#one piece own char

[cyborg-franky]

Thank you @mamamittens for letting me work with your lovely OC once again! I tried to add eveything you wanted <3 please enjoy!

Thatch x OC Platonic friendhips with Marco and Ace WC: 2,300 SFW

Pulling the blanket around her tighter she glared at the frost-covered porthole, gritting her teeth in a bitter attempt to soften their chattering noise. The room was silent apart from chittering teeth, and the occasional sound of large pieces of ice bouncing off the ship's hull. She nuzzled into the blanket, chiding herself for being so ridiculous sitting and quivering like a fearful child of the dark. She huffed some hair from her face and glanced across the room.

She needed to eat, a hot drink would help, and being near a certain mera mera owner would also go down a treat. It was a shame Ace was actively avoiding her, too annoyed at all the times she silently snuck up on him and made the man jump out his skin. The unintentional prank had been funny at first but she didn’t realise how much she relied on the heat he gave off and just existing around people until it had been a full week of travling this awful, freakish cold part of the world.

Her teeth chatter louder, her fingers feeling frozen as she painfully clutched at the blanket. As tightly bundled as she could she closed her eyes and thought over all the choices open to her. She couldn't just lay in bed the entire time the ship was stuck in traveling this abysmal winter ocean. She was already bored, something she had never feared before but now she was itching to be social with everyone or at least bask in their company and listen to the wild stories the others could come out with. 

–

Wearing as many clothes as she could, huge blankets draped over her wings and yet they still felt the biting air itch through the feathers and prickle with malice on her skin. She sighed, her breath coming out in a plume of smoke. Her glasses had steamed up the second she stepped out. Everything about cold weather wasn’t fun, she wasn’t comfortable and just was not enjoying the experience.

She needed Ace but he was tired of being made to jump out of his skin. Maybe it was because they were never alone and it was always a source of great amusement for those around him and Ace had a pretty fragile ego and self-esteem. She never meant it though, but that didn’t make her feel any better about her friend's avoidance of the situation. 

Maybe locating the fire imp of a man and apologizing would be enough to win him over and be allowed in his blissfully warm and cozy company. She wasn't the type of person to rush but she needed out of this bitter cold, heading to the kitchen like a ghost in the falling snow she found her way to the back door of the kitchen.

Opening the door, knowing it would be unlocked, the habits of the chefs sneaking out for smoke breaks remained unchanged no matter the weather. She’d even seen Thatch in the pouring rain trying to smoke on one of his harder, longer shifts.

She stepped in, glad for the rush of heat washing over her face, defrosting her chilly red nose and cheeks. Her wings flexed, the feeling going back to them and her fingers, wriggling them, glad they hadn’t fallen off in the trek to the kitchen. Maybe she was being dramatic but she really didn’t like this cold, feeling it deeper in her bones than most. 

“Where’s Thatch?” She asked.

“Fuck m- Oh shit, it’s you.” The man said, hand to his chest and eyes wide before his expression shifted to furrowed brows and a sigh. Still not used to the commander's large winged and silent partner.

“I’ll get him.”

She nodded and sat on one of the benches along the wall, hands clasped in her lap, wings awkwardly against the wall as she tapped her foot, attention held by the movements as she basked in the heat from all the stoves and fires around her. 

“Hey babe, heard you scared the shit out of Sim,” Thatch said with a laugh, about the only one who still found the jump scares hilarious even when it was him doing the jumping. He walked over and placed warm large hands on her cheeks and kissed her cold forehead.

“What can I do for you angel?”

“I need to be around Ace,” she said and saw Thatch’s brows quirked. “His heat, he’s a human heater but I know he avoids me now and I’m freezing. And before you ask ‘Why can’t you just stay in bed’ I don’t want to. I just need to say sorry to Ace.” She sighed but leaned into the hands on either side of her face, thankful for the warm and loving touch, melting into it.

“Hm, I don’t know how to say sorry to him other than give him food and I don’t have much spare before dinner today, getting to the end of the supplies so tryin’ to make ends meet a little more,” Thatch said and pulled away gently. She sighed and nodded, her shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Buuuut.” Thatch sat down next to Nikia, a hand on her leg as he hummed, acting like he was thinking of the answer to all her problems as he rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe the birds know how to give Ace a proper sorry, they are both in Marco’s office right now, I know that’s another trip outside but Ace is their boyfriend…” Thatch shrugged, rubbing her leg gently, smiling when she seemed to straighten, reenergized with options for getting her heater back.

–

There was a knock at the door and Marco and Ray looked up at the same time, both using the weather to their advantage and getting a fire going in the corner, making themselves tea, Ray cuddled up in blankets in the big armchair while Marco was almost still in his normal state of undress, just a purple shirt replaced with a sweater. He ran cold after all, this wasn’t the hardest weather he’d ever had to deal with.

Ray mumbled and sent Marco a pleading look to step away from his book for a moment and go open the door, the pigeon's reluctance to move, his warm little self-made nest too good to leave. Marco rolled his eyes but his lazy smile never left his lips as he pushed away from the desk, walking over and opening the door. He saw Nikia shaking and trembling, snow started to catch in her hair and Marco tutted.

“Could have just come inside yoi.” He opened the door for her, amused at how Ray grumbled to himself and huddled into his pile of comfort even more. “Yes, well, wouldn't be polite would it?” Nikia replied in an after-of-fact response as she now stood in the middle of the office, feeling like a loose end before Marco spoke again.

“What do we owe the pleasure? Did Thatch hurt himself again? He needs to do stretches before he gets up to no good, he’s not a young man anymore.” Marco shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth and returning to his chair, flopping down and hearing the wood creek, feeling the chair slide back on the floor as he kept his eye on her, wanting to see the reaction that would surely be clear as day.

He could feel his grin growing into a full smug smirk when they did their usual tells of being shy and nervous. Marco always liked to make people squirm a little. “Nothing like that,” she said and pulled at her sleeves, playing with the loose thread on one of them, avoiding eye contact with them both as a red blush splashed across her cheeks, she was glad the cold had already pinched her cheeks into a red glow, would be hard to tell that Marco had his prize of getting a rise out of her.

“I need to find Ace and I also need to figure out how to say sorry to him.” She wrung her hands together, trying to make it seem like just a simple attempt to keep her hands warm. “But I don’t know how.” She said another shrug, her wings twitching, almost knocking off their covers.

Ray sat in his pile of blankets and glanced at Marco. “I think he’s with the Spades in one of the playrooms, cards or something.” He said and Marco nodded “Deuce pulled him away a few hours ago, I don’t think he’d have moved from that spot either… and as for saying sorry…” Marco rubbed the stubble at his chin, grinning, a sly smirk on his face. “Well, the way we say sorry to him always works.”

“Marco!” Ray threw a cushion across the room, falling short of the doctor. Nikia could feel herself smile, another reason why she loved her life on this boat, despite it being in the coldest ocean she’d ever had to endure was the warmth of her crewmate's hearts.

Simple actions like this made her feel at home. She rolled her eyes at the two birds and waited for more constructive help. Crossing her arms as she ambled over to their fire, careful not to let a wing get too close to the dancing flames, she wanted to be warm but not that warm.

“I have an idea, something Ace made when he was annoyed the last time you made him jump, that time he set fire to the sails, remember?” Ray said watching Nikia pause in thought, nodding. “Let me just..” Ray managed to pull himself from his shroud of warmth enough to cross the room, going into what the doctor lovingly referred to as his junk draw with how messy the Phoenix was it might as well have been his junk office.

Ray pulled out a bracelet, it was purple, blue, and white string braided and every so often there was a bell. Ray waved it in the air, the tingle of the bells catching her ear. Everyone always joked about putting bells on her, seemed Ace had been irritated into creating said accessory.

“Maybe head down there wearing this yoi.” Marco suggested as Ray handed it to her. She looked it over, it was at least pretty, and well made, not something she thought Ace’s level of craftsmanship could conjure up if she was being honest with herself.

“This is cute,” 

“Yeah, he sometimes makes little bracelets like this, we have one each just without the bells. Ace might be annoyed at you but he doesn’t go to the effort of this kind of thing unless he likes you.” Ray explained as she held out her wrist, watching him attach it.

She shook her arm and enjoyed how it sounded, touched at Ace’s thoughtfulness despite his ire at her tendencies to pop up silently and cause him to accidentally commit acts of arson around the ship. She thanked the two and headed off, the desire to be warm and to make amends with the commander flowed through her steps as her pace picked up.

—

“You have GOT to be cheating,” Deuce sighed and tossed his hand on the table, watching as Ace grinned at him, collecting up all his winning chips before he heard a tingle of bells, familiar sounding bells. He turned to face the door, seeing Nikia. The first time he’d not been spooked. 

“Hey Ace, can I talk to you?” she asked and he nodded, excusing himself from the table and heading over to her.

Nikia could already feel how nice and warm the room was, how just standing near Ace made her feel warm and soft. Like she didn’t even need to be in so many layers, he also must have been purposely putting out extra heat for the sake of his friends because no one was covered up, acting like the world wasn't ice and snow.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for always scaring you and I’m sorry that you feel you have to avoid me now, but look.” She jingled the bells and his eyes fell to the bracelet he’d made. 

He ran a hand through his hair, watching the bells catch the warm light in the room, sparkling like gems against the bright colorful cord he’d used. He put his hands on his hips, pulling his eyes from the bracelet, making himself stare into her eyes, how sincere she seemed even with her usual calm and quiet tone.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

Nikia took a second before she realized what he meant, she nodded and did another wiggle, the sound pleasing to her ears. “I do, it’s very pretty, thank you.”

Ace scuffed his boot on the floor, hands in his pockets as he mumbled, not used to being thanked, despite how far he had come, and how much he had grown, there were times he would simply be that awkward boy that didn’t know how to handle postivity. He shrugged it off “Don’t mention it, least I can hear you now huh?”

“Do you forgive me?” She asked, hopeful, Ace nodded, taking a hand out of his shorts so he could pat her shoulder. “Yeaaah, I think so.” He teased a little. She was happy, glad she could make amends and get to bask in the warmth that surrounded him. 

Later that night she was joined by Thatch, his strong arms pulling her into his chest as he kissed every inch of her face gently.

The way she blushed when the spade pirates had made her part of their playful banter which heated her cheeks up more than Ace’s devil fruit did. She smiled and just fell into Thatch’s embrace. Feeling comfy in all the warmth and comforts.

#thatch x oc #marco x oc #one piece own char #one piece oc #sfw

[x-birdbrains-x]

OC

#ray the pigeon #one piece x oc #one piece own char

[comedicreliefonlyworkswhenfunny]

Horikoshi, repeatedly: People are shaped from the environments that they are born in. They are complex and not two dimensional. Some hard times affect others more, and they can lash out in harmful ways. That doesn't mean they're bad people, and that doesn't mean they can't change. Their actions may be reprehensible or unforgivable, but they are still human.

This fandom, time and time again: That can't stop me because I can't read.

#like all of the LOV #the Todoroki family and how they all have their own ways of interacting with the trauma passed down to them #Bakugou's family life and the expectations and bullying from society #Midoriya facing discrimination for being quirkless- from his MOTHER AND TEACHERS NO LESS #Iida trying to kill Stain #Stain's ideology having roots in actuality but still being flawed because of his methodology #you don't HAVE to agree with all of them #but you are expected to SYMPATHIZE with their issues and UNDERSTAND who they are and why they got to that point #you can't condemn Endeavour for his abuse while showboating Dabi's unhealthy reaction to it #they were BOTH a product of their enviornment and they BOTH have seriously hurt people with their actions #you can't support Dabi murdering innocent people and then get mad at Bakugou for being a bully in middle school #you can't support early Shouto for being a dick to the class and condemn Bakugou for doing the same thing #they both grew up in harsh enviornments with difficult expectations. heavy pressue. and a warped view of the world #it's not about who had it better or worse #a cookie is burnt if it's just the bottom or the entire thing is charred #you can get salmanella from chicken that's raw all the way through or from just one piece not being cooked well enough #y'all need to stop supporting character flaws but only in the direction you like #you can't say that Mic supported Uraraka's excellence while saying he was also right to condemn Bakugou #no fucking duh Uraraka's potential ONLY came out because BAKUGOU brought it out (unlike Todoroki freezing Sero whole) #you can't say that Mic's human tics and that his underlying issues are good while saying that Aizawa pushing his trauma aside is bad #bruh they are doing the same fucking thing #I love All Might as a character but I can't support him as a mentor because of the devestating effect he has had on Midoriya #the amount of sheer hypocrisy in this fandom is astounding #that shit goes from sentence to sentence- y'all will literally put contradictory statements right beside of each other and not bat an eye #also stop comparing Bakugou to Endeavour- they have similar arcs of understanding but one of them is a literal child #it's really rude to the Todoroki family to say that their abuser and tormentor is just as bad as a middle school bully :/ #Endeavor growing and changing as a person is one thing you can chose to indulge or support- you can like or hate him #but his arc is specifically ABOUT being shaped by hid environment and how that can affect others (his kids) #not to mention how they all have different ways of responding to the treatment and different feelings about his future #you can't read that shit and keep trying to say 'no there IS a right answer' because there's not.

[redwayfarers]

hey squenix, what the fuck? hey squenix, why can i talk to people about him post stormblood patches, but not to him? for the same news? hey squenix. i just wanna talk

#nero plays ffxiv #i'm chomping someone as we speak for this #idk if i've ever been as annoyed at a piece of media for not having my fave char in. i'm usually cool with that #but squenix has wasted every fucking chance even if its just one fucking line #like. in the literal GAME EPILOGUE for the last patch you hear about artoirel going to the front lines from HIS FATHER #god forbid artoirel tell you that info himself. highly doubt we'll see him in shadowbringers. #jesus fucking christ at this point im turning him into my own oc idec

[lafleshlumpeater]

hey lovely!!

maybe a luke castellan x fem!reader who’s suuuuper sweet? maybe an aphrodite kid, and jsut super kind and charming overall? nobody expects her and luke to be together, but how different they are ends up working?

thank you!!!

ofc<3

Warnings: fem!reader, small mention of food, PDA, one swear word, lmk if there are any missing

I hope you dont mind this is from percy’s pov<3

luke castellan masterlist part two

“No way,” Percy muttered under his breath, giving Charlie the same disbelieving look he was receiving back. "I don't believe it."

Charlie shrugged.

“Well, you’d better,” the boy whispered back. “Cause it looks like they got something serious, man.”

The pair watched in part disgust and part fascination as they watched the blissful pair across the fire. Luke had his chin rested on her shoulder, whispering something Percy assumed was flirtatious due to her flustered reaction- all pink cheeks and giggles as she reprimanded him playfully, pushing his chest. Luke remained unfazed, lips curling smugly and crossing his arms as he brushed a quick kiss against the plush of her cheek.

Charlie’s eyes widened further. “But how? They’re so-”

“Different?” Silena finished her boyfriend’s sentence, looking up from her charred marshmallow stick. “You’re not one to talk, Charles. Look at us. Besides, she makes him a completely different person. Look.”

The trio turned their heads once again, this time to the nauseating, in Percy’s opinion, sight of her feeding Luke pieces of sticky marshmallow, both of them giggling when it gets everywhere. Luke pokes his tongue out to get the last bits off of her fingers, and she squeals.

Percy’s nose wrinkles, turning to Charlie. “Disgusting.”

“Agreed,” Charlie nods with a grimace of his own. “It’s a miracle he got her, to be honest. She’s so…”

“Bubbly?”

“That.”

Charlie sighs. “I am happy for him, though. The both of them. Even if they are… terrifyingly different.”

Percy nods in agreement, heart swelling in joy for his first friend at camp. “Yeah.”

The older boy sighs. “They’re too mushy though,” he remarks.

Percy’s eyes narrow at the scene of the lovesick couple, now kissing tenderly with not even the fire casting fluctuating shadows over their faces able to hide the content of their expressions. “Not nice.”

Charlie inhales. “Oi!” he yells over the fire. “Too much PDA, man! Get a room!”

Laughter ripples through the air, and both guilty candidates break away, one unnaturally red- faced and the other tittering, finger hooked around the string of her partner's beaded necklace.

“Fuck off, man,” Luke complains loudly, eyes dancing with glee. “Leave me and my girl alone.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer than deemed possible.

She looked up at him, adoration gracing her soft features as she stared at her lover. “Don’t be mean, Luke.”

“He started it!”

(not proofread- lmk if there are any mistakes)

taglist: @quickslvxrr @bibliophile-dendrophile

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

#pjo #percy jackson fic #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson blurb #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x fem reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan blurb #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x you #fem reader #percy jackson and the olympians #requested fic #asks

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 3/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Word count: 9.4 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: König takes liberties with his mouth. Dubcon is at its most dubcon in this chapter so please tread carefully <3 The actual smut happens in the next (and last) part. Long chapter because these two just can't behave!!

The days are getting warmer now. 

The sun warms the tent during the day, and the sound of birds searching for a mate threatens to drive you to madness. They sing during nighttime, too, and you miss the sturdy clay walls of your hut that blocked at least some of the sounds from outside. Now you are barely sheltered from wind and rain that beat the tent every now and then and can escape the swelling song of spring and lovesick birds to nowhere. König only snores with steady content as you mull over your strange fate there in his cozy bed, wondering how crazy it is that he never lets you go when he sleeps.

If König has an early council, you spend the morning eating breakfast in bed while studying odd parchments the translator gave you. The old man was quite insulted, not because you asked, but because you showed interest in the documents that, apparently, were of least importance to him. 

You don’t care that they’re “only” travel guides because they’re filled with Roman letters and numbers and usually illustrated with pictures of columns. You don’t understand a word they say and how those strange papers could ever be a travel guide to anyone, but you like to trace the letters and pictures with your finger. König clearly understood your fascination with them: he left you this morning with another smile, which told you he only thought you were simply adorable this way. He tried to tell you that the letters represent towns and the numbers tell the distances between those towns, but they still remain bizarre pieces of paper to you.

