary: Elvis comes home from filming Charro!, looking sexier than ever with a beard. You wish he never had to leave for work again. Warnings: Smut, smut, smut. But a little domestic fluff too?

You watch the horizon from the porch, the sun setting in a spectacle of orange and pink. The hush of twilight settles over the estate. Humidity clings to your skin, the balmy late summer air heavy with the scent of magnolias.

"Elvis car!" Olivia's voice pierces the calm, her small finger pointing down the winding driveway.

"That's right, baby girl. Daddy's home," you confirm, heart swelling with anticipation and a touch of melancholy. He's home, but for how long?

Will bounces on his toes beside you. "And he's got a beard!"

And indeed, it is your husband’s Cadillac, glossy and grand, pulling up a day early. You smile from ear to ear. Then, a shadow of concern—he's not alone. The Memphis Mafia spill out of the van behind him, their laughter and boisterous greetings disrupting the evening quietude.

You squint at the figure emerging last from the car. It's him, Elvis, with an unfamiliar scruff darkening his jawline. Your breath catches at the sight—your husband, yet somehow brand new.

Elvis’ eyes find you across the front yard, and the heat in his gaze makes your breath catch. But before he can reach you, a rocket shoots into his legs. "Dad! You're home!"

Your husband scoops up your eight-year-old son, giving him the hug of the century. "Hey there, buddy! Did you grow a foot while I was gone?" As your two boys roughhouse, your daughter Olivia, toddles over on wobbly legs. Elvis kneels down, peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses.

"Daddy, fuzzy!" Olivia's small hand reaches for Elvis's scruff. He chuckles, letting her chubby fingers explore his rough face. Her tiny brows furrow, her eyes well up. Her dimpled chin quivers. A baby sniffle pierces the air.

"Shhh." Elvis soothes, gently wiping away the beginnings of a tear with his thumb. He picks her up in his muscular arms, whispering into her ear. The cries recede; a whimsical giggle replaces them. "I missed you rascals something fierce. Were you good for Mama?"

"They were angels," you assure, joining the family huddle. "Welcome home, honey."

Dusting off his pants, Elvis rises to his feet, Olivia secured in one arm and Will clinging to the other. He approaches you, a certain swagger in his step that you've missed and his eyes flashing with something you know all too well—mischief. He sets the kids down and pulls you close, his kiss a sweet homecoming all its own. "Glad to be back, mama." His murmured endearment, the rasp of his beard on your skin, they feel so good that it makes your head spin.

"Welcome home, daddy," you reply, your voice steadier than your racing pulse. The feel of him, changed yet the same, stirs a dormant longing within you.

Your fingers itch to touch the unexpected growth shadowing his jaw. The beard transforms him, adds a rugged edge to the familiar contours of his face that you hadn't realized you'd long for until now. "This is new."

"Thought I'd try something different," Elvis replies, his smile a slow burn just for you. It lights a spark deep within, a yearning you've kept banked during those long nights alone.

"Huh. Looks good on you." You keep your voice light, but inside, desire smolders, fanned to life by this simple change.

"Thought you might like it." His voice drops, a secret shared amidst the din. "Come on in, we've got stories to tell," he says, motioning to the rowdy crew behind him.

You nod, masking disappointment. You'd hoped for privacy, for that passionate reunion you've been craving. But now, with the house about to burst with company, you steel yourself for another night of playing hostess rather than lover.

"Let's get settled first," you suggest, ushering the children ahead of you into the house.

The evening unravels in a blur of activity—dinner preparations, catching up, pick up football. Admittedly, it’s nice to have a house full of laughter, but you wonder when you might have a moment alone with your husband. Amidst it all, you steal glances at Elvis, the way his beard adds a new edge to his expressions, wondering how it might feel against your skin.

“Outta sodas,” you say, hiding a smile. You eye Elvis from across the room. He catches your gaze, the understanding immediately flashing in his eyes.

“I’ll help ya fetch ‘em,” he offers, rising from the couch where he’s been holding court. He follows you into the hallway. The two of you disappear into the cooler back room, away from prying eyes and eager ears.

Kneeling by the crate of chilled sodas, you feel the cool condensation against your fingertips. When you turn around, he’s right there, taking a step closer than necessary. His breath smells of mint and coffee; his eyes are full of promise.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says. His hand brushes against your cheek, tender yet insistent. “Miss me?”

In answer, you turn and pull his mouth down to yours, kissing him with nearly six weeks worth of pent-up hunger. Your husband makes a surprised, pleased sound against your lips before taking control of the kiss, backing you up against the humming fridge.

"God, I missed you," he pants when you break apart. "Missed this. Feels like forever since I've had you all to myself."

“Since you’ve had me all to yourself?” you chide. “Elvis, you know I love the guys but did they really have to—”

But his hands quiet your thought. They’re everywhere, sliding under your shirt, dipping into the waistband of your jeans. You arch into his touch, desire spiraling through you. "We can't," you protest weakly. "Everyone's right out there..."

"Let ‘em wait." Elvis nips at your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue. "I've been dying to get my hands on you all day." The scratch of his whiskers is a delicious abrasion. It heightens every sensation as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. A shiver wracks your body as the coarse hair rubs over your hammering pulse point.

The contrast of his soft lips and wiry facial hair is dizzying, addicting. You tilt your head back with a breathy moan, giving him more access even as your hands ball in his shirt. Torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away before you lose all control.

Elvis chuckles darkly against your neck, the vibrations rumbling deliciously through you. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, how much you're loving the sensual brush of his beard on your skin. He drags his fuzzy jaw up to your ear, rasping delightfully against the sensitive flesh behind it.

"Been dreaming about this," he murmurs, his breath hot on your ear as his hands creep beneath your shirt. "About having you trembling for me, my beard on your soft skin as I love on every inch of you..."

You whimper, knees going weak at the erotic promise in his words, the tantalizing burn of his whiskers, the heat of his hard body pressing you into the cool metal of the fridge. It's almost too much, and yet you crave more, already addicted to this new sensation.

"Elvis, please..." you manage, not even sure what you're begging for, only knowing you need him to never, ever stop.

Just as you are about to throw caution to the wind and let your husband take you right there, a knock sounds at the door.

"Hey, boss!" a voice calls. "Where'd you disappear to, man? Joe wants to run through the press junket schedule."

Elvis groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "To be continued," he promises darkly, adjusting himself with a wince.

Stepping back, you reluctantly adjust your clothing. "Raincheck," is all you say, and it's a promise as much as it is a plea. He presses a swift kiss to your lips before opening the door and putting his 'star' smile back on.

You stand frozen for a moment. You shake yourself off. You tell yourself there's always later, there's always tomorrow. You gather the sodas and head back into the main room.

The night drags on. Laughter echoes through the house, amplified by the clink of glasses, the strums of guitars. The party’s in full swing and being a good hostess occupies most of your evening.

You sneak glances at Elvis, at how his beard lends him a new ruggedness that makes your heart hammer in your chest. You long to run your fingers through it, trace the lines of his face. He sometimes looks back, his gaze lingering on you before being pulled away by someone else. His eyes tell you: soon.

Your youngest, Olivia, chatters animatedly about butterflies, and Will bounces around with an energy only an eight-year-old can muster. You enjoy watching them mingle with your friends—however, they also serve as persistent reminders that privacy is out of reach.

Around eleven o’ clock, the house begins to quiet down. People trickle out, leaving behind echoes of laughter and empty plates. The house seems bigger, emptier, a stark contrast to the fullness it held just moments ago. Later, after baths and bedtime stories, you and Elvis collapsed onto the couch together, Elvis pulling your feet into his lap. "I thought I’d never get a minute alone with you," he sighs, kneading your arches.

You let your head fall back, relishing his touch. "I love that you're so busy, but I hate having to share you."

"I'm all yours now, sweetheart." Elvis presses a kiss to your ankle, his beard tickling delightfully. He gives you a heated look from under his lashes. "For the rest of the night, I'm all yours."

Anticipation zings through your veins, and you reach for your husband, already breathless. As he gathers you close, kissing you deeply, you can’t help but think that sometimes, the only thing better than a homecoming... is what comes after.

You sit up, scooting closer to run your fingers over Elvis' fuzzy jaw. "You sure it's you under there? This beard makes you look mighty different," you tease, eyes twinkling. "Like a whole new man."

Elvis turns his head to nip playfully at your fingers, a mischievous glint in his eye. "That so? Should I be worried about this 'new man' stealing my girl?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Never. You know you're the only man for me, beard or no beard."

"Damn right," Elvis growls playfully, his hands settling on your hips as you shift to straddle his lap. "This 'new man' better know his place."

Draping your arms around his neck, you lean in close, your lips brushing his as you speak. "Oh, I don't know. He's pretty sexy. Rugged. Dangerous. Looks like a cowboy..." You let your voice drop to a husky whisper. "I might just be tempted..."

Elvis' fingers flex on your hips, pulling you flush against him. "Is that right?" He dips his head to nuzzle into your neck, his beard rasping deliciously on your sensitive skin. "Well, I bet this 'new man' don't know how to touch you like I do."

You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot, your back arching. "Mmm, I think you might be right," you manage breathlessly. "Better prove it to me, just to be sure."

"Gladly." Elvis captures your mouth in a searing kiss, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as he sits you on his lap. "Let me show you just how well this old dog knows your body, mama."

You surrender to his touch with a moan, the world falling away until nothing exists but you, Elvis, and the delicious abrasion of his beard on your skin as he sets about thoroughly, blissfully reminding you that he's the only man who could ever make you feel this good.

Your mouths meet in a searing kiss, weeks of pent-up longing pouring out in a slick slide of lips and tongues. You rock against him, reveling in the growing hardness pressing against your center.

His hands roam your back, dipping under your shirt to stroke the smooth skin beneath. You mewl into his mouth, desire turning molten in your veins.

Just as you are considering the logistics of riding him right there on the couch, a creak on the stairs has you jumping apart like scalded cats. You hold their breath, waiting to see if one of the kids had woken up.

After a moment of tense silence, Elvis blows out a shaky laugh. "Probably not the best idea to get carried away down here, huh?"

On trembling legs, you climb off his lap, reaching down to adjust the prominent bulge in his jeans. "Probably not," you agree, giving him a heated look. "Bedroom?"

“Just gimme five minutes, I have to take off my makeup first.”

You feel Elvis’ presence behind you before you see him, the heat of his gaze pressing against your skin like a physical touch.

You meet his eyes in the mirror, see him leaning shirtless against the doorframe, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his silk pajama pants. That luscious beard frames the wicked slash of his smile. He looks so good it's almost sinful. "See something you like?" His voice is a husky rumble.

"You could say that." You bite your lip, watching his eyes darken. "I really, really like this new look on you."

He prowls closer, crowding you against the vanity. "Yeah? Is that so?"

You turn in his arms, running your hands appreciatively over the firm planes of his chest. "It makes you look dangerous. Sexy."

