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pucksandpower · 8 months

Note

Grid Kids: y/n pregnency!!

Grid Kids: Bun in the Oven

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: moments with the grid kids during your pregnancy

Series Masterlist

Kicking Up a Storm

“Did the little one just ...” Charles’ eyes widen as he pulls back his hand abruptly from where it had been resting on your stomach.

Lando, lounging on the other side of the room with a video game controller in hand, smirks, “Did what? Tried to escape? Can’t blame it, considering the rest of its siblings."

You swat playfully at Lando as Max and George, engrossed in assembling a nursery chair, look up in anticipation. “Come on, let us feel!” Max pleads, abandoning the chair pieces on the floor.

As everyone gathers around, taking turns to gently place their hands on your baby bump, you feel a flutter, a gentle kick responding to their touch. The room fills with gasps of wonder and joy.

“Feels like a future driver if you ask me,” George grins, looking at Sebastian, who chuckles, already imagining another Vettel on the tracks.

Lance, feeling a tad left out, decides to jump in. “Can it hear us? Hello in there, it’s your brother Lance! Remember to pick me as the fun brother, okay?”

Mick, who has been reading every pregnancy book he could get his hands on, chimes in, “You do realize the baby can’t differentiate voices yet, right?”

Lance waves him off, “Details, details.”

Cravings Are No Joke

“Pickles and chocolate? Seriously?” Max raises an eyebrow, holding up the two seemingly mismatched items as he stands in the middle of a grocery store aisle.

Lance, pushing the cart, shrugs. “Don’t question the cravings, just go with it.”

Charles, scrolling through the list on his phone, adds, “Oh and don’t forget the spicy ramen, blueberry pie, and ... pineapple pizza?”

George groans, “Pineapple pizza? Come on! Anything but that. I’m not even Italian and I’m still offended.”

Lando, with an impish grin, quips, “Remember when she wanted the mango gelato at 3 am? That was a fun drive.”

Mick chuckles, “Or the time we went to five different bakeries just to find that particular lemon cake she couldn’t live without.”

Lance pauses, looking thoughtful, “And wasn’t there a phase where she only wanted foods that were purple?”

George nods, “Yep, aubergines, purple potatoes, grapes ... I still can’t look at a plum without laughing.”

As the grid kids continue shopping, picking out items based on the rather diverse list you gave them, they share more anecdotes of the past months. The store’s other patrons watch in amusement as the young men navigate the aisles, often debating the merits of various brands or flavors, all to ensure they get it just right for you.

Later, back home, your grid kids proudly present their haul. You and Sebastian look on with affection as they lay out the eclectic mix of food.

“Did you guys get everything?” You ask, trying to hide your laughter.

Max feigns offense at being questioned, “Of course, we’re professionals.”

Sebastian leans in to whisper in your ear, “I’m just glad they didn’t try cooking this time. Remember the schnitzel incident?”

You giggle, recalling the disastrous attempt. “Of course I do. I was cleaning flour off the cabinets and ceiling for weeks. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.”

It’s a …

The preparations for your gender reveal are in full swing at the local park and your grid kids are at the heart of it. They’ve split into two factions: Team Girl, led by Charles and Lance, and Team Boy, spearheaded by Max and Lando.

Charles and Lance have laid out a series of pink challenges, including a three-legged race where participants wear pink tutus. “It’s going to be a girl, no doubt about it!” Lance proclaims confidently.

Max and Lando, on the other hand, have a blue-themed obstacle course, complete with a mini kart race. Lando, wearing a blue bandana, shouts over the ruckus, “I have no idea what you’re talking about because it’s definitely a boy.”

George has taken on the role of referee. Dressed in a striped shirt, whistle in hand, he’s ensuring that the competition remains friendly. “Remember, it’s all in good fun!” he reminds everyone, though his “Team Girl” badge suggests where his loyalties lie.

Mick, though undecided, has tie-dye patches of both blue and pink on his shirt. “I just want a healthy sibling for all of us,” he says with a gentle smile, standing back and enjoying the antics.

Sebastian, watching the chaos unfold, leans over and whispers in your ear, “Did we really think letting them plan this was a good idea?”

You laugh, “It’s a bit crazy but look at them. They’re having the time of their lives!”

The moment everyone’s been waiting for finally arrives. At the center of the park, a large, sealed box waits. As you and Sebastian approach, the grid kids form a circle around it, their playful banter coming to a halt.

With a shared look of excitement, you both pull on the ribbon. The box flaps open, releasing a cloud of ... green smoke?

The park erupts in a mixture of laughter and confusion.

Max looks baffled, “Green?”

Charles chuckles, “Guess neither team wins today!”

Lando, trying to waft away the smoke, jokes, “Alien? Oh my god, you’re having an alien!”

Mick wraps an arm around you, “Like I said, as long as it’s healthy.”

You smile, nestling into Sebastian’s side, “We thought we’d keep everyone guessing for a little longer.”

False Alarm

“Sebastian! The baby! I think it’s happening!” You exclaim, feeling a sudden tightening in your abdomen.

Sebastian, who was in the middle of mediating a lively debate with Max and Charles over who will be the baby’s favorite brother, nearly trips over the rug in his rush to get to you. “Okay, okay, okay. Deep breaths, in and out.”

Lance, eyes wide as saucers, frantically begins googling “how to deliver a baby” on his phone while George starts making a list of things needed for the hospital. “Towels! We need towels, right?”

Lando is somewhere on another planet, muttering to himself, “This isn’t happening. I am not ready to see a baby being born. Nope, nope, nope.”

Mick tries to restore some order. “Calm down everyone. Y/N, are you sure it’s really labor?"

Before you can respond, Charles bursts through the door, holding a bucket of ice. “I read somewhere you might need ice. Here!”

You laugh through the discomfort, appreciating the chaos ensuing because of your grid kids’ concern. "Actually guys, I think it’s just Braxton Hicks. False alarm.”

A collective sigh of relief sweeps the room. Sebastian, still slightly pale, pulls you into a hug, “You sure know how to keep things exciting.”

Lance looks up from his phone, “What’s Braxton Hicks?”

“It’s like a rehearsal for the real thing,” George explains, folding up his hastily made list.

Max, trying to regain his cool, smirks, “Well, if that was a rehearsal, the main event is going to be epic.”

You chuckle, patting your belly, “Guess the little one just wanted to see how quickly you all could jump into action.”

Putting the “Student” in “Student Drivers”

As you and Sebastian sit on the couch, going over your prenatal class schedule, a curious George peeks over. “What’s that? Are those the birthing classes?”

You nod, “Yep! We’re starting next week. It’ll help us prepare for the big day.”

Suddenly, Charles pops up beside George, eyes widening in interest. “Can we come?”

“That sounds cool! I’ve always wondered what those classes are like.” Lando chimes in from where he’s keeping an ear out in the kitchen.

Sebastian looks a bit overwhelmed, “I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”

Lance joins the group, scrolling through a magazine article about celebrity dads attending birthing classes. “Look at this! It’s a thing now. We could all go and support you both.”

Max adds, “Besides, we’re family. We’ve been there through everything else. Why not this?”

“Do they even allow so many people to join?” Mick ponders.

You can’t help but laugh at the eager faces in front of you. “I never thought I’d have to bring an entourage to a birthing class.”

Sebastian rubs his temples. “Okay, how about this? We’ll ask the instructor if it’s okay. If they allow it, you guys can join on one condition.”

Lando bounces on his toes, “What’s that?”

“No teasing or making jokes during the class. We’re there to learn and be supportive.”

Charles nudges Max, “That’s mainly directed at you.”

Max fakes innocence. “Me? I would never!”

You shake your head, “Alright, I’ll call tomorrow and see if our little ... or rather large group can attend.”

Your grid kids cheer, excited about the new adventure. As they scatter, already planning and discussing among themselves, Sebastian leans over to whisper in your ear, “This baby is already turning our world upside down and they’re not even here yet.”

You smile and squeeze his hand, “With this family, every moment is an adventure.”

***

The birthing center’s usual tranquil ambiance is slightly offset by the excited chatter of the grid kids as you all enter. The instructor, a calm and composed woman named Clara, raises an eyebrow at the large group but doesn’t comment. After all, it’s not every day that half of the Formula 1 grid walks into her class.

The session starts with everyone introducing themselves. Most couples share sweet stories of their relationship journey. When it's your turn, Sebastian starts, “I’m Sebastian, this is my wife, Y/N,” he pauses, motioning to the group, “and these are ... our sons.”

The room erupts in chuckles. One of the expectant mothers quips, “That’s a lot of kids! You two have been busy!”

Clara moves on with the class, demonstrating breathing techniques. Everyone’s earnest attempt to follow along results in a mix of deep breathing, snorts, and a few stifled laughs. At one point, Max, struggling to get the rhythm right, looks over at Lando and mutters, “I feel like I’m preparing to go underwater.”

When it comes time for practicing labor positions, the grid kids enthusiastically volunteer. George and Charles end up demonstrating a position, with George playing the supporting partner and Charles the laboring mom-to-be. The sight of Charles leaning into George, pretending to be in labor, has the room laughing, especially when Charles exaggerates with dramatic moans.

Lance and Mick take a turn next and when Lance offers words of encouragement to “pregnant” Mick, saying, “You’re doing great, sweetie,” you almost fall off your chair laughing.

Towards the end of the class, Clara demonstrates the use of a birthing ball. Lando decides to take a leap onto one only to bounce off, crashing into Max and sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The room is in stitches.

Despite their hilarious antics, your grid kids genuinely try to grasp the concepts, asking thoughtful questions and engaging in the exercises.

As the class wraps up, Clara approaches you with a smile. “I must say, this has been the most ... lively class I’ve ever taught.”

You grin, “That’s one way to put it.”

She chuckles, “But it’s clear they all care deeply for you and want to support you both in any way they can.”

Sebastian nods, wrapping an arm around you, “We’re very lucky to have them.”

For Real This Time

Lando and Charles are in the middle of a heated argument over the best way to make a sandwich (complete with props and charts) when you suddenly feel a warm sensation. Looking down, your eyes widen. “Uh, guys?”

“What is it?” Sebastian jumps up right away.

You swallow, “I think my water just broke.”

For a moment, there’s stunned silence. Then … mayhem.

Max yells, “To the car! Now!” while Lance scrambles to grab the pre-packed hospital bag.

George accidentally knocks over a vase in his attempt to find your phone. “Sorry! We can clean that up later, right?”

Mick tries to maintain calm, “Everyone, deep breaths, remember the class?”

Lando, eyes wide, mutters, “This is nothing like the class.”

Upon arriving at the hospital, the reception area becomes a scene of organized chaos. As Sebastian wheels you in, the grid kids follow in a flustered procession.

A nurse at the reception desk blinks in surprise. “Is there a convention in town?”

Mick, panting slightly, replies, “No, just family.”

Lando adds, “The biggest family you’ve ever seen.”

Another nurse, recognizing some of the faces, chuckles, “Formula 1 drivers in the maternity ward? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Inside, as the medical team preps you, the grid kids stand outside, pacing and nervously waiting. They take turns peeking through the small window, offering waves and thumbs-up.

Sebastian holds your hand and doesn’t complain once as you grab back hard enough to break every bone in it, “You know, I’ve faced pressure on the track but this ... this is on another level.”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand, “Just remember, I’m doing the hard part.”

Soon enough, after what feels like both a minute and a lifetime, the beautiful cry of your newborn fills the room. Your grid kids, hearing the sound, cheer loudly, causing several nurses to hush them.

Charles, tears in his eyes, says, “We’re big brothers now. Like, for real.”

“Wait,” Lando interjects, “aren’t you already a big brother?”

“Shush mate, let me have this moment.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles, “Welcome to the family, little one. We’re a bit crazy but we already love you so much.”

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eddiemuonson · 6 months

Text

"Unspoken Desire" - Eddie Munson x Best Friend! Female Reader

Summary: You and Eddie made a bet and he wants you to pay it with a kiss. Turns out, kissing your best friend for losing a bet leads you into something else.

Note: I know no one asked me but I had this sudden idea of writing something quick to read.

Warning: SMUTTTTT, cursing, mention of kink, unprotected sex, kissing. +18 DNI.

Word count: ~2.1k

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and Eddie and you had decided to spend the day together at the local park. You sat on a bench, sharing a bag of potato chips as you watched kids playing on the nearby swings.

Eddie grinned mischievously and reached for the last chip in the bag. "You know, (Y/N), I've been thinking."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be uninterested. "Thinking? Dangerous territory, Eddie. What's on your mind?".

Eddie leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Well, I can't help but notice that you owe me something". You feigned innocence, tilting you head. "Owe you? For what, exactly?"

Eddie's eyes sparkled with amusement. "For that bet we made last week, remember?". You chuckled, recalling the bet you had made about who could eat the spiciest chili at the local food festival.

"Oh, that bet? You're not still upset about losing, are you?". Eddie's grin widened. "Upset? Nah, I just think it's time you pay up."

You crossed your arms, a playful glint in your eyes. "And what do you want as your prize, Munson?". Eddie leaned even closer, your faces almost touching.

"A kiss, (Y/N). One spicy, victorious kiss." You pretended to ponder this for a moment.

"Hmm, a kiss for a bag of chips? Seems like a fair trade". Just as you were about to share a kiss, a group of kids on the swings erupted into giggles and shouted.