Men pass by occasionally; you can hear it from how their gears clonk and clatter and swish. You can hear the soft thump of sandals on the dirt, but you pay it no attention because you’ve always trusted that you are safe here. As long as you stay inside the tent, no one will touch you, even if they can currently see you because the flap is left open a wink. 

The only times his men witness you are when König takes you out for a walk in the woods so that you can take care of your bodily needs. Everyone can see that your hands are never tied, your face is never bruised, and your posture is still that of a proud, unbroken woman. And everyone looks at you with both hunger and wonder. Apparently, you are an even tempting spoil because you are not yet spoiled. 

The special treatment was rubbed in your face one time when you passed by a Roman soldier disciplining his slave, a woman who had shared your fate and clearly was having the worst of it. The other half of her face was unrecognizable, but the man kept beating her, and you stared in horror as whatever deed she had done to anger the man was now being punished far too cruelly. 

“Romans very dumb,” König said from next to you without even shedding a glance at the morbid scene. No one seemed to give a shit about what was happening to that poor woman, but you would never have expected such a comment to come from König’s mouth. When you asked him what he meant by that, he only shrugged and said: “That man piss on his luck.”

You wonder if the only reason why you haven’t been raped yet is because you are some sort of a lucky charm to him. The mere thought has the effect of making your blood boil, but some distant, tender voice inside you reminds you that König is not Roman. He does not share Roman customs, even if he fights with and for them. Perhaps slaves are treated differently in his land. Perhaps in there, it is considered an outrage and an insult to the gods to beat a woman, free or not.

Whatever his reasons are for not beating and raping you to death, it was a tremendous stroke of luck that König found you first. You dropped right there on his feet when he was victorious, so of course his men allowed him to take you as his: you were clearly a gift from the gods. But now that time has passed, you understand you are by no means safe if you wander outside this tent. König can protect you only when he is present or when you are safely tucked away in his own personal space. 

It’s a false feeling of safety, however, because you soon learn that out of sight is out of mind for these soldiers. Now that you are on display, sweetly and neatly on the bed, a tiny little wrinkle forming between your brows from studying the peculiar parchment, you are like fresh livestock on the marketplace, even inside the tent. You notice that someone else is in here with you only when you hear the sound of munching and turn. 

A relatively big soldier is standing in the doorway, eating an apple, watching you like he would rather have a bite out of you.

And you thank all the gods and stars above you, all the spirits and the Mother below you, that he doesn’t even get to take a step before a sword impales his chest.

König kills his own man so casually that all the thoughts of him falling to the gentle side of giants disappear instantly. He even twists the sword inside the broad man from daring to cast eyes on you. And you probably should feel bad for him… But you don’t. Not at all. The apple falls into the dirt and rolls away, but the man slumps into the threshold of the outside world and the safe womb of the tent, like an offering to guardian spirits - or to you.

You look up at König, eyes wide only because you are yet again speechless, but this time because of odd, bashful gratitude. 

“No touching,” he says without even blinking – it sounds like a stern explanation.

“No touching,” you agree with a whisper. König only nods, wipes his gladius clean on the dead soldier’s cloak, and carries the body into the woods.

…

You don’t know if he has lost some of the favour he enjoys among the Romans after killing one of their soldiers. You suspect he has not. Actually, you are sure his reputation only soared for it. He just showed everyone that his prize is not to be touched: you are not to be even looked upon. Romans probably respect such a thing.

A few wagons arrive one morning, carrying various supplies for the soldiers. There are many other items too, completely unrelated to warfare but all to do with pleasure and gambling and trade. You assume König gets to pick his favourites among the first soldiers, if not the first soldier, from the abundant cargo that arrived, because he brings his spoils to you with boyish excitement. There is close to nothing there for himself: only a thick, heavy cloak, made of dark wool with lush fur on the shoulders. It looks like something a northern king would wear, and you find yourself quite happy for him, but the other items he’s carrying are clearly all hand-picked just for you. 

There is a dress, a pair of sandals, a bone comb, some fruit and a large, round copper dish. It serves as a mirror as you change into the dress – a Roman one, dyed ocean blue – just to appease König and get him off your back. It hurts your heart to see how happy it makes him to see you accept his gifts. He holds the dim, uneven mirror in front of you when you get the dress on, and you’re feeling strangely meek: you’re not even sure if you have put it on properly. The bone comb is milk white and has two horses carved on it – it reminds you of the offering that was never made to appease the Great Mother because it couldn’t have prevented the Titan from coming to your lands. It’s another odd omen: black horses now turned to white, but an omen for what, you can’t say. 

And then… he kneels. 

König falls at your feet and starts putting the Roman sandals on, tying the strings around your calves so gently that it makes you feel like you’re made of clay. The sandals are not the kind he wears: they’re made for women, apparently, because they’re so skimpy and delicate. The strings reach the upper part of your calf, and when he’s done with you, happy to have now clothed you in Roman garb, he caresses your thigh and presses a kiss above your knee. 

And he looks up at you like you’re everything but his captive. He looks at you like you’re a queen. He stares at you like he’s the slave here.

“You like?”

The soft rumble catches you off guard, as does the fond caress he gives your leg. He doesn’t even try to move his hand upwards and under the dress; he just admires you from the ground, looking a bit foolish while crouched there at your feet. You swallow arduously and nod. What else are you supposed to do? 

He smiles with his eyes and gives you another kiss. He presses it on the sensitive part where your calf meets the inside of your knee. He even raises his hood to do it, and you finally feel his breath as his lips meet your skin, hot but tender. You fight the urge to shrink from him, and despite it only being a soft peck, a lover’s touch, the kiss leaves a burning sensation on your skin.

Then he tucks your dress down, like a slave who simply stole a little kiss from his mistress. You’re rendered weak and silent before such reverence, but then the playfulness returns as he raises one finger, as if telling you not to say a word because he just had an idea. You look at him with odd curiosity as he crawls on all fours and reaches for something underneath the bed. You panic a little, fearing he might notice that you’ve been there, too: rummaging through his things and throwing the pieces of jewellery back there without caring to ensure that they are placed back in the same position you found them in. But he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

He tries to offer you the golden pendant first, the one that has three discs on it. It’s a little too much, and you shake your head, fearing you will upset him by declining his gift. He tries to offer you a more delicate necklace next: full of cute, filigreed beads, but you shake your head again. He wishes to give you a trinket so badly that you finally raise your hand and graze your fingertips over a leather string holding a few chunks of amber. It also bears the claws of some animal: fox, perhaps. He looks very pleased with your choice and puts your new possession around your neck. You reach for the copper plate yourself this time and hold it up to see how you look in your odd Roman dress and your humble but powerful new necklace.

“Sehr schön,” König says behind you as you take in the wobbly image. He is so, so happy - you have never seen him quite so happy. It looks like he thought this to be the prettiest, most compelling piece of jewellery too; as if the gold and beads were simply currency for him, too. As if it was obvious that you would be interested in bones and sea gold instead of the gold of men. Then he pulls out something from under his tunic: another leather string that has a large hunk of bone hanging from it. He’s presenting it to you like he wants to show how you two are now very much alike.

“What is it…?” You ask, trying to determine whether the bone came from an elk or a deer.

“Bear cock,” he says proudly while dangling it in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a man to carry the penis bone of a bear around his neck. “Makes man strong in battle and bed.”

“I don’t think you need that,” you whisper while looking up at him. It’s your first joke to him, and he laughs. Heartily.

“Kleine Fee. You have only seen me fight.”

He puts it back under his tunic as if it’s his secret amulet now. You really don’t think he needs any more luck in war, or in any other… field. He seems like the kind of man who can pleasure women all day. It’s a bitter thought, somehow, and makes your heart feel heavy. You wonder how many women he has had already when you have refused to open your legs for him.

“We can try how good it works in bed,” he offers, as cheerfully as ever.

Oh. 

Oh… 

“I’m—I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something,” you summon an excuse out of thin air while raising your hands against his chest to keep him away. As if you could get your breakfast down after him saying things like that…

“Hungrig? I can feed you,” he suggests, still in the happiest of moods. Then he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the table. He’s ever generous today: you get to sit on his lap as he starts to feed you grapes.

And you didn’t think he’d actually, veritably feed you. But that’s exactly what he does. You get an entire meal: ripe fruits, a thick handful of bread, a fine slice of fat, delicious cheese. Wine to wash it down, and then some more grapes. He holds them gently on your lips until you open your mouth a little so that he can push them onto your tongue. He watches with utter content how you eat everything he offers you. He even gives you a few bounces with his knee, and every now and then, he gropes your tits: just squeezes them and plays around with them while you eat.

It is quite evident that this man really, really likes your boobs. Perhaps that is why he carries the statue of Great Mother around… To your horror, you realize the piece of carved wood is not an idol of worship for this man, just a lewd image he probably digs up and looks at when he wants to stroke his cock.

Gods... This man is even worse than you thought.

You begin to pout again, and he draws you flush against him, seeing that he somehow managed to make you displeased. Unaware as to what could have caused this, he gives you another bounce and tries to find the reason for your sudden change of mood.

“Are you fed now?”

“Yes,” you mope even more as you realize you would very much like him to continue feeding you even if you’re full. To just… do that thing with the grapes again. Just a few more.

“Gut. We have to leave soon.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “To fight.”

The camp is packed up in such haste that you find yourself under the sun in practically no time. You stay as close to König as possible without being glued to him, seeing that the new dress and hairstyle you made with the comb is high currency among the war-torn, lust-filled soldiers. Someone gives you a long whistle, which is followed by a few harsh comments you luckily don’t understand, but all the stares are cut off when König stops preparing his horse, rises to his full height, and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gladius.

You don’t get a single look after that, not even a sideways glance. Everyone acts like you don’t even exist.

The army moves at a slow pace at first, leaving a heavy dust cloud behind. It’s a fine day for travelling because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. Everyone seems to be having a good time except for the slaves, and König is the only one who is vigilant, watching his surroundings at all times, head turning from side to side, hand never leaving his sword. 

You get a horse – his horse – and a lot of hateful stares from the other women, none of whom you have ever seen before. Captive girls from other villages, you presume, and they all hate you now because you get to ride a strong black stallion while they have to march in a dust cloud with their hands bound and their feet full of blisters. Their captors don’t give much thought to feeding or giving water to these poor women, mainly because they’re too busy laughing with each other and having hearty gulps from their wine sacks. You wonder if these men have ever fed these women a single grape during their campaign.

König, on the other hand, marches next to you like he’s your servant. He offers you his waterskin, his wineskin, too, and as the march goes on, an awkward knot starts to form inside your belly.

He’s behaving so oddly. You can’t find any other reason for his behaviour than that he simply has no full understanding of Roman customs because he comes from somewhere else. (Mountains, he said, when you asked him.)

You only now notice that he has servants but only uses them to pack or set up the tent. Other high-ranking officers and commanders have their servants with them at all times, tending to their every need. König is the only one who behaves like a foot soldier: he pours his own wine, gets his rations and supplies himself, lights his oil lamps without help and never lets anyone else touch his armour or swords. 

The servant he uses the most is the translator, a slave who’s clearly responsible for teaching König more and more of your words. He also serves as a mediator when König gets ready for another battle. You have naively wanted to forget the reason why these men are here in the first place, and as you see König putting on his full armour the next day, tying the swords on his waist and leaving to search for his shield, you feel like bursting into tears or a scream. You look away as he gets dressed, and refuse to give him a single kind look that morning. You stand with your hands crossed over your chest as he’s finally ready and fetches the old man to the tent again.

The Roman soon stands next to him as König takes a step and falls on one knee before you.

“He asks you to bless him,” the old translator says – weary and bored.

You stop breathing for a second and look at König, there at your feet again, head bowed, leaning on one elbow placed on a strong knee.

Bless him… For going to slaughter another clan? Give your blessing to him leaving people fatherless, childless and homeless? 

Is this some sort of a joke?

“Are my words… correct? Master asks that you give him your blessing for the upcoming battle.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You want to put your hand over this proud warrior’s head and send him away with words of might and fortune, but even the thought of wanting to do that is about to make you sick.

“I will do no such thing,” you say coldly and earn a sad, confused stare from König, who raises his head to look at you with a horrifying, pleading gaze. This man doesn’t beg for anything from anyone, and yet here he is, in his full armour, armed to the teeth and looking like the God of War again, asking for a kind word or two. You turn away, not because you deny him, but because you can’t stand to be under that defenceless gaze. The Roman sighs behind you, and from the clatter of König’s gear, you can hear that he has gotten up and is about to leave. 

You turn again, only to face his withdrawing back. Tense, and already beaten.

He grabs the satchel, the one that holds his Mother, but stops to look at it like it’s simply an ordinary object instead of a powerful entity. Then he places it back down on the table with a sigh. You look with horror as he leaves for war without taking his amulet, idol, fate, source of luck and joy – whatever the statue represents to this man – with him.

It doesn’t take long before you regret you didn’t give him your “blessing”. 

It somehow feels wrong that he left without it. You’re his captive, but he has fed you, clothed you, kept you warm. He has practically done no harm to you except hold you through the night and have a few gropes at your tits, which you haven’t found harmful at all… The least you could do to thank him is to lay a hand upon his head or sword before he left. Just a simple little gesture, not even a true blessing… Just a little something would have sufficed, to help him go into battle with a slightly lighter heart. 

Because as much as you loathe this man, you don’t actually want him dead. You don’t want him to march into battle and think you wish him ill. You don’t want König to get careless just for the sake of feeling miserable about the thought that his little slave girl despises him.

Because you don’t despise him.

You just don’t… like him. 

And he’s your captor still. Why should he deserve your blessing?

But the image of him cutting through his enemies with sorrow and bleakness in his stare, walking into a spear just because he’s had enough of life and more than enough of difficult, uncaring, ungrateful women, makes your heart bleed. He could’ve taken Mother with him since he didn’t get a good luck’s wish from you, but he chose to leave even Her behind. As if his faith had failed him, as if the few things and people he has ever placed his trust in have now abandoned him. 

The night rolls in, and the moon crosses the sky slowly, so slowly, as you wait for his return. The old Roman looks at you sideways every time you peek outside the flap and sigh. Your guard is a weak, old man, but you reckon that if you were to escape, the tired slave would simply follow you out of the camp and tell König which direction you have gone so that he can hunt you down when he returns. The few Romans left to guard the portable garrison would probably seize you and take you as their plaything before you managed to set a foot outside the vallus, and even if König came back to claim you, you could be a bloody heap by the time he returned.

And it’s not even caution keeping you inside the tent. You don’t actually think about fleeing at all. 

In the dead of night, you go to his satchel and pull out the statue of the Great Mother.

“Dear Mother... Great Mother. Please let him have his victory. Please let him come home unhurt. Even if he fails, please let there not be a scratch on him as he falls. Please, please, please…”

You improvise your prayer as you go, thinking about something to offer Her while being captive and not having access to most of the resources you would normally go to.

“I’ll give you my next moonblood. I will give you amber and fox claws…”

Your heart hurts, knowing you just promised the necklace König gave you as your sacrifice. But it’s a small gift for his safe return, and you renew your prayer, over and over again, while squeezing the Mother between your hands and pressing Her against your forehead.

You’re not sure if She can even hear you, because haven’t you wished this man dead not too long ago? You return the Mother to her satchel and pace around the tent, about to go mad. When the first horses arrive, you almost run outside to see if you can see or hear him coming. Soldiers march into the camp: there is so much din and racket outside that you know this is the least opportune moment to go outside and show yourself to the survivors who clearly have their morale and cocks up high from the recent battle. You wait and wait and wait, thinking about whether your god is among the wounded, being carried to some other tent where they treat injuries. You go and sit on the bed; you rise up and sit on the table. Then you go and press your ear to the fabric of the tent and try to listen like a fox. 

The flap is, blessedly, finally drawn aside, and you hurry to meet whoever has arrived. It’s König – of course – breathing heavy, looking slightly high-strung but primarily unscathed, and you forget yourself completely when running to him.

“Are you hurt!?”

He takes off his helmet and takes in a good breath of air, eyes melting into pure love when he sees you.

“Nein. Not a scratch.”

You swallow your relief – of course no one can get to this man. Your fears have been stupid and ridiculous. But in the deepest chasm of your heart, you thank the Mother three times. You promise to deliver her your sacrifice as soon as possible.

“You fear for me?” He asks, so excited again that you have to dig your nails into your palm so that you won’t go and clutch him and cry from joy. You don’t nod or shake your head; you only stare at him with what must look like a frightened deer stare.

Your giant comes to hug you so tight you can’t even breathe. Then he lifts you into the air, and there is nothing you can do - there is nothing you even want to do but to be there in his stout embrace. You’re so relieved that he is alive and unhurt that there are tears in your eyes, and he sees them, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, little Fee. Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen.” His voice is throaty and parched; apparently, he has shouted his throat raw on the field. 

You almost say you’re sorry that you didn’t give him your blessing, but seeing how pleased, triumphant, and gleeful he is causes you to shut your mouth and shut it tight. It’s enough that you have babbled prayers for him all night, praying your knees and tongue sore.

König returns you to the ground and leaves, only to return with ample loot. Two slaves carry in a small but heavy jute sack of coin, a tiny chest filled with honey, two bottles of scented oils, three gorgeous jugs of milk, a beautiful bronze sword, all laid there at your feet.

“Für dich,” he says, throwing a wide arc with his hand to gesture that all this is now yours. You watch all the stunning, lavish, extraordinary gifts, again picked with care just for you. You remember how there was not a single coin in this tent before you were dragged in, no bronze, no gold, no milk nor honey. No fine dresses, no stolen, scented oils. How many families did he have to kill to bring all these fine goods for you?

“I don’t want your loot,” you whisper on the brink of tears.