Elvis dips his head to nuzzle your throat, the coarse brush of his whiskers making you shiver. "Sexy, huh? How sexy?"

"So sexy it should be illegal." You drag your mouth to his, kissing him with rising urgency. "Take me to bed," you demand against his lips. "Now."

Elvis wastes no time complying, lifting you easily into his arms and carrying you to the bed. He tumbles you onto the sheets, covering your body with his, both of you already breathing hard.

He undresses you slowly, almost reverently, rough fingertips and soft lips and scratchy beard worshipping every inch of skin he unveils. When he finally settles between your thighs, the first intimate rasp of his whiskers makes you cry out, fisting your hands in his hair.

"God, the way you taste," Elvis rasps against your slick folds, his voice rough with desire. "I'll never get enough."

He seals his lips around your most sensitive bundle of nerves and sucks gently, making you cry out and fist your hands in his hair. He groans in response, the vibrations shooting sparks of electricity through your core.

"Please," you whimper, hips rocking shamelessly against his face. "Don't stop..."

Elvis answers with a deep, approving hum, the tip of his tongue flicking over you in maddening little licks. "Never," he murmurs, beard and hot breath on your inner thighs a delicious contrast to his soft, demanding mouth on you. "Want to make you fall apart, over and over. Worship you with my mouth until you forget everything but my name..."

His words, low and fervent and filthy, push you to the brink as much as his dedicated ministrations. You sob out a broken plea as he wraps his lips around you again and sucks hard, pushing two thick fingers into your dripping channel at the same time.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes gutturally, crooking his fingers just right and rubbing ruthless circles around your swollen, aching bud. "Let me feel you, let me taste you falling apart..."

With a keening cry you shatter, back bowing and fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as your release crashes over you in pulsing waves. Elvis works you through it with lips and tongue and fingers, drawing out your pleasure until you collapse against the sheets, boneless and trembling. His beard is gleaming with your slick.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel Elvis pressing tender kisses to your inner thighs, his whiskers a thrilling friction on your sensitive skin. You tug gently on his hair, urging him up your body until you can capture his mouth in a deep, languorous kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you shudder, your spent body already sparking with renewed desire.

"I wanna make you feel good too," you murmur against his lips, nipping playfully at the full bottom one. "I want to show you how much I missed you, how much I need you..."

Elvis' groan is low and needy as you push gently at his shoulders, encouraging him onto his back. You take your time mapping his chest with lips and fingers, re-memorizing every ridge and plane. He's lost in pleasure, muscles jumping under your touch, his breathing ragged as you chart a slow, meandering path down his long torso.

When you reach the waistband of his pajamas, you pause, looking up at him from under your lashes as you hook your fingers under the elastic. Elvis meets your gaze, his own heated and dark with want, his lips parted as he pants softly. Slowly, teasingly, you peel the fabric down, your heart racing in anticipation as his hardness is revealed inch by tortuous inch.

"God, look at you," you breathe, taking in the proud jut of his cock straining towards his belly. A thrill chases down your spine knowing that you did that to him, that he wants you just as desperately as you want him. "Look at this husband of mine... so hard for me already."

"Always," Elvis rasps, his voice strained and his hands fisting in the sheets as you ghost your fingers up his length. "Feels like I'm going to burst out of my skin with how bad I need you..."

You hum in satisfaction, running your thumb over the slick head and making him shudder. Slowly, you lower your lips, never breaking eye contact as you breathe hotly over where he's aching for you. "Let me take care of you," you whisper, a promise and a plea all in one. "Let me show you how much I love you."

Then you take him into your mouth, and the broken moan that spills from his lips is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

You work him with spit and fingers and lips and tongue and just the barest hint of teeth, relishing every helpless sound you wring from him. You can feel how close he is, his thighs trembling, his grip on your hair bordering on painful. With a wicked hum, your relax your your throat and take him as deep as you can.

Elvis lets loose a stream of garbled curses, his hips jerking erratically. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna—"

But you just doubl your efforts, holding his gaze as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard. With a guttural cry, Elvis spills himself down your throat, his chest heaving as you gentle him through his sweet release.

"Christ," he pants as you release him and crawl up to drape yourself over his chest. "That was... You are..." He gives up and just hauls your mouth to his, kissing you breathless.

As you trade slow, deep kisses, you feel Elvis stirring against your thigh once more. A thrill chases down your spine at the evidence of his desire, your own body responding in kind. Wrapping your hand around his length, you stroke him gently, savoring the velvety heat of him and the way he pulses in your grip. "Already?" you tease. "Someone's eager."

Elvis nips your bottom lip. "Six weeks," he reminds you, rocking into your grip with a grunt. "You're lucky I lasted five minutes."

Giggling, you straddle his his hips, rubbing yourself along his length until you are both panting. "I think you ought to get to practicing then," you purr. "We've got weeks to make up for."

Elvis groans into your mouth, his hips rocking instinctively into you. "Need you," he pants against your lips, voice rough with want. "Need to be inside you..."

You nod desperately, just as aching to have him filling you up after so long apart. Rising up on your knees, you position him at your entrance, your breath catching as you slowly sink down onto his rigid length. His beard rasps against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

Your body resists the intrusion at first, unaccustomed to the stretch after weeks without him. Elvis gentles you through it with soft kisses and soothing caresses, whispering words of love and praise as you take him inch by careful inch. The slight discomfort quickly melts into exquisite pleasure as he breaches you fully, your inner walls fluttering around him as you adjust to the thick, heavy feel of him inside you.

"God, baby," Elvis rasps, his big hands gripping your hips almost tight enough to bruise. His eyes are squeezed shut and his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he's fighting for control. "You feel so good. So tight. Like you were made just for me..."

You let out a shuddering sigh as you settle fully into his lap, relishing the sensation of being one with him again. "I was," you breathe, rolling your hips experimentally and making you both gasp. "Only for you. Always."

Slowly, you start to move, rising up until he nearly slips out of you before sliding back down to the hilt. Elvis meets your every downward stroke with an upward roll of his pelvis, burying himself impossibly deep. You set a slow, burning rhythm, sweat beading on your skin as you rock together, drawing out every delicious drag of him inside you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your thighs tremble with exertion, but you barely register the strain. All you can focus on is your husband—his panting breaths and reverent gaze, the thick slide of his cock stretching you again and again, the heat of his body surrounding you and grounding you. In this moment, joined so intimately after what felt like an eternity apart, everything else fades away.

"Missed this," you grit out, your hands roaming restlessly over his back, his neck, scratching the dark hair on his jaw. "Missed you. I love you so damn much."

You rock together, slow and dirty, skin slick with sweat. Clutching at his shoulders, his back, urging him deeper, harder. The wiry scrape of his chest hair and beard against your sensitive nipples makes you writhe on top of him, the added stimulation almost too much to bear.

"Touch yourself," he rasps in your ear, changing the angle of his hips so he is grinding against your clit with every stroke. "Make yourself come on my cock, sweetheart."

You obey with a whimper, fingers flying to your center. Elvis eases you onto your back, gripping your thighs as he gently eases back into you, eyes black with lust as he watches you touch yourself. A private show for his eyes only.

The sight of him above you—miles of tanned skin, thick forearms corded with muscle, narrow hips rolling into you—combined with the magic you are working between your legs undoes you in record time. With a desperate whimper, you convulse around him, fingernails scoring his chest as you fall apart.

"I love you so much," Elvis sighs, fucking you through it. "One more, baby, give me one more."

He lowers himself even closer to you now, spreading your knees wide against his thighs and hugging you close to his chest. Enveloping you and never letting you go. You cling onto him with a sob, the new position letting him fill you impossibly deep. Elvis’ hands cup your backside, helping to fuck you a slow, tantalizing rhythm.

“My wife, my wife,” he moans and his beard rasps the tender skin of your neck and he bites and sucks, stoking the heat building low in your belly.

"Elvis," you keen, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He holds you closer, whispering unintelligibly into your ear. "Oh god..."

He reaches between your bodies to rub tight circles around your bud, and the sensation combined with the delicious drag of him inside you sends you flying. You come with a silent scream, back arching, stars exploding behind your eyelids.

Elvis follows you a heartbeat later, burying his face in your neck with a muffled shout. You rock together through the aftershocks, until you collapse bonelessly underneath his sweat-slicked chest.

Tumbling back against the pillows, you are a tangle of sated, trembling limbs. Elvis’ big hands soothe up and down your belly, his lips pressing soft kisses to your sweat-damp temple.

"Why do I ever leave?," he murmurs roughly. "I hate being away from you and the kids. Felt like I left a piece of myself behind." He pauses. "This is my favorite part of coming home. Having you in my arms again."

Emotion clogs your throat. "I wish it could always be like this." You look up at him, tracing his bearded jaw tenderly. "That you didn't have to leave so often."

"About that..." Elvis' arms tighten around you. "I've been thinking a lot lately. Y'know, about the stuff that really matters to me. And that's you and the kids. I'm gonna talk to Parker, see about cutting back on some of these long stretches away."

Your heart soars even as you search his face cautiously. "You mean it? You'd do that?"

"For you, mama? Anything." He seals his promise with a slow, sweet kiss. "I'm here now. and I aim to be here a lot more."

Tears prick your eyes, joy and relief overwhelming. "I'd love that," you whisper, lacing your fingers with his. "The kids would too."

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs. “Feels like I lose a little piece of me every time I’m gone.”

You nuzzle into his neck, relishing the prickle of his beard on your well-loved skin. "Looks like you found a new piece while you were gone," you tease. "I must say, I'm a fan."

"You really like it?" Elvis sweeps a hand over his scruffy jaw, grinning. "Maybe I'll keep it. Hey, if it gets you this hot for me, I may never shave again."

You just laugh, pulling him down for a long, slow kiss. You’d had a feeling that this stint away had made him rethink his priorities, and that maybe you’d be seeing a lot more of him— beard and all—in the coming months.

And as you snuggle down into your husband's embrace, his contented rumble vibrating through you, you decide there was nowhere on earth you’d rather be than right here, wrapped up in his arms. Beard burn and all.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone

#elvis smut #charro #elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader

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allthelovehes · 9 months

Text

A game of UNO*

Summary: Harry and Y/N play a game of strip UNO. The rules are made up by Harry himself.

Pairing: bestfriend!harry x reader

Word count: 4K

Warnings: No actual smut, as in P in V. Just a LOT of tension and ofc sexual topics such as stripping, making out, boners etc.

A/N: It's been soooo long since I last properly wrote something. So I'm so excited to have a brand new one-shot for y'all. Please let me know what you think!! Enjoy! <3

Masterlist

Like they say; as we mature, the relationship matures with us. And so does the friendship between Y/N and Harry. The countless weekends going out to pubs are now spent mostly in the comfort of their own homes playing board games and watching movies. Of course, they like to drink, and God they still drink quite a lot. But they don’t care for loud music and sweaty people all around them.