"Ewww, cooties!", Eddie and you burst into laughter, pulling away from each other. Eddie winked at you, the teasing still in his eyes.

"Well, it looks like the playground jury has spoken. Next time, (Y/N), next time". You grinned back, feeling grateful for moments like these with your best friend. "You're impossible, Eddie".

As the sun began its slow descent below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue across the landscape, you and Munson decided to go home. You grabbed a ride back with him in his van, having a conversation about random things while Van Halen was playing on the radio.

As he pulled by your driveway, he turns off the engine of his vehicle as you both sat in comfortable silence for a moment, savoring the end of the afternoon.

"Once again, safe and sound", he says as he rests his elbow on the steering wheel.

"Thanks again, Eddie", you respond as you get rid of the seat belt. "Oh, by the way. Are still on that bet?", you ask teasingly. You watch as he grins at your question, letting out an amused chuckle.

"If you're still okay with that, yeah". He says as he gets rid of his own seat belt, moving his torso to have a better look at you.

Edie's hand, strong and reassuring, gently cradled your face. His thumb traced your jawline, and your eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding and longing. The air was thick with anticipation as he leaned closer, your breaths coming faster and shallower.

With a whispered promise in his eyes, Eddie closed the remaining distance. Your lips met in a slow, tantalizing kiss. It began with a feather-light touch, a delicate exploration of each other's desires. Your mouths moved in perfect harmony, a dance of passion that deepened with each passing second.

Eddie's other hand found your lower back, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified. Your bodies pressed together, as you reached out for his curls, tangling your fingers against it.

In that stolen moment, time seemed to stand still. Your kiss was a symphony of desire, a silent conversation of longing and affection. The tip of his tongue started to swirl around yours and you couldn't help but let out a small groan against his plump lips.

You felt him smirk between the kiss, as he gritted your lower lip with his teeth before finishing it. You both broke the kiss and looked at each other with a slight hint of fun, even after a moment of intimacy.

"Wow, that was actually better than I expected", Munson said, resting his forehead against yours. You laugh softly and bite your lip.

"I just happen to be a good kisser", you play along, listening to his sweet laugh as he snorted.

"And you're also very cocky", he retorts with a side smile on his face. You only then noticed how hot you felt for him and how good he actually made you feel about just a kiss. It was supposed to be a playful one, but it ended up being way more than that.

Eddie cast a glance at you, who was still holding a hard stare at him and at his plump lips. You felt a sense of connection and understanding passed between you two, as if your souls were speaking in a language only you could comprehend.

"So, you wanna come in?", you ask timidly and watch him nod, already opening the van's door before he pulled himself out. He walked around the car to reach your side of the door, opening it for you.

He was always gentle, even when you were actually mad at him for something, or even after you argue about some nonsense. You knew Munson was a whore, because he would hook up with one girl after another on the same night and still brag about it.

You were never one to really feel interested about him, but in that case, his kiss ended up setting something up inside your guts you still didn't quite figure out. You walked in, turning the lights on as he made himself home.

Before you could even lock the door from the inside, he pinned you against it, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips met in a gentle, yet electrifying kiss again. This time it was quick, but still with a passionate exploration.

Eddie's hand cupped your cheek, his fingers tenderly caressing the soft skin. Your arms encircled him, pulling him closer as your bodies pressed together against the door. He didn't hold back a husky groan as he thrusted his hip against your heated core and made you whimper.

"Oh, Eddie. You're about to ruin this friendship", you whispered. Before he could respond to you, he pressed his hips firmly against yours once more and chuckled against your mouth.

"Baby, if anything we're only making it become more entertaining". It was the tone he used and the sudden pet name that threw you off, making you pull him by the collar of his shirt as you rush to the couch.

You pushed him to sit on it as you turned the stereo on before doing a little strip for him. You were never ashamed of your showing body whenever you were at the pool or something related to that, but he probably never saw you in your lingerie all those years.

He widened his chocolate brown eyes to his sight, analyzing every inch of your bare skin, like your chest, neck and stomach. He helped you unzip your jeans, lowering the fabric as you kicked it off.

His big hand and calloused fingers grabbed both your thighs with tenderness, while he spread wide kisses across your body, lingering with his touch as he felt you shiver under his lips. You didn't want your body to react to him that easily, especially because he knows the effect he has on women in general.

Eddie got rid of his shirt and worked on his jeans pretty fast, showing you a glimpse of his hardened cunt pressed against his boxer. You know what you were about to do but, even then, you didn't feel like you wouldn't regret it.

You made him rest his back against the furniture as you leaned forward and sat between his legs, both knees on each side. You were still exchanging a heated gaze and you felt like you were about to lose your damn mind just feeling the way his skin grasped your ass.

His both big veiny hands squeezed your ass while you wrapped your arms around his neck. Placing a soft, but spicy, kiss just between his earlobe.

You heard him hiss, fanning your hair in a low and desperate breath, while his hands gripped tighter on you. "Fuck's sake, stop torturing me", he pleaded, his cock twitching under your core. You chuckled before sliding one hand down his stomach, finally pulling his aching dick out of the fabric.

The red, throbbing length was already glistening with precum and you slightly squeezed it between your hands, giving him a few seconds of relieve. It turns out you weren't bothered by not taking the lingerie off as you just slid your panties to the side, before aligning yourself with his cock.

Munson was still holding a gaze at you, trying to bite his moans from coming off of his mouth, enjoying the way you were lustfully looking at him as you rubbed his tip against your folds.

You were always one to never hide your emotions through sex, you would always be too loud, moan a lot and almost faint from breathing too fast.

The way his mushroom head entered you made you arch your back, and Eddie just about did the same, throwing his head back squinting his eyes shut from the pleasure that was attacking his entire body.

You made your way down on him fully and almost choked on the size, his cock spreading your walls slightly, burning it. You leaned yourself against him and grabbed his face with both hands, bringing him closer to you so you would kiss him.

It was a sloppy kiss as you were both moaning and gasping from the pleasure. He slid one of his arm around your waist, resting his palm against your lower back, while using the other hand to unclasp your bra.

The sudden rubbing of your nipples against his chest made him pound harder and hit your sweet spot. "Fuck, why haven't we done this before?", he mumbled while gripping your skin. You started riding him faster, trying to keep your pace but you were clenching too tight around him.

"I have no idea", you slurred, trying to formulate the words coming out of your mouth. He suddenly pulled a handful of your hair and assaulted your neck, leaving sloppy kisses, glittering the skin against his teeth, making you mewl his name.

"You love it rough, huh?", he teased against your ear, his tone just above a whisper. Munson felt your cunt tightening his cock and cursed under his breath. You could feel as he was chuckling from your response.

"Y-Yes", you say, biting your bottom lip. You meet his eyes for a moment and notice they hold both lust and kindness at the same time. He could be the most sluttest slut but he definitely was gentle, especially with you.

"Holy shit, baby. You're really tight, you're ruining me", Eddie cried out, squeezing your ass between his hands as he pumped inside of you. If he kept doing that for the next minute, you're going to hit your climax in a record time.

You're in between looking at him and closing your eyes enjoying your moment, as you keep riding him, rocking your thigh against his so perfectly. He can't stop curling his toes from the sensation you're giving him, and he placed one hand on your neck, his thumb pressed against your lower lip.

He doesn't mean it to be really sexual, but as a result, you use his digit as a lollipop and it pulls him out of his own bliss as he stares at you, eyes widened and brows furrowed. It gives him motivation to thrust against your core so hard you gasp between his finger.

"Jesus fuck you're so fucking hot", Munson grunts at the sight. It makes him hornier and hungrier for you. His dick is about to explode inside you and he didn't have time to warn you about that.

It was supposed to take longer than that, but the way you were sucking on his finger and displaying an erotic figure made him burst out. "Shit", he hisses.

You feel his hips stuttering under you, his cum warming your walls and you feel lightheaded, the shockwave of pleasure hitting you so strong and so fast you throw your head back. Eddie holds you tight and feel his length throb inside you with your reaction.

You're both panting loudly, staring at each other peacefully. You're still sitting on his lap, your cunt holding him lazily. Eddie pulls you for a tender kiss, licking your lips before pecking them for a slight second.

"What were you talking about ruined friendship?", he mocked. You both just knew it wasn't ruined. You felt too comfortable around him, and he felt too cozy under you, thinking to himself about the beautiful view he was having.

"I think we should make another bet", you retorted playfully, smiling at him. He wrapped both arms around you and rolled you over your couch, standing above you with a taunting grin on his face before he pulled you in for a passionate kiss.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things #userashe #usermaguire #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut fic

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morelikeravenbore · 3 months

Text

Good Boy

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC | Needy Sebastian | spicy one shot 🔞

Needy/slightly unhinged/traumatised Sebastian, post-uncle murdering. All sexual acts are consensual, good ol' P in V against a wall.

Warning: SMUT. 18+ CHARACTERS. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Contains sexual content, reader discretion is advised.

On bad days like these, Sebastian simply couldn't believe in love until it held him close and kissed him and told him he wasn't the deplorable monster he believed himself to be. Love had always evaded him, but by some stroke of luck he wasn't deserving of, he'd found it living in the body of the girl currently squashed between him and the wall.

Word count: 1.4k

READ UNDER THE CUT 👇

[WATTPAD] [AO3] [HL fic masterlist]

Sebastian Sallow was whimpering as he pressed his girlfriend against the wall of the empty classroom, pinning her small body between the cold stone and the urgent heat of his much-larger frame.

His day had been bad from the moment he'd woken up, exhausted after a long night of intrusive thoughts and horrific nightmares. Sweat-soaked from thrashing about for eight hours straight (and not in a fun way), he'd disentangled himself from his sheets and dragged himself, grumbling and dishevelled, into a day that had steadily gotten worse and worse.

First, he'd endured the wrath of Ominis Gaunt, who'd been in so foul a mood that even Salazar Slytherin himself would've quaked in his boots to witness it, then sat through all of his least favourite subjects in a row - including a double period of History of Magic - and finally, been forced to spend several hours flying around the Quidditch pitch in the pouring rain while Imelda Reyes shouted at him that he a useless sack of ugly, half-sprouted potatoes.

As if all that wasn't bad enough, he'd trudged into the Great Hall for dinner so late that he'd only gotten scraps to eat, stubbed his toe on the Slytherin table on the way out, and when he'd finally tracked down his girlfriend in the library, he'd been forced to wait, silent and brooding, for her study group to fuck off so he could finally be alone with her.

When finally - finally - she'd bid them goodnight, Sebastian had marched her directly out of the library, pulled her into the nearest empty room by her elbow, and whined, petulant and needy, into her open mouth, barely able to form the word 'please' as his fingers dug into her waist.

There wasn't much Sebastian couldn't handle; he was an orphan, after all, had survived a foray into the Dark Arts (though hardly unscathed), used all three Unforgivables without much moral objection, and - since there's no point beating round the bush about it - had used said Unforgivables to murder someone.

Yet despite all the tragedies he'd endured in his comparatively short life, the insurmountable odds stacked against his own happiness, and the way he seemed to possess a natural proclivity for fucking things up, the only thing that ever truly unraveled him was love. Or, more specifically, the acute sting that came when he felt himself in danger of losing it; a sting which manifested as a singular, all-consuming need to find relief in physical intimacy.

In other words, Sebastian Sallow liked to fuck his pain away.

'Bad day?' asked his girlfriend, her sweet voice muffled against his chest as he caged her against the wall.

Unable to form a coherent reply, he leaned his full weight against her, groaning into her hair as he rolled his hips against her navel, pressing, pressing, pressing into her warm body until all her breath squeezed out in a tiny huff. He backed up a bit, giving her just enough space to breathe without letting the heat between them cool, but he was too far gone the way of desperation to allow more than a few inches of separation.

Wordless, he yanked the hem of her blouse free from her skirt and slid it up to her chest, groaning at the feel of her soft skin beneath his calloused palm.

She felt like fucking flower petals. Wings of a fucking butterfly.

Fuck.

'It's alright, I'm here.' Wiggling some space between them, she stretched up to kiss the underside of his chin; the only part of his face she could reach, even on her tiptoes 'What do you need?'

He whined again, all decorum lost as his lips grazed her temple, his breath hot on her skin. He cradled her face, pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyebrows, her nose, breathed in the scent of her hair, lost his fucking mind - but he couldn't speak. Not with his words, at least.

'Sebastian, look at me.'

With great effort, he peeled his lips from her neck and looked her in the eyes. Love stared back at him, bright and pure and clear.

Love so brilliant it was staggering.

'Have you been good?' asked love.

No, answered the darkness in his head.

Good? Had he ever been good?

He dropped his head to her shoulder.

'No,' he moaned, 'I haven't.' He licked his way up the slender column of her throat - 'I'm not good' - nibbled her jawline, kissed her chin, pressed his aching cock against her stomach - 'I'm sorry.' His voice was small, unfamiliar. 'I want to be good. You know I want to be good, you know it.'

This wasn't entirely true; he did want to be good, but only when he was with her.

'Why haven't you been good?'

'Wanted to... Hex your study group...' he moaned. 'Wanted to destroy everyone... To keep you... For myself.'

He was panting now, his words broken between frantic kisses as he worked off her blouse. He tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, discarding the first barrier that stood between him and love.

'Called Ominis a twat,' he went on, thrusting against her stomach with increasing urgency. 'Purposely let a Bludger knock Imelda off-course... Enjoyed both... Immensely.'