“What…do you want?” The smile in his eyes fades, and it stabs your heart full of pain. “More sea honey?”

“No, I–”

“Slaves?”

“No,” you step forward. If only you two could have met some other time, in some other place… “I just…I want my freedom.”

“What will you do with freedom…?” 

You finally get to see what König is like when he argues. He cannot understand your logic; he can’t understand what more he must do to satisfy you and make you happy. 

“Your chief is dead,” he says bluntly, causing your head to feel two times too small for your anger and pain. 

“You don’t have to remind me,” you blurt, equally bluntly. Because whose fault is that? This man is a thick-skulled, thick-cocked idiot.

“You have no husband. No village.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why angry?”

“Because you are infuriating,” you almost shriek.

He looks at you, lost and confused, not knowing how to calm you down or make you pleased again. And it must be confusing: some gifts work, some don’t. Other times, you look at him lovely and sweet; other times you sulk and pout. You have luckily stopped your crying, but now you have suddenly decided to yell at him?

He approaches you after seemingly coming to the conclusion that you must want him to either pet or fuck you. He tries to raise his hands to touch you, but you push him away.

“Don’t you fucking dare grope me again!”

He withdraws quickly, now utterly nonplussed. If you don’t even want to be held, then what is he to do? This goes against all the laws of this world: he has arrived, triumphant and joyous from the battle, clearly favoured by all the gods, above and below, and favoured in full. The only one who doesn’t grant him a boon is you. His head tips to the side - it always does that when he’s curious or thinking hard. Then his eyes light up with understanding, and you know you’re about to hear more nonsense coming out of that oafish mouth.

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“I don’t…care what you do,” you scoff.

“Ah. You hate Romans?”

“Yes, I hate Romans. I wish they would all die. I hate their stupid battles and their stupid campaigns. And I hate you too,” your spirit rises with your words, your voice gaining volume and strength as you hurl all your frustration at him. 

And he’s shocked. Not at your first declaration, nor the second, not even the third. It’s the last sentence that clearly drives a dagger straight into his heart. 

He steps back, nearly toppling a milk jug as he pulls away from you. Then he mumbles something under his breath, something in his own crude language. The words are muffled by the mask as he scratches the back of his neck and leaves the tent without even taking his blood-stained armour off.

His name, the name that sounds so foreign to you, never leaves your mouth. But the following words do.

“Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

Not all of it.

He’s out of the tent by then, and you’re left with your beautiful gifts, your bitter sorrow and regret. You sigh and look up, hoping you could see the sky and whisper your inquiry into the night air. 

Why on earth did you two have to meet like this? Why does he have to be so thick-skulled and so… So him?

You calm your racing heart and start to organize the loot he brought you. You have never liked messy places and have done your best to keep this tent from getting cluttered. You taste some of the milk he brought you and inhale the sweet scent of those oils; you dip your little finger inside the honey jar and have a taste. The golden liquid tastes like the food of the gods when paired with milk. You put the blade on the table where König usually keeps his swords and settle to wait for him. 

And you have to wait for a long time, so long that you eventually withdraw to the bed, alone and with a heavy heart. When König finally returns, you can hear he has had a drink. More than one, too: he has probably drunk an entire jug of wine alone. He doffs his armour with curses and sighs, and lets it drop on the ground with a sloppy clang that makes you jolt under the furs. He eats something very noisily while throwing his helmet somewhere to the ground too, burps loudly, and sighs again: so deeply that it makes your heart burn. After getting rid of the tunic and his sandals – an operation that takes him more than a while – he crawls on the bed with a heavy breath. Your heart is at your throat as the stench of wine hits you, and his hands are clumsy and stern when he comes under the same fur and reaches for you.

“König—”

Your whisper ends abruptly as you are pulled against a familiar, broad chest. He growls at you for being awake – or at himself for waking you up with a drunken racket.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you start weakly and have to clear your throat as he huffs against your neck, listening to what you are trying to say. 

“I don’t hate you,” you finally whisper.

He grumbles against your back and buries his masked face in your neck. The arm around your middle tightens and tightens, and you hurry to praise his gifts.

“The honey is delicious. And the oils are–”

"Fee… Du machst mich verrückt."

He speaks through gritted teeth while panting laboriously in your hair. You're relieved to hear sorrow instead of anger in his voice, but it’s his body that makes you arch your back and guide your bottom to meet his crotch.

The biggest mistake you’ve ever done, surely, because the whole body behind you grows taut. He gives you a tight roll of his hips, pushing his cock against you with immediate fervour. His balls meet your bottom, tight and heavy: you have gone to bed in your ridiculous Roman dress because you were feeling cold, but you can still feel them. You can feel all of him.

“König… We–We need to sleep…”

You sound like a bitch in heat, not at all like a woman who wants to stop wherever this heated cuddle is spiralling into. König is letting out noises you didn’t even know a man could make, and it makes your cunt wetter than ever before: tight and throbbing and embarrassingly needy. You try to remind yourself that this is not the proper time or way, that you don’t want it to happen like this: with the smell of wine and blood and dirt and sweat surrounding you, with him soon thrusting that cock between your thighs and shooting his seed on the bed before he can even get it in. You don’t want him when he’s drunk, and you don’t want him when he’s clearly a bit angry with you still. You place a weak hand over his, the one currently wrapped around your middle like a bond. 

“Please, I mean it…” 

“Not the time for sleep, little one,” he rasps on your shoulder, mask dragged aside and mouth breathing hot against your skin. His voice is gentle but his body is not: it turns out he has only been waiting for the slightest little cue to have the permission to take you. Unfortunately for you, moaning and grinding your hips against him is more than just a cue.

“Göttin der Erde... Gib dich mir.” 

He grunts odd, boorish words on your shoulder, leaving you breathless with another tight roll of his hips. It feels like a spell or a chant, the way he speaks. You want nothing more than to give yourself to him, and fear that whatever tie has been knotted between you two, whatever shackle has bound your souls together, has also granted him the ability to hear your thoughts. He must’ve heard them, or then he must smell the change in the air, because he rolls you on your back and pushes a knee between your legs.

“Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen,” he mutters more incantations in your neck, broad thigh forcing your legs further apart. He doesn’t even need strength to coax them open: they drag up and aside by themselves. 

“Ah–Why can’t you talk like normal people…” 

You sigh your silly thoughts out into the night air, and your fierce giant turns his head a little, now right there next to your cheek.

"Normal? Was ist das…?"

Your lips draw into a quivering little smile – you just can’t help it. Him lying half on top of you, asking what the word ‘normal’ means while smelling like an entire wine house just burned down makes your lips and heart flutter. Your soft laugh makes him raise his head a little, drunken, half-lidded eyes now fixed on you.

“The opposite of you?” You offer innocently and try not to laugh, but it’s no use. You start to snicker, then giggle, and the way he growls only makes things worse. 

“You little–I will go crazy because of you,” he whispers, drunk as a heartbroken man can be. Your own heart seems to open with a flood.

“Then go crazy,” you whisper back. 

And gods… He takes your sigh as a permit to go absolutely berserk. He crawls on top of you and rips your dress apart from the middle with both hands, exposing your breasts to him and the cold night air. There's a weight in his gaze that turns your nipples hard; a gaze of promise, just before he descends.

He attacks you like a starving man, devours and licks and sucks your breasts until you shake and moan on the bed, until your hands come to cradle his head with greed.

“I will make you scream tonight,” he pants roughly on your tits – you can feel the words on your skin. You’re veritably afraid that this man will swallow you before he even gets to the main event, which is no doubt to satiate the need to fill you with potent seed. He doesn’t exactly caress you, no: he gobbles you like your body is an entire feast, the generous kisses almost turning into bites when he reaches your hips.

“No–no teeth, König,” you try to whimper, somewhere on the borderline of tension and lust.

"Fee... I promise I'll fuck you like king. I'll fuck you until you cry.”

Your head goes blank from his words; from terror and love and lust. There's no time to decipher whether you should be afraid, because he scoops up your thighs, grabs you like a wrestling partner, and draws you against his face.

“Wait—What are you–”

Your words are cut off as he drives his nose up your cunt and breathes in your musk like it's divine incense. It doesn’t matter that you’re still covered by the skimpy dress he just ripped to shreds: the fabric is so thin that he could be virtually sniffing you through sheer gossamer. 

There’s no escape now; he can feel how wet you are. He can practically taste it.

“König—”

You can't understand why he would want to push his face there, so you mewl and try to push him away – very weakly – but he’s immovable, glued to your scent down there, panting into your warm, wet cunt with harsh breaths and starved groans. You're lying there at his mercy, dress torn to pieces and breasts heaving, thighs spread as far as they can go.

It's futile to even try reason with a starved giant between your legs, a cunt-deprived warrior about to finally take what's his. You should've known better than to joke around and play with a man who could snap you in half – either with his hands or with his cock – and Mother was wrong: you're not smart at all, teasing a beast like this. A beast whose teeth are currently bared over your most vulnerable place protected only by a thin veil soaked with your wet. 

König lashes his tongue out and presses it flat against your dress, on your throbbing womanhood, and your words turn into an ample, lewd moan.

“A–ah…”

You fall weakly back on the bed, head spinning although you haven’t drunk a drop of wine. The broad body almost trembles there between your legs. 

“Ah… You want cock, ja? I can taste it,” he grunts, blunt as ever. The thought of that thing being bullied into you inch by thick inch makes your cunt clench tight. Gods, you want it, but it will never fit, never…

Unless he… Unless that's why he's down there, panting hot inside you, trying to coax you open with his mouth. Perhaps he's not that dumb after all...

“Please,” you beg for him to love you, taste you, take you, your pride melting into copper and gold, pooling somewhere down, down, down… 

“Don't worry,” he speaks straight to your cunt like a man intoxicated with something far better than wine. “I will give you cock. All night.”

He lifts the dress with his nose like a dog, nuzzles under your ruined attire like it's his shelter for the night, headed back towards his plump prize. There will soon be nothing between his mouth and your poor, throbbing cunt, aching to be licked and loved by a cruel giant. A giant who brings you milk and honey and grapes and gold in all its forms… 

But just when you have finally forgotten that beasts possess teeth, he sinks them into you. He sinks them into your inner thigh, waking you up from the dream with sharp, harrowing pain.

The fucking idiot actually bites you, hard.

“You fucking—Go to hell!”

You push him away in earnest now, using his shoulders to propel yourself away from him. His teeth threaten to pierce and tear skin because he's so reluctant to let go, and the horrors of the battlefield seep into your skin; the safe warmth of the womb turns into a suffocating darkness. 

Your kicks have enough power to make him rise from between your legs, and the clear-cut pain in his eyes makes you want to both hug and hit him. You do the latter and hurl your fists at him, not bothering to even try to hit a target or cause pain; you just want him to stop making you afraid. 

Of course, he takes your breathless state and lust-filled rage as a cue to leave – and he does precisely that, but not before he has struggled away from you and your fists in an overly dramatic manner. It would look funny in another situation, especially when he's as hard as ever, cock jutting high towards the sky just from having a little taste of your love. Drunken and slightly wobbly, he almost falls when he grabs the tunic from the earthen floor as if his tent is a site of execution where he will soon be stoned. 

At the mouth of the tent, he stops, throws his head back, and roars. The guttural, booming rage echoes towards the gods like a furious curse, and you’re quite sure that the entire camp is awake by now. Every soldier nearby must be dying of a scared heart, thinking that there are either bears or Gauls upon them.

You hold your arms against your chest and safeguard your soft belly as you take in all his fury and frustration, then watch him stagger into the night, head hanging heavy between slumped shoulders. You’re left breathing, afraid and alone in the darkness, thinking about what the hell just happened… And spend the next moments in shock. Soon enough, the cold and terror fades, melting into something more palatable. You're shivering and wet, but intact, at least on the outside.

And the oddest thing is that you find yourself missing him. You miss his presence, his body, you miss his dumbness and his jokes. You fucking miss him.

The man who almost raped you.

With his… mouth.

You curl inside the furs and try to get some sleep with a hammering heart, ending up thinking about him all night. You thought he was going to pound you with that ridiculously long cock all night – and wasn't that his threat, too? – but what you didn't expect was that the giant barbarian who rips people's throats open with his teeth would want to lick and lap you into submission. You never would have thought that König wanted to bury his face between your legs, and eagerly at that.

Perhaps you understood his silly words wrong in your half aroused, half scared state. What if he meant to make you scream and cry from pleasure, not pain?

The burning bruise on your thigh reminds you that you are probably wrong, but you still wake every now and then from a thin sleep, glancing around you in despair, only to see that he’s not there. You feel so hollow that you think for a moment whether König has left the camp entirely, whether he is wandering away, towards some other adventure, exhausted with you and the war and the Romans.

The most unbearable thought in your head is not that he has left you for his dogs, however. It’s the thought that has abandoned you. That he has finally had enough. Because you realize… König hasn’t gone anywhere. He simply left to have his fun with some other woman. Perhaps he’ll be back in the morning, but his patience is gone; it has finally ended, your silly little game. A difficult slave girl who won’t even let him lick her cunt is simply no amusement to him anymore. 

Just before dawn, your will breaks; it splits in half. You can almost hear it. The sound of cries is muffled in the bed that nowadays has both his scent and yours: both of your scents combined, mixing together into a wonderful haze of love and despair.

…

König comes back when the dawn is already turning into a full day.

He strolls into the tent the same way he left: with a hunched posture and unsteady feet, but the fervent vigour from last night is gone. Actually, you have never seen him so weak. The dramatic sighs, the groping and the bullying have turned into a piercing silence. His muscles have lost their strength, his head is hanging heavy between those once proud shoulders, and his eyes are cast down as if he’s hoping there wouldn’t be such a bright orb in the sky. He drags his feet as he enters the tent; he doesn’t even look your way when he goes and slumps in his chair.

You are so glad to see him that you nearly jump from the bed and fall right there at his feet. You want to kiss his thighs and grab his hands and look up at him, doting and adoring like a good little slave. You want to whimper and beg that he can give you love bites everywhere he wants.

Instead, you snap at him, voice filled with poison.

“Did you have fun raping women last night?”

There are leaves on his mask and dirt on his shins and knees. Even his hands are a little grungy, and the proud red Roman tunic could also use a wash. He sheds you a tired side stare, then sighs.

“Was?”

“Were you with women,” you spell out every word slowly like you’re talking to a child. The venom on your tongue threatens to spill out as froth. And you almost say, 'other women'. Almost.

König raises his head and looks at you with a slight tilt in his head. He’s curious again, so, so very curious. He has clearly fleed the sun into his tent rather than seek your gracious presence, which shouldn’t make you this glum... But what you just said has managed to brighten up his entire day.

“Meine Fee… She’s jealous,” he points out in a far more jovial tone.

“No. Not at all,” you hurry to say, chin drawing back from his stupid accusations. 

“You are,” he says with unbridled fascination. 

“I assure you I’m not.”

Your cheeks are heating up, and the nervousness inside your belly roils like a snake. How does he always manage to get you into a trap? 

König leans back in his chair, now with his usual dignity on those shoulders. He even crosses his fingers loosely in his lap, looking like the conversation he’s about to have with you will, yet again, become another favourite of his. You’re not sure why you always feel like you’re being interrogated on the sly with him because König is the most simple, straightforward, blunt object of a man you have ever met. And still…

“Fucking other women is bad?” He asks innocently from that chair.

“Bad?” You huff. “Yes, if you have to force women under you, you are a brute.”

“And… ugly?”

“Very ugly. The ugliest man in the world.”

"Hm. But who say anything about forcing?"

König looks at you, calmly, as your stomach sinks from his words.

You can only stare at him as the world seems to fall apart around you, crumble into nothingness when there's sun shining and birds singing outside. Kicking him out of the tent – and almost kicking him in the face in the process – because you got afraid when he gave you a fervent little nib seems like the stupidest idea right now. If you were so willing to part your legs for him and moan under his tongue, surely some other insane woman would want to do that as well? Surely there is at least one woman in this camp who would gladly be pleased by this giant who doesn't hit or force women. Who only likes to… bite and squeeze and lick them.

You pout at him, lip almost trembling now, and he’s smiling, so, so very wide behind that mask. Gods damn him. 

Then he rises and walks to you, suddenly looking like he isn’t suffering from a hangover after all. He strolls towards you with slow purpose, and you swallow the tears down, trying not to show him how they turn into ice inside your stomach. 

“I have not touched women. Only you.”

He towers above you, looking down at you like you are indeed the most adorable thing in the entire world. You are not sure whether his words are to be believed, but something inside you says that this man never lies. As dense and dumb as he is, he is the most trustworthy human being you will ever meet.

“Only sleep with earth last night,” he says and starts to caress your hair. He even weighs some of it in his hand before sweeping it over your shoulder. Like you are simply his precious, silly little wife who has been spoiled too much.

“It was a cold mistress,” he laments, overly dramatic again, like a poor actor in a tragic play. Your heart aches, badly – you swear König is the most annoying man you have ever met, the most insufferable and lovable. You wonder if he has spent his seed on the cold, hard ground too. Given it to the Great Mother, who is a cold lover sometimes indeed… But not as cold as you.

You wonder how crazy it is that you have the power to drive this giant into the cold night from his own tent. König has had to face his hangover by waking up to a chilly dawn. His hand is not as warm as usual, and you start to worry that he has caught the wrath of wind spirits outside, soon rendering him weak and feverish. His skin is not supposed to feel this cold, not when he’s almost always blazing.

“I know a plant that might help,” you say diplomatically. “With your… Head.”

He looks at you, more and more curious by every passing moment. You hope he doesn’t weigh in his mind whether you are trying to poison him when he is weak. But he’s not that clever, perhaps, because he only looks at you like you’re an entire sun now, and very unlike the one that is giving him a headache today. You turn away from his hand – but not too quickly. You’re only feeling shy. And a bit uncomfortable.