Nearly every weekend they come together and spend time like they always do. Downing a few bottles of white, munching on a delicious charcuterie platter, and just enjoying each other’s company. Today was like no other. Harry perched down in the corner of the comfy sofa and Y/N is getting the glasses ready for the delicious liquid.

“Can we watch The Notebook tonight?” Y/N said as she walked into her living room with two wine glasses and the bottle of white she had been craving all day. Harry simply chuckles and gives her a judgemental look. “What?” She asks him.

“Haven’' we seen tha' movie like a billion times already?” He laughs. Secretly Harry is a sucker for a good romance movie and Y/N is all too familiar with his preferences. When they were both still in their teen years and just met in school, Y/N had never seen The Notebook before and Harry insisted she needed to see it.

“I mean yes, but you know I love this movie.” Y/N states, remote control in her hand to turn on the movie with a smirk on her face. She lets out a sneaky giggle, getting all comfy against his body stretched out on the sofa. Harry’s strong arm wraps around her body so naturally. His musky scent immediately relaxing her.

Halfway through the movie, Harry gets bored. Each of them are two glasses of wine in and Harry is just ready for some action. He lifts his body off of the couch making Y/N whine at the loss of contact. He makes his way to your board game stash. His feet drag across the floor and his hips sway from left to right, dancing his way to the cabinet. She laughs at him, the dork.

“What are you doing?” She questions, he is so cute dancing around your living room with his glass in his hand.

“I am done watching tha' movie, again. Wanna play a game.” He says with a mischievous smirk across his face. The little twinkle in his eyes tells her he really is up to no good. He opens the top drawer of the board game cabinet and pushes around some of the stuff in there.

“Ah! There i’ is.” Harry chuckles. He turns around holding her pack of UNO in his right hand. He brings it back over to the coffee table and opens up the little box as he sits down on the floor.

“You don’t want to watch a movie we’ve seen a billion times yet you do wanna play a game we have played a billion times?” She questions Harry, although she has a feeling that there’s a catch. The look on his face tells her he is not about to propose a simple game of UNO.

“See, you go' tha' wrong love.” The smirk on his face is only growing bigger and bigger. “There's a twis'.” The scared look on Y/N’s face is priceless to Harry. She grabs the remote control to press pause, putting all her attention on the man in front of her.

“How abou’ we add some spicy rules to the game?” The room falls silent aside from the heavy breathing escaping her lips.

“What do you mean, Harry?” She whispers.

“I thin’ you know exactly wha’ I mean, dear.” He says as he starts shuffling the cards. “Okay so, since it’s jus' the two of us, we shouldn’' make too many additions. How abou' every time you can match a numbered card or wild card with the mos' recently played card, the other person has to take off one clothing item.” His gaze never leaves her eyes. He starts dealing the cards as if he expects her to just go along with his plan. “Let’s also say for every +2 played, the other person also has to take off one item instead of drawing two cards.” And that’s how the rules are played out.

“I don’t know, Harry.” She says looking down at the cards as she picks them up in her hand one by one. Her first card is a yellow 1. She looks at the second card before she adds it to her hand, a red reverse card. The third card she picks up has her widening her eyes, a yellow +2. She picks up the rest of the cards and she joins Harry on the floor beside the coffee table. She has already decided to play along.

“What if this ruins our friendship?” She asks.

“Then we’ll stop bein’ friends.” Harry chuckles, lust covering his eyes.

“We can’t stop being friends just because of a game of UNO, Harry.”

“Wha' if afterwards, you don’' wan’ be friends and you want’ be more than tha’.” The flirty smirk on his face is weakening her entire body. Fuck. She’s had the longest crush on the man in front of her. Her whole body is yearning to be close to him. Of course, she wants to be way more than that.

“This would have to be the most seductive game of UNO for that to happen.” She tries to shrug off the nerves in her body. Not really doing a great job at just that.

“Shu' up and play your firs' card.”

Harry flips over the top card of the deck. A green 1 laying flat on the table. She takes a look at the cards in her hand. There’s no green so she decides on a yellow 1. She places down the card and a hissing sound coming from Harry’s lips pulls her attention to his eyes. The look on his face looks like pure mischief. His long fingers drag through his cards. He pinches one of them in between his thumb and pointer finger with a big smirk on his lips. God, he looks so kissable.

She takes a big chug from her glass. Harry slams down his card, showing the yellow 1 matching your card perfectly.

“I would’ve never guessed I’d be getting you ou' of your clothes so quickly.” His voice was low and husky. Her wine glass barely touches the table before she brings it back to her lips for another chug making Harry chuckle at her nerves.

She thinks for a second before she hooks her fingers on the welt of her right sock. Her knees press into her chest and she takes both socks off, one by one.

“Hold on, this ain’' fair. You’re wearing more clothes than I am.” Harry states as she see his brain calculating. They’re both wearing socks, jeans and a T-shirt. But Harry refers to what’s underneath that. Suddenly she feel thankful for deciding on wearing a bra today.

“Well, I guess that’s just my advantage of being forced to strip for you.” She shrugs.

“I did no' force you.” He pouts making her giggle. She looks at the table to check back in with the card that’s last been played before diving back into her cards. She can’t help but let the slightest smirk appear on her lips before she plays the yellow +2 in her hands.

“Fuck.” Harry laughed. “Off with the socks we go.” He continues as he takes both of them off in a swift motion. He adds them to where her socks are piled up together.

Harry looks in his cards. There is a red +2 in his hand which he could just play right now but he decides to keep that one in his hand for a little longer. Instead, he takes out a yellow 5.

Y/N sighs, feeling relieved that she doesn’t have to get rid of any more clothes right now. The anxious yet thrilling feeling is riling her up. She have never felt any excitement like this before. Harry and Y/N have been friends since forever and she has had the biggest crush on him for nearly as long. Her eyes always lingered a bit too long when they went to swimming together and he was in just his swimming trunks. Or the goosebumps his touch left on her skin as his fingers danced along her arm as a small sign of affection. Friendly affection, but it still made her feel all sorts of ways.

Both of them play a couple of cards before Harry has a big smirk plastered across his face again. Uh oh. His fingers stride along his cards again before he picks one. He places a red 7 on top of your blue 7.

“Wouldn’' i' have been fun if your seven was blue too?” He says as he scooches a bit closer, their legs now touching.

“Stooop, you make me nervous.” She blushes.

“Don’' be. It’s jus' me.” Harry reassures her and wraps his empty hand around her ankle. His thumb moved in soft strokes up and down. She knows he tries to calm her down but every stroke of his thumb is sent straight to her clit.

Y/N plays a red reverse card. Allowing her to play another card since it’s a two-player game of UNO. She’s all out of red so she draws a card, a red 4. She places it down and look back up to Harry who still has his hand on her ankle.

“Isn’' tha' fortunate?” Harry teases.

“Just from you saying that, I know there’s nothing fortunate about it for me.” She mumbles as she frightens the next card that he will put on the table.

Harry has a twinkle in his eyes looking at the card in his hand. The red +2 is going to get rid of her first clothing item that’ll actually reveal some skin. Harry too had been pining over her for years. He started loving her in a bit more than just a friendly kind of way around the age of 16. Now 13 years later, nothing had changed. Both of them had been dating people, trying to distract themselves from the massive crushes on each other. But at the end of the day, they always came back to each other.

He finally places his card down, an excited look on his face. But she quickly takes her green +2 and smack it down on the table.

“Hah!” She yelps. “That makes two items for you to be gone!”

“Nah, ah love. Haven’' you read the rules before?” He states. “We both have to get rid of one item.” Harry smirks. Mr know it all, why does he know all rules of UNO? Probably because they have played it so many times.

“+2 plus +2 equals drawing four cards. Simple.” She argues but Harry already pulled out the rules from the box. He reads out the bit about how when your opponent plays a +2 card, you have to draw two cards and afterwards may continue your turn. Y/N is kinda sad that Harry isn’t going to get rid of both his jeans AND t-shirt.

Harry takes hold of the hem of his shirt with both his arms crossed before he drags the fabric over his head. In the meantime, she stands up to unbutton her jeans. She gets distracted by the beautiful sight in front of her. His abs are gorgeously on display with his tattoos on there like a piece of art. Harry had always been hot. But he started working out with a personal trainer roughly two years ago and he got so muscular after that.

“Wha' are you doing?” Harry asks as he throws his shirt on top of both of their socks. He softly chuckles at her eyes staring down at his torso.

“Ehm, sorry. I was taking off my jeans.” She states, causing Harry to groan. He wagged a disapproving finger. “What?” She asks him.

“Should’ve jus' taken off your shirt.” He mumbles before he picks up his cards from the table. His eyes go from the discard pile on the table to the cards in his hand. There are no more green cards in his hand so he draws a card. Luckily it’s a green one so he places it on the pile.

“Hmnf, nah. I’ll keep my shirt on for a bit longer.” She mumbles softly. Being shirtless always makes her feel so exposed. Her insecurities would peak without a shirt so she’d rather keep it on for as long as possible. Harry notices how she tries to hide herself. His hand finds its place back on her ankle and slowly travels up to her calf, stroking up and down.

“Y’ have no idea how god damn beautiful you are, don'' you?” He reassures and she tries to shrug it off.

Both of them have a few cards left in hand but none of them are useful. They draw a few cards, and some of them are played immediately. Y/N look at her cards and forges a plan. With a smirk on her face, she plays a wild card allowing her to change the active colour to blue. But she has instant regret when she sees a smirk on Harry’s face that’s even wider than her own.

His fingers pick a card from his hand but before he places it down he tugs it back and picks up another one to play. A simple blue 9 lays down on the table. But the twinkle in his eyes never left.

She sighs and take a big sip of wine to empty her glass. She places her cards down on the table and gets up to grab the bottle of wine in the fridge.

“Cute undies.” Harry coos since her shirt doesn’t reach past her bum.

She comes back with the cold bottle and fills up both of their glasses, emptying the second bottle of the evening. The glasses are a bit full but who cares? She places the bottle down on the coffee table and sits back in her spot.

The plan she made a few minutes ago still works, she plays a blue reverse card allowing her to take another turn since it’s just the two of them playing. Next, she plays a blue skip card to grant her another turn. And last up she plays a plain blue 6. During all three of these cards, the smirk on Harry’s face grew back more comprehensive and she just knows what is coming.

The blue +2 that hits the table was expected, and is followed by a shout of UNO!

“Fuck.” She mumbles and takes a gulp from her glass. “Fine.” She continues before she grabs the hem of her shirt. She drags it out, trying to hold off for as long as possible. But the anticipation is turning Harry on even more. Of course, he has seen her in a bikini before, but this is different. This feels different.

Her shirt is added to the growing pile in front of the sofa. Harry notices how she feels a bit uncomfortable. Her eyes avoid his and she is unsure where to actually look. His hand reaches out for her and slides from her upper arm all the way down to her hand. He holds onto it for a little while, squeezing ever so softly.

“You really are the pretties' thing I’ve ever seen.” He reassures her by giving her the exact confidence boost she needed.