When she made a sound of disapproval into his mouth, he only became more frantic, desperate to find the places where love dwelt in her body and coax it out with his mouth, his fingers; to suck on it, roll it around on his tongue, sink into its warm, wet depths.

Her bra was the next barrier to be eliminated. If love lived in her nipples, his lips would surely draw it out.

'What about - the dreams?' she moaned, arching into him, sweetness in his mouth.

'Yes,' he whimpered, ashamed.

Yes, the dreams. Fucking Merlin, those awful visions of forbidden curses, of Dark Magic flowing like poison through his veins, green and red lights flashing intermittently.

Visions, so like premonitions, of being bad, rotten.

Unlovable.

'Tell me about them.' She tangled her hands through his hair and pulled. He hardly felt it.

'Dream - b-bad.' Speech was hard. 'Dream of being bad.'

He looked her leg around his hip, bunched her skirt up to her waist, rutted mindlessly against the warm, damp spot between her legs.

That's where love lived.

His cock ached for admittance.

'I'm bad.' His voice was strained, hoarse. 'N-not a good boy.'

Then his cock was out, hot and throbbing in his hand.

Fuck, love was so close. Fuck, he needed it.

Her underwear pushed to the side. Slick heat coated his swollen tip.

Crying out against her skin, 'I'm bad, I'm sorry, I'm bad.'

Sinking in slowly.

Love.

Frenzied and stupid with need, Sebastian pounded her against the wall until he was too fuck-drunk to hear the cruel voices in his head, until all he knew was blissful, wonderful, perfect her.

When her first orgasm shattered through her, he watched, entranced, as love shone from her every pore and gushed over his cock and rang like music from her mouth. His knees buckled with the force of it but he couldn't stop, not now - not until he was drenched it in, drowning in her love, soaked through.

He couldn't stop through her second orgasm.

Nor her third.

Not even when she was limp and blissfully spent in his arms, eyes rolling back in her head and mouth agape.

Not even then.

Because even if he was bad, he would always be a good boy for her.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy smut #Sebastian Sallow oneshot #Hogwarts legacy oneshot

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

Text

Christmas

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: It's Christmas

Christmas in your house is a fun mish-mash of Momma and Morsa's childhoods.

In the days leading up to it, you sit at the dining room table with Momma, who helps you make Julehjerter (Christmas hearts) and Julestjerner (Christmas stars) to put on the tree.

It gets a little tricky sometimes with all of the folding but once they're done, Momma gives you big kisses and helps you put them up on the tree.

Decorating the tree is usually left up to Momma and she keeps the colours fairly traditional with reds, golds and greens but this year you manage to convince her to extend it to white and silver when you come back from Coach Emma's office with a little Julestjerner made out of silver wrapping paper because that's all she had.

But your absolute most favourite part is lighting all of the Christmas candles on the days running up to Christmas. Momma lets you hold the long match she buys carefully and guides you to catching the candle wicks on fire.

She and Morsa take you out to see the big lights in town and they bundle you up nice and warm and Morsa even gets you a proper hot chocolate made with milk while you're out.

Your Christmas is a little different from other people's Christmas in England because they wait until Christmas Day to open presents while you only have to wait until it gets dark on Christmas Eve.

You help Morsa make a julbord as you wait for everybody else to arrive.

Not many people have gone back to Sweden to celebrate this year so they're all coming over to your house to celebrate.

"Wash your hands, princesse," Momma says from where she's finishing wrapping everybody else's presents. She's not allowed to help cook because Morsa says she might muck something up so she's been put on wrapping duty.

You help Morsa season the ribs and make the special Christmas ham look nice on the plate before you dutifully go to put it on the table. She makes her special pickled herring too (you never get to eat it unless it's during Christmas) and she lets you sneak one of the spicy sausages early.

The doorbell rings as she takes the potatoes out of the oven and you eagerly try to peek out the front window.

"It's Auntie Stina!" You announce, bouncing on your feet as you wait for Momma to heave herself up from the sofa to open the door.

"Hey!" Aunt Stina says as you crash into her, smiling. "You should leave the door open," She says to your Momma as she picks you up," I saw Zećira and Johanna trying to find a parking space."

She takes you back inside with her and takes a deep inhale through her nose. "Smells good. Pernille didn't make any of this, did she?"

"No," You say," Morsa's in charge. She's the cooking boss! I helped!"

"Did you?" Stina asks," Well, I'll make sure to enjoy everything." She passes you the bag she's been carrying. "Can you put these under the tree?"

Zećira and Johanna arrive soon after, followed closely by Auntie Lina. They each give you presents to put under the tree and Morsa makes you give them all drinks before you can fill your plate with what's on the julbord.

You do a happy little wiggle as you finally tuck in. The adults are all sitting on the furniture but you're happy on the floor, legs crossed and back pressed up against Morsa's feet.

There's a Christmas movie on to keep you occupied as the adults talk around you and you gorge yourself on second and third helpings.

"Is the sun down yet?" You ask, knowing that as soon as it properly sets, you can open your presents.

"Not just yet, princesse," Momma says fondly, handing you the bottle of fancy adult drink that you're not allowed to have," Still a few more hours. Can you fill up Johanna and Lina's cups for me?"

You move over to do as you're told and are immediately tugged into Auntie Lina's lap and tickled savagely by Johanna now that you're trapped.

You nearly spill the bottle as they jostle you but keep a firm hold on it just as Morsa announces that it's time for dessert and your captors release you to eat more.

You're semi-distracted through dessert, tracking the sun as it begins its slow descent.

"Sun's gone!" You report from your spot by the front windows. You look at Momma. "Presents now?"

She pretends to think for a moment before nodding. "Go and hand out everybody's presents," She says," And then you can open your own."

You speed around the tree to make little piles for everybody before settling between Momma and Morsa to open your gifts.

A lot of them are books you read at bedtime or new games and toys. There's a set of paints from Momma and Morsa after you came out of Coach Emma's office one day having spent the whole day painting a picture of the two of them with you at the park (complete with Morsa wearing her Not-Wolfsburg shirt and Momma wearing her Wolfsburg one).

Johanna gifts you a new torch for your room that you can put special things over to make shapes of dinosaurs with the light on the wall. Stina gets you glow-in-the-dark stars to stick on your ceiling and Lina gets you a new ball.

"Gloves!" You exclaim," Thank you, Zećira!" You shove your new keeper gloves onto your hands and clap a few times, turning your beaming smile to look at Momma and Morsa. "New keeper gloves!"

"Thank Zećira properly," Momma reminds you and you give Zećira a big hug and a kiss.

Everyone stays for a few hours after presents have been opened and you get to go to sleep in the Big Bed because Christmas day is tomorrow and Morsa's feeling more lenient.

Christmas Day isn't as exciting as Christmas Eve but it means you get to karrysild on rye bread and æbleflæsk (one of the few things Momma can make) and then play with your new gifts before Momma and Morsa bundle you up nice and warm for your little walk in the park.

"Alright," Momma says in the backyard with you," Do you remember what Zećira told you?"

You nod. "Doesn't matter if it goes in, just as long as I try."

"And?"

"And to roll if it hits me because of the force."

"Good. Okay, ready?"

You nod, excitedly bouncing on your feet as Momma readies her shot.

"Ready!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sister!Reader

A/N: Writing Nesta post-acosf is so confusing so I apologise if she’s a little ooc!

Word Count: 5,552

-Part 7- -🌌🌠- -Part 9-

It’s been while since you last ate with all of them.

Even so, the atmosphere is familiar. Jovial. Pleasant enough you can allow yourself to slip into spectation, vanishing in your mind’s eyes, becoming an observer without presence. Shadows flicker at the corner of your vision, and you’re brought back down to reality.

The restaurant lights are warm and yellowy, a magic barrier constructed at the room’s border to keep the temperature pleasantly mild, inky darkness swirling just beyond the threshold. Candles flicker, almost in time with his shadows. It’s hard to tell when natural darkness ends and his begins. But he doesn’t really like it when people stare at them, so you avert your eyes. Scratch the backs of your hands beneath the table, softened a little by cream.

By what you can only assume was a stroke of bad luck—or good, depending how you want to feel for the rest of the night—everyone had already settled into the dinner by the time you arrived, leaving a single seat open. Yes, you could’ve pulled over a chair, or requested one to be magically summoned, but that would be drawing attention to the issue, which would undoubtedly make the ineffable off-ness of your relationship with him that much more blatant.

So there he is, a steady presence to your left, situated at one end of the table. Elain to your right. How unfortunate. Or lucky, depending on the angle.

Take a sip of your water, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Lean slightly over to your sister. “Have I missed anything?” Cocoa flick to you, warm and soft in the mellow light, a little tired. Half-circles beneath her eyes. “Nothing much. I was planning on visiting Lucien again—hopefully within the week.” She answers mildly, a faint smile in her eyes. “There’s also a possibility of Nesta going over to have a look at the libraries in the Day Court.”

“Woah,” you mumble. “Looking for anything in particular, or simply for recreation?”

Elain shrugs, eyes flicking across the table. “Ask her,” she says simply.

Spine stiffens.

With fae hearing, plus the close proximity, there’s a high chance everyone heard that exchange. Refusing to do so will only draw more attention. You shoot Elain a reproachful look for putting you in this situation but she smiles encouragingly.

You find the elegant shape of your eldest sister a little further down the table—across and two over. Opposite Cassian who is beside Elain. Sharp eyes flit to your own a second after you’ve sought her out—she definitely heard. At least you didn’t vocalise any dismay over the forced interaction.

“Day Court?” You inquire, raising your brows in interest. She nods, lips parting in a smile, “quite the trip, isn’t it.” You laugh—trying to remember where the Day Court is in conjunction with Night. Come up short. “Already read through all the books here?” You reply, trying to keep the conversation fluid. Gaze absently flicks over the various plates and trays of food, picking out the things you’d like to try. A waft of something delicious floats down the table—a covered bowl sits between Rhys and Feyre. Soup, most likely. It has your mouth watering from the scent alone. Would be divine with some buttered bread.

“Nowhere near,” she responds, still smiling. “But there’s a particular author we’re after, and I’d like to see if I can find more of his books in those libraries.” You hum, nodding your head in acknowledgement. “Different from The Runaway?” She blinks, then nods, “you’ve read it already?”

“Yeah. Finished it last week,” you answer, peering at the dishes closer to you, wonder what you can pick. It’s mostly meat. Some roast potatoes, poultry next along covered in an orange-red sauce that smells spicy.

“What did you think?” She asks, carefully ladling gravy to the edge of her own plate. It’s your turn to blink, recalling the story to the forefront of your mind. Exhale heavily, leaning back into the chair. “I don’t know, really,” you admit honestly, “there was a lot in it, I suppose. I’m still digesting it, in a way. Do you know what I mean?” She nods, eyes softening at the edges—you’ve said the right thing. “I think there’s a lot in it; a lot happened to him, and I think it did a good job on highlighting how perspective can be manipulated. I also like how the creature was only alluded to in earlier chapters while the first part of the plot was unfolding so you end up overlooking it?”

She gracefully cuts through a potato, dipping it in the gravy before neatly depositing it in her mouth. Elegant and refined. “Yes, I thought that was an interesting way of telling his story. The complications between Yvette and Hans helped with the initial distraction, I think.” Lips twists into a slight frown. “The section—I think around chapter seventeen? Eighteen…?” You pause, picturing how far through the book it was, then shake your head. “Around there, anyway. The section about those lights in the sky?— I had to put the book down for a bit.” You admit, smiling as you recall the passage.

Nesta nods her head. “I couldn’t believe it, either. I think I actually had to stand up and get myself another cup of tea to calm down when he connected the dots.” A grin parts your lips wider, skin warming at the memory. “Anyway,” you say, redirecting the conversation, “a different author.”

She nods in confirmation, “a different author.”

“Romance?” You ask, remembering her appreciation for the genre.

Something passes through the room, hairs slowly raising at the back of your neck. Eyes slide to Elain, but she’s conversing with Cassian, attention shifted away from you. Gaze flicks back to Nesta who has a tight smile on her lips—it’s still odd to see her smiling so openly and frequently.

“No, actually,” she begins slowly, cutlery lowering to her plate. Her fingers remain pressed tight to the metal. “It’s a spell-book,” she says, silvery-blue eyes gleaming like moonlight despite the warm glow about the private space. Brow furrows a little as you peer at her across the table, “a spell-book?” You ask. “What do you need a spell-book for?” Her spine straightens, attention moving to her meal as she slices into some meat, mouth opening to continue.

“The baby warrior’s been having doubts about his wingspan, I’ll bet,” Amren croons from across the table, snatching your attention. Your brow dips further, eyes now shifting to find Cassian further down the table—the other side of Elain. He seems fine, laughing brightly. “Is there a problem with them?” You ask Nesta, remembering how torn up they’d been after the mess with Hybern and the cauldron.

She shakes her head, lips lifting into a grin as she meets Amren’s steel-coloured eyes. “She’s just jealous,” Nesta returns, “Varian not treating you well?” Sharp eyes flash with challenge. “Maybe they should compare notes. I’m sure your mate could learn a thing or two,” she taunts, effectively ending your conversation with Nesta. A part of you wants to learn more—your natural inclination—but Amren’s whisked her away into conversation, Mor stuck between them.