“You should eat something. And drink water, not wine.”

“You care about my head?”

Gods… His voice is so, so soft. He’s seeing past all your defences again, and there is nothing you can do about it. You want to curse him but can’t. You simply can’t. 

“Just… Eat some fruit, alright? And I need a kettle so that I can boil some water for the herbs.”

You rise from the bed and try to ignore his adoring stare. He doesn’t attempt to touch you again; he merely watches as you go about and eat a little something as if to show that when it is morning, people should have breakfast. Like you’re a mother trying to lead by example or a fussing young wife who is trying to help his husband. Your lips are a thin line as you search for grapes that aren’t too soft and a piece of bread that doesn’t yet have mould in it. You grab some figs: you know they are his favorite, and bring them to him to tell him you’re serious about him needing to eat.

And you feel silly. 

You can’t even look at him. You’re feeling so odd, so weak, so warm inside, and it’s not because you’re disgusted; hell, it’s the opposite of being disgusted….

“I have fallen in love with you,” König says as he accepts your humble offering of food. You freeze in the middle of setting them on his palms, held upwards as if content with whatever you give him, even if it’s only a piece of bread and a few figs. 

Gods. Mother… Don’t do this to me–

“That how you say it?”

You breathe in and out, calm, collected – you're not going to faint because some crazy giant thinks he's in love. Yes, that’s it… Everything’s alright. He’s just being silly again. He’s just playing his own little plays again. 

But when you look at him, there is no actor there, no silly play: he’s just… König. He returns your helpless, cornered stare with warm kindness, reminding you of something, of some Roman or Greek god… Apollo. Yes, that’s it. Laureled sun god Apollo, the one everyone loves so dearly, because he always drives fear and doubt and darkness away. He’s Apollo, even though he doesn’t even prefer a bow. 

And has the translator taught König the correct words? Has he memorized them so that he can say them to you when the time is right? Your lip starts to tremble, and you fight to not shudder a sigh. The old seer was wrong: this man will be your downfall.

“I’ll go get that plant,” you whisper, soft eyes wide and chest curled tight. 

“Nein,” he says cheerfully, full of life and hope again. “Not alone, little one.”

…

A/N: Please don't send me death threats. Remember, big bang bang next chapter! Huge!!

Translations:

Sehr schön - Very beautiful

Kleine Fee - Little fairy

Hungrig? - Hungry?

Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen - I could never leave you

Für dich - For you

Du machst mich verrückt - You drive me crazy

Göttin der Erde… Gib dich mir - Goddess of the Earth… Give yourself to me

Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen - My Queen... I will make you very happy

Was ist das? - What is that?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut

[verstappen-cult]

Hi, love your writing so much ❤️❤️

So I have a request could you maybe write something about Charles reacting to his girlfriend having an allergic reaction? Like she accidentally eats something (I'm allergic to apples) and he freaked out

“Honey, I’m home!” Charles says, making you giggle and jump off the couch. He’s carrying two bags from your favorite restaurant while his gym bag is in his other hand, but that doesn’t stop you from hugging him and peppering his face with kisses.

“I missed you so much,” You say with a last kiss to his lips. “and I’m starving.”

Charles gives you the bags while he takes off his shoes. “I bought two pieces of that carrot cake you like so much.”

Before you even look at what else is in the bags, you take the dessert out, grabbing a fork in the process. Charles joins you in the kitchen, stealing the first bite of the cake from you.

“I don’t know why you like it so much, it’s gross.” He complains at which you roll your eyes, finally tasting the delicious and sweet cake.

After the second bite you can taste something different, something that’s not been there all the other times you’ve had it. However, you don't think too much about it and keep eating.

“Did you ask them to add something?” You ask after half of the cake has disappeared.

“No?” He answers, mouth full of pasta. “Oh! They said they’re trying a new recipe and has—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, Charles just snatches the plate out of your hands, causing it to fall onto the floor, making a mess.

“Charles, that’s very rude!”

“I’m so sorry, baby. We need to go to the hospital.” He grabs your hand, rushing to the front door as you look confused at him, not understanding why he’s acting like that all of a sudden.

“Char, what’s happening!”

“You need to lie on your back, I’m gonna call the—”

It takes you a moment to finally understand.

That strange taste in your mouth, why the cake wasn’t like any of the other ones you’ve had before.

Sighing, you squeeze your boyfriend’s hand, forcing him to turn around and stop for a second.

“Baby, I’ll be fine.” But Charles looks like he’s about to throw up, probably feeling so guilty. “I just need my EpiPen, can you get it for me?”

“No! We need to—”

You cup his face, looking straight into his green eyes. “Charlie, you need to calm down or I’m seriously gonna slap you in the face. Now, can you get my EpiPen? It is on my nightst—”

You haven’t finished talking but he’s already sprinting up the stairs, tripping over his own feet. There’s a big commotion upstairs, things falling and Charles cursing as he searches for the medicine you need right now.

You slowly make your way to the couch, breathing in and out, when you hear Charles footsteps approaching.

He hands you the EpiPen and you smile up at him before taking it in your hands, taking your sweatpants off enough to push it against your thigh.

Charles looks away, making a strange sound. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers, looking like a kicked puppy in the middle of the road.

“It’s okay, Char.”

“No, it’s not! I’m gonna sue them,” He starts pacing around the living room, pulling on his hair. “how dare they do this! You could die.”

“I’m not going to die.” You laugh, rubbing the area around the injection for a few seconds. “You need to calm down because this isn’t helping me.”

His expression relaxes, and he sits next to you, grabbing your free hand. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“It’s not your fault, Charles. These things happen and they’ve been happening to me all my life.” You rub his palm, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know how many times this has happened since we’ve been dating, but you still freak out.” He laughs, closing his eyes and finally, finally, relaxing against you. “It’s cute.”

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I’m allergic to three different things, baby. You need to get used to it.”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱ #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #f1 imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic

[chaos0pikachu]

one of my favorite scenes in all of word of honor is episode 14 at exactly the 2min mark where ye baiyi shows up and is like "you're my idiot students idiot stupid idiocity is generational anyway strip my Immortal Daddy sense tells me you ill as fuck" and zhou zishu is like "you want me to STRIP in the middle of the HOTEL LOBBY???" and YBY is like, "god millennials these days" and then they fight and YBY rips a piece of ZZS's undershirt off and the camera pans to it gently fluttering in the wind like it's the last love letter of a jane austen char got from their beloved with news they died in the war as they gaze over the cliffside over the stormy ocean and then BAM Wen KeXing shows up like a jerry springer guest from the side door and is like "UNHAND MY BELOVED THE REASON MY HEART BEATS EACH MORNING WHEN THE SUN RISES" and catches ZZS by his tiny waist to dramatic spin for extra fruit flavor and YBY is like "who the fuck invited this twink?" and then they fight and it explodes a river and shit and ZZS is like "omg you're gonna wake up the whole neighborhood!!" and YBY is like "I'm literally to Daddy to be dealing with this shit just strip so I can diagnose your martial arts cancer" and WKX is like "MY BABY HAS CANCER???" and tries to strip ZZS himself and ZZS is like "what in the fucking 90s shojo manga by Yu Watase Fushigi Yugi shit is this we're in a CLAMP manga stop pulling at my clothes!!!!" and then just to be extra dramatic and Gay (tm) ZZS rips open his own shirt to reveal *gasp* three nipples nails of martial arts cancer and YBY is just like "damn bae you fucked" and WKX has a complete Gay Breakdown

#word of honor #wenzhou #chaos pikachu speaks #this show must be consumed with the knowledge that it's campy and fun and gay #not seriously ignore all the serious bits of the show they're boring and unfun #pikachu's chaotic recaps

[cyborg-franky]

Thank you @fire-fist-ann I hope you like <3<3<3<3

Ace x OC SFW WC: 4K

–Sickness–

Marco jumped when the door swung open, hitting the wall and rattling an assortment of items off his shelves, he gave Ace a tired look as he closed his book and set it on the table, taking off his glasses as Ace looked around with a frantic look etched across his face.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Ace asked, almost tripping over his foot when he stepped into Marco’s office. The phoenix quirked a brow when he realized who Ace was ranting about.

“Alyona?” “Yeah! Thatch said she was in here, is she okay?” He asked again and ran to the section of the office with a modesty curtain, snatching it back and glaring at the empty examination table, he glanced over his shoulder when Marco let out a chuckle.

“She’s fine, she’s in the infirmary relaxing, you can go check on her yoi.”

Marco had barely finished giving Ace permission before he swung that door open loudly, knocking books off a growingly exasperated Marco’s shelves as he burst into the room and saw his girlfriend propped up in bed, a bowl of food in her lap as she stared wide-eyed at him.

“What happened, babe?” Ace asked, walking over, sitting on the bed with her, and eyeing up the ice cream she was eating with slight jealousy mixing with his concern for her. “Oh, I had a mild allergic reaction to something I ate,” Alyona said simply, shrugging her shoulders as she dug her spoon into the ice cream, stuffing it in her mouth with a happy groan.

Ace sighed, he was glad she was alright, glad it was only mild and she was sitting here without a scratch on her. He flopped down on the bed, head resting against her crossed legs as he let out another puff of air, relieved. “What was it?” He asked, turning, propping his head up so he could meet Alyona’s eyes, though she seemed to be avoiding it, looking away as she played with the food in the bowl.

“Alyona…” He pried and she turned her body, trying to get completely away from his narrowing gaze. “It wasn’t something you already knew was bad for you right?” He asked, sitting up so he could focus his glare on her.

“Maybe,” She said, trying to seem nonchalant about the entire thing and failing. “Maaaybe?” He repeated in the same tone and leaned over, poking her cheek, she turned and snapped at the finger, missing.

“I couldn’t help it, Ace! It smelt soooooo good and Thatch is such an amazing cook!” She blurted and set down the bowl on the bedside table as she grabbed Ace’s freckled shoulders and shook him. “You would have done the same thing!” She whined and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She felt him deflate in her embrace, give up when she cuddled him. He leaned into her touch, expression softened as he rolled his eyes, kissing her cheek, then her lips, enjoying how cold they were compared to his warm ones.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, just don’t do it again? It might be worse next time and Marco might not be right there, yeah?” He said, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear, looking into those shimmering eyes of hers, seeing her lips pout.

“Yeaaaaah,” she mumbled, going slack in his arms as Ace pulled her onto his lap.  “That’s my girl,” Ace hummed and started to plant kiss after kiss all over the zoans face, hearing her grumble and start to squeal when his hands ran over her exposed skin.

Causing loud giggles to erupt in the room. 

—--

–Bet–

“Who do you think is faster? Marco in phoenix form or me in dragon?” Alyona asked as she sipped her drink, kicking her feet as she looked at Ace, waiting for his reply. He chewed his lip, contemplating.

“Marco,” “Shut up!” She huffed, slamming down her cup, splashing them both with beer as she did. “What? Come on Babe, he’s Marco I’ve seen how fast that birdbrain can do! He’s so much faster than you.” Aly glared at him as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Wanna make a bet?” She asked, a mischievous glint in her eye as she shuffled closer to Ace, nudging him with her elbow a few times. “A bet huh? What kinda bet?” Ace was intrigued, his energy matching hers.

The crew often dreaded when their chaotic natures would sync up. It often meant alot of cleanup, shouting, and stress. Not to mention Thatch missing half his pantry and Marco having to patch someone up.

“I bet that I’m faster than Marco, I’ll ask him to race me. If I win you have to wear one of the nurse's outfits!” She proclaimed, poking him dead center on his chest. Ace blinked a few times before he threw his head back and laughed loudly.

“Easy! I’ll take you up on that bet! If Marco wins that means you have to wear the uniform, right?” She nodded, her chest puffed up in confidence, she was excited to prove her boyfriend wrong. She just needed to talk to Marco, beg and plead with the doctor to indulge their childish bet.

-

“Sure, sounds fun yoi.” Marco nodded and looked over at the two standing there, both doing their own little dance of victory. Alyona had pushed past Ace, knocking them both to the floor as they both desperately battled to get the first word out.

Both jabbering at him as he stared at the mess of limbs on the floor, he got the gist of the bet and was keen to be part of it. It wasn’t often he got to fly, let alone make it a race with someone else. “No zapping me though yoi, I’ve seen you shock things out of the sky.” Marco heard Alyona click her tongue, irritated she’d been called out.

“Fine, fine, no elemental powers…” She scuffed her shoe against the floor, hands stuffed into her pockets as she avoided Marco’s gaze. Ace snickered beside her, amused one of her tricks had already been sniffed out and put down by Marco.

–

Alyona and Marco stood at the edge of the deck while Ace perched on the side, watching as some of the crew started to gather around, looking confused and curious. Thatch stood there, Marco had asked him to be an impartial judge of the situation.

“I don't know when we ever got to see you in full form girl,” Thatch hummed in thought before Alyona changed in a flash, standing there as a dragon, looking proud of herself while others stared on in wonder. Marco smirked, lazy and lopsided, he wasn’t one to be outdone.

Bright blue flames engulfed him before fading and showing the large elegant bird, Marco groomed under his wing, getting ready for the race. Thatch cleared his throat watching as the two zoans got into position. 

“I’m going to count down from three then you're off...”

“Three, two, one, GO!”

A low rumbling roar and a high-pitched screech split through the air as the two mighty beasts took off, shooting through the sunset. Marco was faster, he took a peek back, seeing the dragon form of Alyona struggling. He knew he was going to win, he knew his strengths and he knew Alyona was too young to see her own weaknesses like he could.

He was the phoenix, built for endless grace, stamina, and speed. But that didn’t mean he had an ego, it didn’t mean his pride in his ability was enough to get in the way of his next thought. The phoenix smirked and turned around, heading back to the ship, Alyona growling behind, trying to snap at his tail feathers.

That was when Marco slowed down, always keeping just behind Alyona as she beat her wings for all she was worth. She blinked when she realized Marco had fallen back, she was in the lead, she was winning.

She transformed in the air, landing with a spring in her step. Ace gawked at her, leaning back with a tight grip on the rails, almost falling off before he jumped on the deck in time for Thatch to declare her as the winner. The crew cheered, already in on the joke Marco was playing on Ace.

Marco landed softly, changing into a human, he slapped a hand on her shoulder, smiling brightly. “You did so well yoi!” He praised, seeing her beaming face before her bright smile shifted, changing into a gleeful and devious smirk.

“I told you Portgas!” She waved her finger in his direction and his shoulders slumped as he groaned. “That’s not fair, someone cheated!” He huffed and shot a look over to Marco who mock gasped, pretending to be offended by the accusation.

“Too bad, that wasn’t part of the bet! Go on, suit up, get those legs out.” Alyona waggled her eyebrows at him.

-

Ace wished it would have been kept between himself, Marco, and Alyona but no. A bunch of the crew all sat around as they waited for him to change and step out. He zipped the dress up, it struggled to go much higher though, his muscles were a little too big which made it look even trashier than it ever had on the nurses. The skirt seemed even shorter too, though he had as Alyona would always tell him a flat as an ironing board ass.

He wobbled in the heels, so used to his nice big clunky, and very flat boots. He shimmed across the room, hands flat against the wall as he made tiny steps in the unfamiliar shoes, all the way to the door. A little nurse hat perched in his ebony waves, he knew he’d get pulled up and made to turn right back around if he'd forgotten it.

Taking a breath, his freckled cheeks were already tinged with blush as opened the door a crack, peeking out and mumbling to himself under his breath, nose wrinkled as he saw just how many people were waiting to see him make a fool of himself.

He stepped out on shaky legs, almost falling flat on his face when those who had accumulated started to cheer, shout and holler. Some even went as far as catcalling and wolf-whistling. Alyona was grinning ear to ear as she waggled her brows, it was both funny and kinda sexy to see this much of her partner.

Marco chuckled looking Ace over. “Maybe come work for me, you look the part for sure Ace!” He called and Ace could feel irritated and embarrassed flames licking across his shoulders as he was trying to tug the hem of the dress down enough to ensure no one could see any more of him than they bargained. 

“Haha, fuck off.” Ace huffed, giving them all the finger as his ankles felt weak and his legs wobbled, feeling like he’d topple over. Alyona strutted over to where he was standing, or trying to, and gave him a slow once over.

“Looking good Portgas,” She said with a wink. “Yeah, yeah, can I change back now?” He asked, shooting Thatch a look at another cheesy flirty comment aimed at him.

“Fiiiiiine.” She replied, a whine in her tone as she linked arms with him and walked back to the room where he’d left his clothes. “Maybe now you’ll know not to bet against me!” Alyona proclaimed loudly and nudged him, almost knocking him over.

“I still think Marco cheated..” “Maybe but I didn’t.” 

Ace opened his mouth to protest, but she had a point, Aly had been the one to behave. She wasn’t the one who cheated. He closed his mouth and just grunted in response as she linked arms with him, helping him back towards the med bay where he could change back into his normal clothes.

“Your legs look good in dresses though, like, seriously,” Aly said with a sly grin and watched Ace roll his eyes as he wriggled from her grasp, opening the door, and pausing before going in. “If you liked that you saw so much we could…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, his lips curled into a smirk and she blushed when she got the hint.

“Only if you keep the dress on,” She teased him, another snort in response as he pulled her through the doorway, slamming it shut. The sound of a lock being clicked into place and giggles erupted from the empty room.

—--

–Roommates–

Ace slumped on the sofa, a beer in his hand as he glanced over at Deuce who was busy reading a book as the sunset shifted and changed outside their apartment window. The door opened with a loud thump and a cry of “I’M OKAY!” rang out.

Deuce and Ace exchanged a look when Alyona rounded the corner, one of the shoulders on her dress had slipped down, exposing more skin, Her long white hair had fallen out of the loose bun she'd attempted to tame the locks with. She seemed to drop a few inches as Ace stared at her, his eyes flicked down to her feet where she was pulling off the platform shoes.