After Y/N plays her second to last card, Harry is able to finish the game by playing his very last card. Leaving him in his jeans and boxers and her in just her bra and panties.

“Let’s go for another round.” She states and already starts collecting all cards to shuffle them. Harry chuckles at her newly gained confidence. He is so ready to play a second round.

She deals the cards, places the deck back on the table, and flip over the top card of the deck. A yellow 4 is laying on the table.

“Since I won las' round, you may star' this round."

She places down a green 4 on top of the yellow one on the table. A simple but steady start, she thinks.

“Oh shi’.” Harry says and places down the green 4 he already had in his hand, ready to play. “I’m so sorry, love. You don’t have to…” He adds, suddenly getting nervous at the realization he is finally going to see her topless after years of wondering and imagining what she’d look like underneath.

“The game’s the game.” She states and lets her hand travel to her back to unclasp her bra. Harry gulped, feeling more nervous than he ever had before in his life. His heart was pounding as he looked into her eyes and saw the unmistakable desire there. He had no idea what she is thinking but he is fascinated by her daringness.

He watches as she pushes the straps of her bra off of her shoulders and drops the garment to the ground. She lets out a deep sigh of pleasure as her breasts become the focus of his attention, and the look in his eyes tells her he wants her just as much as she wants him.

She feels incredibly sexy and alluring. For a brief moment, their eyes meet. She feels a strange and wonderful stirring in her stomach. Her cheeks flush, and she quickly looks away. At that moment, she just knows that she is in trouble.

Without saying anything, she swiftly moves on with the game by placing down her green 8. Harry can’t seem to keep his eyes away from her for too long, giving her an enormous confidence boost.

Both of them place down a few more cards before she places down her Wild Draw 4 card and change the colour to blue. Harry draws his four cards and takes a good look at his cards. He’s having a hard time focusing on the game with the gorgeous sight in front of him.

He places down two cards in one go, a blue skip causing him to have a second turn, and a blue 5.

She places down her blue 8 and shout UNO! Harry looks through his cards again to find any card that may cause her to not finish the game. A Wild Draw 4, a +2, anything at all. But all he has is a blue 2.

“Oh my god, Harry. What are the odds.” She chuckles.

“Wha’d you mean?”

She places down a blue 2 on top of his. She’s been waiting for this moment ever since he took his shirt off. Her thoughts have been flooded with the idea of him naked in front of her. It’s all she’s been thinking about for the past years.

“Well, shi’. Y’ win the game and I have to take off my jeans?” He laughs. Without another word, he gets up, unbuttons his jeans and zips down his fly. His thumbs hook into the waistband of his jeans to pull them down painfully slow. A soft sign, nearly a moan is heard when his bulge is released from his tight pants. Ever since she had to get rid of her shirt Harry’s cock started hardening beneath him.

She gasps at the view in front of her. She makes it her mission to get him out of his boxers as soon as possible. The lust in her eyes is inevitable, not knowing where to look. His eyes? His hands, where he is pushing down his jeans? Or his bulge, which is honestly where she just wants to keep looking at.

Tension is rising and she can’t wait for him to add the last bit of his clothes to the growing pile. His jeans finally drop to the floor and he lifts his right foot trying to step out. His ankle gets stuck and she reaches out instinctively to hold the jeans down, helping him get out. She allows him to step out before she adds the denim to the pile of clothes.

Harry sits back down close to her. Both their legs touch again but now theres no fabric in between holding back the skin to skin contact. She looks down at where her legs touch and look back up to him.

“Hi.” He says with a soft smile across his lips. God those lips, they have never looked more kissable. Or is it just her mind playing games? Her thoughts are all over the place. All she wants is to just push him over, straddle him and kiss him. Everywhere.

“Hey.” She chuckles before a nervous laugh is heard from Harry’s side. Her eyes drop down to his boxers. He chose to wear navy blue Calvin Klein’s this morning and she is so thankful for his choice. The dark fabric accentuates his skin perfectly. An outline visible around his growing member.

“Eyes up ‘ere, love.” He snorted as if he isn’t having the hardest time keeping his own eyes away from her tits.

“Sorry.” She whispers before Harry holds out his hand for her to grab. His thumb dances on the back of your hand. Both of them are quiet for a little bit as they soak up each other.

After what feels forever but actually are only 1,5 minutes, Y/N speaks up.

“Harry? What are we doing?” She questions him, still holding onto him as she looks their connected hands.

“Hmn, I don’ know actually.” He replies. His free hand reaches with his forefinger for her chin and pushes her face up so she’d have to look in his eyes. “All I know is tha’ I want you. So, fucking, bad.”

Her eyes light up. She can’t believe he really admitted what he just said and without a second thought she gives in to her desire of just a few minutes ago.

Y/N lets go of Harry’s hand and pushes him onto the floor by his shoulders. Simultaneously she climbs on top of him, causing a muted “oh” to fall from Harry’s lips. He is surprised by her actions and honestly, so is she. His hands grab her by her hips as she sits down on his tummy, avoiding contact with his aching cock.

Their lips finally connect. Thirteen long years are coming together in this sweet and lustfull kiss. Harry’s right hand travels up and down her side as his left nestles into her hair. The two of them sink into the living room floor, both desperate for the connection they have been longing for.

His opens his mouth and gently sucks Y/N’s lip between his. He lets go after a few seconds and licks softly over her bottom lip. Her heart races as her spine arches under his touch causing him to naturally pull her closer. She opens her mouth to allow her tongue to join his, going back and forth.

She moans with pleasure and their tongues intertwine even more vigorously, entangling with one another in a desperate search for more pleasure. Each movement they make is somehow more tantalizing than the last. Their hands exploring each other's body with a deep hunger for more.

Y/N wishes this moment would last forever. She is scared of what might happens next, what if this is just a heat of the moment kind of kiss and they really can’t go back to being just friends. Or maybe that is exactly what Harry meant with his ‘Then we’ll just stop being friends’.

Harry’s hand roam down her back. He moans a bit louder when he finally touches her bum. She feels a firm squeeze on her left cheek, ripping a moan from her thoat. Y/N bucks her hips instinctively at the sweet tingles in her core.

Their lips part for a second and she presses her forehead against his. Both of them are a panting mess, feeling completely out of this world. With Harry��s hand still squeezing her bottom he speaks up.

“How abou' we take this to the bedroom, love?” He whispers.

Taglist: @justmystyles Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

#Harry Styles #Harry #Styles #Smut #Fanfic #One shot #Strip #poker #strip poker #uno #strip uno #imagine #harry styles x reader #best friend!harry #bestfriend!harry #tension

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desceros · 6 months

Text

fuck it blurple time donatello/reader; female reader; rated t

...He can smell you, here.

You must've taken a nap here this afternoon, he thinks, turning his face into his pillow. His eyes close, his lungs filling with the proof that you were in his bed. Using his pillow. Inside his sheets. You sleep here more than you sleep in your own bed sometimes, it seems.

He's having trouble remembering that that shouldn't be the case. That you have your own room in the lair. That you're not... his. Even as much as he wants you to be. Even as much as you are, in almost every way that matters.

...God. God, he wants you. He wants you so fucking much—

A soft, familiar sound has him unfurling his fingers from his pillow where he'd been gripping it to his face like it was the softness of you he craved to consume. He turns his head and sees you hovering in his door, your back to him as you shut it as quietly as possible so as not to disturb his brothers. They're both asleep, he assumes from the way you're trying to sneak. It's not like you think he's the one asleep. That he wouldn't know you were here.

It's a familiar ritual, this dance, like all of the others. How you pad across his room, kicking off your slippers next to his bed. How you pull away his blanket off his body. How you slide into his sheets and pull them over the both of you. How you curl against his soft shell, tucking your knees into the back of his, pressing your thighs close and nuzzling the edge of his carapace with your nose. You're warm, just like always, and yet the feel of you makes him hot.

"...Donnie?" you ask, your voice soft in the darkness between you.

"What?" he asks, going still when you hesitate.

"...Is... Is everything okay?" you ask, voice small, and oh. Oh. Not this question again. Not the question that he can't answer, not to a face as open and honest and perfectly not his as yours.

"Yeah." It's a lie. He knows it. He knows you know it.

...He wants to turn around. To bury his face into the crook of your neck. To wrap himself around you and press you to his heartbeat. He wants to kiss you. To trail his beak down your throat. Feel your pulse beneath his tongue. He wants to slide his hands beneath the shirt that was once his but now is only ever found hiding your curves from his covetous eyes. He wants to taste the sound of his name in your mouth. He wants to feel your skin against his keratin; purposeful, damp with sweat, smelling like the two of you twining together. He wants to—

God. He wants to consume every piece of you you'll give.

But he knows he won't. He won't turn around. Because it's different. A violation of the pact you've made. Something new. Something frightening.

...And, he silently admits, staring at the wall before him—he's afraid of who else he'll smell on your skin. Whose sharp canine teeth have been tracing your pulse, writing his name into it like a brand of ownership. Taking the space that should be Donnie's like it's just that easy.

He hates Leo, he decides, feeling his brow ridge furrow, for that, more than anything else.

Then, because you're you, because you are the most perfect creature he's ever known, because you are the other half of him, you seem, almost, to sense his turmoil. Then, as easily as you do everything else, you soothe it.

Gentle hands press along an old wound. He doesn't regret them, the scars. It's the proof that you're here. Unmarked. As perfect as you should be. His blood for yours, traded willingly on an altar that had brought him to his knees before he'd known how to pray. He sees the grief on your face, sometimes, when you look at them, and it's... it's a conflict. On the one hand, it infuriates him; to think that he'd ever let any harm come to you when he's at your side? Maddening. But, on the other—knowing that you'd give your flesh for his, that a piece of you feels the same, even if only for this—god. Donnie only hopes the sound stays in his lungs where you can't hear.

And, in an instant, in the inky black of his room, everything changes.

Your lips, soft as moonlight, ghost against the memory of his devotion. His lungs catch on a gasp, eyes staring, unseeing, his heart itself seizing in his chest. It's—It's impossible, what his keratin is feeling, and yet—

Like rain, your brushing kisses trace the line of his scar. Each inch bathed in relentless love, warm and soft and aching. He feels himself tremble, feels the way you press into him in response, your mouth only more sure against his shell. Only then does he remember to breathe, his eyes clenching shut against the barrage of you.

The sensation is like ecstasy. Stupid with it, he arches his spine, pressing into you, silently accepting anything, everything. Softly, your palm glides along the edge of his carapace, holding on as you dip your head, kissing and kissing and kissing. He can't think of anything else. Every thought is obliterated, leaving only the smell of you in his pillow as he turns his face, fingers curling into his sheets, entire body quaking to the tempo of your care.

Only the years of training ironed into his soul keeps him from turning, from pulling, from showing you everything he's kept safe behind this wall. But he can't help but let one little piece through—the soft lovesick whimper that he can't hold back; the proof for your ears, should you hear it, of exactly what you do to him.