Attention again flits to Elain, but she’s still contained in conversation with Cassian, leaving only the keen pair of eyes on your left to entertain yourself with. Raise the glass to your lips, forcing down a mouthful of the alcohol, ignoring the light pulsing in the forefront of your head. Skin prickles beneath his attention, fingers shifting over your cutlery as you move to take food to your plate.

It seems rude to interrupt Elain’s conversation—you always go to her first. She speaks to people other than you, and probably enjoys doing so. You should leave her to enjoy the night. Take another drink of the clear liquid, shadows flickering in your peripherals as you set your sights on Nesta. Wait for an opening.

“What do you want the spell-book for?” You ask, feigning ignorance to their conversation. As if the question just appeared on your tongue, falling out before you could stop it. Two sets of sharp eyes cut to you, a single set of caramel flicking to steel warily. “A containment spell,” Nesta answers, slicing up some vegetables on her plate. “To bind.”

Amren’s lip curls into a distinctly predatory grin, almost warning. “Needing to spice things up so early in your relationship?” She croons. “I would have given it at least another few months before you two were in need of a bonding activity.” A fourth pair of eyes joins the discussion though he’s still wrapped in his own exchange. The hazel to your left has probably been observing for some time, too.

Nesta offers the petite female a tight smile, equally warning. Mor claps her hands, hastily breaking up the exchange. “Will you pass that down? Cass, be a dear and— no, next to it— the other side—yes! Thank you!” You watch slightly enviously as she ladles soup into a bowl, taking a slice of fluffy bread and slathering butter over its surface. Trace the soup as it’s returned to its place at the far end of the table, between Rhys and Feyre, one seat down from Nesta and Cassian.

And just like that, dialogue ebbs and flows around, leaving you with no way in. You’re quite glad for the reprieve. These dinners generally leave you in need of a weeks sleep to recover, by which point the next one is already scheduled. Exhausting. You don’t know how they manage it. Attention is still weighing on you as you raise your cutlery, poised to begin slicing into the meat upon your plate.

Elain is still preoccupied—to your steadily growing dismay. Nesta and Amren are locked in a verbal sparring match, while Mor chimes in here and there, occasionally attempting to rope Cassian in, too. Just to stir things up. Shadows flicker in the background.

His attention is becoming difficult to ignore. Clear your throat softly, focusing on cutting through the meat, slicing it into bitesized chunks. “Is something the matter, Azriel?” Shift the cutlery in your hands, easing up the pressure on your knuckles from the effort of cutting. He watches silently, his own plate clean and empty.

“Not at all,” he replies quietly, voice unliltling and void of inflection. Your brow twitches toward the centre, neatly spearing a chunk of flesh. Swallow in preparation. “Nothing?” You question, equally softly, biting down on the dead animal. It comes apart easily on your tongue, softened in a skillet somewhere, bathed in oils and rosemary, sprinkled with salts and spices. Force yourself to chew and swallow. “Nothing,” he repeats back, hazel eyes resting on your jaw, flicking to meet your gaze.

Finish your mouthful, move to the next sliver. Spike it on your fork. Half raise it from the plate then stop, lowering it quietly. “What are you watching?” You ask, eyes flicking down to your plate, skipping away from his. “Many things,” he answers vaguely. Shadows flicker at his back, wreathing his wings, tucking behind them. “I’d rather not be part of those things,” you murmur, finally biting down on the tender flesh. Chew enough so it’s digestible, then swallow. Think about nice things, like the books at the house, golden eyes, and dried flowers. “You’re in public,” he replies, tone still without inflection. “That’s an impossible request.”

Three pieces left, and it’ll be done.

“You can look elsewhere instead of staring a hole in my head,” you murmur. “Maybe,” you add hastily, softening the sharp suggestion. These situations always put you a little on edge. So many people.

He’s quiet for a bit, but his attention doesn’t shift, despite his gaze moving to be further down the table. You manage another chunk of meat, teeth dully masticating as you grind the flesh down, focusing on the herbs and spices in place of the ashen, earthy flavour of the animal carcass.

Azriel’s attention weighs into you, skin prickling, hairs raising at the back of your neck as you try to ignore it. It’s probably being exacerbated by your imagination. Raise the fifth and final piece to your mouth, thinking about rotating planets and cocoa, of whiskey and caramel as your teeth bite and chew absently. He’s still observing; you shift in your chair, swallowing the mouthful. Reach for your glass, gulp down the clear liquid.

Nearly choke, the alcohol burning your throat. Nose scrunches before you can help it, covering your mouth with the napkin while you cough as quietly as possible. Elain pats you on the back making you smile as you overcome the initial shock. “Something go down the wrong way?” She asks, lips curving in a grin she’s clearly attempting to suppress in favour of a more sympathetic expression. Puts those attempts to rest when you laugh quietly, nodding to the liquid. “Too eager,” you whisper, refolding the napkin. Elain covers her own mouth, shoulders shaking with muffled mirth; you shoot her a playful glare.

Mor, sitting opposite Elain; beside Nesta, breaks from her conversation with the two, attention flitting to you, as if she had been lying in wait for her chance. “So!” She says, golden hair shining resplendent beneath the glow, like a flame encased in honey. “When shall we go shopping?” Her hands clap together, red lips parting in a friendly smile.

Oh.

You’d blessedly forgotten that promise of hers.

Swallow uneasily. “It’s fine… The polish and lip tint were lovely,” you smile, hoping she’ll leave it be. “Nonsense,” she chirps, collecting a few more roast potatoes onto her plate, Amren gingerly taking a few after her, nose almost wrinkling with suspicion. “You love books, and I apparently need a reason to spend time with you, so a shopping trip is perfect!” You offer her what you hope is a steady smile, one that disguises the strain you’re feeling, “I don’t want to be a bother—it’s fine, really. There are plenty of books in the library, anyway, and I’ve barely made it through the first two levels.”

Brows shoot up to her hairline. “Every book? You’ve been reading all of them?” You blink at her surprise, then hesitantly dip your head. Anxiety bubbles in your stomach, hands gripping one another as tension slices through your shoulders. “Are they— Am I not supposed to?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Read away!” She laughs, raising her hands in a calming gesture. “I hadn’t expected your interests to be so different, is all,” she smiles. “I tried to read a couple from the library when I was younger and nearly bored myself to tears.” You smile faintly, relaxing back into your chair. “I guess they’re not for everyone,” you reply, posture softening against the back of your seat.

Mor laughs, the sound like wind chimes caught on a stray breeze, golden hair glinting in the warm light. You have to look away. It feels wrong to even look at her—to try and place her individual beauties. Peer down at your empty plate, hunger gnawing at your stomach lining. You should have remembered to eat before coming along.

“So what about tomorrow?” She asks, dipping buttered bread into her bowl. Raise your head to look at her, confusion lining your brows. She smiles easily, “for a shopping trip, of course.”

“Not every creature enjoys being put through your endless chatter, Mor,” Amren snipes from her side. The blonde female pouts, throwing a glare to the petite Fae on her right.

Warm toffee eyes flick to cocoa, brightening with an idea, “Elain could come along too!” Spine goes rigid, every ounce of willpower straining to keep from glancing to your left, wondering what he’s thinking. Swallow heavily, stiffening as your older sister is brought into the discussion. Mor smiles eagerly, “what do you say, Elain? Fancy a shopping trip tomorrow?”

Nails slice into your palms, piercing small crescent shapes into your skin—you’ve been trying not to bite them. Press further back into your seat, muscles coiling with anxiety. Not both of them.

You can practically feel the moment steely silver eyes pick up on your reluctance, like she has a sixth sense for picking at scabs. But Elain sighs apologetically, “that would be lovely, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline this time.” Relief washes over your skin, bathed in a cool breeze. “I told you so,” Amren snickers to the blonde female.

Mor’s brows dip together, “oh, piss off Amren. I know you like picking out clothes to wear for Varian with me.” The cunning female raises her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies smoothly, Mor’s lips twitching at the obvious denial.

Turn to Elain, taking in the natural glow of her features. “Have plans?” You ask quietly, hand absently resting over your stomach. Involuntarily glance at the soup further up the table, tongue flicking out over your lips. She shakes her head, softly curled silky hair cascading over her slim shoulders. In your peripherals, you can make out how shadows stretch across the table, reaching. “I’ve been dreadfully tired lately,” she admits, equally hushed.

Brow furrows in concern, about to ask further, but Mor’s on you again. “Guess it’ll just be us tomorrow!” She smiles genuinely, excited for the plans. When you glance sidelong at your sister, she’s already settled back into conversation with Cassian, your youngest sister and her mate joining in. You nod in surrender, accepting it’s something that has to happen. It would be overtly rude to decline her invitation now.

“Great! We can squeeze in a lunch, too,” she grins, washing down the soup with a glassful of wine. “Maybe you can direct me to some of the more interesting library books,” she suggests, eyes sparking with excitement. You nod again, fatigue beginning to weigh on your shoulders. It’s nice watching them, but you frequently forget how draining it is to be involved.

Lean back into your chair, pulling your stomach in as you feel pressure grow—you’d die of embarrassment if it started growling. Hastily drink some more in attempts to fill it up. Hungrily eye the plates of food. Maybe the poultry wouldn’t be too bad with the sauce—chicken was hard to come by all those years ago.

A delicious scent catches your attention, shadows skittering away as he silently ladles soup into his bowl. Nobody asks about the shuffling round of plates. Stomach rumbles and you flush, hands clamping over your stomach as humiliation burns along your skin. Mouth almost watering, but you force yourself to wait; appear only mildly interested in the food. An appropriate amount of attention for a dinner.

His hand knocks into the bowl, pushing it aside to make room for another dish, so it’s to his right. Almost subtle enough to appear accidental.

Still, you finally help yourself to the soup, equal parts affection and shame weighing in your gut.

————

The night air is crisp and cool, soothing the warmth of your skin as you follow quietly a way behind the group.

Feyre and Rhys have already made their way home, not liking to spend too long away from Nyx, despite knowing he’s well cared for. There seems to be discussion ahead of taking things further for the night, perhaps more drinking.

After having left the restaurant, Nesta had sought you out. You’d been surprised to say the least—a little on edge—but it had been nothing to worry about. She’d merely extended an invitation for you to join her on their trip to the Day Court. Perhaps to seek out some books you’d been interested in, she’d suggested.

You’d politely declined.

Now you turn to Elain, the darkness bringing out the slight dip below her eyes. “You okay?” You ask, the chatter of the streets soothing background noise. Fading to a constant hum in the back of your mind, falling into the empty recesses. She nods, sighing heavily. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping,” she replies quietly. “And, I’ve…” shakes her head. “Maybe I’m coming down with something,” she sighs again. “You always were more prone to sickness than the rest of us,” you reply, nudging her shoulder playfully.

She smiles gently, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Maybe I’ll come and cough on you so you get ill for once,” she grins.

Nose wrinkles as you smile, “gross.” She laughs at that, then the two of you fall quiet, walking together in companionable silence. Trudging your way back to the River House, keeping fairly close to the main group who are still deciding whether or not to turn in for the evening.

You know you’ll be heading back to the House of Wind for the night.

Curious to see if a response has been written.

————

The House is quiet. Halls empty and silent as you pad down the corridor to your room.

Maybe you should check with Nesta whether she wants you to move out of here—switch to the River House. Anxiety slices at your gut, fatigue weighing your eyelids at the thought. You’re sure she’ll say something if she wants you out. You aren’t keen to initiate conversation with her unless necessary.

When you enter your room, candles are already lit, courtesy of the House. A few clothes lay on the floor, but it’s mostly clear. Almost tidy.

Parchment rests across your desk, and you eagerly hurry over.

Nothing has been added.

Excitement dies away, scratching at the backs of your hands absently.

Wearily take a seat, playing with the pen between your fingers, chewing on your lower lip. Debating the merits of bothering him when he’s taken no interest in your last comment.

Toss the thoughts out your window, throwing all caution to the wind.

Long day?

Bite down on your tongue, pulling at the top most layer of skin until you bleed. Wait for the paper to disappear. Seconds tick by, counting as they drain away. Steadily turning into minutes. Lean your cheek on the table, slumping forward as boredom creeps in, the pendant clunking as it hits the wooden surface of the table.

Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?

You aren’t particularly sure where the question comes from. Maybe the still-boxed jigsaw puzzle sitting atop a dusty stack of books has something to do with it.

Paper vanishes, and you perk up, straightening in your chair, fingers flexing. Excitement stirring in your chest. Absently reach for a pot of cream, unscrewing the lid as you trace the desiccated skin of your knuckles. Slowly soothe it in, rub the dips between your fingers, pretending your hands are someone else’s.

Parchment reappears, having you eagerly lean forward.

No.

You scowl at the curt response, twiddling the pen in your hands.

Sour and miserable indeed. Were my earlier questions not interesting enough to deign a response?

Letter vanishes, your feet tapping against the floor, fidgeting with the writing instrument. Turn to the anthology as you usually end up doing while waiting for his reply. Flip to the page you’d bookmarked, removing the silver embossed fabric. Lips quirk when you spot the title: Explosions: Rapid Division.

Shift the book so it’s in the centre of your desk, reading the introductory passage, instinctively scanning the diagrams with intrigue. Paper reappears atop the pages.

You forget I am a high-ranking individual with a multitude of tasks to attend to. I don’t get to spend my days simply lying around to pester the only person who’ll give me a scrap of attention.

Cheeks heat with embarrassment, yet you find yourself smiling at the familiar sharpness of his tongue. Ease out a deep breath, relaxing into your chair, flicking the pen in your dry fingers before lowering it to the parchment.