She sighed and wiggled her toes, straightening up before crossing the threshold of the room, heading to the kitchen area, opening the fridge to rummage around in, loudly conversing to herself about what she was going to eat, if Deuce and Ace wanted to order anything in.

Ace could feel eyes on him as he stared at her legs, watching her strength to dig around in the fridge. He turned slowly, catching the look his friend was giving him, Deuce’s mouth set in a disapproving firm line as he picked up his phone, shaking his head.

Seconds later Ace felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, sitting his can of beer down on the coffee table he retrieved it.

Deuce: Why don’t you just tell her you like her already? One day she’ll catch you staring at her like she’s the last meal on earth.

Ace: Oh I am not that bad!

Deuce: Your wrong but okay, live in denial over there while thinking about her every night.

Ace: It’s not every night.

Deuce: …..

Ace: Fuck off.

Deuce: ….

“Guys?” Alyona called as she came back over, letting all of her weight fall onto the sofa next to Ace as she opened her soda, taking a sip and letting out a content aaaah as the flavors of her favorite drink hit her.

“Yeah?” Both said at once, earning a chuckle from Alyona before she leaned back against the soft sofa cushions, her dress sliding up her thighs. Ace put all of his willpower into not checking her out, half from not wanting Deuce to send any more snarky comments and half from being too scared of her seeing and questioning his reasons.

“What?” Ace prompted her and decided to stare at the can in his hand, feeling the metal crinkle as his grip tightened, his resolve was immaculate at this moment, right when her thighs were there to admire. “What you wanna get for dinner? I’m feeling pizza..” Alyona answered as she adjusted on the sofa, showing off more leg, a real challenge in Ace’s self-control.

“Pizza sounds really good actually,” Deuce admitted, sitting forward and looking at the mess of takeaway menus that littered their coffee table, pulling the one for pizza out. “There's some good deal for a Friday,”

Alyona was nodding along, sitting up and talking with Deuce but Ace was in his own world, unable to stop himself from staring at her pretty face, her plush lips, long eyelashes, and beautiful eyes He loved her smile the most, how it always held this air of mischief that summed her up so perfectly.

He sighed, lost in his own thoughts, staring off across the room, out the window. He focused on the sunset, consumed with thoughts of her and how he was pretty sure he was in love. Alyona slapped his knee and he shook his head, brows furrowed and narrowing his eyes at her. “What?”

“We’ve been asking you what you wanna order for five minutes, where did you go?” She asked, hand still on his knee, feeling the heat of her palm he could feel himself sweating harder, she tried to be cool about it, tried to shrug, act casual, not like she’d just caught him lost, thinking about her. Deuce knew, he could tell Deuce knew from the unamused look on his face as he drummed his fingers on the armrest, waiting.

“Oh fuck. Sorry, was miles away.” he tried to brush it off as he ran a hand through messy hair, watching the two roll their eyes. “Alright, well I want…”

–

With all the food eaten, the three had sat around rubbing full stomachs and making jokes. More beers had been brought to the living room, the night became a gaming session, the three of them taking it in turns to go against one another, some party games.

 Alyona and Ace were far better at most of the games than Deuce who soon conceded his defeat in his lack of skills, it wasn’t he hadn’t tried his best. But he was happy to sit and drink as he watched the others play The two sat together and kept bumping into one another on purpose. Deuce wasn’t sure if it was just to put the other off their game or any excuse to be close to one another.

Either way, it was clear to him that Ace wasn’t the only one with a massive crush. The way Alyona would look at Ace from the corner of her eye, how she’d playfully tease him, all her little childish ways of flirting. He smiled when Alyona won the race between them, rubbing it in Ace’s face, hearing Ace huff, a sore loser.

It was all playful, between friends that clearly wanted to be more. Deuce rolled his eyes, maybe one day they’d stop being cowards and confess to themselves and one another. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his thighs and stood up. “Want another beer?” He asked the two.

“Yeah!” Alyona cheered and went to start another level, one that was just her and Ace again to prove she was better than him. “You are already tipsy Aly…” Ace chided like the pink hue across his cheeks didn’t indicate he was in the same state as her.

–

Ace watched as Aly stood up after the last game, saying she needed air, opening the window and climbing out onto the fire escape, sitting on the steps, and looking out at the night, he guessed she was hoping to see cats or a fox in the ally below but as he watched her stare into the sky, seeing how forlorn she seemed, he didn't think that was the case anymore.

“You alright?” He asked as he stepped out, almost banging his head on the window, he hissed a curse as he caught his foot and stumbled, trying to look natural before she gave him her full attention. 

“Yeah, just thinking about things,” She said simply with a shrug of her shoulders, watching him as he came to lean on the rails in front of her, his head fell back so he could stare at the dark sky above. “Like me earlier huh?” she hummed in response.

“Wanna share?”

“I don’t… maybe?” She said and played with her hair nervously, her mouth suddenly dry as her tipsy mind debated if this was a good idea or not. Maybe she needed to rip the bandaid off, wanting to know his feelings so desperately. Would it ruin their friendship? Would it make things awkward for Deuce if things got strange and different between Ace and her?

“I have a crush.” She started, not looking up at him, missing the quirk of his brows, the nervous gulp he took.

“Yeah?” He asked, shifting in place. His heart was beating fast, and the hands that gripped the metal rails held harder, tighter, grounding him and preparing him for the news that might shatter him, breaking his heart into a thousand pieces.

“It’s not Deuce right?”

Alyona couldn’t help but laugh at that and shake her head. She was surprised he would even suggest their roommate but the suggestion had made her laugh, had softened her tense expression. “Oh gods, no, never. He’s like an annoying older brother… you can’t be serious with that guess..” She said, still giggling and Ace was smiling back, tickled at her reaction.

“It’s not, obviously.” “I guessed…. But who?” He asked again, adjusting on the rails, bracing himself.

She started to twirl her hair around her finger, biting her lip as she tried to collect her racing thoughts, trying to arrange them neatly before she tripped over her words and made things even worse. She closed her eyes, she could feel every beat of her heart in her throat as she forced herself to remember how to talk. “You, I’m sorry and understand if you don’t like me back, it’s okay!” Alyona blurted, it all came out in such a rush that it had taken Ace aback for a moment before he let it sink in.

Ace let out a breath, he didn’t reply, he just stared at her. She blinked in confusion at the silence that stretched between them. She looked up at him with a pout on her face. “Well?” She asked, impatient, nervous, so scared that she had put herself on the line and he was just going to gawk at her, ignore her. Maybe even pretend that he hadn’t heard. What would kill her first? What would hurt more?

She watched as he pushed himself off the rails, staring at him as he get on his knees in front of her. He reached up, warm hands cupping blushing cheeks as he tilted her face, wanting to look into her eyes. “Do you really mean that? It’s me? And your sure it’s not Deuce?”

Alyona didn’t pull away, her blush getting hotter, reaching the tips of her ears at the close contact and staring into his dark beautiful eyes. She heard his question and couldn’t help but snort and giggle. “Ace, it’s not Deuce! I promise.” She said and was overjoyed to hear the sound of his chuckle, a rumbling sound that filled her with joy.

“Yes Ace, you, it’s always been you.. I just worried about telling you… messing up our friendship… but I think it’s more than a crush.. I think… I think I love you..” She said a whisper that barely reached his ears but he heard it, he felt it. Something he had longed to hear for as long as he could remember.

“I love you too Aly, since the day you moved in with me and Deuce I’ve had feelings… at first I just thought you were cool and super fuckin’ hot. Me and Deuce had even tried to make a pact not to go after you.” He said as he moved closer, his thumbs stroking her blushing cheeks as he spoke. “Then he lost interest, could see I was into you.. Said we’d make a perfect couple..a..and I guess we both agree.” Another chuckle of disbelief. 

“I’m so happy to hear that.. I don't know what I would have done if you didn’t love me back.” Alyona replied, feeling emotional as her hands met his, holding them close, nuzzling into his palms as she stared into his eyes, even in the dim light the apartment provided he could see the glimmer of unshed tears.

“I love you,” Ace said, closing his eyes. “I love you too,” Once those words slipped from her beautiful lips he pressed his against them. A soft and tender kiss in the warm summer evening.

Ace felt complete for the first time in his life. Like his missing piece had finally been found. The only downside was he could hear Deuce givng them both the I told you talk. But hell, she was worth it.

#sfw #one piece own character #one piece oc #ace x oc #ace x own char #one piece oc x #op oc #female oc

[x-birdbrains-x]

🍁 🌿 🌾 🌼 for the soft OC ask! <3

red leaf has been answered but... and thank you <3<3

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

Marco and Ray are very good at showing their love and attention with and without words. Simple touches like brushing back hair, ruffling hair, kisses on the forehead, hand on a knee, shoulder, just little glances and touches.

Ace needs more so Ray tries to be more vocal with Ace. Ray does like to wrap his arms around Ace’s neck and nuzzle him, showing him, he’s loved.

All three are chatty mother fuckers so it doesn’t happen much without words.

------

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

Ace: Ace sees Ray as someone with the same depth and emotional problems that he has, they understand one another without saying words. Ace likes how sweet the smaller zoan is with him, the nicknames he always uses, how he always knows when Ace needs a pick-up, and when Ace is feeling down, he can always count on Ray to come up to him and just be there.

They get one another’s a sense of humour, Ace laughs so much that he hurts sometimes. He’s proud of Ray for getting past the way he was born and the way he wants to live. He respects it and looks up to him. He also adores how doting Ray is with him.

Ray is soft and squishy and great to cuddle up to.

Marco: Ray always amuses Marco with his strange little habits and the little things he does. His furrowed brows when he’s concentrating on work, how he plays with the feather on his pen. He adores the little quirk he has when he’s happy or nervous and he sprouts feathers.

Ray is his partner, his assistant, and his mate. Their zoans are connected and just as in love with one another as their human sides. They look after one another when it gets too late at night, and remind one another to take it easy, to eat and drink water.

Marco adores the strange humour he has. Enjoys how Ray fits so well with him and Ace, and how it doesn’t feel awkward. The complete feeling, he gets when he’s with Ray and Ace. He loves seeing him in bird form, he adores the cute little bird his partner becomes.

------

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

The whitebeard's are his found family and his friends. He's close with Thatch, has often been found perching in his hair. At first, he didn’t like Ace or Thatch thanks to the whole ‘hey can I eat this bird?’ ‘You sure can!’ incident.

They all met because Ray in bird form got flung onto the ship. He loved and respects whitebeard after all he’s ‘Pops’

Ray and Marco started off as good friends almost straight away, they worked with one another and then love bloomed between them. Ray took a while to warm up to Ace, he honestly thought it was a slow burn but it was happening faster than he even realised.

He respects and is low key terrified of Izou.

Ray doesn’t have a ‘type’ but he found everything he could have wanted from Ace and Marco, both having qualities the other didn’t that drew Ray towards them.

#ray the pigeon #one piece oc #one piece own char

[eccentricwritingbaby]

thank you

charles leclerc x reader

summary - reader has been stressed from work, leading charles to give her comfort.

masterlist

-

letting out a deep sigh, you begin your long trek up the stairs to yours and your boyfriends shared apartment. work had been kicking your ass recently, and charles knew it - it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

you had been lightly moody, working later hours than usual, tired, quiet, and so much more. it visibly countered your usual personality of bright and bubbly, passionate about your work, and confident in your ways. 

charles held an understanding and empathetic response to your recent behavior, he too had rough relationships with work - he knew how draining it can get. and everytime he broke, you were there to pick up the pieces - you were his rock and now it was his turn to be yours.

it was the beautiful give and take that prospered in your love, when one of you could only give thirty percent in your ways, the other made up the seventy. your recent loss of effort, not for lack of trying to give your all, had made charles step up to the plate. 

your jingle of keys outside alerted charles of your entrance before your presence even appeared. once inside, charles looked up at your slumped figure leaning against the wall, struggling to remove the heels on your feet.

he slid off the couch, meeting your form at the door, and dropping down to a knee. his left hand slid up your right calf and placed the heel on his knee. his hands began to remove your shoe and once the right heel was discarded, he tapped his leg again and motioned for your other foot. you switched weight to your right and placed your left foot onto his knee as he began to gently remove the other shoe. with the heels safely placed on the ground and off your aching feet, charles brings himself back up to his full height and begins to remove your jacket and purse. with those then hung onto the rack by your door, he reaches behind you and locks up, proceeding to then grab your hand softly and lead you to the bedroom. 

you trail behind him quietly as he opens and shuts the door to your bedroom. once inside, he guides you to sit on the chair of your vanity in the room because according to yourself ‘outside clothes are not allowed on the bed’ which is heavily enforced in your home.

charles begins to disappear into the shared closet and reappears with your favorite loungewear, his tshirt and his sweatpants. once you were fully dressed, you were finally comfortable enough to break the comfortable silence between you two.

“thank you,” you whisper, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes. he stalks over to you, pulling you closer by your waist, giving you a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“not necessary, amour,” he replies, “what do you need from me, y/n?” sincerity and concern are laced in soft tones throughout your boyfriends voice. you could tell he was yearning to help you, aching to give you comfort, hoping his actions would bring you back with light. you wanted to give it to him, wanted to feel like yourself again - but you couldn’t.

and charles understood that with one look into your eyes. “okay, amour, okay,” he replies to your non-verbal answer. 

“i’m sorry, char,” you fell into his arms fully, him quickly reacting by wrapping his own around you tightly. he presses multiple kisses to the top of your head and drops one hand to run it down your back.

“you have nothing to be sorry for, feeling like this is normal. i just ask that you take care of yourself - that’s all i want,” you reposition your head as he speaks to you in order to look up at his face, he tilts his head down and gives you a small smile, “now how about we get some food into you, huh?” he adds on with an encouraging smile.

“i’m not that hungr-”

“nuh-uh,” he cuts you off, “you’re eating,” he shakes his head as he looks down at you, still holding his smile, “now i don’t care what you eat, but you need to eat, ok?”

and for the first time that entire day, you smiled. a real genuine smile. charles felt as though his heart grew as it rapidly beat in his chest. two and a half years together and you still gave him butterflies, even after a simple smile. 

“okay, i’ll eat,” you answer, “what should we have?”

“anything you want, baby,” charles gave you a light tap and squeeze to the bum as he ushered you out of your bedroom and into the kitchen.

your mood had instantly increased since you walked through the door of your apartment. trading the bright fluorescent lighting in the office to the dim, candle and lamp-lit apartment that your boyfriend had kindly arranged. the little things that he constantly did always left you at ease. even if it were as simple as the lighting.

you both walked into the dimly lit kitchen as charles led you to sit at the stool in front of your kitchen island. walking around the counter, your doting boyfriend began to rummage through the cabinets in search of a proper meal for you both.

“love, i think we have some ramen in the top cabinet,” you offer up, “i am not going to feed you ramen after your tough day, y/n,” he gives back.

“but i like ramen,” you whine lightly. and you did. was it what you preferred after a day of only sneaking bites here and there of your breakfast bagel and stale black coffee? no. but neither of you cook perfectly, and you were not about to leave your apartment after your day. 

“fine, but just know that i protested,” he held his hands up to feign his innocence before he continued, “i like ramen too, but you deserve the good restaurant ramen after the day you had, not the packet that we don’t even dress up well,”

“then let’s dress it up!” you cheer, giving charles what he had been wanting this past week - your sparkle. it’s in your eyes, your smile, and your soul. he can feel the real you, the bright you, coming to the surface - and he would be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to keep it there. 

“okay, cherie, get the eggs and spring onions out of the fridge for me, please,” he laughs out his request because of your lightened behavior.

you hop off the stool and head to the fridge with a skip. charles admires you as he retrieves the pots and pans for your cooking adventure. he knew you both wouldn’t be able to do the food justice, but the time together was everything he always looked forward to. low music on in the background, dim lighting and candles lit, quiet instructions being passed between the two of you, horrible dance moves being executed, butchered singing and corny jokes. it was his favorite time with you. your work, his work, fan drama, family drama - it was all forgotten. you both had entered your self care bubble and were working on gaining joy back into the commonality of life. 

after the noodles and other ingredients were simmering on the stove, you reached around charles to grab bowls and chopsticks for your dinner and his hands found home to your waist. the bowls and utensils were then set on the counter and you spun in his hold. charles bent down, reaching your lips with his own and you hummed in approval. 

when you broke for air, his forehead stayed connected to your own and you whispered once again, “thank you,”

“always, amour”

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #cl16 one shot #cl16 x you #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc #carlos sainz jr x reader #charles leclerc fic #scuderia ferrari #formula one #formula 1 #carlos sainz jr imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

[cerastes]

I still think it's really cool how Amuro starts as the shittiest pilot alive (because he's a 15-year old) that only gets carried because he's in the biggest, fattest stat stick in-universe at the time (a few retroactive additions made in the future notwithstanding), enough that even its crappy vulcan guns are tearing Zaku IIs apart, and when he starts getting a bit too cocky, Char and Ramba Ral show up in objectively inferior pieces of junk and absolutely deliver his pizza, they just drag his face across every available surface in Planet Earth like he's a Yakuza mook, all because they are simply that much better at piloting, and the thing is, Amuro takes that very seriously.

He goes from shitass kid in an unfortunate situation that doesn't want to get in the robot to the most unwell child soldier in the war, which is really saying something, but most importantly, becomes so good at piloting the Gundam that the Gundam physically cannot handle Amuro's piloting. They need to apply "Magnetic Coating" to its joints so they don't fucking snap away from the main frame because Amuro, one, moves too damn well but also in too extreme a way for the frame to handle it, two, despite being equipped with two sabers, a shield, a beam rifle and vulcan guns, Amuro is a stern believer in introducing most everyone in thagomizer range to his Rated Z for Zeon hands, the single most official pair of hands in the business, tax free. He KEEP going Ip Man on these dudes, he does NOT need to do a Jamestown on these mother fuckers but he INSISTS. Somehow even the Gundam Hammer, which is a giant Hannah Barbera cartoon flail-- Ok, look at this thing, words do not do it justice

Even this god damn Tom and Jerry prop is less savage that whatever Amuro decides to do the moment he's done throwing his shield to get a free kill on someone and it officially becomes bed time forever for the unfortunate sap at the business end of his ten-finger weapons of mass destruction.