Do you know? he wonders, sinking into the sensations as if embracing a dream. Do you know how much he—?

#tmnt #rise #blurple villain au #my fic #haha!! hahahahahhaahha!!! i'm!!!!! not at all affected by gb's art what are you talking about?????#donatello/reader #rating: t

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 1 year

Text

Getting to be your first time

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing: Akutagawa X Fem!Reader

Request: "Jesus christ i loved your drabbles of chuuya and dazai with a fem virgin reader, could you maybe write one for akutagawa?" ◜By lovely anon!!◞

Genre: Smut

Format: Drabble

Warnings: NSFW! content, nipple play, vaginal penetration

Word Count: 0.5K

A/n: E-eh?? I thought it wasn't good enough- Thanks!! T^T

For the first time in his life, Akutagawa has no idea what to do.

He's always following orders from higher ups, doing the job exactly as he's supposed to. He has done the trickiest missions in the port mafia, but not even once he has felt nervous, the way he feels now.

He avoids eye contact with you as his fingers slowly draw circles on your clit, pressing his naked body against yours unintentionally. This feels intimate; so scary yet so close and somehow he doesn't wanna pull away, not when you feel so warm, soft and kind.

Heavy breathes and low pitched moans scaping your lips are getting into him. He knows you can feel his throbbing member against your womanhood and the urge to get swallowed by the ground is kicking into him, but he can't separate from you now; not when he's this close to name you as his.

The gentle touch of your hand has him coming back to reality, turning his head toward you so he can meet your face.

Your pretty face, swollen lips and reddened cheeks.

He doesn't know what to say when you quietly ask him what's wrong, so he just slams his lips on yours, capturing them in a hungry kiss.

He's needy, you're just as needy as he is, you two really are a match.

Adjusting himself on your entrance, he reluctantly pulls away and looks you in the eye for approval, but all he can see is love, desire, and of course lust.

You whine a bit and pull him back so you can taste his lips again, feeling him smiling softly into the kiss. You don't let him break the kiss, not even when he slowly pushes inside, earning a slow gasp from you but not enough to break apart from him.

"O-oh!"

"Am I hurting you?"

"No..."

"You can tell me if you want to stop"

You don't want to stop.

When you wrap your arms around him, he lets out a heavy breath as he starts thrusting in and out of you, with a gentleness that seems familiar but is actually brand new. You don't hold back anymore. You moan everytime his length reaches a particular spot inside, and he feels honored as your voice gets louder and louder.

Akutagawa can't hold himself back anymore. You sound so nice and he has to hear more of you. He has to see you in your most vulnerable state, to hear you scream when you finally reach your orgasm. That's all on his mind when he tilts his head downward and starts sucking on your right nipple, using all the strength left in his body to speed his thrusts up, and boy he's pleased when you whimper loudly and throw your head back on the pillow.

For once in his life, Akutagawa doesn't want this intimate moment to be over. All he wants to do is doing all he can to pleasure you, and trap you in his arms, forever.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #bsd scenarios #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader #ryuunosuke akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x y/n #akutagawa x you #akutagawa smut #akutagawa scenario #akutagawa imagines #akutagawa fluff #ryuunosuke akutagawa smut #akutagawa ryuunosuke smut #ashthemadwriter

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maggstar · 1 year

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+, mni DNI!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: here babes

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, public sex (at night, so it's chill), mutual touching, protected sex (cause we don't want any diseases!), reader is a virgin, lots of kissing and tongue action ;)

𝐖𝐂: 6.5k (holy shit?)

𝐀/𝐍: this is for my biker hee enthusiasts, hope yall like this :)

Please leave any sort of feedback: reblogging and commenting is the best for me, so let me know!!

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A peaceful Saturday night in the outskirts of town was scheduled to be disturbed in the following minutes as another biker season was about to take place. Bikers have gathered all across the city to attend a race, this time the possession for the winner being a brand new Breakout 117.

Surprisingly, you weren't here for yourself, but for your friend, who couldn't miss this chance. Every month, he somehow managed to drag you along. Sometimes you truly questioned your decisions, especially given the circumstances. You weren't a significant other nor a fan, just a friend of a boy with whom you have known for decades. At this point, it became a tradition, as he claimed you were his lucky charm for victory.

Sometimes it was worth the fun, especially when you got to witness your friend winning. He was a professional, not only skillful but also sensible, unlike some of the drivers. Whenever the two of you went on rides, he was extra careful. You simply trusted him, just like you did when you bet on him before the match, putting your money on the fool.

You looked around the field, recognizing some of the contestants and their significant others, their style matching the rock and roll image their partners were carrying. You felt awkward standing there in your boring jeans and hoodie, finding your choice of clothing rather amusing. Yet again, that was you.

As you stared at the road again, your eye noticed a familiar figure approaching your friend, identifying them from miles away. He was taller and leaner than him, always wearing the same leather jacket during these events, lazily topping the outfit with some jeans.

He had been fairly new in town, yet his performance proved everyone wrong, quickly stepping up the ladder. You didn't know much about him besides a few encounters, in which he surprisingly always found a smooth pickup line to make an impression. He never mentioned his name nor where he was from. There was a mysterious vibe surrounding him, which intrigued you more.

As if he could sense your stare, he turned his head in your direction, eyes catching yours, passing a light smile, catching you off guard. You widened your eyes at the realization, quickly looking away even though it was late, slightly panicking inside.

You didn't know why his presence made you feel this way. The first time he came to you, you felt your stomach hitting a wall, gaze focused on the boy's face. Saying he was just handsome would be an understatement because it was breathtaking. Maybe it was just the effect of the moonlight shining on his face or the wind casually blowing his hair into a messy one, prompting him to run his hands through it like he was in a TikTok edit.

Something about him gave you a tingling feeling, and you couldn't understand what it was.

"Missed me?" you turned around at that voice, meeting him hovering over you with a smug grin, licking his lips teasingly. Fucker

"You wish," you crossed your arms, swinging your hair to appear unbothered at all costs, knowing damn well it wasn't working.

"Hm, why were you eyeing me then?" his words landed on the tips of your ears, hearing his smirk as he leaned against the fence, trapping you in between.

"Because you were talking to my friend?" you stepped back, hitting the fence with your back, trying to avoid the intense watch he was attempting to pull you in. He only reached closer, his nose brushing against your neck, smelling the soft jasmine scent. Your heart almost burst out at the random contact, grabbing the hem of your hoodie to hold in the gasp. If you weren't so sensitive, the hairs on your neck wouldn't have stood up at that little touch, proving to him just what effects he had on you.

"Hm, your friend," he casually twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, clearly enjoying edging you, "the one you always bet on, huh?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning up from the sudden attention, only exposing yourself to him more. It was too difficult to think straight when the distance between you was so slim you could almost hit your face in his chest, the powerful aroma of rosewood hitting your senses. Not only was it nice, but it was your favorite, the fragrance you would come back to in the perfume shop whenever you had the chance. What a coincidence that he had to be wearing it while seducing you.

"Why don't you bet on me once? I wouldn't disappoint you," the quirkiness in the sentence punctured, tucking the strand of hair behind your ear. You knew he was good, so the confidence didn't surprise you. Still, it made you nervous, the unpredictableness of his actions tempting you.

"Why should I?" you sighed, fighting yourself not to lose your composure after his fingertip traced over your jawline, visible due to your avoidance of eye contact. His touch did something to you, and you weren't sure if you were supposed to like it. Technically he was your friend's opponent, and getting close to him seemed like a form of betrayal.

"Cause if you do, you'll win," he held your chin, pulling it back to face him, finally examining your flustered expression," and I'll take you on a ride through the city." You stared into his brown eyes, unable to read his intentions through them, doubting your reactions.

"That's it?" somehow your brain succeeded in forming a normal sentence, sensing his hand sliding into your back pocket, internally screaming at the scene. He acted as if it was a regular thing he did, not a visible effect of it. You, on the other hand, were losing your mind.

"Someone's greedy," he smiled, pulling away after what felt like an eternity of torture, giving you space to take a proper breath at last. You didn't want to appear dramatic, but seriously the tension that transferred seconds ago left your throat dry.

"There is a race tomorrow downtown," he turned around, looking back from his shoulder, "be there. I might have something else planned too."

And with that, he took off, returning to his crew, leaving you thoughtless, dazzled, to be specific. He really left you hanging there, mind empty, heartbeat speeding up, and lungs begging to scream.

For a moment, you forgot the contest was about to start, your friend waving at you before putting on his helmet and getting into the starting position alongside the others. You saw the newbie sitting on his motorcycle, shooting a wink, and taking off as soon as the starter commander waved the checkered flag, disappearing in the distance.

He was serious when he said his luck was his secret weapon. Everyone seemed to have expected him to win another race, proudly taking home another trophy with a couple of ladies interested in spending some "quality time" together. He didn't mind, merely paying them attention because he was focused on someone else. He was focused on you.

However, you were busy comforting your friend, laughing and smiling at whatever he was saying, stinging his emotions. He expected you to congratulate him, a bit resentful by the outcome, tongue poking the inner side of his cheek.

It was stupid for him to want you to notice him, especially when so many girls had their eyes on him. You wouldn't approach him like that. He had to be the one to make the first move to make progress. Taking that into consideration, he remembered there was still tomorrow, his last chance to prove he was worth your while, and he was ready to whatever it would take to win that race.

He didn't know you were aware of his stare, not giving in so easily to see what it would do with him. It wasn't like you were playing hard-to-get. You simply wanted to find out to what extent he was willing to go for you, even if that meant he had to chase after you.

You had already decided to come to see him the next day, not expecting to find a paper note in your back pocket once you had reached home. It had a phone number written on it with the time of the event, and reading the message in small cursives made you scoff.

"P.S. You might want to keep this for later.

- your favourite biker ;) "

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn't surprise you when you came by as planned and witnessed the familiar faces hanging around, some of them even greeting you with a smile and a quick hi.

Nevertheless, you didn't expect to run into folks out of town, assuming this race was more important than the one yesterday. It wasn't common for bikers from other cities to partake in a contest, let alone in this town.

You wondered if your friend had a clue about this happening as he wasn't a part of the crowd, guilt rushing through at the lack of his presence beside you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, eyes skimming for the boy who convinced you to come in the first place. He was in the front talking to his group of friends he had made in the past weeks, one of them tapping his shoulder at your sight. That was all he needed to turn around and distinguish you amongst the people, telling his friends he would return in a minute as he started walking towards you with a can of beer.

"You came," he grinned, hiding the actual excitement inside, squatting in front of you to meet your gaze. You rolled your eyes at the statement in hopes of pushing away the same warmth you felt 24 hours ago.

"So you want me to take you on a ride, huh?" the cocky smirk after that made you scoff, quickly taking it back when his elbows rested on your thighs, causing you to stare at him with a startled face. He brushed it off, smiling and handing you the liquid, nudging you to take a sip. You explained to his dorky ass you didn't drink, and he couldn't help but laugh at the information because it was even more amusing.