I think if you truly felt pestered, you wouldn’t be responding at all. Feeling lonely over there, Eris?

The paper vanishes, and you treat yourself to an image of his brows narrowing, lip curling as ire blazes in caramel eyes. Mouth widens into a smile as your feet tip-tap on the floor-boards, absently dipping your finger tips into the pot of cream again, putting more over the roughness of your skin as you wait patiently.

Parchment reappears, heartbeat picking up with excitement.

And what about yourself? The hell-cat is leaving for quite a while, isn’t she?

Lips part on a sharp exhale, spine straightening as your eyes flick about the room anxiously. How does he know that? Should you tell someone? Brow narrows in concentration, mind scrambling to think up a response that won’t give anything away, without sounding so vague he knows you’re avoiding the question. Swallow heavily, rubbing in the last of the cream, reaching for your pen. Lower it to the desk, and falter. What do you say? Is feigning ignorance too obvious?

The letter vanishes before you’ve had a chance to even put a speck of ink upon it, and it dawns on you that the question was timed. Picture the way his lips part is a slow smile as he sees the blank paper.

Manipulative bastard.

I suppose she’ll be taking the brute with her, too?

Fingers tighten on the pen, teeth grinding. Is this why he warned you about Eris? Because of how quickly he can extract information through carefully assembling pieces? Jaw tenses, but more silence will be confirmation.

How do you know any of that?

Chew on your lower lip as you await his reply, heart pounding. Azriel would be furious. Swallow down the nausea, teeth sliding beneath your nails—toeing the line of biting down, but restraining yourself.

Really, how do you think Court politics works? Of course we keep tabs on one another. I’m sure your shadowsinger has plenty of spies littered throughout Prythian. Possibly further, too.

Blood ices, peering down at your necklace and the map contained within. Imagining how wide his net must be to thread throughout it all. How much work it must take to keep everything running. Ruthless discipline. How tiring it must be. The weight, the pressure to keep it all maintained.

Head beginnings swimming at the thought of it. Would you even be able to keep up with him?

Why are you telling me this?

The pen scratches over the parchment, struggling to keep lines clean through the slight tremor in your hands. You can’t even begin to comprehend how much work must regularly go into sustaining such a network.

It’s a little embarrassing that you don’t already know. What are they teaching you over there? How to be an emotional burden?

The words hit sharp in your chest, hooks latching into the soft, vascular muscle of your heart. Poised to shred in an instant. Awaiting for the split second of weakness to rip. Rupture the organ in a clean tear.

Fear spikes.

I understand why your brother wants nothing to do with you if that’s how you speak with people.

The words are stamped into the page before you have time to reason it out. Blood rushes round your ears, wincing as your fingertips burn with the faint embers of power that have begun sparking up every now and again. Preemptively reach for the hand cream, preparing to soothe the itch once it fully manifests.

He’ll read into that comment. You know he will. Read between the lines to figure out just how much that one stung.

Parchment reappears and you warily lean forward, eyes skimming the clean script.

I’d been wondering where you kept your lovely claws, cygnet.

I didn’t mean to write that.

Wipe hands on your skirts, anxiety kicking up in the pit of your stomach. Roiling with worry.

You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You simply despise the way you are.

Has anyone else commented on how similar you are to Nesta Archeron?

Heart sinks to your stomach, biting on your tongue until you taste copper. Dislike how deep he’s wormed his way already. How did things go from light-hearted sparring matches to full scale battle in so few conversations?

And what about you? You write, mimicking his earlier diversion. Do your brothers share your affinity for poisoned words?

The parchment vanishes for a while this time, though you don’t even try to distract yourself with the anthology. Leg taps anxiously, trying to rub cream into your hands, hoping if it’s done tonight, they won’t ache tomorrow. The last thing you need right now is another flare up. Try to focus on the scent—light and sweet. Like gardenias and sugar.

Your attempts to redirect are as graceful as the first steps of a freshly birthed hound. Perhaps once you settle into your skin you’ll become more skilled at deflecting uncomfortable topics.

Skin prickles, hairs standing on end as you again raise the pen in hand. Considering routes to return to earlier discussions that weren’t so intrusive.

Alternatively, you could choose lighter conversation starters. For example, why did you send the anthology?

Certainly not the most succinct switch in direction, but better than continuing down that path. Ease a breath into your lungs once the paper vanishes, reminding yourself you don’t have to reply to him. At any point, you’re free to leave. Lean back in your chair, stretching out your limbs, muscles spasming and aching in your shoulders, fingers trembling as bones click in your spine. Deflate into the seat, muscles relaxing all at once.

You haven’t noticed anything yet?

Brows furrow, peering at the volume. Close it and flip it over—nothing on the back. Reopen it to the contents page, peering at the compilation of titles, authors, and page numbers. Scan the introductory section again, searching for anything to give you a hint at what he’s talking about.

(Writing about.)

I’m mildly concerned to ask? You write, keeping the conversation light, steering away from the earlier topics. Hoping he’ll keep away from family-related chatter.

Then read away.

Heart spikes at the ominous reply. What the hell is he talking about?

Eris, are you serious?

Paper vanishes, reappearing moments later.

Nothing but.

Roll your eyes at the response, but again set pen to paper.

If you were a human, you’d be riddled in various worry-marks by now. Does that thought upset you?

Lips quirk faintly, hoping it irritates him sufficiently.

Is this how you cope with discomfort? Pretending it away? Making light of it?

Damn him.

Instead of…?

Instead of hiding like a coward. Your blithe little act is growing dreadfully monotonous.

Straighten in your chair, shifting uncomfortably. Are you boring? Is that it? Is that the whole reason he…

Do fae have milestone dates like humans do? You said you don’t remember your twenty-first.

Paper disappears, and you become aware of the tension coiling in your shoulders. Maybe you should turn in for the night. Writing to him is supposed to be fun, not make you feel so…

Squirm uncomfortably, slouching in the seat. Crick your neck, releasing built up pressure, stretching your toes. Move to blow out the candles, but the letter reappears.

You really are turning out to be quite dull.

Brows scrunch with hurt, then even out. It’s ridiculous to be upset over behaviour he’s made no effort to hide. You shouldn’t be surprised he’s not changing, yet you had hoped…

Swallow, then sigh, the pen feeling heavy in your hand.

And you’re unnecessarily barbed.

(Who taught you to be that way, Eris?)

(Am I going to grow up to be like you?)

Paper vanishes, but you find yourself awaiting a reply. Marinating in your room while your lids grow heavier, shoulders slumping with fatigue, the base of your spine beginning to ache.

Stand from your desk, eyes flicking unwillingly to your nightstand, a small, royal blue gift box sat neatly atop it. The tule bow as resplendent as ever—shifting between vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

(Sometimes, when it gets particularly bad, I like to look at it before I go to sleep. Fantasise about being the female he likes, instead of the one I am.)

(Sometimes, when I want to indulge in misery, I like to imagine dressing up for him. Imagine him telling me how pretty I am, imagine him sliding the golden hooks into pointed ears.)

(Sometimes I imagine.)

(Sometimes I imagine, because it’s the closest to reality I’ll ever get.)

Hear the distinct sound of paper on the table, and you still. End up turning anyway. Move over to your desk, reading the message.

You can do better.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Slump into the seat, head tipping back, staring up at the ceiling. Arms fall dully to your sides, too tired to feel anything.

Sigh heavily, forcing yourself to stand in favour of pulling away your clothes. Rid yourself of every constraint, pendant clunking on the bedside table.

The same-old, off-white cotton night gown swallows you, falling to your ankles as you settle into the mattress.

And to think, you’d been considering asking what things were like in his court.

How nice it might have been to make a trip of your own.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @fall-myriad

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel angst #azriel acotar #CBMTHY #azriel x reader angst #CBMTHY Chapter 8

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atinywhore · 5 months

Text

stuffed

pairing: jongho x (fem) reader

word count: 2250

genre: spicy spice :)

warnings: soft dom jongho, biting, lots of praise, fingering, size kink, sorry not sorry, but yo can't convince me that jongho doesn't have a thick cock so, low-key breeding but he just likes to fuck her raw idk what kinda kink you call that (psa: use a fucking condom bitches), uber romantic to lol I feel like he's such a softy, gets off when you come, I think that's all.

an: this is the first fanfic I wrote since returning from my hiatus so it took me a little to get back into the writing and rediscover my own writing style! So I hope you enjoy and please interact and give this lots of love! Happy Turkey day whores ;)

taglist: @mingigoo @ravenjoongie @wickeddarkness-place @whatudowhennooneseesyou @teezers99 @mirror-juliet

The boys love to celebrate American holidays with you. Every year you have fireworks and hot dogs on July 4th, and you always host a thanksgiving day meal. This year is no different. It’s a three day prep event for you and you can’t forget the cooking still needed the day of! Just to say it, it's a stressful but very rewarding day to be able to have a nice meal with the people you love most in the world. They always try to schedule events and showcases around the actual day of thanksgiving so they can celebrate with you. Last year they couldn’t and it really made you upset. It was the first time in three years that you weren’t able to celebrate your favorite holiday with anyone. They saw how upset it made you and they were determined to make it up to you this year, especially your boyfriend Jongho. He took the days leading up to the holiday off of practice for their next comeback to help you prepare the food.

It was the day of thanksgiving now and despite the help from Jongho, you still were behind. You appreciated his help so much and you knew why he was doing it, but you had to go back and fix the stuff that you assigned him. Most of the time he just sat on the other side of the island and just watched as you moved around the kitchen.

“Baby can you help me with the turkey.” You asked without looking up from the stuffing you were preparing.

“Mmm” he replied standing up. You looked up to give him a smile to show your appreciation, but when you looked up you paused all your movements. This happens often. Ever since you two started dating. Jongho’s presence is so big. His shoulders are twice the size as your own and his biceps are almost as big as your head. From the moment you saw him you were attracted instantly. He loves to remind you how big he is and how small you are, especially in the bedroom. Sex with Jongho is very romantic and tender, with a hint of kink. He loves being on top, entrapping you beneath his thick, muscular body. He’ll lean down and speak hot things into my ear to make my orgasm that more intense. You can feel your face warm and your pussy grows slick with excitement. You try to look away before Jongho can see, but I know he knows what I'm thinking about. We haven’t had sex in over a week because his schedule has been keeping him in the studio all day and late into the night, and there was a huge project that you needed to get done before you could start the thanksgiving prep.

“What do you need me to do baby?” Jongho says as he steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and places a quick kiss on my neck. You can't help but giggle and instinctively push your ass into his groin. He lets out a little moan into your neck. Before you can get swept up into what's about to happen you kinda push him off of and turn to face him.

“Can you please turkey from the other counter. It’s too heavy for me to lift baby.” He nods and you give him a quick kiss on the lips as a thanks. Turning back to the counter you remember the potatoes that have been on the mixer and rush over to turn the machine off. Lifting the top of the mixer up and removing the mixing attachment you lick some of the potatoes off to make sure the seasonings are right. The butter and salt coats your tongue and you can’t help but moan a little at the taste. You feel a familiar presence behind you once more.

“Taste good?” Jongho whispers in your ear. His voice sends a shiver down your spine and jolts of electricity straight to your pussy. Your knees go wobbly but his grip on your waist keeps you grounded.

“Jongho..” You attempt to protest, but it’s weak.

“Yes, baby?” He says peppering kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hands smooth up your torso and one stops at your breast to tease your nipple beneath the dress and apron you are wearing. His other hand moves up to your neck moving your head to rest on his shoulder so he can have better access to your weak spot.

“I need to f-finish.” You manage to get out as he sucks on the sensitive part of your neck

“Oh yeah baby? Finish what?”

“The m-meal. The turkey n-needs to be st-tuffed.”

“I think you need to be stuffed, not the turkey baby.”

You can’t help but give in to him. Your body continues to sink into his embrace and before you know it you feel your ass rubbing against his thick cock straining beneath his jeans. He continues to suck and leave marks all along your neck and when you reach back and caress his cock, he growls and bites your neck at the contact. You can’t help but let out a gasp.

“Fuck baby. I need you now.” He says, as he turns you around and throws you over his shoulder. He easily walks the two of you toward the bedroom. In this position the skirt of your dress is bunched up slightly toward your hips exposing your pussy to the cold air of the room, you shiver at the sensation. You start to squirm in anticipation. While keeping your locked on his shoulder Jongho flips your dress the rest of the way up and uses his thumb to tease your entrance.

“Someone is wet for me.” He says continuing to play around with your pussy. Jongho shifts his head to the closest part of your thigh and bites it hard. You squeal and moan at the pain. He kisses your new mark before tossing you onto your bed. “The things i’m going to do to you (y/n).” He stands at the end of the bed looking down on you and the only thought that is going through your mind is, big. His wide form casts a shadow over you and you can’t help but shiver at the form before you. He lets out a frustrated sigh before he grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it off in one smooth move. He pauses with the sleeves of the hoodie still on his forearms, the material gathered at his middle covering his bare stomach. His broad and muscular chest is now exposed revealing the deep heaving breaths, you realize your own breathing matches his. He is pointing daggers at you with his stare, it's so intense and pointed that you swear your heart skips a beat. His eyes shut slightly as his head tilts left and right, the movement accompanied with the popping of his neck joints. He lets out a moan and his usually big eyes, now half lidded, are pointed at me once more. He removes his arms from his hoodie sleeves and his full torso is now bare. He doesn’t have a full set of abs, but the area is muscular nonetheless. His hands now reach for the button of his jeans but he makes no move to unbutton himself.