The RX-78-2, "Gundam" for its friends and family, even has a top of the line cutting edge Learning Computer that 'learns' alongside the pilot and their habits. This data extracted from it was so absolutely fucked up that it completely revolutionized Mobile Suit combat afterwards, which is a wholesome thing to think about when The Best Combat Data Ever came from a really angry, really stressed 15 year old that doesn't even like piloting. He was 15! He made Haro with his own hands! Amuro literally just wanted to make funny cute spherical robofriends! Amuro was out there trying to make Kirby real, but fate had other plans for him. His cloned brain put in a pilot seat is one of the setting's strongest 'pilots'.

They made fucking Shadow the Hedgehog with his brain, god damn.

By the end, Zeon is rolling out Gelgoogs out of its mass production lines. These things are in the Gundam's ballpark in terms of overall specs (or "power level"). Amuro is bodying them as if they were episode 1 Zaku IIs.

AND THEN HE GETS FUCKING PSYCHIC SPACE POWERS. Not that he needed them, he bodied a couple Space Psychics without any of those powers before awakening to them. But heaven's most violent child was not done evolving, whether he liked it or not.

Char bodied him in a souped up Zaku II at the start, a machine objectively inferior to the Gundam. Amuro more or less one-sidedly beats the shit out of Char when he's in a custom Commander-type Gelgoog that you could consider to be equal spec-wise to the Gundam. Amuro is the embodiment of Finding Out. He is Consequences. You tell him he better make it hurt, better make it count, better kill you in one shot, buddy, he needs half a fucking shot. The complete transformation. One could consider the central 75% of the show as long drawn out training montage turning a kid into the Geese Howard of giant robots.

#amuro ray #gundam

[saradika]

— invisible string

din djarin x vaguely force sensitive!reader

rated e - 1.7k

tags: divergent timeline, soulmate!au, takes place across season 1 & 2, missed connections, the Razor Crest lives, PiV, marking, creampie, magical elements

a/n: for the TS Challenge by @beskarandblasters! This was so fun, thanks so much for hosting this event! 💖 I was so excited to get this song & character

There's something about him, this man.

Deep down, it feels as if a string is tied around something vital inside you. A piece of you that you cannot live without, twined with its match inside him. Like the path you've taken has always led to this moment, this meeting.

You feel as if you are always out of step.

Too early. And then somehow - just a little bit too late.

As if you've missed something crucial. A prickle on the back of your neck. Eyes scanning the crowds of people as you weave through cities - looking for someone.

As to whom, though - you're never quite sure.

You think it's always been there. A similar sort of feeling that flickers when you're in danger. That was something you had cultivated. Manipulated into a force you can wield. A push and pull, an aid - when you need it. Something you draw from often, during your days as a smuggler.

But you're not sure what to do with this.

The feeling is pushed down on Nevarro.

Contacted for a job, one that had been easy enough. Your goods exchanged in a dingy cantina - a shipment of stolen fuel cells furtively traded to an irritated man that went by Karga. Your eyebrows raised at the charred hole in the man's fine clothes - a half-hearted wonder at how the man was still standing.

The Imperial credits he offers you do not get you far. He's unable to offer you a puck - his trade was in bounty hunting, not smuggling. You're not sure if you'd take one, and the cells are enough to keep his crew afloat for a while. A dead-end for now, but you think - not always.

After, your ship drifts along an unseen track.

To Tatooine this time. A big job for the Hutts that takes you two weeks. Days in the sun spent waiting for the payments to transfer to your account, and so in the meantime - you tinker.

Trading your way up. A broken blaster fixed, exchanged for ship parts. The parts installed, the labor paid for with two, beat-up old speeders.

Only to sell them both to a cocky hot-shot bounty hunter for double their value - his over-blown self-confidence eclipsing the fact that you were absolutely swindling him.

It’s not your problem.

Though here, you can't help but feel the urge to linger. An itch beneath your skin, as if you've missed something, again.

You ignore it. Trading up one more time - swapping Mos Eisley for the sea. The choppy waters of Trask washing away the grit and sand that clings to your skin.

There's always work to be found here - deals to make with the Quarren and Mon Calamari. Those days spent at the inn, with lunches of warm homemade chowder and wrapped in chunky-knit sweaters.

Eyes snagging on a couple that often sits together at lunch. Their features frog-like, affection clear in their soft chatter, the slow blink of their large, black eyes. You imagine it to be a stolen moment - meeting up in the afternoon, too eager to wait until evening to see each other.

It’s nice.

It follows you, back to your room.

You think about them later - the obvious connection. A bone-deep urge to find another that matches a part of you. Something you've never had.

Somehow you know it’s out there.

But it's not time.

The next day, your ship takes off again.

There's a feeling deep down that for once, you're right where you need to be.

Your path is not guided by a job. Something spinning inside your chest like the point of a compass, your fingers keying coordinates with a mind of their own.

It's not a sea. Not a desert. Not a growing town, slowly rebuilding.

You're taken to a forest. The trees are unlike those you've seen - stretching tall and thin towards the sky. Their leaves sparse, but still filling the space with the sheer number.

There's a village - but you're drawn away from the tall walls. There's nothing inside that you seek. Drawn back to the trees you had seen from above. There's no tracks for you to follow, it's only your own boots pressed into the earth.

But you still go out, day after day.

It's on the third day, as you sit by the edge of a clear, shallow pool, that you hear the crack of branches under boots.

It should frighten you… but it doesn't.

It feels like an inevitability.

Your head turns, and there's a man there. His limbs encased in armor of shining beskar. A Mandalorian, you realize, when your eyes meet the dark visor that bisects his helmet.

"It's you." The words are a flat buzz, through his helmet. Unsurprised, somehow. Just as you are.

And it's him.

There's something about him, this man.

Deep down, it feels as if a string is tied around something vital inside you. A piece of you that you cannot live without, twined with its match inside him. Like the path you've taken has always led to this moment, this meeting.

You're not sure what that something is...

But think you are finally ready to find out.

His touch is familiar, though you've never known it. Much like everything else, it feels almost destined.

You know he feels it too. A slow circling dance, the weight of his eyes following you from behind the visor. That string inside no longer feels like a leash, but instead - a lifeline.

Finally being able to acknowledge that he has been what you've been orbiting around this whole time. Easing that ever-present ache of loneliness that had always followed you.

For some time, he had thought you would be the one to train Grogu. That perhaps this had been the reason why the fates had pushed you together.

You had tried, and failed. That part of you still too raw, too unfashioned. It lived inside you, but it was something you had been unable to teach another. How could you, when you did not even know the word for what it was?

And as time passed, you realized deep down that you were truly meant to be here now. Not for the before.

An aid at first, of course. You had gone with him to Tython. Traded in your ship, and traveled on the Slave 1. Had faced death by his side, staring into the black chrome of the Dark Troopers.

Had grieved with him, after.

You think this had been your place all along.

This liminal space, in those months that follow.

Giving him something to grab onto. Fingers sinking into flesh, your back hitting the mattress as he follows.

It’s dark, in the belly of his ship. With anyone else your senses would be screaming, a ringing alarm.

But you’ve come to know each room, fingers tracing the cold metal. From the walls, to the bunk, to him - the tips slipping under to tug at the fastenings of his armor.

He is quiet, like he often is now. But you can feel the heat that rolls off him in waves. The harsh buzz of his breath through the vocoder, before the light cuts out completely.

Before it’s just him and you.

His knees nudge your thighs wider. Pressing into muscle and flesh, forcing them up and apart. Your fingers twist in his curls, angling your mouth up to meet the kiss that is all teeth and tongue.

Fingers dip down, thick and calloused. Parting you, nudging inside to where you’re wet and waiting. Pumping deep with his thumb pressed snug against the button of your clit - leaving you dizzy and clenching and wondering if he just knew, as well.

You think he did. He does.

And when he works himself inside you, you finally feel full. Ripping a sound from each of you - his rough and swallowed, yours a broken murmur of his name.

Something else given in the dark, on another night akin to this. Pieces of himself peeled back and gifted, only to be carefully wrapped up and buried deep.

The pound of his hips itches at something you’ve been missing. Those hands tugging at your hips, pulling you to meet each harsh thrust. Fingers slipping down to swirl against you again - a spark rising each time you fit together, building swiftly to an inferno.

“Din,” You breathe, as something heavy flickers inside you, just out of reach, “Stars, please. Don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” It’s a low oath, as his cock grinds deep, “I’ve waited too long for you, cyare.”

He wrenches it from you, setting you ablaze. Your is cry loud in the tiny room as you come undone. The wild swirl of your senses narrowing down, until it’s just him. Din’s mouth against your neck, warm breath and teeth nipping marks into your skin - the pleasure flowing from you in pulsing waves, sinking into him.

Making him follow, no more than a dozen thrusts later. A gritted, bitten-back moan of your own name, before his hips are stuttering. Giving back what you passed to him, his cock throbbing inside you, buried deep.

Where he stays, until he’s gone soft. A pang of loss shuddering through you when he slips from between your thighs - expecting him to return to his own bunk.

To leave you, again.

But the mattress dips, next to you. The space narrow, a short sigh when you wiggle too much trying to get comfortable. Hands hooking around your wrists, hauling your hips over his. Settling you down on top of him.

And in the dark - he stays.

“Should have met you on Tatooine,” Din tells you later that night, unbidden. Letting your legs twine with his, thighs parted to make room for you. “I didn’t know it was you. If I had-”

His words end abruptly, hanging. Both of you thinking about all those moments when time hadn’t lined up. The synchronicity of your movements, just barely nudged out of time.

Both there, during that same moment. If you had stayed another day, maybe that would have been your meeting.

But you had left early, and he had came late.

“We’re here now.” You tell him, chin pressing against his chest. Eyes finding his in the dark, though you cannot see. “Isn’t that enough?”

There’s the brush of his hand along your spine - knuckles, and then fingertips as they unfurl.

“Yes.”

It is enough, for now.

You’re not sure if it’s forever. If, for some reason, you’ll be forced to part again. But tonight, you’re not worried.

Because, if you were to reach inside yourself and pluck that golden string right now - letting it thrum…

You think that he would feel it, too.

thanks so much for reading!! 💖

cyare - beloved

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #ts drabble challenge #din djarin imagine

[twola]

idk if this is too vague, but arthur/f!reader in the classic trope of, oh my god I can't believe we both almost just died sex? did they both almost drown? Was there a fire? did he save her life? who knows! i feel like arthur would sees the woman he loves almost die and immediately fuck about it

Okay this has been in my asks for WAY too long and it’s such a good one and I wanted to do it justice.

Left Unsaid

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

When he think's he's almost lost you in a run-in with a rival gang, Arthur quickly gets over his nervousness in approaching you.

The bloodcurdling scream jolts him from sleep, making him stumble up from where he was sitting on a rickety chair in the main room of the old cabin. At first, he thinks it's a dream, but when the sound of breaking glass pierces the night, Arthur shoots up; the chair falling to the ground in a clatter as he quickly shakes the vestiges of sleep from his mind.

This abandoned cabin off of Eris Field seemed the perfect place to spend the night instead of making the trek all the way back to Shady Belle tonight - your yawning from behind him on his horse had him chuckling as he made the decision to stay - doing the gentlemanly thing and giving you the bedroom with the old single bed. As much as he’d like to be sharing it with you - he remained externally aloof - proclaiming that he’d sleep on the chair in the main room. He certainly did not dare to ask to share your bed - not now, probably not ever. 

But the rustling and thumping behind the door where you sleep has his heart racing - his hand flies to his revolver as he readies himself to throw his shoulder into the door and shoot whatever it is that is making that noise, but the door bursts open before he gets the chance.

A man stands on the threshold - dirty, and grimy, with a faded gray woolen military uniform and a yellow bandana around his neck.

Of course, goddamn Lemoyne Raiders.

The raider holds up his knife in front of him, and in the din of movement and chaos around them, Arthur can see the liquid sheen over the steel in the man’s hand.

The knife, dripping with blood. The man, seemingly unharmed. The door, slightly ajar, to the bedroom where you slept.

A cold stone settles in Arthur’s gut as he puts the pieces together. In an instant, he snarls, diving toward the man with little regard for his own person, tackling him to the ground and ready to rip him apart with his bare hands for what he’s done to you. As Arthur mounts himself on the man’s chest and begins to strangle him, the movement knocks the oil lantern off the table, crashing to the wooden floor and immediately bursting into flame.

The man’s neck snaps between Arthur’s hands and he immediately leaps up, moving toward the bedroom where you were sleeping.

Another body crashes into him, a Lemoyne Raider dressed like he is straight out of a Civil War battle tackles Arthur to the ground, the two of them tumbling along the floor and breaking through the rickety door to the porch. Arthur rolls backward, unsheathing his hunting knife as he grits his teeth, ready to slice this damn bastard into shreds.

Of course, the wannabe soldier is no match for the hardened outlaw. They sure as hell don’t make them like they used to. Arthur easily dodges a swing of the man’s fist and throws his weight forward. He sinks his knife into the raider’s gut, and immediately shoves him to the ground. He gurgles blood from his mouth as Arthur rushes over him, back toward the house.

The flames burst out the windows as he barrels back toward the door, grabbing at the handle and cursing aloud as it burns him. 

The constriction in his chest has settled into a churning in his gut as he prepared to kick the door in. At this point would he be finding your charred, lifeless body, having bled out on the floor because he couldn’t protect you?

“Arthur-!”

He steps off the porch, not sure if he is lightheaded or hallucinating, but you move toward him, hitching your skirts, blood covering your blouse, your hair wild.

“Jesus-” He crashes into you, having nearly leaped the final few steps, crushing you into his chest, nearly causing you to stumble.

He yanks you back, large hands on your shoulders, and looks you up and down, eyeing the blood patch on your blouse.

“N-not mine.” You breathe, but he does not move his hand from your ribcage. It presses inward, against the wet cotton, splaying across your side as if he did not believe you, checking for where the knife would have marred your flesh.

“Arthur-” You whisper, your hands tight on his biceps, “I’m alright.”

His eyes dart back up to yours, searching, pupils dilated, breathing heavily.

“Ar-”

You’re cut off completely as he pulls you against him and presses his lips desperately against yours, muffling your surprised yelp as his tongue demands entrance into your mouth. After a moment of shock, you melt into his embrace, fingers tightening on his shirt sleeves as you open your mouth to him.

He kisses you like you are the air he breathes. Like you are some kind of salvation… like he thought he almost lost something.

Arthur pulls back, breathing heavily, a flush having taken over his face, “Christ-” he goes to unwind his arms from you, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

It’s his turn to be cut off as your hands immediately travel to the collar of his shirt and you pull him down to your lips to kiss him again, needy as you moan into his mouth.

His arms immediately recircle you, hands moving down from your ribs, down, down to your waist, your hips, your rear. Hooking his arms around the back of your thighs, you’re lifted up, squealing in surprise into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

Continuing to press into each other's mouths, you barely notice him walking the two of you back, further from the flaming cabin, into the woodline, and finally against a tree trunk a safe distance away. He pulls back, panting as you recline against it, his arms tight under your thighs.

He gazes upon your kiss-swollen lips; your heaving chest as you breathe heavily, your pupils blown wide in arousal. Arthur takes the opportunity to roll his hips once, his hardening cock pressing against your cunt, and your eyes flutter closed as a needy, breathy whine escapes your lips.

“Arthur-”

He does it again, maybe for his sake as much as your own, the blood rushing to his groin and filling his cock properly. He grits his teeth as the rolling becomes rutting, your gasps driving him insane.

Before he gets to the point of no return, he slows his hips and leans over to recapture your lips in another kiss. As he pulls his 

“Thinkin’ you was dead back there-” He pushes his lips to yours again, “Christ- I… I never told you-” 

One of his hands leaves your thighs, but you have no fear he’s going to drop you. He buries it in layers of cotton, pulling at your skirts to move them from his way, reaching your bloomers and pressing against your cunt, watching your face intently as you moan, the cotton separating you quickly dampening against his fingers.

He leans in again and groans against your neck. Grabbing the cotton tightly, he yanks until he feels the seams give way, the tearing sound ringing in his ears as he delves within the ruined fabric to your soaking folds. You jolt against him and whine loudly as he slides his fingers along the seam of your body.

Arthur covers your mouth with his own as he sinks his fingers into you, working you open as you clutch desperately at his shoulders.

After you’ve cried out several times in the night, his hand leaves you and you sigh at the loss, he shushes you gently as he works at the buttons of his trousers, finally freeing his cock from his pants after moments of fiddling. His hand returns to your thigh as he adjusts you in his arms. The head of his cock presses gently against the rim of your cunt.

Your hands move from his shoulders to cup his face, your thumb tracing his lower lip gently before he sucks the tip into his mouth, his eyes trained on yours.

He pulses his hips and his cockhead slips inside you. Your brows crinkle with the first vestiges of the ache of penetration, and he leans forward again to press his lips upon your forehead.

“What did you never tell me?” You whisper as he holds you on the cusp of joining, the precipice of sheathing himself into you.

One of his hands leaves your thigh, though you are completely unafraid of falling with your legs wrapped around him and the strength of his other arm. His fingers brush back a strand of your hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear before his rough and calloused palm rests on your cheek.

“You’d have died and I woulda never told you I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock as you clutch at him, and while you remain silent, after a moment, you pull him closer with your legs, nudging his back with your ankles, and he slowly slides himself inside you, inch by inch, until your hips touch and you mewl with the stretch. He hums softly before slowly, gently, rocking his hips, starting a slow rhythm as you get used to him.