"Can I ask you for something?" he broke the silence by voicing his question, watching you nod.

"Can you give me a kiss for good luck?" you almost choked on your breath at his calmness during the proposal, widening his eyes as if you were the one who had presented an inappropriate suggestion.

The boy wasn't messing around, and you understood that the minute he leaned in closer, face inches away from yours while his orbs lusciously studied your plump lips covered in pink lipgloss.

"Just on the cheek, if you're too shy," his response only invoked you more, standing up after pushing him away. He gaped at you, fixing his posture amidst waiting for an explanation.

"What, was it too much? Did I embarrass you?" the cursed thumb brushed over your cheek, gently stroking it with a content laugh. He wasn't only teasing but relishing your flustered state, in which you asked yourself: "What the hell am I doing with my life?".

"You have to earn it first," you pulled away, crossing your arms, letting your brain break down and comprehend the impact your words would have on the playboy.

"Sounds like an invitation," he sneered, taking a sip of the alcohol, sensing the thrill running down his body at the possible outcomes. It made everything better knowing you didn't calculate your reply, adding to the fever.

Before you could perceive the situation, he returned to his buddies, smiling from ear to ear at the unexpected yet pleasant turn of events.

Soon after, the motorcyclers repeated the typical preparation for the beginning of the night, their supporters encouraging them for the best results. You stood behind some of them, glimpsing at the tall boy out of the corner of your eye, who was already ready to cross that finish line and get you all to himself.

The race took off the minute the commander yelled go, the sounds of the engines storming off through the selected path, vanishing at a swift speed. It was a long one, including overlaps at some destinations, making it more challenging. This all appeared to be a higher level compared to the usual races you witnessed, curious to find out if the charming flirt actually had a chance on impressing you tonight.

His demeanor was overall confusing, and honestly, you had no clue what to think or feel. It was pleasant when he gave you attention, and you couldn't act like his words didn't do something to you. You have never been in a relationship, having been too focused on school to make time for love, not seeing the queue of potential lovers. Thus, these chats left you with a new feeling, craving more.

It would be a crime not to mention he was astonishingly attractive, the way he talked, moved, and most of all, looked at you. The captivating eye he would give whenever you appeared on his radar drove you crazy, followed by an assured smirk. It was enough to build a tiny crush on him without acknowledging it, not wanting to hurt your ego by admitting it aloud.

You came to reality after everyone started loudly cheering, blowing whistles, and gathering around the winner, who got hidden behind the buffs. You stepped closer, taking a peek between the heads, coming face to face with him. After all, he kept his word.

"I told you you wouldn't regret it," he said as he put a helmet on you, patting the seat behind him, keen on leaving the place with you.

You were still taken aback by the pace of the situation, recalling the disappointed looks when the handsome one chose you instead of them.

Nevertheless, you were happy at the moment, joining him with a huge chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist without him having to ask, slightly taking him aback with the out-of-the-blue contact.

He didn't say much after, calmly driving through the streets, checking you through the rearview mirror sometimes.

The ride felt different, unlike when he took his other flings somewhere, and he didn't understand the meaning. It was already unusual for him to feel nervous about someone's company, especially when this scenario had played out countless times before.

A part of him felt bad for taking advantage of the situation, especially given your innocence compared to his exes. He presumed you weren't aware of his relationship because otherwise, you probably wouldn't have agreed to this.

Then again, this was the first time he worked so hard to impress someone, almost giving up during the race. However, during one of the laps, he saw you standing behind the railings, showing thumbs up with an irresistible smile, providing him the right energy to pull through.

That had never happened before, and he was aware of the seriousness of the news. It would mean it was the first time in many years a flirter like him would fall hard enough to like someone.

The more you squeezed, the more he noticed the effects of it on his body, clenching his jaw to concentrate on the road and not the unwanted happiness.

He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to come to terms with the fact someone could give him butterflies. It simply didn't fit his image, and he never believed in the cute lovey-dovey stuff others experienced.

Now it all bit him back, showing him just how nice it could be if he let the walls he had built around down for a minute. After that one relationship he had, it was hard to find someone he could truly trust, and many had wronged him in the past, leading to his cautious state. It wasn't an excuse to be a playboy, but he used it to appear careless. This way, he wouldn't fall in love and hurt himself.

He was curious about your past and if you had any nice affinities in which you were happy and content with yourself. He didn't want to harm you with his mentality and behavior, not ruin your image with his dirty games.

Now, he regretted taking you out because he was dangerous. Not in the usual way, but emotionally, he didn't want to leave an avoided scar. It was confusing, he was difficult for no reason.

He never cared about this because the girls he met up with had the same desires, some hoping for more but unfortunately ending up heartbroken. Whenever that happened, he skimmed through it, not giving a second thought to them.

Yet, he sat here entering the motorway after circling the city, disbelieving his decisions. It was touching to hear your little gasps and awes, telling him how beautiful the lights from the skyscrapers looked, pointing at the buildings. It warmed his cold heart, managing to satisfy someone with such small things. It was foreign.

He didn't believe he pulled you off with his foolish tactics, earning your trust without having to tell much. Under normal circumstances, he would be against this idea because it was playing with fire. He felt this need to protect you ever since he had met you due to your pure personality, quirky lines, and profound smile.

All of the desire to hook up perished away, and he only wanted to show you a better view of the city, driving up to a secluded place where he spent most of his time alone. It meant a lot to him, too special for anyone to know about, thus never having taken someone up there. You were the first and probably last person to visit it, the sound of it now appearing appealing to him.

"Where are we going?" you shouted into the sky, the sound of the motorcycle so loud you could barely hear yourself.

"It's a surprise, hold tight," he remarked back, glancing back at the road as the destination was getting closer, feet tensing at the information. You decided to trust him, pulling in closer to rest you heard on his back, a smile forming behind the helmet. It felt cozy to be so close, even if it was for a while.

You were so lost in your thoughts and feelings that you didn't register the satisfaction his existence gave you, unnecessarily disassembling the reason for the fervor your heart experienced.

A few minutes later, the two of you finally reached the stop, parking beside the road to take you to the spot. You jumped down, letting him take off your helmet even though you knew how. He stared into your eyes once more, admiring your beauty while your hair was blowing in the wind, revealing your majestic looks.

"You liked the night city so much," he uttered after putting away everything, joining you at the fence, "so I thought you should see the best of it."

"It's," you were at a loss for words, marveling at the view ahead, having the vision of the whole city underneath. It was incredible, and you could only sigh in astonishment, joyful to be able to see it.

"Beautiful," he completed the sentence, glancing at you with the hope you would catch on the little hint. You were too fascinated to uncover the message he had thrown at you, looking around with a big beam, letting out tiny noises of delight. He couldn't stop staring at you instead of the view, finding himself slightly grinning as well.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name. You know mine, it would only be fair if I knew yours," you turned around, catching him swiftly turning around to face forward, holding in a giggle.

"Heeseung," you raised your eyebrows at the reply, expecting a game in which you would have to guess or earn it. He said it without any thought, resting his hands on the bars.

"Well, thank you, Heeseung."

"For what?" he glimpsed at you, studying the vivacious energy you carried, making him forget the tiredness he had held.

"For bringing me to your secret place. It's lovely."

"Just like you," you gulped at the random compliment, mind going crazy while you attempted to hold yourself together.

"They weren't kidding when they said you were a playboy," the sentence felt like a punch in the stomach, glancing at you to see the regret on your face, having expected this to happen regardless.

"Why say that?"

"You flirt with anyone naturally," the intonation of the comment asserted with a scoff. "You're just messing around, right? No feelings attached, just looking for someone to score."

"Y/N,"

"I'm not saying it's wrong, just-" you paused, brows furrowing at the lack of knowledge. You didn't know why it angered you so much, why it bothered you so much. Why was the thought of him alternating between women so frustrating? Why did you even care? It wasn't like he wanted to change it anytime soon. He enjoyed playing around because it was fun. Why would something suddenly change with you? Why the hell were you even thinking about that?

"Y/N,"

"It's stupid. I'm stupid. Stupid for foolishly believing it might be different. I don't even know why I thought about it. I don't understand why you make me so nervous when it's just a game, why I feel something when you say the compliments you used on other girls, why I came here in the first place, why my heart beats so fast when you look at me. Why-"

"Because I fucked it up!" he shouted, preventing you from rambling any longer, startling you at the shift in demeanor. His sharp gaze sliced through you, anger fuming in it. He wasn't mad at you. He was disappointed in himself.

"I wanted to hook up and have fun like you said. That's what I do because I'm a coward. I'm afraid of getting attached to someone," he panted, needing to take a breath after finally saying the truth out loud, shutting his eyelids to prevent tears. He wasn't letting that happen.

"I'm afraid of hurting again," his voice softened, biting his lip to prepare for what he was going to admit. It was already difficult to be in this position with you goggling at his words, processing the unforeseen amount of information thrown at you.

"I avoided anything that could put me in that position until I met you," his hands clenched into a fist, wrath clambering in his bones, yelling at him for being such a coward. He was itching to kick something, punch an object to get it out before it could absorb him, fighting the need by engraving nail marks into his palm.

"Ever since I laid my eyes on you, there wasn't a day I stopped thinking about you. Your image was buried inside my head, and I couldn't get rid of it," he inhaled, chest feeling heavy at the weight his upcoming words carried, eyes meeting yours, the tension trapping your heart.

"That damn smile of yours, Y/N. It ruined me in the best way possible."

...

The world around you two seemed to have stopped at that moment, staring at each other without saying anything, silence taking over after what was declared out loud, muscles tightening with each second the brain replayed the words, struggling to put the information into the database. It kept slipping out, checking if the content of it was correct and if there wasn't a mistake when it was collected. All the signs indicated the process had been performed successfully, thus leaving you with the truth, which was unthinkable.

Your heart had so much to say, but your mouth couldn't move, speechless to form a coherent response. You lost your thinking in his gaze, studying his aching expression, which desperately coveted an answer. He didn't care what it would be. He had to hear something before he would lose his mind because it was right around the corner waiting for him, and he could take off any second.

"I-" You hopelessly made an effort to say something, leaving the pronoun hanging in the air with your thinking, your emotions taking over your system. Before any of you could say something, your hands reached for the back of his neck, drawing him to your lips swiftly, gasping at the new sensation.

Your heartbeat went up at the act, his only rapidly increasing whenever you pulled away to press on his lips again, nibbling on your bottom lip, smearing your lipgloss, and acquiring the faint taste of strawberry in his mouth.

He didn't expect this, the possibility of it not even entering. The ire for himself subsided, withering out every time your tender touch coated your lips with affection. The hatred faded into the darkness, leaving on ease. All the curses and insults reset, unplugging the tension in his joints, balance failing to cooperate. No part reported back their status, senses being the only department registering and functioning.

"He-heeseung," your voice whispered, sighing as he put all of your hair on your other shoulder, having full access to your neck, on which he immediately left a soft kiss, barely pressing his lips on your warm skin. That was enough to give you the biggest goosebumps, going down to your legs, which floundered not to move.