“Why is my girl still dressed?” He asks with a shit eating grin lighting up his heated features. He extends his strong hands to help you to your knees. Your shaky hands make a move to undo the bow tying the apron to your figure, but you can’t seem to get the thin straps to budge. You look back up at him to see his arms crossed, making his shoulders look that much broader and stronger than he already does.

“Need some help baby?” You nod still not able to find your voice, lost in the fog of arousal. He pulls you to your feet, keeping one arm around your waist and the other makes quick work of ripping the fabric off your body, leaving you in your favorite black dress. He turns you around and slowly unzips you from the dress. As the fabric slides from your body you are hit with another rush of arousal. The dress hits the floor and Jongho makes quick work of your undergarments. His hands explore your body, your moans echoing you in the room. His thumbs tease your nipples the way you like as he leaves kisses and hickies on the untouched side of your neck. Once he has you melting in his hands he moves one down over your stomach stopping at your pussy.

“I bet you are going to be so wet for me baby.” He slides two fingers between your folds, groaning at the state of your pussy. He sinks his teeth into your neck again as he rubs circles around your clit. Your breath hitches and your moans get louder.

“That’s it baby. Sing for me.” He coos as he continues his motions. Kissing and moaning into your neck as he rubs your clit. The build up is coming at you fast, your breathing becomes more erratic and you find yourself swearing Jongho’s name.

“Fuck- Jongho! I’m-m gonna cu-m.” His thumb takes over for his two fingers so they can slide into your pussy. You gasp and the new sensation sends you over the edge. Your eyes shut and your entire body goes fuzzy with your orgasm.

You don’t really feel it, but somewhere in your comedown Jongho moves on to the bed. He positions himself between your legs and resumes pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. His back is bent showing off the strong muscles to your hazed eyes as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Pleasure erupts from you again. He moves to your other breast and he hooks his fingers inside, skimming his fingertips over your g-spot. He releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ and removes his fingers from your pussy. You start to whine but stop when you see Jongho take his fingers and suck them clean of your juices.

“You taste so good, baby.” He smiles and leans in to kiss you. Your lips move against each other like a dance. He takes off his pants and underwear and repositions himself at your entrance.

“You ready for me baby?” You nod and he doesn’t move.

“I need to hear you baby.” He gives you a longing look, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes baby. Please.” He smiles and pushes himself into you. You hiss at his size as he stretches you. He moans as he slides his full eight inches inside you. He slowly pulls himself back out, repeating the movement. The pain slowly turns to pleasure and you begin to feel the slow build of another orgasm rise inside you.

“Fuck (y/n), your pussy is so good.” He pants. He flexes his hips harder and harder slamming his cock deep inside you.

“Oh baby, I can never get enough of you.” The mix of your moans and curses fill the room and create a beautiful symphony. He continues to moan sickly sweet confessions into your ear, making your building orgasm hurdle faster toward release.

“Baby, I’m so close.” You whimper into his general direction, unable to focus your eyes due to the overload of pleasure fogging your vision. You run your hands up his arms dragging your nails along his smooth tanned skin until you reach his shoulders where you sink your nails. He growls and pounds harder into you hitting that special spot causing your moans to grow louder and more intense.

“Fuck, come for me baby. Come for me (y/n).” He leans down to kiss you, claiming your mouth as he fucks you. The pressure continues to build until you come again. He follows after you shortly, filling your pussy with his load. After a few moments he slowly pulls his dick out of you and watches as his cum spills from your entrance.

“So much better than that turkey.” You can't help but burst out laughing. He looks at me confused, but after a minute he understands the joke.

“It sounded like you fucked the turkey then me.” You say sitting up on your elbows, your smiling face looking at his now rosy one. He grabs both of your cheeks and plants a big kiss on your lips.

“Seriously, I have to finish the turkey. The boys will be here in 6 hours!” You jump up from the bed, forgetting your boyfriend's cum spilling out of your pussy and running down your legs. He laughs as you run from the room and into the bathroom to go get yourself re-ready for the party tonight.

—------

Hours Later:

Everyone is gathered at your dining room table and starting to dig into the meal you have spent days preparing. Yunho and Hongjoon are talking about the latest comeback and how the dance routine is going to go with the new title song, Wooyoung is basically flirting with San and the former is pretending not to love it.

“This turkey is delicious (y/n)!” Yeosang praised.

“Thanks Yeo!” I raise my drink toward him.

“The secret is in the stuffing.” Jongho added. You kicked him under the table and gave him a dirty look, He just smiled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

#ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho x reader #smut #atinywhore #jongho

384 notes · View notes

sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

The Au Pair (modern!HOTD) part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 2

pairing: Daemon x fem!Reader x Rhaenyra

summary: Your job nannying for the Targaryens takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: 18+ (explicit sex, oral fem receiving, fingering), slight power imbalance as they're your bosses, language

word count: 4.0k

note: part 2, it's about to get spicy in here! I hope you enjoy!

Days go by like you’re living in a dream. You’ve fallen into a solid routine with the boys, ushering them out to the school in the morning, and taking them to the park (mostly to gossip with Shae). You can’t help the gnawing feeling inside you, waiting for the shoe to drop. It’s almost been a month and you’re still around. As Shae said, previously unheard of.

“They’ve got some wedding this weekend,” Shae says waving to one of the kids.

You’re sitting on your usual bench with her, sipping on a hot drink, rocking Joffrey’s carriage with your foot slightly. He’s out cold, snuggled up with his favorite plushie, a soft dragon egg. You raise an eyebrow at Shae.

“A wedding sounds fun!” you tell her.

“There'll be some drama, that’s for sure,” she teases, “I’ll have plenty of gossip to spill when we get back.”

“If I’m still here,” you joke, causing her to frown.

“It’s still going well though, right?” she asks.

“Yeah it's literally perfect,” you tell her, “though I feel like I’m walking on eggshells now.”

“Keep your head up, you’re doing great,” Shae says, rubbing your shoulder.

You glance at your phone, noticing the time.

“Shoot, I should get them home,” you tell Shae, calling to the boys.

Jace and Luke bound over to you. You hand them their jackets, helping Luke with his. He enjoys the extra attention as you zip him up. Luke is such a little love. He thanks you, and you wave goodbye to Shae, heading back to the highrise. It was such a nice day you decided to walk to the park not far from the Targaryen home.

Daemon and Rhaenyra aren’t present when you arrive, though the home office door is shut so you assume Rhaenyra is finishing her day. You sit the boys at the counter in the kitchen, plating the dinner that has been prepared by the chef. You lean against the counter, joining them.

“I don’t like peas,” Luke says, pushing them about his plate.

“They’re better if you mix them with your mashed potatoes,” you tell him.

Jace reaches over to Luke’s plate, swirling his fork in his mashed potatoes and gathering some peas on his plate. Luke lets his elder brother, before scooping the mix onto his fork and shoving it into his mouth.

“Much better,” he says through a bite, causing you to smile.

The front door opens then, and Daemon walks into the kitchen, phone against his ear.

“Then we’re going to have to figure this out,” he says roughly, to whomever he’s on the phone with.

He smiles at the boys, before continuing his conversation. Daemon sounds stressed, and you think it's best to remove yourself and the boys from the kitchen.

“Let’s go to the theater room,” you tell them, clearing their places, “and give daddy some space.”

Daemon wasn’t paying attention before, lost in his conversation with his partner, but you have his attention now. His violet eyes meet yours and you feel a blush begin to warm your cheeks. Daemon smirks slightly, before returning to his conversation.

You hope you haven’t put your foot in your mouth. You take the evening to yourself after the boys go to bed. A bottle of champagne with a silver bow was left in your bathroom as you returned to your room for the evening. Rhaenyra is too kind to you. You pop the bottle and pour yourself a glass, settling into a soothing bubble bath.

Long after your soak, as you’re reading in bed, a soft knock comes to your door. You had just reached a rather spicy chapter, your mind completely entranced in the text, lower lip caught between your teeth. You jump slightly at the knock, before opening the door and revealing Rhaenyra.

Her silver hair is flowing freely over her shoulders and she wears a red silk pajama set. She smiles at you.

“Hey, Rhaenyra,” you say, feeling warm from the champagne.

“I just wanted to apologize for being so absent today,” she tells you, “work just got away from me.”

“There’s no problem at all,” you tell her, shaking your head, “seriously, it’s what I’m here for.”

Rhaenyra smiles.

“Daemon and I wanted to offer you tomorrow evening off. Laena has agreed to take the boys for a sleepover, and we figured you deserved a night off,” she tells you.

“Thank you so much,” you tell her, unable to stop yourself, “seriously, you’re so thoughtful with the gifts, and now the day off- I really appreciate the kindness.”

Rhaenyra cocks an eyebrow slightly at the mention of gifts, but you don’t really notice. You’re too lost in the sparkle of her violet eyes, her playful smile, and the way her eyes flicker around your face. She watches you with such rapt attention it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“We really like you,” she tells you, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your lips part, and you cannot help but let your gaze fall on hers. Pink, plump, and waiting. You blink rapidly. She’s your boss.

“We would really like to keep you,” she tells you, “So we like that you’re happy.”

She strokes your cheek a final time before pulling away.

“Enjoy tomorrow night, have fun, and go out!” she tells you.

As she turns her eyes flicker to the champagne bottle, the half-full glass. She smirks.

“Enjoy the gift,” she tells you, bidding you goodnight.

You leap back onto your bed as she leaves, rummaging in your nightstand drawer. Your hand finds your vibrator immediately. Surely, fantasizing about your boss isn’t bad? I mean, you’re only human after all. It takes a couple of rounds before you’re finally able to find sleep.

The next evening you call your best friend, letting her know you’re free. She’s more than excited that you finally have a break. You decide on a pretty fancy club, for drinks and dancing. A much-needed night with your friends. A short silk dress clings to you, the perfect going-out dress. You’re wearing your favorite heels, strappy black ones that creep up your calves.

You’re having a good time, a couple of drinks in when you notice a flash of silver. Daemon Targaryen is there, clad in his signature suit, with rings on his fingers catching in the light. You turn quickly as his head turns your way, tapping your best friend.

“I’m getting another drink!” you tell her above the music, heading toward the bar.

You lean against it, putting in your drink order, trying to steady your nerves. You take a sip from your drink as someone comes up beside you. You know it's him before you look, from the smell of his cologne paired with some expensive cigars. You’ve heard Rhaenyra scold him for smoking but know he does it anyway when out with his investors.

“I can go somewhere else,” you tell him.

“Why would you do that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer, clearly flustered, all batting eyelashes and rosy cheeks.

Daemon wants to devour you whole. Leave nothing behind. Trailing you across the club and over to the bar has made him feel like a predator chasing its prey; his cock hard in his pants.

“I just imagine you don’t want to see your au pair when you’re trying to have a night out,” you tell him, nervously licking your lips.

Daemon watches you, taking a sip from his drink.

“I don’t mind at all,” Daemon murmurs, leaning closer, “in fact, it’s nice to see you having fun and enjoying yourself.”

You shiver at the feeling of his breath on your ear. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, he’s your boss. You really like working for them, working with the boys and you really like Rhaenyra. This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Thank you again,” you tell him, moving away a bit, “for the night off. It’s really nice of you.”

Daemon nods, noticing your retreat. You glance at the section of the club your friends stand in, they wave at you, beckoning you over.

“I should go,” you tell Daemon.

“Behave yourself,” Daemon tells you, “and have fun. I’ll see you at home.”

You can’t stop the jolt of pleasure that lands between your legs at his tone. You nod, not trusting your voice, and make your way over to your friends.

“Who was that Daddy you were talking to?” your friend asks, eyes wide.

“Girl!” you hiss, “That’s my boss.”

Her mouth drops open in surprise as she cranes her neck to get a better look.

“How do you even work, with all that walking around?” she asks.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your drink.

“You should see his wife,” you tell her, blushing.

She squeals.

“Dirty girl! How do I get your job?” she whines and you laugh some more.

The evening is spent drinking and dancing, harmless fun. Daemon remains in the VIP section, lounging on a couch, sipping his whiskey while conversing with colleagues. His eyes remain on you throughout the evening, keeping you under a watchful eye. You catch him looking several times, a thrill running through you each time you do. It’s harmless fun, right? You’re not actually doing anything.

As you’re dancing with your friends you feel a hand snake it's way around your waist and you turn, meeting the eyes of a man with dark curls and warm brown eyes.

“Hey there sexy,” he murmurs, not removing his hand.

He’s cute. You blush, flattered by the attention.

“Um hello?” you say, eyes flickering to his hand on your waist before giggling.

“I’m Quoren Martell,” he tells you, continuing to dance with you.

You tell him your name, enjoying his boldness. You converse with him for a while, and let him buy you another drink. He’s charming and goes out of his way to make you laugh. Quoren Martell is just what you need to get this thing with Rhaenyra and Daemon out of your system. You’re just desperately horny, and a one-night stand will cure that.

“You want to get out of here?” Quoren murmurs in your ear, “Head back to mine? I have a spectacular collection of streaming services, all the movies and shows you can dream of.”

“Oh really,” you say chuckling, “you want to watch a movie with me?”

“I want to do a lot of things with you,” he answers honestly.

“Let me just run to the bathroom, and let my friends know,” you tell him, smiling.