His powerful arms keep you suspended against the tree trunk with each roll of his hips, each glide of the inches of him in and out of you, well glossed and hot with your slick.

Arthur’s lips press to yours incessantly, muffling your gasps and whines as he presses into you. After one particularly deep thrust, you throw your head back in ecstasy, bumping against the trunk of the tree.

“Careful there, darlin’,” Arthur slows his hips, and tightening his grip on your thighs, he pulls you away from the tree, you yelp and tighten your legs around his hips. He chuckles softly as he walks you, still joined, a few steps from the tree and slowly lowers the both of you to the ground on a patch of grass. Spreading himself out over you, he buries his head against your neck as he lets go of your thighs, his forearms on either side of your shoulders, rocking his hips into yours again.

The staccato whine of the syllables of his name escapes you as you hook your ankles around each other over his back. Carding your hands through his hair, your fingers interweave between his honeyed strands, his hat long gone in your desperation to join yourselves.

He presses himself up above you as his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing loud and heavy as he pounds you into the ground.

“God-” you cry out as your hands grasp his shirt, “Arthur, yes-”

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, looming over you as he careens toward completion.

You arch your back, your thighs wrapping tighter around him as you begin to babble - “Yes- Arthur… I love you too-”, another gasp as he hits that spot within you, “God - I love you so much-”

That’s it. There it is, stripped bare and bleeding out like an open wound, his heart catching in his chest at your confession, and his amazement leaves him speechless as he thrusts into you once more, holding himself as deep as he can possibly get into you, feeling you pulse and clutch around him, wailing your pleasure into the night. It’s only a moment more before he has the wherewithal to yank himself from you, in the nick of time as he spurts his seed over your cunt, dripping white into the dark curls at the joining of your legs.

He’s gasping, you’re gasping, and he groans as he settles himself to the side of you, barely able to hold himself up with the exertion. Your legs hang open as you pant, flushed from your cheeks down your neck.

One of his large hands spreads out over your chest, against your racing heart, and you turn your head toward him, breathing out through your nose as a smile graces your lips.

“Probably should get outta here before any more stragglers find us.” He says, out of breath as he removes his hand to tuck himself back into his trousers. You nod and sit up, pulling your skirts down over your legs.

“D’ya think…” you trail off as you watch him rebutton his pants before he pushes himself to stand. His hair is ridiculously ruffled from the amount of times you've run your fingers through it.

“Mm?” He holds out his hand to you to help you up. 

You take it, and he pulls you up into his embrace, his hand secure on your lower back.

“Was wondering if we could spend the rest of the night in Rhodes or somewhere instead of heading all the way back to camp…” You ask as you lay a hand on his chest.

He squeezes you closer to him. 

“Sounds mighty nice… certainly wouldn't mind a stay in a hotel room tonight.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic #prompt request #red dead fandom #rdr2 fanfic

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {4}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: The 2023 season can't all be sunshine and rainbows, not when the Red Bull team look impossible to beat. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, smut WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five

notaverstappen Miami

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 78,283 others

notaverstappen: I'd hit that (the volleyball of course) view all comments

Miami Grand Prix “Holy shit, those fuckers are fast.” 

Lando barely looked up from where he lay on the bed with his head hanging off the end. He wasn’t interested in what you were doing, he was in a world of his own and wallowing with a bag of rainbow Twizzlers. Charles’ mood wasn’t much better after his 7th place finish, thanks to another famous Ferrari strategy, but he did turn away from his phone for a second to see what you were looking at on your laptop.

You were busy reading the data from the race and watching the replay, trying to find any room for improvement, but it wasn’t looking promising. Your pencil could attest to that as it began falling to pieces from where you chewed on the end of it and you weren’t going to be able to make many more notes with it.

Pausing the video, you grabbed your phone and called Max. “What the hell kind of rocket did Newey build?”

“Hello Max, how are you? I’m great, thanks for asking,” Max huffed, making you roll your eyes.

“I drove perfectly today, and I couldn’t get within 25 seconds of you. I just don’t understand it. Can you send me your data?”

You clenched your teeth at the scoff he made. “You know I can’t do that. And don’t even try the whole ‘but I’m your sister’.”

“But I am your sister, and it’s so humiliating to go from racing for first place to just racing for the bottom step of the podium.” Your hand tightened around your phone and your eyes burned even after screwing them closed. “Please, Max.”

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “But…if you visit P on Wednesday while I’m at the factory the sim might be left in the race set up.”

Charles jumped at the squeal you gave. “Thank you, thank you. You’re my favourite brother again.”

You hung up the phone after a quick goodbye but your smile disappeared at the shake of Lando’s head. “What?”

“Humiliated with third place,” he muttered as he looked to Charles for back up. “Is she serious?”

“I think so, but you know what Max is like when he doesn't win.”

“He throws a tantrum, I’m not throwing a tantrum - I just want to know how to do better. I need to show Red Bull that it should be me in that seat.”

“Okay, and then what? What happens if they offer it to you? You know how toxic that place was, you know how bad it was for your health - how can you want that again?” Lando took your phone and dropped it on the bedside drawer as he knelt beside you. “Answer me.”

“I don’t want the seat,” you corrected him, kneeling so you were eye to eye. “I just want to prove the point.”

“What point is that? Everyone already knows you are the best driver, you’re the World Champion.”

You felt your hands turn to fists at your side as they began to tremble and you were unable to control the outburst that followed. “That it wasn’t the fucking car, Lando! You think I don’t hear them all talking behind my back, saying anyone could have won if they had my car.”

“Woah, let’s just cool down,” Charles interjected with a hand on each of your shoulders. 

“No, Char, I am going out of my mind here. I have had to sit through interviews and read news articles getting absolutely slated by reporters telling me I’m nothing without the Red Bull seat.” You fell back on the pillows and bundled one to your chest as you turned away from your boyfriends. “I know third place is something to celebrate, but this is about more than winning.”

Charles’ hand came to rest on your hip and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, mamor, let’s go get you some chocolate.”

“I’m not on my period,” you grunted as you shook his hand off you. “Are you trying to be condescending or is this just coming naturally?”

“I was trying to be nice, but you want to act like a spoiled child. Lando, coming?”

You felt them both climb off the bed and felt their absence like a punch to the gut. You clenched the pillow tighter to your chest as silence filled the hotel suite but it didn’t replace them. 

“Fuck,” you swore as you threw the pillow across the room, launching them all one after another as waves of emotions crashed over you. They didn’t like losing either so surely they could understand why you felt the way you did - but obviously they did not. Exhausted from the race, and argument, you collapsed in the middle of the bed and bundled yourself into the blankets, wrapping them tightly around you. Within seconds you were fast asleep, but it wasn’t a restful sleep - not when you were alone.

You felt even more exhausted when you woke to the pre-dawn light filtering through the gap in the curtains. Soft snores sounded beside you and you found Lando and Charles cuddled for warmth since you were still wrapped tighter than a burrito in the blankets. The fact they had returned to you and not one of the other beds in the suite eased something strange in your chest and you knew you had to make it up to them. You didn’t know what came over you, but you had been a bitch to Charles especially.

You carefully laid the blankets over them and closed the door behind you. 

The streets were busy for the early hour and as the sun broke the horizon you wandered aimlessly until a scent caught your attention. You followed the saliva-inducing smell until you reached a large square with a market setting up in the centre of it. Key Lime pies and Cuban sandwiches made your stomach grumble while the fresh fish and stone crabs had the opposite effect.

Shopping bags dug into your wrist as you tried to carry them and balance the extra large pie, but you managed to make it back to the hotel suite without dropping either. Charles was in front of the coffee machine that was warming up with a whirring noise but he moved the instant he saw you walk in.

“Where have you been, chérie?” he asked as he took the Key Lime pie and placed it on the table before helping take the bags of fresh fruit and hot sandwiches too. “I was worried when you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Sorry, I had my hands full.” 

“What is all this?”

You looked at your feet as you shrugged. “This is my ‘I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry’ apology. I was a bitch and if you want you can totally pie my face.”

“It’s been a long few weeks, you can be forgiven for snapping,” he said softly as he pulled you into his arms, and wiped a dollop of meringue across your cheek. You gasped at the sticky smear running down your cheek and Charles smirked before dipping his head down and licking the sweet topping off. “Now go wake up Lando before there’s no pie left.”

Monaco Grand Prix The cancellation of Imola’s race made for a nice, albeit unexpected, break and you had made the most of it after helping with the clean up. Yuki started it and convinced Pierre to help, who convinced Charles, who convinced Lando. You would have rather slept the rainy week away but it had been quite a heartwarming event in the end - until the silt and mud mess began to reek and you were happy it was time to leave.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much did you stick to your training schedule over the break?” Kristian asked as he keyed data into his iPad.

“Negative three, if I had to guess,” you said with a laugh. “I mean, you shovel dirt for 12 hours a day and survive on a salad. I had carbs, dude, but I would have burned it off too, so relax.”

“But you haven’t and that was two weeks ago,” he frowned, turning the iPad around to show the graph slowly climbing. “What have you been doing since?”

“I went skiing with Charles in Austria and cycled the Pyrenees with Lando so lay off my ass. Fucks sake, man.” 

It was almost time for qualifying to begin but you weren’t able to focus properly as you stormed your way down the line of motorhomes to McLaren. You could hear his music playing before you reached his room and it spilled out into the hall when you opened the door. 

“Hey baby,” he greeted with a smile that dimmed as he saw your mood and he turned the music down, “what’s wrong?”

“Kristian, with a K, pissed me off.” You dropped onto his couch and stretched out before lifting your feet up so Lando could sit down too. He slipped your racing boots off before laying your feet across his lap and pushed the legs of your race suit up your calves so he could give you a little massage. “He practically called me a lazy bitch.”

“I doubt that,” Lando said with a roll of his eyes. “If he actually did, we wouldn't be here talking about it, we’d be getting ice for Charles fist.”

“Okay, wise guy, I might have been paraphrasing…”

He chuckled at the admission and you yawned as the massage began to relax you enough to doze off.

“Sorry, love, it’s time to go,” Lando woke you with a kiss to your cheek and you found you had curled up into a ball while you slept. “We can have a proper nap after quali.”

You ignored Kristian’s presence as you entered the garage and shrugged your race suit up over your shoulders on the walk over to your race engineer. “How’s everything looking?”

“We are running with the setup from FP3 but we will still monitor the rear braking temperatures,” Chris said as he gathered his notebook to take to the pit wall. “It doesn’t look like there should be an issue again.”

You nodded before pulling on your balaclava then helmet and climbing into the car that had been warming up.

“And that will be P2, that is another front row start for tomorrow. Nicely done.”

You grinned inside your helmet as you waved to some of the fans while you finished your cool down lap and asked, “How did Charles and Lando do?”

“Leclerc is P3 and Norris is P10.”

“10? He was doing faster sectors than I was,” you muttered as you remembered seeing the times on the big screens around the track. 

By the time you pulled into the pits you had found out that Charles had impeded Lando on his final flying lap, resulting in the poor time. You knew he wouldn’t have done it on purpose but your stomach sank when you went to Ferrari only to find Charles on his way to the stewards - his forlorn face knowing he was going to get a grid penalty at his home race.

There was hardly any talk around the table that night when you got home. Lando was picking at each single grain of rice with his chopsticks and Charles just stared at his bowl before sighing and pushing it away. 

You silently rose from the table and felt their curious eyes follow you as you disappeared into the bedroom and changed into a racy set of lingerie that still had the tags on. You had bought it as a surprise but never had the chance to wear it, so what better time to test it out then when both men were clearly in need of a distraction. 

You knelt in the middle of the bed after you sent a message to the group chat and waited patiently. There was a quiet vibration of their phones on the table, the scrape of the chair legs over the tile floor, the padding of bare feet through the apartment, and the soft gasps of air they inhaled at the sight.

“Fuck me,” Lando whispered before he drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Moi aussi.”

“That is the plan,” you teased, drawing your fingers over the lace trim on your thighs. “But only if you can play nicely with each other. Hmm? I think you should kiss and make up.”

You held out a hand to each one and gave them a tug onto the bed and into each other's path. Their quick reactions stabilised them before they could crash and they shared a chuckle as they settled face to face.

“I’m sorry, amor,” Charles murmured, reaching for the curl that always flopped over Lando’s forehead. “I didn’t mean to ruin your shot.”

“I know, I’m sorry too,” Lando said, equally as soft before he caught Charles open hand and kissed his palm. With apologies over, their eyes turned to you. “Now, baby, where have you been hiding this?”

You winked as you made yourself comfortable on the pillows at the headboard and parted your legs. Their chests filled with a big breath in and a grin grew on their faces until both their dimples showed. “You like them?”

Lando’s head bobbed with his quick nods and he fell onto his forearms as he settled between your legs, his fingers teasing the line of your slit through the crotchless panties. “I like them a lot.”

You snapped your legs closed as he started to inch forward and he looked up with a pout as you warned him. “I said kiss and make up. A proper kiss.” It hurt to deny him, your body screaming at you for denying you both the pleasure of his touch, but you were quickly rewarded when their hands tangled in each other’s hair and their tongues fought for dominance.

An achy throb grew between your legs as they were pushed open by Lando’s shoulders as he fell back beneath Charles’ body. Lando looked quite pleased with himself as he bared his neck for the sloppy kisses Charles was leaving and his eyes rolled up to watch you enjoying the scene yourself. A pained curse tumbled from his lips when you reached for the thin material covering your breasts and pulled them aside to palm them as your hips rocked beneath Lando’s heavy body. 

“Okay, you two are good now,” you breathed as you rolled your nipples between your thumb and forefinger. “I want my kiss.”

Charles peeked up from where he pinned Lando beneath him, the pressure pushing Lando’s nape over your clit and eliciting a moan from you. “I don’t know, ma petite, I kind of like this show you are giving us.”

You teased them further as they shifted to get a better view. Lando turned to watch you too and Charles sat behind him, his hands trailing down Lando’s front as delicately as he played the piano. You waited until his palm rode over the erection tenting his shorts before you grew impatient. 

Two pairs of eyes, one blue and one green, followed your hand intently as you raised it to your lips and swirled your tongue around two digits and they moaned, knowing the feel of your tongue doing the same to their cocks. Their eyes fixated on your fingers as you spread your legs and touched yourself for them, the pleasure quickly spreading as you watched Charles stroking Lando’s length in time to your ministrations.

“Look how wet she is for us, mon cher,” Charles purred as he teased a thumb over Lando’s sensitive tip until he shuddered. “Don’t you want a taste?”

Lando’s lips parted to agree but a needy whine escaped and the sound went straight to your core, your back arching in delight. 

“Please,” you begged your boyfriends, their eyes almost black with lust. “I need more than my fingers.”

Lando whimpered as Charles fist unfurled from his cock but the loss was only momentary when the Monegasque whispered in his ear. “Go on, give her what she needs.”

“What about y-?” Lando asked over his shoulder after he sent his shorts flying off the bed and pressed his erection to your dripping entrance. The words died as he saw Charles eyes following the curve of his spine before settling on the swell of his ass. “Oh.”

Charles chuckled and sent a wink back. “I’ll get what I need.”

Click here for the next part.

#lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris imagine #charles leclerc imagine #Charles leclerc x reader x lando norris #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #lando norris x you #charles leclerc x you

[little-lost-lamb]

The Sting of Envy Pt. 2

CW: GN!MC, hurt/comfort, angst, occult practice, fluff, Demons Being Overall Taller Than Humans On Average, Mention of Israeli food, and - of course - jealousy. Please let me know if there is anything I didn't think to add!

<- Part 1

I want to thank everyone for their support of my first part! I've been out of the writing game for a long time, and it really helped motive me to continue!

_____________________________________________________________

Beelzebub 

Beelzebub tells anyone who asks that his favorite food is cheeseburgers, but this is not quite true. His favorite food is your cooking. So when you keep serving him warm, fresh-baked bread and crispy spinach salad topped with handpicked flowers and nuts and creamy, piping hot wild mushroom risotto and seconds and thirds and FOURTHS, he is in the Celestial Realm. He supposed the menu was carefully thought out, showcasing ingredients locally in season for the spring. He loved human realm food. It reminded him of you, and not just because it’s native the human realm - human cuisine had the capacity for both the sinful and the divine. Just like you. And so, the meal had him nearly moaning in ecstasy against his spoon.

“This is incredible, MC.” Solomon says, meticulously scooping a perfectly balanced bite of rice, cheese, mushroom, and chive. “This is even better than the risotto we had in that little place in Rome. What was that place called?” Solomon looks at you and thoroughly cleans the risotto off his spoon with his mouth. You laugh.

“Solomon, no, no way! That stuff was next level!”

Solomon shrugs before going in for another bite off his plate. “I’m telling you, yours is better.”

“When were you in Rome?” Lucifer inquires, cocking his head with interest. “When did you have the time?”

“Couple Tuesdays ago, I think.” Solomon muffled between bites while Barbatos shot him a look that told him to chew before speaking. Solomon shrugged it off. “Sometimes when we feel like eating out, we’ll go wherever the cuisine strikes our fancy. MC takes me to this Israeli restaurant in New York City about every other week!”

Beel’s brow furrows as he goes in for another bite. It sounds like before you left, what you and he used to do together. Schedule permitting, you were always down to take him wherever his stomach led him. Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that week? Sure! That brand new place with the deep fried vampire bats on sticks? You bet! They restocked flame-charred bone flavored ice cream at the stand down the street from RAD? You might even be willing to skip Chaos Theory to go with him! 

Your foodie dates were one of his all-time favorite things you did together.

“Pfft. You know I can’t do teleportations that big or that frequently yet. You take me.”