You couldn't let out a protest or argue about his doing because you were tongue-tied, thunderstruck, or whatever other phrase that described your situation. His fingers grazed over yours with grace, poking the space in between to intertwine them, taking a whiff of your delectable perfume.

"Can I touch you, Y/N?" his thumb gently stroked your hand, leaving tender smooches on your skin, lightly wrapping the other around your throat, lifting your chin to be able to see you. You only stared back in mesmerization, body, and mind entering numbness, stranding you with suspense.

"I-I," the word stumbled, just like your brain did when he stepped closer, his body pressing against yours, your back hitting the railings. It happened again, trapping yourself in his ardor, eyes floundering to stay open, weakening because of him. At this point, you didn't want anything more than his touch, tippy-toeing to feel his lips on yours again, dissolving in his embrace.

His free hand slid under your shirt, caressing your stomach as he rested his forehead on yours to stare intensely into your eyes, completely emptying your worries and doubts. You whimpered at the move, causing him to pull away with a smirk, whereas you covered your face out of embarrassment.

"It's ok," he moved it away, stroking it to conceal the chuckle that badly wanted to come out, "I want to know if I'm making you feel good."

The wave of heat ascending had you begging for more, pulling him by his chain, wrapping your arms, unleashing the oxytocin and dopamine out of your system. The serotonin circulating in your blood made you jump on him, luckily getting held and seated on the railings, smiling at your enthusiasm. You weren't comprehending your doings, incapable of reflecting.

"Someone's eager to have me," he laughed, teasing you with his lip between your lips, sliding in at the moment his hand rested on your thigh, forcing you to gasp and give him the opportunity to show you another compelling experience. You weren't sure if it was supposed to be this luscious or if it was simply the swoon speaking. Either way, your panties started feeling uncomfortable at the stain of arousal they had to absorb, demanding some friction.

"Spread your legs, princess," he tapped on your thigh, grinning at your immediate reaction, unzipping your jeans to slide them down your ankles.

"Heeseung, what if someone sees us?" for a minute, rationality entered back, alongside shyness, legs clasping against each other at the cold wind bouncing between them.

"Don't be nervous. Nobody comes here at this time. It's dark anyway, so they wouldn't see us."

That calmed you a bit, not imagining participating in something like this in public, at the edge of a railing. Risk-taking wasn't in your nature. Nonetheless, something about it was exciting and surprisingly made it more fun. If your past self saw you right now, she would have probably fainted.

Heeseung was in his world, hand wandering lower out of impatience, drawing circles with his index finger on your inner thighs, the softness of your skin driving him crazy. There was nothing compared to craving someone so badly, and he wanted to cherish every second of your fragile whimpers, his name rolling on your tongue from imploring.

He had never felt this needy for someone, always having had one-night stands to blow off some steam. It wasn't memorable, none of them standing out, simply falling into the repeated cycle without a label, just a blunt recollection. Tonight, however, was going to be an unforgettable memory, and he couldn't stop thinking about it as he reached your clit, replacing his finger with his thumb, and pressing a little to carry out the motion. You bit your lip at the act, still holding on to his arm for support, burying your flushed face in it.

"Does that feel good, angel?" he whispered in your ear, sucking on your helix, biting playfully to make you squirm underneath. You quietly murmured what sounded like an agreement, battling with the lewd noises your mouth desperately wanted to sound. It only worsened with him picking up the speed, drawing infinity symbols all over, sending your vision to the back of your head.

Without noticing, he brushed his crotch against your leg, softly moaning, provoking you to do the same. You moved your leg in his favor, making sure you weren't putting in too much, falling apart at his hushed moans.

"Put your hand on it," he pointed, guiding it to his bulge, which was poking through his jeans, warming up in your palm. Your eyes almost fell out of their pockets at the advancement of the situation, practically losing it.

"That's what you did just by kissing me," he panted, groaning instantly at you gripping it, releasing it gradually, propelling him to curse out loud. It was your curiosity and purity that pushed him over the edge, wondering how long he had before officially hitting the ground from how far he was falling for you.

"I want to make you feel good too," you pleased, sliding into his pants to stroke his erection through his boxers, watching him soften under your spontaneous dominance.

"Are you sure? You don't have-" His words got cut off by an eager kiss, almost falling over due to the intensity of it, moaning into your mouth while your tongue met his, insides flipping over at the emanating smacks.

There wasn't a better way to answer that question, his pants falling along his boxers after reaching for a wrapping in one of the pockets. Watching him put on a condom was another shocking discovery for you, learning how wrong your reading about him had been.

"Here," he lifted you, taking off his leather jacket to place it over the fence before positioning you back on it, uncovering a hidden gentleman. Frankly, all of his actions tonight were new to him, from the way he handled you with care to his eagerness to have you, his member basically twitching at every contact you two shared. He was down bad, and he loved it.

"Slow, please," you wrapped your arms around his neck, "it's my first time."

"Wait, really?" he held onto the bar for support, too stunned to speak after the revelation, anxiety rushing through his limbs. You nodded, worried it might change his mind about doing it with you. That wasn't his concern, though. It was more about if he should be the person to guide you through it. Not to mention, the place was already a horrible choice, reevaluating his measures.

"Don't you want to lose it with someone else? You know, someone more special," the self-doubt peeked through, surprising you.

"No, I want you," the reassurance soothed the tense one. "There's no one else I want to do it with more."

Heeseung stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. The straightforward answer was what he had wanted to hear for years. To be someone's first choice and not a pinch-hitter, to be selected from the various other options. To be wanted by someone, not just for their pleasure but for his as well. He realized at this moment how much it meant, the sudden need to kiss you taking over, aligning his shaft into your wet entrance.

"Is this ok?"

"Yes, but it hurts a bit," you pulled on his collar, adjusting to the tugging thing between your legs. It was weird, and you weren't sure how much of it he had put already, stressing over how much you could take in.

"It will soon pass. I'm sorry," he pulled you into another kiss, rubbing against your clit before pushing in again, this time going in a bit deeper, holding you with one arm. It was unpleasant, and you recalled your gynecologist examination, the same pain now ravaging through. You appreciated his effort at making it less painful, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"You're so sweet for a supposed bad boy, you know," you groaned, nails digging into his T-shirt, into his back, to be precise, leaving some marks. Heeseung couldn't wait to look at them in the mirror tomorrow, content as he left some lovely patterns all over your collarbones.

"I think you have a special effect on me."

A cry parted at the deepening and sayings, walls trying to push out the unfamiliarity, leaving you with more discomfort than necessary, face scrunching up.

The only thing that kept you going was his worried attentiveness lingering on you, checking in after a bit of kissing and rubbing, concentrating as hard as he could. Fortunately, his gentle manners relaxed you, easing a little the more you gave in, not paying attention to the pain any longer.

"Is it at least a little better?"

"Yes," you beamed, "I think I can actually feel someth-" A whine cut you short, a weird ecstasy unlocking at his shaft moving, gasping at the feeling.

"Hm, that's the spot, huh," he kissed your cheek, caressing your hair as he repeated the motion, pushing out the air in your lungs.

"Oh fuck, is this supposed to feel this good?" you wailed, tugging to his collar for support, your life flashing ahead of you.

"Yes, sweetheart. It means you're doing great" another thrust, this time more powerful, shattering your G-spot. The combination of his voice and nickname made you see stars, wandering in the pleasure emanating.

The only thing you could think about was him, your hand in his big hand, stroking you with his thumb calmly as he sucked on your now puffy lips, placing one between his, perfectly sliding against each other. The slowness of it made your head spin, adding up with his tongue roaming around, transferring his warm saliva with yours, painting your mouth in it.

He roamed in you now since you gave him the green light, the lube on the condom enabling him to slip in easier, your walls sucking him in to keep him inside.

Neither of you had to say anything because your eyes spoke instead in between the passionate ravaging, reaching the depths of each other's soul, smoothing out all of the worries and fears it held on. The comfort you two passed on each other sent you in euphoria, eyes smarting from how good it felt, not believing it was possible.

"I don't know what's happening, but you're doing things to me," your brows curved up, the pace of his thrusts picking up at the confession.

"If only you knew what you do to me."

"I mean that something is happening," you spoke, indicating to your stomach, "I can feel it building up."

"Oh, you're close?" he face-palmed himself from within, laughing at his awkwardness.

"I think so," you pulled him closer, planting your nose into his shoulder to conceal your volume.

"That's alright, cum for me, please," he pleaded, checking if his ears weren't deceiving him. He really begged for you to reach your high on his cock.

"I think I'll fall in love with you if you keep this up," your fingers dipped in more, orgasm increasing in size with his cock bursting in your dripping hole, catching the wet sounds.

"Hm, I think I'm one step ahead of you," his groan shoved out, biting on your neck to grant your climax, sensing his approaching hastily.

"I'm gonna cum if you keep talking like that."

"Then be a good girl and make me happy," he conveyed, your pussy immediately tightening up at the words, throbbing as it released your liquids, covering his member in it.

"Kiss me," he appealed, welcoming your hands on his cheeks and lips on his, the intimacy of it emptying out his load into the condom, groaning into your mouth at the delight spreading all over his body, leaving him panting from the intensity of it.

You stared into his doe eyes while the two of you were catching on your breaths, beaming from the joy surrounding your hearts. He had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen, brushing your finger over his lips before drawing him into another kiss, a long one that showed your gratitude and happiness.

"I'm so happy right now," you whispered against his lips, giggling at the funny feeling inside your chest.

"You have no idea how happy I am," he smiled back, pulling you into a deep hug, firing the tears of joy onto your back.

"Why are you crying?" you quickly pushed him away to grab his face and scan for any type of pain, ending up with a big smile instead.

"Because I finally found happiness."

"You silly, you got me worried there for a second," you put his head back into your chest, playing with his hair to not make him see the huge grin growing on your face.

"I should take you home," he mumbled, hands rubbing your back.

"No, take me to you."

"Wait, like to my house?" he escaped your touch, staring at you to check if he wasn't hearing things.

"I want to cuddle tonight," you hopped off the fence, pulling back your clothes while he did the same, still looking at you to confirm he wasn't imagining stuff and you really said you wanted to spend the night with him, at his house, in his bed.

And you were serious, settling it was time to let your heart make the decisions for a change and carry out the night in its favor.

"Let's go, pretty boy."

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Taglist: @end-hyphen, @hee-pster, @jakeswifeyy, @gegeetime, @heerated, @jayked, @forjongseong, @enhastolemyheart

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ^^

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@maggstar

#minors: dni #enhypen hard hours #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons

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itsgodepi · 8 months

Text

If I lose my mind | Ch. 3

Series summary: When life has given you more than enough lemons and you cannot figure out how to make a lemonade, the only way to make it work is to get rid of the whole basket. But was it neccesary to send you to a whole different dimension for that? A juicer would have done the job, really. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 2.7k Also on AO3

The fact that you are playing some kind of reaction game with tennis balls right next to a Formula One car, does nothing but further consolidate the theory that this is not real. You must be dreaming. Why would you find yourself in this situation otherwise? It does not make sense.