You are pushed by people in the club and find your best friend in the bathroom, fixing her makeup in the mirror.

“I’m going home with that guy, Quoren,” you tell her.

She groans, giving you a quick hug.

“What about your sexy boss?” she asks, pouting.

“Haha,” you tell her rolling your eyes, “I love you, you good?”

“Yeah I’m good,” she says smiling, “have fun, be safe, and leave your location on please.”

“Always,” you tell her, kissing her cheek.

You walk out the door and down the hallway, heading back toward the music, when a figure walks toward you in the opposite direction. You expect them to keep walking by you, but suddenly hands are on your waist, pressing your back against the wall. You gasp, looking up at the stranger’s face, startled. There’s only a second to realize who it is before he slams his lips to yours.

Daemon.

His mouth is warm and demanding as his tongue splits your lips apart before darting into your mouth. You moan as his hands squeeze the meat of your ass, pressing you closer against him. Dameon brings one hand to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. Your arms wrap around him, nails dragging against the expensive fabric of his suit.

Daemon releases your lips, tugging on your lower one harshly with his teeth before bringing his attention to your neck. Whimpers leave your lips and you thrash against him desperately. You can feel him hot, and hard against you- holy shit he’s huge.

It’s enough to rip you from your thoughts previously clouded by lust and you push against him, wiggling out of his grip. Oh no, oh nonononono.

Daemon lets you go, though a surprised expression is on his face as you flee away from him down the hallway.

Shit.

You’ve ruined everything.

You’re going to get fired. Maybe slapped. Probably both.

Oh no, Rhaenyra.

You hope you can somehow make it back to the highrise before Daemon and explain yourself. Your leg nervously taps in your Uber and you fly out of the car once it stops in front of the building. You push by the doorman and stress the entire elevator ride.

You don’t bother to remove your heels, running straight for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s room, crashing through the door. Rhaenyra is seated on the couch, feet tucked up underneath her. She looks up as you enter, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Darling-”

“I need to talk to you,” you gasp, “right now, I- Rhaenyra I am so sorry.”

She gets up, embracing you as tears leave your eyes. You hate that you’ve probably hurt her. She seats you on the bed, sitting next to you, stroking your hair as you tell her what happened.

“I would never, ever want to betray your trust,” you tell her, “I love this job, I love working for you so much, and this will never happen again, I promise.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” she says, holding your face in her palms, wiping away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes search her face, trying to gauge her feelings, but her expression gives nothing away. Like always, you can’t help but look at her lips, so pink and rosy and begging to be kissed. Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker to yours quickly and you blink. Surely, you’re now seeing things.

But then she leans forward.

Her lips are just as soft as you have imagined, and you let yourself get lost in the kiss for a moment, before pulling away just as she slips her tongue into your mouth. You gasp, standing up from the bed, trembling.

“Well,” a voice says, causing you to turn.

Daemon leans in the doorway, smirking at the sight in front of him.

“Getting started without me?” he says, loosening his tie.

Rhaenya makes a clicking sound with her tongue, reaching to grab your hand. You look at her in confusion.

“It seems you were getting started without me,” she purrs, tugging you closer.

Daemon throws his tie on the bed, moving to loosen his cufflinks.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he tells Rhaenyra, “I had to do something, did she tell you the whole truth of it?”

“What?” you say, now thoroughly confused.

“Ah,” Daemon says, shaking his head, “See? She’s trouble, I told you.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell them, feeling Rhaenyra stroke the back of your hand.

“She was being a little tease,” Daemon says, ignoring your statement, “about to go home with some silly little boy.”

His words sting. For some reason, you feel embarrassment flood through you. Rhaenyra looks up at you, noticing your pout. She places her hands on your waist.

“We’ve been interested in you for quite some time now,” she tells you, rubbing circles against your hips, “and we believe you’re interested as well.”

Oh shit.

They know you’ve been thinking about them. Both of them. Your eyes flicker between the two of them.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What did I tell you about being sorry?” Rhaenyra scolds, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. We just need to know. Do you want us, baby?”

This is not happening.

“She asked you a question,” Daemon tells you impatiently.

Rhaenyra gives him a stern look before her gaze softens as it returns to you.

“I’m not…” you pause, trying to wrap your brain around the situation, “I’m not losing my job?”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly.

“No dearest,” she answers, “we very much wish to keep you, sweet girl.”

You look between them once more.

“Okay,” you breathe, “Yes. Yes, I want you.”

Rhaenyra purrs happily, like a pleased kitten. She pulls you between her legs, grabbing your ass with both hands. She captures your lips in a kiss once more.

“We should be punishing her,” Daemon scolds as Rhaenyra pulls you closer.

“Hush you,” she says to Daemon, as she begins to kiss your neck, “She didn’t know she did something bad.”

“Then she’ll learn for next time,” Daemon says, watching closely.

You whimper at her touch, as one of her hands snakes up your back to the zipper of your dress. She drags the zipper down, letting the silky material pool at your feet. You’re not wearing a bra, the dress didn’t allow for one, so your breasts hang heavy and needy, nipples pebbling as the air touches them.

Rhaenyra drags her hands up your sides and you bite your lip, trembling under her touch.

“Don’t be so cruel, my love,” she scolds Daemon, “not during our first time. We must be gentle with new toys.”

Her hands reach your breasts and she massages the soft mounds in her hands, eliciting a moan from you. Daemon walks closer, you can feel him pressing in behind you as Rhaenyra takes your right nipple into her hot mouth, swirling her tongue over the hardened peak. She sucks the puckered bud hard and you arch your back into her.

You feel Daemon’s lips caress the side of your neck and your lips part as you tilt your head to allow him better access. Rhaneyra moves her mouth’s attention to your other breast as Daemon sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, flinging your hand back and grabbing a fistful of his silver hair, the other hand gripping Rhaenyra’s head against your breast.

She laughs against you as Daemon’s hands move to your panties, dragging the lace material down your legs. The noises you’re making are obscene already at their attention and Rhaenyra releases your nipple with a wet pop.

“Needy little thing you are,” she murmurs, dragging her hand across your dripping folds, “and so wet already.”

Daemon has crouched beside you, hands on the straps of your heels.

“Leave those,” Rhaenyra tells him, “I like them on her.”

You feel her slender finger teasing at your entrance, and Daemon lifts your leg, spreading you wide in front of Rhaenyra.

“I want to see this pretty cunt of yours,” she tells you, curling a finger inside of you.

Your hands dig into her shoulders, your mouth falling open as she slips a second finger inside, slowly curling them against your silky walls. The pleasure blooms in your abdomen like a rose stretching toward the sun.

“You’ll spoil her rotten,” Daemon says, before capturing your lips in a kiss as Rhaenyra continues curling her fingers inside your pussy.

She merely chuckles at Daemon.

“Oh I will, hmm?” she teases, “I’m not the one who’s been leaving her special treats. You think you’re clever, don’t you? Sneaking around at all hours, thinking I won’t know.”

Daemon’s hand moves to your neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before breaking away.

“Are you angry with me?” Daemon asks her, as Rhaenyra dips forwards, circling her tongue on your clit.

“Please,” you moan, thrashing against her mouth, against his hands that hold you firmly in place.

“Of course not,” Rhaenyra says, answering him, ignoring your plea with another small lick of your clit, “She’s been so good to us, she deserves it.”

Daemon’s hand travels from your neck to toy with your breasts as your orgasm creeps nearer with every stroke of Rhaenyra’s fingers, every flick of her tongue. It’s all too much and suddenly you’re crying out, clenching around her fingers, your arousal dripping down your thighs.

“You taste as sweet as you look, darling girl,” Rhaenyra praises, removing her fingers from your center.

Daemon flips you on your back, dragging you to the edge of the bed by your thighs. Your eyes widen at the sight of his massive cock, as he fists it in his hand. The flushed tip is weeping, anxious to split you open. You nervously glance at Rhaenyra who strokes some hair from your face.

“He’ll be gentle, sweet girl, won’t you, my love?” Rhaenyra says, stroking your face.

Daemon drags his cock along your sopping folds, from your entrance up to your clit. He taps the sensitive button with his fat tip, chuckling as you squirm from the sensation.

“For tonight, at least,” he says, watching his cock spread your folds once more.

Daemon presses the tip against your hole, pushing into you slowly, stretching out your tight walls. You moan at the stretch his cock gives you before you are silenced by Rhaenyra’s fingers in your mouth. You suckle them, gazing into her eyes as Daemon presses your thighs into the mattress, spreading you wide. The sleek black materials of your heels catch the light as he begins to thrust into you.

You whimper around Rhaenyra’s fingers as his cock splits into you so deliciously, Rhaenyra whispering sweet praises into your ear all the while.

“Fuck you feel fantastic,” Daemon groans, rolling his hips.

Rhaenyra removes her fingers from your mouth, trailing down between your breasts, down your stomach to play with your clit. You moan as her nimble fingers circle your clit, a juxtaposition to the hard thrusts Daemon gives you.

“Such a good girl,” Daemon praises, “She should put that pretty mouth to better use Nyra.”

He swats away Rhaenyra’s hand, replacing it with his own, large fingers pinching at your clit. It’s rougher than Rhaenyra’s touch but you find yourself twitching against him at the pleasure it gives you. Rhaenyra rises from the bed, riding herself off her bottoms before crawling up toward your face. She straddles it, lowering her dripping cunt onto your mouth.

You greedily part her soaked lips with your tongue, nose nuzzling against soft silver curls to nudge at her clit. You dip your tongue inside her, relishing the taste of her, the sound of the soft moans that leave her lips. Your tongue explores every inch of her, pressing into different places that elicit more pretty sounds, more desperate grinds against your face. Your chin is dripping with her as you suckle her clit.

“She’s a delight,” Rhaenyra moans and Daemon angles his hips, thrusting against a spot that paints stars behind your eyelids.

You moan against Rhaenyra’s sweet cunt, burying your tongue inside her, stiffening it so she can swirl her hips around it. As her moans reach a new pitch you know she must be close. Eager to please you lap at her greedily, bringing all your attention to her clit until she’s trembling on your face.

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra croons, “Daemon, be sweet to her.”

Daemon snaps his hips against you and Rhaenyra leans down, pressing her tongue against your clit as the head of Daemon’s cock rubs against your spongy walls. The pleasure is too much and you’re cumming once more, clenching around Daemon's fat cock. He thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and finishing on your stomach.

Rhaenyra pulls herself off of you, and Daemon releases your legs. Your heels are still on, the feeling of being naked with just them on is strange. Daemon walks to the bathroom and you hear him start to fill the tub before he returns with a towel. He gently cleans you, as Rhaenyra draws shapes on your stomach with your fingers.

“We’d like it very much if you stayed, darling,” Rhaenyra tells you, “the children adore you. We adore you.”

She places a kiss on your shoulder. You want nothing more than to stay with them. Both of them.

“I want to stay. With you. Both of you,” you tell her, and she smiles.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Rhaenyra tells you.

“As am I,” Daemon agrees.

______________________________________________________________

note: hope you enjoyed! as always, comments, likes & reblogs are greatly appreciated, I love hearing your thought! until next time, ily!💖

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lialacleaf · 7 months

Text

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 8

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

You were quiet while you watched him pack. It was always the moments right before he left that you felt the coldest. He hadn't even left yet, but something about watching him move Moonbeam off of his duffle bag for the hundredth time, patting the cat patiently on the head, made your chest ache.

It would be weeks before you saw him again. When he finally noticed you staring from the kitchen, he zipped his bag shut and padded across the living room to pull you into his arms.

"Won't be gone too long, love. Just some loose ends to tie up," he said, placing a kiss on your cheek.

It wasn't as if you wouldn't be busy while he was gone. You had physical therapy, gardening, and plenty of reading to keep yourself occupied until he was back.

You'd still miss him though. The lack of his gruff voice in your ear in the mornings, his arms around your waist, and the feeling of his chest pressed against your back. There was nothing quite like him.

"Tell Johnny I said hello," you murmured, tilting your head upwards to press a kiss against his lips. You knew for the next few months they would become chapped under the rough material of his balaclava.

"Will do."

"Keep each other safe."

Of course.

"Remember to eat something-"

"y/n,"

"I love you, Simon," you murmured.

He hummed softly in your ear as he squeezed you against his chest. "Love you more."

It was supposed to have been no longer than three weeks. You'd started calling base after the first month, asking if there had been any sign of his team.

Two months went by with no news, and your poor garden was the victim of your frustration as you aggressively dug up your potatoes and planted carrots. You were going to have a full pantry by the time Simon came home.

Moonbeam had been equally distressed by the lack of Simon's presence, and you found yourself snuggling the cat in bed most days, hoping you'd receive a call to come pick up your husband any day now.

You had just about succumbed to the idea of the third month coming to an end before Simon returned when you received a call from Captain Price, asking that you come to base as quickly as you could.

You had felt unease tighten in your stomach at his tone. The last time you'd received such a call, Simon had been in a horrible state, and you couldn't help but worry about your poor husband as you packed a thermos of tea for him and loaded into the truck.

The drive felt longer than usual, and you wished you could simply teleport directly to him. You pulled haphazardly into a parking spot and jumped out of the truck.

"Lass," Soap greeted you as he led you to Price's door. His face was somber, and he didn't attempt to make conversation.

You knocked softly on Price's door, and waited for a reply. The door opened to reveal the Captain, looking far more tired than you'd ever seen him.