Like how Beel would take you all over town, farther if they had some spare time, to try all that the demon realm had to offer. You couldn’t always eat it, you didn’t always like it, but you were always down to try demon cuisine. Try new things in general. He loved that about you.

“Agree to disagree.” Solomon leaned a little closer to you. “I just appreciate you escorting me on so many dates.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just in it for the falafel.” 

Solomon chuckles and smiles fondly at you. He gently tucks a pesky piece of hair behind your ear, keeping it from flying into your mouth with your bread. “Try the hamin next time. I think you’ll like it.”

The heat rose in Beel cheeks, and he subtly sighed out some of his frustration through his nostrils. He glances briefly over to Belphie, and they communicate something to each other with their eyes. Finally, Beel puts his spoon down and Belphie shrugs, picking up another bite with his own.

“I’m done.” Beel says softly.

Not full. Never full. Done.

After everyone has finished with ample time for conversation, you shuffle back to the kitchen to get the desserts. You had prepared an assortment of fresh berries and cream with honey cakes. 

“Beel! Can you help me carry this?” You shout, and you lean casually against the counter to wait for him.

“Carry what?” Beel walks in to help and looks around for the heavy item only for his eyes to fall on the light-weight desserts. “Just…need some extra hands?” Beel asks as he reaches for the dish, but you stop him with a hand on his.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat much.” You look up into his face, recognizing sadness in it. 

“I ate 5 or 6 plates.”

You raise an eyebrow. Beel sighs, gently reaching for your hand and holding it firmly in his own to ground himself.

“You don’t…like the food here more than in the devildom, do you?”

Your brows furrow with concern. “You…know I do. Most of it won’t kill me.”

Beelzebub shakes his head quickly. “My fault, bad question. New question: do you enjoy…” Beel’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “Do you like eating with Solomon more? You know…than me?”

Yours eyes widen in horror and your heart cracks. All you can think to do is throw yourself into his enormous frame. You bury your face into the soft fabric of the shirt before turning your head to speak, still resting your cheek against his quickly-thumping chest. 

“You’re upset because you and I go out on foodie tours and stuff too, right? It’s our thing.”

“It’s our thing.” Beel answered, wrapping his arms around you firmly. You feel the point of his chin rest against the top of your head.

“And it will always be our thing. Solomon and I eat out so often out of necessity. I don’t always have the energy to focus on planning and making our meals, and the man can’t cook, Beel. Then the human realm's food will kill me.”

You got a smile out of Beel on that one.

“But with you, we go out, and we shove things I once couldn’t even conceptualize down my gullet. You show me fun and fantastical foods I wouldn’t try on my own. That I couldn’t try. We don’t have that stuff here. It’s an experience. You are an experience. And you’re my favorite.”

You lean back just a little, separating only enough to see a wide grin and misty eyes. You reach over and stick your clean finger into the bowl of cream before smearing it playfully on Beel’s lips. 

“Oops!” You exclaim, smearing it on his lips. You raise up and squish the cream against Beels lips with your own. You hear a dreamy sigh from him before he pulls away and licks his lips. A giddy giggle escapes his creamy mouth. He reaches for the cream too, except he takes a thick glob and smears it from your cheek, across your mouth, and down your neck. 

“Oops.”

He starts with your neck.

Belphegor

They said to make himself at home, so he will, thank you very much. Now where was MC’s bed?

He passes the bathroom and opens the knob to a door nearby, figuring this was probably it, and he pushes it open with the subtle crack of the doorframe. He is immediately punished with a wave of Solomon’s scent - a musky mix of exotic spice and  incense smoke. Yours was thickly mixed into the sorcerers, the fusion of smells emanating from one bed in the center of the room. 

No. 

Belphie suddenly feels the irritated flick of his tail and the weight of his horns that have appeared against his will on his body. Shove it down, Belphegor.

He peels himself from the glue that binds his feet to the doorway and steps hesitantly into the room. The room reeks of Solomon, and not just from his scent. Glistening suncatchers whimsically dangle from the ceiling, one wall is adorned with old, dusty books from floor to ceiling, magical trinkets rest precariously on the edges of drawers, nightstands, and any other surface, and plants large and small sprout from the pots scattered around the room. There are countless empty mugs he has forgotten to bring back down to the kitchen shoved onto any previously vacant surface.

Belphie’s attention moves from one piece of junk to the next before focusing on the bed itself. It looked to be what the humans call a “full sized” bed, big enough for two humans to fit, though Belphie figures it’s only as big as he and Beel’s beds back home. Must be a tight squeeze for two. The fluffy blankets are crumpled disproportionately to one side while the other side is draped primarily with just the sheet. He presses a palm into the mattress and it sinks less readily than Belphie would like in a nest. He pictured the two of you picking it out together. 

“Now, MC,” Solomon would say in his smarmy tone, “It’s best to have a mattress that is somewhat firm. It deters one from oversleeping, and it will be good for your spine in the long run. Trust me, I know from experience that you’ll wish you had taken better care of your bones when you’re old.”

Belphie groans at the thought before dipping down into the side that smells most like you. Your scent is thick and fresh, as if you had slept there just last night. Belphie snarls and immediately jumps up, the propulsion of the springs hastening his movement.

I bet he doesn’t even take the time to nestle into their pillows Belphie thought to himself as he glared daggers at the side that smelled more like Solomon. To inhale their pheromones and feel enveloped their scent and appreciate it. 

Since you left, it wasn’t uncommon to catch even Lucifer resting in your bed on occasion. They were all guilty of it. It still retained your scent, and the brothers found that comforting late at night when they cannot escape their respective longing for you. Recently, though, the aroma has begun dissipating, a combination of time and the brothers’ own smells erasing your scent clinging to the fabrics. Belphie had been excited to take a few moments at least to dive into your sheets and smother himself with your scent. He could bring it home with him and savor it for at least a week if he didn’t wash his jacket. He could cling to the hoodie he wears tonight during his slumber and pretend you were still there with him, nestled against his body and in his bed. But it turns out the scent of your bed was contaminated.

Fortunately for his sanity, he didn’t smell certain hormones or fluids or anything to indicate any funny business happened between the two of you in these sheets. That’s for the best. If Belphie had been hit with the scent of lust mixed with the scents of the two of you, he thinks he would have vomited directly on your comforter.

“Did you find my bed? I knew you’d go looking for it.” You tease, clutching the rail as you stare innocently at him from the stairs. 

“Uhm. Yeah. I found it.” Belphie turns to face you from the room, and his eyes motion to the bed in front of him. He makes no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Surprise answers it on your own.

“Nope, that’s Solomon’s room.”

“I can smell you, MC.” Belphie’s eyes narrow as he  replies, pointing to the side piled with blankets, “You sleep on the left.”

“I hang out on the left.” You say, climbing the last few steps and joining him in Solomon’s room, “but I don’t sleep here, not usually anyway. I pass out sometimes, but we just watch shows and play games here a lot.” 

You point casually at the TV shoddily hung on Solomon’s wall opposite the bed. Wires poke haphazardly out the bottom and trail their way to a couple of consoles buried in junk beneath.

“There’s this cartoon I’ve been obsessed with recently that makes me think of you, actually. It’s about these kids who are cute little animals, and they go to camp on a magical island. It’s so soft and cozy and comforting…I keep falling asleep when I turn it on. I wish I could watch it with you. Maybe next time I’m in the demon realm, we can set it up in the attic.”

You pap on his bicep and signal him to follow you, flowing from Belphie’s side, out Solomon’s door, and to a second door Belphie had yet to open. 

Oh.

As you push the door in, a current of your sweet smell crashes like a wave over Belphie’s face. Your scent is like an intoxicating mixture of coffee, books, whiskey, and sugar all mixed together. You smell like home. A contented smile forms and he makes his way to you, careful to seal Solomon’s scent away with the bedroom door on his way out. 

You’re suddenly thrusted into a brief whirlwind of confusion as you’re grappled by Belphie, knocked off your feet and plopped down unharmed into the comfort of your bed. Your bed is the opposite of Solomon's: soft, fluffy, warm, and oozing with you smells. Belphie raises himself up to gaze at you lovingly before playfully nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. He releases his breath with a satisfied sigh and melts himself into you. 

“Much better.”

He peppers your cheek with soft, sleepy kisses until he has you a grinning, giggling mess. 

“Let’s take a nap until dinner is ready. Barbatos can finish the rest.”

Barbatos

This was not part of Barbatos’ plan, but he could reassess and regroup. After all, this was only temporary. He would assure that.

Step 1: Serve Lord Diavolo to the best of his ability while he brings about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: Assure the swift and successful coronation of Lord Diavolo. King Diavolo. 

Step 3: With King Diavolo’s rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, any dissension against angels or humans in the devildom would not be tolerated. The streets of the demon realm would be safer - safer for you to reside in the devildom permanently.

Step 4: With the realm made a better place for you, you live with him, in his care, for the rest of your days. He thought perhaps an emerald in the ring would be best, accented with black diamonds. He had not yet decided whether silver or gold would look best for your band, but he was more than happy to admire you for as long as it took to decide what best suited your coloration.

For now, however, his face remains unwaveringly pleasant as he silently makes note of the dusty floorboards and spattered kitchen counters. He knows Solomon. Solomon doesn’t clean. Not to Barbatos’ standards for your living accommodations, anyway. He watches silently for a few moments as you work alone in your kitchen, smaller than he thought you deserved to have access to. It would have bothered him that Solomon offered no help had Barbatos not also known  he would have rendered each and every item on the menu inedible. All your hard work ruined.

You see him because he allows you to see him. While his presence would ordinarily be welcomed, today your cheeks flush in shame.

“Listen, I know it’s not the cleanest.” You shyly return your attention to the onion you skillfully chop against the cutting board. “I haven’t really had the time to deep clean, not with lessons and work and preparing for the party and…” You trail off, exhaustion lacing your voice. Your eyes seem misty.

“Please, MC, allow me to help. Do the mushrooms still need to be sliced?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbatos swiftly saunters over, scoops the mushrooms off the counter beside you, and drops them gently on the counter in front of himself. One mushroom considers bouncing off the counter, but decides it wouldn’t dare under Barbatos’ watchful eye. You realize your face must betray your emotion.

“Barbatos, I’m fine, really. It’s just the onion.” You point to the onion with your chef knife, and you plead, “you are my guest. I won’t make you work.”

“I am your friend.” He responds, his face focused on the task in front of him as he reaches for the utility knife in your set. He begins quickly and expertly chopping the mushrooms into perfect, uniform slices. “And you are overwhelmed. Your home is dirty because Solomon does not help you with cleaning like he should, yes?”

You remain silent for a moment, considering if you should out Solomon for not doing his share. Barbatos does not allow you to refute it.

“It has been centuries,” Barbatos interjects your thoughts before you can argue. “but Solomon was once royalty. He is independent now, yes, but he never learned how to clean as he should. I fear he is slipping back into the comfort of being taken care of without taking care of you in return.”

You look up at him, and for a moment, you think you see the flash of a scowl before his expression is once again carefully moderated. You had seen it because he had allowed you to see it.

“And of course,” he continued, “you must be doing all of the cooking as well. If he had any part in it, you would certainly be dead by this point.” He finally glanced us at you, his lip curling ever so slightly into a playful smirk. 

The joke catches you off guard and you honk out a laugh.

“One time,” you say through your laughter “I caught him trying to clean the bathroom with bleach and ammonium. Unreal. The man is a master alchemist, and yet he accidentally makes mustard gas in the toilet!”

Barbatos laughs earnestly along and shakes his head. He finishes the last mushroom with a flourish and plops the pieces into a bowl, ready for their future use. He turns around and leans his tall frame against your small counter, assessing your space for a few moments. 

“If I were Solomon,” he mused, almost to himself, “I would ensure your accommodations were immaculate. I would prepare you healthy, delicious meals. Perhaps I would allow you to join me in the kitchen, if only for us to spend the time together. And I see your garden needs attention. I would gladly serve you tea made from those rose petals there once I had finished with the pruning.” He speaks wistfully.

You chuckle. “It does sound nice to be taken care of every once in a while. What with the brothers and Solomon, I can be spread pretty thin. Not a lot left to take care of myself, you know?”

“Perhaps one day, I’ll have the pleasure of doing it for you.” Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush. You look up at him, and he gives you a knowing glance. You hated when he did this. You always wonder: is he teasing, or does he know?

“I have not looked into your future if that is what you are wondering…though I admit, I have considered it once or twice.” You turn to face him fully, the surprise evident on your face. Barbatos chuckles and looks you right in the eyes. “It would ruin the sweet surprise. It will happen because I will make it happen. Your current arrangement is temporary, I assure you.”

Before you can comprehend what is happening, the soft fabric of his gloves are against your cheeks, the warmth of his hands permeating through. He leans in slowly and lovingly plants a petal-soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He holds himself there a moment. You hold your breath until he lets go.

“Now, what do we do with these mushrooms?”

Diavolo

“Yeah, I’ve been doing well!” Lie. “It’s kind of nice to be home, you know?” Lie. “It’s refreshing to be around my own species again.” That one was presented as a joke, but it was still, factually, a lie. Did you usually lie this much? Diavolo hadn’t noticed if you had. And he would have noticed.

It was ultimately his fault, and he understood that. The devildom was under his rule, and had his whims overtaken him, he could have ordered you to stay. It just wasn’t time. Not yet. There was still so much work to be done.

Step 1: Bring about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: His swift and successful coronation.

Step 3: With his rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, no one would dare go against him when he appoints you as Human Ambassador to the demon realm. With such an important position within the new government system, so much as a finger lifted against you would be treason in his book. He would make the realm safe for you.

Step 4: Argue to the council that it is a political marriage. 

That’s the dream that keeps Diavolo going, anyway. His golden orbs lift from the mushrooms he unceremoniously shoves to the side of his plate (subtly, so he didn’t hurt your feelings, of course) over to Barbatos, who watches you with a genuine smile as you speak. What were you saying? Something about a stray cat? Back down to the mushrooms.

He knew the likelihood of this plan succeeding was low - just a dream to keep him working at his goal of unification. What will probably happen is that he will have a spouse chosen for him. Someone he might not yet know, whoever the council sees as the most advantageous choice. Likely a female, as is tradition. Likely traditionally pretty, the boring kind of pretty. Barbatos would intervene only enough to ensure he doesn’t dislike his appointed queen. Maybe Diavolo would even grow to love them one day. But it isn’t what he wants. Who he wants. He would be expected to produce a line of heirs - full-blood demon heirs - and cambion mutts just wouldn’t do. Not his words, of course. That’s what the tabloids said the last time the two of you were seen in public together. They called you his concubinatus. The writer of the article is longer there. No one knows where they are now except Barbatos.

“There's not really anything preventing MC from marrying me, right? Since we’re both humans and all." Solomon’s words echo in Diavolo’s mind, his smug grin still burned into the back of Diavolo’s retinas. The brothers had been more than willing to marry you into the devildom, but Diavolo had not allowed it. If anyone was going to marry you in, it was going to be him. He knew the likelihood of your union going smoothly was slim, but it would not stop him from trying. He was not above monopolizing you. He was the demon lord, not the lord of selflessness. But you were out of his hands here and settled in Solomon’s. He couldn’t stand it.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, MC?” He later asks you casually as he helps you prepare the bonfire. Barbatos had half-heartedly attempted to dissuade him, as his suit could get dirty, but Diavolo insisted. He hadn’t gotten any alone time with you today, and he likely wouldn’t see you again for a while. He didn’t care about some frivolous suit. You drop the stick you’re holding, but it tumbles into the fire pit, so you figure you can leave it be. 

“Where did that come from?” Your flushed face is camouflaged well by the fading sunset. You quickly grab another bundle to continue building the fire. Diavolo casually swirls the wine in his goblet and peers in, probably inspecting some aspect of the wine that you have no eye for. The sunset hides his own flush from the alcohol. He remained silent, expecting an answer.

“U-Uhm. I suppose that depends on if I find the right person.” You fumble with a few sticks in your grasp before dumping them beside the fire. You crouch down and begin strategically arranging the sticks around lumps of kindling. 

Truth.

“Could you…” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask you this. He’s admittedly afraid of the answer. “...see yourself marrying Solomon?”

“What?”

Silence.

“I…” You thought for a moment, laughed, and shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

LIE. 

Diavolo expertly shoots the rest of his wine like it wasn’t at least half a goblet.

“We aren’t together or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. You aren’t being very subtle, you know.” You tease.

This was true.

“I guess I could see marrying Solomon if things didn’t work out, but…there’s someone I have my eye on.” You shove some dry grass between the logs, trying to hide behind your task.

True. 

“I don’t see how it would work. I don’t think I would be anywhere near his radar, but…” Perhaps it’s the sunset, perhaps it’s the wine swimming around in your blood, but you felt a bit bold. You look up, directly into his eyes, slightly luminous in the encroaching darkness of the night. “...The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Oh shit, wait, what? Are you coming on to him? Right now?

“Do…I know this person?” Perhaps it’s the wine he just downed, but he too is feeling bold. The corner of his lip quivers ever so slightly in the attempt to hide a grin threatening to spread across his face, just in case he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think so. 

“You do.” You stand up and dust your hand off on your pants.

Truth.

He tries to bite his lip to keep his face in line, but his lip rolls beneath his fangs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way you’re looking at him, there’s no way he’s misinterpreting it. You take a shy step closer, your eyes flit from his eyes to his fangs and quickly back up.

“Is it…me?” Diavolo asks playfully, now inches from your face.

“No.” You shrug. You casually toss a few more sticks into the fire pit.

With a snap of his fingers, the fire is lit. It roars to life and lights up your faces, your goofy grins and reddened cheeks on full display. The warmth of the blaze is matched only by the warmth of Diavolo’s arms snaking around your waist. 

“Liar.”

His mouth envelops yours in an instant.

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@dokidokidemons, @ourfinalisation

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me fluff #obey me x mc