Not only had he made you change clothes yet again, dressing you up in a strange white jumpsuit filled with even more logos —your surname and country’s flag somehow branded on its hip—, he had also paraded you around the place for what felt like an hour. Cameras had followed you through it all, this time with no intention of recording from the sidelines but instead walking right in front of you as you tried to navigate the crowded place.

“Feeling alright?” Nick queries when you fail to pick the third ball in a row, his eyes scanning your figure as if you were about to drop dead right that second “We can sit down if you need to”

“No, no, it’s okay” you reassure him, willing your mind to concentrate on the game despite the way your mind is running “Let’s try again”

Nick shakes his head in disbelief, stealing one last glance at you before he looks at something behind your back. “Don’t worry, it’s time anyway. I’ll go pick up everything so you can prepare” and with that, he is gone.

Leaving you alone, like he already knows you won’t dare to run away.

He returns with his hands full not much later, one of the objects catching your attention straight away, a light blue helmet that you remember well. The helmet from yesterday, the one that man dressed in the bright orange jumpsuit had freed you from.

Nick silently helps you with everything he brought: from a pair of earphones to a strange white piece of fabric that resembles a ski mask, and finally the helmet. When you hold it in your hands, the weight and smooth texture makes a familiar feeling arise from inside of you, a sudden streak of excitement that travels like thunders through your body.

“Do I have to?” you whisper, head lowered and eyes fixed on the helmet as you try to shake that feeling., flashbacks from yesterday coming instead to play on your mind.

Nick can only laugh at that, his eyebrows furrowing “What do you mean? Of course you have to!”

And although that mocking response irks you, you don’t fight it. Your brain is so overworked with theories that you are not even fully conscious of what you do or why exactly you keep listening to him. You cannot fathom what could they possibly have prepared for you.

The helmet is easy to slide on, the new barrier drowning the noises coming from the garage even more than the headphones had. It does feel a little claustrophobic though, with the way it presses your cheeks up and restricts your field of vision. Nick places something on your shoulders while you try to get used to it, some clicks sounding at your sides before he gives your helmet a pat and guides you over to the white Formula One car. There, he exchanges a few words with the people surrounding the machine, the one closest to you turning his head to send a thumbs up your way. Nick steps aside then, letting you free access to the car.

Confused, you look up at him, a hand coming up to slide the visor of the helmet up so he can see your eyes. Are you missing something? What does he want you to do to the car? See it? You have already been ogling it from the side for half an hour.

When you take a second too long thinking, he stretches a hand out towards the car, as if inviting you to get inside. But you are quick to decline this offer “Oh, no thank you”, raising your voice a little and taking a step back to further prove your point.

Is this-? Are they expecting you to drive it or something? These people are crazy.

Nick’s grin is playful “Sure, whatever you say”, his eyes rolling at your refusal, reaching a hand out for you to hold onto as he invites you once again to step into the car.

“What for? I don’t want to” you dismiss him again, harsher this time, as cross your arms over your chest to strengthen your stance.

You have been trailing after him like a lost puppy all day, no questions asked. It is about time you stand your ground. Are they not satisfied with having you dressed like an idiot in the middle of a place you do not know? All while cameras film your every move like this is the Hunger Games.

“C’mon, we are late, stop playing games…” Nick tries again, his voice way firmer than before.

The argument attracts a lot more attention than you would have liked, the eyes of all the men previously working on the car, now set on you. Everyone seems to be as confused as Nick, low murmurs being shared around the garage as they give you strange looks. That is the case for Nick as well, like he hadn’t thought you rebelling against him was ever an option, like this is just routinary. And when you finally take the time to mull it over, you understand why this change on your attitude may be sudden. The reunion, the clothes, the helmet… It was all preparation.

How have you been so stupid?

The stare contest is only broken by the yell of a man that echoes through the garage. “Why are you still here?! Get in the car already!” he almost orders, a deep frown set on his face. You remember him, he was in the first meeting, seated right at the head of the table.

That angry tone sets everyone around you into motion, Nick’s hand finding the back of your shoulder and pushing you to get in the car. And you want to step your foot down, get his hands off you and run away from this madness. But it all goes so fast.

As soon as you get seated on the car, hands start flying all around you. They screw in the steering wheel, connect some things and help you tightening down the straps of a belt that straps you down to the seat. No way out. You look up at Nick, silently asking for help —as if he was not one of them—, eyes slowly filling up with tears.

What are you supposed to do now? There are so many people around, there is no way you are getting away from this.

While you try to make sense of this situation, even more things start happening around you. The rest of the men —they must mechanics or something— start stepping away from the car, uncovering the wheels and giving space to a man in front of you. He walks backwards outside the garage, his face turning from side to side while holding a hand up for you to wait until he deems it safe.

Still, nothing prepares you for the switch you feel inside of you when the man signals for you to come forward.

From the force with which you grip the steering wheel to the way your foot falls on the pedal, everything feels instinctive. Even the low rumbling of the car coming to life under your body feels strangely familiar and comforting. A second nature. The machine manages to roll out of the garage without trouble, as if you had been doing this your whole life and you were not terrified about what is to come. There is only one possible outcome, and it does not look good for you.

Thankfully —or maybe not so much—, your brain seems to shut down once the car passes through the garage door, the fear consuming your thoughts to such a point that you seem to go over the path in the blink of an eye. One minute you are giving one last look at Nick and the next you are being helped out of the car. The men in white had come to surround the car, one of them giving you a thumbs up and a pat to the helmet that had instantly filled you with relief. It is done, finished. You have not run into a wall, nothing bad has happened.

And, although the fact that you seem to know exactly how to control a Formula One car should by itself have sent you into panic mode, that will instead be a problem for future you to resolve.

Yet, as it seems to be a recurrent theme by now, that happiness is short and sweet. When you are helped out of that awful deathtrap of a car, your eyes are finally able to get an image of the place you have so stupidly driven to. Even though the road had been limited by tall, wired fences the whole way, it is only now that you are able to see the thousands of people seated behind them. You can only look at them in utter shock, vision still restricted by this awful helmet that doesn’t let your breath properly, as you try to wrap your head around what could be happening here and why have you been thrusted in the middle of it.

Some look back at you, their smiles widening as they hold up different flags and banners for you to see, but their attention is promptly stolen by something —or someone— behind you, cheers getting impossibly louder. You follow their gaze instinctively, brows furrowed because what more could possibly be happening.

Well, what is happening is that another Formula One car has arrived. What the hell. Your gaze uselessly follows the car, its navy blue paint a complete contrast to the white of your car —why you would even call it yours is beside the point. Not only that, but as the people on the road move aside to let the machine pass, you feel the fear that has been bubbling inside you for hours on end now, reach a new peak. The image of at least 10 other Formula One cars lined up is finally discovered before your eyes.

The dots connect way too slowly as your eyes fly from one car to another, heart pumping blood on your ears like it is about to burst out of your chest. Had that lap been a simple warm up, a stupid way to get the cars in place for an actual race?

It is a miracle that you manage to stand upright and follow one of the men dressed in white despite the way your legs are locking up. Breath heavy as if you had run a marathon. In hopes of calming yourself down, you reach up to take off the helmet and that stupid mask, both objects being held close to your chest as if someone was going to come and steal them.

With this newfound freedom you try to gather your bearings for the nth time today. But, how can you, when your field of vision is filled with freaking Formula One cars of every color imaginable? Your chest can only tighten in fear of what is to come.

The man guides you through the mass of people gathered around the cars, a couple of them sending smiles and words of encouragement your way as if you wanted to do anything other than scream your way out of this place. Everyone is just bubbling with an energy that your body cannot match, the mix of screams and cheers sending you further down into an anxiety attack instead. You feel like a puppet, the strings pulling you around this unknown place while people record your every move with one of the hundred cameras flashing all around.

This has to be a nightmare, there is no other explanation. It cannot be the real word. How and why would you be here if it was?

Someone does steal both your helmet and mask before you are brought to a separated part of the road, the asphalt covered with a red carpet to kind of mark a VIP area. For some reason, he flies the scene after that, leaving you completely alone in the middle of a road surrounded by a million cameras and strangers dressed from head to toe in one single color like this is a fucking film.

The loneliness does not last long though, as you are yet again approached by another stranger and that recurrent phrase. “Congrats on P10!” a man dressed in a black jumpsuit comes to stand next to you, a smile being drawn on his lips as soon as your eyes meet “It’s your highest position yet, right?”

Seriously, do you seem that approachable when you are freaking out or do these people just lack emotional intelligence?

His question catches you off guard as much as the fact that he also talks to you in English, your brain scrambling to find a response that you do not have —because, well, it is your fist position ever, if that counts. You decide to mimic his grin instead, a curt nod as your answer since it looks more like an affirmation than a question.

“Feeling nervous?” he queries right after, scrunching his nose as if he could feel the nerves running like thunders under your skin.

For that you do have an answer: “A lot…”, but the reasoning behind it greatly differs from what he must be thinking about.

Strangely enough, the sweet chuckle that he lets out brings a real smile to your lips, and even more so the calming words and praises that follow. That he knows you will do well, everything will turn out alright, while he confidently assures you that you will be taking some points home today. He is sure of it. The men from the meeting had said something similar, their ‘don’t be greedy’ has stayed at the back of your mind ever since.

“You already know this but, be careful, the start is pure chaos when you are on the middle of the grid” he advices you as well, looking back at the line of Formula One cars like he can see it unfolding before his eyes.

But why is he being so nice? Who is he? Talking to you with such care while you cannot get a single word out, too freaked out to react to any of this information. Your eyes slip down on their own to the hip of his jumpsuit, the letters showing despite the fact that he is not wearing it zipped up completely like you do, but rather with the top part wrapped around his waist. There you find what probably is the United Kingdom flag —yeah, he does sound English— and what must be his name: Lewis.

“Anyway, better not to talk about it. Let’s go!” the man proposes at last, pointing with a tilt of his head to the men gathered a few meters away.

Even though any sane person in your situation would have turned down the offer and run away from all these strangers, you cannot help but follow him. The fear of being left alone in an unknown place is somehow overpowering your desire of escaping. Where would you run to anyway? With which money? And if you call the police, what would you tell them? Would you even be able to understand what they say? It is not like you had been able to read a single town sign on the way here.

Still, when you finally focus your gaze on the group of men ahead, you wonder if all this is just an extremely well-prepared hidden camera show. Because not more than a few meters away, in that group you are walking towards is the man that has been flashing through your mind all day long.

The man from yesterday, the person who held you in his arms as everything faded around you, in that exact same bright orange outfit.

Next chapter

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Author's note: From now on the updates will take a bit longer since this is what I had already written, so you'll have to be patient with me hahaha. Thanks for all the nice comments and interactions!

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you

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