"Sir? Is everything all right?" you asked.

"y/n, come in. Have a seat," he instructed, pressing his lips together firmly.

"Is Simon alright? Can I see him?" you asked desperately.

Price hung his head as he sat before his desk, running his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I...I'm so sorry, y/n,"he started, and your eyes narrowed. He pushed a folder towards you, sighing deeply. "These are all his assets. He left you everything."

He left you everything.

He left you.

"Simon wouldn't leave," you said, your lip wobbling.

"I truly appreciate what you did for him. I'm sure it wasn't easy loving someone like him. Someone like Ghost."

you shook your head, a sob breaking past your lips. "Where is he?" you begged.

Price swallowed thickly. "We couldn't bring you a body, I'm sorry. We were ambushed. The building went up in flames," he explained. "They knew we were coming."

"Where is he!" you sobbed, unwilling to believe he was gone.

Price simply shook his head, moving from his desk to pull you against his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You poured the tea from the thermos into the sink, feeling the tears run down your cheeks as you did so. You couldn't believe it. You had lost him. After everything you'd done to hold onto him, you'd lost him.

The cabin suddenly felt so much colder with the knowledge that he was never coming back. It stung in your chest, and suffocated your throat.

You had money, food, and everything you'd need to live, but you'd give all of it up in a heartbeat if it meant you could have him back.

You placed a hand on the kitchen counter as you fought back a sob.

"I want him back," you whispered. " I want him back!"

Your hand connected with the plain white mug on the counter and sent it flying into the wall, causing it to shatter.

"I want him back! I want him back!" you cried, falling to your knees as your fist pounded into the floor.

He was supposed to be untouchable. Supposed to come back to you. Now he really was his namesake.

You were supposed to be there to protect him, but you hadn't had his back when he needed it most. You'd never felt such a desire to throw your useless body down the stairs.

A soft meowing pulled you out of those dark thoughts, and you pulled Moonbeam into your lap with a sob. "He's not coming back," you whispered to the cat as if wishing the creature would somehow prove you wrong.

you received no answer as you lay amongst the debris of your tantrum on the kitchen floor.

The apparitions started shortly after that night you spent sobbing your heart out, begging your husband to come home, as if his Ghost would hear you and miraculously pull his body from the grave once more.

But maybe you had been all too successful in calling his Ghost to you. You felt as if you were being watched when you went into town for more meat. It was an itch in the back of your head that wouldn't disappear.

You could have sworn you saw his figure in the glass window of the shop, but when you turned around he wasn't there.

The shopkeeper raised a brow at you, and you quickly paid before hauling your groceries into the truck.

You couldn’t help but look behind you in the rear view mirror on the drive home, watching to see if you were being followed.

You felt a shift in the wind as you quickly made your way into the cabin, locking the door behind you.

You pulled Moonbeam into your lap as you sat on the couch, rubbing her soft fur as your hands shook.

You saw movement, something shadowy outside your window, and you could have sworn the moonlight reflected a white surface.

You had never seen yourself as the dependent type, but you wished Simon was there to hold you, to reassure you that nothing could harm you.

A loud banging sounded against the door, had you jumping out of your skin, and you ran to the bedroom for your pistol.

You wanted to see your husband again, but not if it meant being six feet under with him.

The banging continued, like an erratic drumbeat of death as the person pounded frantically at the door.

You gripped the hun in your hand, pointing it towards the entry as you threw the door open, prepared to defend yourself against…

The hun fell from your boneless fingers as a choked noise left your lips. Your eyes settling on the panting form before you, blood smeared on the skull mask, ash stuck to his jacket. Ghost.

Your Ghost.

“Simon?” You whispered, noting the wild, frantic look in his eyes. He wheezed a little, coughing as he took a shaky step towards you, his legs nearly buckling beneath him. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he slid to the floor.

Another cough racked his body, and a shaking, gloved hand reached for you. You grasped his hand, feeling your heart race inside your chest as you gently pulled his glove away from his hand, inspecting the burnt patches of fabric, before your eyes landed on one of the burns littering his skin.

He simply stared at you through the eyes of his mask, deep brown eyes burning into your form.

He was alive. He was alive. The words rang in your ears over and over again.

You stood quickly, racing to the bathroom for a first aid kit. Ghost didn’t try to stop you, watching closely as you began to strip his other glove, then his jacket, and next his shirt until he was left in the mask and a black tank top.

“This is going to sting,” you warned, dabbing some rubbing alcohol onto his burned skin, watching as he tried not to jerk away from you. There were burns along his shoulders too, and you tended to them carefully, wrapping the once you’d applied a salve to his injuries.

Your eyes settled on his once you were finished, and with a shaky hand he moved to lift the mask above his nose. “C’mere,” He mumbled, tiredly, and you leaned closer, balancing yourself with a hand on the door behind him.

His lips crashed onto yours, and you delicately cupped his chin, leaning into the affection.

“We’ve gotta go,” he said, pulling away. “Gotta help me pack the truck,” he said, stiffly attempting to sit up.

“Go? Go where? Price thought you were dead-“

“Good. We’re safer that way.”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. “Safer?”

“They were waiting for us. Waiting for me. That was the point. Draw us out, get rid of the Ghost. They got what they wanted, now we have to run before someone decides to make sure they did the job right.”

“We should tell your team-“

“We can’t tell anyone,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours before looking away. “You don’t have to come with me,” he began, and your eyes widened. “If you don’t wanna run, you don’t have to, but you can’t stay here. I’ll take you to your family-“

“No.” He tilted his head at you. “I’m not abandoning you, Simon. If you go, I’m coming with you. I’m not losing you again,” you decided resolutely, tears welling up in your eyes.

His eyes seemed to soften, and he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If that’s what you want,” he whispered.

Your answer was to press your lips on his. “I did say I wanted to see Cambridge.”

Simon nuzzled your cheek in response. “Whatever you want, love.” He murmured. He’d give you anything and everything.

“You,” you choked. “I want you.”

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#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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vivwritesfics · 6 months

Text

Keep On Rolling - MV1

Chapter Six

Summary: Lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? Impossible, right? She worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the FormulaY/N youtube channel.

After film a video including... spicy water (alcohol), everything changes between her and a certain world champion. Good thing she hasn't had a crush on him since his F1 debut, right?

Right?

1.9K words

Series Masterlist

A/N: I've actually had the best day (and it's only midday)! Did a couple of hours of studying, completing one of my essays, went to the outlet shop and found my perfect pair of cargos (my friends all look for xs so I feel bad when we go retail therapying, but I went alone and I'm so happy)

Silverstone. Lando's home race. Y/N couldn't wait. Ever since she was a little girl, Silverstone had been one of her favourites. When they were kids, Y/N's father had taken her and Lando to Silverstone. It was the first race Y/N had ever attended, and the race that let Y/N fall in love with Formula One.

It had been a full month since Y/N had last spoken to the current world champion. Y/N didn't know why Max wasn't speaking to her. Or answering her text messages. He'd been missing out of Y/N's life completely for the last month.

For once, Y/N had nothing special planned for Silverstone. Just a simple Q and A video.

Y/N missed the Friday free practice. Where she'd usually be there to watch Lando and the rest of her friends (namely Charles), but, this time, she was at home with her family.

British families had some weird traditions and Y/N's family was no exception. Every Sunday in the winter months they ate a huge roast dinner and every Sunday in the summer was reserved for having a barbeque.

With a job like Y/N's, she didn't much get to see her family. She was always away at the grand prix or the city hosting them. Her family missed her, sure, but they knew she was living her dream. So, whenever she was home, Y/N made sure to visit them.

Y/N sat at the dining table, checking her phone. Nothing from Lando, nothing from Charles, nothing from Danny. Nothing from... Max.

That was the most upsetting thing. Y/N hadn't spoken to Max in so long. She didn't realise she'd miss him until he disappeared. There had been a couple of times where she'd text him, but he'd only read it, not respond. Y/N was getting desperate. Desperate to hear from him, but they weren't in a place where she could beg. Right?

"Dinner!" Y/N's mother shouted as she and her brother ran in the dishes. Chicken, potatoes, sprouts, carrots, parsnips and more. Y/N's mother always went above and beyond with roast dinner. It was a whole performance for her.

Y/N allowed her mother to plate up her food. It was something she loved doing whenever Y/N was home, her way to welcome her back. "Mum, do you think we can watch the free practice?" She asked as her mother placed a Yorkshire pudding onto her plate.

"What? No way!" Her brother suddenly shouted across the table. "If Y/N gets to watch formula one I get to watch football!"

"Neither of you are watching anything. Y/N is going to make the most of being here with us before she makes her way up to Silverstone, okay?"

Y/N's mother was not a scary woman, not by any means. But, when she commanded something, it happened. Y/N and her brother nodded as they tucked into their food.

Y/N checked her last messages to Lando and Max beneath the table. Lando hadn't yet seen her message, but Max hadn't responded. A small part of her wanted to throw her phone at the nearest wall, but she didn't. Instead, Y/N slipped her phone back into her pocket and tightened her hand in a fist, nails digging into her palm.

Her family could tell something was wrong. Normally it was non-stop chatter about the world of the paddock. But, aside from her request to watch the free practice, Y/N didn't talk about formula one at all. Even when her brother tried to ask, Y/N answered with single words.

That night, in her childhood bedroom, Y/N looked at the pictures of her and Lando. Them in school, them at Lydden Hill for Lando's Karting career. Silverstone when Lando was in F2, Lando when he first joined McLaren and that was it. The rest of the pictures were in Y/N's own apartment, a place she hardly saw the point in paying for when she rarely lived there.

Her phone began to ring. Picking it up, Y/N placed it to her ear. "Hey, Lan," she said to her best friend as soon as she answered.

"How's your mum? How's your brother? How's the cat?" He asked quickly.

The cat in question was currently sleeping on Y/N's bed. The moment she moved out, the cat began living in her room, sleeping on her bed or in the empty closet.

"Mum is good, brother is good, cat is good," she said, sitting beside the cat and stroking her fur. "How was free practice? I tried to watch on the television but Mum wouldn't let me."

Lando told her all about free practice and how his day at Silverstone had been. He told her about the media things she and Oscar had to do, the fun he and Carlos had been having and more.

When he fell silent, Y/N found herself asking a difficult question. "Lan, is Max okay?" She asked him. "Does he hate me or something?"

"No," Lando answered quickly. "Why would he hate you?"

"Can you tell him to answer my texts then please."

Lando didn't answer that. How could he, when he was the reason for Max's silence? But, he couldn't tell Y/N, either. He could tell her that he was the reason Max was refusing to speak to her. So, Lando took it in a different direction.

"What's going on with you and Max?" He asked. His tone was genuinely curious, leading Y/N away from his crime.

Y/N shook her head. "Lan, nothing. Nothing is going on with Max and I. He was just the only person who let me interview him in Monaco. He just happened to be the person who helped me out after the drunken quiz video. Why does that mean something has to be going on with us?"

Again, Lando didn't answer. Guilt ripped through him. He was selfish, a selfish little boy. He drove Max away from Y/N just because he didn't want to lose his best friend

Lando was quick to end the call. He said his goodbyes and left Y/N to it. Max liked Y/N, he knew that much. But did she like him? God, he felt like a child back in secondary school as he thought about it.

***

"Hey guys, welcome to the Silverstone weekend," Y/N said to the camera as she sat on her bed with her cat in her lap. "As you can see, we are not in a hotel room for once. We are actually in my childhood bedroom and we have a visitor." Y/N held the cat up to the camera and waved her paw.

"Today we're going to be going in with a Q and A video," she said, pulling up her phone. "I know a lot of you have a lot of questions around how and why I do what I do, and I'm going to answer them all."

She went into her twitter and pulled up her first question. "Right, question one. How did you meet Lando?" She read and put the phone down. "Oh, what a story this is," she said and let out a little laugh. "When Lando and I first met each other, we hated each other. We were eleven years old, both starting at secondary school. In maths we got sat beside each other, and it all kicked off from there.

"Lando was so loud! Seriously, he did not stop talking. And he spread his stuff to my side of the desk, which really pissed me me off. So, I told him to shut up and he told me to bleep off, and then we became best friends."

The cat in her lap was purring as Y/N stroked her. She grabbed her phone and checked for the next question. There had been a lot on there asked about the nature of her relationship with Charles and her relationship with Max. They were things she wouldn't get into, only because it would make the situation so much worse.

"Ah, what do you do when you're not travelling around?" She read and put the phone back down. "Well, I travel to the grand prix and then I explore the city the grand prix is held in with my friends. These bits I don't usually film, but I'm considering doing city vlogs. If you guys would like to see this, drop a comment."

Y/N went on and on, reading through the questions. There were many about hers and Lando's friendship, many that allowed her to grab pictures of little Lando from the wall.

"What is your favourite quote from anyone on the grid at the minute?" She read.

It made her grin. "Well, I've got one that I use all the time which is when Charles says 'Lando we can be world champions', but I'm a big fan of those noises Danny makes? You know, 'ki ki ki ra!'" She shouted.

There was a noise from downstairs, her mother shouting a complaint.

After getting through at least twenty of the questions, Y/N checked the time on her phone. "Oh my," she gasped when she saw how late it was. Or, rather, how early in the morning it was. "I guess that's the end of the video," she said to the camera. "Thank you guys for watching. Like, subscribe and I'll see you at Silverstone," she said and got up to switch off the camera.

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